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Liz glanced at her blouse. “Molly talked me into it.” She usually chose pastels, but she had to admit she liked herself in
certain shades of red.

“How’s your mother?”

For the next few minutes, as they merged with traffic, he questioned her about her mother, about Nancy, and even about Sara.
Choosing her words carefully, Liz told him that
her mother was doing well and that her sister seemed finally to be getting her life on track, then described Sara’s excited
phone call from Ireland.

“Sara sounds as if she’s a lot like you, although she doesn’t resemble you much.”

He
would
pick up on that again. “Sara takes after my mother’s side of the family,” she told him again. “How’s Diane?”

A frown came, unbidden. “Let’s talk about her later. You know, our conversation that night at the Del and the way you left
so abruptly made me rethink a lot of things.”

Liz toyed with the leather strap of her bag. “I probably should apologize for that. I have to keep in mind that you’re running
for vice president and that your time isn’t your own. I’m surprised you’re back in California so soon.”

“I have a dinner meeting I must attend tomorrow evening at the Del. And, for the record, you don’t owe me an apology. Liz,
you and I have had our differences, and years when we haven’t even seen each other, but we’ve always been honest. Right?”

Except she hadn’t been honest with him once, regarding something very important.
Someone
very important. “We try, I guess,” she answered lamely. “So what conclusions did you come to in rethinking things?”

Adam exited at Market Street and turned west before answering. “That through the years, I’ve taken a few wrong turns.”

“Which means?”

“Made a few mistakes.”

Liz brushed back a loose strand of hair. “Oh, Adam, who hasn’t?”

“No one, I suppose. But I’ve come to realize lately that when you wake up, you need to do what you can to rectify those mistakes,
to put your life back on course.” After veering to the left, he turned onto Twelfth Street, then eased into a wide driveway
halfway down the block. “You need to stop
looking at the forest and instead see the trees.” Shifting into park, he squinted through the windshield. “Just look at all
the trees.”

She’d been so engrossed in their conversation that she hadn’t noticed where they were, Liz realized. She knew they were in
a section that had been undergoing some renovations but still had a long way to go. A large three-story house stood at the
back of the deep, wide lot, dotted with more than a dozen trees. She saw purple jacaranda and oleander bushes, fragrant eucalyptus,
and white and pink bougainvillea trailing up a fence that listed to starboard. The trees grew wild and needed pruning but
were still beautiful.

Yet it was the house itself that stood out. It had been painted a bright green some years ago, and although the paint had
peeled off in patches, the brilliant color was still evident in a late afternoon sun. The roof was black and gabled and probably
leaked. Some of the windows were broken, and others were thick with dust. Dark green shutters hung precariously, and two lay
on the ground. The gray wooden porch sagged, but the front door was painted a cheerful red.

Liz turned to Adam and found him watching her intently. “What is this?”

“Greentrees,” he answered, grinning.

“Greentrees,” she repeated. “I don’t understand.”

He took the envelope from his pocket and removed two keys on a ring. “It’s yours. Yours and the other folks at Helping Hands.”

Liz’s dark eyes grew wide. “You mean it?”

His smile widened. “Absolutely. Free and clear, including the land, nearly an acre. Yours—lock, stock, and barrel.”

She couldn’t help herself. She threw her arms around his neck. “Oh, Adam. Thank you, thank you!” Not just for the house, but
for coming through.

He held her, closing his eyes, inhaling the remembered fragrance of her hair. His arms tightened, and a feeling awakened
inside him such as he hadn’t known in years. Pleasure. Pure, unadulterated pleasure.

Excitement bubbling within her, Liz pulled back. “Can we look around?”

“Of course.” Reluctantly he let her go and went with her, stepping gingerly onto the rickety porch. “It’s far from perfect,
I know.”

“It’s wonderful. How’d you manage it?”

Having taken the keys from her, he maneuvered one into the old lock. “I convinced an old friend, Roger Tremaine, that donating
Greentrees—which, by the way, was once a proud old house owned by his ninety-two-year-old aunt— would give Helping Hands a
big boost and Roger a big tax deduction. There’s also a grant, donated by several political buddies who owe me favors, to
be used for renovations and a skeleton staff until you can get into some serious fund-raising.”

