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Lauren
by
Shannon Waverly

CHAPTER ONE

if You think Money Can't Buy Happiness, You Don't Know Where To Shop.

Lauren held up the T-shirt to better display the slogan.  This would make her
mother laugh.  "What do you think, Ma?  One for each of us?"

Audrey DeStefano didn't answer.  In fact, Lauren doubted her mother had even
heard the question.  She stood as pale and motionless as one of the
mannequins that graced the small Hyannis boutique.

"Ma?"  Alarmed, Lauren laid a hand on her mother's shoulder.  Audrey was just
fifty-five, but two years of widowhood had taken their toll.

Her hair, with its distinctive copper shade that she'd passed on to all five
of her children, was now liberally streaked with gray, and her pretty sea-
green eyes, another gift to her offspring, were dark with sorrow.  Lauren
could only wonder if her health had been adversely affected, as well, Audrey
blinked and focused.

"Let's go," she said quietly.

"Are you all right?"

"Yes.  Let's go."

Lauren frowned.  They'd barely looked at anything in this particular store.
Not that she minded.  She'd always considered recreational shopping a waste
of good time.  But her mother seemed to benefit from these Sunday excursions,
and for her mother, Lauren would do anything.

"Come on," Audrey said more urgently.  She was stand N ing in a hunched
position so that she appeared inches shorter than normal.

Lauren's internal radar switched on.  She scanned the crowded shop and, sure
enough, three racks to their left stood a woman who looked vaguely familiar.
Lauren searched her memory.

"Mrs.  Dumont," she said with a snap of her fingers.  Her mother's cheeks
flushed.

"Ma-a," she said accusingly, "you used to be good friends with her."

Audrey raised two hands and shook her head, wordlessly begging Lauren not to
push her into something she couldn't handle.

"But you haven't seen her in years.  Wouldn't you like to find out how she is
and what's been happening on Harmony?  Wouldn't it be nice to do a little
bragging about your kids and grandkids?"  Lauren was talking to thin air.
Her mother was already halfway to the door.  Lauren replaced the T-shirt and
followed.

Outside, Audrey was beating a swift retreat up the sidewalk, heedless of the
people she was bumping into.  Lauren caught up with her and gripped her by
the arm.

"Slow down, lady."  She tugged her over to a bench in front of a gourmet
fudge shop.

"Talk to me," she said, although she already knew what was bothering her
mother.

"I'm sorry."  Audrey hung her head, looking weak and embarrassed.

Lauren swayed between anger and heartbreak.

"Oh, Ma!"  she chided, softening her reprimand with an arm across her
mother's too-thin shoulders.

"So much has changed since we moved."

"Yes, thanks to you.  But to folks back home every- thing's exactly the
same."  Audrey's unthinking reference to Harmony as home wasn't lost on
Lauren.

"What they know about us is only what they remember--your father's business
schemes that never worked, his political rabble 9 rousing..."  She paused, a
pained expression sharpening the fine lines around her eyes.

"Us losing our house to the bank.  That, no doubt, is what they remember
best."

Lauren's chest tightened with frustration.  It had been twelve years since
they'd moved to Boston, but her mother's humiliation over her life on Harmony
was still as fresh as the day they'd left.

She retracted her arm and sat back, her frustration nettled with guilt.
Financial failure and losing their home weren't the only humiliations the
DeStefanos had suffered.  They'd also had to put up with a daughter who'd
gotten pregnant at fifteen.  Not just a misfortune, it had turned into a
veritable scandal because the boy was even younger.  A mere fourteen.  He was
a Hathaway, too.  A Hathaway, for pity's sake!  Lauren couldn't have messed
up worse if she'd had ten lifetimes to work on it.

She sighed, her shoulders slumping.  Although her mother never mentioned that
time in their lives anymore, Lauren knew she hadn't forgotten.  It obviously
continued to bother her, contributing to her overall embarrassment whenever
she ran into old friends.  Suddenly everything Lauren had done for herself
and her family, everything she'd worked so hard to attain, seemed like
nothing.

Damn, it wasn't nothing!  she thought with a mulish lift of her chin.

She owned and managed property worth five million dollars and added to her
holdings continually.  But it wasn't her monetary worth per se that pleased
her so much; it was the good she was able to accomplish through it.  College
educations for her siblings, weddings, vacations, loans at no interest for
cars and down payments on homes.  She even provided employment for her two
sisters.

Being the oldest, Lauren had always felt responsible for the younger kids,
and now, to her deep satisfaction, they all seemed to be doing well.  Only
her mother worried her.  Only Audrey, who'd lent Lauren her strength when
she'd needed it most.  Without her husband, she'd turned in on herself,
withdrawing from friends and activities and becoming prematurely old when she
was just in her fifties--the prime of her life.  Last fall the situation had
gotten worse when her youngest had gone off to college.

Lauren cast her mother a troubled glance.  She was still peering down the
street, on the lookout for Mrs. Dumont.  "Ma, does it really matter what
people back on Harmony think about us?"

"No."  Audrey shook her head and quietly repeated, "No."  But in her eyes
shone a great big yes.

Lauren bristled with anger, at her father, at herself, at the Hathaways who'd
made their lives so miserable.  But she was especially angry at a sorry spit
of land twelve miles out to sea.

As quickly as her anger rose, it faded, because reluctant though she was to
admit it, Lauren understood her mother's abiding affection for the island.
Once you'd lived there it was in your blood forever.

"You miss Harmony, don't you?"  Lauren said empathetic ally

Audrey concentrated on something across the street, her thin Ups pressed
tightly together.  She raised one shoulder in a careless shrug, yet tears had
welled in her eyes.

Lauren clasped her mother's hand and gave it a squeeze.  For several minutes
they sat without speaking.  Lauren's mind was far from idle, though.  For a
while now, she'd been thinking of buying her mother a house on Harmony, but
this incident convinced her she needed to get moving on it soon.

Lauren's stomach lurched unexpectedly.  She hadn't spent any appreciable time
on Harmony since leaving it at the age of eighteen.

She'd returned a year later for her best friend Cathryn McGrath's wedding,
and last fall she'd gone back to attend the combined class reunion and
memorial for their schoolmate, Amber Loring Davoll, who'd recently
died--been murdered, actually.  Then, just two months ago, she'd served as a
bridesmaid for her other lifelong friend, Julia Lewis.

Those visits didn't count, though.

She hadn't run into Cameron on any of those occasions.

But if she planned to buy a house on Harmony for her mother, she didn't see
how she could avoid it.  Finding the right house would take time, and the
island was only fifteen square miles in area.  And it would be the right
house, she vowed, one that would command respect and rekindle every bit of
her mother's lost pride.

Respect and pride were just the beginning of the benefits Lauren could
foresee resulting from her mother's return to Harmony.  Audrey had old
friends there.  Renewing those friendships, no matter how difficult at first,
would do her good.  As would resuming her favorite pastimes of gardening and
taking long brisk walks on the beach.  Those would benefit her emotionally as
much as physically.

Lauren was sure her brothers and sisters would visit often, too.  Their
mother wouldn't have a chance to miss them.  In fact, since they'd be staying
at her house whenever they went to the island, she'd probably see them more
than she did now.

And when the family wasn't visiting?  Another idea Lauren had been toying
with began to solidify into conviction.  Her mother could run the house as a
bed-and-breakfast.  Lauren had gotten the idea when she was there in April
for Julia's wedding.  She'd noticed B and Bs everywhere on the island.  Some
had been open right through the winter, too, a sign that they were in high
demand.

Yes, she'd definitely encourage her mother in that direction.  Audrey
desperately needed a sense of purpose--a business of her own would give her
that.  Lauren knew she'd enjoy the work, too.  She loved to cook, loved to
keep house and have people over.  On a couple of weekend jaunts t the
owners of those inns led enviable lives.

Of course, there was the possibility Audrey wouldn't want to stay on the
island year-round.  Not a problem.  Lauren would simply maintain her
mother's apartment in Bos- ton for the off-seasons.  And wouldn't that tweak
a few aristocratic noses--Audrey DeStefano keeping a vacation house on
Harmony!

Lauren could feel her enthusiasm building from one heartbeat to the next.  It
was mid-June.  If she started now, she might have the purchase and all its
paperwork settled by mid to late July, a perfect time to begin remodeling.
With good weather and no construction delays, the place could probably be
ready by-She jolted forward.  Shazam!  The place could probably be ready by
December.  It could be a Christmas present!  Lauren got so excited by the
idea, she wanted to jump up and shout it to the world.  But that would spoil
the surprise, and she definitely wanted her mother to be surprised.

Being a consummate realist, Lauren knew that this project would present all
kinds of problems she normally didn't encounter on the mainland, but she
would tackle those when they came along.  For now, all she wanted to think
about was how wonderful it was going to be, taking the family out to Harmony
at Christmas, seeing the look on her mother's face.  It was going to be just
great.  If only she didn't have to spend so much time there beforehand.  She
was bound to run into Cameron and his parents and their gossipy friends.  On
an island as small as Harmony, with a year-round population of barely six
hundred, the question wasn't if but when.

Her trepidation bewildered her.  She'd left Harmony brimful of anger and
vengefulness.  The Hathaways, Pro especially, had hurt her and her
family--deeply, cruelly, unfairly.  Although Lauren had fought back, a
sizable segment of Harmony had believed Mrs. Hathaway's lies.  They'd spread
the word that the DeStefano girl slept around and anyone could be the father.
But not Cam.  Never Cam.  A boy of his breeding didn't do such things, and
the only reason he'd been accused was that Tom DeStefano had put his daughter
up to it.  They were both "money-grubbing opportunists" who'd seen a chance
to lay claim to Hatha- way money through child support or a trust fund.

Later, that same segment had also believed what Pru Hathaway had said about
Lauren's miscarriage, that it was really an abortion.  She'd told people that
once Lauren and her family realized they weren't going to succeed in
"extorting" money from the Hathaways, they'd opted to dispose of the baby.
They'd had no more use for it.

What had hurt the most was that Cameron had believed it, too--Cameron, who'd
been her closest friend.  Cameron, who'd once been completely crazy about
her.  His parents had sent him away to boarding school, but when he'd come
home that Christmas he'd made a point of telling Lauren exactly what he
thought of her.

Lauren had spent three more years on Harmony, three excruciating years of
keeping her head held defiantly high and pretending she didn't care.  But she
did, and when she left, she vowed to become incredibly wealthy and return
someday to rub it in.  Oh, yes, she was going to stand up to the Hathaways
and say, Look at me.  Look who I've become.  She knew she could do it, too.
Her classmates--all nine of them--hadn't voted her Most Likely To Succeed for
nothing.

Well, here she was, not incredibly wealthy, but wealthy enough.  So what was
this reluctance she was feeling?  She was ready.  She was set.

Why couldn't she just go?

Lauren rested her head against the shingled siding of the shop behind her,
closed her eyes and searched her heart, turning over the stones of anger,
resentment, old hurts that cried out to be avenged.  On their pale
undersides she thought she glimpsed a few reasons.

Age had matured her, for one thing, and she now saw vengefulness as the
unflattering trait it was.  But lingering humiliation over her pregnancy was
also a factor.  People on Harmony had long memories, and if she'd ever
thought differently, returning for Julia's wedding had disabused her of that
idea.  Of course, no one had been rude or said anything outright, but the
look was still there in certain people's eyes, the awareness that she was
"that DeStefano girl," the one who'd gotten into trouble so young.

Lauren realized somewhat unexpectedly that she also felt fear, fear of
failing in this venture and appearing foolish.  She couldn't imagine how she
could fail in such a simple venture; still, the fear was there, probably
rooted deep in her father's misfortunes.  And then there was simply the fear
of running into the Hathaways, particularly Cameron, although why she dreaded
that so much, she couldn't say.

Humiliation.  Fear.  They were insidious emotions, undercutting a person's
best efforts, exposing vulnerabilities, and almost always guaranteeing
unhappiness.  Lauren wanted to be done with them--done with the past that
spawned them, as well.  She wanted to be able to travel to Harmony anytime
she chose and feel good about herself.  She missed her friends, Julia and
Cathryn, and wanted to start visiting them more often.  Amber's death had
awakened her to how fleeting and fragile life was.  And after years of
denial, she was finally able to admit that she missed the island, too--a lot.

Lauren opened her eyes and sighed, already feeling better.  Sometimes just
recognizing a problem was enough to begin the process of dealing with it.
She turned and gazed at her mother.

"Do you feel like shopping anymore?"

Audrey shook her head.

"I'd just like to go home."

Lauren's smile was ironic.

"Me, too, Ma."  With a quick, resolute movement, she got to her feet.

"Me, too."

cameron hathaway sat in his usual booth by the window, cutting into a stack
of Johnny cakes with molasses-- one of the specialties of the Water Street
Diner--and listening to Fred Gardiner, across the table from him, complain
about the upcoming auction of Rockland House.

Cameron wasn't listening very attentively, though.  Outside, Harmony Harbor
was coming awake.  Up and down the landward side of the street, proprietors
were preparing for another summer day, cranking out awnings on sidewalk
cafes, right-ending chairs and wiping dew off tables.  Some were watering
flower boxes.  Others were rolling out merchandise--T-shirts with island
logos, books, postcards, sunglasses, saltwater taffy, paintings of seascapes
and handcrafted jewelry.

Across the street the waterfront was coming awake, too; several people were
already on the pier, awaiting the first ferry of the day.

The sky was powder-blue this morning.  The light was sharp and bright,
gilding the east sides of things white-gold and casting west sides in stark
shadow.  Everything seemed touched by this contrast: porch railings on
Victorian hotels, bicycles in their racks, gabled roof lines cupolas,
flagpoles, dock pilings, even buoys bobbing in the channel.

Out on their moored sailboats, a few barefoot overnighters in rumpled shorts
and yesterday's shirts were savoring their first coffee of the day, their
faces, forearms and knees gilded with the same brilliant light that plated
the masts above them and the ripples of water all around.  Along the far
western curve of the harbor, Hathaway Marina caught the morning light
especially well, the slanting rays clearly delineating each building and
shed, dock and diesel pump, yacht and dinghy.

Cameron loved early morning in summer.  In a couple of hours the streets and
shops would be swarming with day- trippers and cottagers.

The buzz of mopeds and ski jets would rend the air, and the roads to the
outlying beaches would be clogged with cars.  But now, Harmony was just
about the most perfect place on earth.  even if Fred Gar- diner was bending
his ear.

But actually that was another advantage to this time of day--the year-round
regulars at the diner got a chance to socialize before the place filled with
strangers.  Of course, it wasn't as "theirs" as it got in winter.  Still,
sitting here amid the familiar clatter and clink of dishes and cutlery, with
the same old smells of bacon and coffee in the air, he had to wonder: could
winter be far behind?

"Greed.  That's all this auction is about," Fred grumbled, as he slathered
butter onto a blueberry muffin.

"Well, of course it's greed," Cameron said, nodding casually to his father
who'd just entered the diner and was heading to his favorite stool at the
counter.  Pro always cooked a hearty breakfast, but before he went to the
marina Clay liked to stop in for coffee.

"If he just wanted to unload the property, he would've set a reasonable price
on it and put it up for sale the usual way."

Fred scowled, looking more like a longshoreman than the interior designer he
really was.

"No, if he just wanted to unload it, he would've given it to the

H.  P.  L.  "

Cameron smiled, sympathizing with his friend.  As president of the Harmony
Preservation League, Fred had offered to buy Rockland House, but he'd been
turned down.  Granted, the amount he'd offered was low, but it was all the H.
P.  L.  had in its coffers.  What especially aggravated Fred, though, was
that most of the league's holdings were donated, given free and clear out of
their benefactors' appreciation for the work the organization did--yet here
was someone actually refusing its hard-earned money.  That someone was a
mainlander who'd recently inherited the island property but preferred to turn
it into cash.

"I hope the scheme blows up in his face," Fred complained

"I hope nobody shows up."  He paused.

"Oh.  Except you, of course."

"That'd be convenient."

Fred chuckled into his coffee mug.

"What the hell, if we can't have it...."  But his heavy-featured face quickly
fell again.

"Damn.  It would've become the centerpiece of our house tour in no time flat."

He shook his head, lips pressed tight with regret.

Cameron swallowed the last bite of his Johnny cakes and wiped his mouth with
a coarse paper napkin.

"Especially with its connection to the Lady Gray."

"Absolutely."  Fred's gaze became speculative.

"Maybe the H.P.L.  can work something out with you.  A few summer tours.
Benefit concerts on the lawn.  Christmas open house.  What do you think?"

Cameron thought that was a definite possibility, but all he said was, "I
think I have to get through tomorrow's auction first."

Fred waved his hand.

"You will, you will.  People here'll back off once they realize you want it."

"It isn't people from here who have me concerned.  There are going to be
off-islanders crawling all over the place, including developers."

"So?"  Fred countered in a cavalier tone.

"You're going to be there, too, aren't you?  Stop worrying.  You'll get the
house.  At a decent price, too."

Cameron could only hope.  He'd always admired Rock- land House, even as a
kid, but lately his admiration had grown to an obsession.  The book he was
currently writing, Legends of Harmony, Massachusetts, was undoubtedly to
blame.

His favorite legend involved a schooner from Rockland, Maine, called the Lady
Gray that went aground on the shoals off Harmony during a brutal nor' easter
in December of 1843.  By the time the Harmony lifesavers could get out to
the vessel, most of its crew, including its captain, John Gray, had been
swept overboard.  However they did save his wife, half frozen though she was.
Isabel had climbed the rigging and hung on for dear life--her own, of
course, but also the life of the child she was carrying--and unfortunately
lost soon after.

Isabel Gray was a strong, free-thinking woman for her day.  Instead of
returning to her native Rockland, she chose to build a house on Harmony, one
befitting the wife of a wealthy sea merchant, and there she remained the rest
of her life, so averse was she to leaving her husband.

Apparently he couldn't bear to leave her, either, because before she died
forty years later she'd seen his ship at least two dozen times, or so she
said, appearing as if it were made of glass and filled with white fire.

The story might have ended there, been chalked up to the delusions of a
grief-crazed woman, but after her death several other people professed to
seeing the ghost ship, too, and thus the legend took hold.

Time had added details, one version claiming that if a person saw the ship it
meant he'd be lucky in love, another claiming just the opposite, while yet
another maintained that the ship materialized simply to warn of approaching
storms.

Cameron's favorite spin on the tale alleged that the Lady Gray was caught in
time, trying to navigate the shoals correctly to come for Isabel, but
whenever it reached the spot where it went down, it disappeared.  Trapped in
this cycle, John and his wife were fated to remain apart throughout eternity.

Others, however, believed he would get through one day; he would finally
reach Isabel, and when that happened the ship would sail away and never be
seen again.  But there was no explanation as to how or why this would finally
occur.  Cameron figured some folks just couldn't tolerate unhappy endings.

Whatever the reality, the Lady Gray made for a fascinating legend, and
Cameron thought the house that was so integral to it deserved to be properly
restored and preserved.  Even without the legend, Cameron would've felt that
way.  It was a beautifully designed house and a unique structure, the only
Greek Revival mansion on the island.

Cameron was just the person to tackle the restoration, too.  At the age of
twenty-nine--young, some people thought--he was already considered something
of an expert on island history and architecture.

He'd written two books and several articles on these subjects.  He'd helped
with a few important restorations.  And for the past couple of years, he'd
also served as chairman of the Historic District Commission.

"What are you planning to do with the place, anyway?"  asked Asa Hodge, owner
of the Water Street Diner, showing not the least compunction over
eavesdropping on Cam's conversation with Fred.  A few of the stools at the
counter squeaked as customers, including Clayton Hathaway, turned to glance
in his direction.

Cameron sent his father a private smile, full of love and respect.

All the values he prized most in himself had been instilled by this man: his
work ethic, his appreciation for their heritage, his reverence for the island
and the waters surrounding it, and of course the Hathaway sense of
responsibility to maintain it all.

Cameron lifted his coffee mug and sipped thoughtfully before answering Asa.
A mistake.  Birdie Ames, who worked as a taxi driver in summer, jumped into
his pause.  "Fixed up, it'd make a mighty nice wedding gift for a new wife,
don't you think?"

Cameron heard a few muffled snickers.

"That it would, Birdie," he replied, ^if a guy was planning to get married
anytime soon.  " He refused to discuss whether he and Erica had set a date
yet, which was the only information Birdie actually wanted.  She wasn't alone
in her curiosity.  His mother, eager to throw herself into wedding
preparations, kept bugging him, too.  Even his father was beginning to irk
him with his frequent reminders that he was the only Hathaway of his
generation, and if he didn't have kids, he'd be the last Hathaway, ever, and
everything they owned, everything they meant or had ever meant for more than
three hundred years would go down the tubes.

Cameron had every intention of getting married someday and having kids.  He
had no desire to see his heritage die out or the family holdings dissipated.
Besides, marriage was simply and inevitably the way life went.  However, he
wouldn't he rushed into anything.

"Getting back to Asa's question," Cameron said, much to Birdie's
disappointment,

"I intend to do the same thing the Preservation League would do if it owned
Rockland House, except it'll be a private venture."

Skip Reed, who hired out a fishing boat for a living, tipped back his grimy
billed cap and squinted at Cam from his stool beside Birdie's.

"You planning to open it as a museum house?"

"That's what I'm hoping.  Skip."

"And you'll be living there, too, right?"  Fred interjected with a mournful
sigh.

"Of course.  That'll be the best part.  But I do want to share the house with
the public in some capacity."

Billy Davis, who served on the zoning board with Cameron father, was sitting
in the next booth.  He turned and hooked his arm over the top of the red
vinyl bench.

"Makes sense, with you being so interested in history and all."

Lucy Femandes, one of the diner's waitresses, was making her way down the
aisle, refilling coffee cups.  She was a stout woman in her fifties with
teased blond hair flattened into a helmet under a hairnet.

"You know, I've got a desk that used to be in that house," she said,
approaching the booth Cam shared with Fred.

He glanced up at her with new interest.

"That right?"

"Yup.  Addie and Doc Smith gave it to my father in payment for some
wallpapering he once did for them.  They said it had been there when they
bought the house."  She took a moment to fill Cameron's cup, then Fred's.

"Tell you what, doll.  You buy that house and I'll give you the desk.  Sort
of a starter-upper on your restoration."

Cameron didn't know what to say, he was so touched by her generosity.

She seemed to understand.  She smiled, squeezed his shoulder and moved on.

Billy Davis turned again.

"Will you make enough money running that place as a museum to justify the
expense you're facing?"

"I doubt it, Billy," Cameron admitted.  Erica was skeptical, too.  She saw
the house as an endless money drain, and it probably was.  But Cameron was so
taken with the idea of creating and overseeing his very own museum, it didn't
matter.  Obsessions were like that, he supposed.

He realized suddenly that they were all talking as if the sale were a done
deal.

"As I said before, this is just speculation.  The only thing I'm sure of
right now is that I'm going to show up at the auction tomorrow and try to
keep the place from being sold to somebody who won't appreciate it.  After
that, my plan is simply to take it one day at a time."

Billy nodded as if Cameron had said something profound.

"Well, I wish you luck, son," he murmured, and others along the counter added
their support and encouragement.  His father rubbed a hand over his mouth,
trying unsuccessfully to cover his proud grin.

Warmed by the goodwill of his friends and neighbors, Cameron relaxed into the
corner of his booth and gazed out the window at Water Street again.  He felt
contented today.

Optimistic.  Maybe it was because of the camaraderie at the diner, or maybe
because he really liked the book he was working on.  Chances were, however,
that it had more to do with the prospect of becoming owner of Rockland House.
He hadn't been so excited about anything since.  well, he couldn't remember
when.

The familiar blare of an air horn cut through his thoughts.  "Thar she
blows," Asa announced, swinging from the pass-through window with two plates
of waffles.  Cameron shifted his attention to the outer harbor.

The three-decker ferry was just coming abreast of the breakwater, the sun
washing its port flank with light.

"I hear you've got a new computer coming in today," Fred said with a nod
toward the harbor.

"Yep.  The one I use now is only seven years old, but it's already considered
a dinosaur.  Trouble is, I'm used to my dinosaur.  And quite frankly, I'm not
looking forward to learning all that new software."

Cameron hailed the waitress with a barely-lifted hand.

Lucy sauntered over, her panty hose singing as her thighs scraped together.

"What can I do for you, doll?"

"The tab, please?"

"Mine too.  Luce," Fred said.

Clay Hathaway slid off his stool and came to stand at Cameron's booth with
his coffee mug.  Cameron had inherited his father's straight brown hair,
blue-gray eyes and solid, compact build.  He hoped he'd also inherited his
propensity for staying fit and trim well into middle age.

"Need any help carrying that computer to your car, Son?"

"Sure.  Thanks.  But let's wait till the crowd thins."

Clay nodded and slipped into the booth, beside him.

The three men had long since settled their checks by the time the ferry
docked, but out of habit they'd remained in their seats, watching passengers
disembark and vehicles roll out of the car bin.  The crowd was still thick
and swarming when Cameron noticed Anne MacDugal, a local Realtor, waiting by
her car in the parking lot across the street.  Anne's meeting the ferry
wasn't anything new.  Usually it just meant a prospective buyer was coming
in.  At that moment, however, she pushed away from her car and waved, and
Cameron's gaze automatically moved to the person striding toward her.  His
gaze moved on--then ricocheted back.  All at once he couldn't breathe.  He
felt his color drain.

His father slid closer.

"Is that who I think it is?"  he asked in an undertone.

"I'm not sure."  Yeah, right.  With hair that color, who else could it be?

' "Whatsa matter?"  Fred asked, leaning over the table and speaking in the
same hushed tone.  Neither Cameron nor his father answered.  Fred was a
relatively new resident of Harmony.  He didn't know Lauren, but now was
hardly the time to fill him in.

"Oh, my gawd," Lucy exclaimed, pausing as she walked by.

"I think that's Laurie DeStef" -- She swallowed the rest of her sentence, her
rabbity eyes darting to Cameron, then darting away.

"Who's Laurie DeStef?"  Fred asked.  Still nobody answered.

The diner had grown unnaturally quiet.  Cameron didn't have to turn around to
know people were looking at him.

It hadn't been easy to live down that business with Lauren.  His parents
sending him to boarding school had helped a little.  So had the abortion
she'd opted to have.  People didn't like that, and so their sympathy had
swung to him.  Nevertheless, when he'd come back to Harmony three years
later, he'd still felt he'd done something freakish.  He'd heard the
whispering.  He'd seen the censure behind neighbors's smiles and known their
daughters had been warned to stay away from him.

Eventually, though, he had moved past it.  No magic formula.  What had done
the trick was just gutting it out.  He'd worked hard for his father, pursued
constructive personaU interests and become involved in community
organizations.  Another thing he'd done was learn not to take himself so|
seriously.  Hell, everyone made mistakes.  In slow increments his friends and
neighbors had eventually come to relax and see him as just one more person
like themselves, making up the warp and woof of island life.

But in the space of an eye blink, all of Cameron's efforts dissolved.

Time contracted and suddenly he was fourteen again.  He could feel his ears
warming, his heart thudding in his throat.  Fourteen.  So much in love.
Fourteen.  So much in trouble.

Someone at the counter said,

"I hear she's worth a bundle these days."

"Yep.  Real estate," another familiar voice replied.

"She always did know how to turn a buck, even as a kid.  Remember how she
used to sell Christmas cards door- to-door?"

"And picnic baskets to day-trippers."

' "And that ice-cream cart she had on the beach.  What a gold mine that was."

"Too bad her old man didn't pay attention."

There was a quick snort of laughter and then silence again.  Cameron ic-ew
people expected him to break the tension, but he couldn't.  He didn't know
what to say.

Mesmerized, he watched the pantomime in the parking lot across the
street--Lauren introducing herself to the Realtor.  That made sense.

Anne MacDugal had come to Harmony after the DeStefanos had left.

Fred had finally figured out who they were talking about.

"Whew, she's a beauty," he said, then added with a self- conscious cough,
"what I can see of her from here."

Cameron felt the heat that was pinking his ears spread to his cheeks.

He'd wondered about Lauren over the years, what she'd look like.

She'd been a tall girl when he'd known her, five-five or five-six, which
wasn't really so tall except that he'd always been shorter.  He remembered
her as a sturdily built girl, too, with well-developed breasts and rounded
hips and a straight, strong back.  So much a woman already at just fifteen.

At the age of thirty, she didn't appear any taller or heavier, yet her
womanliness had deepened and intensified.  Cameron could see it, almost feel
it, even from fifty feet away.

She wore her hair chin-length now.  The last time Cam had seen her, it had
reached the middle of her back.  Her teenage uniform of T-shirt and jeans was
also gone, replaced by a sleeveless white pantsuit, worn with a flowing
cocoa-colored scarf, matching sandals and shoulder bag.  She looked polished
and pulled together, every inch the mover and shaker he'd heard she was.  Cam
swore.  He didn't like having things moved or shaken, especially here on
Harmony.

"Do you know anything about this?"  his father asked quietly.

With his breath still cramped in his lungs, Cameron replied,

"Not a thing."

They continued to watch as Lauren slipped her suitcase into the back seat of
the Realtor's sedan.  Her movements were brisk and confident, her shoulders
squared.  A person might almost think she knew she was being observed.  Then
she, too, got in the car, and it eased into traffic.

Cameron expelled a long breath when it was gone.  He felt as if a storm had
blown through and, glancing around the diner, was surprised not to see any
wreckage.

"Well, let's go get that computer," Clay suggested.

The computer.  Cameron had completely forgotten.  He slid out of the booth
after his father, wrapped himself in!  cool disinterest and gave the row of
spectators at the| counter a look that said,

"No skin off this nose."  | "Have a good one," Asa called.

"You, too."  He opened the heavy glass door, and he,l Fred and his father
stepped outside.

The sun was still shining on Harmony, Cameron's homej Cameron's joy, but he
no longer noticed or even cared.  He was too busy wondering what Lauren was
doing here, why she was meeting a real estate agent, and why, of all times,!
now.

As he crossed the street, his thoughts turned to Rockland House and the
auction that would determine its fate.

"She wouldn't dare," he muttered.

His father didn't have to ask what he meant.

CHAPTER TWO

lauren settled into the passenger seat of the Realtor's Buick.

"It was nice of you to come meet me, Anne."

"My pleasure.  I realize my office is only a couple of blocks from the pier,
but when you're carrying luggage, two blocks can feel like ten.

How was the trip over?  "

"Nice.  Calm.  But I couldn't believe the number of people on board.  I don't
remember the ferry ever being so crowded."

"Well, it is July, and this is a Friday."  Anne slowed to a stop at a traffic
jam near the intersection of Water and Center Streets.

"How long are you planning to stay?"

"Three days.  I'll be leaving Sunday."

"Oh, that'll give you plenty of time to look at what's available.

Will you be doing anything recreational while you're here?  "

' "So far the only plan I have is to visit some friends.  In fact, I'll be
seeing them this evening."  Lauren had called Cathryn and Julia earlier in
the week to let them know she was coming.

Characteristically, Cathryn had immediately planned a cookout at her house.

"I think you may know them.  Cathryn and Dylan McGrath and the Grants, Julia
and Ben?"

"Oh, yes."  Anne smiled warmly.

"Dylan's a marvelous landscape!"  and Cathryn I know from the P.  T.  A.  Of
course, everyone knows Julia from her radio show and Ben from the newspaper.
They're great people.  "

"They sure are.  Cath and Julia are my oldest friends.  W( grew up together."

"Is that right?"  Traffic began moving again, and scxs Anne was able to turn
up Center Street.

"Then you must'v known the young woman who died last year."

"Amber?  Oh, yes.  The four of us were the entire female contingent of our
class.  We couldn't help but be close."  | Taking a left onto Market Street,
Anne said,

"Her death was such a shock."

"Tell me about it.   It was hardest on Julia, though.   She and Amber were
always best buddies.   I tended to hang ouu more with Cathryn."   Lauren
caught the Realtor's quizzical glance and laughed.

"I know.  We seem like such opposites She's so domestic, and I hardly know
one end of a broom from the other."  That wasn't exactly true, but they were|
definitely different--Lauren, career-minded and indepen^ dent, a hard-edged
scrapper; Cathryn, mild-spoken and, mannerly, a mother and wife.

Anne pulled up to a trim two-story house that had been converted to offices.

"Would you like to leave your luggage inside while we're visiting properties?"

"That'd be great."  Lauren had made hotel reservations, but check-in wasn't
until three in the afternoon.

Anne unlocked the front door and led the way through the reception area to
her private office.

"Make yourself comfortable and I'll get us some coffee."

While the Realtor was gone, Lauren unclasped a manila envelope and took out
the listings she'd received in the mail the week before.

Apparently Harmony was undergoing a construction boom--lots of huge modern
dwellings with vast expanses of glass, vaulted ceilings, Jacuzzi baths and
decks galore.  Lauren thought they were great, but those types of houses
didn't seem right for her mother.  Audrey was a traditional woman with
traditional tastes.  ; "I see you got my package," Anne said, returning with
a tray.

"Did you see anything you like?"

"Oh, sure."  Lauren positioned the stapled photocopies so the Realtor could
see the listings she'd circled.

After skimming the final sheet, Anne looked up.

"You realize some of these places will need significant updating."

Lauren sipped her coffee.

"Yes.  I saw the notations-- " Needs T.  L.  C.  "

Don't worry, I'm used to renovation.  "

"And their size doesn't bother you?"

"No.  I want a place with four or more bedrooms.  If they're not in place
already, I'll take a house with expansion possibilities."  Lauren hadn't told
Anne she intended the house for her mother.  Nor had she explained it might
be used as a bed-and-breakfast.  The more people who knew, the more likely
word would get back to Audrey.  In fact, the only people Lauren had confided
in so far, besides her siblings, were Julia and Cathryn.

' "Is it possible for us to visit some of those places right away?"

Anne glanced at her barely touched coffee and laughed.  "I see you're a person
who doesn't like to waste time.  Sure, we can look at four of the houses
without appointments.  They're unoccupied and I have the keys.  The others
will just take a phone call."

"Great.  One other request, Anne.  Before we visit a house, will you tell me
who owns it?"  Lauren wanted to avoid showing up at a place the Hathaways
were selling.  Business between them was out of the question, and since they
owned a lot of property, that was a possibility she had to consider.

If the real estate agent found the request odd, she hid her reaction well.

"Sure.  No problem."

Relieved by Anne's assurance, Lauren picked up her coffee and took a slow
sip.  There are seven houses, have lunch with Anne at a sidewalk cafe, rent a car,
check into her hotel, shower, an stroll up and down Water Street.  And that
was all befon heading over to Cathryn and Dylan's.

Julia and Ben were already there when she arrived.  Julia was taking the
night off from her radio show, letting Pres- ton Finch, the former owner of
WHAR, sit in for her.

Cathryn handed Lauren a glass of white wine.

"A refill, Julia?"

Still radiating the happiness of a newlywed, Julia waved her off.

"No, I'm fine.  Cam.  Thanks."

They were on the rear deck, watching Dylan tend swordfish steaks on a grill.
Ben was helping by turning the vegetables.  The early evening air was warm
and humid an punctuated by the squeals of the McGraths's three child re
playing on a nearby swing set.

"So, how did the house-hunting go?"  Cathryn asked, dropping into a chair
beside Julia.  Seeing them side by side, Lauren was reminded that Cathryn had
put on weight since graduation, enough to be verging on plump.  At one time
she and Julia, who was 'still as slim as a fashion model, had worn the same
size.

"It was okay," Lauren replied.

"We managed to loot at seven houses today."  She then proceeded to describe
the places she'd seen.

"You don't sound too enthusiastic," Julia commentec when Lauren's recital
wound down.

"I don't, do I?  Well, it was only the first day.  Something better's bound
to surface."

Wielding a pair of barbecue tongs, Ben agreed.

"A loi of houses come up for sale in the fall--people waiting til summer's
over."  For no apparent reason that Lauren coulc discern, he glanced at his
wife and smiled.  Melted, actually Lauren wasn't in the market to be married
anytime soon, but at that moment she truly envied the Grants.

"What are you looking for, anyway?"  Dylan asked.

"Oh, something roomy with a nice piece of land.  A Victorian farmhouse would
be ideal.  My mother loves Victorian houses.  They have so much charm, and
they make great bed-and-breakfasts.  But so far I haven't seen anything
sufficiently" -- she paused, searching for the right word "--impressive."

"Oh, if impressive is what you want," Dylan said on a wry laugh, "you should
check out Rockland House."

"Rockland House?  You mean that big old mausoleum on Cliff Road, the house
with the ghost?"

"That's the one."

Ten-year-old Justin broke away from his younger sister and brother and leaped
the steps to the deck.

"What's this?"  he asked, dark eyes gleaming.  His sudden interest made
everyone laugh.

"We're not serious.  Jus," his mother said.

"You know there's no such thing as ghosts."

Cathryn was a die-hard romantic and Lauren was certain she did believe in the
ghost of Rockland House, but for her son's sake she couldn't very well admit
such a thing.  As for herself, Lauren didn't believe a lick of that rumor.
She'd had all the romanticism knocked out of her ages ago.

Justin hoisted himself onto the deck rail.

"Where is this house, anyway?"

"Oh, not far from the harbor," Cathryn explained.

"You know where Water Street takes that sharp turn and becomes Cliff Road?"

"Yeah," Justin replied.

"Well, that's where the house is, just after the turn."

Lauren couldn't believe she'd missed it.  She must've gone by the place at
least three times today.

"Is it really for sale?"

"Actually, it's going to be auctioned," Dylan said.

Lauren paused with her wineglass halfway to her lips.  "A bank foreclosure?"
There were sometimes bargains to he had at bank auctions.  She'd stumbled
upon a few herself.

"No.  It's the owner's choice.  I've never heard of anything like that
before.  Have you?"

"Yes.  It isn't common, but it happens.  I'm surprised: Anne didn't tell me
about it."  Lauren paused.

"Then again,; maybe not.  No commission in it for her."

A moment later, Dylan announced that the fish was done.

"Great," Cathryn said.

"Come on, everybody.  Sit down.  Kids, go wash your hands."  | Lauren took a
seat at a long, beautifully set picnic table ; decorated with a summery
bouquet of daisies, orange lilies and deep blue delphiniums.

"Does anyone know when the auction is?"  she asked, nipping out a
delphinium-blue napkin.  ; "Saturday morning at eleven, I believe," Ben told
her.  "Are you interested?"  ; Before Lauren could answer, Julia said,

"You really don't want to burden yourself with that house, Laur.: There's so
much work to be done."

' "You're looking for a different style of architecture, any; way," Ben added.

"Rockland House predates Victorian architecture

j "What is it, exactly?"  Lauren inquired, accepting a has1 ket of warm rolls
from Cathryn.  She had only a fuzzy rec- i ollection of the place--which she
took as an indication of| how impressed she'd ever been by it.  ^ "I think
they call it Greek Revival."

Greek Revival?  Lauren associated Greek Revival with tall columns and cold
blocks of stone, monuments and public buildings.  She couldn't recall
anything like that on Harmony.

"I'd still be interested in attending the auction," she said, "just out of
curiosity."

"Would you mind if I tagged along?"  Cathryn asked.

"Of course not.  I'd love the company."

"Great.  I'll see if I can get my mother to watch the kids."

They were well into the meal when Justin finally said, "Okay, I've waited
long enough.  What's the deal with the ghost at that house you were talking
about?"

"There is no ghost," Cathryn repeated.

Julia smiled at the child sympathetically.

"But there's a cool story that goes along with Rockland House.  In fact, I
thought everybody on Harmony knew it by at least the second grade."  She
glanced at his parents, silently asking their permission to tell it.  They
both nodded.

Lauren hadn't thought about the legend of the Lady Gray in a long time, but
now, as Julia related it in her beautifully resonant voice, it all came back.

"How do you remember the details so well?"  she asked when Julia had finished.

Julia opened her mouth to answer but then simply froze, not a syllable
forthcoming.  Her husband, frowning over her silence, tried to step in.

"A few weeks ago Julia taped an interview with " But suddenly he winced and
whatever he'd been about to say was lost in a grunt.

"I just have a good memory," Julia said, pushing a bowl of greens at Ben.

"More salad, hon?"

Later that evening Julia apologized for the abrupt change of subject.

' "The person Ben was about to name was Cameron Hathaway."  The three women
were sitting at the kitchen table over iced tea and cookies, watching the men
and children outside feeding the koi in a pond Dylan had recently installed.

"Cameron's writing a book on island legends, and I did an interview with him
for my show.  During the interview he told the story of the Lady Gray."

made an effort to not lower her eyes.

"Oh, I see."

"I don't know why I reacted like that," Julia moaned.  "Poor Ben.  His
shins'11 probably be bruised for a week."

Lauren gazed out the windows toward the fishpond, illuminated by artfully
placed spotlights.  The children were crouched like gargoyles on the
perimeter stones, their attention fixed on the pool.

"Please don't feel you have to tiptoe around the subject of me and Cam and my
pregnancy, Jules.  A lot of water's flowed under that bridge."

"I... wasn't sure.  You and I didn't get to talk about it much when it
happened.  My mother died that same year, and I was too caught up in my own
problems to really pay attention to yours.  Most of what I heard came in bits
and pieces.  And later I didn't see any point in bringing up an issue you
were trying to put behind you."

Lauren sipped her tea reflectively.

"Do you want to talk about it now?"

"If you don't mind.  I still don't fully understand what went on.  Why the
two families fought, for instance.  Why they made a bad situation infinitely
worse."

Lauren traced a pattern through the condensation on her glass.

"You mean, besides our obvious social disparity?"

Julia looked skeptical.

"I know the Hathaways have money...."

"They're also one of the oldest families on the island.  In fact, there was a
Hathaway among the original settlers here in the 1660s.

Hence their charming habit of acting as if they still own the island.  "

"Actually," Cathryn interjected, "they still own quite a lot--a few stores,
the marina, some houses and land."

"Yes, but do you really think that mattered?"  Julia asked.

"I sure do," Lauren said.

"If we'd had any money, maybe they would've overlooked our lack of pedigree.
But probably not."

Doubt continued to cloud Julia's eyes.

"There had to be more to it."

"Oh, there was," Cathryn chimed in.

"Lauren's father had a long-standing political rivalry with Clay Hathaway."

"Really?"

Nodding, Lauren explained.

"My father used to be quite a rabble-rouser in his day.  He was always
getting petitions up for one thing or another and arguing at town meetings."

"Now, see!"  Julia exclaimed.

"I didn't know that."

"Generally his views were progressive," Lauren went on, "which meant he spent
most of his time banging heads with the old conservative element here, the
people who wanted things to stay just as they'd been for generations."

"People like the Hamaways."

' "Right.  Usually my father only managed to be a pain in the island's
collective conservative butt, but occasionally he got something changed.  One
of those changes was an important tax reform that bit hard into the big
landowners' pockets."

"Ah," Julia said, but as her understanding deepened, the sound changed to

"Ooh!"

"" Ooh," is right.  That's why the families wigged out when I got pregnant.
They'd already been trading major sniper fire for years."

"And, boy, did they wig out!"  Cathryn added.

"Lauren's dad and Clay Hathaway even had a fistfight."

"I heard about that, although I never really knew what caused it."

Lauren sighed.

"The talk Mrs. Hathaway was spreading.  My father wanted it stopped."  There
was no need to explain to Julia what that talk was.  Everybody had heard it.

Reaching for an oatmeal cookie, Julia said,

"Maybe your father should've had the fistfight with Pru."

"I wish.  I could've sold tickets to that."

The three women were still laughing when the childrer came tramping into the
house, followed by Ben and Dylan Somehow Cathryn got them all down to the
basement rec room, and the conversation continued.

"I hope you realize that nobody who knew you believec that anyone but Cameron
was the father," Julia said.

"Whc else could it've been?  You two were crazy about eact: other."

Lauren sighed again, reluctant to think back too carefully.

"Funny how that happened.  We'd known each othel forever, and then, wham" --
"No, it was not wham," Cathryn insisted.

"You'd had crushes on each other for a couple of years."

' "But the earlier stuff was all so innocent, nothing more than walking home
from school together, maybe holding hands."

"And sneaking kisses in the cemetery," Cathryn teased ' "All right, so we
kissed, too.  But we didn't officially 'gc together' until the summer after
freshman year."

"Our freshman year," Cathryn elucidated.

"Cameron' eighth grade."

A prolonged silence fell over the table, punctuated b; the sounds of cheers
and laughter from the basement wher a game of air hockey was in progress.
Lauren,;suspecte< her friends were thinking how young the average eighth-
grader was.  She would've liked to defend Cameron by saying he'd been mature
for his age, but' she couldn't.  He'< been a kid, with a kid's face and a
kid's body and, in man; ways, a kid's interests.  In height he'd only come up
to he eyebrows.

He'd probably weighed less than she did, too She didn't think he'd even
started shaving yet.

Still, there'd been something about him that had drawr her, something that
had set him apart from the other boys Maybe it was just the nattering fervor
of his youthful feelings for her.  Or maybe anyone would've looked good to
her that summer, considering how curious she'd been about sex--one of the
hazards of being fifteen, she supposed.

At the time, though, she'd believed it was Cameron, simply and innately
Cameron.  She'd adored his face, everything about it, from his mysterious
blue-gray eyes to the very curve of his ears.  God pity her, she'd liked his
body, too.  Cameron had a Michael J.  Fox sort of cuddliness she'd found
irresistible.  Seductive, even.

Although Lauren knew her attraction to him was mostly hormonal, she also
remembered enjoying Cameron's company.  Compared to her family, who never
knew what the next minute might bring--if the roof was going to cave in or Ed
McMahon show up at the front door--Cameron was amazingly calm and grounded.
He knew exactly who he was, where he'd come from and where he was going.

' "I have a dumb question," Julia said, interrupting Lauren's reverie.

"Your parents, both sets, must've known you were seeing each other...."

"For a while they only suspected.  We did a pretty good job of hiding it."

"Even so, why didn't they do something to break you up?"

"Oh, they did.  Cam and I were always getting grounded and made to swear we'd
stay away from each other."

"And we all know how well that worked," Cathryn said dryly.

"Unfortunately."  Lauren averted her gaze.  Punishment had only inflamed
their fascination with each other.  They'd begun meeting more often, taking
off in his boat to deserted coves.  Unexpectedly, memories she'd been trying
to avoid scrolled across her mind, memories of a sweltering August--and of
her and Cameron discovering their sexuality.  The wonder of it.  The terror.
The obsession.  Lauren could feel her face warning.  She usually didn't
admit it, but sb and Cameron had experienced quite an intense relationshi]
after they started making love, a relationship she'd never been able to
replicate since.

"Mind if I ask another dumb question?"  Julia inquired "When exactly did you
realize you were pregnant?"

"The end of September.  I'd been a sophomore for all o three weeks."

Chuckling, Cathryn nudged Lauren's forearm.

"Did you ever tell Julia how Cameron proposed to you?"

"Cam proposed?"

"Ca-ath!"  Lauren wailed, remembering that long ag day in the school
cafeteria.  She didn't feel so much embarrassed as she did disloyal to a
young, sincere boy wh( hadn't known any better.  Most kids, most men for that
matter, would've panicked hearing they'd gotten a girl pregnant.  But
Cameron.  Fourteen years old, and he'd looked her straight in the eye and
calmly said,

"Don't worry, Laurie.  This is great.  Now we can get married."

"Did you accept?"  Julia asked.

"Of course not.  Embassador of tact that I am, I think laughed."

"Oh, God.  Lauren!"

"Hey, I was scared.  Give me a break."  She was also , realist.  The oldest
of five, she knew all about having babie and the difficulties that came with
raising them.  Cameron on the other hand, was an only child, and a privileged
one at that.

Troubled by her answer, he'd asked her what she intended to do instead.

"Do I have a choice?  I plan to gc home and tell my parents,"

she'd replied brokenheartedly knowing even then that once their parents took
control of their relationship, it would never be the same again.  Anc it
wasn't.  That evening Lauren had told her parents, her parents had phoned the
Hathaways--and a couple of days later Cameron was gone, sent away to a
boarding school at the back of beyond.

Lauren drummed her fingers on the table.

"Can we talk about something besides me?"

"Of course."  Julia's demeanor lost all traces of teasing.  "But before we
do, I want you to know I never for a minute believed the rumor that you got
rid of the baby.  That was just Pru Hathaway again, right?"

Lauren nodded and stared out the window at the deepening darkness.

"I

can understand how easy it was for people to think I did, though.  The amount
of time I spent in the hospital was just about right.  "

"Did the doctors ever tell you what went wrong?"

"The standard answer.  Stress.  I was in poor shape, too.  Hadn't been eating
or sleeping well."

"And little wonder, the way everyone around you was fighting,"

Cathryn inserted.

"Didn't the Hathaway s want you to go away to a home for unwed mothers and
give the baby up for adoption?"

"Yes."  They'd even offered to pay, that was how badly they'd wanted her away
from Harmony and out of their sight.  But her parents had insisted they'd
raise the baby themselves, and while the two households battled, Lauren began
to spot and have cramps.  She didn't tell her mother, however, until nearly
the end of October.  Audrey had immediately bundled her off to a hospital on
the mainland, but by then the situation was too far gone.  The next morning,
Lauren had miscarried.

"Question," Julia said angrily.

"Why the hell did Pru say you had an abortion?"

"Who knows?  Probably just to galvanize Cam's dislike of me.  She succeeded
admirably, too."  Lauren clenched her hands in her lap and hoped she wasn't
betraying how hurt she still felt deep inside.

"Since the day I told him I was pregnant, I've only talked to him once.  That
was when he came home for Christmas vacation that first year."  She
swallowed over an infuriating thickness in her throat.

"He made it clear he thought I was dirt and wanted nothing more to do with
me.  After that, I only saw him a handful of times, and we always kept our
distance."

Three sighs lifted from the table at once.

"I'm so depressed," Julia said.

After nearly a minute of silence Cathryn got up, opened the freezer, and took
out a carton of ice cream.

"This is what we need."

"Awright!  Cherry Garcia!"  Lauren cheered, feeling it was her responsibility
to lead the way.

As they were filling their bowls she found the courage to ask,

"How is he, anyway?"

"Cameron?"  Cathryn seemed surprised by the question.  "Good.  He still works
with his father.  He's a full business partner these days."  ; "Of course.
What else could he become but a professional Hathaway?"

j "As I mentioned, he writes, too," Julia said.  ; "So I've heard," Lauren
murmured.

"He's also engaged to be married," Cathryn said, her, remark hitting Lauren
like a two-by-four.

"Her name's Erica Meade.  She's the daughter of an ex-senator and a
Philadelphia socialite--friends of the Hathaways.  Her family's had a summer
home here for years.  When she and Cam started seeing each other a year ago,
she moved to the; house permanently and got a job at the school."  I "At the
school?"  \ "Mmm.  She teaches second grade," Cathryn explained.  "And, yes,
I know it's odd, someone from a moneyed family teaching.  But she's pretty
down-to-earth."

"Really?"  Lauren added an extra scoop to her bowl.  "When are they getting
married?"

"As far as I know, they haven't set a date yet, but there are rumors it may
be this Christmas."

"Ah.  Well, I wish them the best."  Lauren sat down and dug into her ice
cream.  After a moment she realized the room was awfully quiet.

She looked up.  Both friends were staring at her.

"What!"

"You still haven't gotten over him, have you?"  Cathryn said.

"Good Lord, it's been fifteen years.  We were babies," Lauren protested.

"Of course I've gotten over him--unless you're referring to the bad feelings
between us.  Those haven diminished."

Cathryn heaved an enormous sigh.

"Then I guess it's silly for me to keep hoping you'll move back here someday."

Lauren's chuckle contained no mirth.

"Not unless the Hathaways move off the island first."  She poked her spoon
into her ice cream for a while, then glanced at her friend.  "You want me to
move back?"

Cathryn threw her an impatient glare.

"I've always wanted that.  And now that Jules is here, think of the fun the
three of us could have, shopping and visiting and going to the beach
together."  Her face suddenly lit up.

"And what if we all had babies at about the same time!"  When Lauren and
Julia pretended to choke, she added, undaunted, "Sure.  Wouldn't it be great
for the three of us to be pregnant together, swapping complaints of swollen
ankles and how often we got up during the night to pee?"

"Sounds marvelous."  Lauren rolled her eyes.

"Dam right.  And after the kids were born, we could help each other out with
advice and baby-sitting, and later we could get together for play group."

"Slow down."  Julia leaned across the table.

"There's a flaw in your scenario."

"No, there isn't."  You and Ben plan to have kids.  Right?"

Julia's smile quickly turned from mocking to dreamy, and again Lauren found
herself envious of the Grants' happiness.

"Well, yes.  Someday."

"There you go.  And I wouldn't mind having a fourth."

Lauren cleared her throat loudly.

"And what about me?"

"Hmm."  Cathryn pondered.

"We'll just have to find you a husband, Laur."

"Why?"  Lauren asked.

"Not having one never stopped me in the past."

Julia and Cathryn burst out laughing.

"I'm glad you said it," Julia admitted.

