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"Mary?" Tim's voice. "I brought you coffee like you asked. Mary, are you awake?"

She fought her way out of a black hole, toward wakefulness and the sound of her brother's voice.

"Mmm, 's the coffee. Oh, thank you, baby." She lifted her head off the pillow, eyes still glued

shut, and he kissed her face several times.

One thing she cherished about Tim was that they had always shared an uncommonly close bond,

and he was unusual for a prickly fourteen-year-old boy, because he'd never become self-

conscious about physical displays of affection. If anything, Tim hovered too much. .

Look at how he'd barged out onto the porch earlier that evening, for example. The memory

boiled out of the mud in her head, and she groaned. She tried her mouth again, and this time it

worked a little better. "I've got to shower. I'll never wake up, Timmy, if I don't get a shower."

"I'll get the shower going, so the water's nice and hot for you," he crooned, and her bed bounced

as he leaped up to lope away.

He was so excited. Mary sat up, stretched, and yawned so hard it felt like her jaw cracked. Last

year Tim had gone to the fireworks celebration with his best friend's family, put this year the

Thompsons were on vacation in Florida, and he had nobody else to go with but her. And he was

too young to go by himself.

Tim bounced back into her bedroom. "It's ready! And Victor's going to be here in half an hour."

She winced at his too-loud voice. "Okay, Tim. Thank you. Go on now, let me get ready-and

remember, we're only going to stay until midnight. Victor's only had a nap, and mine wasn't

long enough-"

"I know, I know," he interrupted. "A couple of hours'll be great. Just get moving, or we'll miss the

beginning."

He left, and Mary shuffled around her large, comfortable bedroom, feeling like an old woman.

Rescue workers could go weeks on five-minute naps every three or four hours-she could surely

make it through the evening after her hour nap. After several minutes in a refreshing cool

shower, she was feeling more like herself again. It wouldn't be for long, and it was going to be-

fun.

As a graduation present from her grandfather, Mary had her bathroom and bedroom redecorated.

She stepped out of the shower into a pretty collection of greens and peaches. -She quickly made

up her face, applying blusher, -eye shadow and mascara lightly, and then she dithered over which

perfume she wanted to use.

Why are you going to so much trouble? she asked herself suddenly. She stared hard at her bright-

eyed -reflection, Victor's seen you at your worst many times. You know why, Mary, and it's not

for Victor.

It was because of that kiss, because of a "maybe see you later" kind of arrangement with a man

you hardly know, a man who's way out of your league, you've' admitted that much. A man

probably just playing around-what if he kisses everybody like that? A man who is just-flirting.

And what's more, if you'd had your wits about you earlier when you had Victor on the phone,

you would have called off the evening with him and gone ahead to the fireworks with Tim.

Alone.

Have you gone insane?

The lecture wasn't working. No matter how sternly she talked to herself, the excited young

woman in the mirror didn't calm down. She selected at random a perfume bottle from her

collection on a nearby shelf, and sprayed some on her neck and wrists. Then she waltzed into her

bedroom, humming-what to wear?

Oh, a soft, flowered linen skirt with a matching rose sleeveless top, delicate sandals and a plain

gold necklace. And the hair, oh, leave it loose and fluff it out, all nice and pretty, there.

You should be wearing shorts, fool.

I don't care, I don't care.

What if he's not there? She stopped in mid waltz and her shoulders drooped. Two long hours, and

Victor's going to think you dressed up for him. Oh my. Both hands crept up to her face. And what

if he wants to kiss you?

Tim. Tim will be there. Victor wouldn't want to embarrass him. That'll be all right.

What if he does show up? She started to dance again, then stopped dead in her tracks.

How are you going to explain Chance to Victor, Mary? How are you going to explain Victor to

Chance?

She caught sight of another reflection from the full length closet mirror, and she scowled. How,

in God's name, did a shy, gawky thing like you find herself in the middle of such a soap opera?

Off in the distance, she heard the front doorbell ring. Victor had arrived. What are you going to

do now, Mary?

Cherry Bay's annual Fourth of July celebration was held at the old lighthouse, which was on a

promontory of land that had been established as a local park some years ago. Volunteer firemen

were in charge of the fireworks display that was set off from the point. The nearby beach was

crowded with both natives and tourists alike, and food and drink vendors dotted the area with

'striped canvas canopies. Music from a local band blared from the loudspeakers near the

whitewashed stone lighthouse, and the smell of hot dogs and the pastry called fried elephant ears

filled the air.

Tim appeared not to notice the taut atmosphere that filled the interior of Victor's Volvo on the trip

to the lighthouse, but Mary did. Back at the house, she had met Victor at the door; he was

dressed in crisp linen slacks and a white shirt. She'd looked up into his cold eyes and tight

features and felt her stomach sink to her shoes.

When Tim. had come to the. porch to interrupt Chance and Mary, he had left the phone off the

hook in the front hall. How much of what had gone on outside had Victor overheard? Could he

have heard anything at all? Could his tight expression just possibly be related to seeing her walk

out of the hospital earlier that day with a strange man? What did she dare hope for?

With the strong instinct that she was making a mistake, Mary had gone to say goodbye to her

grandfather Wallis, who was comfortably ensconced in the library with an old friend of his,

drinking brandy and playing a game of chess.

"Good night, Grampa," she whispered as she kissed him.

A tall, thin man in his eighties with a leonine head of thick, white, wavy hair, Wallis Newman

was a gruff man who had a reputation for being terrifying with local politicians and dignitaries.

Mary never understood that. Wallis reached up to pat her cheek, his fierce gaze softening into

tenderness.

"Have a good time, kiddo. I won't wait up."

I want to stay home with you, Grampa, she thought.

