Cindy chose to be especially quiet the following morning as she worked in the downstairs conservatory. Not wanting a repeat of Flynn’s displeasure, she’d tiptoed around her bedroom as she’d dressed, then slipped silently down the stairs, knowing how to avoid the creaks in the ancient steps.

      Her night had been restless, filled with dreams caused by thoughts she couldn’t chase away. So she’d risen early to escape them, needing to lose herself in activity.

      Picking up a box filled with old photos, she started to put it aside. Then she glanced at the picture on top. Settling the box on top of the table, she withdrew the photo. It had been taken years ago. Her parents, Julia and herself. They were on vacation at Disneyland. Julia and their mother both looked pretty, smiling gracefully. But Cindy and her father were wearing goofy hats and glasses, wide, silly grins covering their faces. She eased a thumb over the slick surface, remembering the good times, the pain of loss that had faded, but never disappeared.

      Flynn coughed from the doorway.

      Startled, Cindy dropped the photograph.

      He entered, reaching down to pick it up before she could. “Nice picture.”

      She nodded, not willing to delve into her unreconciled loss. “Kind of early in the morning for reminiscing, isn’t it?”

      “I wasn’t actually. Just saw that picture and it brought back a lot of memories.”

      He looked at it again. “You and Julia were on different wavelengths.”

      Cindy swallowed the pain of that comment. “She was always more like Mother, refined, graceful, elegant.”

      “And you were like your father?”

      “I guess so. He was the adventurer—the one who wildcatted after the days of oil wildcatting were past. He liked to pursue the impossible.”

      Flynn’s gaze shifted between Cindy and the picture. “I’m not like my mother, either.”

      Never having heard much about his family, she wondered about them. “What was she like?”

      His face closed. Tossing down the picture, he shrugged. “Just a mother.” Then he glanced at the newly cleared desk. “What are you doing in here?”

      “Making a temporary office for you.”

      His eyes swept over the newly arranged room. “You didn’t have to do this—”

      “You’re beginning to sound like a broken record,” she interrupted. “You need a place to work in until you get the office space you want.”

      “I’m hoping to get that set up soon.”

      “Fine. I’ll need the room back after a while anyway. It’s one I use sometimes for one of my volunteer functions. And in the future it may be the permanent spot for the class.”

      He frowned. “Then why go to so much trouble?”

      This time she didn’t shift her gaze, instead meeting his. “It’s who I am.”

      He studied her, clearly baffled.

      But then that was the point. She’d always baffled and alienated him. And moving to Rosewood wasn’t going to change his impression. Only reinforce it.

      Chapter Four

      Two days later, Flynn pushed aside the sage-green sheers that covered the tall conservatory windows. Tapestry drapes that puddled beyond the woodwork onto the floor were tied back with thick, silky tassels. It seemed Cindy left no detail unattended. Two pairs of aged leather wing chairs were grouped beside a small fireplace. And a Georgian library table served as a desk, covered by neat stacks of his work papers.

      Like the rest of the house, this room was cozy. He was no decorator, but the furnishings she chose reminded him of older homes he’d visited in England and France. Even the landscapes and botanical prints looked as though they could be European in origin.

      It was restful, snug and casual, yet he itched with discomfort. He glanced down at the candy bowl filled with sunflower and pumpkin seeds. The house and the temporary office suited him no better than the birdseed she called food.

      From the window he could see the swish of a weeping willow in the gentle breeze. And across the street, an elderly gentleman handled his roses with the care usually reserved for rare orchids.

      A knock, so quiet it barely penetrated the thick mahogany door, reached him. He turned. “Come in.”

      Cindy, looking somewhat like a wary redheaded comet, poked her head in. “Do you need anything?”

      Flynn shook his head. “I don’t know what it would be.”

      “Enough paper? A snack? Maybe some coffee?”

      Although he appreciated her concern, he’d never been comfortable accepting help. “Cindy, I’m not accustomed to having someone make all my decisions for me.”

      She blanched for a moment. “I didn’t realize an offer of coffee constituted interfering.”

      Flynn drew one hand back across his hair. “That’s not what I’m talking about.”

      Her green eyes still looked stormy. “Then what?”

      He gestured around the room, overwhelmed and embarrassed by her generosity. “This. Everything. I didn’t ask for an office, but you produced one anyway. Even after I told you I didn’t want it.”

      Cindy’s fingers curled around the edge of the door. “You don’t have to use it,” she replied evenly. “After all, you’ve rented another office. If you don’t mind moving in there while they’re renovating, I certainly don’t.”

      The pull and tug vibrated between them.

      Suddenly half a dozen small footsteps thudded across the floor. “Cinny! Daddy!”

      As the triplets approached, Cindy turned, ending the immediate need for resolution. She knelt as the girls reached her. “Why don’t we go swing in the backyard? Let Daddy work.”

      “You’ve been taking care of the girls all day. Why don’t I take them outside?”

      “I want Cinny!” Beth retorted.

      Cindy glanced between Flynn and his daughters. “If your daddy helps you swing, I could