Cathryn added,

"Maybe we can press Cameron into service again."

"Oh, please."  Lauren threw back her head.

Gradually, Julia's laughter subsided to a soft smile.

"It would be nice, wouldn't it?"  She gazed at Lauren.

"Isn't there anybody on the horizon?"

Lauren sighed as she answered.

"Afraid not."  She dated, but no one seriously.  She simply didn't have time
for that sort of involvement.

"Ah, well," Cathryn said philosophically, "with your mother living here, at
least we'll get to see you more often.  We can be happy about that."

"Yes.  And I will visit.  I've missed you two."  Lauren hadn't realized how
much until tonight.  She'd made hundreds of acquaintances since leaving
Harmony, but none of those people knew her as well, or shared as many
experiences, or could pull laughter from so deep a place inside her as these
two women.  Oldest friends.  There was nothing on earth that could compare.

On a wave of affection, Lauren reached to her right and took Cathryn's hand,
reached to her left and took Julia's.  Inadvertently her gaze lifted to the
fourth side of the table, the empty side, and her heart ached.

No one said a word.  but Lauren knew her friends were thinking about Amber,
too.  Simultaneously Julia and Cathryn reached across the table and clasped
hands, closing the gap.  Lauren smiled.

They were a circle anyway.

Two miles away Prudence Hathaway was just hanging up the phone in her dining
room.

Her husband, leaning on the fireplace mantel, gazed at her expectantly.

"Well?"

"She's checking out single-family houses.  I couldn't get a reason, though.
Nobody seems to know why.  I hope those people aren't thinking of moving
back."

"Relax, Pru.  Most likely she's just looking for investment property.  I hear
that's what she does for a living."

"And if she's not?"  Pru stared at her husband, eyes narrowing.

"Then I'll think of something to remedy the situation."

"You'd better, because I will not live on the same island as a DeStefano."

Clay became lost in thought for a moment, his eyes sad.

"Do you understand me, Clayton?"

He lifted his gaze and took a bolstering breath.

"Yes, Pru.

Perfectly.  "

CHAPTER THREE

lauren arrived at Rockland House a Uttle before ten, to allow sufficient time
for a casual tour.

"If I were really interested in this house," she said, walking with Cathryn
up the cracked and weed-infested driveway from Cliff Road where they'd parked
their cars,

"I would've had it assessed by a professional who knows property values on
Harmony.  I would've had my lawyer research it for nasty financial surprises,
and I definitely would've had my contractor inspect the structure for
soundness and estimate the cost of repairs."  Lauren studied the massive
house sitting at the top of the hundred-foot drive.  One of its six chimneys
was crumbling, grass was growing in the gutters, and its ochre paint was
peeling everywhere.

"Rockland House is just too old and big to take chances on.  Any number of
things could be wrong with it."

Cathryn had asked Lauren to explain as much as she could about real estate.
With Bethany, her youngest, about to enter first grade, she claimed to be
investigating various careers.  Privately, Lauren doubted her friend would
ever trade in her oven mitts for a briefcase, but she was happy to talk about
her field.

"Before an auction, it's important to take all those factors into
consideration so you can set an outside limit for yourself--a figure beyond
which you refuse to go.  And, of : course, sticking to that limit is crucial.
It's easy to get carried away if the bidding heats up."

As Lauren spoke, Cathryn bobbed her head, suggesting she was listening and
filing away her words of wisdom, but Lauren suspected her mind was elsewhere.
Cathryn's next question proved she was right.

"Do you think we'll run into Isabel's ghost?"

Growling, Lauren gave her friend an affectionate shove.

The two friends hadn't quite reached the house yet when Lauren paused to
study the front facade.  She'd been imagining it incorrectly, she realized.
Yes, it had Greek Revival columns, but they were only one story high, not
two, forming a full-width veranda.  Moreover, the siding was warm clapboard,
not stone.  Three large six-over-six windows on the second floor nicely
balanced the two windows and side lighted door on the first.  High above, a
fan window graced the pedimented attic story.

Lauren climbed the three broad steps to the veranda and turned to gaze at the
view.  Ah, location, location, location!  Rockland House had been built along
the elevated eastern coast of Harmony--the cliff rim.  From where she stood,
she could see much of the town below, nearly all of the harbor, and miles of
hills and hollows.  She could only imagine what the view at the back of the
house was like.  That was the ocean side.

Joining her, Cathryn murmured,

"Quite a view, isn't it?"

"Yes, it is."  With an appreciative sigh, Lauren paced to the right corner of
the veranda and realized; it turned and continued as an open terrace along
the sunny south flank of the house.  A sun room jutted out and obstructed her
view, but Lauren was certain the teA ace led to another veranda at the rear.

Standing at the edge of the terrace, Lauren noted that near the house, the
yard had recently been mowed, but beyond, the property's two acres were badly
overgrown.

Cathryn sidled up to her.

"My mother says that when she was little, the Smiths used to hold Easter Egg
hunts here."  She frowned at the rough, sun-scorched lawn where several
people were strolling.

"She also remembers beautiful gardens and a rose parterre.  I wonder if
anything is left."

Hoping to tamp down her own curiosity, Lauren exclaimed.

"Oh, lookl You can see Julia's radio transmitter from here."

"Mmm.  And the conservation lands.  And East Light.

And all those gorgeous old shingle-style homes along the cliff.  "

Lauren wheeled abruptly.

"Come on.  Let's go register for the auction."

"What for?"  "If you want to bid, you have to register."

Cathryn's eyes widened as she hurried to keep up with Lauren.

"You want to bid?"

"No.  But I want to go through the process anyway, so you'll know how it's
done,"

Lauren found the auction site on the opposite side of the : house.  Several
people were already sitting in the chairs con-j veniently arranged in the
shade of the two huge oaks.  Others were visiting the garage--an old four-bay
carriage | house--where coffee and soft drinks were available.  The
auctioneer sat behind a long table with two other; men whom Lauren quickly
pegged as bank officials.

"HLj I'd like to register," she said.  | "Certainly," the auctioneer replied.

"Til need to see | certified check in the amount of five thousand dollar&I
please."  ^s Lauren handed one over.  Seeing Cathryn's double take she
laughed.

"I always travel with certified checks, Caflal Most real estate investors do,
to be ready for every oppoe tunity.  I carry one for five thousand, one for
ten.  Those as the amounts you usually have to pay to secure a sale."  She
took a moment to fill out a form and present ID.

' "How do you pay the balance?"

"Any way you can.  For most people, including me, that means getting a
mortgage."

With registration complete, the auctioneer handed Lauren a packet of
information about the house.

"You're number fourteen," he said.

"It's printed on the envelope in case you forget."

"Thanks."  Slipping the packet into her bag, she retraced her steps to the
front of the house and the large heavy door, propped open with a chair, that
invited her into Rockland House.

"Do you believe this hallway?"  Cathryn exclaimed.

' "Holy moly!"  The hall wasn' t just wide, it was also high and long,
running straight down the middle of the house to the back door.

Even now, with the heat outside in the mid- eighties, a cooling breeze was
blowing through, making the interior airy and comfortable.  And the woodwork!
Under all that grime and varnish, Lauren bet, was solid cherry.  The focal
point, though, was the long, graceful curving staircase.

"Oh, wow!"  she whispered, stepping to the foot of the stairs, her head
tilted back.

"Lauren, look at this," Cathryn called.  She'd already scooted into the room
on the right.  Lauren walked into the first of two adjoining parlors and
found Cathryn tugging at a stubborn pocket door meant to close off one room
from the other.  ( Lauren gave the large empty room a slow perusal, noting
the marble fireplace, crown moldings and the abundance of light pulled in by
the long, deep-set windows.  Then she moved on to the second parlor, a room
whose only saving grace was its oak flooring and the quirky sun porch she'd
noted earlier.  Next came a bathroom, circa 1940, followed by a nondescript
space that might've been used as a bedroom.  One more room, a storage area
perhaps, ended that half of the first floor.

As Lauren crossed the hallway she happened to glance out the back door and
her heart stopped.  The view of the ocean was magnificent.  But as eager as
she was to wander along the rear veranda, she continued to the kitchen, a
room that probably hadn't seen change in fifty years, except for the modern
stove and refrigerator.

"Yikes!"  she yelped.

Cathryn sniffed.

"Smells like something died in here.  A hunk of Limburger is my guess."

Chuckling, Lauren leaned against the mud-colored cabinets, pulled her
information packet from her bag and took a moment to skim its contents.

"I think we'd better step up our pace, Cath.  Altogether, if you include the
attic and basement, this house has twenty-six rooms."

"Twenty-six!"  Cathryn's hazel eyes rounded.

Lauren led the way out of the kitchen to a hallway with a second, less-grand
staircase and a side entrance, then on to a butler's pantry.  Both women
gasped.

"I've never seen so many drawers and cupboards in my life!"  Cathryn cried.
"Talk about a place for everything...."

Beyond the pantry lay a formal dining room, and beyond that a library,
returning them once again to the front of the house.  In the foyer where
they'd begun their circuit, Cathryn asked,

"Well, what do you think?"

Lauren's gaze swept from the rich old panelling to the long graceful stairs,
and she frowned.

"I think... I think you'd better explore the second floor without me."

"Huh?  Why?"

"Why?  Because I walked through that door with only mild curiosity, but now
my interest is piqued."  Lauren sighed, disgusted with herself.

"This place has a ton of possibilities, Cath.  I can easily imagine it
renovated into a| showplace."  I What bothered her increasingly was that she
kept seeingf her mother at the center of that showplace, the premier'^
hostess on the island.  She saw Audrey floating down thef grand staircase,
dressed in something long and elegant, her^B eyes cleared of grief, her back
straight with dignity.  She imagined her welcoming guests to dinner parties,
leading them on garden tours and hosting afternoon teas--in a gazebo that
didn't even exist!

"Are you serious?"  Cathryn cried, caught somewhere between delight and
horror.

"Are you really interested in" -- "No!  I said my interest is piqued, not
that I'm interested.  You know Rockland House isn't what I'm looking for,
Cam.  For one thing, it isn't a Victorian...."

"Yeah, but there are a lot of Victorian features."

"Even so... it's way too big.  And it's a disaster!  The plaster is flaking.
Ceilings are sagging.  The windows are useless.  There's evidence of water
damage in the bathroom... and a thousand other things that point to a total
rehab.  And that doesn'4 take into consideration the plumbing, heating or
wiring, the siding and roof, the three outbuildings or the grounds that are
going to need landscaping.  I wouldn't mind the expense if I was planning to
develop the property into something that'd make money and earn back my
investment.  But for a B and B that's primarily a private residence?

Never.  "

"Who are you arguing with?"  Cathryn asked laughingly.  "I agree completely."

Lauren began to grin.

"Who do you think I'm arguing with?  Myself, of course.  That's why I'm going
to skip the upper floors and go cool my imagination out on the back porch.
I'll catch up with you later."

"Fine by me.  And don't worry," Cathryn said, heading up the stairs, "I'll
make sure to extend your regards to Isabel."

"Cam?"

Cathryn turned,

"What?"

"There is no ghost."

Still shaking her head and grinning, Lauren made her way down the hall and
out onto the back veranda.

"Oh, my!"  she cried, struck again by the panoramic ocean view.  Heart
pounding, she crossed the porch, leaned against the balustrade and let her
gaze roam.

Other islands were visible in the distance.  Tiny Cutty- hunk at the head of
the Elizabeth Islands chain.  Martha's Vineyard a few degrees to the south.
Beyond that.  Nantucket.  And beyond Nantucket, the Atlantic, that great blue
preamble to Spain.  Twelve miles due north lay the southeast coast of
Massachusetts.  Due south stretched another endless expanse of sea.

Today the water looked peaceful--benign.  Yet hundreds of ships had been
wrecked out there on the shoals hidden beneath the surface, sometimes as
shallowly as three feet.  One of those shipwrecks was the Lady Gray.

Lauren braced on the railing, overtaken by an unexpected wistfulness as she
remembered the first owner of Rockland House.  How often had the young widow,
Isabel Gray, stood at this rail just so, gazing out to sea?  What thoughts
ran through her mind?  What pain through her heart?

Ordinarily, Lauren would have felt no sympathy for the woman.  She believed
Isabel should have returned to Maine and resumed her life.

Staying here, she'd wallowed in grief and self-pity, feeding both so that,
instead of diminishing, they had grown into a kind of madness.

That was how Lauren saw it, anyway.  But just for a moment, standing with her
hands braced wide on the balustrade, the sun on her face and the wind in her
hair, Lauren experienced a strange empathy with the widow.  For a brief
moment she almost understood.

No more than a few minutes passed before Lauren became aware of another
sensation creeping over her, a very different sensation.

Almost imperceptible at first, it grew clearer and more palpable with every
passing second--the sensation that someone else had joined her on the veranda.

But that couldn't be, she decided.  She hadn't heard any footsteps or
rustling of clothes or anything.  Instantly her scalp was crawling.

Experiencing that strange emotional link with Isabel, had
she--somehow--summoned the widow's ghost?

No!  Absolutely not.  Lauren forced herself back into a rational frame of
mind.  Then, to prove it was just her imagination that had run wild, she
turned to face whatever was--or rather, wasn 't there.  and jumped!  For not
six feet away stood Cameron Hathaway.  Her heart raced, her pulse drumming so
hard she felt faint.  She'd expected to run into Cameron eventually on her
visits to Harmony, but not here, not now.

Poor timing wasn't the only reason for Lauren's reaction.  The last time
she'd seen Cameron, he'd been sixteen, still slightly shorter than her, still
cuddly and baby-faced.

There was nothing cuddly or baby-faced about Cameron anymore.  He was a man,
with a man's broad shoulders and a man's solid chest.  His jeans-molded
thighs were thick and muscular, and long tendons roped his arms.  And
finally, finally, he was taller.

He looked wonderful, dammit.  Healthy.  Strong.  His skin was vibrant and
tanned, his rich brown hair shining with sunlight.  And his face--oh, that
face whose every feature she'd once adored!  Time had added a few lines yet
so much character.

It suddenly occurred to Lauren that she was staring, dumb as a dock piling,
but for the life of her, she couldn't think of anything to say.  What did you
say to the man who'd been not only your first love, but your first lover, as
well?  What did you say to someone who'd accidentally gotten you pregnant?
What could you say when everything between you had ended so badly?  Hi.  How
are you?  didn't cut it.

"Lauren," Cameron finally said with a curt nod.

She snapped to, annoyed that he'd spoken first.

"Cameron," she replied.

They eyed each other guardedly, two people whose parting words had been mean,
hurtful and seemingly irrevocable.  The breeze blew between them, ruffling
his hair across his brow, billowing her skirt away from her legs.  Seagulls
wheeled overhead quietly, as if they, too, were wondering what the couple
would say next.

"How are you?"  Cameron asked.

How am I?  Other than I've swallowed my tongue?

"Great.  And you?"

He emitted a cynical little laugh.

"I'd be better if I knew what the hell you were doing here."

Her lips parted in momentary surprise.  He certainly hadn't waited long to
start swinging.  Gathering her composure, she replied,

"I'm sure you would be."

His left eyebrow lifted.

"I hear you're shopping for real estate.

That right?  "

She kept her gaze cool and steady.

"My, how fast rumor flies here.  I guess some things never change."

She refused to give him a straight answer, and he seemed to just now be
realizing it.  He watched her warily.  She knew he wanted to ask if she was
interested in this property, but now his pride wouldn't let him.

Was he interested in it?  she wondered.  But she couldn't ask, either.

Fortunately, Cathryn came bounding out of the house at that moment,
interrupting their standoff.

"There you are," she said.

"It's time we" -- Suddenly she noticed Cameron and came to an abrupt halt.
Her eyes jigged back and forth.

Her color deepened.

Lauren glanced casually at her watch.

"You're right, Cam.  It is time.

Let's go find some seats before they're all taken.  "

"What happened?"  Cathryn asked as they crossed the lawn.

"Nothing.  We barely spoke."

"Are you okay?"

"Yes, of course.  Why wouldn't I be?"

"You forget who you're talking to."  Cathryn gave Lauren a smirky, sidelong
glance.

"He's gotten really studly, don't you think?"

Fortunately they'd reached the auction area and Lauren was able to close the
subject with a noncommital laugh.

Three rows of folding chairs were set up facing the auctioneer's table.
Nearly all the seats were taken, and many people stood at the back and to the
sides.  Lauren and Cam- yn managed to find two empty chairs in the third row
and at down.  Actually, Lauren just sort of plopped; her legs, ike the rest
of her, were still quivering.

Oh, grow up, DeStefano, she reprimanded herself.  That part of your life's
ancient history.  Cameron is so insignif- cant to your present circumstances
that your reaction is wthetic.

Lauren hated pathetic.  She made herself sit straight and ake deep, slow
breaths while visualizing their encounter oiling off her like rain from a
suit of armor.  She inhaled, magining serenity entering her.  Exhaled,
imagining herself calm and confident.

Two women in the front row twisted around and peered it her over their
reading glasses.  She didn't recognize them, ut they apparently knew her.
They swiveled forward and waited all of three seconds before their tongues
began to flap.  ' Lauren sucked in another breath, let it out slowly and ried
to imagine dignity flowing through her.  She'd risen tbove her past, above
the Hathaways.  She'd gone on to ;ollege, graduated with honors, entered a
tough, competiive field and won awards.  She owned her own corporation,
smployed half a dozen people.  And, dammit, she was worth I've million
dollars!

Just when she was feeling fairly proud of herself, Cameron came sauntering
across the lawn, and her composure slipped again.  He moved with the loose,
easy gait of a man comfortable in his own skin, a man who thinks he belongs
here and who thinks "here" belongs to him.  His attitude made her wonder once
more why he'd come to this auction.

Heads turned as he walked by.  Several people nodded and said hello.

He stopped to talk to one man, patted another on the shoulder and waved to a
third.  He reminded Lauren of a campaigning politician.

That, or someone who was simply an integral part of a small community.
Someone who'd returned from boarding school after getting a girl pregnant and
been accepted right back into Harmony's arms--no retribution.

Without looking at him directly, Lauren nevertheless tracked his progress to
the back of the crowd.  Turning toward Cathryn, she was able to see him out
of the corner of her eye, standing with four other men.  One was his father.
Yes, there they were, a sizable contingent of Harmony's good of' boys.
Something was definitely brewing.

She was inordinately pleased when Cameron glanced her way and she saw tension
in his face.  Ha!  He wasn't nearly as calm as he pretended.  He had no idea
why she was here, and he was worried.  Good, she thought with vindictive
glee.  For all she cared, he could worry himself right into the ground.

cameron dropped his gaze from Lauren, berating himself for looking over.  and
being caught.  His father leaned closer.

"You see who's here?"

"Uh-huh."  Cameron decided his father didn't need to know about the meeting
on the veranda.  What could he say about it, anyway?  That his heart had been
ticking so fast he'd thought he was having a coronary?

"I was afraid this was going to happen," Clay said.

Cameron agreed.  He'd heard bits and pieces about Lauren over the years,
about her phenomenal success in real estate.  She was a great one for
modernizing.  Loved to gut perfectly good single-family homes and convert
them into apartments, offices and shops.  Well, Ms. DeStefano could pack up
her phenomenal success and take it elsewhere, thank you.  Rockland House
didn't need it.

Cameron made a concerted effort to relax.  Maybe she was just a curious
spectator, as were most of the people here.  Even if she wasn't, she still
had to contend with him and all the other bidders present.  If he was smart,
he'd ignore her.

And Cameron did, for a while.  But before he realized it, he'd turned his
gaze on her again.  He hadn't been wrong yesterday.  Lauren at thirty was
definitely a womanly woman.  Everything about her added to the aura,
including her short hair, and he was a long-hair man from way back.  That
smooth chin-length sweep of sun-shot copper, with its sassy wave framing her
right eye, actually looked provocative.  It drew attention to the height of
her cheekbones, the line of her jaw, the grace of her long neck.

Today, as yesterday, her outfit was anything but

"Harmony casual,"

which in summer meant T-shirt and shorts.  She was wearing a dress.

From a distance it seemed expensive but it wasn't fancy or business-like.
Loose and flowing and made of a filmy material that stirred with the breeze,
it was a dress perfectly suited to this sunny summer day.  And it was green,
sea-glass jgreen, the same as her eyes.

The irritating sound of someone tapping a gavel drew Cameron out of his
reverie.  Just as well.  He'd begun to drift into foolishness.

Instead of losing himself in thoughts of sea-green eyes and filmy skirts, he
needed to focus on the business at hand.  Despite that feminine exterior,
Lauren had a tough-as-nails core he couldn't trust.

The auctioneer, a big, florid-faced man, raised his voice over the murmur of
the crowd.

"Shall we begin, ladies and gentlemen?"

"Good luck," said Fred Gardiner.

"Go to it, son," added Clay Hathaway.  The others, Ron Cote from the
Historical Society Museum, and Billy Davis from zoning, sent him nods of
encouragement.  Cameron gave Lauren one final glance, then fixed his
attention ahead thinking.  Let the damned game begin.

lauren refused to give Cameron the satisfaction of reacting to his dirty
looks or his coterie of friends.  She soon became engrossed in the
proceedings, The buzz of conversation had died, and the auctioneer was asking
for a bid from the floor.  / Someone in the front row lifted his registration
packet and said, "Fifty thousand."  After that, offers arrived in a swift and
steady stream of ten-thousand dollar increments.  A few bidders had cellular
phones jammed to their ears-- realtors or lawyers acting as agents for
absentee investors.  Within minutes the bid stood at two hundred, twenty-five
thousand dollars.

At that point there was a lull.  While the auctioneer hyped the house and
tried to refuel the crowd, Cathryn whispered, "How much do you think it'll go
for?"

Lauren shrugged.

"Auctions can be unpredictable."  She gazed at the property with an assessing
eye.

"It's a great old house, a great big house, and it's sitting on two prime;
acres.  Still, considering how extensive repairs will be..."  She propped her
chin on one index finger.

"If I were bidding, I'd set my outside limit at half a million, but I'd hope
to land it for three-fifty or four.  If I were bidding."  But she wasn't.
She had no use for this place.

In the meantime, the bidding had resumed and now stood ; at two hundred,
sixty thousand dollars.  Because she was; turned toward Cathryn, Lauren was
able to see Cameron raise his envelope and call,

"Two-seventy."

So he was here to bid!  Her interest took a sharp leap.

"Was that Cameron?"  Cathryn exclaimed, craning her neck.

"Two-eighty," came a counter offer from a man with a bald spot that reminded
Lauren of a monk's tonsure.

The bidding progressed steadily with seven active bidders jockeying for the
lead.  However, at three hundred, forty thousand dollars three dropped out
and the others became increasingly reluctant--except for Cameron and the man
with the monk like hair.  Both pressed on as if this house were the Taj Mahal
and their pockets bottomless.

Somewhere around three hundred, ninety thousand dollars two more bidders fell
by the wayside, leaving only Cameron and the monk.

"Do I hear an even four?"  the auctioneer inquired.

Cameron gave a firm, steady-eyed nod.

"Four ten," the monk countered readily.  Meanwhile, Lauren had taken to
sitting on her hands to stop herself from joining in--not because the
property was beautiful, not because her mother's living here would rankle the
heck out of certain people, but simply because Cameron wanted it.  He wanted
Rockland House something fierce, and she was feeling just contrary enough to
want to block him, to let him know that she could, to let everyone know she
could.  ' "Four fifteen," Cameron called.

"Thank you, sir.  The bid stands at four fifteen..."

Lauren stared at her sandals, trying to distance herself from the
proceedings, yet aware of the hesitation creeping into the monk's voice.  She
smelled his fear and knew he was beginning to fold.  She closed her eyes,
quietly hummed and nervously jiggled her legs, as two more bids ping- ponged
between the two men.

When Camel-on bid four hundred and fifty thousand dollars, Lauren knew the
monk was going to throw in his chips.

"We have four fifty," the auctioneer repeated.

"Do I hear four fifty-five?"  Nobody responded.

"Four fifty- five?"  Several people looked at the monk, then smiled at
Cameron.  He ignored them but he had a glowing, proprietary air about him
that set Lauren's teeth on edge.

Cathryn leaned in, oblivious to her friend's turmoil.  "You hit it right on
the nose, Laur.  You're pretty good at this."

"Four fifty going once," the auctioneer said, then paused and scanned the
crowd.

"Four fifty going twice..."

Before she realized she'd done it, Lauren raised her envelope and called,

"Here.  Four fifty-five."

cameron's stomach bottomed out.  Curses blazed across his mind.  What the
hell was Lauren doing?  He'd been so sure she was just an observer, sitting
there quietly all that time.

"What's going on?"  Fred enquired.  The other men standing with Cameron
muttered similar sentiments.  Even the auctioneer appeared confused.

He regrouped quickly and moved on, asking for four hundred and sixty thousand
dollars.  Cameron had no choice but to bid.

' "We have four sixty, four sixty.  Do I see interest in four seventy?"

lauren raised her packet again, ignoring the murmurs and stares coming her
way.

"Lauren!  What are you doing?"  Cathryn pleaded, horrified.  Lauren ignored
her, too.

The auctioneer stood straighter, aware that a new game had started, and when
he spoke his voice took on a different tone and energy.

"Thank you, ma'am.  Sir?"

"Four eighty," Cameron called, shooting Lauren a glare i capable of curdling
cement.  She shot it right back.  The murmurs of the crowd grew.

"Four eighty.  Four eighty.  Do I see four ninety?"

For a split second Lauren reconsidered what she was doing.  Then she
remembered the agony she'd suffered fifteen years ago.  She thought of how
Pru Hathaway had dismissed her as an overreaching little tramp who'd never
amount to anything.  She remembered the lies, the fears and how unclean she
had felt.  Most of all she recalled the pain when Cameron had turned against
her.

"Five hundred thousand," she fired off.

"Lauren!"  Cathryo implored.

The auctioneer beamed.

"Do I see five twenty?"  He gazed directly at Cameron.  Lauren didn't have
to.  She knew what he'd do.

"Thank you, sir.  We have five twenty" -- "Five fifty," Lauren rebutted on a
surge of anger.

"But, Lauren, you said" -- "Cathryn!  Shush."

Cathryn slunk down in her seat, two hands on top of her head, her breath
hissing out of her like a slow tire leak.

cameron hesitated, taken aback by Lauren's unexpected leap of thirty thousand
dollars.

"It's a beautiful house, ladies and gentlemen," the auctioneer sang.

"Why, the land alone is worth what's been bid so far."

"Five seventy-five," Cameron responded.

The auctioneer grinned and shifted his attention to Lauren.

"Six hundred."

The crowd was really buzzing now.  Cameron gritted his teeth.  What had he
ever done to deserve this?  he wondered as he called out,

"Six ten."  A bid one hundred and ten thousand dollars over the limit he'd
set for himself--one hundred and ten thousand freaking dollars!

Lauren upped the bid to six twenty-five and, faster than an eye blink, the
ball was back in his court.  Standing beside him, his father urged,

"Keep going, son, and don't worry about it."  His voice was full of fight,
his meaning clear-- Cameron could borrow the money from him.  Cam returned a
quelling glance.  This was between him and Lauren.  Then he gave the nod to
six fifty and waited for the other shoe to fall.

Lauren didn't flinch.

"Six seventy-five."

"Holy cow," Fred muttered.

"She means business."

"Seven hundred," Cameron shot back.

"Seven twenty-five," Lauren bid with no sign of letting up.

Cameron swore under his breath.  The envelope in his hand was limp with sweat.

"Eight hundred thousand."

Fred laid a hand on his shoulder.

"What are you doing, Cam?"

Cameron shrugged his friend off but asked himself the same question.

Was he out of his mind?

lauren didn't dare turn around; Cameron might sense her fear.  She'd seen the
other men whispering to him, probably offering him money.  If that was the
case, she was as good as dead.  But facing forward was no fun, either.  She'd
seen the amused glances from a few people in front.  She'd heard the muffled
snickers.  They were finding this all very; entertaining--Cameron Hathaway
and Lauren De Stefan& going head-to-head at a property auction fifteen years
after their last public debacle.

; Trembling inside, she lifted her chin and calmly replied^ "Eight
twenty-five."  | "Eight twenty-five," the auctioneer repeated, barely;
containing his rapture.

"Do I see interest in eight fifty?  It's; a magnificent house, folks.  Full of
history.  Full of potential."  I Cameron upped the bid another twenty-five
thousand, which only made Lauren angrier.  The more he wanted this property,
the more determined she was to thwart him.  Oh, how she understood her father
now!  The Hathaways couldn't have their way all the time.

"Eight seventy-five,"

she sang out.

"We have eight hundred, seventy-five thousand dollars," the auctioneer
repeated.

"Sir, are you interested in taking it higher?"

cameron gazed at the man as if through a haze.  The auction had turned into a
fiasco, a god damned total disaster.  "I'm going to let her take it," he
muttered, not for the first time.

"This is insane."

His father had encouraged him to continue, to "prevail at any cost,"

but now he gave an agonized sigh and admitted,

"I guess you're right, son.  And, hell, it isn't like we can't handle her
later.  But as long as she's so determined to win, bluff a few more bids.
Make it painful."

"Like it isn't already?"

Clay nudged him.  Cameron realized the auctioneer was waiting and gave a nod.

After five more volleys, the bid was up to nine eighty.

"We have nine hundred, eighty thousand dollars, ladies and gentlemen."  The
auctioneer sounded beside himself with glee.

"Ma'am?"

He looked at Lauren.

"Nine eighty-five," she answered.

"Sir?"  ' This was it, Cameron thought, the final go-round.  He kept his gaze
steady, his expression confident, hoping to throw dust in Lauren's eyes while
he raised the bid another five thousand.  He also hoped that big round number
looming ahead wouldn't shake her up and knock sense into her.

Apparently Lauren had no sense.

"Nine ninety-five,"

she said .  ^p spectators were oohing and aahing as if they were watching a
fireworks display.

ulr'?  " the auctioneer addressed Cameron.

"How abo m3k^S it an even million?"

^eron assumed his most prideful pose, even smiled little as y f^g was the
winner and Lauren the fool.

"Nope, he said confidently.  The audience gasped.  He saw Lauren should^
tense.

how about nine ninety-eight?  " the auctioneer tried.

^eron sniffed and crossed his arms.  e auctioneer came down on the bid again.

"Nil "

"" ^y-six?   "

^-^eron unfolded his arms and made a small but decisive cutting motion with his
hands, appearing to all the world ^ y.  ^g didn't care.

Inwardly, he wanted to cry.

The auctioneer took a deep breath.

"Nine ninety-five g ing one^' the tolled slowly.

"Nine ninety-five going twice and Going..."  He paused, and then the rap of
the gav splinter ^e silence.

"Sold," he announced, "for nil hundre^ ninety-five thousand dollars.
Congratulador ma'am >, URE^ felt a powerful urge to thrust her fist into the
i an dlet loose a blood-curdling rebel yell.  She grabbed Cat r^n s ^in
instead and gave it a squeeze.  It was then that she not^gd Cathryn sat
bug-eyed, flattened to her chair ^^^ntrifogal force.

- "My Cathryn turned her head and croaked,

"What d y^JUStdo?"

^^n was trembling with vindication.  She'd beato Camera Hathaway, that's what
she'd done!  Let those o biddies ^ (he front row take that to their next
Daughte American Revolution social.  True, she'd spent mo than s^>^ intended,
but the victory was well worth it.

fact, all things considered, she'd got herself the bargain of a lifetime.

Cathryn sat up and leveled another question her way.  "What on earth is your
poor mother going to do with this place?"

Lauren's smile began to freeze around the edges.

' "And what happened to the importance of inspecting a house and estimating
repairs and sticking to your limits?"

Lauren sprang to her feet.  She didn't want to hear this.  However, Cathryn
followed, staying with her like a bad case of hives.

"You just spent close to a million dollars on a house you know nothing about,
Lauren.  You do realize that, don't you?"

Reality was beginning to hit home.  Oh, God.  What had she done?  Lauren
gazed at her friend and tried to come up with an explanation, but all she
could do was swallow, and swallow again.

Cathryn nodded, understanding implicitly.  Lauren had just made the most
foolish purchase of her life all because of pride.  Unexpectedly she smiled
in sympathy.

"Did it feel good?"

"What?  Beating him?"  Lauren began to smile, too.

"It was awesome."

Cathryn chuckled.

"Well, that's something.  And if you want to know the truth, I'm glad you got
the house.  I like it."

"Thank you:' " I know you have business to tend to.  " Cathryn glanced toward
the bank officials.

"So I'll leave you to it."  After giving Lauren a hug, she added,

"Call me later."

Walking toward the table, Lauren gazed up at the massive house that now
belonged to her, and her knees wobbled.  She'd never paid a million dollars
for anything in her life.  She'd never paid half a million.  In fact, most of
her properties were in the two-to three-hundred-thousand range.

How was she ever going to finance this deal?  And wh would her mother do
with the place?  Had she bought Ai drey a white elephant?  Tied an albatross
around her necl No, she couldn't think that way.  There was no reasc why
Audrey couldn't live here.  No reason they couldn't ^ ahead with the idea of
a B and B, either.  Hell, it'd be the classiest B and B on the entire east
coast.  It would also be a money-maker.  She'd just have to figure out the
de tai later.

Lauren was almost at the point where she believed wh she was telling herself
when Anne MacDugal tapped h on the shoulder.  Lauren hadn't even noticed she
was at u auction.

" " Congratulations, Lauren," the real estate agent said, h expression
quizzical.

"I had no idea you were interested this place.  I wish you'd told me."

"Actually, Anne, it was a spur-of-the-moment decision."  Lauren felt her
cheeks warming.

"I'm sorry.  I guess I won't be needing to look at any more houses."

The other woman gave a philosophic shrug.

"No prolem

"If I ever decide to buy anything else on Harmon though, I'll remember you."

"I appreciate that."  Anne turned to go, then pause "Funny, how things turned
out, you beating Cameron Hathaway."

Lauren's cheeks flamed.  Did Anne know about her pas Was her pregnancy that
legendary?

"Um.-what do y( mean?"

Anne frowned.

"You do realize you bought a house Harmony's historic district, don't you?"

"I ... yes, sure," she bluffed.

"And there are regulations and standards that have to be followed when you
undertake the renovation of such house?"

CHAPTER FOUR

for the sake of his pride, Cameron knew he should leave.  A couple of people
had already come up to him to convey their condolences.  His father was
trying to get him to go, too.

"No sense in sticking around so she can gloat," Clay grumbled with a nod in
Lauren's direction.

For the sake of this beautiful old house, however, he needed to stay.

"Tell you what.  Dad, you go on ahead, and I'll catch up with you later."
His mother was expecting them for lunch.  A celebratory meal.

His father's eyes narrowed.

"You aren't gonna talk to her, are ya?"

"Possibly."

"It'd be a mistake."

Emotionally raw from the auction, Cameron almost told his father to mind his
own business.  Roping in his misplaced anger, he nodded in agreement.

"I'll keep that in mind."

As soon as his father was gone, Cameron headed across the lawn.

"Lauren?"  He didn't know what to expect when i she turned, but it wasn't the
pallor he saw in her cheeks or the vulnerability in her big green eyes.  Gone
was the strong | current of energy that had carried her through the bidding,
gone the flush of victory.

"I'd like to talk to you a minute..."  he began.

She hesitated, her wary gaze sweeping over him.  Then, "Will you excuse us,
Anne?"  ; "Certainly."  The Realtor did a poor job of hiding her curiosity.

It only took those few seconds for Lauren to rebound.  "Come to offer your
congratulations, Hathaway?"  she asked, the hard sparkle back in her eyes.

"The idea never crossed my mind."  Cameron folded his arms, resentment
roiling through him.

"I'm not going to pretend I'm pleased with the way things turned out..."

"What way?"  she asked in exaggerated innocence.

"Oh, you mean, my beating the pants off you?"

"Stop it, Lauren.  Just for a minute, stop.  We need to put personal feelings
aside and discuss this house and the H.D.C."

"The Historic District Commission?"

"I'm assuming you understand what we're about?"  He waited for her to reply,
but she only stared at him with that cool insolence that made him wish he'd
continued bidding until he'd spent every last dime he had.

"I'm also assuming you know we have guidelines for restoring structures
within the district and procedures for submitting plans."

She hooked her hands on her hips.

"What are you trying to say?"

He unbraided his arms and matched her stance.

"Before you do anything to the outside of this house, before you lay a finger
on it, make sure you get a certificate from us."

The breeze blew a coppery ruffle across Lauren's cheek.  She, had such fair
skin; it almost looked translucent.  Odd, he thought, how someone so tough
could appear so delicate.

Lauren flicked back her hair.

"Is that it?"

That should've been it, yet for some stupid reason Cameron added, "For a
person unaccustomed to this sort of work, it can sometimes be confusing.  If
you want to discuss your plans before presenting them to the commission, I'd
be willing to sit down with you and explain our guidelines."

Her eyes widened.

"You want me to sit down with you and discuss my plans?"  One shapely eyebrow
arched.

' "People do it all the time.  Saves a lot of trouble in the long run."
Cameron squinted at the watery horizon, wondering how he could continue to be
such a fool with this woman.

Lauren's lips parted on an unspoken syllable, and then she just laughed.

"I don't think so.  Cam."

His breath came up short.

"Fine.  Do it your way.  I have one more suggestion, though."  That damned
eyebrow lifted higher.

"The purview of the H.D.C.  doesn't extend to the interior of buildings, but
don't start tearing into things until you've learned something about what
you've bought.  There's a hundred and fifty years of living in Rockland
House, laid over the original, but a lot of the stuff that's exposed is the
original.  Be careful--you never know what you might destroy."

She took a moment to digest what he'd said.

"If the interior of my house doesn't fall under the purview of an official
commission, why, may I ask, should it fall under yours?"

"Why?"  His eyes swept over her, dishing back some of the disdain she'd been
dishing him.

"Because if you think this house is going to stay yours for long, you're sadly
mistaken.  If the cost of repairs doesn't break you, the tediousness will.
And when you finally surrender the house ; to me, I want it to be in perfect
condition."  | She huffed.

"Are you done?"  | "No," he said, determined to have the last word.  -;
"Watch your backside, Lauren.  I'm going to be on you like a tick on a dog in
August."  He drew up his shoulders.  "Wow I'm done."

His father had been right, he concluded, striding toward i his truck.
Talking to Lauren was a mistake, one he'd never make again, that was for damn
sure.

the next couple of hours for Lauren were consumed with bank business.

That, and trying to cope with the nervous stomach caused by her confrontation
with Cameron.  Fortunately the downstairs bathroom in Rockland House was
functioning, because within minutes of his storming off, she had to run
inside and vomit.  As she hunched over the old porcelain toilet, it occurred
to her that this probably wasn't the best omen.

It was nearly two o'clock when she finally got back to her hotel.  She called
room service, ordered a bowl of chowder and then spent the next hour trying
to eat it.

Stupid.  Stupid.  She couldn't believe how stupid she'd been, letting herself
get carried away in the bidding war.  She was usually so cool and careful,
but today she'd been damn near possessed.  And why?  All because she'd wanted
to beat Cameron.

Oh, you beat him, all right, she thought, her hand trembling as she spooned
up more chowder.  You got back at him real good.  In public, too.

Stupid.  Stupid.  The only way the situation could be worse was if the
Historic District Commission had authority over the inside of her house, as
well as the outside.

Lauren set the bowl on the nightstand, punched up a pillow and propped
herself against the headboard of her bed.  Okay, it was time to stop ruing
her mistake and start organizing a game plan.

Step One was easy enough to figure out.  She'd go back to Boston tomorrow as
scheduled and on Monday visit the bank to get the ball rolling on a mortgage
and rehab loan.

Lauren picked up the notepad by the bedside phone and wrote "Monday--bank,"
but her hand was so jittery it came out as "Noody--runk."  Hell.  Financing
was going to be a problem, no way around it.  She liked to think she was
worth five million dollars, and she would be worth that much, if all her
mortgages were paid.  Except they weren't, and frankly she wasn't sure
whether even her combined equity was going to be enough to convince a lender
to finance this folly.

You'll work it out.  Now move on.  What else needs doing?

"Office" she scribbled.  She had a lot of loose ends to tie up at her office,
a lot of ducks to line in a row before DeStefano Management could function
without her.  And it would have to.  Rockland House was no ordinary project;
it was going to demand her presence on-site often and for long stretches of
time.  Thank heaven for laptops and the Internet.  She could probably run
most of her business online.  Sdll, it wouldn't be the same as actually being
there.  Could she delegate more responsibility to her sisters?  Michelle had
a two-year-old; Kim's baby was only six months.

She'd figure it out.  What else?

"Ma," she muttered, wincing.  How would she explain her long absences to her
mother?  How would she keep the project a secret?  Lauren tapped the pen
against her teeth for several minutes, but nothing that resembled an excuse
came to mind.

"Audrey" she wrote on the pad and then moved right on to

"Joe."

She'd have to call Joe Giancomo, her general contractor, and somehow convince
him to take on this inconvenient, middle-of-the-ocean job

Assuming she could do that, she'd also have to bring him to Harmony to check
out the house and estimate repairs and, oh, yeah, help her with the H.  D.
C.  application.

With a moan, Lauren dropped the pad and swung her feet off the bed.

Before anything else, she had to go over to the town hall and rustle up a
copy of the H.  D.  C.  guidelines.  She'd take them back with her and give
them a meticulous reading.  The last tiling she wanted was for Cameron to
find fault with her application.  As long as she was there, she'd pick up
zoning ordinances, too.  Rockland House was in a residential area, which
meant she'd undoubtedly need a variance to run a bed-and-breakfast.

Lauren rubbed a spot on her forehead that felt as if it'd been harpooned.
No, the very first thing she needed to do was to take some aspirin.

Standing at the bathroom sink a moment later, Lauren realized that she'd
become terribly defensive since the auction.  She'd fallen into a siege
mentality.  But when so much was at stake, what other position could she
take?  She couldn't fail.  Not on Harmony where her family had already
suffered humiliation.  And certainly not with Cameron watching and waiting to
pounce.

If you think this house is going to stay yours for long, you're sadly
mistaken.  Normally Lauren brushed off threats as if they were lint on a
sleeve, yet somehow Cameron's words had stuck, making her feel threatened.
Whether that was because she was financially vulnerable or because she was
destined to cross paths with Cam one more time, she couldn't say.

In any case, the best defense was a strong offense.  Lauren swallowed
another sip of water, pinched some color into her cheeks and headed put the
door for the town hall.

e cameron sat through lunch at his parents' house in a state of
ever-increasing agitation.  He'd hoped to be calmed here.  He'd hoped to find
refuge and comfort from the storm of emotions he'd experienced at the
auction.  Instead he'd landed in another.  Hurricane Prudence.

"How could you let her do that to you, Cameron?"  his mother railed, pacing
the flagstone terrace.

"Where in God's name was your self-respect?"

Cameron picked at his chicken salad, but even the small chunks of pineapple
tasted like sawdust to him.

"Calm down, Pm," Clay said, sitting across the table.  "Cam did right.

I didn't agree at first, either, but he would've been a fool to keep bidding.
" Cameron doubted his father believed that statement and was simply trying
to make the best of a disappointing situation.

Pru Hathaway continued to pace, arms crossed tightly across her ribs, her
simple silvery-blond pageboy shimmering with each impassioned breath she
took.  She was a tall woman with deeply tanned, prematurely aged skin-- and
enough confidence and love of the outdoors not to care.  Her chino skirt and
plaid blouse were Eddie Bauer and at least fifteen years old--and about that
she cared even less.

She stopped abruptly.

"How much did you say she ended up bidding?"

' "Almost a million," Clay responded.

"Almost a million," Pru repeated with contemptuous disbelief.

"My God!  Those people have the resiliency of the cockroach!"

Cameron slanted his mother a narrowed look.  He loved her dearly.  She was as
stalwart and protective of him and his father as their commodious old house
in whose lee they sat.  Yet sometimes.  sometimes he didn't like her.

Clay got out of his chair, took his wife by the shoulders and guided her
firmly to the table.

"Sit," he ordered.  She sat, her breathing agitated, her eyes snappish.

"Oh, the nerve!  The arrogance!  She did this deliberately.  She wanted to
spite us.  She wanted us humiliated."  ; Cam tossed down his fork and sighed.
Normally when \ his mother overreacted, he rode out the bluster by remaining
calm and quiet.

Without resistance, the storm passed | faster and with minimal damage.
Today, though.  enough was enough.

"Look, I'm sorry the auction went the way it did.  I know it's bound to stir
up talk and old trash.  But, as much as I wanted that house, no way in hell
was I going to pay a million bucks for it."  I, "You did right, son," Clay
said again.  Cam wished he'd stop.

Pro sipped her wine through lips so tight it was a wonder a drop got through.

"I only hope she doesn't intend to live there and bring the rest of the
family over."

"It seems unlikely," Cam replied.

"At the price she paid, she probably has some development scheme up her
sleeve."

Pru shuddered and glanced at her husband.

"We're going to have to do something, Clayton."

"All in due time.  Between the H.D.C.  and the zoning board, Cam and I have
it covered.  We can have her chasing her tail for years, although I doubt
it'll take that long before she gives up."

"Well, I should hope not."  Pro poured more wine and then stared at the glass.

"When I think of me pain we went through because of that girl, all the
arguing and humiliation and heartache...."

"It wasn't only her," Clay interjected.

"No, we can't forget her father, can we?  He hurt us just as deeply."

"The bastard hurt all of Harmony."

Cameron scrubbed at the back of his head in frustration.  "You aren't going
to bring up that tax reform again, I hope."  Both parents stared at him in
astonishment.

"You don't understand," Clay accused.

"You say you do, but you were so young, you can't possibly know what we
suffered."  ,"

Cameron did understand.  He did sympathize.  He even shared his parents'
antipathy toward Tom DeStefano.  He simply didn't want to hear about it now.
All he wanted was to have this awful heaviness inside him lifted.  That
wasn't going to happen, though.  Once his parents were wound up, his only
recourse was to hunker down.

He knew the story by heart, yet he was about to hear it one more time--how
Tom DeStefano had thought it unfair that a few families should hold so much
acreage and that the acreage was assessed so low.  Clay had tried to argue
that preserving the status quo was in the best interests of Harmony.  If
properties were reassessed and tax rates leveled, the large landowners would
be unable to pay their tax bills and might be tempted to start selling off
their holdings.  That, in turn, would open the way for development--and the
end of Harmony as they knew it, a quiet, unspoiled island of charming older
homes, rolling green pastures, pristine beaches and endless views of sea and
sky.

Cam wanted to interrupt and remind his father that the dreaded tax reform had
led directly to the rise of the open- space movement and the Island Land
Bank, but he knew Clay wouldn't listen.  He'd sold the land bank two hundred
acres at a fraction of their worth and still felt bitter.

Yes, his parents' hatred ran deep.  To money lost.  To pride sullied.

To a heritage violated, because the face of Harmony had changed.

Development was currently Harmony's number one problem.  And his parents laid
all their hatred on the head of one man, Tom DeStefano, and by extension to
his family.  All the DeStefanos.  Clay and Prai Hathaway couldn't stand a
single one.  | "We could see far down the road," Clay was saying, || "We knew
what would happen and, sure enough, it did."  || And his mother added,

"We would've kept our acreage || open space, anyway.  We were good stewards
of the land."  | Cameron hunkered down once more, blocking out his parents'
voices, but he couldn't escape his own resentment!  as he gazed across the
twenty acres of fields that remainedl of the original four hundred.

Sheep grazed in two of thsl fields now, as much for old times' sake as for
the wool his mother used in her hobby of weaving.  He loved this landn||
loved it as only someone could whose roots sank eleven!

generations deep.  Twenty acres was probably enough, still it hurt to recall
what they'd once owned.

He shifted his gaze to the house, a classic country Georgian built in 1745
after the original saltbox burned down.  Over the years a few additions had
been tacked on like rectangular children's blocks in progressively
diminishing sizes.  An architectural gem, it was also the only home on the
island still occupied by descendants of the original family- Hearing Lauren's
name, Cameron returned his attention to his parents' conversation.

"She may have Audrey's looks," his mother was saying, "but she's her father
through and through.  Only smarter.  God knows what damage she'd do if..."

Cam had had enough.  His chest was so tight he could barely breathe.

He got to his feet.

"Thanks for lunch.  Mom.  It was great.  But I really have to get home."

She looked up at him in surprise, then down at his unfinished meal.

"I'm sorry, darling.  Your father and I get carried away sometimes.

It's just that seeing you hurt really bothers us, and that girl has hurt you
plenty.  Now this!  It's too much.  "

"I understand.  I... just have things to do."

Pru rose and gave hifti a brief, loose hug.

"Don't worry.  Things'11 work out."

Cam compressed his lips and nodded, but he hadn't believed in things working
out since he was fourteen.

As soon as he got home he changed into shorts and sneakers and headed for the
beach down the road.  Running--that would burn off the anger and frustration
knotted inside him since the auction.

He hadn't run half a mile, however, when he acknowledged that losing Rockland
House wasn't the only thing bothering him.  It wasn't even his biggest
problem anymore.

His parents' reaction was.  Their anger.  Their disappointment.

His guilt.

Dammit, he hadn't felt this rotten since the day he told them he'd gotten
Lauren pregnant.

Cameron's pace slowed, slowed, then came to a stop.  He bent forward at the
waist, hands on his thighs, as memories of that day assailed him.

He still found it strange how calm he'd been walking home from school that
day, how the prospect of confronting his parents hadn't really bothered him.
Oh, he'd expected them to be angry, but together they'd work it out.  In his
experience, problems had always had satisfactory conclusions.

What the hell had he been thinking?  That he and Lauren would get married and
live happily ever after with his parents?  That after the baby came along,
his mother would baby-sit while they went off to school?  Yes, that was
exactly what he'd imagined.  And more.

Instead, when his mother heard the news, she had collapsed.  A woman who
could sail alone in a twenty-knot gale or muck out a sheep pen without
flinching.  Pro had slumped into a dead faint at the dining room table.  Cam
had been so shaken, he'd barely heard the lecture he got after she'd revived.
All that registered was that he'd shamed them, shamed the Hathaway name.
All he remembered was that his father drank three quick Scotches, and when
the, lecture was over led Cam into the library.  ^ Funny, how he'd assumed
they were finally going to discuss the problem rationally.  Instead, Clay
had taken off his| belt, ordered him to brace against the bookcase, and
proceeded to tan his hide.

The shock of it had been worse thaa the physical pain.  His father had never
struck him before.  ; That he felt compelled to then had hurt more than any;
punishment he could've devised.

Staring ahead at the spines of those dusty old books, jaw clenched.

Cam had at last awakened to reality.  Each whistling swing of the belt, each
sob that escaped from his father's throat told him.  This is serious.  This
is very serious.

Cameron straightened and slowly resumed his run along the beach.

After that day he pretty much lost control of his life.  His parents kept him
home from school and away from the door when friends came to call.  How to
handle the problem became the issue, and he wasn't included in any of their
discussions.  It was hell, but worse was not knowing what had happened to
Lauren--if she'd found the courage to tell her folks, and if so, how she was
weathering the storm in her own corner of the island.

Within three days.  Cam's parents had enrolled him at a school in
Pennsylvania.  He'd argued fiercely that he didn't want to go and they
couldn't make him.

"We most certainly can," was his father's response, and his mother had told
him to

"Stop being difficult" --as if she were trying to get him to eat his beets or
polish his shoes.

Cameron's pace slowed again.  How vivid the memory of leaving Harmony still
was.  How hurtful.  When the small commuter plane rose from Harmony airport,
the stoic facade he'd kept up all week had finally crumbled and he'd bawled,
^elow was everything he loved, everything he knew or ever wanted.

Home.  Friends.  Lauren.  Even now after so many years.  Cam considered the
day he left Harmony the most painful of his life.

In retrospect, he knew that by sending him away, his parents had suffered,
too.  He was their only child.  They'd doted on him.  He also understood
they'd acted out of love and a desire to protect him, not just from Lauren
and the overwhelming feelings he'd had for her at the time, but from the
gossip and fighting about to break out.

Nevertheless, his banishment had been difficult.  To be left in a strange
place amid strangers.  To turn fifteen alone.  To spend Thanksgiving with the
headmaster.  To receive no letters except from his parents.  To be denied
phone calls to anyone but them.  To watch the seasons change without the
ocean or gray-shingled cottages in sight.  To not smell brine in the wind or
hear seagulls or surf or the fog horn off Sandy Point.  Far from home,
Cameron saw his home more clearly than when he'd been there.  Far from home,
he understood why in ancient times exile had been considered the ultimate
punishment.

Cameron gave up on his run altogether and climbed from the hard-packed
waterline to where the sand was warm and soft.  With a grunt he sat and
wrapped his arms loosely around his knees.

During that first bleak fall and early winter, his parents had been his only
connection to Harmony.  Their letters were long and preachy, taking pains to
explain why his behavior had been wrong.  Not that they really blamed him.
They believed Lauren, being older, had known precisely what she was doing and
had led him astray.  They did remind him they'd always warned him to be
careful of his friends since he stood to inherit all that they had.
Sometimes their letters included pamphlets from church on chastity, birth
control and sexually transmitted diseases.  With those tracts, he considered
his humiliation complete.

