Dedicated To Deirdre

“Money.” She sighed. “Life would be so much easier if we didn’t have to worry about it.”

“Umm-hmm.” This was dangerous ground, considering the staggering sum of his last royalty statement.

“Where do you work, Mr.—Ronan?”

Out of habit he searched for an evasion; admitting to being a bestselling suspense novelist had caused him more grief in the past than he could recall. He’d become even more cautious since a fan had been apprehended and eventually convicted of stalking him a year ago. And being anonymous had the added attraction of keeping fortune hunters and celebrity hounds at bay. No, he never told people who he was anymore. It was safer, and less complicated in the long run. And Sullivan was a common enough name that the association didn’t come up.

“I’m, uh, sort of a freelance journalist.” Well, it wasn’t a lie. He’d started out writing articles to support himself while he worked on his first novel.

She nodded, comprehension flooding her expression. “Not exactly a profession you’ll get rich at.” Then, to his relief, she changed tack. “Cleaning service is included in the rental.”

“Uh, that’s not necessary. I can clean it myself.” If she saw what he already was planning to do to the interior, she’d know for certain he wasn’t a struggling writer. He knew that eventually he’d have to tell her the truth, but he hoped the renovated apartment would compensate for his harmless deception. She wouldn’t have any trouble renting it after he left.

“Oh, no, I insist—”

“No, I insist.” He injected a, “case closed,” note into his voice. “You have a business to run and I wouldn’t think of letting you waste time on cleaning this place. It’s so small I’ll have no trouble.”

Her brow was furrowed, her eyes troubled. “All right, if you’re sure. But if you ever need a hand, don’t hesitate to let me know.”

“I promise.” He held up a hand like a Boy Scout. “Now, how much is the rent?”

Three days later he moved in. Deirdre had told him she was going to be away for the day, taking her sons to a family reunion up in Pennsylvania. She wouldn’t be back until well after dark, probably close to midnight, she said. “So don’t be alarmed when you hear my Bronco coming down the lane.”

The timing couldn’t have been better. She left at seven in the morning. As soon as her vehicle was over the ridge, he used his cell phone to call the team he’d hired. Speed was of the essence, he’d stipulated when he’d called the renovation firm. And he didn’t mind paying extra for it. When the guy heard that he planned to pay the full amount in cash, he couldn’t get the details fast enough.

The paneling came first. He’d chosen a light blond oak because drywall would have to dry before it could be painted or papered; this had to be done in one day. The panels went right over the rough wooden walls, the studs in the original walls providing plenty of support.

Once the paneling in the first room was done, the subfloor for the carpet went down. The plumber arrived shortly after one o’clock to install the shower and the Jacuzzi, and the guys with the tile for the kitchen and bathroom were right on his heels. By four in the afternoon, he had a rather nice-looking little place, if he did say so himself. The electrician was still working on the dimmers and the surge protection for his office equipment when his new furniture arrived. They were just finishing when the movers arrived with the things he wanted to bring up from his place downtown, and right behind them came the woman from whom he’d ordered the custom blinds and the decorator with art and some stuff like baskets and wreaths for the kitchen walls. It fit perfectly with the casual country feel of the paneling. Lucky for him, the stable windows didn’t face the house, or he’d have had to keep the blinds permanently closed.

The last contractor was gone by ten in the evening and he sank down on the new leather couch with a satisfied sigh, looking around him. Amazing. Money worked miracles. He hadn’t grown up with it, and he still wasn’t used to how easily the thought of extra money could make things move.

Tomorrow the man from the phone company would install his modern line, his fax and telephone. He would unpack his books, get on-line again, and hook up his computer and printer—

The sound of a vehicle growling down the lane was unmistakable. He glanced at his watch—10:09. Wow. He’d just barely made it. He distinctly remembered her telling him she wouldn’t be back until late. Since when was a woman ever early?

The next day was Sunday. Deirdre hustled the boys out of bed and they all went to church. Then she turned the car south toward Baltimore. This was the part she hated. The judge had decreed that every Sunday her ex-husband would have visitation rights with Lee and Tommy.

Every Sunday she drove to her friend Frannie’s home, where she handed her precious children over to Nelson under the watchful eye of either Frannie, her husband Jack, or both. Nelson wasn’t permitted to come near her anymore since she’d gotten the protection order, and the judge had been quite firm in his admonitions. One more little trick and Nelson wouldn’t see his sons at all.

She might have to answer for it at the Pearly Gates someday, but she prayed for that one little trick.