She glanced toward the hallway and sighed. Victor and Tim were waiting. She threw her arms

around her grandfather's neck, hugged him swiftly, and left.

Now Victor pulled the car into a parking space, and Mary scrambled out thankfully. The parking-

lot lamps washed the scene in harsh white illumination and sharp shadows. In the distance, she

could see the warmer glow from flickering beach fires and the tiny pinpoints of colored lights

strung in the trees and bushes that clustered around the lighthouse.

Tim bounced out happily. Victor locked the car and straightened, his movements slow and

deliberate. Mary felt the skin around her eyes tighten as he glanced at her briefly. Then Tim

loped around the car, planted a smacking kiss on her forehead so hard he almost knocked her

over, and said, "I'm going to get in line for some food. Meet you on the beach?"

"All right," she sighed, and she forlornly watched him dash away. There goes my chaperon and

bodyguard.

Victor curled a hand around her upper arm, and she looked up with a start, then tried to smile.

The effort was not returned. "I want to talk to you," he said tersely.

As if on cue, the first round of fireworks exploded overhead with a rolling boom like thunder,

and Victor's marble-carved features were washed in red and blue.

This was worse than a mistake, she thought, as she glanced again at the crowd on the beach. This

was more like disastrous stupidity. There was no way they were going to run into Chance, and

Victor was obviously upset, and she didn't have the energy to explain anything to him. Even if

she'd known how to explain it. '

Then a small seed of resentment bloomed. She shouldn't have to explain anything. They may

have dated for a few years, but they hadn't even come to any kind of formal agreement. She

never asked Victor what he did when she wasn't with him. Why was he suddenly treating her like

his property? .

"Now is not the time, Victor," she said firmly, and she gave him a no-nonsense nod meant to put

him in his place.

Apparently he didn't get the point. His fingers pressed into her flesh as he said, "When will be

the time to talk about it? Tim's gone for now-we have a few minutes. Who was that man I saw

you with earlier? I heard you had dinner with him."

Mary blinked in surprise. Who'd told him that? Harold' Schubert? Another member of the

hospital staff? "So I had dinner with him," she said in an offhand manner. "I was eating-he was

eating-we sat at the same table. It happens, Victor."

"But then you went out the door with him, and your car was still in the parking lot when I left.

Did he take you home?"

Boom went another bout of fireworks. The crowd cheered. Mary fumbled for something

reasonable and conciliatory to say, but what could that be? He'd taken her home and kissed her,

and walked away with her soul in his pocket.

She scowled and said, "So what if he did? Is that a crime? He offered and I was too tired to drive,

and anyway-why are you checking up on me like this?"

Suddenly his demeanour changed, became soothing. His grip on her arm loosened, and he

rubbed her shoulders. "I'm sorry. That sounded bad, didn't it? I was just worried about you,

darling, that's all. I didn't know him and thought you didn't, either, and if you'd wanted a ride

home, all you had to do was ask me. I would have been happy to take you."

Mary's bristling smoothed over, and she turned contrite. Poor Victor. He'd had a long, hard day,

too.

"I knew your shift wasn't over until eight, and anyway, he was perfectly fine."

"So who was he anyway?" Victor asked casually, starting to lead her toward the beach.

"He teaches at the university. He was on Harold Schubert's yacht when the boating accident

happened."

And I can still feel his kiss on my mouth. The scorching memory, engulfed her; with a shock, she

felt the private area between her legs throb gently. She looked around in confusion, cheeks

flaming, She was too tired; the barrier between thought and action was too ephemeral,

untrustworthy. She was afraid of what she might inadvertently blurt out if Victor continued his

interrogation much longer.

Over the staccato explosions overhead and the noise of the crowd, she could hear the roar of an

approaching motorcycle, and absentmindedly glanced in that direction. The roar subsided into a

low engine growl as a Harley-Davidson pulled into an empty parking space.

There were two riders, a man driving and a woman riding pillion. They both wore black helmets

and protective leather jackets. The man was wearing straight legged, faded jeans and a white T-

shirt, and the woman's lush, curved legs were bared by a black mini dress. She wore, Mary saw

with amazement, high heeled stiletto pumps.

There was something familiar about the man's large, powerful body. She watched as he lowered

the kickstand with the toe of his boot and they dismounted, removing their helmets.

The man's overlong blond hair lifted in the breeze. The woman's hair tumbled out, a long,

curling, glorious mass of coppery red. They locked their helmets in the bike's carrier, chatting

together companionably, and turned to the beach.

Mary's heart emitted one hard, dismayed kick. Chance, his tanned, chiselled features relaxed, the

wide breadth of his shoulders a tough, aggressive angle in contrast to slim hips and lithe, muscular legs. The woman, the hourglass shape of her body extravagantly feminine, her leather

jacket unzipped to reveal a deep neckline that showcased a lovely, generous cleavage, her long

green eyes gleaming like a cat's.

Without realizing it, Mary had stopped dead in her tracks. She didn't notice Victor tugging on her

arm, or that he'd turned to follow her gaze. Now there, she thought bleakly, is a complete

picture. It wasn't supposed to be a buxom blonde on Chance's arm after all. It was supposed to be

a blazing, flamboyant, redheaded 'siren, with fingernails out to the next county and legs that

would stop traffic. She glanced down at her own slender body, the coltish hips and legs, the even

smaller waist and the slight, delicate curve of young breasts. And you're nothing to write home

about, are you, Mary? Your outfit it pretty, but not eye-catchingly sexy. No. Actually, it's pretty

forgettable.

I want to go home now and take the phone off the hook. I want to go to bed and pull the covers

over my head and pretend this whole sorry day never happened.

"Oh look, Mary," said Victor cheerfully as he put an arm around her shoulders and pulled her

close to his side. "There's your friend now. Let's go say hello."