Also, through his parents, Cameron discovered the sort of man Tom DeStefano
was and why a liaison with his family was out of the question.  Cameron
learned about DeStefano's fixation with getting rich quick, his bold attempts
to extort money from them for the support of Lauren's baby--and how Lauren
was exactly like her father.  What really stunned him, though, was finding
out she'd had an abortion.  That had finally cured him of his foolish crush.
By the time Christmas arrived and Cameron was allowed.  to come home, he'd
hated her.  '; What a Christmas service it was that year, both families in
church, all with their noses in the air, and the whole congregation watching.

And what an aftermath outside.  With their parents busy wishing others a
merry Christmas, he and Lauren had managed to step away and confront each
other.

To this day Cameron could feel the pain of their argument, so hurtful were
the words they'd slung.  When he'd tried to tell her about not being allowed
to write or phone, she'd told him to stuff it--she was glad he hadn't.  When
Lauren, in turn, tried to explain about the baby, he'd cut her off by saying
it was old news and she could save her breath for someone who actually cared.

To which she'd told him to drop dead.

To which he'd said,

"Blow it out your ear."

Then she'd said knowing him was the worst thing that had ever happened to her.

And he'd rebutted with,

"Don't ever speak to me again.  Don't look at me.  Don't even think of me."

After which she.  well, by that point Lauren had been so mad she'd shouted
the big F-word.  Right there in the churchyard.  On Christmas morning.  With
the minister and three-quarters of the congregation within easy hearing
distance.  i' Now, sitting on the beach fifteen years later, Cameron cracked
his first real smile of the day.  He'd never known anyone who could combine
regal and rowdy quite as well as Lauren DeStefano.  That was one of the
things he'd loved about her.

His smile faded slowly.  Had he loved her?  At fourteen, he'd been a great
romantic.  He'd also been randy as a bull in spring.  But that wasn't love.
That was just adolescence.  He doubted they'd even known each other at such a
tender age.  How could they, when most of their growing up still lay ahead?
He'd become a different person, and he was sure Lauren had, too.

And yet, confronting her today, he'd felt a direct connection to the boy he'd
once been and to something unchanged and unchangeable in her.

Was there such a thing as one's essence?  As angry and disappointed and
resentful as he'd been over losing the house, he'd also felt something
else--a small spark of exhilaration reminiscent of the joy he used to feel
whenever he was with her.  It made no sense, but there it was.  Joy.

Cameron rested his head on his knees and sighed.  The spark didn't mean
anything.  The heart was like a library of dusty, outdated books.

It stored all sorts of feelings no longer relevant to the present.

The thing he needed to keep in mind--the only thing he needed to keep in
mind--was that Lauren now owned one of Harmony's most important landmarks.
He didn't know what she planned to do with it, but, given her track record,
she couldn't be trusted.

Cameron intended to protect the house as best as he could, through the H.  D.
C.  He knew his father would do the same, through zoning.  Fred Gardiner
could rouse the Preservation League to arms, as well.

Together, they might succeed in routing Lauren before she inflicted
irreparable damage to the place.  Hopefully, she'd give up, sell the property
and that would be the end of that.  She'd be out of his life again, which was
exactly where Cameron wanted her.

Then why didn't you just keep bidding?  She would've been gone already.

Cameron plowed his fingers through his hair and stared at the sand between
his feet.  I didn't want to use Dad's money to fight my battles, he answered
himself.  It had nothing to do with the irritating little spark of joy,
nothing whatsoever.

Reluctant to follow that train of thought any further, Cameron lifted his
gaze and considered resuming his run.

But the idea of exercise no longer appealed to him.  He was tired.  And what
was the use, anyway?  He could run all day along the waterline and the only
place he'd reach was the place where he'd started.  That was the trouble with
islands.  You kept going in circles and meeting yourself.

With a resolute sigh, Cameron hauled himself to his feet, brushed the sand
off his shorts and turned toward home.

CHAPTER FIVE

it was early august by the time Lauren set foot on Harmony again, later than
she'd hoped, but just as she'd feared she'd had trouble getting financing.

The bank assessors who'd appraised Rockland House all returned with the same
verdict: she'd paid too much, and the mortgage she was seeking would be an
unsound in, vestment for them.  Several loan officers suggested they might be
more amenable if she could prove the house would generate income, but she
couldn't.  She hadn't collected any figures on what a B and B on Harmony
could earn.  She wasn't even sure her mother would want to run j a B and B.
| It had soon become evident to Lauren that she couldn'tj simply hand over
Rockland House to her mother and let her do what she pleased.

Lauren would have to remain its| owner or at least its manager and create a
business there| that would bring in a reliable, steady income above ai beyond
anything her mother did.  Apartments came to mil immediately.  There was
certainly enough room--in the atic or basement or over the garage.

In the end, she'd gotten her credit, but only becau she'd sold three of her
smaller buildings--quickly a cheaply--and added the proceeds to her down
payment < Rockland House.  That had reduced the amount she need) to borrow
and tipped the scales in her favor.  Now, she afSy hoped she could deliver
because her rehab loan wasn't large as she would've liked.  In addition,
she'd learned she'd be dealing with when she applied for a zoning variance.
Clay Hathaway.

In spite of all her worries, Lauren was excited to be back.  This time she
brought her car, her computer, bedding and kitchen supplies and, most
important, her general contractor, Joe Giancomo.

Joe was fifty-one years old and treated Lauren as if she were one of his own
daughters.  Nevertheless, he was also divorced and handsome, and rather than
stay alone with him at Rockland House and give people something to gossip
about, Lauren made reservations for them at the Old Harbor Inn.

Joe had agreed to take on the renovation, but not without giving Lauren a
hard time first.  He'd groused about the distance, and when he'd gotten over
that, he'd groused about the nature of the project.

Historic houses weren't his strength, he'd complained.  There were guys who
specialized in that sort of work, and he wasn't one of them.

Lauren had insisted he could handle it.

"I don't see what the problem is," she'd argued.

"The H.D.C.

regulations just apply to the outside, and, boiled down, they're really
fairly simple.  No vinyl, no inappropriate modern additions.  Stay with wood
and the original features and you're home free.  "

But now, staring up at Rockland House, Lauren felt some of her confidence
slip.  It was early afternoon and the sun was shining full on the front
facade, illuminating every bit of its dilapidation.

Standing beside her, one hand flattening his wavy black hair, Joe muttered
something in Italian that didn't sound complimentary.

"Come on, Joe, it isn't that bad."

' "Depends.  What do you want to do, set a match to it or bring in a wrecking
ball?"

Despite his initial pessimism, Joe spent the rest of the afternoon carefully
assessing the house.  He started with the exterior, which he declared would
need new everything, except maybe clapboards.  Then he combed the inside,
primarily the attic and cellar, searching for structural weaknesses.  He
found none.  Of course, he thought the plumbing and electrical systems were
less than useless, but Lauren already knew that.  He also thought the kitchen
and bathrooms needed to be ripped out and replaced.  So did she.

"But on the whole," Joe said, at the end of his inspection,

"I'd say you bought yourself a beauty."

Lauren knocked her ear with the heel of her hand.

"Did I hear right?

Did you say a beauty?  "

They were sitting in the front parlor at a small wooden table they'd found in
the basement.  The light of the westering sun slanted through the windows
across an empty pizza box, a well-thumbed copy of the H.  D.  C.  handbook, a
marked-up calendar and a legal pad full of Joe's sketches and written
recommendations.

"It's a gem of a house," he admitted, with a con cessionary smile.

"Classic design, quality workmanship and solid as a rock."

Lauren warmed all over.

"Of course, there are gonna be problems," he went on.  "Shipping materials is
bound to get expensive, and I don't know how many of my guys'11 want to come
out here.  I might have to offer them higher wages, which ultimately will
come out of your pocket.  You'll have to spring for their lodging, too."
Joe's dark eyes met hers meaningfully He knew she was in financial straits.
| Lauren refused to become discouraged, however.

"Sil| let's hire locals to supplement your crew.  The guys you did bring can
stay at the house."  ; "Here?"  is "Yes, you saw all those rooms in the
attic--old servants!  quarters, I think.  The attic already looks like a
dorm.  Wi| might as well use it as one."  ^ "And what happens when we start
work on the inside and the electricity and water are turned off?"

Lauren chewed on her lip.

"How about we use battery lanterns and portable toilets?  Or better yet,
campers and trailers?"

Joe smiled.

"How about we take care of first things first.  Right now we need an okay
from that silly commission."

"It's not an okay, Joe.  It's a Certificate of Appropriateness."

"Hell, even the name makes me want to puke."

Laughing, Lauren assured him she'd handle the commission.

"Anyway, you have a job to finish in Wrentham.  Let's see..."  Lauren reached
for the calendar.  -"Today's Tuesday.  If I want to get a hearing at the next
monthly meeting..."  Her pen came to rest on the third Monday of August.

"Yikes, I'll need to file by this Saturday."  She looked up.  ' "Can you help
me prepare the application?  Will three days give you enough time to draw up
plans and materials lists and estimates?"

"It'll take a lot of calls but, yeah, I think so."

"Great.  We'll have to take photos, too, to show the commission what the
house looks like in its present condition."

"Easy enough."

' "How about drawings of outside elevations?"

"There isn't a heck of a lot to draw--the porches maybe--but I'll do it if
you want."

"I want."  .  ' Joe grunted.

"Maybe we should meet with the commission before we file the application?  It
says here in the guidelines that they encourage work sessions."

Lauren remembered Cameron's offer to meet with her.  She hadn't taken it
seriously at the auction.

"No.  We'd have to set up an appointment at least one week in advance.  That
would throw off our hearing by another month.  We can't afford that kind of
delay.  As it is, by the time we get permits and crews lined up and
materials delivered, we'll be lucky to start before Labor Day.  Besides,
we've handled review boards in towns a lot tougher than this one.  I'm sure
we'll do fine."  The contractor shrugged.

"Let's get to work then."

joe left harmony late Friday afternoon, right after he dropped off the
completed H.  D.  C.  application at the town hall.  He tried to convince
Lauren to leave, too, arguing there was nothing to do until the hearing, but
she knew better.  She had a list of chores so long she didn't know where to
start.

For instance, she had to prepare the attic rooms for the crew, find
inexpensive cots, buy a freezer and a few microwave ovens, and order food in
bulk from a wholesale club.  In addition, she wanted to examine the garage
and basement more closely and sketch some conversion possibilities.

Mostly, though, she just needed to spend time at Rock- land House by herself.
From experience she knew that was :| the best way to get to know a place and
to understand how^ it should be renovated.  She and Joe had already discussed
several possibilities, but she knew she'd discover dozens more in the days to
come.  i On Saturday morning she checked out of the Old Harborl Inn and moved
into the house on Cliff Road where, after changing into scruffy shorts and a
T-shirt, she spent tfa rest of the day cleaning.

She tackled the kitchen and downstairs bathroom firs) Those two rooms would
be in constant use until they weas| dismantled, and she wanted them at least
disinfected.  | After a quick lunch, Lauren moved upstairs, strolledl through
the six bedrooms and decided to claim the nor flits east room for herself.
She wasn't sure why she chose u particular room.  The ocean view?  The
breeze?  Maybe simply because it didn't smell as musty as some of the
others.  In fact, she thought it had a rather pleasant fragrance.

Lauren swept the walls and closet, washed out a dresser that had been left
behind, and gave the linoleum floor a quick swabbing.  With the windows open,
the room dried quickly, and soon she was able to unpack her suitcases, pump
up her inflatable mattress and make her bed.

She was arranging her "office corner" when the celt phone at her waist
chirped abruptly.

"Lauren?"

"Ma!"  Lauren's nerves jumped before she remembered Audrey had no idea where
she was.  With her siblings and staff as accomplices, Lauren had convinced
her mother she'd recently bought a lodge with several cabins in the
Berkshires, and that was where she was now, overseeing renovations, which,
sadly, would require her personal attention most of the summer and fall.
Moreover, the area was quite remote, and if Audrey wanted to get in touch,
she'd have to call Lauren's cell phone number.  That way, Lauren figured, she
could travel anywhere, the Berkshires or the moon, and get away with it.

Lauren hung up after a ten-minute chat, and chuckled.  "Damn seagulls!"  she
muttered, glancing at the bedroom's three open windows.  Her mother had heard
their squawking, asked if there were gulls in the mountains, and Lauren had
boldly answered yes.

At five-thirty, tired and sweaty, Lauren quit cleaning, made herself a thick
roast beef sandwich, popped open a can of cola and went out to the front
veranda steps to watch the sun go down across the hills and hollows of
Harmony.  Unexpectedly, she found herself grinning from ear to ear in
contentment.  There was no reason she'd had to do all that cleaning--she
could've hired a local--but she was glad she had.

Somehow the house felt more like hers now, with or without ghosts.

Hearing the tale of Isabel and John Gray, Joe had kidded her about staying
here alone.  Wasn't she afraid?  After today Lauren didn't feel any qualms
whatsoever.  This was a peaceful house.  She was reluctant to confess she had
a sixth sense--she valued her tough, business-like reputation too much--but
usually when she walked through a house, she got a sense of whether it was
friendly or hostile.  If there were spirits at Rockland House, and she'd
never admit to any such thing, they were benevolent, welcoming ones.

lauren hurried up the front steps of the Island School, her jacket over her
head to protect her from the mist that had begun to blow in off the ocean
late that afternoon, transforming Harmony into a soft, muted watercolor.
Inside the building, the familiar smells of floor wax, crayons, chalk and
peanut butter lingered in the humid summer air.

Under different circumstances Lauren might've felt nostalgic and been tempted
to explore the school where she'd spent a significant part of her life.  But
not tonight.  Tonight,!  the H.  D.  C.  would be reviewing her application,
and her| only immediate concern was to keep her supper down.

She quickly found the long east-wing corridor and headed for the double doors
at the end.  According to the letter she'd received confirming her
appointment, that was where the H.  D.  C.  met, in the cafeteria.  3 On her
way, she nervously checked her appearance is; the dusk-darkened windows.  She
looked okay; her make iq was fresh, and her linen jacket and trousers nattered
he) figure and colorirJ.  She just didn't feel okay.  Tensiol pinched her
mouth, and anxiety knotted her shoulders.  'i With deliberate effort, Lauren
reminded herself that she and Joe had prepared an excellent application.  A
safe application, too, since it asked for nothing controversial.  SN also
recalled that she was an old hand at wrangling wMB planning boards, building
inspectors and zoning officiati A Historic District Commission couldn't be
too different, could it?

But of course this was no ordinary commission, she remembered with a queasy
roll of her stomach.  This one was skippered by Cameron Hathaway.

She'd been back on the island for almost two weeks now and hadn't uttered a
single word to Cam in all that time.  They'd passed each other in their cars
but hadn't waved.  Nor had they acknowledged each other in the market or the
drugstore.  Which was fine with her.  Great, in fact.  It just didn't bode
well for tonight, she feared.

Lauren was surprised to find the cafeteria crowded--conversation bounced off
the walls until it became a loud blur.  She seated herself quickly at a long
Formica-topped table, opened her bag and removed a copy of her application.

At an identical table on a riser at the front of the room, sat the seven
members of the commission, talking among themselves.  Four were strangers to
her.  Three, she knew: Mrs. Landry, her eighth-grade teacher--not a pleasant
memory; Millie Something-or-other, who owned a flower shop; and Cameron.  Cam
was sitting at the center of the table, dressed in casual khakis and a
cream-colored polo shirt, a pencil clamped between his even white teeth as he
skimmed the applications.  His dark hair fell forward in attractive neglect
While he was preoccupied, Lauren let herself study him with an openness she'd
been denied on previous occasions.  She'd often wondered what she'd seen in
Cameron when he was fourteen.  Now she knew.  She'd seen this man.

He was everything she sought in the men she dated-- sought and found only in
fragments.  One might have his build but not his eyes.  Another might have
the eyes but not the hair.  Here it was, the entire package, and Lauren
couldn't help wondering why.  Had their early involvement predisposed her to
seek men such as Cam, or had she been born with that predisposition?  It was
probably one of those chicken-or-egg questions that had no answer, and yet it
bothered her.

Cameron glanced up and scanned the gathering, and as Lauren waited for him to
find her, her breathing became thinner and tighter.  Their eyes met with the
force of a collision, one that went on and on as he stared and she remained
helpless to look away.

Finally the woman beside Cam leaned over and spoke, | and he broke eye
contact.  Lauren felt physically released.  Dragging a hand down her face,
she cast her gaze aside and gave herself a harsh, silent reprimand.  It was
one thing to objectively rate Cameron as an attractive specimen of the male
population, but quite another to react to his attractiveness Physical appeal
didn't mean diddly, and she; had better remember that tonight if she knew
what was; good for her.

A few minutes after seven Cameron opened the meeting.  The first item on the
agenda involved members of Harmony's Economic Development Board and their
plans toil build a new three-story complex with shops on the grount^ floor
and town houses above.  Apparently this was the ttBbe|| time the E.  D.  B.
had had to appear before the commission tonight with design changes that had
been suggested at work session earlier in the week.  With them was a bevy
architects, builders and lawyers.

Lauren had assumed the people sitting on the commision would be a bunch of
backwater bumpkins, but notion was disabused as soon as the discussion got u
way.  Of the four members she didn't recognize, two architects, another was
in construction and the fourth a lawyer.

The person who surprised her most, though, was 0 eron.  Watching him, she
felt the oddest sense of disconnection.  He was so capable, so knowledgeable, so
adult!

course, she shouldn't have been surprised.  He was an adult.  It was only
her knowledge of him that had stopped growing a decade and a half ago.

As the discussion with the E.  D.  B.  continued, it became apparent that
several members of the commission still had reservations about the amended
design.  Before long, the debate grew heated.  One member of the commission,
the older architect, was especially caustic in his remarks.

Cameron, however, remained calm and focused, tempering the more strident
voices with common sense and humor.  Lauren observed him with growing
interest.  Those traits weren't new, she realized.  Cam had always been
relaxed and easy-going, emanating a quiet confidence and an air of reason
that made people trust him.

Out of the blue a memory surfaced: Cameron exhibiting the same traits here in
this very room the day she told him she was pregnant.

Lauren's gaze moved to the exact spot where she'd stood, stammering her news
and twisting her lunch money until it had shredded.

Her face throbbing with heat, Lauren glanced at Cameron, wondering whether
the irony of their meeting in this particular room had struck him, too.  But
he seemed totally engrossed in the proceedings and oblivious to the past.

Lauren tried to pay attention, too, but before long another memory came'
calling: an after-school rehearsal for a Christmas concert when she was
thirteen; the three middle grades singing on risers right about where the
commission sat now; M^s.  Moss, the music teacher, at the podium, looking for
all the world like Julia Child, her arm waddles flapping to the beat of "0
Tannenbaum" ; the boys mumbling and fidgety and watching the snow fall until
they came to the chorus

"Oh, Christmas tree, Oh, Christmas tree," which they belted out like
lumberjacks; and Mrs. Moss urging,

"Boys, boys, modulate your enthusiasm..."

And afterward, the snowball fight that broke out on the trek home, boys on
one side of the road, girls on the other; the thrilling forays across the way
and being jostled and pushed into drifts and snow melting down one's back.
Oh, what a time it was, that pause after childhood when the two sexes began
to sense there were other things they might do with one another but this was
all they could imagine.  Except for two, who gazed at each other as they lay
inH the snow, she with her arms pinned, he with his breathe rising in white
billows against the gray sky, their laughter suspended; two, who as the
childish battle raged on around them got to their feet, brushed each other
off, and walked away holding hands.

Lauren came to with a jolt, horrified that she was snulJB ing.

Mortified that Cameron was watching her.  Flustere^ and feeling exposed, she
rose and tiptoed out to the bubbler for a drink of water.

By the time she returned, a settlement had been reached with the E.  D.  
B.  They and their adjuncts left the room noisily, cutting the crowd down
by half.  Cameron surveyed those remaining, his glance skimming Lauren's,
leaving nervous vibration in its wake.

"Next item on the agenda--Mr.  and Mrs. Anderson?"

Lauren sat through several applications for home s business renovations, jobs
that ranged from the simple hanging of a business sign to the construction of an
en house.  Everything seemed to fall under the commissic aegis, even
landscaping.  What really floored her was the members of the commission could
use view as an gument for or against a petition.  If, for instance, a pro pc
addition obstructed a valuable view, it got the ax!  As as Lauren could see,
the rules they played by gave then al lot of wiggle room--to be as lenient or
stringent as t pleased.

Cameron waited till the very end of the night to hear application.

She was certain he'd made her sit there posely to waste her time and make
her sweat.  He'd succeeded admirably.

Gazing at her across a distance of five empty tables, he said,

"Come on up front.  Take a closer seat so we don't have to shout."  Although
his demeanor was amiable enough, Lauren wasn't going to let down her guard.
She couldn't.  This was Cameron, the man who wanted her house, and experience
had taught her how hurtful he could be.  She'd try to be polite, but if he
got personal or gave her any guff, he was going to get it right back.

She pulled out a chair at the front table, sat and placed her application in
front of her.  Ready to begin, she looked up--only to find Cameron rising
from his seat.

"I believe everyone is aware I participated in the auction for the house Ms.
DeStefano is here to discuss.  So, unless there's a question, I'll recuse
myself and hand things over to Beatrice, our vice-chair."  With that, he
walked off, hoisted himself onto the wide window ledge and let their old
teacher, Mrs. Landry, take over.

Lauren was stunned.  Cameron wasn't going to confront her?  He wasn't going
to question or insult or reject any of her requests?  Her regard for his
professionalism zoomed, and after three hours of watching him, it was pretty
high already, she was sorry to say.

Facing the pane], however, Lauren suddenly realized Cameron didn't hdve to
confront her.  These people would do it for him.  They were his colleagues,
his neighbors, his friends.  Apd they didn't look happy.

CHAPTER SIX

"hello, lauren," Mrs. Landry said blandly.

"Nice see you again after so many years."

"Nice seeing you."

"You've bought a special property.  We've all been eager to have it restored."

A few board members flicked glances over to Cameron tension in their
postures, uncertainty in their eyes, their loyalty undoubtedly divided
between him and their duty to "' their posts fairly and objectively.

"Well, I'm eager to restore it," Lauren returned, a before anyone had the
chance to ask what she intended do with Rockland House, a question that was
probably everyone's mind, she hurried on.

"As I've stated in i application, I intend to keep the exterior of the house
loi ing pretty much as it does now.  I'm not asking to bui| anything new or
remove..."

Mrs.  Landry lifted a hand to interrupt her.

"Yes, we'i read your application.  We do have several ques do though."

"Of course."

"Let's start with one of the bigger problems."

One of the bigger.  ?  Lauren made an effort to keep: smile in place.

"The roof," Mrs. Landry began.  All along the table pages turned.

"We see you're proposing to put on a roof of asphalt shingles?"

"Yes.  In a tasteful dark gray."  What on earth was problem with her roof?

"My contractor has listed the brand and the weight--an excellent quality.
Forty-year guarantee."  She'd made a point of telling Joe to go with better-
than-average materials all down the line.

"No doubt," Mrs. Landry replied.

"However, the current roof is slate."

Oh, so that was their hang-up.  Lauren smiled, shaking her head.

"That's an easy mistake to make from a distance, but less than half is slate.
The rest is asphalt.  I'm not sure why..."

Charles Gordon, the elder architect, drawled,

"Some philistine removed the slate during the Depression and sold it for
salvage."

Lauren wanted to protest that that "philistine" might have been starving but
she kept the thought to herself.  "So... what?  You want me to put a slate
roof back on the house?"  They couldn't be serious.

Mrs.  Landry gazed at her through pink-framed wing- shaped glasses.

"That's the general idea.  Slate's the original roofing material, and since a
sizable portion of it remains, nothing else would be appropriate."

Lauren had anticipated a curve or two, but nothing like this.

"There isn't another slate roof on the island."

"We're not here to make the town look uniform," Mrs. Landry explained.

"Our goal is to protect architectural integrity."

Lauren wet her parched lips.  Oh, Lord, a slate roof.  That was going to cost
a fortune in both money and time.  She cast a veiled glance at Cameron.  He
probably thought his expression was impassive, but she could see the smirky
satisfaction behind it clearly enough.

On a surge of angry pride, she said,

"Well, by all means, we'll do slate.  Will my word be sufficient, or do I
have to bring in a new estimate and materials list?"

' "We'll need the new figures.  Samples of old and new shingles, too.
Next," the woman intoned, turning a pageS "fenestration."  She obviously
loved the word.

"You want uS to replace the original windows?"  | "Well, yes.  They're in
terrible shape.  Some won't open, I others are so loose they rattle."  |
"Those problems can be easily repaired," the builder on| the panel said.

"And it's always better to keep the original!  sash when possible."

"I was thinking new replacements would be much moi energy-efficient."

"True.  But houses of that style and age often had interic shutters that
could be closed during cold or stormy weather!  They probably worked as well
as anything we've invent since."  Other heads bobbed in agreement.

Lauren tried to steady her breathing.  They were talku about an interior
feature that didn't fall under their jurisdiction.

Should she argue the point and risk alienating tnei further?  She didn't know
what to say.

"I'll make a note of your suggestion and discuss it wit my contractor."

"Fine."  Mrs. Landry removed her glasses and rubl her eyes.

"Shall we move on, then?  The rebuilding of i verandas..."

"As you can see from the photographs, the pillars splintered and rotted, and
the floors are..."

"It's the decorative railing along the roof line we wantji address."

Lauren felt as if she'd been reprimanded for talk inga in class.

Her former teacher continued.

"I don't see any drawings of your replacement railings."

It was becoming obvious this commission intended toi as contrary as possible,
and Lauren knew why.  After shooting Cameron yet another black look, she turned
to the drawing ing Joe had made of the front elevation.

"Page six?"

"Yes, but that shows nothing of the details.  We prefer to see an
enlargement of such architectural features.  Can your contractor provide us
with one?"

"I'm sure he can," Lauren said, and noticed Mrs. Landry's face tighten.
Had she sounded snide?

"Thank you.  Now on to..."

"Excuse me, Beatrice," Charles Gordon interrupted.  "While we're on the
subject of verandas, what are these French doors, Ms. DeStefano?"

"Oh.  My contractor checked the structure thoroughly-- his engineering
credentials are listed on page two--and structurally the house will have no
trouble supporting those doors."

"I'm afraid I will, though," Gordon replied, gazing at her as if she were a
bug.

Lauren's mouth dried.

"Those doors are on the back side of the house.

They're not visible from the road, and from inside they'll open up the east
end of the house to a full view of the ocean.  As an architect, I'm sure you
can appreciate the design.  "

Gordon wagged his head.

"They're totally incongruous with the house."

Lauren wanted to argue further, but she could see the others agreed.

"Okay.  I can live without a great view of the ocean.  How about the siding?"
she asked, wanting to move on.  She knew she was safe there.

"My contractor thinks he can save most of the original clapboards.

What he can't, hjb'll replace with identical boards.  "

She saw nods all along the table, yet something wasn't quite right.

They were poring over her application as if searching for a missing page or a
secret code between the lines.

The younger architect asked,

"May we assume that such details as the original moldings and brackets and
quoins will be preserved or replaced, as well?"

Quoins?

"Yes," Lauren replied brazenly, and before anyone could catch her in her
ignorance, she added,

"Presently the house is painted yellow, but I've indicated I'd like to change
that to pale blue-gray with white trim and black shutters."

The florist on the board asked,

"Was that the original color scheme?"

Lauren's patience was wearing thin.

"I really don't know.  I just thought it would suit a classically designed
house."

"You're right about that," the woman said, "but there's a strong movement on
the island to restore old buildings to their original form.  We had hoped you
might join the movement."  Her disappointment was obvious, but it wasn't as
bad as the disdain Lauren felt wafting off Charles Gordon.

She glanced toward Cameron.  He still sat comfortably on the windowsill, a
smug little smile curving his Ups.  She was getting hanged, and he was loving
it!

"May I ask what you plan to do with the sun room?"  Gordon asked.

"The sun room?  I'm not sure I understand."

Eyes met along the table.  ^ "It was added in the 1950s, a ghastly mistake
that throws^ off the entire design of the house.  Yet I don't see anything3|
in your application about removing it."  I "Removing it?  No, I didn't
think..."  What had shtf| thought?  They'd object to such a drastic change?

The white-haired architect seemed ready to continue, bl Mrs. Landry checked
her watch and interrupted.

"We ui ally end at ten o'clock, and it's already fifteen past..."

With sinking heart, Lauren turned to the clock on the wall.  Nothing had gotten
accomplished.  Not a thing!

"On behalf of the commission, let me say it's been pleasure talking to you,
Lauren."  Mrs. Landry smiled i genuinely.

"And we look forward to working with you in the future.

I'd ask for a vote now except that I think it's obvious we've just begun to
work on your project.  So I'm going to table it and pencil you in for next
month's meeting.  In the meantime, I'd like to put you in touch with some
useful people on the island.  " She turned over Lauren's application as if it
were scrap paper and jotted down several names, explaining who they were as
she wrote: the president of the Preservation League, the curator of the
Historical Society Museum and various locals who'd restored their own homes.

Mrs.  Landry spoke in a friendly manner; Lauren couldn't fault her that.
Others at the table contributed, too, suggesting titles of books she might
enjoy reading.  Yet the more help they offered, the smaller she felt.  She
knew condescension when she heard it.  They were treating her like the
village idiot, pointing her to people and materials that'd guide her out of
ignorance onto the lighted path.

Hoping her face wasn't as red as she imagined, she took back her application
and slipped it into her purse.

"Thank you."

' "We do try to accommodate everyone, Lauren," her former teacher said.

"I'm sorry we couldn't give your project the time it deserved..."

Lauren was sure jshat was part of Cameron's overall scheme.

"But next meeting we will, I promise.  Do you have any questions?"  ;
Lauren's insides were trembling.

"Isn't there anything on the list my contractor can get started on?"  She
waited through a spate of page-turning.

"I'm in a bit of a time crunch here."

"Oh?  How so?"

"Well, I'd like to get the house buttoned up by mid- November, the latest.
How about the foundation work?  A few of the stones need re mortaring That's
harmless enough.  We could probably start scraping and sanding the
clapboards, too, maybe even blowing in insulation."

Mrs.  Landry glanced off toward Cameron, and Lauren sensed a communication
pass between them in the faintest of nods.

"Yes, I believe we can take a vote on those points."

Damn!  Even recused.  Cam was calling the shots.  Then, to prove how just and
honest he was, he quietly left the room--as if his absence was really going
to matter!

The vote, of course, went in Lauren's favor.  Mrs. Landry smiled.

"We'll send our recommendation over to the building department first thing in
the morning."

"Thanks."  Lauren gathered up her purse, her throat thick with gathering
tears, and headed for the door.  Eager to get home and lick her wounds, she
hurried down the corridor, crossed to the front vestibule, butted open the
door with both hands--and nearly knocked Cameron right off his feet.

cameron stumbled down two steps before regaining his balance.

"Hey, no need to get violent," he protested mildly.  He was in too good a
mood to be angry.  On the sidewalk he squinted up at Lauren, wishing he could
see her expression better, but the light was behind her, so her face was in
shadow.  He knew she could see him, though, and he didn't even try to hide
his gloating.  As the saying went, payback was a bitch.

"So, Lauren, how'd you enjoy your first H.D.C.  hearing?"  he asked, assuming
the sort of cutting innocence she'd foisted on him after the auction.  < Her
shoulders trembled as she squared them.

"As if you don't know."

He shrugged.

"I don't.  Gee, didn't it go in your favor?"

"Oh, grow up."  She descended the stairs, disdain emanating from her
palpably.  But when she tried to pass, he stepped in her way.  She stopped
just short of bumping into him.

It was then that he noticed the moisture glistening along her eyelashes and
realized he'd been needling a balloon that had already lost its air.  Damn.
He didn't want to know she was vulnerable, didn't want to see that she hurt.

"What's wrong?"  he asked, dropping the tease.

"Nothing.  What could possibly be wrong?"  She sniffed and cocked her chin,
firming her quivering lower lip.

"The meeting went exactly as you planned, didn't it?"

He frowned.

"What do you mean?"

"Don't play the innocent, Cam.  You're about as obvious as a bad smell in
church."

Her sharp, accusing tone dissolved any sympathy that he had harbored for her.
Lauren hadn't lost any air.  She'd simply been knocked off balance for a
moment.

' "Whoa!  Wait a minute.  If you're implying what I think, you're wrong,
Lauren.  I don't pull any puppet strings."

"No?  Then how come I've never felt so stonewalled in my life?"

Cameron had difficulty holding her gaze, because the truth was she had been
stonewalled.  The members of the commission had acted resoundingly in his
interest.

"Look, I didta't ask them to give you a hard time.  I'd never do that to
anybody."  True enough.  If they had interpreted his desire to own Rockland
House as a silent mandate, that was their business.

Lauren's mouth tightened at the corners.

"And I suppose you never coached them to argue certain points, either?"

"Coached?  No, not deliberately.  Sure, we discussed the house, but only in a
general, nonpartisan way--the way we often do before a hearing."  He couldn't
help it if they'd heard about the slate roof and sun porch from him.  He'd
simply shared the information.

Suddenly he frowned.

"They didn't torpedo your request just now, did they?"

"No."

"Well, then."

"The rest should've passed, too, dammit.  There was nothing wrong with my
application."

"If you owned an ordinary house, no.  But you don't."

Lauren folded her arms and glowered.

"Is that going to be your defense through this entire farce, my house is
unique?"

"Absolutely."

She gaped at him, then laughed in disbelief.

"How absurd.  That gives you carte blanche to demand anything you want.  I
don't think it's even legal.  I'm afraid you're going to be hearing from my
lawyer."

Cam shrugged, unperturbed.

"Is there something in particular bothering you?"

"There are a lot of some things but why don't we start with the roof?

Why does it have to be slate?  Dark asphalt shingles would look just as
attractive and serve just as well.  "

"But they wouldn't be authentic."

"That's it, isn't it?  You people have decided to make me do an exact
restoration."

"It's what / would've done."

"Bully for you."  Green sparks practically shot from her eyes.

"Do you have any idea how expensive slate is?  OS course you do.  That's the
whole idea, isn't it--to make thi^ project so costly that I'll give it up?
Well, I've got news] for you, Cam Hathaway."  She took a step closer, leading
with her chin.

"I'm in this for the long haul."  i; Cameron almost smiled.  He'd always
admired her stub-; bomness and strength.  But smiling would've been totally
inappropriate, considering she was attacking his integrity--^ as
inappropriate as the daydreaming he'd lapsed into sevj eral times during the
meeting.  Damn, why'd they have to meet at the school, a place filled with so
many memories?

"The board members made a decision based on principle, not revenge,"

he said defensively.

"They only want justice to be done to that house."

"Justice?"  Up went her arms, along with her temper.  "Justice is so far
removed from this issue that it's" -- "Hey!"  he shouted, making her jump.

"Get off your high horse, Lauren, and take an honest look at what happened."

"I got railroaded is what happened."

"You got exactly what you deserved.  I offered to help you--God only knows
why--and you threw the offer in my face.  You could've met privately with the
commission, too.  But, oh, no, not you.  You'd die before admitting you might
not know everything."

Lauren flexed her shoulders.

"I went into the meeting as prepared as I needed to be."

"You went into it with arrogance.  Even now--look at you--you can't admit you
failed.  If you want my opinion, the board went easy on you.

They were kind.  "

Lauren was livid.  Words sputtered from her like backfire from an old Model
T.  Finally she managed to get out,

"How can you say such a ridiculous thing?  My application" -- ' "Lacked
research," he leveled at her.

She blinked; "Research?"

"That's right.  You didn't present a shred of evidence to indicate you'd
studied the history of your house or appreciated what you'd bought.  In my
opinion, you don't deserve that house.  It's like giving prime Scotch to a
street drunk."

Lauren gasped.

"How dare you... you pompous, elitist ass!"

' "Uh-uh, Lauren.  You're the one with her nose in the air, and don't think
people haven't noticed."

Incomprehensibly, his words seemed to wound her.  She stared at him several
long seconds, her eyes growing luminous.  When she spoke, her chin quivered.

"Maybe I have good reason, and if you don't remember what I'm talking
about..."  She glanced aside abruptly and let her sentence trail off.

All at once, awareness of their past and the gossip it had generated filled
the night.  It rode the salt-pungent air, dripped from the fog-wet trees,
resonated in the gongs of a distant buoy's bell.  They fell quiet, Cameron
squinting down the dark street, Lauren scowling at the marigolds blooming
around the flagpole.

Lauren wanted to hang on to her anger--she'd been wronged tonight--but,
suddenly tired, she felt it slipping from her exhausted grip.  So much
existed between her and Cameron besides Rockland House and the H.  D.  C.  "
and, although it lay fifteen years in the past, it was still unfinished
business, poisoning the present.  If only she could unburden herself of those
old hurts and find closure on that chapter of her life.  But how?  How to cut
through the bitterness and family strife?

She glanced at Cameron hesitantly.  He turned his head and looked at her.

Cameron wanted to hang on to his anger.  Because o(| revenge, Lauren had
bought a house she had no business;!  owning.  Yet he could feel his anger
dulling under the grinding weight of guilt.  Despite everything that had
occurred| he was sorry he'd gotten Lauren pregnant.  What a horrible
experience for a fifteen-year-old girl.  He'd often thou^ Lauren deserved an
apology from him.  But how?  How broach such an awkward subject, especially
on the heels tonight's meeting?

She'd undoubtedly tell him exact!  ; where he could stick his apology.

Just then the door opened, and the young architect ai the florist exited the
school.  Cameron and Lauren broke & contact and parted to opposite sides of
the walk to let them pass.

"Good night," the couple said, giving them curious glances.  They nodded back
and mumbled inchoate replies.

They were about to step together again when out came Charles Gordon.

He merely harrumphed as he strutted away.

Cameron sighed.

"I guess I should go in and close up shop."

"Might as well."  Lauren hiked the strap of her shoulder bag higher.

"This conversation isn't getting us anywhere."

"That's for sure."  He turned and started for the school, his chest aching
with unreleased frustration.

His foot was already on the first step when Lauren called, "Cam?"

He pivoted.

"Yes?"

"What did you mean, people have noticed?"

"It's nothing really.  A few people've grumbled that you're being secretive
about the house.  You know, what you plan to do with it?"

"Oh."

He tilted his head and waited, and waited a little longer, then laughed with
sad resignation.

"Good night, Lauren.  Sorry the meeting didn't go so well for you."

She nodded, lips pressed tight, and hurried off to her car.

lauren phoned joe early the next morning to fill him in on the meeting.  She
had to hold the receiver away from her ear while he responded.  Once he
calmed down, though, he admitted he'd been afraid they'd have problems.

"I'm really sorry.  What you need is a restoration contractor, not me."

"It isn't you, Joe.  I have every confidence in your work."  Lauren had never
told him about Cameron, but now, hearing his self-recriminations, she felt
she should.

"It's me.  The chair of the H.D.C.  is... the same guy I beat out at the
auction."

"Hoo boy.  We're in trouble."

"Don't worry, I'll handle it."  Although she'd barely scratched the surface
of what she could say about Cameron, she let it go at that.

Joe said,

"Sounds like you could use some good news."

"Got any?"

"Yep.  I'm almost done with the kitchen job in Wren- tham, which means, come
next weekend, I'll be all yours."

"Wonderful.  Don't forget to bring a few guys with you.  They can start
propping the siding.  Bring Brian King, too, if possible."  Brian King was a
young architect they sometimes worked with.

"I've got his number out already.  And the electrician's and plumber's.  In
the meantime, you might want to get in touch with some of those people the
H.D.C.  recommended."

Lauren sighed.

"Maybe I will."

"Maybe you'd better or you're going to be playing games with the chairman for
months."

After she got off the phone, Lauren poured herself a third cup of coffee and
sat on the back porch, staring at the ocean and stewing.

She hated this situation.  She would've done a wonderful job on the house
renovating it her way.  It might not be Cameron's way, but it would've been
perfectly fine nonetheless.  Tasteful.  In keeping with the period.  He had
her wasting time, jumping through hoops.

Unfortunately he had the authority, and so she had no choice but to jump.

Lauren gazed at the hypnotic glitter of sunlight on watey and finally
admitted there was one other emotion disturbing her this
morning--embarrassment.  She'd hated appearing inept last night, not because
of any rivalry with Cam, but because she'd simply wanted to look good in his
eyes.  | / must be crazy, she thought.  That attitude was tied to a time
when circumstances between them were far different, What she had to remember
was, that was then and this was now, and presently Cameron wanted her to be
inept.  He wanted her to fail.  He was doing everything he could to make her
fail.

With a determination that knocked back her chair, Lauren shot to her feet,
dumped the remainder of her coffee over the porch railing and headed for the
Historical Society Museum.

lauren hadn't been in the museum since she was a girl.  It had expanded, but
she still recognized -many of the displays.  She wandered past

"The Age of Explorers," paused briefly at the diorama of a Wampanoag Indian
village, then moved on to a room of household implements from the eighteenth
and nineteenth centuries.  Buffered by summer tourists, she wandered from
exhibit to exhibit, searching for anything to do with Rockland House or Greek
Revival architecture.  She found nothing.

Lauren had noticed the curator in his office--a middle- aged man wearing a
red bow tie and rimless glasses.  He'd been curator even when she was in
school.  He was also one of the men who'd been standing with Cameron during
the auction.  , She was sorely tempted to leave.  How could she ask this
man--this friend of Cameron's--for help?  But then she remembered why she was
there.  Thanks to the H.  D.  C.  " she was now fighting time.  Swallowing
her pride, she tapped on the open door.

"Mr.  Cote?"

The curator was bent over a carton of old books, dust on his hands and
shirtfront.  He peered up, his smile faltering when he recognized her.

"Yes?"

"Hi.  I'm looking for information on a house I just bought, and I was told
you might be able to help."

He creaked to his feet, brushing off his hands.

"It's the Rockland House, right?"

She appreciated that he didn't pussyfoot.

"Yes.  I'm interested in anything that'll help me with the restoration of the
outside--photographs, sketches, records, anything."

"Only the outside?"

"For now."  Good God, did people expect her to do a faithful restoration
inside, too?

"Could I see your archives?"

"Normally I'd say yes.  Our archives contain quite a lot of information, but
right now everything is out on special loan."

"Oh, rats.  When do you expect the material back?"

The curator grimaced.

"That's hard to say."  His eyes evaded hers.

"Well, could you tell me who the borrower is?  Is it someone local?

Maybe I can call and try to strike a deal.  "

The man seemed to have developed a dozen nervous ticks in the space of a few
minutes.

"Well, you might..."  he replied hesitantly, eyelids twitching, "although you
can find excellent resources at the library, too."

"Yes, the H.D.C.  recommended a few titles."

Cote's eyes jerked to hers.

"The H.D.C.  did?  Oh."

"I'd still rather borrow the stuff that's out on loan.  It seems the most
direct approach."

"Yes, I imagine it is."  He lifted some books from the box and stacked them
on his desk.

"The person who has the material is Cameron Hathaway."  He busied himself
tidying the stack.

"I believe you're acquainted."  ; Lauren concentrated on keeping her reaction
in check.  ; "Yes."  She waited for Mr. Cote to continue, but he justi kept
patting that stack of books.

"Thank you.  You've been] a big help."  | From the Historical Society Museum,
she headed over' to see Nancy Otis, a woman in her early forties who,
together with her husband, had restored a 1750s farmhouse-- practically
rebuilt it, really.  She was delighted to talk to Lauren and show her around.

Within minutes Lauren wished she'd skipped this name on her list.  The woman
was a rabid purist who'd even done her own archeological dig around the
property.  Her home was a masterpiece of restoration--but it had little in
common with Lauren's predicament.

"How long did you say you've been renovating?"  Lauren asked over tea,
sitting in the low-beamed kitchen.

"Eight years, and we're still not done."

"Eight years!  And how did you learn to do all this?"  Lauren gestured toward
a beehive oven that Nancy had completely rebuilt.

' "Oh, lots of reading and sleuthing.  We got advice from the Preservation
League, too.  They were great.  But I'd have to say the person who helped
most was Cameron Hatha- way.  Do you know him?"

Lauren gulped down a painful bubble of air with her tea.  Unable to talk for
the pressure in her chest, she simply nodded.

' "He let us borrow old documents that were stored at his house.  His
parents' house, I should say.  The family never threw anything away.

The place is a treasure trove of local history.  Even when the documents
didn't deal directly with the restoration, we enjoyed reading them.  They
gave us an invaluable understanding of previous owners, what their lives were
like--a sense that they're a part of us now and we're a part of them.  " The
woman's eyes actually misted over.

"Yes, you might give Cameron a call.  I'm sure he'd be able to help."

From there Lauren drove to Gardiner Interiors, which doubled as an office for
the Preservation League.  But, while she parked the car, she noticed the
proprietor, Fred Gardiner, talking at the door with a woman who was just
leaving, and recognized him as one more of Cameron's friends.  She drove
away, not so much out of stubborn pride as reluctance to ask someone else to
compromise his loyalties.

Next she hit the library, which was what she should've done in the first
place, she decided.  She got herself a card and checked out as many books as
she was allowed.  One of them was Cameron's Harmony Restored.  She'd
resisted, but it looked like an interesting, if not useful, read--nothing
about Rockland House, but lots of pictures of other local houses, their
history and architecture.

Lauren returned home crackling with determination.  Cameron didn't think she
could do this.  Well, he was in for a surprise.  She was a reasonably
intelligent person.  If other people could learn to restore, so could she.
And it wouldn't take her eight years, either.

She carried her books, two satchels full, up to her room, stretched out on
her mattress and read for the next two days straight.

On the third morning, with bleary eyes and pounding head, she went to see
Cameron.

CHAPTER SEVEN

cameron lived on a narrow gravel road going nowhere but Gooseberry Beach.
His house was a typical New En- gland summer cottage, its unpainted cedar
shingles weathered to a soft silver-gray, a wicker set tee dozing on the front
porch and masses of pink roses rambling up one side to the roof.  Above the
front door a rough signboard announced it as The Seldom Inn.

Lauren sat in her car on the side of the road, studying the cottage and
wondering if she had completely lost her mind.  No, she decided, her back was
just firmly pressed against the wall.

"I think you're blowing Cam's villainy all out of proportion," Cathryn had
said yesterday during a quick visit to drop off some homemade lasagna.  She
worried Lauren might perish, cooking for herself.

"He's really a great guy.  He loves what he does, and when people ask him for
advice, he's usually thrilled to give it.  I'm sure he'd help you, too, if
not for your sake then for the sake of the house."

Cathryn was' naive.

Lauren found Cam mending a stone wall at the bottom of an inclining lawn
behind the cottage.  His black T-shirt and worn jeans were molded to a body
she still found new and jarring.  He hadn't shaved yet, and, like all that
trim, sinuous musculature, she found the dark stubble shading his jaw new and
unsettling, too.  His sun-bronzed neck and arms were streaked with dirt, and
sweat trickled down his temples.

Crossing the yard, Lauren felt a moment of misgiving, not because of the
favor she was about to ask, although that was causing her fits, too, but
because every time she saw him.  Cam seemed to grow more attractive.

He glanced up through a curtain of spiky dark hair, then went on working.
Tools lay on the ground around him shovels, branch loppers, crowbars, two
cans of poison-ivy spray.  He waited till her shadow crossed his before
lifting his head again.  She suspected he was still peeved over the argument
they'd had outside the school.

"Hi," she ventured, hands deep in the pockets of her cargo shorts.

"What are you doing?"

"What does it look like?"  He wiped his face with the bottom of his shirt,
exposing a flat washboard stomach that momentarily stole Lauren's ability to
reason.

She averted her gaze.

"Doesn't matter.  Cam, can we talk?"

"Maybe.  What about?"

She folded her arms, one knee cocked.  Boy, did she hate this.

"Rockland House.  What else?"

He did an exaggerated double take.

"You want to talk about Rockland House with me?"

She tapped one foot and squinted off toward a small pond where a flock of
wild ducks was gliding.

"Seems you've got all the information on it.  Who else should I go to?"  She
swallowed, loudly, and wanted to die when he laughed.  He was going to laugh
her right back to the road and into her car.

She was still staring at the ducks, regretting she had come, when she felt a
hand touch the small of her back.

"Come on up to the house," Cam said.

Suddenly she couldn't move, not out of surprise that he was giving in, but
because this was the first physical contact they'd had in fifteen years.  She
couldn't even breathe as his reassuring warmth soaked into her.

"Come on," he repeated softly, and instinctively she knew he understood how
hard this was for her.

With an effort, she broke through the strange paralysis that was gripping her
and crossed the lawn, walking by his side.

"Do you own this cottage?"  she asked.

He nodded.

"I bought it about four years ago, moved in thinking I'd fix it up a bit and
then sell it, and I ended up staying."

"It's a great location."

"Sure is.  But the house itself is kind of small."  He let her go ahead of
him up the stairs of the rear deck.

They entered through the kitchen.

"I'm going to take a quick shower,"

he said as the screen door whacked shut behind them.

"Not on my account, I hope."

"It isn't."  He led her into the living room.

"I'll just be a few minutes.  Have a seat."

Lauren breathed a sigh of relief as he disappeared upstairs.  Maybe this
wouldn't be as bad as she'd expected.

The inside of Cam's house was as casual as the outside promised.

Casual and masculine.  There was wood every- where--plank walls, exposed
beams, bead-board ceilings.  Bookcases and shelves were cluttered with
objects--collections of seashells and stones, old bottles, navigational
instruments; candles in hurricane jars, jawbones of fish.  And books.
Hundreds of books.

Pictures of sailboats graced the walls, and there were two clocks, one a
ship's bell, the other a banjo style that looked antique.  The windows were
bare, their views spectacular.  The Franklin stove looked much used.  A dark
pine chest, pressed into service as a coffee table, displayed a large
clamshell ashtray, a tumbler with an inch of orange juice in it, a tide
chart, a tape recorder and a cassette labeled Interviews--Captain Kidd's
Treasure, and a spiral notebook.

Lauren sat gingerly on the brown leather sofa and trie to contain her
curiosity, but it was beyond contain men This was where Cam lived.

This was where he slept an ate, entertained friends and wrote books.

Where he mad love?  The thought popped into her mind before she could chase
it away.  Cathryn had said his fiancee lived in he parents' summer house, but
did she ever stay here?  Laure searched for evidence of a female presence and
was a; palled by how pleased she felt when she found none.

Cameron came down the stairs wearing a clean pair c jeans and an unbuttoned
blue chambray shirt, sleeves rolle to the elbows.  His feet were bare.  He'd
towel-dried his had but hadn't combed it, so that it stood up in wet spikes
an swirls all over his head.  Water droplets glistened in the dar hair on his
chest and he still hadn't shaved.

Laure would've accused him of deliberately parading his masci line
magnificence except that he seemed so unaware of himself which, alas, only
added to his appeal.

"Care for something to drink?"  he asked, fastening the middle button of his
shirt.

"No, thanks."  She watched him pad to the kitchen, taka bottle of water from
the refrigerator, twist it open an drink half the contents in a few swallows.

"I like your place," she offered.

"You do?"  He seemed surprised.

"Most women look i all this junk and run off screaming."

Lauren shrugged.

"Is that clock antique?"

"The banjo?  Mmm.  About a hundred and fifty years old."  Returning to the
living room, he said,

"Come o upstairs.  That's where I have my study."

The slant-ceilinged second floor was divided into tw rooms, a bedroom and a
study, with the bathroom betweea The study was surprisingly light and airy,
despite the ova flow of books, files, magazines and papers.

"New PC.?"  Lauren asked, settling into a wicker chair "Yeah, I haven't
really used it yet.  I hate the damn thing."  He swiveled the chair from his
desk so that it faced her.

"So, what can I do for you?"  he asked.  He sat forward, resting his elbows
on his knees, and flexed his long toes on the faded woven carpet.  His clean
scent met her in an unsettling wave of warmth.

Lauren gazed out the window behind him, at the dunes and the ocean beyond,
and tried to get a grip on the response coursing through her.

It had become fairly obvious to her at the H.  D.  C.  meeting that she was
still vulnerable to Cameron's physical appeal.  However, whether it was for
the Cameron who sat in front of her or for a fourteen-year-old who existed
only in memory, she didn't know.  She didn't care, either.  Bottom line was,
she had to ignore the appeal.  It was too unsettling, too distracting.  With
so much going on in her life, she needed to stay focused.  Every minute,
every ounce of energy, counted.

"Okay" -- she pressed her palms together "--this is the way it is.

I've been reading like a madwoman since the meeting the other night, trying
to research my house.  "

"I was wondering about those dark circles under your eyes."

Oh, great.  She thought she'd covered them with concealer.  , "Anyway, me
Iqng and short of it is, I've decided to ask for some help."  She waited, but
he didn't laugh, didn't say she'd come to the wrong person.