He’d been surprised at how easy it had been once he’d thought it through and decided to act. A few phone calls, half an hour
of his time, and a couple of old markes called in. The look on Liz’s face was more than worth the trouble, to say nothing
of how much the house would mean to so many once it was renovated.

Adam pushed open the door and heard the hinges squeak a protest, then turned to see her staring up at him, her dark eyes glowing
and oddly pensive. “What?”

“I knew, down deep, that you hadn’t changed. But that night at the Del, when you all but brushed Helping Hands off as insignificant
and not worthy of your time, I was worried.” Her smile broke through. “I’m sorry I doubted you.”

“No, I owe you the apology. As I mentioned before, I took a few wrong turns. I needed someone to point that out, and you were
that someone. Afterward, thinking about what you’d said—and what you
hadn’t
said—I realized that you were right. The women and children who need this house are every bit as important as the big business
group at that dinner.
People used to tell me I had vision. The trouble with visionaries is that they usually see the distant future clearly, but
they often miss things right under their noses. So I thank you for waking me up.”

Liz squeezed his hand, then stepped inside.

Adam hadn’t exaggerated. It was far from perfect. But as they walked around, Liz scarcely noticed the graffiti on the walls,
the broken plumbing, or the leak in the corner of the roof. She looked beneath the surface.

“This is wonderful, Adam,” she told him with heartfelt enthusiasm. “I know someone who can restore these hardwood floors.
These rooms are so spacious. I have a list of carpenters willing to donate time to put up partitions. Look at the brick under
the soot on this fireplace. Absolutely perfect. And the ceramic tile in the kitchen, the bottle-glass windows in the dining
room.” Spinning around alongside a hanging cobweb and a pile of rubble, she beamed at him. “I can’t thank you enough.”

Liz, too, had a vision, one she saw clearly.
“You’re
what’s wonderful here, did you know that?”

She was close enough to see his five o’clock shadow, close enough to breathe in the hot male scent of him that had her heart
racing. He was the same wonderful man she’d fallen in love with seventeen years ago when he’d rescued a small calico kitten.
A man like no other, a man of strength and integrity and heart.

Looking into his marvelous blue eyes, Liz recognized a need that was so powerful, she nearly staggered back a step. She wanted
him with a desperation that had her trembling. Impulsively she reached up and stroked his face, her touch light, her fingers
shaky.

His gaze held hers, and he recognized all the longing he’d also been feeling. He bent his head, his arms gathering her to
him as his mouth took hers.

Liz tasted his frustration, the years of denial, the months of yearning. The kiss was slow, almost lazy, which made it
all the more deadly. He romanced her expertly, drawing from her a response that shattered any lingering resistance. It had
been so long since she’d felt like this, been wanted like this. She felt the ripple of desire spread through her, drugging
her senses.

Familiar. He tasted familiar. How could that be, after such a separation? His hands molded her to him, his mouth devoured,
his tongue invaded. And she was lost, just as she’d always been with Adam. Shamelessly, she clung to him.

Years, months, of longing, erased in an instant, Adam thought. This was the woman meant for him, the one who lived in his
heart. This was the woman he would fight to win back. Changing the angle, he deepened the kiss.

The blaring honk of a horn from the direction of the street startled Liz, abruptly jerking her back to the present. For a
moment she stood blinking at Adam, then felt a blush stain her cheeks. What had she been thinking of, kissing him as if she
were free to do so? Apparently she hadn’t been thinking at all. Wanting was one thing, having the right to was quite another.

“We can’t, Adam.” She stepped back, turning aside, her hand raising to push back her hair. “You’re married and—”

“Not for long,” Adam said quietly.

Liz swung back. “What?”

“When I return to Washington, I’ll break the news to Diane. It’s over between us, has been for a long time. I’m filing for
divorce.”

The soft light from a low table lamp played across Liz’s features as Adam sat beside her on the couch in her den. He was absolutely
certain he’d be content just to look at her until he was a very old man with feeble eyesight.