Because of Nelson’s past behavior, the boys were exchanged at this specified location in front of witnesses. She never wanted to be caught alone with her ex-husband again. Since she’d taken precautions to secure her privacy when she moved out of the house they had once shared, she didn’t think he even knew where they lived now. She picked up her mail at a post office in the next little town, had her telephone number unlisted and her business telephone now showed no address. If he had to contact her, he called Frannie and left a message that Deirdre returned. She hated having to instruct Lee and Tommy not to tell their father their address or phone number, but there was no way around it. When she explained that the judge had suggested it, they’d been sufficiently impressed that she doubted their father could bribe the information out of them with ice cream or anything else.

Today went like it usually did. Nelson was waiting for her in front of Frannie’s. When she pulled in, Jack came out of the house to greet her. Bless his heart, he must have been watching. She helped her sons out of the car, hugged each fiercely and said, “Have fun with your daddy today.” Then Jack took each little hand, and her babies walked down the driveway to the car where their father was waiting.

She was uneasy the entire time the boys were gone, every Sunday. During their marriage, Nelson had saved his worst temper tantrums—her euphemism for abusive rages—for times when he and she were alone. She prayed their children would never know what he was capable of.

As she watched, Lee spoke earnestly to his father before Jack let go of his hand, and she knew he was telling Nelson that she had said it would be nice if he took the boys swimming today. In truth, Tommy was on medication for an ear infection and shouldn’t get his head wet, but if she asked his father not to let him swim, they’d go swimming, sure as the moon came up at night It gave her a small measure of satisfaction to outsmart him. After a few weeks of writing notes that he took great pleasure in crumpling and tossing on Jack’s driveway without reading, she’d resorted to this approach when she had instructions she wanted him to hear.

She stood in the driveway waving to her children until the car turned the corner. Then she turned to smile at Jack as he walked back up the driveway. Or tried to smile, anyway. Not an easy feat when your lip was trembling.

Jack lifted an arm and encircled her shoulders loosely as they walked toward the house. “They’ll be back before you know it.” His voice was a comforting rumble in her ear.

“I know,” she said. “But I’m a mother. It’s my job to worry.” They had a variation on this conversation nearly every Sunday. Time to change the subject—divorce was an ugly, boring topic, and she tried not to inflict it on her friends. “So how’s it going with two?”

Jack and Frannie had had a second child five weeks ago—a son. Actually, it was their first, since their daughter Alexa was really Jack’s orphaned niece, whom they’d adopted when they were married ten months ago.

Jack looked thoughtful. “I think it’s going okay, but I don’t really have anything to judge by. Lex was such a piece of cake.”

Deirdre laughed. “Must be nice. Neither of my children has ever been a ‘piece of cake.’” She stepped past the door that Jack held open for her and entered the home.

“Hi, Dee. Look, Alexa, it’s Aunt Dee-Dee.”

Alexa was thirteen months old and full of herself, blond and chubby. She ran full tilt at Deirdre, holding up her little arms to be picked up. “An-Dee!”

Catching the little girl up in a fierce hug, Deirdre felt her eyes welling with tears again. Frannie sat in a rocker in the family room with baby Brooks at her breast. She looked serene and happy as she watched her husband, and Dee couldn’t help but envy her a little bit. “Never forget how lucky you are,” she said, swallowing.

“Lucky to get me,” Jack said from behind her. When both women snorted and rolled their eyes, he clutched at his heart and staggered toward the doorway. “Mortally wounded.” He straightened and headed for the door to the kitchen. “I know it’s a struggle, but if you can bear to be without me, I’m going out to mow the grass.”

“Okay, honey,” Frannie called after him. “If you do a good job, maybe we’ll invite you back later.” She exchanged an amused smile with Deirdre. “So how are you? I haven’t talked to you all week.”

Deirdre shrugged. “Fine. I got another big order from that doll museum in upstate New York. That’ll keep me afloat for a little while.”

“That’s great! This is the third time they’ve used you, isn’t it?” Frannie lifted Brooks to her shoulder and rubbed his back. “Boy, are you a load,” she said to him.

“Just like your daddy,” Deirdre said, nodding in answer to the previous question. It was true. Little Brooks had weighed a whopping ten pounds, two ounces at birth and showed every sign of being as big as his daddy.

Then Deirdre remembered that she really did have some news. “Oh, guess what? I found a tenant for the apartment.”

“Wow!” said Frannie. “That was fast. You just decided to rent it last week. I thought you said it needed some work before it could be rented out.”

“It does. But the man says he’ll do it himself.”

“A man! Do tell.”

“His name is Ronan Sullivan,” Dee told her.

“And...?”

“And nothing.”

“How old?”

“Thirty -five-ish.”

“What’s he look like?” Frannie’s gaze was glued to Dee’s face.

Dee thought for a moment. “He’s not as big as Jack—who is?—but he’s bigger than Nelson. He has dark hair and he seems very nice.” And his hands are warm and gentle.