"Not that I couldn't complete the research on my own eventually..."  she
added.

"Of course not."  He rolled his eyes slightly, but Lauren didn't sense any
real disdain behind the gesture.

"I don't want to waste time, though.  I especially can't afford to attend
meeting after meeting, each one a month apart, tinkering with this now and
that later.  I've got to present a set of plans for the entire exterior job
that's guaranteed to be approved, and I've got to do it soon."

" Cameron sat back slowly, frowning.

"What exactly do you want from me?"

"Nothing much, really.  I hear you have some material on my house, and I'd
like to borrow it.  I can't do research if the stuffs not available."  She
would've accused him of hoarding it precisely for that reason but didn't
think that'd advance her cause.

"What I'm asking is for you to level the playing field, Cam--make it a fair
fight.  How can you take pride in one that isn't?"

Cameron sat for a long time, studying her.  She tried to look back, but it
was hard.  Not that she was afraid he'd deny her, not that she felt weak for
having come to him, but because suddenly the only thing she could think about
was making love with him in the dunes visible from the window over his
shoulder.

Their first time had been in those dunes.  Is that where she'd gotten
pregnant?  It could've been.  Although Cameron had brought along
protection--a condom he'd swiped from the store at the marina--they hadn't
used it.  They'd been too overwhelmed.  Enough that it had been there, lying
beside them on the blanket, like a talisman warding off "The Great Unwanted."

Lauren doubted Cameron had known how to put on a condom, anyway, and she
certainly hadn't.  He'd simply driven into her, out of control, and climaxed,
leaving her wondering why people made such a big deal of sex.

She'd soon found out.  After Cameron had taken a few minutes' rest--ah,
youth!  --he'd brought Lauren to fulfillment, too, and all her worries about
condoms and preg-i nancy disintegrated in the conflagration.  Her only
concern had been a sense of wonder, of enlightenment.  So this was what life
was all about, this exquisite arousal, this all-s consuming drive and
shattering pleasure.  How lucky they were to have found it, and each other,
so young.

Cameron shifted his position, the slight movement joltingf Lauren back to
the present.  She ran two hands over her hot cheeks, across her ears and down
her neck, as if that would wipe away any evidence of where her thoughts had
strayed.

Apparently, Cameron was oblivious.

"Before I agree to anything" -- he said "--I have a question."

"Okay."

"What do you plan to do with the house?"

"Why do you have to know that?"

"Well, dammit, Lauren, it's no secret you've made a career of cutting up old
houses and turning them into offices and apartments.  Is that what you're
hoping to do with Rockland House?"

Her eyes widened as far as they could go.

"No!"

"No?"

"No!"

"Why did you buy it, then?"

She sighed.

"You won't help me unless I tell you?"

' "Nope," he replied decisively.

She sighed again--more a growl--and pushed a hand through her hair.  ' "All
right.  I guess it doesn't matter if you know, but don't tell anyone else.  I
bought the place... for my mother."  She waited for a response, but Cameron
might've been cast in bronze for all the life he exhibited.

"She really missed the island after we moved, and I thought it was time she
moved back.  She hasn't coped well since my father died, either, but that's
another story.  Anyway, I'm hoping to present her with the house at
Christmas.  That's'why the time crunch--also why I've been so secretive.  I
want it to be a surprise.  The more people who know, the higher the chances
are that some blabbermouth will call and tell her."

Cameron finally came to life.

"You bought Rockland House for your mother?"  "

" Yes.   "

"You're going to give it to her?"

"Well, that was my initial idea, but considering how much the house is
setting me back--to say nothing of how expensive it's going to be to
maintain--I'll have to remain its legal owner and help manage it.

In every other sense, though, it'll be hers.  "

"Isn't that a bit extravagant?"

Lauren could feel her cheeks warming.

"At first I wanted to buy something... different, but then for some odd
reason I got carried away at the auction...."

Cameron wasn't amused, and little wonder, considering what she'd done to him
at the auction.

"You still have time to sell it and buy a more suitable house."

"No, I can't."  She swallowed.

"I'd never get my money back."  It was a hard admission.

"And you think you're going to have it ready by Christmas?"

"That's the idea."

"That house?  This Christmas?"

"Yes."

"The inside, too?"

"Uh-huh."

"You're out of your mind, Lauren.  That'd take a miracle."

"Hey" -- she shrugged "--sometimes you just gotta believe."

Alarm made Cameron sit up tall.

"I hope you aren't gonna go in there and just tear everything out and Sheet-
rock it all."  ; "Yup.  All that crummy old paneling and wainscoting and
molding."  When Cam turned white, she said,

"I'm kidding, I'm kidding.  Sheesh, you really do think I'm an idiot."

His shoulders dropped, but the tension didn't leave him completely.

She could see he didn't trust her.  Well, mayb^ he shouldn't.  She was no
purist when it came to remodeling.

"Mind if I ask another question?  What's your mother going to do with such a
large place?"

"Live there and enjoy it, I hope.  We're a big family.  When we come to
visit, we'll fill every room she's got."

"So, you're basically going to keep it a single family dwelling?"

"How many ways do I have to say it?  Yes.  Si, si, senor.  Jawohl.  Damn
straight."

Cameron struggled with a smile before getting it under control.  She wished
he hadn't.  She used to enjoy making him laugh.  Especially since he'd once
told her his home was pretty mirthless.

"I still can't believe you don't have something cooking," he accused.

"Some design to bring in money."

"I never said I didn't."

"Ah, here we go."  He shifted as if bracing for a bumpy ride.

"Relax, Hathaway.  I'm simply going to suggest to my mother that she run the
house as a bed-and-breakfast."

He continued to look skeptical.

"That won't even cover utilities."

' "Yes, it will, particularly if we capitalize on the appeal of that foolish
legend.  People will flock to Rockland House just on the chance they might
see the Lady Gray.  We could create a special Lady Gray suite, maybe rent out
the grounds for weddings.  Wouldn't it be a great place to have a wedding?
There could be kitchen facilities for caterers in the basement.  I've noticed
the remains of an old kitchen down there already."

Cameron inhaled a sharp little gasp.

"The summer kitchen!  That's a historically important" -- "Whatever.  We
could open a gift shop in the library and sell Lady Gray T-shirts, Lady Gray
coffee mugs and re N frigerator magnets.  Lady... what?"  She couldn't he;
laughing at Cameron's appalled expression.

"You don like those ideas?

Oh, well, I have others.  "

"Such as?"

"There's a lot of wasted space around the property- space that could be
converted into some really nice apartments."

"I knew it.  I knew you couldn't stay away from rent units."

"You make it sound as if I'd proposed opening a strip joint in an abandoned
church."

"Just as bad."

"Okay, Mr. I'11-Take-the-High-Road, what would you (.  with Rockland House if
it was yours?"

"Me?"  Cameron sat back, striking a pontifical pos "I'd restore it to its
original condition, which, by the way should take several years, not three
months.  I'd fill it wi period furniture and artifacts and open it as a
museui There'd be activities for kids, lectures for adults, speci exhibits,
fund-raisers for the Historical Society Museu and Preservation League.  Maybe
I'd even run it as a livil history house."

"Sounds totally impractical.  You wouldn't make much money."

He fixed her with an exasperated stare.

"I wouldn't be in it for money."

"Spoken with the magnanimity of Someone who's roi ing in it."  She shook her
head.

"Tell me.  Cam, would y( live there, too?"

"You bet.  That'd be the best part."

"Really?  You like using outhouses and washing in t tubs?"

His brow furrowed.

"What?"

"Well, if you're planning to do an authentic rest oration..."

"Not that authentic."

"Oh, so there's a sliding scale on what's acceptable and what isn't."

The corners of his eyes crinkled again in the delightful way she'd noticed
earlier.

"If this is leading us back to your H.D.C.

application.  "

"It is."

"Then I suggest we return to the original question."

"Which was?"

"Will I lend you the materials pertaining to your house?"

"Oh, yes.  That one.  Will you?"

Cameron fell silent, his silver-blue eyes drilling into hers as if trying to
X-ray her mind, her heart.

"Tell you what, Lauren, I'll give you a million bucks for that house right
now.  That's a five thousand dollar profit over what you paid, which you
admit yourself you'll never recoup if you try selling it.  And just think,
this entire renovation burden will be off your shoulders.  You can start
shopping around again, with plenty of time to do what you set out to do.  A
million bucks, Lauren.  How about it?"

Lauren didn't hesitate.

"Blow it out your ear, Hathaway.  I like that house, and I've never run from
a 'burden' in my life."  / He pressed his lips together and sighed.

"In that case..."  He rose, crossed the room and came back with a box, which
he set oh his desk.

"I can't actually let you take any of this stuff..."

Hope kicked color into her cheeks.

"But?"

' "You're welcome to sit here and read and use my photocopier if you like."

Lauren closed her eyes and clasped her hands under her chin.

"Thank you."

"Don't thank me.  I'm only doing this because the sooner you start
renovating the place, the sooner you'll run out c money and I'll take over."

"Don't hold your breath, Hathaway.  You're going to h disappointed."

"I doubt it."

They were trading fighting words, but Lauren realize with no little surprise
that they weren't fighting.  There was too much teasing in their
exchanges--too many the smiles.  Without intending to, they'd let down their
guard and crossed an invisible threshold, although into what she wasn't sure.
Maybe they were simply getting along, agre< ing to disagree for the sake of
the house, as Cathryn ha predicted.

Encouraged by that thought, Lauren confessed,

"If yo want to know the truth, I came here hoping for a little moi than
reading material."

"I should've known."  A smile tipped up one corner c Cameron's Ups.

"Go ahead.  What else do you want?"

"Is there anything I can do to speed up my applicatiol any way I can get a
special hearing instead of waiting ar other month?"

"I can't recall that ever being done before."

"Can't you make an exception?"

"Afraid not.  Then everyone would be asking."

"Rats."  Lauren scratched her head.

"Okay.  Here's my second request."

His eyes widened.

"Second?"

"Yes.  Can we meet for a work session sometime?"

"We?  You mean, you and me?"

"Yes."  She squared her shoulders in an attempt to disprove she was doing
anything like groveling.

' "Wouldn't you prefer to meet with the other commissio members?"

"Including Charles Poker-Up-His-Butt?  No thank you.

This time Cameron did laugh, amusement etched i every line of his handsome
face, and Lauren's heart tripped with pleasure.

Slowly their smiles faded, but their gazes held.

"I think we can work something out," Cameron murmured.

All at once the walls felt too close, the air too thin to breathe.

"Thanks.  I'll call you on it," Lauren said.  She picked up her purse.

"Well, I should be going so you can get on with your day."

Cameron glanced at a schoolhouse clock, ticking loudly over his left shoulder.

"Yeah, I'm supposed to meet my father in half an hour to do the accounting
for the week."

Lauren got to her feet.  Cameron began to rise, too.  But suddenly he reached
out, clasped her wrist and pressed her back into the chair.

"Wait," he coaxed.

Lauren sat quietly while Cameron gathered his thoughts, her heart speeding
with tension.  Bracing his elbows on his knees, his eyes fixed on his
clenched hands, he said,

"Lauren, this is way overdue, but as they say, better late than never."  He
took a bolstering breath, but still didn't look up.

"I'm sorry about what happened when we were kids.  I'm sorry I got you
pregnant.  I know you suffered because of it and it messed up your life."

Lauren was so stunned her purse slipped from her fingers to the floor.  What
was she supposed to say now, after such an admission?  - ' < But then Cameron
looked up, and her heart splintered with the emotions she saw in his
eyes--sorrow, guilt, regret.  Instantly fshe understood exactly what she
needed to say.

"It took two of us to get me pregnant, Cameron, and I'm sorry, too.

It couldn't have been easy for you, either.  " He tried to shrug it off, but
she knew him too well.  " Sorry," she whispered again.

"No, it wasn't your fault."

"It wasn't yours, either.  I've never blamed you."

They sat without speaking for a moment.  Lauren w struck by the irony that
the trauma that had divided the for fifteen years was also what linked them
today.  And had taken Cameron to see it, Cameron to have the gem osity to
reach out.  She could feel her chin trembling wi relief, her heart melting in
gratitude.

"I'm not sure what else I can say on the subject," Cameron continued.

"Anything beyond an apology gets to bogged down in hard feelings."

Lauren nodded.

"I understand.  You have your opinio and loyalties, as I have mine, and it'd
be a mistake to tnii they're going to disappear just like that."

Cameron moved closer and took her hands in his.  want you to know that
regardless of everything that f< lowed, I'm sorry it happened.  We were so
young.  "

"Too young.  Kids shouldn't have to go through what \ did."

Cameron nodded, his forehead puckered.

"What a me our lives became."

"You got that right."  Lauren lowered her eyes to the linked hands.

His, large and tanned and scraped from working on the stone wall; hers, pale
and fragile-looking in coi parison.

"Cam, do you think we can talk a little more?  we sense we're heading into
touchy territory or getting ab sive about who did what to whom, we can always
call time-out or drop it altogether."

Cameron didn't seem to have much confidence in t idea but agreed to give it a
try.

"Where do you want start?"

"How about the day I told you I was pregnant?  Thai when we lost touch."

At first, talking was difficult.  Anger and hurt lay just beneath the surface
of their civility.  But after a while, their trust grew, they began to
reminisce more freely.  Cal eron told her about being forced to leave
Harmony, he he'd loathed those years.  Lauren told him how difficult it was
to stay.

"I hated you for being spared everything I was going through," she said,
carefully omitting the role his parents played in her distress.

"And I hated you for being the reason I was sent away."  Then Cameron
apologized for not calling or writing and explained the restrictions imposed
on him at school.

"You tried to tell me about them that first Christmas" -- Lauren admitted
"--but I didn't want to listen."

"Neither did I.  You started to tell me about losing the baby."

Cameron's brow knit, his eyes dark with memory and guilt.

"I know you still think it was an abortion," she said.

Cameron placed two fingers over her lips, the touch startling in its warmth.

"Let's not go there.  As I told you, it's a land mine of hard feelings."

Lauren pulled back.

"But it wasn't an abortion."

"It doesn't matter if it was, Lauren.  That was your prerogative, your right."

Lauren met his gaze levelly.

"I'll show you my medical records.  Just name the day...."

He froze, only his eyes moving, studying her.

"I should've known..;" They both agreed they mistake and the subsequent storm
had changed their lives forever.

"The effects weren't all bad, though," Cameron conceded.

"Attending that boarding school broadened my perspective.  I became more
tolerant, more sociable in many ways."  He also traced his interest in local
history to that period in his life.  When he came home on vacations, he found
himself alone much of the time, no longer one of the island kids.  So he
began exploring the family library and the attics, reading everything he
could get his hands on.  As he spoke, Lauren noticed his body relaxing, his
face she ding tension.  Her own echoed his.

"Another positive effect from that time was that I g tough and learned to
stand up for myself," he said.

"F a while, one of the guys at the gas station remember b Kenny Kuzac?  kept
calling me 'lover boy."  He bugg< the hell out of me, until one day I'd had
enough, picki him up by the shirt and threatened to tie his balls arom his
ears if he didn't stop.  "

Lauren held on to her sides, laughing.

Cam joined in.

"God, this feels great.  This is the fil time I've ever found anything funny
about Kenny Kuzac.

Sobering, Lauren asked,

"Want to know what / foul difficult?"

"What?"

"Dating again."

"Whew!  Tell me about it!"

"You, too?"  Lauren was amazed they shared so many experiences.

"I

really didn't date until I left Harmony ai went to college, and even then I
was really cautious.  Cation had become ingrained in me.  "

"At least you went off to college."

"And you didn't.  I was so surprised when I heal Stunned really.  What was
that all about?"

"Anger.  Once I returned to Harmony, nobody was goil to ship me off again.  I
did go eventually, when / was read but even then it was only for two years
and only courses wanted.  Degrees didn't interest me.

Learning did.  "

"Fascinating."

Cameron shrugged off the compliment.

"So, you found dating difficult, too?"  she asked, eag to return to the topic.

"Mmm.  I'd take someone to dinner or a movie ai spend the entire time
wondering if people were speculatil about us.  After a while I got immune.
You have to, rightl " Absolutely.  It's nobody's business.  But I know what
you mean.  "

Lauren frowned, wondering if she dared to admit more.

"Do you know I used to break up with guys just when I thought we might be
getting serious?"

"So you wouldn't have sex?"

She nodded.

"I carried around a lot of guilt because of my father's disappointment in me.
I'd always been the responsible one."

"Hell, that's nothing.  My mother sent me church pamphlets for three years.
I became an expert on the fifth commandment.  Theologians from all over the
world come to me now with their questions.  I bet you didn't know that."

Lauren laughed and felt her heavy heart easing a little bit more.

"I

wish we'd been able to talk like this years ago.  I've avoided coming to the
island because.  well, lots of reasons, but partly because I was afraid of
running into you.  "

Cameron agreed.

"I avoided occasions when I thought we might meet, too, including Ben and
Julia Grant's wedding, and I really like Ben and Julia."

"Amazing how far-reaching the effects have been."

"Maybe the important thing is that we survived.  We landed on our feet."  ,
"Yeah, we both seem to be doing pretty well."  Lauren hesitated.

"I

hear you're engaged.  "

Cameron lowered his eyes, making it impossible for her to read them.

'"Yes.  I don't think you know her--Erica Meade?"  : Lauren shook her head.

"I don't think I've even seen her."

"She's been taking education courses this summer, coming home only on
weekends.  She's almost done.  One more week left."

Lauren was surprised by how sharp her disappointment was.

"Well, how lucky that you've found someone who is eager to live on Harmony."

"Mmm.  How about you?  Are you seeing anyone?"

' "Yes, I date, but no one seriously.  I can't quite find time to invest in
that sort of relationship.  Some though..."

Lauren felt awkward with the subject and suspected C did, too.  Both of them
shifted quickly into a conversai about the "missing years,"

the decade after she mo away how she got into real estate, when he started
writing books.  They also caught up on the status of various relatives who was
married, who had children, who'd pas on.  They tried to complete as many
blanks as possible, although they did a commendable job, to Lauren it fel if
they were trying to fill a hole in the sand with water "I really should be
going now," she said, glancinj her watch.

"You're an hour late.  Your father will be w de ring what's become of you."
She got to her feet headed for the stairs.

"I'm not sure when I can come to sort through that material."

"Don't worry.  I'll photocopy the pertinent stuff and) it over to you
tomorrow."

"Oh.  Don't go to any trouble."

"It's not.  I know what's there.  I know what yo need."

On the front porch, she paused.

"Thanks for every th I feel so much better.  Lighter, you know?"  Cam nod a
softness in his eyes that hadn't been there when sl arrived.

"I haven't changed my mind about Rockland Hous he reminded her with a playful
tug on her hair.

"I intend to own it one day."

"I know.  But I'm glad we were able to jump that ] ticular hurdle and say
what we did."

"Yes.  I'm sure our dealings with each other will be a lot less tense from
now on."

As Lauren walked up the path toward her car, she gazed at the dunes at the
end of the road, the ocean glittering a pale silver-blue beyond.  She found
it curious that she and Caroeron had talked about her pregnancy, its
aftermath and long-term impact on their lives, but neither of them had tried
to broach what had gone on before.  The adolescent passion.  The precocious
sex.  Neither of them had wanted to admit, yes, it happened, too.

Well, maybe that was best.  How could they discuss their lovemaking without
becoming totally awkward and embarrassed?  And what would be the point?

She slipped into her car and, as the engine purred to life, turned to wave
goodbye.  Cameron was standing in the cottage doorway, one forearm braced
high on the frame, his shirt still open except for a solitary button midway
down his chest.  Her eyes traveled over him slowly, from his dark tousled
hair all the way down to his long bare feet.  Yes, indeed.  Cam Hathaway had
grown into one fine package of a man.

And maybe that was why she hadn't wanted to talk about their sexual
involvement.  She kept wondering what it would be like now.  If he'd been
that exciting at fourteen.  Yes, it was best they gave sex a very wide berth.

CHAPTER EIGHT

cameron drove to lauren's the next morning de mined to drop off the material
she'd requested and lea Sure, he felt better for the talk they'd had yes ten
Lighter, as she'd said.  There was tremendous relief in i ing

"I'm sorry," incredible power in the words

"It was your fault."  But he would gain nothing by hanging around and getting to
know her better.  They might become frie again, and he just couldn't let that
happen.

For one thing, he still coveted her house and fully pected to own it someday.
For another, his parents we feel hurt and betrayed.  And then there was
Erica, t would he explain such a bizarre relationship to his fianc Erica, I'd
like you to meet my friend Lauren: Oh, by way, I once got her pregnant, but
you don't mind if we hang out, do you?

Cameron turned into the driveway and parked his tr behind Lauren's Prelude.
A sudden racing in his blood minded him there was one other reason he needed
to k this visit short.

He'd spent half the night wrestling with memories, e one more arousing than
the next.  Their first shy at ten at French kissing.  The first time he'd
touched her breast The daring afternoon he'd rolled on top of her while n" ing
out and their bodies had taken on a natural rhythm How stupid of him, Cameron
thought now.  They'd b kids.  Ignorant, clumsy kids, groping their way throug
hormonally charged summer.  And yet, he'd lain there night, watching the
hands of his bedside clock circle the dial past midnight, past one o'clock,
past two, remembering... Yes, definitely, he'd drop off this box and leave
immediately.

He climbed the front steps and knocked on (he front door.  No one answered,
but he could hear voices deep within the house.  He walked in and found
Lauren in the kitchen with a local plumber named Todd Cory.

"Hey there, stranger," Todd greeted him in surprise.  "What are you doing
here?"

"Just came by to drop off some information Ms. De- Stefano needs for her
H.D.C.  application."  He wanted to make it perfectly clear he'd come on
official business.

"Thanks.  You've saved me a lot of trouble."  Lauren took the cardboard box
from him eagerly and placed it on the counter.

"Well, I can see you're busy..."  Cameron started to retreat.

"We're almost finished," Todd contradicted.

"Don't leave on my account."

Cameron waited in the kitchen while Lauren walked the plumber to the door.
He heard Todd say,

"I'll be in touch with that estimate as soon as possible."

"Fine," Lauren replied.  ; "Thanks for coming by."

Cameron didn't try to hide his curiosity when Lauren rejoined him.

"You're hiring a local plumber?"

"Possibly.  Myf contractor is having trouble convincing his plumbing sub to
come out here."  Lauren was wearing a blue tank top, and when she crossed her
arms, cleavage appeared where he remembered only freckles.

"What do you think of Cory?"  she asked.

Cameron gave himself a mental boot, lifted his gaze and concentrated on
answering.

"He's... adequate."

"Who would you get to replumb this house?"

"That depends.  What're you planning to do?"

"Everything.  Replace all the pipes, install a new heati system, redo the
existing bathrooms and add three n< ones."

"Three!"

"Well, yes.  If my mother runs the place as a B and people will want private
baths with their rooms, and ev if she doesn't, I think they'll add a nice
luxury touch."

"You're going to reconfigure the house?"  He felt as she'd proposed
reconfiguring his internal organs.

"Only a little.  I've been playing with floor plans week.  Of course, I'll
leave the serious designing to i architect and contractor.  I'm good, but
it's amazing what professionals can do."  She paused, her head tilted.

"Y look worried.  Cam.  Would you like to come upstairs a check out my ideas?"

"Yes, I would," he replied adamantly.

"Fine."  She turned and picked up the box.

Cameron marched up the stairs on Lauren's heels, though, to be honest, it
wasn't her heels that drew his tent ion She was wearing tight cut-off denims
that mold her rounded derriere, and with each step she took her hips swayed
like a hypnotist's watch.  Oh, man.  He needed get out of here and he would,
as soon as he checked ( the damage she was planning to wreak on the house.

Upstairs they walked from room to room, their footste echoing in the large
empty spaces as she explained < strips of masking tape she'd placed on the
floor to designs imaginary doors, fixtures and bathroom walls.

"Who's your architect?"  Cameron asked grumpily they stepped into the bedroom
she was apparently usi herself.  : Lauren frowned.

"His name's Brian King.  Why?"  i "Is he a historical architect?"

"He's excellent.  I've always been satisfied with his work."

"You haven't answered my question."

Lauren hooked her hands on her hips, that sassy copper wave falling over her
right eye.

"Cam, would you like to come over and meet him?

He'll be here Monday.  So will Joe.  You can even throw in your two cents'
worth, if you'd like.  "

' "Is that your way of inviting me to be an advisor on this project?"

Her eyes rounded, the idea obviously brand new to her.  "Maybe."

Cam would have liked nothing better--except-his conscience told him that was
a line he shouldn't cross.  Giving advice on her H.  D.  C.

application was one thing, but this.  this could be misconstrued as personal.
Nevertheless he answered,

"Okay, maybe I will."

"Fine.  But I hope you're not planning to send me a bill for your services."

"Don't be ridiculous."

Lauren's brow lowered with suspicion.

"You're being awfully helpful all of a sudden."

"I just want to minimize the damage you inflict.  Don't get your hopes
up--^it has nothing to do with liking you or anything."  c "Shoulda known."

When they'd first come upstairs, she'd placed the box of archival ma teri in
this room on the beat-up Depression- era bureau in her room.  Now she opened
it and looked inside.

"Oh, you brought much more than I expected."

Cameron shrugged dismissively.  She lifted a photo album from the box and
turned the cover.  He knew it was a good time to leave.  He'd done what he'd
come here to do, and more.  And yet he remained, his curiosity piqued by the
room where Lauren slept and stored her belongings, read and daydreamed
renovations.  From the array of files an electronics along the fireplace
wall, he guessed she also ran her business from here, long-distance.

"Oh, wow," Lauren exclaimed softly.

"This is great."

"What?"  He stepped closer and saw she was studyin a photograph of the house
carefully sealed in archival plai tic and marked

"July 1897."

"There was a cupola on the roof?"

"Yes.  It was destroyed in the hurricane of '38."

"I'm surprised the commission didn't bring that up."

"I told you they went easy on you."

She turned the page.

"And here's the south side of the house without the sun room.  I hate to admit
it, but it doe look better."

' "You realize, don't you, that if you remove the sunroci and rebuild the
wall as it was, you should also rebuild the fireplace that used to be there."

"Of course," she murmured distractedly.

Of course?

"The balance of the house demands it."  She carried the album to her bed a
simple mattress on the floor, cove re in rumpled yellow sheets and sat.

While she was preoccupied, Cameron examined a stac of books piled by her
pillow.

"Have you done anythin with these, other than use them as a nightstand?"
Squattin in a catcher's stance, he lifted the top book.  The Restoratio
Manual, and found one of his own books underneath.

"I'll have you know I've finished reading almost all ( them, even yours.  But
this is what I need, these picture and documents."  She laughed jubilantly.

Cam read the rest of the titles.  Preserving Our Nation Past.  Living with
Antiques.  Greek Revival Architecture i America.  Abruptly his head swung up.

"Hey, what do yo mean, even mine?"

She cast him an over-the-shoulder, pure-tease grin.  B then her expression
softened.

"It was really good.  Cam.  Informative yet readable, actually funny at
times.  I noticed the photos were yours, too.  It was all really... good."
She lowered her eyes shyly and resumed perusing the album, her hair falling
forward in a short, shiny curtain of copper silk.  ill Cameron tried to hide
the pleasure her compliment brought him by burying his nose in a book on
antiques.  His thoughts were on Lauren, though, and what a surprise she was.

But then, he'd already begun to view her differently yesterday, when she
confided her plan to give the house to her mother.  He'd been moved by her
generosity.  When she refused his offer of a million dollars, he'd been
positively flabbergasted.

Of course, he couldn't forget she was the same woman who wanted to sell Lady
Gray refrigerator magnets and to cram the attic and garage with tenants.
Still, watching her pore over the album, he was convinced that more than
profit was fueling her fire.

"Cam, how many owners has this house had?"  Lauren asked without looking up.

"Six or seven.  Why?"

"Just wondering.  I remember Doc and Addie Smith, of course."  f Cameron
smiled.

"Did you know they used this house as a clinic from the late thirties to the
early sixties?"

"No!"  f ' "Yep.  Before the new clinic was built.  They provided a valuable
service to the community over the years.  Unfortunately, they're also the
folks responsible for selling off a lot of the earlier appointments, things
like chandeliers and old furniture--some of them had belonged to Isabel."

"What a pity."  Lauren held up the photo album.  "Who's this?"

Camel-on rubbed a hand over his grin.  Lauren didn't war to know how many
owners this house had.  She wanted t know who they were.

"That's Sophronia Peavy.  She inherited the place from her father in 1912,
and in case your interested, she was the one who brought in electricity.

She also had the first home telephone on the island and was the first woman to
drive a car on the island.  "

Lauren's smile widened.

"I think I would've liked her."

"You probably would have."  Cameron could've mad that a certainty by adding
Sophronia had run the place a a guest house during the 1920s, but Lauren
didn't nee encouragement.

"Her father was quite a character, too.  Cashed in on the huge tourism boom
of the late 1800s by building a railroa that circled the island, stopping at
various points of intel est."

"A railroad?"  Lauren's eyes danced.

"On Harmony?"

' "Yes.  It was a huge success.  On an average summer da^ over two thousand
passengers would get on that sill train--three thousand on the Fourth of
July.  Old Jack mad himself quite a few bucks in his time.  A good thing, to
because he was a bit of a spendthrift.  Loved ostentatiol He's responsible
for all the Victorian embellishments yo see in the house.  The oak flooring
downstairs, for insta nc and the marble fireplaces."

Lauren's gaze moved to the fireplace in her room.  It was surrounded by a
simple, gray-painted wood frame.

"No, that mantel is one of the originals," Cam PA plained.

"Isabel wanted her room kept as it was, and whe her attorney sold the place
to Peavy, he passed on ths request.  However, I see someone has added a
closet' Cameron made a disapproving tsk-tsk sound.

"Other that that, the room looks about the same."

Lauren's color heightened.

"This was Isabel's room?"

Cameron smiled as he nodded, realizing he was havin the time of his life
just watching Lauren's changing expressions.

"Oh, wow."  Her exclamation was barely audible.  Her gaze lifted and roamed.

"I knew there was something..."  She paused, swallowing.

"Why did Isabel's attorney sell the house?  Why didn't she?"

"Why?  Because she was dead."

"Oh."  Lauren's laugh was almost a giggle.

"Reason enough."

"What I meant to say was, Isabel lived here till she died."

"I understand.  It still puzzles me, though, why she never returned to Maine."

' "Well, with her husband and baby buried on the island, she..."

"Her what?  Did you say 'baby'?"

"Yes.  You didn't know?  She was pregnant when the ship went down, and the
ordeal was too much for her.  She lost the baby soon after the rescue."

"I had no idea."

' "Anyway, with her baby and husband here, she wanted to stay, as well."

"Ah, now it makes sense."  Lauren let her gaze roam again.

"And this was her room."

"Mmm."  Gameron got to his feet and walked to the north window.

"She liked to keep one eye on the shoals and the other on the harbor.  Both
are visible from this room; A bad choice if you ask me, this northeast
corner.  Cold and drafty in winter."

"But glorious in summer."  Lauren left the album on the bed and went to one
of the ocean-facing windows.

"Come here.  Look at this view and tell me she made a bad choice."

Cameron crossed the room and stood behind Lauren, his nose inches from her
hair.  She smelted wonderful, a combination of soap, coconut sun block and
warm woman.  He dipped his head, wanting to get closer.  Suddenly, as if
snapping out of a trance, he realized what he was doing and jerked away.  He
also remembered he'd intended to be long gone by now.

He was framing an excuse to leave when Lauren tugged up the rusted window
screen and said,

"Let's go outside."

"What?  Where?"

"Onto the roof of the porch."  She lifted one long, silky leg over the sill,
then the other.

"Lauren, for God's sake, be careful.  That roof probably slopes."

"It does, and it's saggy over there to the left.  I was out here earlier,
taking photos of the dentil molding on the pediment for your blasted
commission."  Moving gingerly, she took a couple of steps and sat.

Cameron sighed, climbed out the window and joined her.

"Wonderful, isn't it?"  she said.

Cameron had to admit she was right.  The breeze off the water combed through
their hair.  The shush-shush-shush of the waves breaking on the rocky shore
below the bluff provided a lulling accompaniment.  It was a clear, sunny day,
and some of the smaller islands in the distance seemed to be floating--a
mirage created by the brilliance of the light on the water.

"I wish I could build a deck here," Lauren murmured.  "I'd pop in French
doors back there, put out a couple of lounge chairs..."

"I have an idea, Lauren.  Why don't you just go buy yourself a different
house?"

"And let you have this one?"  Lauren's chuckle was down and dirty.

"Nice try, Hathaway."  She braced back on her hands and tilted her face up to
the sun.  She was the only redhead he knew who dared.

"You're so much like Isabel it's scary."

Lauren's head swiveled.

"I am not!  She was delusional, all wound up in romantic fantasies..."

"She was also proud as hell.  Strong and stubborn, too."

Lauren smiled the way a parent might when a slow child has received an A.
"Was she really?"

"Uh-huh.  And this house is a perfect testament to her character."

"How so?"

Lauren's curiosity pleased him inordinately.

"Not many people know this, but Isabel accused the locals of causing the
wreck of the Lady Gray with a false light."

Lauren frowned.

"I know what that is.  During storms, people sometimes went out on the beach
with lanterns, hoping a passing ship would think the light was coming from a
harbor.  Then after the ship went aground, the wreckers simply waited for the
cargo to wash ashore."

"Exactly.  That was at a time when these waters were full of trading
schooners.  On any given day you could see dozens of sails on the horizon,
all laden with goods."

Lauren gazed at the view.  Cam gazed at Lauren.  She had the most annoyingly
beautiful profile he'd ever known.

She shuddered.

"It was a despicable practice.  I had no idea people here engaged in it."

"There's no proof they did.  Of course, there's a persistent legend about an
old guy named Will Sloan who used to fit out his horse with lanterns and ride
across Sandy Point during storms.  One night, though, the tide rose really
fast and cut i channel around him.  His horse spooked and rode with him into
the sea.  To this day, sailors rounding the point in a storm claim to see a
white horse galloping across the waves."

Lauren laughed.

"Boy, I heard some whoppers growing up, but never that one."

"Oh, I know dozens more.  As for the Lady Gray, there's no proof anyone here
caused its grounding.  In fact, the people of Harmony had a reputation for
being some of the bravest life-savers in the area--not that they didn't
appreciate a wreck when one came along.  Salvaging was a widespread practice,
and folks had no qualms about taking whatever the ocean sent them--rum, whale
oil, bales of cotton.  But I don't believe they ever willingly caused a
wreck."

"But Isabel did?"

Cameron nodded.

"She lived her entire life in a love- hate relationship with Harmony.  Its
citizens had saved her, taken her in, nursed her back to health, and while
she loved them for that, she still distrusted a certain unsavory element of
the population.  In the end, she stayed here to be near her husband and baby,
but also to make that unsavory element squirm.  She wanted them to see her,
to know her, and to realize they hadn't merely caused a shipwreck-- they'd
taken the lives of very real men, including her husband's."

"So she built a house and stayed."

"Yes, but not just any house.  This house.  Its style was popular
eleswhere--in prosperous whaling centers like Nantucket and New Bedford--but
not on Harmony.  It was too grand, too removed from the simple lines of
Colonial architecture on the rest of the island.  The house was also much too
expensive for the local farmers and fishermen."

' "And you think I'm like her?"

"Absolutely," Cameron said decisively.

"Tell me you didn't buy the house to stick it in our faces."  s Lauren
glanced aside, her lips twitching with a guilty smile.

"I

bought it for my mother.  " , " Yeah, right.  " Cameron lounged on his side,
his smile gradually lading.

"Know what I find especially poignant?  j A lot of the lumber used to
construct this house came from | the Lady Gray.  That was its cargo."  |
Lauren gazed at him incredulously, sorrow in her sea- green eyes.

"Was it really?"

' "Mmm.  People had such sympathy for Isabel, they salvaged what they could
and returned it to her, even though she was stinking rich already.  But to
really appreciate their gesture, you have to picture Harmony in the 1840s.
There was hardly a tree in sight.  The settlers had cut everything down to
build their homes and to clear the land for farming and grazing.  Lumber was
as precious as gold, and yet they surrendered every stick they salvaged."

"How do you know all this stuff?"

"Oh, letters, diaries, newspaper accounts."

"Isabel left a diary?"

"No, but my great-great-great-grandmother did."

"Ah."  Lauren settled her chin on her knees, mesmerized by the glittering
water where dozens of small fishing boats and pleasure craft glided.  She
felt languid and dreamy, transported to another time and dimension.
Listening to Cameron had done it.  She laved his stories and, even more,
loved his voice.  It was just deep enough, just soft enough.

"What do you make of Isabel's sightings of her husband's ship?  Do you think
she simply lost her mind with grief?"

Cameron shrugged.

"Possibly.  But she seemed pretty sane in every other way.  From all
accounts, she kept a lovely home, had several friends and entertained
frequently.  Plus, there " are dozens of other people who've claimed to see
the Lady Gray.  So, who knows?  "

Lauren sighed.

"You really love history, don't you?"

"Yeah, I do.  The past fascinates me, especially here, and that's not only my
roots talking.  There's something about an island--the self-containment, the
isolation.  Events seem to take on heightened importance.  People become
characters.  And places--places assume wonderful layers of significance
resonating off one another."

N

Cameron condnued to talk, but Lauren no longer heard him.  Her eyes were
riveted on the horizon, her heartbeat heavy and picking up speed.  What was
that out there?  Was it another trick of the sun, like those small floating
islands?  She closed her eyes, opened them, but it was still there.  Although
it was ten miles away, she could see it clearly-- a huge two-masted schooner
in full sail, the sun blazing in its white sheets!

Heart thundering now, Lauren reached for Cam, her fingers clamping around his
wrist.  She opened her mouth to speak, but all she could do was take in a
gasping breath, similar to a death rattle.

"What?"  Cameron tensed.

"Laurie!  What's the matter?"

"Look."  She pointed, her hand unsteady.

He turned and squinted.  A moment later he was laughing so hard he fell back
onto the roof with the force of it.

"What's so funny?"  she cried, hurt now as well a& shaken.

Still laughing.  Cam said,

"That's only the Shenandoah, Lauren--a windjammer that sails out of the
Vineyard."  ; She took another look, then raised her chin.

"I knewsB " Sure you did.  " JB Lauren hauled back to hit him, but he caught
her forearnlH and pulled her alongside him.  She fell awkwardly on her|
shoulder.

"Owl" she cried out.

"Sorry.  Are you all right?"  Cameron braced up on o elbow, his eyes skimming
her for injury.  Suddenly,  out of nowhere, he remembered another day when
he'; found himself leaning over her in just such a way.  Onl there had been
snow in her hair and not so many cur vi pressing against him.  In a heartbeat
he was there, feel ii the cold sting of winter on his cheeks, and yet here, withe hot summer sun on his back, and so totally confused he didn't know up
from down.

Lauren had been scowling, but she quickly forgot her shoulder when she saw
the change in Cameron's expression.  He was looking at her so strangely, so
intently.  So longingly.  Within no time she knew she was looking back in the
very same way, all her attention fixed on him, on his thick sun-streaked
hair, on his sky-blue eyes, on his beautifully shaped mouth hovering just
inches from hers.  And when he began to lower his head, she did nothing at
all to stop him.  Instead, as his lips touched hers, she lifted her hands and
closed them over his shoulders, accepting what was happening as inevitable.

Ah!  Their first kiss in fifteen years!  It was as soft as a snowflake, sweet
as a summer breeze.  It said,

"Hello, I've missed you," and answered,

"I never really left."

How long it lasted, neither Cam nor Lauren could say, but eventually common
sense intervened and they jerked apart, staring at each other in horror.

Cameron sat up and stiffly looped his arms around his knees, consternation
scored into every line of his face.

"Curiosity," he said, answering an unasked question.  "That's all it was."

Lauren sat up, too, and plowed two hands through her hair, her elbowrf braced
on her knees, her eyes fixed on the roofing between her feet.

"It was only natural for us to wonder."  ' "I'm sorry."

She nodded that she was, too.

Cameron sighed.

"It's just that seeing you again has brought back some memories, you know?"

"I know."

"And let's face it, we..."  His Adam's apple worked.

"We were pretty hot stuff, for kids," she supplied.

Cameron breathed a soft laugh.

"We sure were."

"It was probably the most impressionable time of our lives," Lauren added.

"No wonder our memories are so vivid."

"And the feelings that go with them."

"Yes.  Memories.  Feelings.  You can't separate them.  All you can do is make
sure not to mistake them for reality."

"Or let them interfere with it."

"Don't worry, no one'll hear about this from me."

Cameron's shoulders dropped with relief.

"Thanks for understanding."

Lauren gazed out over the water, looking for the Shenandoah, but it was
sinking fast over the horizon, and no sooner had she spotted it than it
disappeared from sight.  | "Well, I should be going," Cameron said, easing to
his feet.

"Would you like a cold drink first?"  If it was true that!  nothing had
happened, then they should act as if nothing^ had happened.  ', "No, thanks.
Erica's home for the weekend.  I'm sup| posed to be meeting her for lunch."
; Ah, yes, Erica.  Now there was a cold splash of reality^ "By all means,
don't let me hold you up."

They retraced their steps through her bedroom and dow the stairs, Lauren
chattering all the way about how bus the house would soon be once the workers
arrived.  At i door she reminded Cameron he was welcome to come on Monday and
with minimal embarrassment managed get him out to his truck.

"Curiosity," she whispered.

"That's all it was."

But as she closed the door, Lauren's thoughts return to that moment on the
roof when time had stood still, she realized she was still shaking.

cameron didn't really have to meet Erica for lunc The excuse had simply
popped out in self-defense.  He have a date with her for dinner, though.
His parents joined them, as they sometimes did.  His mother was crazy about
Erica, and before they'd even finished appetizers, she'd made three
references to a Christmas wedding.

During the meal, Cameron considered that possibility himself.  He and Erica
had been dating for more than a year, so it wasn't as if he dido't know her
by now.  They were sexually compatible, got along well socially, had similar
backgrounds and shared a number of interests.

She was certainly a nice enough person.

"Sweet" was the word people usually used.  She was amenable to almost any
suggestion he made--not an argumentative bone in her body.  With her fine
blond curls and heart-shaped face, she even looked sweet--like the
second-grade teacher she was.

She was also a good cook and she liked kids.

"She'll make such a wonderful wife," his mother kept saying.  And Cameron
agreed.  He'd always known that about Erica.

So why the doubts?  Why was he dragging his heels?

Listening to her explain a new approach to the teaching of reading, Cameron
came to the startling discovery that his interest in Erica had flagged.  Yes,
she was sweet, but maybe too sweet.  Sometimes he thought that was why his
mother liked her so much.  Erica was malleable.  Another thing that worried
him was he never imagined her at Rock- land House.  Erica and that house just
didn't fit.

"What's got into you tonight?"  his father asked when the women Went off to
the powder room.

"You've been in another zone, treating Erica as if she was one of those
potted ferns."

"Sorry.  My mind's elsewhere."  Cameron turned his dessert fork, end over end.

"I might as well tell you.  You'll hear about it, anyway.

I'm going to stop by Rockland House next week to meet Lauren's architect and
contractor.  "

Clay pulled back warily.

"I hope this has something to do with Historic District business."

A "yes" would buy him peace.  Cam realized, but only temporarily.  On
Harmony, the truth always rose to the surface eventually.

"No.  They're going to be discussing plans for the interior, and I thought if
I was there I'd have some input."

He watched his father's complexion deepen to an alarming magenta, a shade
Cameron was fast coming to expect whenever he mentioned Lauren or her family.
The same thing had happened yesterday when Cam told him that Lauren intended
to give the house to her mother.

"You've agreed to help her?"  Clay asked incredulously.

"I see it as protecting the house, imposing my vision and using her money to
do it."

His father swore in an undertone.

"I don't like it."

"I knew you wouldn't.  That's why I've been so preoccupied."  It wasn't a
lie.  That concern had been on Cameron mind, right behind his preoccupation
with Erica.

"Well, I don't suppose you're about to forget who you are.  But be careful."

"Of course."

"In the meantime, maybe you could pay a little more attention to that girl of
yours.  All week she's up at the university, studying hard and waiting to
come home to you...."

Guilt wound its insidious tendrils around Cameron's heart.  He had been
neglectful and not just tonight.  With his mind on the auction and H.  D.  C.
business and researching his current book, he'd been giving Erica short
shrift for a| couple of months.  Maybe it was his fault their relationshipl
felt stale.  .  I "I'll try," he answered.  I Cameron tried right up to the
end of the evening whet| he was standing in Erica's dimly lit foyer, kissing
her good night.

"Wouldn't you like to come inside?"  she asked.

/ should, he thought.  It had been a while.  and maybe that was another
reason he was losing interest in this fine woman.

"Sure," he said, stepping into her living room.  He turned her into his arms
and kissed her a second time.  As always she responded fully.

That was another of Erica's positive traits, or at least the one that had
first attracted him--she had a remarkably healthy sexual appetite.

When the kiss ended, however, Cameron still felt nothing.  Not a spark of
arousal.  Not a flicker of interest.

Feeling that perhaps he hadn't given it his best, Cameron kissed her once
more.  Encouraged by a small flare of desire, he tried again.

Breathing quickly, Erica towed him to the couch.  There he gave it his all.
After a while she was panting in passion and trying to undo his belt.
Cameron was just panting.

"Wait," he gasped, gently pushing her off him.

"I can't."

"What?"  She looked more confused than hurt.

"I'm sorry."  He struggled to sit up.

"I'm bushed."

"Oh.  Poor baby."  She combed her fingers through his hair.

"We can slow down."

He moved beyond her reach.

"No, really, I wouldn't be any good."

Cameron told himself he wasn't lying.  He was exhausted--from trying to light
a fire in himself.  Passion shouldn't be such hard work.

"I'm sorry.  I'll make it up to you... next weekend."

"What about tomorrow?"

Choking on guilt, he said,

"I promised to help Fred pick up some furniture on the mainland."  He sprang
to his feet, tucking his shirt back into his pants.

"I'm really sorry."

Erica smiled despite her obvious disappointment.

"Oh, it's okay."  She got to her feet, too, and followed him to the door.

"You get a good night's sleep now."

"I will."

"Dream of me," she called cheerily as he walked to his truck.

"I will."

Cameron tried to do both that night, and failed on both accounts.  It was
nearly three in the morning before sleep finally stole over him, and the only
person he met in his dreams had copper-red hair and lived in a house by the
sea.

CHAPTER NINE

joe giancomo returned to Harmony late Sunday afternoon.  He brought his van,
packed with tools and supplies, as well as three of his general laborers.
Brian King, the architect, arrived by plane two hours later.  The five men
set up sleeping cots in the attic and a long sawhorse table in the dining
room, and overnight Rockland House went from being a haven of peace to a
beehive of activity.  On Monday morning Cameron joined them.  Lauren had
awaited his arrival with mounting anxiety.  Would he come with a chip on his
shoulder?  Would he be a dilettante, stirring up resentment in the other men?
Surely he had an agenda.  She was under no delusions he wanted to help
anyone but himself.  As he'd said, the sooner she got to her renovations, the
sooner she'd run out of money and give up.  By helping, he was only hurrying
the process.  Even worse, he; might give her bad advice and deliberately
steer her wrong, causing some unforeseen expense or time delay.  Pacing, the
front parlor, she'd wondered repeatedly, Why did I suggest he come over?

"Hi," she said, opening the front door.  Cameron stepped into the foyer,
wearing jeans that hugged his hips deliciously and an olive knit shirt that
strained just enough to draw attention to the breadth of his chest.  His jaw
was freshly shaved, his hair somewhat combed, his presence immediately
overpowering, reminding Lauren of another reason she'd been anxious over his
arrival--that kiss they'd shared on the porch roof Saturday and the interest
she'd felt rekindling between them.

However, once Cameron said

"Good morning," she relaxed.  He was crisp and impersonal; nothing in his
manner lingered from that embarrassing moment.  Apparently the kiss hadn't
meant anything to him.

"Come on in," she invited, breathing as if tiny knots were untying in her
lungs.

"Joe and Brian are outside taking a look at the back porch.

I'll go call them in.  Have a seat.  "

It soon became apparent Lauren's other fears were unwarranted, too.

Cameron met the men with neither a chip on his shoulder nor the intellectual
arrogance she'd imagined.  Sitting at the rough plank table where she'd laid
out Danish and coffee on a paper tablecloth, he was as polite and unassuming
as anyone she'd ever met.  He seemed rather quiet and watchful, in fact, but
then, Joe and Brian were watching him, as well, skeptical of his help.

After the men had conversed a while in a stilted attempt to become
acquainted, Lauren suggested they get down to business.

' "Before we begin, I think it'd be a good idea if we were all using the same
road map.  Generally, what I'd like to do with this house is remove all the
modern affectations and take it back to the 1890s or so.  I hope you're not
disappointed, Cam.  You'd probably choose an earlier date, but it'd break my
heart to rip up this oak flooring."

Cameron held up his hands and shook his head, expressing surprise she'd
conceded to go back even that far.

"No, that date's fine with me."  Deep in his eyes, though, she still saw
wariness and knew he didn't trust her to carry out her intentions.

Lauren picked up her notepad and pen and got to her feet.

"Why don't we start at the front door, then?"

Four hours later, gathered again around the table for lunch, Lauren couldn't
believe the change in the men.  The guys who'd been working outside all
morning had joined them, too, and the big empty room reverberated with
energized male voices.  At one end of the table there was animated talk of
visiting salvage companies to search for period appointments.  Closer to
Lauren, conversation turned on design elements found in the old butler's
pantry that could be incorporated into the new kitchen.

Lauren gazed at Cameron at the far end of the table, and had to smile.  He
looked so much more at ease than he had earlier.  She could pinpoint the
exact moment he'd begun to relax.  It was when she'd asked Joe if he could
recreate the interior shutters that had been on the windows when the house
was first built.  Then she'd flabbergasted Cameron, she was sure, when she
produced a raised-panel shutter whose hinge marks perfectly matched those on
one of the front parlor windows.  She'd found it in the basement, being used
as a shelf to hold old cans of paint.

Of course, as the morning wore on, she and Cameron had argued some, too.  For
instance, he loathed her idea of opening up the kitchen to the room across
the hall and making the area one large kitchen-breakfast-family room.

"Why do you need another place to eat?"  he'd railed.  "What about, that huge
dining room?  And why another place to sit, when 'you already have two
parlors?"

"Those'll be for guests, Cam.  My mother will need a space of her own to kick
back, and here by the kitchen and bathroom' is ideal."

"But ... you want to knock down these walls?"  he'd asked in incredulous
horror.

"Yes," she'd returned, encouraged by the excited gleam she saw in the
architect's eyes.

"Houses are meant to be lived in.  Cam.  This arrangement" -- she threw out
her arms "--is not livable."

"But these walls are part of the hallway."

"So?  What's your point?"

"This is the way the house was built."

"You ought to know by now I'm not a slave to him Besides, Isabel doesn't mind.
In fact, I'm fairly sin likes my idea."  ?  i?

"Oh, really."  Cameron's lips had begun to twitchJ^ talk to her often,
Laurie?  "No.  She talks to me.  " Lauren had met his eyes with
amusement in her own and realized, eve ai ing, they found a measure of
enjoyment in each otfaS In the end, Lauren had prevailed--Joe and Brian til
her idea was wonderful--and once Cameron deferaell he'd become a rich source
of suggestions on how <8 grate the new space with the rest of the house.

a| Now, gazing down the length of the makeshift table understood why, despite
all the potential hazard^' asked him to lend his "two cents' worth" todayrt
grown to respect Rockland House, and she wanted tfaj ovation to do it
justice.  She also knew the best way to do that was to surround herself with the
smartest, mosttd people she could find.  She wanted Cameron here wanted his
input.  Moreover, she trusted it.

Cameraaa want her to fail, but he'd never deliberately hurt thel Any
suggestions he made would be suggestions l(i^ plement himself.  ^ "The man
has the patience of a saint," he was of a retired cabinetmaker he'd
recommended to JoN| just the person to tackle tedious repairs like the
pantry.  "

"Great," Joe replied, pocketing the man's phone number.

Cameron thanked them for lunch, wiped his : scraped back his chair.

"Are you leaving already?"  Lauren asked, tryiagH her disappointment.

<| "Afraid I have to."  Then to Brian he said,

"If you want drop by the marina and take a look at that old Alden yacht we're
fitting out, I'll be there the rest of the day."

"Okay.  See you later."

Lauren got to her feet quickly and walked Cameron out to his truck.

"Thanks for coming by today," she said.

"My pleasure.  It was fun."

She nodded, smiling.

"These are the best times, when ideas are cooking and creative energy is
sparking every which way."

"They seem like good guys.  Competent."

"They're the best."   Lauren ran her teeth over her bottom lip and peered at
Cam cautiously.

"No hard feelings over the kitchen?"  He shrugged.

"You made up for it in lots of other ways."