They’d closed up Greentrees and driven to her home, and she’d fixed dinner. During all that time and while they’d eaten, they’d
talked: about the battered women project, about her life as a widow and his life as a senator. Yet now, as they sipped their
coffee, there was still so much to say.

Adam touched the ends of her hair, threading the silken strands through his fingers. “There’s no one event that happened to
end my marriage. More like an accumulation of things over the years. Diane’s not happy, and neither am I. It seems pointless
to stay together and continue to make each other miserable.”

“Is that how she feels, too?”

He let out a deep breath. “I haven’t discussed it with her yet, but she’s well aware that we’ve lost the little we had between
us. Since Keith’s death, we’ve just been going through the motions. I feel rotten because all this is my fault. Loving you,
I never should have married Diane. It was wrong, but it’s doubly wrong staying with her feeling as I do.” He looked into her
eyes and found her watching him intently. “And I want you to know that my divorce doesn’t hinge on whether or not you want
me. Whichever way things fall, my marriage is over.”

The words she’d wanted to hear. She knew Adam wasn’t an impulsive man, but she wondered how completely he’d thought this through.
“What about Palmer Ames and your future? A divorce right now, it would seem to me, would be politically disastrous.”

“Maybe. If Palmer wants to knock me off the ticket for it, then I’ll go back to being a senator. If the voters hold my divorce
against me at the next election, I guess I’ll go back to being an attorney. It’s not as if I don’t have options.” He saw the
doubt in her eyes. “You don’t believe me. I don’t blame you.”

She reached to take his hand. “It’s not that. I’m wondering if later you’ll have regrets.”

“I can’t convince you with words. You’ll have to trust me, and in time, you’ll see that that won’t happen. This isn’t the
quick decision it seems. I’ve thought this over long and hard. I’m also not sure I’m cut out for the vice presidency.”

Liz frowned. “What do you mean?”

“You remember Steve Quinlan?”

“Yes. He’s in charge of your California office, isn’t he?”

“He was. Steve came to me before the convention and resigned, said he couldn’t take politics anymore. He said that in order
to swim with the sharks, you had to
be
a shark, and he didn’t feel he could be. Maybe I can’t, either. Something came up just today. Jesse Conroy’s gotten wind
of a possible cover-up that may involve Palmer. If it turns out Palmer’s not clean, I won’t stay with him on the ticket anyhow.
See, Palmer’s a card-carrying shark and doesn’t respect anyone who doesn’t think as he does.”

“You think Palmer’s guilty?”

“I’ll find out in a week or so.” His thumb caressed the fine bones of her slender hand. “What I said earlier, that visionaries
often lose sight of what’s under their noses, is absolutely true. My original goal was to help people, like with Greentrees,
you know. Lately I feel like nothing more than a paper pusher.”

“How does Fitz feel about all this?”

“I haven’t talked with him about most of this, either. I wanted it to be
my
decision. That’s why I came to you
after
I’d made up my mind.” He shifted, drawing her closer. “There’s something else I’ve wanted to talk with you about. When I
was in San Diego recently, one of my aides thought I ought to visit a certain art gallery.”

Liz guessed what was coming.

“Casa des Artistas, run by a certain Molly Washington. It seems there’s a piece of sculpture on display there that has half
the town wondering about the artist, someone named Megan O’Malley. So I dropped in on a quiet morning when there was only
one saleswoman there. She and I stared at the piece for a long time, and she had an interesting comment.” He could see the
pulse in her throat pounding. “Want to know what it was?”

“I have a feeling I’m going to hear regardless.”

“She said that only a woman in love with her subject could have made that piece.” He cupped her chin, raising it. “You’re
Megan O’Malley, and the bust is of me, isn’t it?”

There’d be no point in denying the obvious. “Yes.” Her voice was as faint as the ocean breeze drifting in through the open
veranda doors.

“That day on the beach in La Jolla, I told you how I felt about you. Sort of abruptly and badly, I guess, but nonetheless,
you know. I’ve opened myself up to you and let you see inside me, but I don’t know how you feel. You’ve never really said.”
He waited, his heart in his throat.

“Actually, I did tell you once, but you were unconscious.”