"I surprised you, didn't I?"  She poked his abdomen with her index finger.

Grinning, Cameron captured her hand against him.

"I'll reserve judgment awhile longer, if you don't mind."

/ ought to be thinking of a comeback, Lauren thought.  / ought to be making
some joke.  But the only thing on Lauren's mind at that moment was the feel
of Cameron's body under her hand the warmth of it, the hardness, the rise and
fall of his breathing, the vitality emanating from every cell.

Cameron released her with an easy smile that told her he was suffering none
of the discomfort raging through her.  You fool!  she silently berated
herself.

As he opened the door of his truck, she asked,

"Will we see you tomorrow?"

"Uh-huh."  He laid his arms atop the frame of the door, rested his chin on
the back of his stacked wrists.  " " Joe wants to discuss a few things
regarding the exterior.  "

"And after that?"

' "So?  What's your point?"

"This is the way the house was built."

"You ought to know by now I'm not a slave to history.  Besides, Isabel
doesn't mind.  In fact, I'm fairly sure she likes my idea."

"Oh, really."  Cameron's lips had begun to twitch.

"You talk to her often, Laurie?"

"No.  She talks to me."  Lauren had met his laughing eyes with amusement in
her own and realized, even arguing, they found a measure of enjoyment in each
other.

In the end, Lauren had prevailed--Joe and Brian thought her idea was
wonderful--and once Cameron deferred to her he'd become a rich source of
suggestions on how to integrate the new space with the rest of the house.

Now, gazing down the length of the makeshift table, she understood why,
despite all the potential hazards, she'd asked him to lend his "two cents'
worth" today.  She'd grown to respect Rockland House, and she wanted the
renovation to do it justice.  She also knew the best way to do that was to
surround herself with the smartest, most talented people she could find.  She
wanted Cameron here.  She wanted his input.

Moreover, she trusted it.  Cameron might want her to fail, but he'd never
deliberately hurt the house.  Any suggestions he made would be suggestions
he'd implement himself.

"The man has the patience of a saint," he was saying of a retired
cabinetmaker he'd recommended to Joe.

"He's just the person to tackle tedious repairs like those in the pantry."

"Great," Joe replied, pocketing the man's name and phone number.  ^ Cameron
thanked them for lunch, wiped his mouth and| scraped back his chair.  ^ "Are
you leaving already?"  Lauren asked, trying to hide| her disappointment, j
"Afraid I have to."  Then to Brian he said,

"If you want to drop by the marina and take a look at that old Alden yacht
we're fitting out, I'll be there the rest of the day."

"Okay.  See you later."

Lauren got to her feet quickly and walked Cameron out to his truck.

"Thanks for coming by today," she said.

"My pleasure.  It was fun."

She nodded, smiling.

"These are the best times, when ideas are cooking and creative energy is
sparking every which way."

"They seem like good guys.  Competent."

"They're the best."  Lauren ran her teeth over her bottom lip and peered at
Cam cautiously.

"No hard feelings over the kitchen?"

He shrugged.

"You made up for it in lots of other ways."

"I surprised you, didn't I?"  She poked his abdomen with her index finger.

Grinning, Cameron captured her hand against him.

"I'll reserve judgment awhile longer, if you don't mind."

/ ought to be thinking of a comeback, Lauren thought.  / ought to be making
some joke.  But the only thing on Lauren's mind at mat moment was the feel
of Cameron's body under her hand the warmth of it, the hardness, the rise
and fall of his breathing, the vitality emanating from every cell.

Cameron released her with an easy smile that told her he was suffering none
of trie discomfort raging through her.  You fool!  she silently belated
herself.

As he opened the door of his truck, she asked,

"Will we see you tomorrow?"

"Uh-huh."  He laid his arms atop the frame of the door, rested his chin on
the back of his stacked wrists.

"Joe wants to discuss a few things regarding the exterior."

"And after that?"

"Are you sure I won't be outwearing my welcome?"

"Absolutely."

"Good, because Brian was telling me he brought along his computer and some
designing software I'd like to see."

Lauren squinted off toward East Light.

"Speaking of computers, do you have time this week for me to go over to your
place and teach you how to run yours?"

Cameron's chin came off his wrist, surprise pulling him to his full height.

You're chasing him, whispered a small voice in Lauren's conscience.

Don't be ridiculous, answered another.  What would I do if I caught him?

"I'm assuming that's your problem," she said.

"The reason you hate your computer."

He nodded, chagrin in his smile.

"I haven't even figured out how to load the damn software yet.  But that's
okay.  Really.  My old computer..."

"It's no trouble.  Cam.  Besides, you'll be doing me a favor.  I don't like
owing people, and that's a way of repaying you for your help here."  It was
also a way to prove she could dismiss her attraction to him to a place in her
brain marked Over and Done With--just as he had.

Cameron chuckled quietly.

"What's so funny?"

"Oh, it just struck me that a week ago you and I were locked in a revenge
match, and now here we are, trying to match favors."  ; Lauren grinned.

"Yeah, well, all that tit-for-tat stuff gets j a little tiring after a while."

"It sure does.  It never ends, just keeps escalating."  He sighed.

"Okay.  How about Wednesday morning?"

"Wednesday's great."

Cameron slipped into his truck, started the engine and waved out the window
as the truck rumbled away.

the next few days passed in a flurry of activity.  Joe's electrical
subcontractor flew in to survey the full scope of the job facing him.

A local plumber whom Cameron had recommended stopped by to do the same.
Brian began churning out sketches of bathroom and kitchen designs.
Scaffolding went up so the guys could begin scraping and sanding the
clapboards, and just to round out the mayhem, the building inspector paid
Lauren a three-hour visit "to get acquainted."

Had she known how busy she'd be, she probably wouldn't have offered to help
Cameron with his computer.  Granted, she'd enjoyed herself thoroughly.  After
she'd loaded the software and taught him to use it, they'd skipped off to
Gooseberry Beach for a swim.  The south coast had the best surf on the
island, and as she rode the strong waves in toward shore--wearing her T-shirt
and shorts for a bathing suit--she'd felt as happy and carefree as a child.
Nevertheless, that visit to Cam's had gouged four prime hours out of her day,
and she'd been frazzled within minutes of returning home.

Seeing Cathryn's cheery face at the door Thursday evening was exactly what
Lauren needed to get back her equanimity.  She poured two glasses of wine and
suggested they go outside to enjoy the warm golden twilight.

"So, how is everything in your corner of the universe" " Cathryn asked as
they strolled across a lawn that sloped gently toward the bluff.

"Busy.  Running my business via fax and phone and Internet is more
time-consuming than I anticipated.  But so far so good.  My sisters are doing
an admirable job of filling in for me."

"And your mother?"

"Still thinks I'm out in the wilds of western Mass."

Cathryn grinned.

"And what's happening around here?"

She waved her wineglass to encompass all of Rockland House.

"Mostly we've just been getting estimates and drafting plans and applying for
permits and such.  Preliminary chores.  I can't wait for the real work to
start.  All this waiting is really frustrating."

Cathryn cast her a sidelong glance.

"You look more than frustrated."

"What do you mean?"

"You've got two deep grooves between your eyes that seem permanently
engraved."

Lauren sighed.

"It's the estimates that've been coming in, the unexpected jobs we've
discovered.  This is going to be one expensive project, Cath."

"I don't mean to pry, but can you handle it?"

"What choice do I have?"

They sat on an old garden bench bleached by sun and salt air, and set their
glasses down on the wooden slats between them.  The long south flank of the
house faced them, its six second-story windows flashing the bright coral of
the setting sun.

"Maybe the situation would be less stressful if you weren't shooting for a
Christmas deadline."

"Oh, I'm not.  Now it's Thanksgiving."

Cathryn stared at her, deadpan.

"You need a hard whack upside the head."

' "No, think about it.  Cam.  The weeks before Christmas are when all the fan
stuff happens--the Christmas Stroll,.  the house tours, the concerts.  I'd
like my mother to enjoy them."

"I hate to add to your folly but you're right."  Cathryn sat back, stretching
out her jeans-clad legs.

"It's a big house, too.  You'll want extra time to decorate."  She lifted her
glass and sipped.

"What if you just did the rooms that are necessary?  Leave the rest for
later?"

"Only if I'm desperate.  I'd really like to finish."

"Well, you know I'll help any way I can."

"Thanks."  A slow smile crept over Lauren's face.

"It's not all work and gloom.  I've been looking through catalogs, and do you
realize you can buy reproduction claw foot bathtubs that are full-jetted
whirlpools?"

"Can you really?"

Lauren chuckled, her lips on the rim of her glass.  "They're expensive as all
get-out, but think of the fun."

' "Especially if the right man is sharing the tub with you."

They laughed, but their mirth gradually faded under the weight of unspoken
thoughts.  They fell silent, listening to the crickets in the encroaching
shadows and the low roar of the sea.  Finally Cathryn blurted,

"All right, what gives with you and Cameron?"

"Nothing."

"How can there be nothing?  He's been here all week."

"Yes, advising.  He's been a terrific help."

"Advising?  That's it?"

"That's it.  We're ... getting along for the sake of the house.  You
predicted it'd happen yourself.  He can be a remarkably cooperative man when
he wants to be, and cooperation's the only way he can monitor what I'm
doing."

Cathryn screwed up her face in disappointment.

"Cam, he's engaged."

' "Yes, but I always thought you two were a great couple, even as kids.  You
seemed right together.  You meshed."

"Oh, we meshed all right."

"I don't mean that way.  You just seemed... meant to be."

"That's sweet, except I don't believe in meant-to-be."

They settled back in the gathering darkness, watching the sun vanish from the
upper windows and the sky turn gray.

"I wonder what the Old Prune thinks of her son coming over here to advise."

Lauren chuckled.  She'd forgotten the tag they'd tied on Pru Hathaway when
they were young.

"I don't know.  Don't care, either.  It's been interesting having Cam around.
He's found bits of original wallpaper, and, oh" -- her excitement suddenly
swelled "--an earring that we think belonged to Sophronia Peavy."

"Who's Sophronia Peavy?"

"She owned the house eighty years ago."

"Ah."  Cathryn tipped her head back and gazed at the emerging stars.

"He has a wickedly sexy smile, don't you think?"

"Who?"

Cathryn butted Lauren's foot with her own.

"Don't play coy."

"Yes, his smile is very charming, and I'm sure Erica Meade appreciates it
fully."

"Have you met her?"

"No."

"She's a twit."

Lauren snorted with laughter.

"You're only saying that to make me feel good."

Cathryn sat up.

"A-ha!  So there is something going on."

"No, there is not," Lauren repeated, sobering.

"Please, Cath, I'd prefer to drop it.  I know you're only joking, but I don't
find the subject of me and Cam even remotely funny."

Cathryn nodded.

"You're right.  Considering all the heartache you suffered because of him, it
isn't funny."  She, seemed to have more to say, but Lauren wasn't in the
mood' to go in that direction, i "Did I tell you I visited my mother's old
friend Gerti Dumont?"

Quickly, Lauren launched into a.  rundown of the; visit and a party idea she
and Gert had devised for Audrey at Christmas.  Before long Cathryn was
proposing menus' and volunteering to make stuffed mushrooms, and the subject
of Lauren and Cameron was a thing of the past.

Which was only proper, Lauren thought.  Because there was really nothing
going on between the two of them.  Really.

labor day weekend was typically the end of the summer season on Harmony.
Unless a hurricane was bearing down, that meant it went out with a bang.
This year the weather was glorious, and by Friday afternoon, hotels and guest
houses were already filled to capacity.

On Saturday, crowds nocked to the beaches in record numbers, and jammed gift
shops and restaurants.  Boat traffic in the harbor became as congested as car
traffic on the highways of the mainland.  All over the island children played
Frisbee and baseball, while clambakes steamed under their blankets of seaweed
and canvas, and backyard grills sent up clouds of acrid smoke.  By late
afternoon, the bars were full--their doors open to outdoor decks where music
blared and young people gathered to consume astonishing amounts of beer.

Up the hill at Rockland House, however, Lauren sat alone in her room,
listening to the muffled drone of outboards and mopeds through the open
windows.  All the workers had left, even Joe, to spend the long holiday
weekend with their families.

Lauren could've gone home, too, and attended the family cookout at her sister
Kim's, but she didn't want to leave the house unoccupied and unwatched.
Besides, she still had a few loose ends to tie up--this amended H.  D.  C.
application, for instance.

After checking one last time to make sure nothing was missing, she slipped it
into a manila envelope and fixed the clasp.

"Cam," she wrote on a yellow Post-it note.

"Here's my new and improved H.D.C.

application.  Could you please look it over and let me know what you think?

Thanks.  Lauren.  " She tore the note from its pad and affixed it to the
envelope.

Cameron was undoubtedly busy this weekend because Erica had finished her
classes and was back on Harmony.  Lauren decided she'd simply drive to his
cottage and leave the envelope in the mailbox.  Then she'd stop in town and
enjoy the shops.  She'd been avoiding the harbor area probably out of
lingering self-consciousness--but this weekend she could become invisible in
the crowds.  With that in mind, she changed into her favorite summer dress,
the soft green georgette she'd worn to the auction, brushed her hair and
applied some makeup.

Lauren hadn't driven far along Water Street, however, when she spotted
Cameron in front of Gardiner Interiors, talking with the shop's owner.
Despite all her protests to Cathryn, as soon as she saw Cam, she surged with
adrenaline.  Of course there was something going on between them.
Fortunately it was all one-sided and therefore controllable.

She slowed down and beeped, both men looked over, and Cameron broke into a
smile that fractured her composure into a thousand quivering pieces.  Still,
she managed to call out calmly,

"You're just the person I want to see.  Stay right there."

She drove on, found a tight parking spot on a narrow side street and walked
back.  Ignoring Cameron for the moment, Lauren extended her hand to the other
man and said.  "Hi.  You're Fred Gardiner, right?  I've been eager to meet
you."

"Oh?"  The man, who she thought bore an uncanny resemblance to Ernest
Borgnine, actually blushed as he shook her hand.

"I'm Lauren DeStefano, but you probably already know that."

He grinned, his eyes flicking to Cameron.

"My friends tell me you're the person to see when the time comes to decorate
my house."  Lauren had never worked with an interior decorator before and
didn't want to now because of the expense, but she suspected she might need
Fred for special purchases before this project was over.

"I'm flattered.  Stop in anytime."

"Thanks."

Gardiner tilted his head.

"I've been wondering, have you considered joining the Preservation League?"

Cameron leaned toward Lauren and spoke behind his hand.

"It's what we do to take advantage of Fred's services without paying for
them."

Lauren laughed.

"It sounds like something I'd enjoy, if I were staying on Harmony longer, but
I'm not."  Actually, she wasn't interested in joining any community
organizations.  She belonged to several in Boston, but Harmony was simply too
tight a town.  Pro Hathaway probably belonged to half the groups--this one
definitely.

Fred seemed disappointed.

"If you change your mind, our meetings are listed in the Record.  You're
welcome anytime.  Well, someone just walked into the shop..."  He began to
back away.

"Take it slow, Fred."

"Nice meeting you," Lauren called.

After Fred was gone, Cameron turned to Lauren, his eyes sweeping admiringly
over her dress.

"What's up?"

Ignoring the heavy knocking of her heart, she said,

"I was just on my way to your place to put this in your mailbox."

"Wow.  I'm impressed.  You've been busy."

"Yeah, it's been a good week, hasn't it?  A lot got done, but I'm tired."

He nodded.

"You look tired."

"That's sure to perk me up."

Laughing, Cameron took the envelope from her and began to unfasten the clip.
| "Oh, don't read it now.  It's Saturday night.  You must!  have plans."  |
"Actually, I don't.  Erica's grandfather passed awayi Thursday.  She's in
Connecticut for the funeral.  How about | you?  You going anywhere?

Meeting anybody?  " |^ Lauren felt a buzz of excitement vibrating deep inside
JE her.

"No.  I was just going to hang out."  / shouldn't be j feeling this, she
thought.  | "Great.  Let's go have a drink and discuss your appli| cation."
I He took her by the arm and ushered her up the sidewalk |H to The Brass
Anchor.  Inside, they found an out-of-the-way |J booth and ordered drinks.

They were well into their second round by the time they finished going
through her package.  All the booths were occupied by then and a three-piece
band was tuning up on stage.  Cameron's only suggestion about the application
surprised her.

"Stick to your guns on the replacement windows."

"Are you setting me up for another delay?"

He almost looked hurt.

"I'll vouch for the poor condition of the present windows.  I don't think
you'll have any trouble.  Just remember, no snap-in grills."

' "Of course.  All the mullions will be wood-through.  Anything else?"

' "No.  It looks fine.  If you do everything you're proposing here, you're
going to have yourself one classy house.  The commission will love it."

A huge weight seemed to lift from Lauren's chest.

"I'll polish it up and file it with your office next week."  She slipped the
envelope into her bag and fit the strap over her shoulder.

"Thanks for all your help."  She slid across the bench.

"Sorry I took so much of your time."  She had no reason to leave, except, if
she stayed, she'd have to admit they were socializing.

Cameron got up, too.

"I'll walk out with you."

Leaving the bar, Lauren was surprised by how dark the sky had gotten.

The sun was setting earlier each day, a reminder that time was clipping
along.  Suddenly she clutched the base of her throat where her breath seemed
to be blocked by a hard knot.

"Are you all right?"  Cameron asked.  It amazed her how attuned he was to her
every move and expression.

"Yes, just a little heartburn from those two beers."

"Along with a heavy dose of anxiety, I'd wager," he added, shaking his head.

"What's the matter?  The house getting to you?"

"A bit."  Luckily, music diverted Lauren's attention, because she'd been
about to divulge her financial woes to Cameron--the person who least needed
to know them.  "What's going on?"  she asked, gazing toward Shipyard Park
near the ferry landing.

"It's Saturday night," Cameron replied as if she should know what that meant.

"You don't mean... there are still wharf dances?"

"Sure.  You didn't know?"

"Um, no."  She'd been holed up at Rockland House, trying to avoid the
goings-on in town.

' "Interest lagged for a while, but it's bigger than ever this summer.
Tonight the park should be packed."

Lauren listened more carefully.

"What sort of music is that?"  she asked in distaste.  That doesn't sound
like dance music.  "

"It isn't.  It's square dancing."

"Square dancing!"  Lauren's whole body reacted with surprise, which seemed to
amuse Cameron no end--which pleased her no end.

"Mmm.  It started a few years ago, and it's really pop N ular.  There's even
a square-dancing club.  They dress in costume, give lessons and perform at
the park on Saturday nights.  Your friend Cathryn is a member."

Lauren's jaw dropped.

"Cathryn?  Cathryn of the infamous two left feet?

Oh, this I've got to see.  "

She was halfway across the street before she remembered Cameron.

"Thanks again," she said, turning to wave goodbye, but he was right on her
heels.  She stopped.

"You don't have to come with me."

Cameron's eyes glittered.

"You aren't gonna get rid of me that fast."

She knew she should've felt apprehensive.  She knew she should've changed her
mind and made tracks for her car.  Instead, she only shrugged and said,

"Suit yourself.  It's your Saturday night."

CHAPTER TEN

the park along the waterfront was thronged with people-- islanders and
vacationers alike.  Lauren saw lots of families and senior citizens among
them, not just the teenage and college crowd who used to show up when she was
young.  Some nul led around the concession trucks, buying hot dogs and cotton
candy.  Others sat on blankets or folding chairs, listening to the lively
music and watching the performance.

Lauren found Cathryn immediately, do-si-doing with the best of them.

She was dressed in a colorful profusion of ruffles and petticoats that did
nothing for her figure, and as usual she seemed slightly out of step with
everyone else.  But that wasn't stopping her from having a grand old time.

The music ended, the dancers bowed, and their appreciative audience broke
into robust applause.  No one clapped harder than Lauren, though, and when
that didn't satisfy her, she put two fingers to her mouth and let out a
whistle that made several nearby people jump.

Beside her, Cameron cast her a dry stare and drawled, "I don't know ya."  J
As the dancers started to disperse into the crowd, Lauren turned to leave.

"Don't you want to go say hi?"  Cameron asked.  She did, but being seen with
Cameron might prove awkward.  Besides, the tone of the evening was changing.
The bright lights on stage had dimmed, the colored lights in the trees were
coming on, and Lauren was beginning to remember other wharf dances, other
years, and the thrill of meeting Cam against their parents' orders.

"Oh, right," Cameron mumbled, as if reading her mind.  Together they turned
to leave the park.  and bumped smack into Julia and Ben.

There was no way around it, Lauren concluded on a groan.  Fate had decreed
that tonight would be

"Let's Embarrass Lauren Night."

She should have known better of her friends, she soon realized.  After a
brief moment of surprise, Julia laughed and demanded,

"What are you two doing here?"  Her amusement and candor were immediately
relaxing.

Lauren gave her a brief, honest explanation; Julia said, "Oh, I see,"

and that was the end of it.  The same thing happened when Cathryn met up with
them, although Lauren knew she was bursting with curiosity and speculation.

To deflect attention from herself as quickly as possible, Lauren exclaimed,

"You were wonderful.  Cam.  Why haven't you told me about your talent as a
country hoofer?"

Cathryn flushed, her cheeks rosier than ripe Macintoshes.  "You mean country
heifer, don't you?"  she giggled.

"Oh, stop," Lauren chided.

"You look great."

Dylan was the last to join them.  He'd been in the audience with the kids and
Cathryn's parents.  After a few minutes of animated conversation, Julia
excused herself to go up to the bandstand.  As Lauren was just learning, one
of the reasons wharf dances had become so popular was that Julia now provided
the music.  She was a great DJ.

"I'll start it off," she qualified.

"But I have an intern who'll do the rest of the night."  Then clutching
Lauren's arm, she urged, "Stay.  Twenty minutes and I'll be back.  I haven't
seen enough of you.

I want to hear all about your house.  "

Lauren glanced at Cameron uneasily.  He was talking to Ben about fall
elections, but surely he'd be leaving soon.  "Okay,"

she agreed.

"Oh, heck, if you're staying" -- Cathryn said "--we'll send the kids home
with my parents and stick around, too."  She hurried off to arrange the
baby-sitting.

Julia got the crowd in a dancing mood with several hits from the sixties,
then handed the microphone over to a teenage boy who seemed to have a
following among the younger set.

To Lauren's growing distress, Cameron still hadn't left.  He and Ben were as
engrossed as ever in their discussion.  Julia came down from the bandstand,
moving to the beat of Bob Seger's

"Old Time Rock 'n' Roll."  She looped her arm through her husband's and,
while he was still trying to say something to Cam, dragged him off to the
dance floor.  Lauren shot Cathryn a look, silently begging her not to do the
same, and received an understanding nod in reply.

"Come on, handsome," Cathryn said, commandeering Cameron's arm.

"Dance with me."

Lauren hadn't exactly wanted that, either.  She and Dylan contemplated each
other unsurely, then shrugged and headed for the dance floor, too.

The six of them formed a loose circle, dancing as a group.  Safe enough,
Lauren reassured herself.  Yet she felt awkwardf She kept looking around
self-consciously, searching for people who might know her and Cameron,
expecting them to be watching and whispering behind their hands.  Cameron
seemed uneasy, as well.  She noticed he always kept at least one other person
between them.

Lauren felt a moment of anger toward her friends for creating the
uncomfortable situation.  But when she saw how thoroughly they were enjoying
themselves, she got angry at the crowd instead--the people she suspected
gossiped in the shadows and prevented her from enjoying herself, too.
Ultimately, though, Lauren knew she had no one to blame but herself, because
she was imagining the gossip and the stares and even if she wasn't, she'd
come to Harmony to get over precisely this sort of self-consciousness.  And,
hard as it was, she would, dammit.  She had a right to be here, dancing the
night away with her friends.

The music was perfect, guaranteed to relax inhibitions, and tonight's crowd
was obviously out to have a good time.  Soon the tension in Lauren's
shoulders began to melt.  She felt herself loosening, laughing, even hamming
it up.  So what if she'd never quite mastered the Electric Slide?  Neither
had the three men, and they were attempting it.  And so what if the Chicken
Dance was silly?  Cathryn, still wearing her square-dancing getup, made
"silly" a relative concept.  By the time the old Village People number,
"YMCA," came on, Lauren and her friends were laughing so hard nothing
mattered.

Inevitably the fast dances eventually came to an end, and a slow set began.
Julia cast Lauren an apologetic look as she stepped into Ben's arms.
Cathryn's glance was more hopeful, as she and Dylan whirled off together.

Surrounded by couples, with the lights dimmed and the romantic lyrics of

"Unchained Melody" filling the soft night, Lauren felt her self-consciousness
return.  She knew Cameron was behind her.  She could feel him there as if she
had an extra sense.  And then she really did feel him-- his hand on her back,
the warmth of his breath in her hair.

"Would you care to dance?"  he asked, his smile wry.

"I'm sure they didn't do this on purpose," she said in defense of her friends.

Cameron turned her into his arms and took her hand in his.

"It doesn't matter if they did.  I'm enjoying myself.  Aren't you?"

"Yes," she admitted.

"It's been a long time.  I think I forgot how."

As if they'd made a silent pact, they both avoided dancing close.  Instead,
they talked, babbled really, about the interesting mix of ages in the crowd,
how professional the sound system was, and whether the rain predicted for
Mon- day would come.

And when they ran out of things to say, they simply danced, their bodily
contact so polite it was strained.

Lauren caught sight of Ben and Julia, their arms entwined, eyes closed,
bodies pressing intimately--a couple in love and utterly lost in each other.
A little way off, Cathryn and Dylan were dancing close, too.

"A penny for your thoughts," Cameron offered, making Lauren aware of how
wistful she felt and apparently looked.

She stared at his shirt collar.

"When I was young, this is how I envisioned my life--living here, enjoying
events like this, my friends still my friends even after we were married."
She swallowed over a thickness gathering in her throat.

"Funny how things work out."

"Or rather don't," he contradicted.  Lauren dared a glance up into his eyes.
They were fixed on her, penetrating, making her remember that, within her
adolescent vision of the future, she and Cameron had always been married.
Moreover, they'd shared the vision.  Heat enveloped her like a thick cloud of
steamy "We were too young," she said.

"We would've had to date for years before we got married."

"I know," he admitted with a look that puzzled her.  Regret?

"The chances of us sticking it out were so slim they were laughable."

Yet, not impossible, Lauren mused, her gaze returning to the McGraths.
Cathryn had started dating Dylan when she was fifteen.

Turning back to Cameron, she noticed his eyes had flickered to the McGraths,
too.

"Their situation was completely different," she said defensively.

"Dylan is older than us They didn't have to wait as long."

' "There was no animosity between the McGrath and Hit families, either."

"And no untimely pregnancy."

"The deck was stacked against us from the very start."

"Right.  It wasn't meant to be, so let's just drop it okay?"  Lauren realized
she was on the edge of anger, but at what or whom, she didn't know.

The song ended and most couples stayed on the floor The next number began
almost immediately.

' "One more for the road?"  Cameron asked.

For the road?  This was it?

"Sure," Lauren replied, feeling simultaneously relieved and disappointed.

When they stepped together, Cameron exerted a sligh pressure to her back.
After the briefest of hesitations, shi moved closer.  It would undoubtedly be
less tense if the^ didn't have to look at each other or feel the need to
speak Cameron touched his chin to her temple, she slipped he: hand higher up
his shoulder, and both sighed in relief she was sure.

It certainly wasn't out of any physical satis faction.  They were barely
touching.

In spite of their outer decorum, or maybe because of it Lauren was still
highly aware of Cameron: his scent, i pleasant mix of subtle aftershave and
male musk; his jaw raspy with a day's growth of beard; his breath, a warn
eddying over her sensitized earlobe.  She tried to think o other things his
engagement to Erica Meade, for us stance but it was no use.  Cameron filled
her senses s< completely she might as well have been drugged.

Heeding a vague warning from her conscience, shi slowly tilted back her head
and frowned at the man she was dancing with, trying to decipher what was
happening, wha he was thinking.  He studied her, too, wonderingly, somberly.
After a while they joined together again.

Cameron brought her hand to his chest, enfolded her arm under his, slid his
other arm higher up her back and urged her a little closer.

As his fingertips brushed her neck, a bead of perspiration trickled between
her breasts, and another warning sounded distantly in her conscience.

They eased apart once more, eyes meeting cautiously then shying away, mouths
so serious.  Heat throbbed from their bodies.  Pulses, thick and heavy,
drummed to the concern, What are we doing?  Slowly, dreamily, they closed the
gap, his cheek caressing the side of her face, her hand inching up to the
hair curling over his collar.

It was like drowning, Lauren decided--this coming up for air, then going
under again.  She tried to stay afloat, wanted to stay afloat, but the tide
pulling her down was too strong, too sweet.  The lights in the trees became a
hazy blur, the other dancers mere swaying shadows, as if they were objects
viewed from under water.  She let her eyelids drift shut and tucked herself
into the warm crook of Cameron's neck.  He dipped his head, brushed her cheek
with his warm, parted lips.  She shivered and snuggled closer still, until
there was no denying their bodies were pressing in alVthe most intimate
places.

On the edge of awareness, she heard the' music stop, but they held on for a
few more heartbeats, reluctant to end what they knew was a stolen moment.
Eventually, though, they had to step apart and return to reality.

"I should go home," Lauren said, unable to look at Cameron directly.

He scratched his ear and nodded.

"I'll walk you to your car."

They left the dance floor together, crossed the park and J

headed up the street.  The romantic music faded behind!  them and was soon
lost in the jazz pouring from The Brass s Anchor where they'd shared a drink
an eon ago.  ^ "Let me follow you home," Cameron suggested, approaching the
narrow side street where she'd left her car.  .

"No!  Thanks," she added as an afterthought.

"I'll be; fine."

"But everybody at your place went home for the weekend.  I don't want you
walking into that big empty house alone."

Lauren shrugged dismissively, knowing if there was any danger at her house it
was in her being there with this man.  She slid her car key into the lock,
but when she attempted, to open the door Cameron blocked her effort, i "Wait.
We've got to talk about it, Lauren."

"There's nothing to say."  I Cameron turned her gently to face him.

"It didn't feel like nothing when we were dancing."

She swallowed.

"Can't we just forget it?"

"I can't."

She glanced up and down the dark street but they were alone.  All the foot
traffic was on the main thoroughfare.

"Lauren, we've been fighting this for weeks now, and quite frankly I'm all
tuckered out."  He curled his hands over her shoulders and started to pull
her to him.

"No, Cameron."  Lauren pressed two hands against his chest.

"No?  We haven't been fighting an attraction to each other?"

Lauren could only shake her head, helpless, as his handsj stroked her arms.
She couldn't deny it anymore.

"No, we haven't been wondering what we'd be like together, now that we're no
longer wet-behind the-ears, kids?"  His voice was low and seductive, and
again, all; Lauren could manage was a head shake.  Of course she'd been
wondering.

He slipped his arms around her, fitting their bodies together in a way that
made her expire and ignite in the same moment.

"Well, then..."

he whispered.  A surrendering moan escaped her as Cameron tipped up her chin
and brushed his parted lips over hers.

This is wrong, she thought.  This is so wrong.  But when his mouth closed
over hers, the words in her head changed to / don't care.  I so don't care.

Their kiss held none of the sweetness of that soft touching of lips a week
ago on the porch roof.  Still, it contained its own degree of reserve--or
perhaps reverence was a better term, Lauren thought.  It was like sipping a
perfectly aged wine that has been anticipated a very long while.  They didn't
hurry the pleasure, but took their time savoring each other, becoming
reacquainted with forgotten tastes and textures, letting the intoxication
build.

Eventually, Cameron lifted his head, smiled and whispered,

"At last."

At last, her heart repeated.  Yet, her conscience had the upper hand.

"We shouldn't do this, Cameron."

"I know, but we're going to, anyway."  His certitude sent a tingle of
excitement through Lauren.  He framed her face, slid his hands into her hair,
and watched the silky copper strands feather through his fingers.

"You and I are not done with each other, Lauren.  We both know it.  And there
won't be any peace in our lives until we are."

Lauren wanted to find fault with his outrageous statements, but she couldn't.
She understood perfectly, and maybe that was why she welcomed him when he
dipped his head and kissed her again.  This time, however, he skipped
reverence and went straight for heat.

Lauren reeled, breathlessly clutching his shirt with two hands, as their
tongues touched and swirled and aroused Cameron gathered her closer, opened her
mouth wit thrust deeper.  It was a kiss beyond any she'd ever imaginedd, desire
mounting so rapidly she could barely brea with the speed and intensity of it.

"Oh, Lauren!"  Cameron's voice grated with need.  IT was all he said before
pressing her against the car and Id ing her again, the fire in his body
meeting the fire in h< Slowly his hands worked their way up from her waist, o
her ribs, to the sides of her breasts, pausing a breath!  moment before
gliding over them, caressing, kneading.

The erotic pleasure Lauren felt was so sharp it had opposite effect of its
intent, and she sobered.

"Wait."  the word escaped her on a wisp of sound.  Gulping in air, pushed
against his chest, her arms trembling.

"Wait," repeated while she caught her breath.

Cameron braced himself on the car, one hand on eit side of her, his breathing
just as labored.  Finally she had enough clarity of mind to ask,

"What're you saying, peace until we're done with each other?

Just what are 3 proposing?  That we have sex until our curiosity burns and
we're bored with each other?  "

He scowled, looked aside and shook his head.

"No.  ] of course not."

But he'd hesitated long enough to bet he was thinking about it.

"Cameron!  That's despicable."

His lips turned up at one corner.

"It might do the j though, don't you think?"

"No!"  She ducked under his arm, freeing herself from the drugging entrapment
of his body.

Cameron leaned back against the car and folded his an "We're undoubtedly
idealizing the past, over-romantu ing it.  People do that all the time with
their teenage mances.  Having sex would cure us of that.  Sure, it mi be
great at first, but inevitably it'd cool, and then we'd see it for what it
was, an ordinary physical act no more special than any other.

Then we could move on with our lives.  "

Lauren stared at him with mouth hung open in mute astonishment, then laughed
outright.

"Boy, I've heard some lines, but that takes the cake."

"You're the one who proposed it."

"I did not."

"Did, too."  Cameron dipped his knees until their eyes were level, and did
the worst thing possible.  He smiled.  His smile was her biggest weakness.

"I'm game.  How about you?"

"Ugh!"  She dropped her head into her hands and groaned.

"I'm getting a headache."

"Think about how liberating it'd be."

"I don't need liberating."

"No?  Then why haven't you gotten married yet?  Why aren't you even seriously
involved?"

"You think it's because of you?  Whoa!  What size hat did you say you're
wearing these days?"

Cameron laughed.

"Lauren, look at me."  When she wouldn't, he took hold of her chin and tilted
it upward.  "I'm kidding."

She studied him doubtfully.  / "Really, I am."

"Good, because it wasn't funny."

He sighed wearily, dropping his forehead to hers.

"No.  Nothing about this is funny."  Suddenly Lauren realized his torment was
real, as real as her own.  He, too, was struggling with feelings that refused
to go away.  She wanted to say good-night and goodbye, but sadness
overwhelmed her, and she wrapped her.  arms around him instead, holding him
close and weeping inside for what might have been.

Out on Water Street a horn beeped.  Beeped again, then blared.  Slowly,
still locked in their sympathetic em brac Lauren and Cameron turned their
heads toward the seel ingly distant annoyance and then sprang apart.  For the
sat Erica Meade at the wheel of her Volkswagen Bug, leaning out of the
window, her lips parted in shock.

"Cameron?"  she cried.

"Erica!  W-what are you doing here?"  Cameron star me red Even in the dim
light of a distant street lamp.  Lauren could see he was turning red.  No
redder than she was though.

Erica didn't answer him.  She seemed too confused, to hurt.

"I'm sorry," Lauren said, stepping into the painful s lence.

"This " she couldn't believe what she was abo to say " isn't what you think."

Erica sniggered, as well she should have, but then h eyes filled with tears.

Lauren tried again.

"Don't be angry with Cameron.  I and I are just old friends."

"I know who you are," Erica said, enunciating each s} lable with brutal
slowness.

Lauren swallowed.

"Yes, well, please don't let what y< saw, or think you saw, interfere with
your relationship."

Ignoring Lauren, Erica sucked in a breath, pressing h lips tight as she
gathered composure.

"I'm going horn Cameron."  Her jaw still trembled, but her eyes were taku on
the hard glitter of anger.

"If you care to explain you self, I'll be available for another hour.

After that my door be locked.  " Without another word, she sped off.

Lauren winced and swore.  Swore again and stamped h foot.

"I feel like slime.  That poor girl."  She looked Cameron, but he was in
another world, one hand clamp to the top of his head, his mouth stretched in
a mil "Eek," his gaze still fixed on the empty intersection.  "Cameron?"

Finally he turned to her.

"What?"  he asked distractedly.

"Never mind.  I'm leaving, too."

He frowned.

"Wait.  We've got to talk."

"About what?"

"Us, dammit."

"There is no us!"  she wailed in frustration.

"But" -- "Stop it!"  she snapped, still tormented by the expression on
Erica's face.  But now Cameron looked hurt, too.  Lauren placed her fingers
over his mouth.

"No apologies needed, no explanations nor excuses, either.  As you said, we
were romanticizing the past, playing at something that felt good but wasn't
real.  And even if it were, I'm not into cheating on anyone's fiancee."

Cameron rubbed his forehead, eyes hooded ill thought.  Watching him, Lauren
was struck by the manly beauty of his hand, its width, its nicks and
callouses, its long, strong fingers and clean blunt-filed nails.

Lowering his arm, he asked,

"What if she wasn't my fiancee?"

Lauren's heartbeat skittered.  until she thought through the implications.

"It wouldn't matter.  I'm not a masochist, Cam.  If we got involved, it'd be
all over town in<no time.  Why would I want to invite that sort of abuse into
my life?  And that's not even counting your parents' reaction."  She crossed
her arms and shook her head.

"As the saying goes, " Once burned, twice shy.  " Or put another way,

"No way, Jose."

" Cameron smiled, but sadly, allowing the truth of what she was saying to
sink in.   For a moment she longed to enfold him in her arms again and
commiserate.   Instead she took a lighter approach.

"We'd probably burn out real fast anyway.  It wouldn't be worth the bother."

"Oh, gee, thanks.  My male ego thanks you, too."  "You're welcome.

Besides, I'm not sure I want to bin out, so let's just put thoughts of
involvement firmly ben ii us, okay?  It'd be a lose-lose situation all around.
" " I'm afraid I don't follow.  "

Lauren straightened the collar of Cam's shirt ai smoothed the wrinkles over
his chest, taking one last touch to remember him by.

"You'd be out of a fiancee, ai I... I'd be out of my very favorite fantasy."

Embarrassi over her admission, she opened her car door and quick slid inside.

"One other thing" -- she added, rolling down the widow "--I'd rather you
didn't come to the house anyrnoi I appreciate all you've done, but after
tonight it wouldi be wise."

"God, this is tough."  Cameron rubbed the back of I neck.

"You're tough."

"You won't come by, will you?"  After a sulky hesitation, he shook his head.
"Thanks."  She turned the ignition key.

"If you mil my talking to Erica will help, I will."

"No.  I can handle it.  I appreciate the offer, though."  Lauren wanted to
drive away, but Cameron still had o arm on the car roof.

"Go on.

Cam.  Erica's waiting.  " He didn't move.

"This doesn't feel right."

"Believe me, it is.  You say we're not done with PA other, but you're wrong.
If I had any doubts, they vanish as soon as I saw Erica sitting there
watching us."

Finally, Cameron stepped back.  Lauren watched him from the corner of her eye
as she eased the car slowly down the street.  A part of her--a very wayward
part--hoped he try to stop her, but he didn't.  The last she saw of him in
her rearview mirror, he was walking away.

Tears blurring her vision, Lauren drove through town along High Street, a
block up from Water.  It's best this way, she told herself repeatedly.  Yet
it wasn't until she turned in at her driveway that she actually believed it.

As she gazed at Rockland House, she instantly remembered why she'd come to
Harmony--to buy her mother a house that would reclaim her pride on the
island.  But that wasn't all.  Lauren had also wanted to reclaim her own
pride, and look at the mess she'd made of it tonight.

Well, no more.  She was done fooling around.  It was time to buckle
down--time to put Cameron behind her and to concentrate on her goals.

; / CHAPTER ELEVEN

autumn came quickly on Harmony.  The crowds dimi ished right after Labor Day.
Ferry service dropped to o run a day, except on weekends, and in a few weeks
if would change, too.  Several businesses fastened their shi ters and hung
Closed For The Season signs on their doo Summer help returned to college, and
silence replaced the drone of mopeds and ski-jets.  Even nature seemed to relax
under the heavier mists and mellowing sun, riotous sumn roses giving way to
the calmer hues of sedums and aste Up at Rockland House, however, September
brought torrent of activity, and Lauren couldn't have been hap pi Busyness
helped her forget Cameron and Erica and u horrendous episode following the
wharf dance.

She had driven home, and after a sleepless night of wrestling with remorse,
recrimination and fear of public humiliation, Lauren had left Harmony and
spent the rest of t holiday weekend with her family.

Although remorse a recrimination stayed with her, the public humiliation she
feared never materialized.

Of course, upon returning she'd heard from Julia a Cathryn, both of them
bursting with curiosity after seeing her dance with Cameron--and she was honest
with them to a point.  But she ended her story by simply saying s and Cam had
made a mistake and agreed to avoid PA other in the future.  She didn't have
the nerve to tell her friends the rest and didn't know how she'd face them they
ever found out.

But as time passed, the chances of a public humiliation appeared slimmer and
slimmer.  Lauren went to the post office and no one there called her a
trollop.  She did her grocery shopping and no one at the market charged her
with breaking up the island's darlings.  All of which led her to two
conclusions.  First, Erica was as embarrassed to talk about the incident as
she was, and second, Cameron had succeeded in patching up their relationship.

The lack of repercussion should've eased Lauren's mind and dislodged Cameron
and Erica from her thoughts, but it didn't.  The only thing that worked was
activity, and luckily she had plenty to do.

The general building permit came- through immediately after Labor Day, and
Joe's crew soon quadrupled in size.  In addition to the sanding of the
clapboards already in progress outside, the workers began the demolition
inside-- always the most dramatic stage of a renovation.

With electricity and water disconnected, the men swooped in, transferred
Lauren's belongings to the RV she'd borrowed from her sister Michelle,
dismantled the old kitchen and bathrooms, removed lighting fixtures, wiring
and plumbing, took down false ceilings, cheap paneling and modern doors,
scraped away layers of wallpaper, ripped out plaster too damaged to save, and
broke through walls where plans required.  A special team arrived during the
chaos, complete with asbestos-proof spacesuits and overseers from the
Environmental Protection Agency, to remove the old furnace.

Within a week Rockland House had been cleaned out, excavated like a big old
tooth that's had all its decay removed.  Now would come the long slow weeks
of repair and restoration.

It was exciting to be under way, at last.  Dressed in overalls and steel-toed
boots, Lauren worked right alongside the men and women, for among them there
were three.  But it was also disheartening.  Unexpected problems kept
arising, such as the fireplaces, which were in such poor condition that Joe
insisted on refitting them with inserts specially designed to avoid chimney
and attic fires.  He argued they'd be energy-efficient, too.  Although they
hadn't budgeted for the repair, Lauren agreed it should be done.

Sitting at night in her small RV, Lauren spent hours crunching numbers, but
no matter how she crunched, expenses were clearly galloping out of control.
So was her anxiety level.

It was a relief to leave Harmony occasionally, though even in Boston, Lauren
was busy.  She met with Brian King to discuss designs.  She saw her lawyer
about various tenant complaints.  There were matters at her office that
needed her personal attention.  And most important, there was her mother.

Lauren's sisters had tried to keep Audrey occupied with baby-sitting and
shopping excursions, and her brothers, Mark and David, brought as much
laundry as they could when they came home from college.  Yet Lauren detected
a growing restlessness in her mother, a dissatisfaction that Audrey finally
acknowledged one day over lunch at Quincy Market.  She was feeling "antsy,"
she said, and was considering looking for a job.

Lauren was elated.  This was a good sign, one that indicated Audrey might be
almost ready to take the leap she was preparing for her.

"It's scary, though," Audrey confessed.

"I've been a housewife all these years.  I don't have a single job skill."

Lauren smiled secretively behind her glass of iced tea and tried to reassure
her.

"Oh, I'm sure something'11 come along.  In fact I can almost guarantee it."

As busy as Lauren was, she still had time to dread the; upcoming H.  D.  C.
meeting.  Cameron had assured her, thee night of the wharf dance, that her
revised application would; be approved, but maybe he'd changed his mind.
Maybe he'd decided to shaft her, after all.  If that was the case, she could
forget about having the house done by Christmas.

The last Monday of September finally arrived.  As Lauren walked down the
corridor toward the school cafeteria, she had to admit she dreaded
encountering Cameron as much as the hearing itself.  She'd managed to avoid
him the entire month so far, but not a day went by that she didn't think of
him.

She had such mixed feelings.  When she remembered how they'd danced and
kissed afterward, she was filled with remorse and disappointment in herself
for having been so weak.  She was disappointed in Cameron, too.  Same reason.
They both should've had more sense.

She also felt embarrassed.  Good grief, now he knew he was her favorite
fantasy!

She felt angry, too.  Oh, angry for sure.  The gall of the man, suggesting
they have sex until they got each other out of their systems.  What did he
think they were--animals in heat?

The most ludicrous feeling, though, was her sense of having been abandoned
and betrayed--ludicrous because she had no right, no claim on Cameron.  Erica
did.  Yet, how could he lass her the way he had, with such volatility of
passion, and then go to another woman?  And he had.  Three weeks had passed,
and he and Erica were still together.

Cathryn had seen them at dinner with both sets of parents, Cam's and Erica's,
just this past Saturday.

Approaching the cafeteria doors, Lauren felt all these emotions swirling
within her, coming to a head.  She wasn't sure what she'd do when she saw
Cameron, what she'd reveal in her face or body language, or how she'd cope
speaking before the commission.

Focus, Lauren.  Focus, she admonished herself.  Chin up, shoulders back and
remember your goal.  With a deep exhalation, she pushed open the doors.

The cafeteria was even more crowded than it had been in August.  Fall
renovations, she surmised.  She took a seat and immediately homed in on
Cameron sitting at the front table.  When she saw him, a longing clutched her
so hard and painfully that her eyes watered, and she realized there was one
other emotion she'd been feeling these past few weeks.  She missed him.

As if he'd sensed her attention, Cameron looked up.  Their gazes met and held
a moment, although what was passing through his mind Lauren couldn't say, his
face was that impassive.  Then he glanced aside and didn't look at her again
for the rest of the night, even when he called her petition.

She was first on the docket.  Cameron recused himself again, Mrs. Landry took
over, and Lauren braced herself for a lengthy session of nit-picking
arguments and snide remarks.  To her utter surprise her plans were approved,
one after another, with only a few minor questions.

"That's it?"  Lauren exclaimed.

"That's it," Mrs. Landry replied on a laugh.

"We'll send our recommendation to the building department tomorrow.  You'll
have your certificate in a couple of days."

"Thank you.  Thank you very much."  Lauren glanced toward Cameron, standing
by the windows, but he didn't look back.  He merely returned to the table and
proceeded with business.

"Next item, Captain Toby's Restaurant requests to add a new entrance..."

Lauren left the cafeteria on a cloud of relief.  With this final legal hassle
over, they could begin the exterior work in earnest.  From here, it was full
steam ahead.

By the time she reached the front door, however, a sense of anticlimax had
set in.  After all the work and worry she'd | put into preparing for this
night, it was over?  Just like that?  By the time she reached her car,
anticlimax had progressed to dejection.

Her mood didn't make sense.  She should be turning cartwheels.  Besides the
obvious advantage of having the green light on renovations, her business with
Cameron was now over.  Fini.  There was no need to ever see him again.  He
wasn't even going to come by to check their progress.  That was the job of
the building officer.  Everything about her life was going to be easier.

None of her arguments made a single bit of difference, however.  As she sat
with her hand on the ignition key, she realized her dejection was only
deepening.  And she knew why.  Oh, yes, she knew.

Suddenly, she gave the key an angry twist.  Damn!  What was the matter with
her?  Did she have a chromosomal disorder?  A self-destruct gene built into
her makeup?  Sure, she missed Cameron, but there was all that other emotional
upheaval, too--all that angst she'd suffered since Labor Day because of him.
Ugh!  When would she ever smarten up and stop being a fool for the man?

"Now!"  she declared.

"Right now."  From here on, she would not waste one more ounce of energy on
Cameron Hathaway.  She would pour it all into her house, instead.  This was
really it.  She pressed down on the accelerator, and her car leaped into the
crisp fall night like a determined mare.

cameron watched the seasons change from his booth at the Water Street Diner
without his usual enthusiasm.  Ordinarily, he loved the peace and quiet,
loved having the island returned to the locals.  But since the H.  D.  C.
meeting four days ago, all the talk at the diner was about Rockland House,
how the exterior was being torn apart.  Porches gone.

Sunroom gone.  Roofing stripped.  And before this, he'd had to hear about
the inside, how demolition had fill not one or two but three Dumpsters.  Ed
Hayes, the buildi officer who paid regular visits to the house, became a s
among the customers, the center stool reserved for him i] plicitly.

Cameron marveled at how easily they talked aboutLauren and Rockland House in
his presence, how cured they were of their former discomfort.

But then, he'd work hard to get to this point--hadn't he?  --joining the con
vi sat ions coming in when it would've been easier to s< away.  He'd wanted
to prove Lauren left him unfaa Sometimes, though, he wished he hadn't
succeeded so thoroughly.

Cameron pushed his plate of Johnny cakes away, hare touched, and picked up
his coffee.  He hadn't been up the house in a month, and all this talk about
renovation w driving him batty.

The ferry sounded its horn out in the harbor.

"Thar she blows," Asa Hodge sang.

Two customers paid their bills, saying they wanted see what building supplies
the ferry was bringing today. Every day there seemed to be something new bound
for Rockland House.

Cameron had had enough of the diner.  He left, too, ^ in his truck and
started up the street in the direction of t marina.  With October just around
the corner, boats w< coming out of the water faster than his father's men coi
handle.  He was helping out every chance he got.

But a block away he slowed.  He didn't want to go to the marina, dammit.

Since Labor Day, he and his father had been on the best of terms.  Not
arguing, just tense.  Unable to decide.  Cam rolled past the docks and launch
ram] boatyards and sheds.  Then, setting his jaw, he picked speed.

His father had heard that he and Lauren had been at < park together.  Lucky
for Cam, that was all he'd heard, because even then.  Clay had pulled him
into his office for a talk.

After going on for a good ten minutes about how angry and mortified he and
Pru were over Cam's indiscretion, Clay had asked,

"How did it happen?"

Cameron had picked up the wooden model of an old Chriscraft cruiser his
father kept on his desk and fingered the details.

"You know, I'm getting kinda sick of having to justify myself to you and Mom.
I haven't lived under your roof for a decade."

Clay's right eyebrow lifted.

"Never mind.  I understand more than you think," he said on a sigh.

"Leave her be, son.  Don't mess up what you've got with Erica just for sex.
Erica is a fine woman, and it's time you got off your ass, put a ring on her
finger and started giving me some grand- kids."  As usual he went on to
remind Cameron he was the last Hathaway and that three hundred years of
heritage were riding on him.

"But I'm not sure I love her," Cameron confessed.

"Ah, hell.  That sort of thing doesn't last anyway.  It comes, it goes.

What's important is the commitment behind it.  That's the secret of a solid
marriage, and I'm speaking from thirty-three years of experience.  You think
your mother and I have always been 'in love'?  "

Clay laughed.  "But we've hung in, good times and bad.  Think of everything
that'd be lost if we didn't."

Cameron had never understood his parents' relationship.  Sure, their marriage
appeared solid.  Clay and Pru never failed to defend and support each other.
But sometimes Cam thought his father seemed sad, lonely in a fundamental way
that didn't change with time.  Cameron had once heard him say he wouldn't
have minded having a couple more kids--just a passing remark, but it had
stayed with him.  Cam also knew his parents had separate bedrooms, and
though they claimed it was because of disruptive sleep p, terns, he
wondered.  His mother could be hard and haugh and he remembered getting out
of bed one night when was young, eleven or so, and seeing his father at his
mother's door, knocking softly, calling

"Pru-u."  Ev then.  Cam had felt embarrassed for him.

"Maybe I don't want a marriage where I do the ri^ thing out of a sense of
duty or fear," Cameron answen "Maybe I want a marriage that's more than a
business cc tract."

"And I hope with my whole heart that you have 01 son.  All I'm saying is,
messing around with the DeStefa girl won't help.  It can only cause trouble.
And if you fool enough to think maybe she's the answer, think aga She's a
dead end.  Worse than a dead end.  And I don't ha to remind you of the
reasons why.  Do I?"

"Please don't.  Besides, she and I have already hand!  the matter.  We agreed
not to have any further contact, i right?"  The words snapped as if he'd
said, Are you satisfied?

"Oh.  Well, that's good.  That's... very good."

"It still doesn't change how I feel about Erica."

His father leaned on his forearms, brow furrowed, moi grim.

"I'm going to ask a favor of you, Cameron.  You c do what you want, of
course, but I think you'd be wise heed what I have to say."

Cameron put down the model and folded his am "What's on your mind?"

"Hang in for at least another month.  You and Erica haven't seen much of each
other during the summer, I your lives fall back into a routine.

Give her a fair chat before you do anything rash.  You've been together a ye
What's another month?  "

Cameron got up and paced in front of the broad sec or story windows
overlooking the docks.  One more moni What the hell.  He and Lauren weren't
going to be happening anytime soon anyway.  He remembered how firmly she'd
insisted they were done with each other.

"All right.  One more month."

"Promise?"

"Yes," Cam had said.  A promise might be just what he needed to avoid doing
something stupid.

His father had clapped him on the back and praised him for making the right
decision.  Cam had felt confident, too.  But as the month dragged on, he'd
become increasingly broody and short-tempered around his father.

As he drove past the marina, he knew he'd only compound the tension by not
showing up today.  Frankly, he didn't care.  Not a hell of a lot mattered to
him these days.

Fleetingly he thought about visiting Erica at school, just popping in and
waving from the corridor, maybe making a date for dinner.  But since Labor
Day, he and Erica hadn't been getting along very well, either, and he was
tired of pretending they were.

He'd apologized to her the night of the wharf dance.  He knew he'd hurt her,
and in an attempt to ease her distress, he'd tried to convince her the
tableau she'd glimpsed was really quite innocent.  He and Lauren had been
talking about her father's jieath, he said.  She'd gotten upset, and he'd
merely been condoling her.

Unfortunately, he was a lousy liar and Erica wasn't naive.  From then bn
their relationship had been rocky.  Ironically, lip was sorry.  An engagement
was a contract of sorts, and he'd betrayed it--betrayed Erica.  In addition
he wasn't sure if breaking up was what he really wanted.  Erica had many fine
qualities, and they could make a life together.  His father made a valid
point about reasoned commitment.

Besides, what would he do with his life, if he didn't marry Erica?

Cameron drove in circles, for the first time in his life ruing the fact that
there was no place to drive to on Harmony.  He ought to go home.  He had two
more chapters of his book to finish.  But he didn't want to do that, either.
He couldn't sit at his computer without thinking about Lauren, who'd loaded
his software and patiently taught him how to use it.

He drove to East Light instead, zipped up his jacket against the wind blowing
in off the water, walked out to the point with his binoculars and aimed them
north toward Rockland House.  Emotions churned within him--ugly emotions such
as envy and fear and resentment.  He felt like the boy he'd been fifteen
years ago, banished from Harmony, only now he was banished from a renovation
he wanted to be a part of.

Scaffolding had been erected all around the house and |J on the roof.

The original cupola opening had been uncovered, and two men were hammering in
the frame of the new cupola.  Three others were working farther down the
slope, laying slate shingles.  Cameron shifted and caught sight of a few
trailers.  He knew there were more on the other side of the house.  He saw
pallets of lumber, brick and shingles, and someone running a length of board
through a band saw.

He shifted again and suddenly Lauren filled his sights.  His pulse leaped
instantly.  She was standing on the south lawn with her back to him, dressed
in bib-overalls and a baseball cap, looking cuter than a button.  She was
speaking to someone--Joe?  --pointing and gesturing animatedly toward the
roof.  She turned and laughed, revealing her profile.  Watching, Cameron was
filled with such longing his^ chest ached.  No, it wasn't the house he
missed.  It was Laauren.  ; He found a seat where he could rest his hack
against a; rock and kept watch on the house long after she went in | side,
hoping she'd come out again.  She didn't.  Eventually,!

stiff and chilled and feeling every bit the fool he was, Cameron creaked to
his feet and went home.

"well, what do you propose we do now?"  Pm Hatha- way asked her husband.
Dressed in matching sweats, they power-walked along the shoreline, arms
pumping, heels leaving twin pock mark trails in the sand.

"First she got her building permit with no trouble and..."

"There was nothing Ed Hayes could do to delay it.  She's got herself a damn
good contractor.  Everything he's doing is better than up to code."

"now she has her certificate from the H.D.C.," Pru continued as if Clay
hadn't spoken.

"I still can't believe our Cameron let that happen."

"You know his rationale, and I think the boy's right.  She can't afford that
place.  She isn't worth half what people think.  Mark my words, Pru, that's
her Achilles' heel."

They pumped along the empty beach in the early October chill not speaking for
a few minutes.

"What if someone were to register a complaint about all those trailers in the
yard?"  Pru suggested.

"They must be violating dozens of codes.  She'd have to pay fines, hotel
bills for the workers'..."

Clay stepped over a piece of driftwood.

"You can give it a shot, but I doubt it'll work."

"Why not?  Wouldn't you be the one issuing the fine?"

"Uh-uh.  Trailers used during a construction job are perfectly permissible
under zoning bylaw.  Maybe you could try a different department--the board of
health, say.  An inspector might be able to hassle her a bit, although..."
He finished with a doubtful shrug.

"So what are you suggesting?  We just sit on our hands and wait till time
takes its toll?"

"Not exactly.  We can give it a nudge now and then."  A smile lifted Clay's
still-tanned cheeks.

"Her contractor came in yesterday with the very thing I've been waiting
for--a request for a zoning variance.  She wants to put an apartment over the
garage."  His smile broadened.

"Now that's my department."

lauren had started talking to the house.  Mostly she did it at night after
the workers had retired to their quarters, and she was alone, going through
the rooms, checking on the day's progress.  But sometimes she did it during
the day, too, not caring who was listening.

Usually what she said was heavily dosed with frustration and profanity.

"What the--blank--are you doing to me now?"  was typical.

Or,

"You won't be happy till I'm flat-- blanking--broke, will you?"

However, on the night of October 8, Lauren had little to say.  She simply
swallowed a few tears as she gazed out the window of her--and Isabel's--room
and made the gut- wrenching decision to sell a few more properties in Boston.
It was the only way she could meet the escalating expenses of renovating.

Trying to focus on the bright side, she reminded herself of the compliments
people had paid her recently.  Everyone seemed thoroughly impressed by the
progress she was making.  Well, not everyone.  She'd heard that Pru Hathaway
was calling her pretentious and showy, and clucking her tongue over the
shameless way Lauren was "living with all those men."  But for the most part,
people marveled over how beautiful the house was going to be when it was done
and how they'd always known "that DeStefano girl" would amount to something
someday.

Ah, how those words mended her broken pride.  ; She had no choice except to
move forward, even if fbrj ward here on Harmony meant backward there, in
Boston--< even if such a move scared her witless.  The trade-off was|
unsound, like breaking into the principal instead of using the interest.  If
she wasn't careful, she might.  No, she couldn't think so negatively.  She
and Joe had recently applied for a zoning variance so they could renovate the
garage, make it an apartment.  It'd be an added expense now, but the rental
would bring in a tidy income, one that this place desperately needed.

"Please, let it happen," she whispered, although she wasn't sure whether she
was praying to a deity or just the starry night sky.

Maybe to Isabel, who Lauren claimed didn't exist but secretly liked to think
did.

Suddenly Lauren spotted the lantern-lighted image of the Shenandoah on the
dark waters between Harmony and the Vineyard.  She'd gotten used to seeing
the majestic tall ship out there, although not usually this late in the
evening.  It never failed to remind her of the first time--that morning on
the porch roof with Cameron.  From there it was an easy leap to remembering
the kiss that had followed, and from there.  her heart' would begin to ache.

Today she refused to take the leap.  Lauren turned from the window and
scanned the room in the shadowy light cast by the battery lamp she carried
with her on her nightly rounds.  Although the new circuit breakers had been
installed, not all the rooms were rewired yet.

Her room--the Lady Gray Suite--was still in discouraging condition.

Joe had been concentrating on more pressing areas, such as the windows,
kitchen, bathrooms, and mechanical systems, assuring her the room would shape
up fast once he applied his energy to it.  Bedrooms were easy, h" said.

Nevertheless, Lauren was impatient.  Maybe she'd tackle this room herself.
Presently she was working on the main hallway and staircase, which she'd
adopted as a pet project, but soon, very soon, she'd be free.

Her gaze shifted to the boxlike closet that Cameron had wanted removed to
return the room to its original size.  During demolition, Lauren had decided
against that idea.  A bedroom needed a closet, and all the other rooms had
them.  Those closets were even being expanded.  So why not keep this one,
too?  Because every time she came in here, her conscience bothered her.

"I know, I know," Lauren said.

"You wanted this room to remain as it was."  She sighed.

"Okay.  The freaking thing'll come down tomorrow.

But I'm only doing it for business reasons.  Guests'11 love it and it'll make
a good advertising angle.  "

Lauren opened the closet door and aimed the light inside.  It was a fairly
small space, anyway.  A period wardrobe would actually be an improvement.
She'd be traveling to Boston in a couple of days and staying three or four
weeks since selling rental property involved miles of red tape.  She'd
probably have time to shop for a wardrobe then.  A few other things, too.

But Lauren didn't want too many old pieces.  She preferred reproductions.
She wanted the house to be as comfortable as possible--a place where a chair
could get nicked, a plate broken, without a visitor having a coronary or her
mother going into mourning.

Again, she remembered Cameron, who'd make this house a stuffy museum if he
had the chance, and despite that, she smiled.  Why?  Why did thoughts of that
blasted man fill her with joy?  And why, after avoiding him all these weeks,
did missing him still hurt so very much?

Lauren lifted her lantern and whispered to the shadowy, forlorn room.

"Help me out here.  Lady.  I think I've fallen in love with him again.

What am I supposed to do?  "

Typically, the house didn't reply.

Until the next day.

CHAPTER TWELVE

As were other home and business owners, Cameron was spending the cool, dry
days of October repairing and painting his property, or more accurately, the
property owned by his family.  Today he'd tackled the trim on the small
retail store on Market Street'that sold his mother's hand- loomed woolen
goods.

He'd just come in the door, eager to peel off his paint- spattered clothes
and take a hot shower, when he noticed the message light blinking on his
phone.  With a resigned sigh, he pressed the button, hoping it wasn't Erica
calling to discuss what he'd done last night.

"Cam?  This is Lauren."

Cameron shot to attention instantly.  Lauren?  He hadn't heard from her in
more than a month.

"I know this is probably a surprise, and under normal circumstances I
wouldn't be bothering you, but something unusual's come up.  Call me ASAP.
On second thought, just come over."

Cameron showered and dressed in record time.  Within twelve minutes of
walking in the door he was flying out again.

At a quarter to five in the afternoon, the sun was riding low over the
island, the sky already dark to the east.  The temperature was sinking and
most people had finished work for the day.  Yet, Rockland House, halogen
light streaming from the front windows, was filled with the sounds of
construction.

As he motored up the driveway, Cameron couldn't help but admire the changes
he saw.  The slate roof was--well, it was magnificent.  There was no other
term for it.  And the cupola.  What a view that must afford.

The scaffolding was still in place along two lengths of the house, probably
just to hang the window shutters.  Everything else seemed done.  The new
windows were in and the siding was painted, the finish as smooth as the day
it was first spread.  Cam had to admit he liked Lauren's color scheme of
muted blue-gray and white.  The black shutters would be the perfect finishing
touch.

The front porch had been rebuilt, too, although it still lacked paint and
some decorative trim.  Cameron climbed the steps, admired the new fluted
columns with their understated Ionic caps, then, after knocking, opened the
door and walked in.

"Hello?"  he called over the din of hammers and saws.

"Hey, how ya doin'?"  Joe came striding from the parlor, hand outstretched,
sawdust powdering his hair and clothes.  They'd barely gotten through the
basic niceties when Joe added,

"She's upstairs.

Can't pry her away.  "

Heart ticking faster than it had any right to, Cameron bounded up the
staircase and followed his instincts to Isa- bel's room.  There he found
Lauren sitting cross-legged on a plastic drop cloth in a pool of light thrown
by a battery lantern.  At first he saw nothing else, not what she was wearing
or doing, only her.

She lifted her eyes slowly.  They were wide, glazed, unfocused.  But seeing
him, her stupor evaporated and she beamed.

"You came."

"Of course.  What's up?"  He finally noticed the rough opening in the wall
where the closet had been and the pile of broken plaster and laths swept to
one side.

"Cameron, we've found the most amazing things."

He stepped closer, curiosity soaring to an excitement that thrummed in his
blood.

"What's this?"  He squatted on the balls of his feet, next to what looked
like an old and quite valuable lap desk.

"I decided to take down the closet," she explained in a rush, her eyes like
stars, 'and when we did, sections of the old wall came with it, which didn't
surprise us.  We figured we'd have to remove this whole wall, anyway, and put
up new Sheetrock.  What did surprise us, though, was that in this area
here"-- with two hands she framed a space close to the floor " --we could see
right through.  There was no plaster on the other side, and there should've
been.  On the other side is the narrow room you said was used for sewing.
Well, we went back and forth, trying to figure out where that space could be,
and finally we realized the built-in cabinet at the deep end of the sewing
room had a false back.  With a little jiggling we were able to remove it, and
sure enough, we found the space.  "

"A secret hiding place?"  Cameron knelt on the drop cloth and tried to peer
into the dark hole.

' "Mmm.  Even before we got a light inside, we could see this box."

Lauren's chest rose and fell rapidly under her thick wool sweater, her
normally fair coloring high.

"Cam, it was Isabel's."  Her voice trembled ever so slightly.  So did
Cameron's hand as he brushed the satiny rosewood.

"I didn't know if I 'should touch what was in it,"

Lauren said, "but I couldn't help myself.  I've tried to be careful."

She opened the lid and, Cameron's stomach did a flip-flop.  Inside, was a^
exquisite old pen, three pencils, a small ink jar, parchment that had been
nibbled at the edges by worms, and a seallwith a

                                      "G"

insignia.  The desk itself was unusual, with a section of four miniature
drawers rising from the back.  Lauren opened them, revealing old stamps,
jewelry, coins and a hair comb made of whalebone.

Cameron shook his head.

"Lauren, this is incredible!  But why would Isabel need to hide these things?"

"My guess is this."  Lauren lifted a book from her lap.  "She kept a
journal.  I've been sitting here all day reading it."

Cameron took the journal from her simple stationery bound by hand with faded
pink ribbon.  With the utmost care, he turned the cover page and read,
'"Saturday, 9 May, 1847," " and the air going in and out of his lungs
shuddered.

"My God, Laurie!"  He looked up, saw Lauren smiling, her lower lip caught in
her teeth, and realized there was no one on earth he'd rather be sharing this
moment with than her.

"There are these, too."  Lauren shifted so he could see eight more handmade
booklets laid out on the drop cloth.

Cameron could only laugh, incredulously, joyously.  "This is amazing."

What was really amazing, though, was that Lauren seemed to be enjoying the
discovery as much as he was.  Some people would find it mildly interesting.
Most, however, would consider it a great big yawn.  He suddenly wanted to
take her into his arms and twirl with her, whoop with her, all around the
room.

But of course he couldn't.  As eagerly as she was sharing this find with him,
there was still a measure of reserve in her demeanor, an implicit message
that nothing had changed between them personally.

"Amazing?"  she challenged.

"Wait till you read them, Cameron.  I've had goose bumps all day."

"Tell me!"

' "Well..  .I knew I smelled lavender in this room, and sure enough there's
an entry where she mentions dropping and breaking a nearly full bottle of
lavender water.  That was her favorite scent, by the way."

Cameron sniffed the air but detected nothing.

"That was a long time ago.  I doubt anything would be left..."

Lauren shivered delicately and laughed.

"I know.  Here come the goose bumps again."

The noise of power tools had been gradually diminishing, and now the house
was relatively quiet.  Footsteps sounded on the stairs and then Joe came
clomping into the room, safety glasses pushed up to his hairline.

"Isn't that something?"  he said, gesturing toward the treasure lying between
Cam and Lauren.

"Unbelievable," Cameron agreed, wishing he could find words to capture what
he was feeling.

"I came up to tell you we're about to eat.  If you want any, you'd better
hurry and get downstairs."

Lauren stretched.

"I should.  I think I skipped lunch."  She giggled.

"I can't remember.  Have you eaten.  Cam?"

"Uh, no."

"You're welcome to join us."  Lauren got to her feet, moving stiffly, and
Cameron followed her and Joe down to the dining room.  He couldn't get over
the activity in the room.  It resembled a mess hall.  About twenty men and
women dressed in work clothes were serving themselves from a long buffet and
taking their food to three sawhorse tables.

It would have been fun to join them, but Lauren suggested they return
upstairs with their plates.  She didn't want to leave the stuff just lying
around, she said.  She had a point.

Sack pi Isabel's room, they turned over empty joint compound buckets and used
them as seats, placed their paper plates on their laps, coffee cups at their
feet and the lantern between them.  Cameron thought of all the fancy meals
he'd enjoyed in elegant restaurants, with silver and crystal and romantic
candlelight, but none of those occasions could rival this simple supper.

He gazed at Lauren as she tucked into her hearty serving of chicken Parmesan
and pasta.  She was wearing work boots, sturdy corduroy slacks and an
oversize brown sweater encrusted with white paint.  Cam thought of all the N

elegant women he'd dated, and they, too, came up lacking next to Lauren.
Right now, with cobwebs in her hair and the dp of her nose red from the cold,
Lauren was the most beautiful creature he'd ever beheld.

"I called you for a couple of reasons," she said, taking a sip of coffee.

"Obviously, I knew you'd enjoy seeing the hidey-hole and all, but I've also
been wondering what to do with this loot."

"Have you considered selling it?  The lap desk alone is probably worth a
couple thousand bucks."

"Oh, no.  I'd never do that."

Warmth flowed through him.

"How about taking it to the Historical Society?"

She lowered her coffee cup to the floor.

"Somehow that idea turns me off, too.  I don't know why, except these
journals are personal, and I feel...!  don't know... protective of Isabel."

"I can appreciate that."  Cameron loved how the lantern carved out a sphere
of light from the room's shadows, holding him and Lauren at its center.

"What I'd really like to do," she continued, "is to keep the desk and
journals at the house.  It feels to me like they belong here."  She glanced
up from her plate cautiously.  "What do you think?"

"I agree.  Where would you put them?"

"I don't believe I'm about to say this."  She groaned softly, covering her
eyes with her hand.

"But I've been thinking of using the library as an archive room."  She peeked
through her fingers.  a "An archive room," he repeated, a smirk creeping over
his face.

"You mean, like in a museum, Lauren?"  He dragged out every last mocking
syllable.

"It'd only be a couple of glass cases, dammit.  I'd still have books and
comfy reading chairs, too."

"No gift shop selling Lady Gray refrigerator magnets?"

"Of course not!  The gift shop's going in the basement."

They laughed together and then froze, their eyes locked as they realized how
precious this was--enjoying each other's company again.

Lauren cleared her throat, dipped her head, and took another bite of food.
After swallowing, she said,

"I was also thinking you might like to do something with the journals."

"Such as?"

"Oh, I can see you eking out another book based on Isabel's entries, maybe
interspersing them with related stories and historical facts.

It'd make fascinating reading.  "

An arrow of recognition shot through him.

"Yes, it would.  I'd be thrilled to do-it.  Thanks."

She smiled softly.  He smiled back, finding solace in knowing that their
disparate lives would remain linked somehow.

' "So, what did she write about?"

"Just everyday things, like how well her beach-plum jelly turned out one
summer and having her nieces from Maine come to visit.  But she makes her
life sound so immediate and timeless, she could be alive today.  And, Lord,
did she love her husband.  When she gets going about him, it's like reading
the most wonderful love story."

Inexplicably they both lowered their eyes.  Can hardly wait to start," Cam
mumbled.

"But first I have to finish Legends."

After setting her empty plate on the floor, Lauren got up and carried her
coffee to one of the ocean-view windows and gazed at the rising moon.

Watching her, Cameron asked,

"Did I hear you say you planned to put a couple of glass cases in the
library?"

"Mmm."

"Won't those few pieces" -- he pointed his plastic fork toward the drop cloth
"--look a little lost?"

Lauren glanced over her shoulder.

"Oh, I've got more.

It's amazing how much stuff a house can gobble up over the years.

Coins, marbles, buttons, even cooking utensils and tools.  "

Cameron rose to his feet and went to stand with her, his back to the wall
near the window so he could see her face, palely lit with moonlight.

"You mean, you've found all those things here?"

She nodded.

"I'm storing them in my trailer for now.  Want to take a look?"

"Definitely.  But I'd love to look around the house, too, and see what's been
done--if you don't mind."

"I don't mind."  Lauren braced herself on the sill.  "Hmm.  I wonder if the
Shenandoah is out tonight."

"Heck, no.  It's October, Laur."

"So?  I know it must be chilly but..."

"The Shenandoah ends her wind jamming tours in September."

Lauren frowned.

"But that can't..."  Her words faltered.  She stood very still.

"What's the matter?"  Cameron reached for her arm.

She shook her head.

"Nothing."  Then she looked down at his hand and stepped away.

While Lauren packed Isabel's journals into the lap desk Cameron gathered
their plates and cups.  With her back to him, she said, ' "I'm glad you
managed to work things out with Erica.  You can't imagine how awful I felt
after that incident.  I kept thinking I should call her and explain, but I
guess..."  t "Lauren..."  ; "you knew best how to handle" -- "Lauren," he
said more forcefully.

"Yes?"  She would not face him.

"Erica and I broke up."

Lauren's shoulders tightened.  She felt her breath cramp in her lungs.

"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that," she murmured, \ afraid to turn and let Cam see
something in her eyes she didn't mean to reveal.

When she'd made the decision to invite him over, she'd resolved to act
pleasant but impersonal.  Sharing Isabel's journals would in no way change
their friendship.

But it had.

Hearing this news, that he and Erica had ended their relationship, shouldn't
matter, either.

But it did.

' "When did you break up?"  she asked.

"Yesterday."

She lifted the lap desk and turned, glancing at Cam obliquely.

"Please tell me I didn't have anything to do with it."

"You didn't.  Our relationship hasn't been good for a while."

Lauren hoped he was telling the truth.

"And are you okay with the split?"

He frowned.

"I should be.  I initiated it."

Lauren lowered her eyes.

"Is she okay with it?"

"Surprisingly, yes.  We'd run our course.  It was over.  My parents don't
know yet, though.  That should be fun."

"They really like her, I take it?"

Cam nodded.

"My parents and the Meades were friends first.  They all sail and play tennis
together.  I suspect they wanted Erica and me to marry even before we started
dating.  Come to think of it, my mother arranged our first date."  Cameron
started slowly toward the hall.

"I'm not trying to blame my parents for the engagement.  I made that decision
on my own.  But I do feel I was on a greased slide.  It wasn't until last
night that I realized Erica felt the same way.  She told me she'd been
getting pressure from her folks for quite some time.  The biological clock
routine, and she's only twenty-five."

"Cameron, you don't have to explain.  If it was a mistake, it was a mistake.
Period."

He sighed, lines of tension in his face mellowing into a faint smile.

He caught a lock of her hair and rubbed it slowly between his fingers, his
eyes intent on her, his smile becoming heart-meltingly tender.

Lauren let her gaze drift over him.  She loved how he was dressed tonight--in
soft jeans, a thick black sweater, a loose-fitting brown suede jacket.  He
looked rugged and warm, and she wanted nothing more than to crawl into all
that rugged warmth.  He was so tempting, exerting a pull on her as real as a
magnetic force.  She could actually feel herself swaying in.  Instead, she
stepped back.

"Come on.  I'll show you around," she suggested.

On the way to the door, Lauren glanced out the window one more time, looking
for the lighted ship she'd seen just last night.  It couldn 't be, she
thought, goose bumps chasing each other over her scalp.  There had to be a
dozen explanations.  The Shenandoah could've been on a special charter or a
test run or.  something.  Right?  Absolutely.

By the time Lauren and Cameron had toured the bedrooms and baths and gone
downstairs, the tables in the dining room had been cleared of all traces of
supper, but several workers still lingered over coffee and card games.

"This setup is amazing," Cameron commented.

"Who cooks?  Who cleans?"

"We all do, in teams of three on a revolving basis," s^ie replied, still
clutching the rosewood desk.

"And it's not' as difficult as it sounds.  In the basement we have a freezer
and tons of prepared food, five microwave ovens, plus the old stove and
fridge that used to be in the kitchen."

Cameron gave a strange sigh with a little longing in it before turning his
attention to the hallway.

"You did all this by yourself?"

"Uh-huh."  Lauren beamed at what had felt like acres of woodwork to her sore
muscles.

"I went through literally gallons of mineral spirits and dozens of rubber
gloves and packages of steel wool, before I got all the old finish off.  It
doesn't look like much now, but just wait till the wood's been sealed.  I'm
itching to start once there's less dust flying around."

Cameron placed his hand on her neck, a touch that suddenly felt as intimate
as a kiss.

"Looks great already."  His gaze swept over the bare walls of the two-story
stairwell.  "Have you ordered your wallpaper yet?"

Lauren stepped away from his touch.  Innocent as it was, it was causing heat
to pool in places she preferred to ignore.  "To be honest, I've been thinking
of painting these walls."

Cameron's eyes widened.

"Are you sure you wouldn't like a nice period wallpaper?"

She nodded.

"I've decided I want the house to have a timeless look, antique but not
period.  Walls that appear to have aged over many years--sort of like
something you'd find in an old villa in Tuscany or Provence.  I think I can
get the effect I want with glazing."

Cameron's expression, which verged on mild horror, propelled Lauren into a
fit of laughter.

"Trust me."

Lauren finished showing Cameron the changes on the main floor.  By then
everyone else had said good-night and left.  She turned off the lights,
locked the doors and led the way to her RV.

After gingerly setting the lap desk on the kitchen counter, she turned and
noticed that Cameron was studying her living quarters.  The table had been
obliterated from view by her computer and other work paraphernalia.

"Is this how you're running DeStefano Management these days?"  he asked.

Lauren grimaced as she nodded.

"I hate to admit it, but lately I've been using my computer more for
shopping than business."

"Shopping?"

"Mnun.  For the house."

"Huh?"

"Don't tell me you've never heard of E-Bay, Cameron."

Checking to make sure all the window blinds were open, Lauren slid into the
bench, patted the space beside her for Cameron to sit, and went on-line.

"E-Bay," she explained, "is where stuff gets sold by auction."

Cameron leaned in avidly while keys ticked softly under her fingers.

"What kind of stuff?"

"Anything you can imagine.  But for our purposes, there's an antique crystal
chandelier that I think would look great in the front parlor.

The owner says it's complete and in good condition.  As of this morning the
bid stood at three hundred dollars.  " She sat back, waiting for the
pertinent screen to appear.

"There.  There it is.

Shoot.  It's up to five ten.  "

She was about to change screens, when Cam cried, "Wait!  Lauren, that's a
Mount Washington!"

"Yeah."

"How do you bid?  What do you do?"

"I'm not going to bid.  No way.  I can get a brand-new chandelier at Home
Depot for a hundred and fifty bucks."

"Augh!"  Cameron slapped two hands on his head in horror.

"I'll bid."

"Not for me, you won't."  j "Of course, not for you.  I'll hold it till /
move in.  Come' on, Lauren, what do I do?"

Two hours later, after a bidding war among four players, Cameron was the
jubilant owner of the chandelier.

"You're an idiot," Lauren despaired while he danced around the tiny RV as if
he were a football player who'd just scored a touchdown.

Trying not to get trampled, she opened the refrigerator, pulled out a bottle
of champagne and pried off the cork.  "Here," she said, handing him a fizzing
plastic cup.  Then she lifted a mismatching one.

"Congratulations, and welcome to the twentieth century."  They thunked cups
and sipped, their eyes meeting and smiling.

"Almost the twenty-first," he murmured.

"My, how time flies."  She swallowed more champagne, glanced at her watch,
and marveled that it was already eleven-fifteen.  They'd spent more than six
hours together, and it had felt like a flicker of light.

"Careful of that desk," Cameron said, seeing her lean back.

"Better wrap it in something soft like toweling and pack it away."

Lauren shook her head.

"You take it.  All the other stuff, too.  I just remembered I have to go to
Boston tomorrow and might be there a few weeks.  I'd feel better if you were
baby-sitting."

Cameron's face dropped.

"You'll be gone--weeks?"

"Mmm.  There's... some business I have to tend to."  Unexpectedly, Lauren's
awareness of Cam began to sharpen, from the provocative shape of his mouth,
to his musky scent, to the warmth emanating from his body.  Even the rustle
of his clothing was wreaking havoc with her senses.

Pivoting away from him to distract herself, she pulled a cardboard carton
down from the bunk above the cab.  It contained the other items found in
nooks and crevices of the house.  Cameron no longer seemed interested in
them, however.  His eyes remained on Lauren alone.

"You don't mind babysitting these things, do you?"  she asked, as she
swaddled Isabel's lap desk in a bath towel and laid it in the carton.

"Uh ... no," Cameron replied, still frowning gloomily.  He drank the last of
his champagne and set the cup in the sink.

"I should be going.  You must want to get to bed."

"Mmm," she replied, although she knew she was too wired to sleep.

Cameron took the carton from her and hooked it easily under one arm.

"Thanks for a great evening, Lauren.  I can't remember when I've enjoyed
myself more."

"You lead a dull life," she quipped, fighting to diminish the pleasure she
had derived from his company.

He half smiled.

"Yes, I do, but that's beside the point."  He took two steps toward the door,
paused and wheeled abruptly.  Bumping into him, Lauren braced her hands
against his chest.  His sweater was just as warm as she'd imagined.  So was
the body beneath it.

"Dammit, I hate to go," he said, placing the carton on the floor.  And before
she understood what was happening, he raised one of her hands and kissed its
palm, raised the other and kissed that one, too.  The feel of his lips on
such a sensitive part of her body reduced her to mush.  His eyes lifted, met
hers, and she knew she was done for.

He pulled her to him and locked his arms behind her back.

"I don't want to go, Lauren," he repeated, nuzzling her neck and sending
weakness and heat throughout her body.

"But I haven't changed my mind about us," she protested.  It was token
resistance only.

"Then let me stay and change it."  His lips trailed kisses down one side of
her neck and up the other, ending with a nip at her earlobe that buckled one
of her knees and sent her falling against him.

Breathlessly she said,

"It can't be changed."

"Don't bet on it."

"But we can't get involved," she persisted, although what he was doing to her
ear was causing her toenails to curl.

"I admit we suffer from a chronic attraction.  But where can we go with it?"

Cameron kissed her mouth, his lips parting hers, his I

| tongue overrunning her muffled protests, and desire I streaked through her
like lightning.  She slid her hands under his sweater and around his back,
fitting herself to him wherever and however she could.

"Where's the bedroom?"  he murmured against her S mouth.

"That's where we can take it."

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

cameron carried lauren through the narrow passa^ way into the bedroom at the
rear of the RV and fell w her onto the double bed.  She groped for the window
bli but was so disoriented she didn't know if it was to the ri^ or left.
Without breaking the seal of their kiss, Cameron raised his arm and with an
effortless twist of the wrist turned the wand.  The blinds flipped closed.

Forgetting the outside world, Lauren relaxed and fix all her attention on
Cameron, on this man who was so PA to fall in love with that she'd done it
twice, against all her better judgment.  Or maybe she'd always loved him a
never stopped?

Within very little time their kisses grew wider, wetter, more luxuriant, their
bodies tightening with the fine tensi of arousal.

' "Ah, Laurie, I've dreamed of this for so long," Cameron murmured, pressing
small kisses to her jaw, her chin, t corners of her mouth, while she moaned
that, yes, she dreamed of it, too.  He folded her closer, stroking her ba<
She felt him hard against her, hot, even through layers bulky clothing, and
an inside-out sensation curled throu her lower body.

"We shouldn't let word of this get around.  Cam," Lauren cautioned, her
fingers feathering his short hair.

"You' only just broken up with Erica.  I don't want anyone sayi it was
because of me.  That'd only hurt her and give t gossips more fat to chew on."

Cameron closed his eyes under the pleasurable feel of her fingernails
scraping his scalp.  He nodded.

"That'd be best all around."  Despite his earlier teasing, Lauren knew he
understood their involvement had nowhere to go, even without the bad blood
that existed between their families.  His life was here.  Hers wasn't.

"This is crazy, Cameron," she whispered, coming up for air after another
long, inebriating kiss.

"You know that, don't you?"

"Ah, well.  Sometimes you have to do something crazy just to stay sane."

She was smiling when he kissed her again.  And he kept kissing her until it
seemed she was floating in a cloud of sensation.  She was fifteen once more.
It was summer, and all the world was new, all of life was opening like a
bright sea of sunshine and gentle breezes, ready to carry her anywhere she
wanted to go.

"This is not crazy," Cameron denied in a whisper, his cheek cradling hers.

"This is the sanest, most wonderful thing we've done yet."  He lifted his
head, his mysterious blue-gray eyes smiling down at her.

"After all this time..."

"Mmm.  After all this time."  Lauren worked her hands under his sweater,
tugged his shirt out of his jeans, and sighed when her fingers touched skin.
So smooth.  Like hot steel.  / Similarly he found his way under her sweater
and thermals to her breasts.  She made a small wanting sound at the back of
her throat, her back arching off the mattress, and their fervor climbed.  Two
pairs of hands explored without the least tentativeness.  Here was familiar
territory--territory on which each had staked a claim years before.  They
belonged to each other.

"Sit up, sweetheart," Cam said, his voice husky with need.  She did, and he
deftly slipped her out of her sweater and pink thermal underwear, leaving her
starkly vulnerable to his gaze.  He swallowed.

"You're beautiful, Laurie."  Hi; palms skimmed the tips of her breasts
lightly, reverently before closing around them.  Lauren's eyes shut with the
pleasure that shot through her, as much from the ardo she'd glimpsed in his
gaze as from his arousing touch.

He removed his own sweater and began to unbutton his shirt.

"No.  Let me," she insisted.  Sitting back on her heels Lauren unfastened
each button and spread the shirt wide working it over his shoulders and down
his arms, reveling in the feel of his broad, muscular body under her palms.

"What?"  He tilted his head, wearing a cautious half smile.

"You're grinning about something."

"I'm still not used to you having hair on your chest."

He threw back his head and laughed.  His amuse men passed quickly, though,
and was replaced by a hard, teasinj gleam.

"I've got a lot more than that, sweetheart."  h( knelt, pulling her with him,
pressing her close.  The cris] hair on his chest abraded her breasts in a way
that was wholly pleasurable and new to her.

Kissing her into oblivion, he unfastened her belt and un did her zipper, laid
her back on the bed and, gripping the hem of each leg, tugged off her
corduroy jeans in one flui< motion.

"I I think " she said dazedly " you're more than bargained for.  Cam
Hathaway."

"You better believe it," he replied with just the righ amount of comic
arrogance.

He shucked off his jeans, and myriad jots of new i^formation bombarded her.
He had a small white scar Unde his right kneecap.  His thighs were thick and
corded!  wid muscle.  He wore briefs, not boxers.  He was definitely more
than she'd bargained for.

He lay beside her, braced on one elbow, his hand skim ming her body arm, hip,
thigh.  His eyes grew smoky a he lowered his head and let his lips skim
kisses where his hand had been.  Then he shifted his attention to her
breasts.  He'd never kissed her there before.  Their first time around, he'd
been too shy, too unknowing.  He was neither now.  Oh, he knew exactly what
he was doing, there and everywhere else.  Before long Lauren felt she might
die from the blissful ache throbbing through her.

Cameron lifted his head.

"Lauren, I have to ask.  Are you by any chance on the Pill?"

She ran the tip of her tongue over her parched lips.

"Urn, no."  Her recent love life hadn't exactly been burning down the house.

"Don't you have anything?"

Cameron was lying cradled within the well of her legs, his need for her
obvious.

"No."

Dread dropped like a rock on both of them.

"Oh, hell," she groaned.

With a similar lament, Cameron lowered his head to hers.  "We can't take any
chances, Lauren.  We both know the consequences."

They lay still, their minds racing over possibilities, their hearts beating
frantically, their bodies yearning.

"Wait a minute," Lauren announced.

"Wait just one minute."  She leaned up, and Cameron rolled to one side to let
her scoot off the bed.  She put on her robe, suddenly feeling the absurd need
for cover, and ran to the bathroom.  After a frantic search through all the
pockets and trays within the small square suitcase where she kept her
toiletries, she found it--one of two diaphragms she'd been fitted for several
years ago.  This one was her "traveling diaphragm."  It had never been used.

A few minutes later she returned, the robe hanging open seductively.

Cameron was lying with the sheet across his trim waist, his arms raised,
hands pillowing his head, looking better than any magazine photo she'd ever
seen.

"All set," she murmured, letting the robe slip to the floor.

Cam's chest heaved and fell in a sigh of relief and desire.

Their lovemaking was nothing short of magic.  For a brief moment after
Cameron had entered her and they were joined as intimately as a man and woman
can be joined, Lauren felt the oddest urge to cry.  She clung to him,
silently rejoicing in their union, although why she couldn't say.  Cathryn
had once said they were meant to be.  Lauren didn't believe in meant-to-be,
but at that moment the phrase was certainly a perfect fit.  Just like their
bodies.

Soon, however, thinking even semi-rationally became impossible.  As their
passion climbed, their kisses and caresses took on a mindlessness that was
almost wild.  Lost in lust, their drive became primal.  This was not the boy
she'd loved when she was fifteen, but a man--a strong, sexy, very skillful
man.  And she wasn't the girl he'd loved, either.  Lauren, the woman--sleek
and sensual--met him eagerly on every level of their mating.

"This is so good," Cameron cried, arching back, thrusting deep.

"So good."  Gritting his teeth, his arms trembling on either side of her, he
climaxed with an explosive force that carried Lauren with him.

It was good indeed.

it rained the next day.  The sky was dismal, the water choppy, but sitting
inside the overheated ferry,

"Laucen hardly noticed.  Her thoughts were on the previous night.  Even now
in the cold light of day, it seemed enchanted.

Cameron had wanted to stay, but, difficult' as it was.  she'd asked him to
leave.  The other trailers sere parked close by, and though it appeared
everyone else was asleep,- she had no doubt some of the workers knew Cameron
was with her.  They often went into town, and an innocent slip of the tongue
could start a whole lot of talk.

She'd almost gotten Cam out the door, but they mad too much of their parting,
and before she knew it, they wertf making love again.  It was almost two in
the morning before the taillights of his truck finally winked out of sight.

Now Lauren sat on the bench inside the ferry, staring out the window at the
steel-gray swells pocked with heavy raindrops, and grinned in complete
contentment.

You idiot.  There's absolutely nothing to smile about, she chided herself.
She was heading to Boston to sell off some of her hard-earned,
positive-cash-flow property, all because of Cameron.  If it weren't for him,
she wouldn't be in this predicament.  She never would've joined in the
bidding for Rockland House, and she certainly wouldn't have lost her head and
bid so high.

True, he'd given her the opportunity to unload the place afterward.

But selling to him would've been an admission of defeat.  That wasn't an
option.  Not finishing the house as it should be finished would be an
admission of defeat, too.  Not an option, either.

And how about not meeting your monthly bills, Lauren?  her conscience
niggled.  What do you call that?  Her mortgage payments alone were enough to
choke a bear.

Lauren felt her contentment crumbling.  She chewed on her lip until it was
raw.  No way in hell could she allow herself to default.  That would be a
nightmare--her very worst.  Instead of being the conquering hero, she'd be
the laughingstock of Harmony.  The DeStefano name would never again rise out
of disgrace.

Maybe she'd sell a few more houses than planned, to give her more of a
cushion.  And with less property to manage she could probably lay off a few
people at the office.  That idea made her stomach knot.  No, she couldn't do
it, not with the holidays coming.  Maybe she could simply raise rents?  No,
that plan wasn't acceptable either.  Same reason.

The ferry cut through the waves and driving rain at a steady pace.

Laurea wished she could cut through her problems with even half its success.
Her request for a zoning variance was scheduled to be heard in a couple of
days.  Joe would be representing her, and although their plans were good and,
as far as she could make out, met all requirements, she had a feeling they
were going to be turned down.  Clay Hathaway was still head of the board, and
her instincts told her to brace for the worst.

She didn't want to think about that now.  She wanted to recapture the warm,
floaty feeling Cameron had left in his wake.  She wanted to relive last
night, and imagine returning for more.  But the floaty feeling was gone, lost
a few miles back.

She and Cameron hadn't done much talking about the momentous step they'd
taken.  They more or less assumed there was nothing to say.

Before leaving, he'd told her to hurry back, he'd miss her.  He'd framed her
face with his large, exquisite hands and roamed her features with his
smoky-blue eyes, giving the impression he was trying to store them in his
heart for safekeeping.  Yet they had no plans or expectations and they'd
certainly made no promises.  The future simply didn't exist in the vocabulary
of their relationship.

Lauren was sure of one eventuality, however.  She wasn't going to come away
from this without being hurt.  She.  loved the man, and as her mother was
fond of saying, " " You tangle with those Hathaways, you always pay the
piper.  "

cameron was convinced he'd put the index card in his jacket pocket.

But after searching the jacket and everything else he'd worn that night at
Lauren's, he concluded he must've left it in her camper.

He drove across the island to Rockland House and explained his problem to Joe.

"I can't find the number of a guy I'm supposed to contact about a chandelier.
I'm pretty sure I left it in her RV.  Would you mind if I look?"

Joe scowled but let him in, snapping,

"Call me when you're done so I can lock up."

Cameron frowned, confused by Joe's cool behavior.  He was usually friendly,
yet today he didn't show even a hint of a smile.  Did he know about the other
night?  Did he disapprove?  Cam muttered a few self-aimed expletives,
bothered not only by the contractor's disapproval but also by the possibility
of word spreading that he and Lauren had been together.

His parents hadn't been pleased when he'd told them about his break-up with
Erica.  His mother had practically swooned.  Predictably she'd blamed Lauren,
and though he'd soundly denied it, she'd remained skeptical.  If the news
ever got around that he'd been here until two in the morning the very night
after the break-up.  well, he preferred not to think how impossible that'd be
to explain.

Cameron searched underneath the various computer components, between the
bench cushions and under the table.  He scoured the entire kitchen, in fact,
but the card was nowhere to be found.  He tried the bedroom next.  Lauren's
scent, lingering in the air, was enough to tighten his groin.

With a determined shake of his head, he resumed his search.  The bed was
neatly made although strewn with papers.  He should've known the index card
couldn't be among them, but he didn't think and just began looking.

Within a couple of minutes he paused, appalled.  Good Lord, he was rifling
through Lauren's business and personal finances--statements, bills,
print-outs of payrolls and projected expenses on the house.  The numbers he
saw made his eyes pop.  There were also figures pertaining to real estate,
listing mortgage balances and estimated profits upon sale.  Guilt turned him
feverish, but curiosity made him read on.

Lauren was in financial trouble.  It was as plain as day.  Cameron dropped
the electrician's statement--it was five pages long!  --and stared
unseeingly at the mess on the bed.  He knew he should be pleased.  This was
exactly what he'd| predicted would happen, exactly what he'd hoped for.
Only,; it didn't make him happy.  Lauren was so proud, so strong, it saddened
him to imagine her broken.  It also created a bad case of guilt.  By bluffing
at the auction and inflating the price, he'd made her pay a hundred thousand
dollars more than she'd had to.  He wished she'd told him about her plight,
but of course she wouldn't have.  What could he have done, anyway, besides
commiserate?  She was too stubborn to accept financial help.

When he heard footsteps on the metal stairs outside, Cam sprang off the bed,
but he didn't make it out of the bedroom fast enough.

"What're you doing?"  Joe demanded, scowling.

Cameron reminded himself he was a lousy liar and explained truthfully how
he'd stumbled upon Lauren's papers.

Joe's chiseled jaw jutted with anger.  His dark eyes burned.

"You shouldn't be in there," he said.  Cameron sensed the man was keeping a
tight rein on what he wanted to do, which was to boot him out bodily.

Suddenly, Cameron spotted the index card on the floor, half hidden under a
plastic file box.  He picked it up, smiled in chagrin, waving it.

"Here it is."  ( Joe jingled the keys impatiently.  ?  t All right, I'm
going, I'm going, Cameron thought.  If Joe wanted to stew, that was his
business.

He was already a couple of yards across the^ leaf-strewn lawn when he changed
his mind.

"Dammit," he muttered, striding back.

"Do you have something you want to say to me?"  i The older man turned from
locking up, his eyes raking i over Cameron.

Apparently something in his demeanor had!  a softening effect.  Joe ran a
hand over the back of his neck^ and sighed.

"What is it with your father?"

"My father?"  Cam tucked in his chin.

"Yeah.  What's his beef with Lauren?"

"Why do you ask?"

Joe tilted his head, frowning, then, seeing that Cameron really didn't know,
invited him up to the house for some coffee and enlightenment.

"dad?"  cameron called, marching from room to room of his parents' home a
short while later.  He found his father in the exercise room, pressing
weights.

"You could've at least told me," he said without preamble.

Clay grunted through the words,

"Told you what?"

"That Lauren applied for a variance and it came up at last night's zoning
board meeting."

"Oh, that."  Clay lowered the weight and sat up on the bench.

"You didn't warn me when you were about to break up with Erica."

"That was my business."

"And zoning's mine."

"Not when it involves Lauren."

There, the admission was out, flung between them like a gauntlet.  His
father's shoulders stiffened.

"You stupid ass.  You've gotten into her pants again, haven't you?"

Cameron saw red.  He grabbed his father's sweaty T-shirt in two fists and
warned,

"You watch how you talk about her."

His father looked calmly at his shirt, then up into his son's eyes.

"What do you think you're doing?"

"What do you think you're doing?"  Cameron let go of his father with a
disgusted sigh.

Clay straightened his shirt and flexed his shoulders.

"I'm simply following the course we set last July when she humiliated you at
the auction and ruined all your plans for Rockland House.  Or have you
conveniently forgotten?"

Cameron gnawed on the inside of his cheek.

"I haven't forgotten, but things've changed since then, and I want you to
back off."

"Sorry.  Can't do that."

"Why not?  What difference does it make if she turns the damn garage into an
apartment?  Half the people on the island have apartments tucked away on
their property for extra income."

His father's stare drilled into him.

"I don't understand you--why should I back off?  She isn't even gonna be
sticking around.  She's planning to give the damn house away."

"I know."  Cameron thrust a hand through his hair.

"I just don't want her to go broke.  And she will.  She's working too fast,
trying to get too much done and pouring everything she has into that project."

"Well, hell, one little rent isn't going to save her."

"No, but it'll help, and when the B and B is up and running..."

Cameron paused.

"You're going to fight her on that, as well, aren't you?"  His father's shrug
said it was inevitable.  Cameron recalled other plans Lauren had proposed,
ideas such as renting out the grounds for weddings.  He had no doubt that,
given the opportunity, she could make Rockland House a well-paying
proposition, but his father was going to buck her every step of the way.
Eventually, Clay would have to stop--zoning had a five-person board, and his
influence could take him only so far.  In the meantime, though, he could
stall for time, and delay would ruin Lauren.  } Clay got to his feet and
slipped on a sweatshirt.

"Letat be, son.

Take my advice and let the hand play out naturally.  You don't have to get
involved.  All you have to do is.  nothing.  It's for your own good.  When
she's around, she brings out the worst in you.  " Clay pressed his lips and a
shook his head.

"I say the sooner she's gone, the better.!  Maybe then you'll screw your head
back on straight."  | Cameron left his parents' house feeling worse than
when he'd arrived.

Trapped.  Trapped in a situation that couldn't be resolved and was quickly
coming to a head.  Before long he'd have to take a stand, his parents or
Lauren, and while Lauren seemed an easy choice, how could he turn his back on
his parents?  And was she a wise choice?  How long would she be staying on
Harmony?  Could he convince her to leave the life she'd made for herself in
Boston?  He doubted it.  And then what?

He'd be right back where he started, except he'd have two angry and possibly
estranged parents on his hands.

Maybe his father was right.  Maybe he should just step back and let matters
take their natural course.

But how could he do that to Lauren?  He couldn't.

He was going around in circles, with no way out.

early november lay on Harmony like a cold, soggy blanket when Lauren
returned.  From the ferry, she could see the docks were deserted except for
commercial craft.  Trees were bare, streets were empty, and after the bustle
of Bos- ton, the quiet seemed eerie.

Lauren's spirits matched the color of the island--gray.  While she'd been
gone, her request for a zoning variance had been denied, not just at the
regular hearing but also at a special session a week later.

After giving the matter considerable thought, she'd decided she would talk to
Clay Hathaway personally, first chance she got.  She'd already met with her
lawyer and apprised him of the situation, including the history of her
family's dealings with the Hathaways.  Her attorney agreed she had a case of
personal discrimination and he was eager to litigate.  Perhaps if Mr.
Hathaway knew this, he'd back off.  But if he dug in his heels.  Lauren
didn't know what she'd do then.  She couldn't back off, either.

Getting the variance was critical, in and of itself and as a precedent for
future requests.  However, she wasn't sure she had the courage or stamina to
endure what lay ahead--having her family history resurrected in the streets
and possibly in the media.  And it would be if she brought a lawsuit.

Maybe she'd speak to the other members of the zoning board, after she saw
Clay Hathaway.  They might be more reasonable, less willing to become
entangled in messy litigation.  She sorely hoped so.  She was tired of
bureaucratic battles.  She didn't need the expense, either.

Besides her lawyer's regular fees, she'd have to pay his travel and hotel
expenses.

But what Lauren especially didn't need was the emotional stress.  Any joy
she'd derived from renovating the house was gone.  Even shopping for
furniture these past few weeks had been a strain.

And then there was Cameron.  She couldn't forget the relationship they'd
started before she left for Boston.  How could they possibly continue when
she might sue his father?  If push came to shove, she had a pretty good idea
whose side Cam would take.  He was a Hathaway, after all, wasn't he?

Lauren was driving up Water Street, having disembarked the ferry, and was
still lost in these concerns, when a horn?  beeped behind her.  She glanced
in her rearview mirror and spotted Cameron at the wheel of his pickup.
Despite everything--the weather, her financial plight, his father's tactics
and Cameron's role in the whole affair--Lauren's^ieart overflowed with joy.
.  :1' I can't allow this to continue, she told herself sternly.  Cameron is
the deadest dead end I've ever run into.  Nevertheless, she pulled over to
the curb and he parked alongside, reaching across the front seat to roll down
the window.  For a long moment they simply gazed, drinking in each other's
visage.  | "Hi," she finally said.

"I just got back."

"I know.  I was waiting."

"How did you know I was coming in today?"

"I didn't.  I've been sitting in my truck since you left.  Haven't showered.
Haven't slept.  People've been coming by to leave food..."

"Oh, stop."  She laughed.

"Are you on your way up to the house?"

She shrugged.

"Where else?"

"Mind if I tag along?"

"Um..."  A frown beetled her brow.

"Actually, I think that'd be a bad idea, Cam."  She sneezed and reached for a
tissue.

"I've got a cold.

Not that that matters.  It's just, well, I have lots of things to do.

I'll be busy for the next three or four hours.  "

Disappointment darkened Cam's eyes and subtly altered the lines of his face.

"How about if you call me when you're free?"

"I don't think that'll be tonight."  She gazed out the windshield.

He sighed heavily.

"It's the zoning variance, right?"

She nodded.

"It's reminded me who we are.  Cam.  Who we'll always be."

"But I had nothing to do with it!"

"I know.  I still think we should stop seeing each other.  The next few weeks
could get ugly.  My lawyer's arriving in a few days."

Cameron's face dropped.

"I see."

"If we're involved, your loyalties will be torn.  We're bound to end up
fighting, and I'd rather avoid that.  The night we shared was beautiful.
That's how I prefer to remember us."

Cameron hung a wrist over the steering wheel and blew out a long breath of
frustration.  He wanted to argue against her but couldn't.

She was right, and he knew it.

.  i "This... hurts," he said.  | ' "Yes, but better now than later.  Cam, I
really should go.  ; I ... I want to take a decongestant.  Don't worry.
We'll see 3 each other... around."  Then, before he could reply, she put ;
her vehicle in gear and drove off.

Despite the number of problems weighing Lauren down, her spirits lifted as
soon as she turned into the driveway at Rockland House.  She let the car roll
to a stop, and leaned over the steering wheel to feast her eyes on the
magnificent structure in front of her.  The magnificent completed structure.
Scaffolding was gone.  Shutters were in place.  The new veranda had been
painted, too--its stately white columns gleamed even on a gloomy day.  And,
oh, smoke was rising from two of the chimneys!

It occurred to her that this was what her mother would first see of Rockland
House, this facade--except that it would be decorated for Christmas.

Lauren pressed the gas pedal and continued to the front door, eager to see
the rest.

Inside the house, though, reality tempered Lauren's enthusiasm.  There was
still plenty of work to be done.  She complimented Joe and the rest of the
crew on the exterior job and thanked them profusely for rushing.  Then Joe
walked her through the house, pointing out everything that had been done
during her three-week absence.

The kitchen was almost finished.  The walls had been painted to her
specifications--a soft cream with a yellow- gold overtone that created the
perfect backdrop for the cabinetry that looked as if it'd been built with the
house.  The tile floor had been installed.  So had the counter tops and sinks.
All that was needed really were the appliances.  ; The bathrooms were nearly
done, too, upstairs and down.  Lauren squealed in delight when she saw the
claw foot ; whirlpool tub she'd splurged on for the bath adjacent to the |
Lady Gray suite.  | In spite of the progress the workers had made, Lauren
knew they had too much left to do.  She called Joe into her RV for a private
meeting, slid into the bench at the table and invited him to take the seat
opposite.

"The house is looking great, Joe."

"Yep, it's coming along real nice."  He folded his big, work-roughened hands
on the table.

"So, what's wrong?"

"I want to discuss wrapping up."

"Thought so."  He looked contrite.  She'd wanted to be done by Thanksgiving
or at least early December, but it was obvious they were going to run way
over schedule.

"I have to be realistic and stop letting pride lead me by the nose.

Everyone told me the renovations were too extensive to handle in my time
frame, and they were right-- time-wise but especially money-wise.  "

"Didn't you...?  I mean, I thought you..."

' "Yes, I can pay the crew and our suppliers.  I even have money put aside to
buy some furniture.  After all, I can't invite my family to stay in an empty
house."  She tried not to think about how much property she'd sold to get to
this point.  More than half of her holdings.  They'd been good properties,
paying for themselves and making a modest but steady profit, too.  She'd had
no trouble unloading them.

"But I'm going to have to scale back our expectations and cut off work in two
or three weeks.  We have to determine what absolutely needs to be done and
how much of it can be accomplished in the time remaining."

Joe's prognosis was better than she'd expected.  By Thanksgiving, he said, he
could have almost everything wrapped up except the painting and wallpapering.

"All the walls will be primed, though, all the woodwork prepped."  Lauren
could live with that.

She wanted the front parlor done to give her family a place to congregate
around a Christmas tree.  She wanted the dining room finished so they could
enjoy sit-down meals.  And for her own pleasure she wanted the Lady Gray
suite completed.  Those three rooms were her top priority.  She could
probably find a local painter to come in or she could do them herself.  She
could wield a paintbrush as well as anybody, and she was actually fairly
adept at hanging wallpaper.

"If you hurry and buy electrical fixtures," Joe added, "we can probably get
those installed, too."  Discreet recessed lighting had already been
installed, but most of the rooms still lacked the special pieces--sconces and
chandeliers.

"I'm not worried about the lighting, Joe.  We'll do what we can and make do
after that.  What about the floors?  Can they be sanded and sealed?"

Joe puffed out his cheeks, thought a moment, then let the air out in a burst.

"Yeah."

"Yeah?"  Lauren sat up taller, grinning.

"Yeah, if we don't do all the finish work in the hallway."

"Oh."  Lauren sighed, suddenly realizing the hallway and staircase were a top
priority, too.  Silly as it was, she still entertained a vision of her mother
floating down the stairs in an elegant evening gown, the envy of the island.

"Are you sure you don't want me and a few guys to.  stay on?"  Joe asked.  He
looked nigh on heartbroken for" her.

"I wouldn't mind extending a little credit, either."

Lauren chortled.

"That's the last thing I need, to owe you, too.  No, this'll work out well.
My family won't die if they have to sleep in rooms with unfinished walls, and
my mother will probably want to help with the decorating, " any- way.  When
you think about it, it's only right that she does.  "

Lauren realized she was feeling calmer now that she'd taken the pressure off.
An entire winter stretched in front of them--lots of time for Audrey to
decorate.  But even more important, Lauren would be able to recoup and
regroup.

An unfinished house wasn't what she'd originally envisioned as a gift for her
mother.  It was a compromise, and a deflating one at that.

Still Lauren was thankful.  It could've been a lot worse.

cameron was working in his cubicle in the Land Use office at the town hall
the next day when he spied Lauren walking into his father's office across the
corridor.  He immediately sprang to his feet, but before he could get there,
the door closed on her heels.  Cam tried eavesdropping-- including pressing
his ear to the wall--but he couldn't hear a syllable of their conversation.

He was still lurking outside the door when it flew open and Lauren came
stalking out.  Her face was flushed.  Her eyes were flashing.

"What's going on?"  he inquired.

She answered by thrusting her middle finger at him.  With his jaw hanging, he
watched her march down the corridor, head held high, and punch open the exit
doors.

"What me hell?"  He walked into his father's office.  "Dad?"

"What!"  Clay barked.

"What!"

Cameron shut the door.

"What was that all about?"

"Zoning business."  Clay scooped up files from his desk, shuffled them
aimlessly and threw them down again.

"She says she's going to bring in a lawyer, threatened to sue me and the
board for discrimination.

Can you imagine it?  The arrogance!  "

So, why did I get the bird?  Cameron wondered.

"What did you tell her?"

"I said, bring'm on.  We've got lawyers, too."

Cameron walked to the window and watched the parking lot below until Lauren
appeared.

"I don't get it.  I've already told you it doesn't matter to me if she gets
the variance."  He turned after she'd gotten into her car.

"In fact, I'm asking you to grant her one.  I have a new appreciation for the
financial burdens that come with that house.  They're bigger than I had
estimated.  If I owned the place, I'd have to do something similar to what
she's doing.  And wouldn't it look great, you granting me a variance after
denying her?"

Clay opened a drawer for no apparent reason, looked inside and slammed it
shut again.

"Besides," Cameron continued, "she doesn't deserve this treatment.  Do you
realize how hard she works, and do you know why?  It's only to help her
family--to put the kids through school and give them a head start in life.
She's generous to a fault.  All that arrogance you accuse her of is just an
act.  She's actually quite vulnerable."

"Boy, has she got you in harness.  In harness and in blinders.  Don't you
remember what happened when she was fifteen?  Don't you remember what she
did?"

' "I remember what you say she did, and you know what, Dad?  You're wrong.
Lauren had a miscarriage not an abortion."

Clay got up slowly, cautiously, and came around the desk.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes.  She offered to show me her medical records."

"You're still making a grave mistake, son."  / "How?  In wanting to know why
you're so determined to drive her off the island?"  ; Clay sat back against
the desk, folded his^nns and stared at the floor.

"Okay.  Maybe it's time.  God'knows I never wanted you to find out, and your
mother would be mortified if she knew I told you.  But maybe it'll help you
understand."

Cameron went still.  His father looked as if he was about to untie all the
laces that held his life together.  Maybe he didn 't want to hear this.

"It isn't so much that I want to drive Lauren off the island..."  Clay held
his breath, his expression caught between apprehension and resignation.

"I just don't want to see her mother return."

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

cameron pound lauren sitting in her car across the road from the house her
family had owned when she was a girl.  It had been reshingled, and an
extension had been added to one side, but otherwise it was still very much
the house where she'd grown up.

Cameron parked behind her and got out of his truck.  When he reached the
driver's side of her car, though, he realized tears were running down her
cheeks.  He knocked on the window.

"Go away," she mouthed, holding a tissue pinched to her nose.

"Lauren, we have to talk."  He knocked again until she rolled down the window.

"Leave me alone."  Her gaze lowered to the ignition key.

Before she could follow through on her intention, he ran around to the
passenger side and climbed in.

"What's the matter.  Why the tears?"  c She reached into her bag for another
tissue and scraped it across her cheeks, removing the evidence of any such
weakness.

"Do you remember how my fariiily came to leave Harmony?"

"Yes.  Financial difficulties."  I "A nice way of putting it.  We lost our
house to the bank.  My father had mortgaged it to the hilt to get a
fish-farming operation up and running."

"Yes, I heard."

"By any chance, were you here the day of the auction?"

Why was she asking him that?  She already knew the answer.

"No.  I was away at school."

"Ah, that's right."  She seemed to want to rub something in--to hurt him.

"So you don't have any idea what it was like, having people standing on our
lawn, gawking and gossiping, do you?  I bet you don't even realize we were
still living in the house during the auction."

Cameron wondered where all this was coming from, where it was going, and once
they arrived, how he was ever going to tell her the incredible story he 'd
just heard.

Pointing to the driveway, she said,

"I stood over there with my sisters, trying to explain to them that the
people bidding on.  the house didn't really mean us harm, and trying to
assure them the neighbors who joined in weren't betraying us.  But I must've
done a lousy job of it because they kept crying and asking impossible
questions.  My mother was inside with the two youngest kids.  I knew she was
crying, too."

Cameron leaned toward her and carefully put his arm across her trembling
shoulder.

"Lauren, what's this all about?"

She blotted her eyes, sniffed and lifted her chin, her control seemingly
restored, but Cameron suspected it was pa- per-thin.

"I

could never figure out why that fish farm failed," she continued.

"The time was right, and my father had done his research.  Now I know."  She
kept her gaze straight ahead, her profile hard.

"Your father sabotaged it."

Cameron wondered if he'd wandered into a personal twilight zone.  The day was
taking on that feel.

"What are you talking about?"

"When I was at his office just now, your father advised me to give up the
fight for a variance because I couldn't win.  When I asked him how he could
be so sure, he said he'd taken care of my father, he could take care of me,
too."

Cameron blanched.

"He could've meant it in another way."

Lauren turned her head and gazed at him, her eyes full of quiet rage.

"Oh, he meant it in that way, all right.  I don't know how he did it--he
refused to explain--but he definitely caused my father's bankruptcy."

Cameron dragged a hand down his face.

"Are you going to take legal action?"

Lauren swallowed.

"I don't know.  Your father would just deny it, and after all this time, he's
probably made sure there's no evidence left."

A curtain moved and someone in the house peered out.  Lauren reached for the
ignition.

"Cameron, unless you intend to abandon your truck here, you'd better get out
of my car."

"Hell with the truck.  Where can it go?"

She turned the key and eased off the shoulder of the road.  "Last chance."

"Keep driving."  He settled into his seat and fastened the safety belt.

"My father might've only been blowing smoke, trying to scare, you.  But if
it's the truth" -- Cam had never felt the inadequacy of words more "--I'm
sorry, Lauren."

They drove past the cemetery where they'd stolen kisses on their walks home
from school when they were young.  They drove past the road into town.  -t
Lauren said,

"And I'm sorry for... for being rude to you on my way out of your father's
office.  I know you had.  nothing to do with what he did.  You just happened
to be standing there, another Hathaway..."

: She came to an intersection and stopped, suddenly looking confused and
angry.

"What am I doing here?"  Her hands lifted, palms up, toward the diverging
roads.

"Where am I going?"  "

" We need to talk.   "

"I don't want to talk."

"We need to talk," he repeated in a tone that left no room for opposition.

"How about driving to my place?"

She hesitated a long moment, the car idling, conflicted feelings revealed in
her tired, troubled expression.  And then, without a word, she set the car in
motion again.

Once they were at Cameron's cottage and had shed their coats, he put her to
work making hot chocolate while he laid a fire in the Franklin stove to chase
the damp November chill.  He waited till they were seated on the sofa,
comfortably bathed in the warmth of the fire, before picking up the thread of
their earlier conversation.

"After you left town hall, I had a talk with my father," he began.

"Seems today's a day for all sorts of skeletons to fall out of the closet."

Lauren's eyebrows lowered in confusion.  There was a bit of marshmallow on
her upper lip that Cameron longed to lick off.  He should have been appalled
that he could entertain such a thought at such a grave moment, but he wasn't.

"If it's true that my father hurt your father financially" -- he said "--I
think I finally understand why."

' "The animosity had been building for years.  There were lots of reasons,
but my pregnancy was probably the most damaging one," Lauren offered.

"They argued like pit bulls over that."

"True, but it started earlier."

"Yes.  With the tax reform."

"Even earlier."

"Well, they'd always had opposing political views."

"Above and beyond that."

Lauren set down her earthenware mug, folded one leg under her and turned to
Cameron, a cautious, curious frown wrinkling her brow.

"Lauren, I'm not sure how to broach this, so I'm just going to jump in with
two feet and hope it's not a mistake."  Cameron extended his arm along the
back of the sofa and placed his hand on her shoulder, wanting desperately to
maintain contact with her.  He took a breath.

"About twenty years ago your mother and my father had an affair."

Lauren stopped breathing.  Her color drained.  Cameron didn't know if he
should console her, keep talking, or give her mouth-to-mouth resuscitation.

Eventually she shook her head, saying in a dazed monotone,

"You must be mistaken."

"I wish I were, but he admitted it himself.  Now why would he want to do
that, to me of all people--a son who's always respected him?"

"My mother and your father?"  Expressions of incredulity and horror chased
each other over Lauren's face.

"Yes, unbelievable as it may seem."

She drew in a shaky breath.

"Twenty years ago?  I would've been ten.  I can't remember anything about my"
, mother's behavior that'd indicate she was.  oh.  Lord, I can barely think
it, never mind say it.  "

"Apparently the affair didn't last long.  A couple of months.

According to my father, they both regretted it and agreed never to see each
other again.  They loved their spouses and wanted their marriages to succeed.
Only trouble was, my mother found out about it, and she's held it over my
father ever since.  She's the one who has really fueled the bitterness and
endless string of reprisals between our families.  "

"I wonder if my father knew."  In the next breath Lauren answered herself.

"He must have, the way h^ and your father fought."  ; Cameron shrugged.

"I don't know.  Anyway, that's how it started.  An affair."

Lauren shook her head.

"I still can't believe it.  My mother?"  '.

"Amazing, isn't it?  Everybody's got a story."  ;| For a long while they sat
together, lost in their own^ thoughts, listening to the crackle and hiss of
the fire and the ticking of the banjo clock.  Cameron's hand remained on her
shoulder, gently kneading her tense muscles.

"Know what upsets me most?"  he asked.

"How much of our parents' anger and guilt got transferred to us.  How we got
caught up in it.  How much we suffered."

Lauren nodded, the green of her eyes darkening.

"All those infuriating lies that were spread about me."

"I had to spend three years in a school I hated."

"And I despised you for turning against me."

"And I believed you'd had an abortion."

"And all the years we could've been..."  She paused, biting her lip.

"They did an unforgivable amount of damage to us, Lauren."

"And it all started with an affair."  Lauren was beginning to see the cruel
absurdity inherent in it.  She felt the urge to cry again but swallowed it
when she realized Cameron must be hurting, too, and yet was holding up with
strength and dignity.

She reached across the couch and laid her hand on the nape of his neck.

"What confuses me is why your father told you this now."

A slow smile lifted one corner of Cameron's mouth.

"I told him to give you your variance."

Lauren felt as if light were suddenly streaming through her.

"You did?"

"Mmm.  He balked, of course, so I asked him why he was so set against you.
That's when he told me.  It's really your mother who he's trying to keep away
from Harmony.  For some strange reason my mother is afraid he still has
feelings for your mother, and if she returns they'll get together again."

"That's crazy."

"Of course it is.  I think my mother's just mad at him and using that as an
excuse.  In any case, my father decided it was time I saw the whole picture.
He thought he'd convince me once and for all to stay away from you."  Cameron
grin spread, crinkling the outer corners of his eyes.  "You can see how well
that worked."

Lauren groaned.

"This is a nightmare, Cam."

"No.  Only good can come from the truth.  I'm tired of the feud--all those
useless years of retribution.  It ends with you and me, here, now."  He moved
closer and gathered her into his embrace.  Lauren sighed, succumbing to his
invitation.  She slipped her arms around his waist and snuggled into the
crook of his shoulder, inhaling a hint of bay rum on his skin, the scent of
winter in his woolen sweater.

He stroked her hair.

"I told my father if he didn't give you your variance, I'd come out publicly
on your side, no holds barred."

Lauren sat up, putting only enough space between them to look into his eyes.

"You've got to be joking."

He shook his head gravely.

"You can assume your variance is in the mail."

Lauren's eyes burned with tears, and, though she bit her lip hard, they began
to spill over.  Cameron framed her face with his hands and brushed her cheeks
with his thumbs.

"Shh.  It's about time something good happened to us don't you think?"

She smiled, laughed, gave a hiccuping sob and laughed again.

"He must be furious with you."

"He's probably more concerned with what my Brother will do to him when she
finds out he caved in.  Personally, I don't care.  I can't care anymore.
That's their problem.  They created it.  They have to straighten it out.  I
have my own life to tend to."

He closed the remaining distance between them and kissed her mouth with a
fervor that made Lauren wonder if he was considering making her part of that
life.  Soon, his kiss deepened, slowing, turning exquisitely erotic.  There
was no doubt in her mind where he was taking this.

You tangle with those Hathaways, you always pay the piper.  Her mother's
words echoed distantly in her thoughts, but Lauren blew them away.  She
wasn't listening anymore.

Together they rose from the couch and started for the stairs, arms firmly
linked around each other's waist.  On the way up, Cameron paused, barely
containing a grin.

"Ms.  DeStefano, I have a proposal to make."

Her heartbeat threatened to shatter her ribs.

"Would you do me the honor of going out to dinner with me tonight?"

Her pulse receded with disappointment--until she considered what he was
proposing.  A dinner date.  The two of them going out in public.

Rebellion.

"I'd be delighted, Mr. Hathaway.  But first..."

"But first..."

They continued up to his bedroom, leaving a trail of discarded clothing along
the way.

november became the happiest month that Lauren could ever recall, even if,
simultaneously, it was the busiest and most exhausting.  She and Cameron saw
each other nearly every day--and night.

Whenever he had a free moment he came to Rockland House and worked alongside
her and the crew.  One time he brought along the Mount Washington chandelier
and insisted she hang it in the parlor.

"On loan," he added, to silence her protests.

"Just until you have the chance to replace it."  They also traveled to Cape
Cod together, cruised antiques shops and flea markets and returned three days
later with crates of china and crystal, rugs, lamps, and several pieces of
furniture, including a magnificent Chippendale-style dining room table that,
when fully extended, sat twenty people.

In addition, they spent occasional evenings with the Grants and McGraths,
talking, sharing meals and playing | board games.  At Cameron's urging,
Lauren joined the choir ^ at the Congregational Church.  She loved to sing,
and the | program of Christmas carols they were currently practicing I was
the very thing to get her in an early holiday mood.  ?  With Cam in the tenor
section, winking at her with outrageous openness, rehearsals became an
entertainment for the other choir members, as well.  , Cameron also convinced
her to join the Preservation League and become involved in their activities
for the Christmas season.  Once she'd become a member, she regretted having
resisted for so long.  Although Pru Hathaway | and a couple of her friends
promptly quit the group, everyone else welcomed her and genuinely appreciated
her help in preparing for the Christmas Stroll, an annual street festival
co-sponsored with the Chamber of Commerce.  This year's Stroll was scheduled
for the second weekend of December--the perfect time to bring her mother to
Harmony, Lauren thought excitedly.

Lauren had pleasant recollections of the Stroll: the lighting of the town
tree in Shipyard Park, shops decorated and open for the Christmas season and
a few street vendors, selling food.  Pleasant, but nothing spectacular.  She
brimmed with ideas to make it better, but because she was a new member of the
league and one whose attendance in the future would be sporadic at best, she
was relucta|it to voice them.  Cameron had no such reservations, however.

Their combined enthusiasm was overwhelming and contagious.  They sparked off
each other creatively, and before I long the Preservation League was giving a
spirited nod to Lauren's idea of advertising the Stroll in the coastal towns,
f After all, Nantucket had done so for years and drew enviable crowds.  And
the Chamber did want to promote Harmony in the off-seasons.  And the H.  P.
L.  did need funds for a costly lighthouse restoration.

The members of the League also embraced her suggestion to make the ferry ride
part of the festivities by providing decorations, music and a buffet onboard.
Horse-drawn wagon rides would add a wonderful touch, too, they agreed.  So
would bell ringers and shopkeepers dressed in Victorian costume and.  and the
ideas kept coming.

Meanwhile, work at the house progressed at a rapid pace--progressed and
eventually wound down.  On the Sunday before Thanksgiving, Lauren spent a
couple of hours writing checks to square away everyone's bills--electrical
contractor, plumber, mason, Sheetrock installers, carpenters and others.
That nearly depleted her account.

The next day the rough sawhorse tables in the dining room came down, all the
tools got packed up, trailers were loaded onto the ferry, and every last
worker left Rockland House.  Joe was last to climb the gangway.  He kept
remembering things he should have checked on and kept asking Lauren if he
shouldn't return after Thanksgiving.  But after several teary hugs, she
finally got him on the ferry, as well.

That evening, with the house theirs at last, Lauren and Cameron set up the
200-year-old bed she'd bought in Bos- ton for the Lady Gray suite.  Having
read Isabel's journal, she knew that Isabel's bed had been a mahogany four-
poster with a camel-back canopy and she was pleased she'd found something
fairly similar.

The walls still needed to be papered so she and Cam placed the bed in the
middle of the gleaming, newly refinished floor.  They built a fire in the
fireplace, closed the interior window shutters, made up the bed in smooth
cotton sheets and then spent the night lovingly putting tangles in those
sheets.

Lauren lay in the cozy warmth of Cameron's arms after their third lovemaking,
listening to the surf thunder below the bluff and the wind whistle along the
eaves.  She didn't s want to leave for Boston tomorrow, but she was expected
to spend Thanksgiving with her family.  And so she told Cameron how much
she'd miss him while they were apart, i?  That was as close as she could come
to telling him she, loved him.  They avoided the word "love" assiduously.  ;
They avoided all words of commitment, whether because they feared jinxing
their happiness or because they still believed commitment was impossible, she
couldn't say.  It was; probably a combination of both.  i| They filled the
void instead with talk of the Stroll and the house, what color to paint the
dining room, and whether the carpet runner they'd bought was long enough for
the upstairs hall.  And when interest in those subjects flagged, Cameron
murmured,

"I'll miss you," and pressed a kiss between her breasts.

"Have you decided to go to your parents' for Thanks; giving dinner?"  Lauren
asked, stroking the silken skin of; his shoulders.  , "I don't know yet."  He
pressed a kiss lower, and another^ one lower still.

"Maybe."  He laid his cheek against her warm abdomen, while Lauren combed her
fingers through his hair.

"Probably."  Yes, he'd go.

They were his family, and although he wasn't on the best of terms with them
currently, he loved them and wanted peace.  ' "What about you?"  Cameron
murmured, lazily tracing the birthmark under her right breast.

"Are you going to tell your mother we're seeing each other?"  ^ "I don't know
yet.  Probably not."  Audrey would never understand.

They'd argue.  It would spoil Thanksgiving.

Lauren and Cam lay still a while, listening to the roar of the sea and each
other's breathing.

"We should get some sleep," she suggested.

"It's late."  ^| Cameron kissed his way back up her body, ending at heig
mouth.  But his kisses were expressions of affection, no(t| meant to arouse.

"I'll miss you," he whispered again just before closing his eyes.

Lauren's heart pounded as her gaze swept the room, nickering with fire
shadows.  Should I say it?  Should I tell him I love him?  But then she, too,
closed her eyes and let the moment pass.

cameron left his parents' house early on Thanksgiving, right after dessert.
They'd surprised him by not mentioning Lauren even once.

Still, their conversations had been strained, fraught with silences that
spoke of their dismay in him.  He'd developed a headache before he'd even sat
down to dinner.

From their fourteen-foot table set for three, Cameron went to a six-foot
table at the McGraths' that, along with a few wobbly card tables, had served
a gang of sixteen.  A football game flashed across the TV screen in the
living room.  Kids squabbled in the basement rec room.  And women, talking
like a gaggle of turkeys, nibbled at leftovers in the kitchen.  It was
wonderful--just the sort of Thanksgiving he'd always wanted and never had.
It would've been perfect had Lauren been there.

Cameron stayed until everyone else had left, hoping he hadn't chosen a bad
time.  The McGraths must be tired after such a busy day.  But he had
something important to discuss with them concerning Lauren--her house, its
unfinished state, her finances and her mulish pride.

Sitting on the edge of the sofa cushion, uncertain if he was doing the right
thing, Cameron began,

"I know you'll be busy.  Most people start decorating their houses for
Christmas right after Thanksgiving nowadays.  Plus, you've got three kids, a
big extended family, lots of shopping to do and school concerts to attend.
But Lauren only wants to finish a portion of the house, the rooms she'll need
for the holidays.  It isn't an overwhelming job, except she insists on
tackling it herself, and she only has two weeks, ai she's so exhausted
already " "For crying out loud, Cameron!"  Cathryn interrupted < a laugh.

"What're you chewing on?"

' "Can you help her?  Can you spare an hour occasional to help paint
baseboards or decorate or pick up deliveriesi Cathryn smiled until her cheeks
shone.

"Can I help?  Ci I help?"  She chuckled again.

"Cam Hathaway, you ju try and stop me."

lauren returned on the Sunday morning ferry.  The were flurries in the air.

She'd left Cameron with a key to the house, so when sl turned in at the
driveway, she wasn't surprised to see t truck parked at the door.

But behind it was Cathryn's st don wagon, and behind that was the truck Dylan
used his landscaping business.  Ben and Julia's Bronco was the) too, and Fred
Gardiner's sedan and two cars Lauren didi recognize.

Wearing a befuddled half smile, she opened the front door.  Her gaze went
immediately to the group of peop sitting on the stairs in tiers of twos and
threes, like a cho "Hi," several called, and,

"Hey, you're finally home."

"Yeah she said cautiously.

"What're you folks ding?"

"Sitting.  But you don't have any chairs," Cathryn a swered blithely.

Lauren took a few steps into the hall.  Heavy plasjtic dri cloths covered
every inch of the newly refinished floor) She scanned the group again.

"Mike?"  she exclaimed, enticing Mike Fearing, one of her; former classmates
who st lived on Harmony, working as a lobster man

"Hey," he called back, wearing a black watch cap ai a rakish grin.

Lauren recognized two members of the Preservatu League.  She also spotted
Cathryn's father and Gert Dumont, her mother's old friend.

"What are you people doing here?"

Cameron separated himself from the group and came toward her.

"A few friends have come over to help with the house."

Lauren's small suitcase dropped from her hand.

Julia came off the stairs.

"We know how much it would mean to you to have the house ready when your
mother arrives, so ... here we are."

"But..."

"Don't worry," Cathryn piped up, getting to her feet, too.

"Most of us have had experience painting and papering in our own homes, and
those who haven't can wash windows or fetch Christmas trees..."

"Or haul anything you might need from the mainland," Mike added.

"My boat's at your service."

Lauren began to shake.  Pulling Cameron into the library, she whispered,

"Cam, please, ask them to leave.  I can't accept their help."

"Why not?"

"I don't have the money to pay them."  Tears burned in her eyes.  She'd never
admitted her financial situation to Cam quite so frankly before.

"Lauren, sweetheart, these people would be insulted if you tried to pay them.
They're your friends.  They want to help.  All you have to do is be gracious
and thank them."

She swallowed, and swallowed again, but the lump in her throat refused to
dissolve.

"Besides, I think Fred Gardiner is going to hand you a check today from the
Preservation League.  Nothing to write home about, but it'll help."

Her expression caved in.

"Charity?"

"No.  Definitely not.  The H.P.L.  has always maintained a fund for the
restoration of privately owned historic homes.  You're just one of many
recipients who've ben filed over the years."

Lauren tried to apply the brakes to her tears one last tim and nearly
succeeded.  Then she thought how lucky sl was.  Monetarily she was nearly
broke, but in what mat ten most friends she was wealthy beyond belief.  And (
that thought, her control slipped completely, and her emotions billowed.

within a week, all the painting and papering was don and not only in the few
rooms Lauren had set as a con promise goal.  All of it was done.  Once word
got out that friends were volunteering assistance at Rockland House- thanks to
a casual remark Julia happened to drop on h radio show Lauren had more
helping hands than she kne what to do with.

Wandering from room to room the following Sundi night, she was giddily
incredulous.

"Do you believe this'3 she exclaimed.  Since she was alone, she didn't expect
reply.  However, the rafters did creak a little.

The house was spectacular.  Windows sparkled, floor gleamed.  and the walls!
Even Cameron admitted her i] stinct had been right.  Using paints, glazes,
and Fred Ga diner's guidance, she'd created a house with a timele look, a
look that was old but not period.  All the colors we warm and earthy, too,
from pale creams and tans to suns golds, old reds and coppers tones that
Cameron accus her of choosing deliberately because they blended so w( with
her own coloring.  ' With a week to go before the Stroll, Lauren focused b
energies on arranging the few pieces of furniture and the accessories she'd
bought.  She'd acquired only one oth' bed besides the four-poster, but the
cots from the attic made up with lace-trimmed linens and quilts, turned o
better than expected.  They'd get her family through the holidays quite well
enough.

With furniture in place, she was finally ready to decorate for Christmas.
Dylan brought over a truckful of greenery on Wednesday morning, and with
Cathryn, Julia and Ben lending their help, the task became an all-day party.
By the evening, two fir trees, twinkling with white lights, graced the front
veranda, a truly elegant wreath adorned the door, candles glowed at all the
windows, laurel rope, tied with burgundy and gold bows and bunches of sugared
fruit, festooned the main staircase, each mantel was artfully decorated, and
in the front parlor stood a nine-foot Noble fir, resplendent in old-fashioned
glass ornaments.

With the aroma of cloves still wafting from the kitchen where cider had
mulled on the stove all day, Lauren handed Cameron a Victorian angel to place
on top of the tree.  It was late, their friends had left, and she was
exhausted beyond belief.  She was also indescribably happy.  Almost done, she
thought, standing back to view the angel.

"Turn her just a smidgeon to the right.  There.  Perfect."  She laughed as
Cameron thrust two hands up in a victory gesture.

"Let's go see it from outside," he suggested.

Throwing on their coats, they ran out the door and let their eyes feast on
the glorious sight.  Two spotlights shining up from the ground lent enough
illumination to show off the house's stately facade without diminishing the
effect of me tree lights or window candles.

"Magnificent!"  Cameron declared.

"Yeah, pretty cool!"  Lauren agreed.

They stood on the driveway, admiring the lights and feeling the quiet
satisfaction of a job well done, until Lauren's feet grew numb from the cold.
Then they went inside to discuss the weekend.

Lauren would be leaving tomorrow to meet with her sisters and brothers so
they could devise a way of bundling their mother off to Harmony without
arousing her suspicion.  And once they arrived?

"I'll make sure the house is lit," Cameron said, trying to hide his
disappointment.  Lauren did not want him to join them.

"I'm sorry," Lauren murmured.

"But it'll only be for a few days.  I want my mother to fully enjoy the
house.  I don't want the moment diluted with her wondering why you're here."

"I understand."

"I know you do."  Lauren linked her arms around Cam's waist and fit herself
to him.  That's why I love you, she thought.

Cameron pressed a kiss to her forehead.

"You look tired."

"I am.  To the bone."  The faint, lingering smell of paint was making her
slightly nauseous, too.

"Want to go to bed?"

"Not just yet.  Let's enjoy the tree together... while we still have the
chance."  Melancholy stole over her.  After tonight, the house would no
longer be theirs.  She'd be handing it over to her mother.

This was it, her and Cameron very last night alone here.  Why hadn't she
realized it sooner?

For one selfish moment she wanted to keep the house for herself.  But then
she remembered her puiDose and the benefits that would flow into her mother's
LIFE once she returned to Harmony.  And I'll still visit often, Lauren
thought.  , It wouldn't be the same, though.  Tucked into one como| of the
sofa, Lauren wound her arms around Cameron witt| a tightness that verged on
desperate.  He didn't ask whyi just whispered,

"I'll miss you."  | pru hathaway brought her car to a stop on the side of
Cliff Road and stared at Rockland House, candles glowing in each of the
six-over-six windows.  They were tasteful, she admitted grudgingly.  The
whole house was tasteful, from the outside, at least.  Lord only knew what
the inside was like--although she'd overheard neighbors remarking that the
DeStefano girl had a remarkably good eye for decorating.  It looked grand.
That was the word Fred Gardiner had used, and Fred was one of the few people
whose judgment Pro respected.

And to think, Audrey DeStefano would be living in that grand house in another
couple of days.  Pro uttered an expletive she'd used only a handful of times
in her fifty-six years.

To be honest, she wasn't sure what worried her more, Audrey's return to
Harmony or Cameron's return to Lauren.  Pro had waited patiently while Clay
tried his hand at routing Lauren.  But just as his son's efforts had, Clay's
had failed, too.  Worse, they'd backfired.  The damn fool.  Now Cameron was
seeing the DeStefano girl openly, and he knew about that humiliating affair.
Why Clay told him, she'd never understand.  She could hardly look her son in
the eye anymore.

Obviously the situation had gone on long enough.  She was going to have to
step in and get the job done herself.  Pro peered up the driveway and noticed
Cameron's truck.  It couldn't be tonight.  She and Lauren would have to be
alone.  But it would be soon.  Oh, yes.  Very soon.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

lauren had imagined that the worst possible scenario that could happen to her
on Harmony was that she would fail financially, lose Rockland House, compound
the embarrassment of the past with that of the present and suffer disgrace
forevermore.  She'd been wrong.  There was one other calamity that was worse,
and she had a nagging suspicion it had happened.

She waited until she was off the island and back in the big city to buy a
home pregnancy test.  It was a crazy idea, this notion that she could be
pregnant.  She and Cameron had used birth control every time they'd made
love.  Yet she had the symptoms.  A missed period.  Unusual tiredness.
Nausea.  Most likely she was simply overworked and rundown.

What she needed to do was start taking better care of herself.  And she
would.  But, first she'd take the stupid test, just to ease her mind.

The following morning, sitting on the rim of the bathtub in her Back Bay
apartment, Lauren stared at the small plus sign that indicated her test
results and began to hyperventilate.  It couldn't be.  It couldn't.  Not
again, f But it was.  It was.  Again.  ; Lauren lowered her head between her
knees' and took a few deep breaths.  That didn't help.  When she sat up, she
was as light-headed as ever.  How could such a thing have j happened?  | You
know dam well how it happened, she answered her| self.  She wasn't ignorant.
She knew the statistics on various | methods of birth control.  None was
perfect, and she'd been using one of the less reliable methods.

Okay, so maybe the question wasn't how but why.  Why had the wheel of
misfortune stopped on her number?  Why now?  Why again with Cameron?

She got off the tub, wobbled to the vanity and gazed at herself in the
mirror.  Her cheeks looked feverish and her eyes were wild.  What are you
going to do about it?  That was the real question, she realized, not how it
had happened or why.  What are you going to do?

Lauren's throat tightened with impending tears, but she willed them away.
This was no time for emotionalism.  Today was the day she was taking Audrey
to Harmony.  This was the culmination of her dream, conceived a long half
year ago.

Lauren laughed hysterically at the irony, and then two plump tears slipped
down her cheeks.  She wiped them away, wishing she'd waited until after
Christmas to find out.  This pregnancy added too many complications and
implications to her already chaotic life.  One thing was perfectly clear to
Lauren--no one could know, not even Cameron.

She had to consider her options, and she had to do it alone, without outside
pressure.

For the present, though, she would put the entire issue on a back burner.
Because simmering on the front burner was one renovated house waiting for the
final ingredient-- her mother.

As par as Lauren could tell, when their three-car caravan left Boston on
Friday afternoon, her mother was still clueless.  Audrey was also
apprehensive.  She'd been told they were taking a "mystery ride," but within
the three cars rode all five of her children, their spouses, babies and
significant others, plus enough luggage to travel across Africa.  An hour and
a half later, as they were nearing the ferry landing on the Cape, her
suspicions began to solidify "Where are we going?"  she asked, her cheeks
flushed.  She was riding in Lauren's car, with twenty-one-year-old Marl in
the back seat with his girlfriend, Tracey.

"I guess we can't keep it a secret any longer," Laurel confessed.

"We're headed for Harmony."

Audrey's hand fluttered to her throat.

"Oh, no."

"Relax, Ma.  It's going to be great."

"What are we going to do there?"

"Just enjoy ourselves.  This is the weekend of the Christmas Stroll."

Audrey took in a shaky breath.

"But why the suitcases' What've you got planned?"  Her eyes were round with
trepidation.

"We thought it'd be nice to stay overnight instead 01 rushing back."

Actually her sister Michelle had packe< enough of their mother's clothes to
last a week, and Laurel had a few new garments waiting at the house.

The ferry was crowded with people bound for the Stroll lured by the ad
campaign Lauren had initiated, and mon would arrive on the morning ferry on
Saturday.  Audre] began to shed her anxiety once she was among them.

"My goodness, I don't remember the boat being thi; festive in years past,"
she exclaimed, admiring the deco rated tree and garlands and lights.  Even
the pilot was wearing a Santa hat.

"And look at that food!"

Lauren grinned.

"I hear it's something new this year."

They had a wonderful time on the ride over.  I|etweei the animated chatter
and her brothers-in-law leading a session of caroling, Lauren was able to
forget she was pregnant for long stretches at a time.

Her favorite diversion, however, was watching he mother.  During much of the
journey, Audrey sat by a win dow, her eyes fixed on the smudge of land
looming in the horizon, an almost beatific expression lighting her face
Lauren glanced at her sisters and they nodded in agreement--this was right.

As the ferry entered the harbor, Audrey donned her brown wool coat and knit
hat and went outside to watch the approach from the open deck.  Lauren
followed.  It was only four-thirty in the afternoon, but the sun was about to
set.  How short the days were this time of year.

The impending darkness did have its advantages, though.  People were turning
on their Christmas lights, and homes and shops along Water Street glowed.
Even fishing boats were gaily illuminated.

Lauren turned her back to the wind to speak.

"Ma, I know how awkward you must feel about coming back.  You're probably
dreading running into people you used to know.  You're undoubtedly mad at me,
too.  All I can say is, everything's going to be okay.  Better than okay.
You're going to have a wonderful time."

Audrey lifted her shoulders in a gesture of surrender.

"I guess I'll just have to go with the flow, as they say.  If you want to
know the truth, I'm excited, Lauren."  She closed her eyes, breathed deeply
of the bitingly cold salt air and exhaled on a smile.

"Lord, how I've missed this."

Lauren turned and, like her mother, braced her hands on the rail.

"Beautiful, isn't it?"

"Naturally," Audrey said.

"It's home."

after they'd driven their vehicles off the ferry, they formed a caravan
again, Lauren in the lead.  Traveling up Water Street, she noticed people
lining the windows of the diner but didn't have the wherewithal to care.  Her
mind was on what lay ahead.  Her heart was in her throat.

"Where are we going?"  Audrey inquired, her face a landscape of shifting
emotions.

"To the place where we'll be staying."

"Oh.  You've made reservations?"

"You might say that."  Lauren drove around the bend of Water Street,
continued the short distance to the driveway at Rockland House.

"Here we are.  Mom."  Lauren was barely able to keep her voice from breaking
up.  The house glowed like a perfect jewel.

Her brother Mark leaned forward from the back seat.  "Wow, Lauren, it's like
a picture in a book."  Within seconds, everyone had spilled out of the cars
and was expressing similar sentiments.

Audrey walked to the base of the steps and peered at the house in confusion.

"This is where Dr. Smith lives.  I don't remember the place ever looking this
good, though."

"No, Dr. Smith is gone, Ma," Lauren informed her.  "Someone else owns the
house now."

"Oh, really?  Who?"

Lauren reached into her coat pocket and pulled out a key ded with a shiny red
ribbon.

"You do.  Merry Christmas."

Audrey gaped as if her oldest daughter had lost her mind.  Then she glanced
at each of her other children, their faces lit by the glow from the house.

"I don't understand.  Is it a rooming house or something?  Did you rent rooms
here?"

"No, Lauren bought it."  Sniffing back tears, Kim tried her hand at making
their mother understand.

"She ca rae out here last summer and has been restoring it ever since."

Audrey blinked a few times.

"This is where you've been?  You mean, you haven't been out in the
Berkshires?"

Lauren grimaced.

"I thought you would've guessed after hearing all those seagulls whenever you
called."

Audrey gazed at the key still in Lauren's hand, her expression shifting from
confusion to understanding.  Her lips| began to tremble, and tears sprang to
her eyes.

"Oh," she^ said almost soundlessly.

"What have you done?"  She covered her mouth with quivering fingertips.
Around her, several people surreptitiously wiped their eyes.

"Am I dying or something?  Do I have cancer and nobody will tell me?"

"No!"  Lauren laughed, wrapping her mother in a hug.

"Oh, Ma!"  David, the youngest, chided.

"Nobody's dying."

"Let's go in," Michelle urged from behind a soggy tissue.

"I can't wait to see this place."

After hanging their coats, Lauren took them on a tour, beginning and ending
with the front parlor.  By then, the two babies were asleep in their
backpacks, but the adults seemed electrified by what they'd seen.  Audrey
especially.  Reaching unsteadily behind her for the sofa, she said, "Lauren,
you're going to have to explain this to me again.

You bought Rockland House for me?  "

"That's right."

"Why?  What ever possessed you?  What am I supposed to do with it?"

Lauren checked her watch.  There was so much to explain, so much to discuss,
it would literally take them hours.  "How about we put dinner on the table
first?  We can talk while we eat."

That night at Rockland House there were crumbs on the dining room tablecloth,
children's fingerprints on the fridge, and all the bedrooms were occupied.
This is how it should be, Lauren thought happily, lying on the sofa bed
downstairs.

A pipe softly clanked as the heating system kicked on.

/ knew you 'd agree.

She was just drifting off when her cellular phone rang.  "Mmm?"  she answered
groggily, glancing at her watch.  It was quarter past midnight.

"Hi."

She melted, recognizing Cameron's voice.

"Hi, yourself."  But then she remembered her pregnancy, and a small buzz of
panic began to vibrate through her.

"Can you talk?"  he asked.

"Yes."  Feeling the need to withdraw into a place where she could protect
herself, she added,

"Not for long, though."

"How did it go today?"

"Really well.  My mother's zonked by the house."

"Oh."  Cam sounded slightly disappointed.

"So she likes the idea of moving here and running a bed-and-breakfast?"

"Seems so.  We talked so much I don't remember half of what we said.

I'm sure she doesn't, either.  Too much got thrown at her all at once.

We'll have to talk again, and she'll need time to sort things out.  "

Silence drifted between them.

"Where are you?"  he continued.

"The second parlor."

"Not the Lady Gray room?"

"No, that's my mother's tonight."  Lauren resisted the image of the canopy
bed she and Cameron had shared these past two weeks, but it sprang to mind
anyway, so clearly she could almost feel the texture of the sheets.

"Will you be going to Water Street tomorrow?"  he asked.

"Yes."  She was relieved to be diverted.

"Although I don't know when.

We're carting babies here.  They need regular naps and feedings.  " ' " I'll
be there most of the day.  Maybe we'll see each other.  "

"From a distance," she reminded him.  f "Yes."  He sighed.

"From a distance."  .  / More silence, until he ventured,

"You haven't by any chance asked your mother about her affair with my father?"

"Good God, no.  And I never will.  She'd die of mortification."  ' "Maybe
that's best."

Lauren yawned.

"Get some sleep, sweetheart.  You've got a busy week ahead of you."

"It won't be so busy once my brothers and sisters leave."

"That'll be Sunday, right?"

"Right.  Day after tomorrow."

' "And your mother will be staying on for another week?"

"That's the plan."

' "When are you going to tell her about us?"

Lauren swallowed uncomfortably.

"I'm not sure I'm going to."

"Oh, I thought you were."

"Well, what would be the point?"  Lauren immediately winced.

"Sorry.

I'm really.  strung out.  I've got to get some sleep.  "

Cameron was silent a moment too long.

"Sure.  Have fun with your family."

"Thanks.  G'night, Cam."  But he'd already hung up.

lauren could see that her mother was apprehensive about going to the
festivities in town, even with her children along.  Luckily she'd arranged
for two of her mother's old friends to come to the house for breakfast and
moral support.

Audrey was astounded to see Gert Dumont and Elaine Bennet at the door.  It
was a reunion that set off another round of crying, at least among the three
old friends.  Eventually tears dried, and as memories were revived and news
of the intervening years poured forth, the chatter in the dining room became
deafening.

Audrey all but strutted along Water Street that day, and since she had her
friends to keep her company, her offspring were free to take in the
activities they preferred with N out guilt.  Lauren's favorite was stopping
to chat with people she knew.

"Do you believe this crowd?"  Fred Gardiner boomed exuberantly, standing
outside his shop dressed in a Dickensian waistcoat and top hat.

"We booked the entire ferry this morning.  Every last seat.

Inns are reporting full occupancies, and stores are expecting record sales.
" Fred pumped Lauren's hand, then gave her a brusque hug.

"Thanks for all your help.  This'll go a long way toward saving East Light."

Moving on, Lauren was surprised to hear her mother say, "My heavens, Lauren,
but you do know a lot of people."  She'd assumed her mother was too
preoccupied to notice.

She shrugged.

"I've been here awhile."

"Yes, but you seem rather... involved."

"Yes, well..."  Lauren glanced at her watch.  Santa was due to arrive soon.
By fishing boat, of course.  That might distract her mother from the
perplexing subject of her involvement in town activities.  They crossed the
street and headed for the pier, yet even that short walk got interrupted as
people approached Lauren to compliment her on Rockland House and tell her how
deeply they admired what she was doing for her mother.

"You're a lucky woman," one of Audrey's friends told her.  ' "Yes, I know,"
she replied, befuddled.

Julia and Ben came along and stood with Lauren while Santa arrived.

"I presume Cameron is persona non grata while your family's here?"

Julia said in an undertone.

Lauren nodded.

"It'd be too awkward otherwise.  Maybe I'll mention something in a few days."
s They watched Santa open his sack and hand out small ^ presents to the
children who'd gathered around him.  Julia i| sighed, smiling at one
particular little boy with coloring I similar to Ben's, and Lauren realized
her friend was doing | some heavy-duty dreaming.  Remembering her own
plight, she felt a wave of nausea ripple through her.  Not that it wouldn't
be wonderful to have a child, she just wasn't crazy about having one now.

"I'm going to move on, guys," Lauren announced, already wheeling away.

"Mom?  Do you want to go listen to the bell ringers?"

"Oh, that would be lovely.  Nice seeing you again, Julia."

cameron bought two freshly-made doughnuts and handed one to Cathryn.

"Do you mind crossing over to the park," she asked him, "so I can look for my
kids?"

Cam shrugged agreeably.

They were just entering the park when he spotted Lauren, surrounded by her
family, standing in front of the bandstand where the bell ringers were
performing.  He couldn't help chuckling.  He hadn't seen so many redheads in
one place since the DeStefanos moved away.

He watched Lauren say something to one of her brothers--was that little
David?  --and held his breath as her gaze swept the park.  As soon as she
spotted him, she smiled.  But within seconds she had her reaction under
control and went on with her conversation.

Her group turned, led by her mother, and started his way.

"Uh-oh," Cathryn worried.

None of the DeStefanos except Lauren had noticed him yet.  But it wasn't the
DeStefanos who worried Cathryn, Cam suddenly realized.  It was his parents,
coming along another path toward him.  In fact, the two groups looked doomed
to collide about five feet in front of him.

And they did.  Everyone stopped.  Words froze on lips.  Cheeks paled.

And then, as if a switch had been flipped, everyone resumed walking, noses in
the air, eyes averted.

"Well, that was interesting," Cathryn commented.

Cameron only shook his head.

About an hour later he finally caught up with Lauren in a candle shop.

"Hi.  Are you alone?"

She jumped as if startled.

"Oh.  Uh, yes.  The family went off on a wagon ride."

Cameron chuckled.

"That was quite a meeting over in the park."

But Lauren wasn't in a laughing mood.  She seemed distant, withdrawn, and he
didn't know why.  Maybe it was the tension of the family visit, having too
many house guests to entertain?  But he didn't think so.

Something had happened.  Something more than just the arrival of her family.

Was this the beginning of the end?  They'd never talked about eventualities.
They'd both more or less assumed that when the house was completed and handed
over, she'd go back to her life in Boston and he'd pick up whatever he was
doing here.  But that was before.

Before he fell in love with her.  Before he realized he wanted to spend the
rest of his life with her.

"Lauren, I'm going to stop by tonight and talk to your mother," he said
impulsively.

"No!"  her eyes flashed.

"Not yet.  I'll tell her in my own good time."

There it was again, a reaction that ran deeper than her words.  How odd, how
unfair, that only a few days ago they'd been together, decorating a tree with
friends, sharing meals, sleeping in the same bed.  | Just then Lauren noticed
a horse-drawn wagon pull up to the park across the street.

"Gotta go."

"Lauren!"

She never turned around.  \ lauren crossed the street, berating herself for
treating | Cameron so shabbily.  But every time she even thought of | him
and her condition, that buzz of panic began to rattle through her.  Being
with him, that buzz had swelled to a roar.

"How was it?"  she asked her mother, the last one off the wagon.

"Wonderful!"  exclaimed Audrey.  She thanked the liveried driver who sat high
on a seat festooned with gaily decorated wreaths.  Matching wreaths adorned
the necks of each of the four horses whose harness bells jingled merrily
whenever they shook their heads.

"Are you sure you don't want to go for a ride, too, Lauren?"  Audrey's cheeks
were flushed to & pretty pink.

"Maybe later.  I think it's nearly time for the tree- lighting.  I don't want
to miss that."

The sun was sinking fast, throwing gold and orange bars across the western
sky, colors that spilled onto the ocean and over the hills and hollows of
Harmony.

Lauren and her group joined the crowd gathered in the park around the
twenty-foot fir.  Carolers, red-nosed and huddled into their Victorian capes,
provided entertainment as everyone waited for the sun to set.

And then on came the lights and up went a cheer.

The shopping and celebrations would continue well into the evening, but
Lauren and her mother were eager to get home.  They were both tired and
chilled, and Audrey's feet ached.

On the drive home, Audrey surprised Lauren by asking about Cameron.

"Is something going on with you two?"

"No!"  Lauren couldn't believe how guilty she sounded.

"Lauren, I'm not dumb.  I heard at least half a dozen people ask you where he
was.  I also noticed him watching you and you looking back, both of you with
such calf eyes I could've retched."

Lauren brought the car to a stop at the top of the drive N way.  With a
resigned sigh, she began,

"Okay.  You're bound to find out anyway..."

She didn't have to say another word.  Her mother clapped two hands to her
head and moaned in disbelief.

"Oh, Lauren.  How could you?

After all you went through with him and his family fifteen years ago.  "

"I don't know."  Lauren battled a fierce burning in her eyes and repeated
softly,

"I don't know."

"Do they know?  Pru and Clay?"

Lauren sniffed.

"They know we've been seeing each other."

"And they haven't stepped in?"

Lauren thought of all the problems she'd had, but those had involved her
house, not Cameron.

"No."

"No?  Well, don't let down your guard," Audrey warned.  Then she sighed.

"I'll grant Pru and Clay one thing.  They were right, sending that boy away
for as long as they did.  You and Cam" -- she compressed her lips and wagged
her head "--you're like two powerful magnets when you get anywhere near each
other.  Nothing can keep you apart."

"I guess it's a lucky thing we won't be around each other much longer."

"Ha!"

"Really," Lauren insisted.

"Ha!

"Don't make more of the situation than exists."

"Is that your way of saying I should mind my own business?"  j "Yup."  Lauren
forced herself to smile.

"Now let's go inside and drink something hot before we both turn into
icicles."

it was a very long week.

Before her sisters and brothers and their families and girlfriends left on
Sunday, Lauren hosted a luncheon that included all of her mother's old
friends.  It was the party that Gert Dumont had proposed two months earlier.
A reporter from the Record showed up, took reams of notes and dozens of
pictures and promised to feature the social along with an article about the
restoration of Rockland House.

In the quieter days that followed, Lauren and her mother spent their time
alone taking long walks around the is- land--or drives, if the weather was
inclement.  They browsed through gift shops, visited and leafed through the
dozens of catalogs Lauren had stockpiled, looking at furnishings for the
house.  They discussed hiring a linen service to launder the sheets and
towels for the B and B, argued over bringing someone in to clean, and scoured
cookbooks for appetizing breakfast recipes.

And somehow the long week passed.

With only one week to go before Christmas, Audrey was eager to return to
Boston.  As she explained the night before she left, she still had shopping
to do--things that couldn't be bought on Harmony.  She also missed her grand
babies

"But you'll be back Christmas Eve, right?"  Lauren glanced over her shoulder
while refastening a glass ornament that had slipped loose from its tree
branch.

Audrey sat on the sofa, and suddenly looked uncomfortable.

"Lauren, you know I always have everyone to my place for Christmas."

"That's right.  And Rockland House is your place."  Having Christmas here had
always been part of Lauren's plan.  Her sisters and brothers had already
agreed to return.

"Lauren, sit down."  Audrey patted the cushion beside her.

"We have to talk."

Dread slithered down Lauren's spine as she crossed the room.

"I know you meant well," Audrey continued.

"And the house is absolutely breathtaking..."

"But?"

"I can't accept it.  It's ... too much."

Lauren's heart plummeted.

"Of course you can accept it.  I bought it with you specifically in mind."

"No, not me."  Audrey glanced up at the crystal chandelier, over to the
marble fireplace, down at the kilim rug.  "This isn't me."

Lauren was on the edge of tears.  Could she do nothing right?

"I'm so sorry.  I wanted to give you something that would knock the socks off
this island."

"Oh, it's done that!"  Audrey chuckled.

"What I don't understand is why.  What drove you to do such a thing?"

Lauren took her mother's hand.

"Remember the day we went to Hyannis last summer and spotted Gert Dumont in
that boutique?"

Audrey frowned.

"Oh, yes."

"Well, it really bothered me to see you still embarrassed about the past.
That's not how I wanted you to view your life when you were ninety years old
and ready to shuffle off--with this big section of blight in the middle of
it.  I wanted to wipe all of that out, to have you see yourself differently,
so you'd remember yourself differently.

I wanted you to be able to face down anybody on this damn island, chin up,
shoulders back, as proud.  as proud as you've always told me to be.  "

Audrey pressed her trembling lips together.

"But I am.  How can I not be, with all that you've donerfor me?  But my pride
isn't in material things, Lauren.  It'^ in you and your sisters and brothers.
You are my treasure, and a hundred houses like this couldn't equal what you
mean to me."

Lauren was unable to speak for a moment.  She sipped some eggnog, hoping to
dissolve the emotion in her throat.  Eventually she said, "There was
something else, another reason I bought this place.

Without Dad, you seem kind of like a loose pinball, and I was hoping a small
business would give you some direction.  You're still so young.  "

Audrey blotted her eyes and laughed.

"I don't feel young, but you're right.  I have been moping, and it's time I
got myself into gear."  She pulled in a breath and smiled.  "I like your idea
of running a small inn.  I think I'd even like that inn to be here on
Harmony."

Lauren's mouth dropped open.

"It would be a different sort of place from this, though.  More a farmhouse
or cottage."

Lauren slapped a hand to her forehead in chagrin, recalling that a farmhouse
was what she'd originally come here to buy.

Audrey continued,

"And don't you dare think it's your responsibility to pay for it.  I have a
little insurance money from your father--it was one of the few things he did
right, poor man.  And Gert seems interested in coming in on it with me."

"So you've already discussed it with her?"

Audrey glanced at Lauren guiltily and nodded.

"That's okay.  I'm thrilled to hear at least some of my plan worked out."
Lauren stared up at the ceiling hoping the moisture in her eyes would
evaporate.

"Please, don't feel sad," Audrey said giving Lauren's shoulder a squeeze.

"I do appreciate the gesture.  It'll remain the highlight of my life.
However, this is your house, Lauren, not mine."

"No.  You couldn't be more mistaken."

"Uh-uh.  You might not know why you bought it yet, but there was definitely a
reason.  I suggest you stay and find out."

Lauren already had a good idea what that reason was.  From her school days
drifted a memory of Greek mythology--how the gods resented mortals with too
much pride.  Lauren nodded to herself.  That was why she'd bought Rockland
House.  She'd needed to be cut down to size.  Cut.  down, chopped up and made
into mincemeat, i '^/ ^S audrey flew back to Boston on the Harmony shuttle
the next day, and Lauren returned to Rockland House to counti'l how many
ways she'd been stupid in her lifetime.  Whenll the list became too unwieldy,
she turned her attention ttf| more pressing matters.  ?  |!

One was the house, this great big overpriced house, and^s what she was
supposed to do with it now.  Could she ruB^I it as a B and B?  But what would
become of the properties!  she managed in Boston?  Although their number
might be significantly diminished, they still required attention.  Be
sides, she had no interest in becoming an innkeeper.  ^ Her other problem was
her pregnancy.  Lauren made het@| self a cup of tea, sat in a wing chair in
Isabel's room aa8*| decided it was time she finally faced facts.  ;g| Despite
all its complications, being pregnant made h^ili happy.  Deep inside was a
well of joy that refused to storfi bubbling, and all because she was carrying
a baby--ona6|s created by her and Cameron.

For years she'd watchedl friends get married and start their families.

She'd watcher her sisters do the same.  And all the while she'd continueHl
working, plugging away, making sure everyone went 'w^ school or had a car or
money to pay the rent.  Dammit, nolpi it was her turn.  She wanted this baby.
She wanted Cameroaff .  ~~s'^ too.  I ^^a Lauren moved to the edge of her
seat.  She was gping .  to|| call him right now, tell him the news.  ^ ^ But
then reality pushed her down again.  How could possibly tell Cameron she was
pregnant?  He'd never he loved her, never talked about a future together.
Consa(|| ering her finances, he might even think she'd done this a^ purpose
to get his money.  No doubt, that was the spin folks would put on her
pregnancy, and as in the past, the^| eventually bring him around to their
point of view.  And even if they didn't, how could she, Lauren Elizabeth
DeStefano, become a Hathaway?

The idea was too ludicrous for words.  No, she couldn't tell him about the
baby.

Yet, how could she not?  Fathers had rights.  Besides, this was Cameron, not
just any old father.  He'd find a way to make it turn out right.  She had to
believe that what they shared was really love--not just sex, not just
friendship-- the kind of love that embraced home and hearth and children.

Lauren was still foundering and weighing her options when she heard the
doorbell chime downstairs.  She set down her teacup, descended the stairs and
opened the front door.  Suddenly she was reminded of the old saying that
trouble comes in threes.  First there was her pregnancy.  Then came her
mother's rejection of the house.  And now.  Lauren didn't know the exact
nature of her final trouble, but she had no doubt she was staring at it now.
Because there on her porch stood Prudence Hathaway.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

"mrs.  hathaway!"  hi her surprise, Lauren stepped back as if a wind had
blown her.  Pru Hathaway interpreted that as an invitation to walk in.

"Lauren," she said with an abrupt nod.  Inside, she let her gaze roam the
foyer and hallway beyond.  Pru could be a stylish woman when she chose.
Today she was dressed in tall black boots and a cashmere coat in a dark shade
of amethyst that nattered her silvery hair and blue eyes.  Still, she had a
coldness about her, an angularity of both features and spirit, that made her
unattractive no matter what she wore.

Lauren's thoughts skipped to her own mother, sweet- featured, affectionate,
kindhearted Audrey.  Was there any wonder Clay Hathaway had been drawn to
her, considering who he had at home?

"This is certainly a surprise."  Lauren kept the door open and folded her
arms, waiting.

Still studying the hall, Pru took her time before responding,

"Well, it seems what people are saying about this place is true.  No doubt
you're feeling satisfied with yourself."  She peered into the parlor.

"Extremely.  Would you like a tour?"  There was no friendliness in Lauren's
tone, only an acknowledgment o| the older woman's nosiness.

| "No, thank you."  There was no friendliness in Pru'<| reply, either.

"I didn't come here to look at the house!

She began to pull off her black leather gloves, one finger at a time.

"I came to discuss my son."

Lauren fought to keep her expression bland.  " " Would you care to take off
your coat?  "

"No need.  I won't be staying that long."

Lauren led the way into the parlor and indicated a wing chair.  Pru lowered
herself into it as if she had a board nailed to her back.

Lauren sat on the sofa, hoping her comfortably draped arms and crossed legs
masked her nervousness.  Inadvertently she remembered her father's habit of
answering the phone with the discombobulating greeting,

"You called.  Talk."  Staring at Pro, she hoped she was sending the same
message how.

"I'll get right to the point," Pro announced.

"I know what's been going on between you and Cameron.  No sense in your
denying it, either."  She paused as if waiting for confirmation, but Lauren
merely continued to stare.

"As you well may imagine, Mr. Hathaway and I are both distressed by the
situation.  It has everyone talking again, rehashing your first calamitous
involvement as well as everything else that has always divided our families."

Lauren sat forward impatiently.

"Is that what you've come here to say?  You're worried about gossip?  Because
if it is, I'm going to have to ask you to leave.  I don't have time for such
nonsense."

Pro held up one hand, ice in her eyes.

"Of course that's not my only concern.  I'm far more worried about the chaos
you've brought into Cameron's life, and if you don't understand what I mean,
you needn't look any further than his broken engagement."

Guilt nettled Lauren's conscience, but her anger won out.  "Cam's
relationship with Erica was shaky for months, so don't try to blame me for
their breakup."

"I do blame you.  Your return to Harmony coincides just a bit too neatly
with it.  However, what's done is done.| What concerns me now is the damage
you've yet to cause."

"Excuse me?"  Lauren wanted to stay calm, but the simmering in her blood was
quickly rising to a boil.

"You've always wanted to get back at us, Lauren.  You have a streak of spite
in you as strong as your father's.  Cameron thinks you got it out of your
system when you outbid him at the auction, but my husband and I are not so
naive.  Mr. Hathaway assumes you'll try to hurt us financially--you'll take
whatever you can from Cameron--and I agree, especially now that you're not
quite as flush as you were when you bought this house."

Lauren knew her color was deepening.  The woman was a witch.  How else could
she know about her finances?

"But I also believe you'll hurt Cameron emotionally."  Pru looked Lauren
straight in the eye.

"And I will not let that happen."

On an unsettling wave of insight, Lauren realized that, as meddlesome and
warped as Pru Hathaway might be, she was acting out of love for her son.  She
truly believed she was protecting him.

And then without preamble, in a cold, businesslike voice, Pru issued her
ultimatum,

"We want you to end your pursuit of Cameron."

A mirthless laugh escaped Lauren's throat.

"I beg your pardon, but the last time I checked, our 'pursuit' was a two- way
street."

"That may be, but we want you to end it."

Only stubbornness made Lauren refrain from admitting she and Cameron were on
shaky ground already.

"What if I don't want to?"

"Oh, no, no."  Pru frowned, shaking her head.

"You'd be making a terrible mistake."

Lauren shifted uneasily.  She'd been involved in enough: legotiations to
know when players were ready to start turning over their cards.

"And why is that, Mrs. Hathaway?"

"Well, I'm sure you realize Cameron is our only child nd, of course,
everything Mr. Hathaway and I own will pass on to him eventually."

She paused.

"At least that used ;o be our intention."

Lauren got a cold, hollow feeling in the pit of her chest, and it got colder
as the gleam in Pru's eyes hardened.

"But quite frankly, his behavior these past few months has made us question
whether he should be entrusted with such a valuable legacy.

He's such a generous person--who mows how many ways he might be taken?  " The
woman's yes lifted meaningfully to Cameron's chandelier.

Lauren ignored the insult.

"Are you trying to say that if [ don't stop seeing Cam, you'll withhold part
of his inheritance?"

"Did I say part?  I mustn't have made myself clear."

"You wouldn't!"

"Withhold everything?  Oh, I'm afraid so."

"The house, too?"

"Of course."

"But you can't.  He loves that place.  He'd be devastated."

"Yes, he does have a fondness for poking through our old books and letters
and memorabilia."

Lauren blanched.  When she'd mentioned the house, she hadn't remembered the
things inside.

"It's more than a fondness, Mrs. Hathaway..."

"I'm glad you noticed."  The corners of Pru's mouth tightened in a semblance
of a smile.

"I have to say, you surprise me, Lauren.  I thought you'd be more upset about
the money he'd be losing.  In spite of his attachment to the house, he'll
survive without it.  I'm not so certain he'll manage as well without the
other.  He really doesn't earn much an his own, you know.  He writes those
books on local history, but the income they bring in is negligible.  And the
H.D.C.

doesn't pay anything at all.  "

"But he's your husband's business partner!"  Lauren suspected Cameron drew a
sizable salary.

"Heavens, why would Mr. Hathaway keep him as a partner after we disinherit
him?  Perhaps Cameron could continue to do the books, since he's already
familiar with them, but you know the earnings of a bookkeeper."

"That's so unfair," Lauren protested, her voice trembling.

"Life is unfair," Pru sniffed.

"But what would you do with everything you own?"

Pru tossed a hand negligently.

"There are any number of charities we could donate the money to, and the
Preservation League could easily take over the house."

"But how can you hurt Cameron like that?  How can you hurt your husband's
heritage?  In effect, you'd be ending it."

"Mmm.  A tragedy, isn't it?  Of course, things don't have to turn out that
way."

A bead of sweat trickled down Lauren's side.  " " All I have to do is drop
out of Cameron's life, right?  "

Pru smiled.

"Exactly."  She began to pull on her gloves again.

"There.

I've said my piece.  Now I'll leave it in your hands.  " She got to her feet.

"By the way, if I were you I'd think twice about telling Cameron about our
talk.  At present he's probably besotted enough to choose you over his
legacy.  But you have to ask yourself, do you really want to live with the
resentment he'll feel when he comes to his senses?  Think about it, Lauren.
As I said, what happens next is your decision."

lauren knew when she was beaten.  Until his mother's visit, she'd thought she
and Cameron might have a chance.  Now they didn't have a prayer.  She could
withstand a lot, but faced with the knowledge that he would lose, because of
her, what was rightfully his--a fortune in money and investments, established
businesses and ancestral property--she bowed like a blade of sea grass in a
gale.  Something else Mrs. Hathaway hadn't mentioned--he'd lose his parents,
too, since it was unlikely they'd have anything to do him if he stayed with
her.

At least Pru's ultimatum simplified the other decisions she had to make, the
ones regarding Rockland House and the baby she was carrying.

Lauren waited until the next morning to call Cameron.  "Lauren!

Finally.  Has your mother left?  " " Yes.  " She refrained from adding
yesterday.  He'd wonder why she hadn't called sooner.  " Do you mind if I
come over?  " " Let's make it this afternoon.  Say, four o'clock?  "

Presently she was wrestling with a bout of morning sickness.  She hesitated
before adding,

"And I'd prefer to meet at the Old Harbor Inn."  "Why?"

Why?  Because she couldn't allow herself to be alone with him in either of
their houses.  She was far too weak.  "No particular reason."

Then she hurried to add,

"I can't really talk now, Cam.  I'm expecting a call from my office."

Cameron was sitting at the bar in the lounge when Lauren arrived at the
inn.  He waved, smiled, got off his stool and strode her way, carrying a beer
in one hand, his winter jacket in the other.  Lauren wanted nothing more than
to fall into his arms and beg him to take her away.  Tahiti.  Corfu.  Even
Antarctica would do.

"Let's sit in the sun room," she suggested instead.  "Lauren, it must be
forty degrees in there."

"Yes.   We're guaranteed not to be disturbed."   He gave her a curious
stare, shook his head, but followed her, anyway.

Once they were seated and the waitress had brought Lauren a cup of hot
tea, Cam asked,

"Okay, what's up?"

Lauren took a sip of the soothing drink and prayed she could pull this off.

"Cam, I have some news.  My mother has decided she doesn't want Rockland
House."

"She doesn't?"  Cameron struggled to contain a smile.

"Oh.  That's too bad."

"Yes."  Lauren turned her gaze to the view out the window.

"So I've decided to put it up for sale."  Cameron began sputtering words of
disbelief, but she was determined to keep talking.  If she stopped, she might
change her mind.  "I thought I'd tell you first, since you're my most likely
buyer.  I hope you won't be put off by the price.  I'm asking a million
dollars.  But, considering all the work that's been done..."

"Wait.  Wait!  What do you mean, you're selling it?"

" " I mean, I'm selling it!   I only bought it for my mother, and she
doesn't want it.   Therefore.   think the conclusion follows fairly
obviously.   Cam.   "

He stared at her, his brow scrunched, his mouth slightly open.

"What the hell is the matter with you?"  he demanded, enunciating each
syllable with expressive care.

Her mouth was dry as sand.

"Nothing."

"Bullshit!  You didn't buy that house just for your mother."

"You're right.  I bought it to impress people, and I did, and now that I've
succeeded I'm going home."

"Home?  Exactly where is that, Lauren?  I can't recall you ever talking about
your 'home' before."

Lauren lifted her teacup, but her hand trembled so visi- ;| biy, she set it
down again.

"Rockland House is not my home, if that's what you're implying."  ; "Why not?
You love the place, and don't try telling me ; any different.  I offered you
a million bucks for it already, j and you turned me down like that."  In the
empty, glass1 enclosed room, the snap of his fingers resounded like a
gunshot.

"That was months ago, Cam.  At the time I didn't know my mother wouldn't want
it."

"You knew you'd made a big financial mistake.  You could've bailed out and
bought another property, but you didn't.  Even then, you couldn't bear to
part with the house."

Lauren stirred her tea over and over.  It kept her from having to look up.

"Cam, be reasonable.  I can't keep Rock- land House.  It's totally
impractical.  To keep afloat I'd have to turn the entire place into
apartments, and make no mistake, I would.  I'd bring my lawyer here if I had
to, and together we'd jump any hurdle anyone put in our way.

I'd probably build on the land, too.  There's enough room.  "

"I don't believe you."

"It's the truth.  I would.  So do you want to buy it or not?  For you, I'll
throw in the dining room set and..."  She was about to say the bed, but
couldn't.  And Cam knew it.  Suddenly the space between them shimmered with
memories.  Even the rough patches they'd gone through seemed precious in
retrospect.  She lifted one hand to the side of her face, trying to shield it
from view, because any second now she feared she was going to come apart.

Cameron reached across the table and caught her other hand in his.

"Something much more serious than selling the house is bothering you, and I
want to know what it is."

The urge to tell him everything rose in her like steam in a tightly lidded
pot.

"Tell me," he implored.

"You can tell me.  We've been through so much together..."

Lauren laughed on a sob.

"Yes.  Sometimes twice."

Cameron stared at her, slightly confused yet open, waiting.

j

'-"M ^

"Cameron..."  Her jaw quivered.  She squeezed his hand| for support.

"I'm pregnant."  :s|| He opened his mouth but nothing came out except i airy
gasp, as if someone had punched his stomach.

"Ai gain?"  he stammered.  For a second she thought he wi going to sneeze.

She turned her back to the dining room.  What a dumi idea--meeting at a
restaurant.  She couldn't believe she suggested it.  Nor could she believe
she'd told Camerc about her pregnancy.  She hadn't intended to.

"H-how?"  he asked.

"I don't know."  She pulled her hand away from his an scowled at her teacup.

"You have very determined spemffl Cameron.  Diaphragm, foam, condoms--the
little deviq swim through anything."  H Suddenly she heard a soft,
incredulous laugh coming from across the table.

"You're pregnant!"  The laug!  turned joyous.

"That's wonderful, Lauren.  How soon d you want to get married?"

Lauren dropped her head to her hands and groaned, r membering he had said
something similar when he w, fourteen.

"I'm living in a rerun."

He ignored her dejection.

"How about next week?"

Dredging up every ounce of strength she had, she a swered,

"Don't be ridiculous."

Hurt narrowed Cam's eyes.

"Why not?"

She huffed, tossing up her hands in pretended exaspeajiB at ion

"Have you ever heard me say I wanted to get married H " What about the baby?
You can't possibly want to railJ it alone.  " ih " You're right.  I don't.  I
intend to give it up for adoption.  "

Cameron looked stricken.

"Are you serious?"

"Very.  I'm so busy now, I don't have time to keep a :urtle.  What would I
ever do with a baby?"

"But it'd be ours.  Doesn't that mean any" -- He topped.

"No, I guess it doesn't."  Cameron gazed out the /in dow for a long tense
moment.

"Let me take the baby Lauren.  Let me raise it."

Lauren was stunned by Cam's offer.  He'd do that?  But it what cost?

His parents would probably still disown him f he raised a child she'd borne.

"No," she replied firmly.

"Everyone would know we'd nade the same mistake twice.  Think of the
embarrassment, Cameron.  Think of the gossip.  I don't know about you, but [
couldn't endure it."

"People will find out, anyway."

Lauren had to think fast.

"No, they won't, not if I'm ;areful.  I'll go away before I begin to show.
Far away.  \ustralia maybe."

"Australia!"

"Mmm.  An extended stay there would be easier to ex- ilain than someplace
closer."

' "But..  you wouldn't actually have the baby there, would you ?"

"Oh, sure.  And put it up for adoption, too.  I want to some back to Boston
and resume my life as if nothing had lappened."

"Don't do it, Lauren."

"I'm sorry, but I think that's the best solution.  And it's my right to^ make
the decision."

She glanced up and was shocked to see that Cameron-- calm, easy-going
Cameron--looked capable of murder.  He shot to his feet, his rage trembling
beneath a thin veneer of control.

"Fine.  You go and do whatever the hell you want.  You usually do, anyway.
But do me a favor, okay?  Don't come back.  Don't ever bother me again.  I'm
tired of being a yo-yo.  I can't take it anymore."

He yanked his jacket from the back of the chair and| strode away, out of the
sun room, through the dining area,3; and out of Lauren's life.  This time, it
appeared, for good.  | J cameron drank an entire bottle of Meriot that night
with| out getting drunk--he only got heartburn.  And when he| woke the next
morning, a hangover greeted him.

"Not; fair," he muttered, scuffing to the bathroom.  If he was going to
suffer through a hangover, the least he could've donej was get a little
tipsy.  | He spent the entire morning pulling himself together.  He| gagged
down three aspirins, drank a tall glass of tomato juice and went for a brisk
walk on the beach.  It was cold--H twenty degrees or so.  Rime, edging the
waterline, cruncher underfoot, and the dry dune grass rustled with a sad,
sough ting sound as the wind blew across.  Cameron scanned the heavy sky,
sniffed the air.  A storm was moving in, bringing snow.  | He returned to the
cottage, took a hot shower, put 01 clean clothes and ate a solid breakfast.
By then his head had cleared, and so he sat at the table with a mug of coffee
reviewing all that had happened the previous day, replayiflj every word,
every gesture.

"You fool!"  he berated himself.  After a night ofcallinj Lauren every name
in the book and suffering bouts of emotionalism that covered every shade of
anger, regret, ha| and despair, he finally realized his mistake.  He'd
believe!  her.  | Cameron tossed on his parka, stuffed his big dumb b in a
watch cap, grabbed his gloves and headed out the d( This situation had his
parents' paw prints all over it.  Lauren wouldn't give up, least of all
something as important asj child.  She'd said so once herself--she didn't run
from' dens.

He tore up the driveway to his parents' rambling house and at the side door
came to a stop that caused the truck's front end to pitch.

"Mom?  Dad?"  he called, crashing into the kitchen.

"For heaven's sake.  Son," Clay said, sitting at the pine trestle table
across from his wife.

"Watch the furniture."

"What did you do to Lauren?"  Cameron demanded, breathing like a bull
confronted by a waving cape.

"Will you sit down and have some lunch?"  his mother invited.

He pulled off his hat and punched it onto the table.  "Which one of you got
to her?"

His parents stared at him blankly.

"Dammit!"  He grabbed a plate from the table and hurled it at the hearth.
That got their attention.

"Answer me or I swear I'll break every last thing in this house."

His mother gazed at the shattered crockery in horror.  "How can we answer you
if we don't know what you're talking about?"

"You know damn well what I'm talking about.  Lauren is going to sell Rockland
House and leave Harmony."

"She is?"  Pro pressed a hand to the base of her throat.  "I can't imagine
what led her to that decision, but it certainly wasn't us."

Clay picked up his coffee mug in two hands and half hid his face behind it.

"Wasn't she supposed to give the place to, um, her mother?"

"Her mother doesn't want it."

Clay mouthed a sad, silent

"Oh."  Pru sat up straighter, her eyes brightening with the implications of
that bit of news.

Cameron yanked out a chair and sat, planting his forearms determinedly on the
table.

"That still doesn't explain why Lauren would want to leave.  She's put too
much of herself into that house.  Besides, she's..  carrying my baby."

He watched carefully and with exquisite relish as his parents' color drained.

"Oh, my God!"  his mother cried His father rose, walked unsteadily to the
window and in a heavy silence stared out at the fine particles of snow that
were beginning to blow in from the northeast.

"Well?"  Cameron demanded.

"What did you do?"

His mother swallowed and tears sprang to her eyes "Will you please stop
accusing us of something we know nothing about?"

Clay glanced over his shoulder, his jaw clenched, his eyes dark with emotions
Cam couldn't discern but hopec were coming around to his side.

"If she wants to leave Harmony," Pru continued, "lei her go, Cameron."

"No, I won't."  God, he hoped she hadn't left already but after the things he
said yesterday, he wouldn't be surprised if she had.

"So you might as well just tell me what you did.  I'm going to find out,
anyway, one way or another."

His mother appeared ready to protest again, but Clay spun from the window,
and confessed,

"Your mother weni over a couple of days ago and told Lauren that if she
didn'i end your affair, we'd disinherit you."

Cameron felt acid burn in his stomach and spreadjB through his entire system,
right to his fingertips.

"I see," || he said with a calm that was remarkable, considering hcrt^
shaken he felt.

"It was for your own good," his mother offered.

"Anc if you don't believe me, just consider her reactidn.  As sool as she
realized you wouldn't be worth a fortune, she decided to sell the house.  She
only wanted you for yomB money.

For the briefest of moments Cameron wondered whether his mother wasn't right.
and then the shameful doubt fl "You're wrong.  Mother, and I've had about
all I cants of your idea of what's good for me."  He got to his f( picking
up his cap.

"There's one thing I need to know."  He paused, taking a deliberately slow
breath.

"Did you mean it?"  They couldn 't have.  He was their only son.  He was the
last Hathaway.

"Would you really disinherit me if I kept seeing Lauren?"

Clay glanced at his wife, his face etched with agony.  Pru returned his gaze,
her throat working.  Although they stood ten feet apart, they were
communicating, joining hands, closing ranks.  Ah, these parents of his!
Would he ever understand them?

His father sighed, his shoulders slumping.

"I'm sorry, Son.  We would."

it was december twenty-third, and Lauren should've been on the ferry hours
ago, on her way to spending Christmas with her family.  Except, the ferry was
berthed on the other side of the sound, all trips canceled.  Nothing was
flying in or out of the airport, either.  A nor' easter as bad as any she
could recall was bearing down on Harmony, bringing gale-force winds and heavy
snow that drove across the island horizontally.  She'd forgotten snow could
do that.

She watched the eleven o'clock weather report, hoping she might get out
tomorrow, but satellite pictures showed a storm of hurricane proportions
turning like a massive wheel over the ocean just off the coast.  The snow
would continue through the night and well into the next day.  The Cape and
islands would be hardest hit--eighteen to twenty- four inches, with drifting.

Lauren sat through endless live-on-the-scene newscasts from countless cities
and towns on the mainland: reporters describing road conditions, listing
cancellations, interviewing snowplow drivers.  None of the reports came from
Harmony, though, nor from any of the other islands out here.  They were on
their own, unreachable, isolated, taking the brunt of the storm and yet just
a footnote on the news.

Lauren turned off the TV and phoned her mother to let her know she was all
right.

"Snug as a bug in a rug," she said, not elaborating on how the wind was
howling or the snow was battering the north and east sides of the house.

"Do you think you'll make it home tomorrow?"  Audrey asked hopefully.

"I doubt it, but who knows.  Maybe by nightfall the air shuttle will be up
and running again."

After getting off the phone, Lauren switched on the outside spotlights all
around the house to watch the snow.  On impulse she put on her coat, but not
to go out.  Instead, she ran upstairs, all the way to the cupola, climbing
the stairway in the attic.  Four stories up and with windows all around, it
provided a spectacular view of the storm.

Lauren felt as close to the elements as it was possible to get without being
outdoors.  She only wished Cameron were here to enjoy it with her.  No one
she knew would appreciate it more.

Suddenly her spirits plunged.  For a moment she'd forgotten.  Cameron was out
of her life now.  She had succeeded in driving him away beyond her wildest
expectations, thanks to the way she had casually disregarded their baby and
refused to consider his marriage proposal.

Cam was gone and she'd better get used to the idea.

Oh, but it hurt.  She felt encased in pain, locked in unshakable depression.

Yes, it hurts.  But it's all for the best, she admonished herself.

Before long he'd find someone else.  TRi ere was no such thing as a "one and
only."  No such thing as meant- to-be.  Hadn't he been contentedly engaged
before she'd come along?  Of course he had, and he would be again,
eventually.  She was sure of it.  | And what about you, Lauren?  Will you
ever find anyone^ you can love as deeply as you love Cameron, anyone whw can
make you laugh even in the thick of an argument, transport you with his
stories, or turn you inside out with just a smile?

"What have I done?"  she whispered.

"Was I right?  Or wrong?  I don't know anymore."  But then, did it matter?
She had driven Cameron away, and nothing was going to bring him back.

Trying to get her mind off Cameron, she turned her attention back to the
storm.  Below, the wind-driven snow was already forming deep drifts.  Two
floodlights were aimed toward the water, and although their beams were snow-
filled, she still could see how huge the waves were, how they rode the ocean
like angry white stallions.  Below the bluff, the surf boomed with the force
of cannon fire.

Lauren remembered that the Lady Gray had foundered on a night such as this.
In December, too.  Oh, Isabel.  How did you ever survive?  Lauren shivered,
imagining the woman a mile offshore, clinging to ice-coated rigging, hearing
the cries of one man here, another there, as twenty foot waves curled over
the deck and washed them to their frigid doom.

Lauren gave herself a hard shake and went back to watching the storm, this
storm.

The spotlights below nickered off and on, reminding her there was bound to be
a power outage before the blizzard was over.  There always was.  That was why
most island homes had backup generators.  Telephones would probably go out,
too, making the island's isolation complete.

Lauren watched the storm awhile longer, but then the lights nickered again.
They stayed out long enough before returning to warn her she'd better get
down the steep cupola stairs while she could still see them and find herself
some candles.

That night, Lauren slept fitfully in Isabel's room, awakened now and then by
the keening of the wind, the icy snow slashing against the windows and the
framework of Rockland House creaking like the timbers of an old wooden ship.
Once when she woke, she got up and went to the window, filled with a strange
sense of expectancy.  But there was nothing to see.

Electricity had gone out for good soon after midnight, plunging Harmony into
a howling, swirling darkness, one that could easily lead a person to imagine
being cut adrift, not only from the rest of the world, but from time itself.

Lauren returned to bed, pulled the blankets to her chin and closed her eyes.
But a moment later she was sitting up again, watching the window, aware that
the scent of lavender in the room had intensified.

"Come home," she whispered.

"This time, make it all the way."

the snow continued to fall through the night and into the next day, Christmas
Eve.  But by midafternoon Lauren sensed the worst was over.

The wind had diminished to a level that at least didn't steal one's breath,
and the snow was falling lightly and intermittently.  Then, just as the sun
was due to set, the clouds lifted and rays of golden light streamed from the
west, turning the island into a glistening wonderland.

Lauren was running from one window to the next, trying to see as much of the
dazzling spectacle as she could beforat the sun set, when she saw the
headlights of a vehicle turning into her driveway.  She pushed a hand through
her hair, unsure if she'd even combed it today, then headpd for the front
door.

She was halfway down the hall when she recognized the engine sound of the
approaching vehicle.  She froze, her breath locked in her lungs.

Cameron?  | That didn't make sense, she decided as his parting wordS| echoed
through her.  Do me a favor and don't come bacM What was going on?

Don't ever bother me again.  What doeS he want?  / can't take it anymore.
Had he decided to murder her, after all?  Or challenge her to a custody
fight?  What was she supposed to do?  What stand should she take?  What
attitude?  She hadn't considered the possibility that he might return.  She'd
thought he was serious he never wanted to see her again.  She'd also assumed
she'd be long gone by now.  And why was she dressed in this silly red
sweatshirt with a Christmas tree and dancing bears on the front?  Could she
duck into the coat closet and pretend she wasn't home?  She didn't want to
see Cameron.  Oh, but she did, she did.  She actually ached from it.  That
was why she didn't want to see him because she wanted to see him.

Just when she was convinced she'd lost her mind, Cameron climbed to the
porch, stepping high through the drifted snow.  She saw him in glimpses
through the sidelights and realized he was carrying a package wrapped in red
foil.  A present?  For her?

He thumped the door knocker aggressively, then, shading his eyes, peered
through the sidelight.  Even in poor light and fifteen feet away, she could
see the determination in his face, the confidence in his bearing.  He spotted
her and, grinning, waved.

There was nothing to be done about it now.  Forcing one foot in front of the
other, she got herself to the door and opened it.  Standing in the cold air
pouring in from outside, she noticed with some curiosity that Cameron had
turned his pickup around and backed it to the porch steps.

"Holy sh-moly!"  she gasped.  Cameron hadn't brought her a present.

He'd brought her an entire truckload.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

lauren chdoed herself immediately.  "Why would Cameron be bringing her so
many presents?  Why even one?  Unless it was a bomb.  More than likely he was
on his way to visit friends.

Then again, why was his truck backed up to the porch?

"Hi."  He casually braced his arm on the door frame and grinned at her, his
eyes glinting.

"Hi."  Lauren gazed back cautiously, trying to conceal how desperately happy
she was to see him.

"What are you doing out in these conditions?  I haven't even heard the
snowplows go by yet."

He shrugged carelessly.

"The truck has four-wheel drive."

"Oh."  She didn't know what to do with her hands clasp them, pocket them, set
them on her hips.

"Well, come in."

He glanced down at the snow.  It reached to his knees.  "No.  I don't want to
get the floor wet Here."  He extended the present.

"Would you mind taking this ipto the parlor; for me?"  He chuckled when she
hesitated.

"Don't worry, it won't explode."  I Ah, great minds.  ;; Lauren accepted the
package, which was about the size.  of a microwave oven, but lighter, and
placed it in front o^ the Christmas tree.  Too bad the electricity was still
off, sn^j thought.  It would be nice to turn on the tree lights.

though the house had two generators, she was saving them to power the
furnace, refrigerator and freezer.

When she returned to the front door, Cameron was already waiting with another
box, this one slightly larger, heavier, and wrapped in candy-cane paper.

"What is this?  What are you doing?"

' "I'll explain later.  First I think it'd be easier if I shoveled a path
across the porch."  He returned to his truck, reached into the cab and came
out with a shovel.

"Much better," he announced five minutes later, handing her three more
packages.  Lauren's curiosity deepened.  So did her chagrin.  She'd bought
Cameron a present, an old navigational instrument he'd admired at one of the
shops they'd visited on the Cape, back when she'd believed they'd be together
at Christmas.  But it was only one item.

One.  If these were all for her.  No.  They couldn't be.  There had to be
another explanation.

Eventually, all the presents from the truck were stacked around the tree.
Cameron pried off his boots, shucked his parka, gloves and cap, causing his
hair to fly every which way with static electricity, then, in wool-socked
feet, padded into the parlor.  Lauren had lit three candles on the coffee
table and two more on the mantel.  They cast a warm golden glow over the room.

"Before we do or say anything," Cameron began,

"I need a cup of coffee, the hotter the better.  It's mighty cold out there."

"It'll have to be instant.  The power's out," she reminded him.

"Instant is fine."

Lauren returned from the kitchen a few minutes later with a steaming mug of
coffee, laced with brandy.  Cameron had laid kindling and logs in the
fireplace and was setting a match to them.

"Here.  This should warm you," she said, trying not to notice how much at
home he seemed.

"Thanks."  He took a few swallows, set the mug on the floor and continued to
prepare the fire.  Meanwhile, Lauren sat on the couch, wearing a bemused
smile and wondering, What is going on here?

Once the fire was crackling, Cameron rubbed his hands together and announced,

"Okay.  We can start."  He sat on the carpet beside the mountain of gifts and
waved her over.  His grin was part boy, part man, irresistible in every way.

"Cameron, at the risk of making a fool of myself--are these all for me?"

He considered the pile, tilted his head, stroked his chin, then said, "Yup."

Lauren's heart pounded.  She got up on unsteady legs and moved to the rug,
too.

"Here."  He handed her a small box, jewelry size.  "Might as well start with
this."

With fingers that shook, she tore off the paper and opened the lid of the box
inside.

"Oh."  It was a wristwatch.

"How... cute."  Not exactly her style--it was something a teenager might
wear.  In fact.  "I used to have something similar to this when I was... when
we were..."  She gulped, unable to finish her sentence.

Before she could remove the watch from its packaging, Cameron was handing her
another gift.  This one contained an hourglass.

"Oh!  How lovely!"  Lauren held it up, turned it over and watched the sand,
backlit with firelight, tricldfe from one crystal portion to the other.

Cameron removed the hourglass from her hands, nestled it back in its box and
handed her one of the larger packages.  Inside, carefully padded in bubble
wrap, was the banjo clock she'd seen in his cottage.

"Oh!"  she cried, except that no sound accompanied the exclamation.

She glanced up and saw Cameron watching her, his eyes warm and holding all
the love a woman could ever dream of wanting.

"I can't accept this," she whispered.

"Yes, you can, and you will.  It belongs here."

"No, it's too ... much!"

' "Sorry.  It belongs here, and I mean that literally.  It was Isabel's."

Lauren's jaw dropped.  Cameron leaned forward, placed a soft kiss on her open
mouth and handed her another present.

"No.  No more."  Lauren waved her arms like windshield wipers.  Tears were
already clogging her throat.

"Okay.  Then I'll open it."  Cameron ripped off the gold foil from another
small, square jewelry box and when he lifted the cover, Lauren beheld a
delicately filigreed locket, hanging on a fine gold chain.

"Gee, I wonder what's inside," he joked.  When he pried it open, she saw that
it, too, was a timepiece.

"I'm beginning to see a theme here," she said, her voice as tremulous as the
rest of her.

When Cameron reached for another package, she decided she'd had enough.

"No.  Stop.  I can't do this.  I don't understand what's going on.  The last
time I saw you, I thought I made it perfectly clear that..."

"That what?  You were going to sell Rockland House?  Give up the miracle
that's growing inside you?  Walk away from me and the best sex you'll ever
have in this lifetime?"  Grinning, he nudged her knee with his wool-socked
foot.  "Come on, Laurie.  How dumb do you think I am?"

Pretending she wasn't really coming unglued, Lauren assumed a pensive
expression and covered her pursed lips with her index finger.

"What are you doing?"  he asked.

"Still thinking."

"You imp."  He locked his arm around her neck and brought her tumbling
across his lap.

"Cameron, stop!"  she protested, struggling to sit up.  "I'm serious.

What's going on?  "

He sobered on a long sigh.

"I'm trying to tell you I was a jerk for blowing up at the restaurant the
other day.  I was an even bigger jerk for believing the line you handed me."

Lauren started to say it wasn't a line, but he placed his fingertips on her
lips and said in an admirable Bogart imitation,

"The jig's up, sweetheart, I had a talk with my parents."

"Oh, no."

Cameron nodded.

"I know about my mother's visit and what she said."

Lauren lowered her eyes.

"Talk about feeling like a jerk."  She groaned.

"I'm sorry.  I should've leveled with' you instead of playing games and
putting you through all that anger and worry.  But your mother warned me not
to.  She said you'd probably choose me over your inheritance."

"She was right."  Cameron lifted her chin with a caressing touch and gazed
into her eyes.

"I have."

"You wh-what?"

"You heard me."  His smile formed laugh lines at his eyes.

"They meant it?  They're going to disinherit you?"

He shrugged casually.

"That's what they say.  But if you think that makes a bit of difference to
me, you're sadly mistaken, Ms. DeStefano."  S "But the house, the land, all
the Hathaway businesses and investments."  She shook her head vigorously.

"No.  I won't have you giving them up for me."

"Sorry.  Too late."

"But you'll regret it.  You'll come to hate me someday."  | He held up one
hand to halt her, his face becoming serious

"That isn't going to happen.  Listen to me, Lauren | It is not.  So stop
this foolishness right now, and let's get on with opening your presents.
You're throwing off my timing."

Lauren wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her sweatshirt, then decided to
fetch some tissues.  Before the evening was over, she suspected she was going
to need them.

And she did.  There was a timepiece of some sort in every package.

Some were inexpensive, such as the functional radio alarm.  Some made her
laugh--the black cat, for example, whose tail was a pendulum and whose eyes
moved back and forth with each tick.  One, a futuristic steel creation, made
her scratch her head and wonder why.  Many, though, were old and valuable.
Among those, besides the banjo clock, were three mantel clocks and two more
for the wall.

With three presents to go, Lauren lost the last of her control and began
sobbing openly, unstoppably.  She leaned toward Cameron and clutched his
sweater in two fists, burying her face in its soft knit.

He rubbed her back, smoothed her hair, pressed kisses wherever he could,
murmuring, "Come on, sweetheart.  Only three more."

Lauren wiped her eyes and continued.  Somehow she got through the next two
gifts with relative composure.  One was a cocktail ring whose stone swiveled
to reveal a tiny watch.  The other was a crystal desk clock.

She was nervous opening the last.  Cameron wore an inordinately expectant
expression.  Slowly she lifted the cover, folded back the white tissue paper
and beheld the piece de resistance--a brass sundial already verdigris with
age.  The numerals were Roman, and around its perimeter was a quotation.

"What does it say?"  She lifted the heavy disk toward the light of the fire.
'"Blessed are..."  what?  "

'"Blessed are those whose hours entwine," " he recited without looking.  '"
Bless me now and say you're mine.  "" Lauren's eyes flicked to his, flicked
away, uncertain, hopeful, terrified.

"What a lovely sentiment," she choked out, her voice still stuffy from her
last bout of tears.

Cameron took the sundial from her, placed it in its box and enfolded her
hands in his.  Then, in the warmest, sincerest of tones, he repeated, ""
Bless me now and say you're mine.  "" Lauren felt another bout coming on.

"You can't possibly mean it."

"I do, with all my heart."

She began to cry again, and then laughed.

"I'm sorry.  It's the pregnancy.  Hormones all out of whack."  She wiped at
her eyes and laughed again.

"But what about your parents?  What about your inheritance?"

He moved closer and gathered her in his arms.

"I love you, Lauren.  I always have--never stopped--even during those years
we were apart.

And it's become fairly obvious that I'm going to love you all my life.  The
only thing I need to know is whether you love me, too, because if you do,
everything else will fall into place.  "

"Of course I love you.  And my bet is I'm going to love you all my life, too.
And maybe beyond."

Cameron cocked one eyebrow.

"Beyond?"

"Sorry," she said unapologetically.

"It's this house.  It can turn the most hard-boiled cynic into a romantic."

He hugged and rocked her.  She could feel his smile against her hair.

"Ah, Laurie, I wish we hadn't been separated those fifteen years.  I'd do
anything to have that time back."  He moved away, putting a few inches
between them.

"I don't know if you were counting, but there are fifteen clocks there."

Lauren bit her lip.

"One for each of those years?"

"Yes."  He framed her face with his hands, gazing deep into her tear-brimming
eyes with eyes that were brimming, too.

"I promise you'll never get another clock from me."

he teased, frying to lighten the moment.

"I'll be with you instead--if you'll have me."

Riding one last small wave of uncertainty, she said,

"Define 'have you."  " He grinned.

"You have a dirty mind, Ms. DeStefano.  That's one of the things I love about
you.  What /, on the other hand, had in mind was marriage.  Will you marry
me, Lauren?"

"But..."

"Uh-uh.  No more worrying about old hurts and grudges and reprisals.

That's our parents' problem, our parents' story.  If we cut it from our
lives, it'll lose its power.  If we put the past behind us, we can focus on
us.  So, how about it, sweetheart?  Will you be my wife?  Will you join me in
making our story turn out right?  "

Lauren cradled Cameron's face with unsteady hands.  "Looking at it from that
angle, I think I'd better say yes."

They leaned together, their lips meeting in a kiss full of promises and
dreams.  At that very moment electrical power was restored and Rockland House
lit up: Christmas tree, candles in the windows, spotlights on the lawn.

"Whoa!"  Cameron reared back, laughing and blinking with the brightness.

"Talk about timing."

Lauren gazed around the room, frowning in bewilderment.  She couldn't
remember the tree lights being on when the electricity went off.  In fact,
none of the lights had been on.

"I think Isabel approves of our decision to marry," she said.

Cameron laughed.  He had no idea how serious she was.

they decided to marry on New Year's Eve.  That seemed a propitious time for
new beginnings.  With only a week to prepare, they planned a simple home
ceremony with only the immediate family--if they'd come--and close friends in
attendance.

With Cathryn and Julia's help, however, "simple" turned into "elegant" in no
time flat, and when Lauren walked down the stairs at six o'clock in the
evenging, she was wearing an exquisite ankle-length gown of oyster brocade, a
harpist was strumming the wedding processional, and countless bouquets of
white and yellow roses scented the air.

As maid of honor, Audrey walked a few steps ahead of her, looking as
beautiful and happy as Lauren had ever hoped.  It occurred to her about
halfway down that this was the descent she'd envisioned the first time she'd
gazed at the staircase.  But what she hadn't foreseen was that she'd be part
of the picture, too.  The main attraction, actually.

Cameron was waiting for her in the second parlor, along with his best man,
Fred Gardiner, and the minister from the church.  Chairs filled the room,
arranged with an aisle down the middle, although when Lauren passed them, she
wasn't aware of any of her guests.  The only person she saw was Cameron,
dressed in a simple black tux.  His eyes locked on hers the moment she came
into view and didn't let go for a second.  Love radiated from his handsome
face.  But then, Lauren figured she was doing some fairly powerful radiating
herself.

The ceremony was simple and traditional.  They exchanged vows and rings with
gentle reverence.  When it was over and they turned to face their guests,
Lauren realized she'd never in her life seen so many teary faces at a
wedding.  '- "What's the matter with you people?"  she chided with a laugh.

Julia, sniffling and blotting her eyes, answered for everyone.

"I've never been so happy to see a couple finally married."

"I'll second that," Cathryn added, her makeup in total disrepair.

Audrey came forward first.

"Bless you two," she said.  "I know you'll be happy."  Lauren's sisters
gathered around next, sdll mopping up tears, followed by her brothers, who
thumped Cameron on the back and welcomed him to the family.  The rest of the
guests, including a proudly beaming Joe Giancomo, immediately left their
seats and surged forward, offering more hugs and congratulations.

Cameron's two uncles on his mother's side were among the well-wishers, along
with their wives and children.  Cameron had been deeply pleased when they'd
called to say they'd come.  His great aunt, Florence Hathaway, was there, as
well.  The only family members who hadn't responded to the wedding invitation
were his parents.

That was why, when he spotted them standing at the back of the crowd, he
needed a moment to believe his eyes.

"They came," Cameron exclaimed.

"Let's go say hello, then."  Lauren knew his parents wouldn't approach.  But
that was all right.  She was happy enough to make the concession and go to
them.

"We're glad you could make it," Lauren said graciously.

"We can't stay long," Pru replied, and immediately returned to pursing her
lips and studying the nearest wall.

Cameron didn't feel angry or hurt, and he certainly didn't feel guilty
anymore.  He just felt sorry for her.

He glanced at his father, hoping for a better reaction, but Clay looked ill
at ease, at a loss for what to say.  You could congratulate us.  Dad, Cam
thought sadly.  You could wish us well.  Wishes don't cost anything.

Lauren stepped into the silence with her usual poise.  "Please stay.

We have a wonderful meal planned.  It's being catered by the Surf Hotel, and
you have special places at the table.  "

Clay's embarrassment deepened.  He nodded and mumbled,

"Thank you.

Maybe we can stay a little longer.  "

Cameron slipped his hand around Lauren's waist.

"Well, we should greet some of our other guests."

They were already walking away when his father called out,

"Wait, Son," and left his wife's side.

"All the best," he murmured, extending his hand to Cameron.

Cameron grasped it and felt it trembling.

"Thank you," he answered simply.

Then, turning to Lauren, Clay said,

"You look lovely, my dear," and he kissed her on the cheek.

With a heavy sigh, Pru shuffled over and offered her congratulations, too.
She didn't smile, though.  Heaven forbid.

The table in the dining room, as long as it was, couldn't accommodate the
entire gathering, but the caterers had brought in extensions.  As the guests
sat to eat, Lauren leaned toward her new husband and whispered,

"Do you remember what this room looked like just a few months ago?  All the
dust and plaster and dangling wires?"

He chuckled softly.

"And how about the sawhorse tables?  Quite a difference, wouldn't you say?"

' "Mmm.  But you know what?  Even then it felt like home, especially when you
joined us."

Two hours and five courses later, after countless toasts and several
impromptu speeches, everyone finally rose for a much needed stretch.

The harpist was long gone.  From discretely hidden speakers came the sounds
of popular music instead--a tape that Julia had compiled especially for
tonight.  ,"

Standing partway up the stairs, Julia called for every- one's attention.

"Lauren and Cam didn't plan a dance for tonight, but I think it's a law--you
have to have dancing in order to be properly married.  Isn't that right, hon?"

With a face as straight as an undertaker's, Ben replied, "Absolutely."

"The chairs have been removed from the parlor.  All we need now are a couple
of newlyweds to lead with a first dance."

There was no getting out of it.  The rest of their guests applauded and urged
them on.  Cameron, with his hand at Lauren's waist, led everyone into the
double parlors.  The music started, and he took Lauren in his arms.

Neither of them recognized the tune from the opening bars, but enlightenment
came with the very first phrase.  It was the song

"At Last" by Etta James.  A communal "a- hhh" went up from the circle of
spectators who had gathered around them.  Cameron grinned ear to ear.

Lauren hid her tears against his shoulder and then made everyone laugh when
she sent Julia a thumbs-up sign while still sobbing.

At nine-thirty, it was Cameron's turn to call everyone's attention.

"Because it's New Year's Eve, Lauren and I have planned a special event, but
if you'll pardon us, we aren't going to wait till midnight to get to it.  By
then, we're hoping all you people will be long gone and we'll be alone."  He
waited through a spate of laughter.

"What we've planned is a bonfire.  But" -- he raised his voice over the buzz
of excitement "--that's not all.  Lauren and I invite you to join us in an
activity we think will make the event more significant, something we hope
will become a yearly tradition at our house."

Curiosity piqued, their guests listened intently.

"The idea is to write down on a piece of paper all the regrets you've
accumulated over the past year or longer-- anything you wish you'd done
differently or hadn't done at all that's made you feel sorry or angry--and
then take that paper outside with you, toss it into the fire and let the
feelings go."

"Oh, neat!"  Julia cried.  Others agreed, equally enthusiastic.

Lauren quickly passed out paper and pencils, and shortly the only sound in
the room was that of scribbling.  When everyone had finished, however, she
wondered if the activity had backfired.  Guests had become subdued, weighed
down by unpleasant remembrances.

Nevertheless they all donned their coats and went outside to the back lawn
where a fire was soon' blazing All of the wood had come from the renovation.
Lauren knew that some of it was original to the house, cut away when various
sections of wall came down.  She'd added those pieces to the pile in honor of
the Lady Gray and its crew.

Gradually, one by one, their family and friends tossed their papers into the
fire and watched them curl and char and eventually disintegrate into ash.
And as they watched, their frowns disappeared and became expressions of peace
and relief.

Clay Hathaway tossed in a page of regrets, as well, then lifted his gaze to
his son, standing on the opposite side of the circle.  And slowly they both
smiled.

lauren and cameron didn't really notice when the new year came in.

Lying in their big canopy bed, they were too absorbed in each other to care
about anything so trivial as time.  They made love and talked happily about
the future, made love and talked some more.  Much of that talk centered on
the baby who'd be entering their lives sometime next summer.

Snuggled against Cameron's side, her body languid with contentment, Lauren
eventually brought up the subject of the house and what they were to do with
it.  ^ "I'm open to anything," Cameron admitted.

"If you want to know the truth, I like your idea of having weddings here."

"I like your ideas, too--having house tours and fund raisers and such."

"However..."  He adjusted her so that she was tucked under him and he was
leaning over her.

"You once said something very wise, Mrs. Hathaway.  You said houses were
meant to be lived in.  How about we make that our top priority, just living
in it?"

"Are you serious?"  In the semidark she saw him nod.  "It's an awfully big
house.  Cam."

' "Not really.  In fact, we could even expand into the attic, put home
offices up there, an exercise room and a space for a pool table..."

"And what about all these bedrooms?"

Cameron grinned.

"I was hoping to fill them with kids."

"Oh, you were, were you?  And where do you intend to get these kids?"

"Well, see, that's the funny thing about us.  Given our history, I doubt we'd
have a bit of trouble making them ourselves.  What do you think?"

At that moment Lauren knew her life had come to full bloom.  A houseful of
kids, Cameron's kids, sounded like heaven.

"I think you may be on to something, Mr. Hath- away."

With a slight pressure to the back of his neck, she tugged him down, and they
sealed their dream with a kiss.

"Happy New Year, sweetheart," Cameron murmured.

Lauren wrapped her arms around him and held him close.

"Happy New Year to you, too, love."

the next issue of the Island Record carried an article about the various
festivities that had been held around Harmony on New Year's Eve.  A side bar
retold the legend of Isabel and John Gray; apparently witnesses claimed to
have seen the Lady Gray at a few of those festivities.

That wasn't an unusual occurrence on New Year's Eve when everyone was
drinking more heavily than usual.  However, this year's claims were a little
different from those of the past.  This year people claimed that the ship
wasn't sailing toward Harmony but away, and that it kept going until it
disappeared over the horizon.

Regulars to the Water Street Diner chuckled and shook their heads as they
discussed the article.  In homes across the island parents told their
children the story was just a lot of bunk.

Up at Rockland House, Lauren stood at a window in a room that no longer
smelled of lavender and lifted a hand in farewell.