One of her young entourage was a girl who looked as if she'd just crossed into her teens. "I'm going to die of boredom here," the teen said. "I can smell the lack of cell phone coverage." She blinked lashes of beyond-natural length and thickness. "I'm probably going to get pregnant just for something to do."

Though Jane was somewhat alarmed when the teen turned to peruse the beach as if seeking out potential baby daddies, no one else commented on her offhand remark. Perhaps no one else had heard it. Griffin and the woman were already walking down the beach in the direction of his cottage, she hanging on to his arm while still carrying the little guy, who looked to be nine or ten months old. One of the baby's sandals slipped off his foot, and Jane swooped it up as she drifted behind them.

"Let's go," the teenager said to the remaining two. They were boys-five and six? Seven and eight?-and were poking at a clump of stinky kelp with a stick.

At the girl's prompting, the smaller of the two ran ahead, brandishing the piece of wood, while the other threw sand at his back, yelling, "Your face looks like monkey poo!"

At that, the teenager tossed a glance at Jane. "My life," she said in a theatrical tone.

"It seems adding an infant of your own to it would only complicate matters," Jane pointed out. "Cute baby b.u.mp to monkey poo? A blip in time."

Her extravagant eye-roll made Jane grin. It reminded her of- Griffin. Good G.o.d, was the brunette his ex? This tribe his children?

"I'm Jane," she said to the girl.

The teen slid her a sidelong look. "Of course you are."

Griffin's exact words! "What's your name?"

"Rebecca." She flung an arm in the direction of her presumed siblings. Four inches of braided string and rubber bracelets circled her wrist. "Those are my brothers, Duncan, Oliver and Russ."

Before Jane could pry more out of her, they'd reached Beach House No. 9. The entire party a.s.sembled in the living room, the two boys dropping to the floor to wrestle, Rebecca slumping onto the couch in another dramatic move, her mother pushing her sungla.s.ses to the top of her head and hitching the baby higher on her hip. Jane hung back, reluctant to enmesh herself until she knew more.

"Now, Tess," Griffin said. "What's this all about?"

Just like that, the woman burst into tears. The little one she was holding immediately followed suit.

Over the racket, Rebecca let out a gusty sigh. "Pregnant, I tell you. I'm definitely getting pregnant."

Her mother responded by pa.s.sing over the tearful little guy. Not a bad idea, Jane decided. Birth control by baby brother.

Griffin didn't appear affected by the woman's distress or the child's. He crossed his arms over his chest. "Tess, what the h.e.l.l are you doing here?"

"I've left him, Griff," she said. "I've finally left my husband!"

At the outburst, he groaned, offering not an ounce of sympathy. His hands ran over his head. "Geez, Tessie. This matters to me how?"

Tess's sobs redoubled. Jane could only hurt for the woman. Clearly she'd come to Crescent Cove without the expectation of rejection. Jane edged farther away, thinking she'd head to her own cottage.

Her movement caught Griffin's eye, however, and in two strides he had her by the hand and was towing her toward the crier. "I can't deal with this, Tess. And here's why. I've got a new lover now." He put his hands on Jane's shoulders and pulled her back against his chest.

His body heat transferred to Jane and pooled low at the base of her spine. She glanced over her shoulder, and his hands tightened on her. He focused on her mouth, and she felt it like a touch, her lips warming too. The company, the room itself, seemed to drop away, leaving Griffin's intense gaze and Jane's unsteady heartbeat.

Then, jerking his gaze off her, he cleared his throat and pushed her forward a half step. It left inches of cooling air between them. "Meet Jane."

The other woman sniffed, the back of her hand against her nose. She raised lovely, tear-drenched eyes to take in Jane, and then her gaze moved on to Griffin's face. "You've met someone?"

The heartbreak in her voice told the story, Jane thought. And as someone who'd been supplanted by another woman in a man's life, she didn't want to play this scene again, even from the other side. "Look..."

Griffin's hands found her shoulders again to squeeze a warning. "Honey-pie-"

"Chili-dog," she said, turning to glare at him.

"Honey-pie!" The woman-Tess-cried out. "Chili-dog! You really found someone!"

"Isn't that what you're always telling me to do?"

"When I was married," she started, sniffling back more tears, "it seemed like a good idea. But now that we're heading for divorce..."

Jane couldn't continue this way, deceiving this poor woman who'd apparently left her husband for Griffin, who in turn was exhibiting more than his usual detachment. "I'm sorry, but-"

"Jane." An even clearer warning.

Breaking free of his hold, she turned to shoot him a look. "Listen-" But her next words got lost in a loud crash. The little boys had knocked over a small table by the window. The base of a lamp was on the ground, shattered against the hard wood. The shade lay crumpled beside it.

The baby started wailing again.

As if she'd reached the end of her rope, Tess clapped one hand over her eyes. The little boys began shoving each other anew, putting more furniture at risk. Rebecca mouthed something-likely another pregnancy threat-and jumped from the sofa to hand her smallest brother over to Griffin. As the teen stalked out of the room, he held the child at arm's length, then turned to Jane in mute appeal.

"Oh, for goodness' sake." Helpless with his own children! Surely that had to be the case, that they belonged to him, because each one had his dark hair, and at least some of them his distinctive blue eyes, not to mention his ability to be appealing and get on her nerves at the very same time. She took the baby from him and jiggled the child as she grabbed the back of one little boy's shirt. It was a winning technique, because the other automatically followed as she led him down the hall. A small guest room had a TV and remote. She held it out to the larger of the two. "I a.s.sume you're familiar with this device?"

In a blink, it was s.n.a.t.c.hed out of her hand. In two, they were seated on the bed, their eyes glued to the screen. Private, the Labrador, appeared from somewhere and wiggled his way between them on the mattress. The show they chose wasn't a cartoon, and she could only hope it wasn't X-rated-a distinct possibility, she figured, in this house-but, given the kids' snarled domestic arrangement, maybe they'd seen it all before.

The baby was now snuffling against her shoulder and gnawing on his fist, so she headed into the kitchen, where she found a cracker. He pounced on it with a show of great delight. As he munched away, she returned to the living room, a box of tissues under her arm.

It appeared as if all was not resolved. Tess had collapsed on the couch cushions, her face in her hands. Griffin, the callous monster, had retreated to the gla.s.s doors, his back turned to the woman, his gaze resting on the ceaseless rumble of the surf.

Jane could only hope Rebecca wasn't out looking for a sperm donor.

Without a word, she took a seat on the couch and pa.s.sed over the tissues. Tess accepted them with a grateful glance. Then she dried her face. Once it was done, she inhaled a long deep breath and took the now-content baby onto her lap. "Thank you," she said, hugging her small son to her. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, but I had to get that out of my system."

Then her gaze shifted to Griffin, and she raised her voice. "I want to stay here with the kids."

He swung around, dismay-or panic?-written all over his face. "I didn't even invite you to stay for dinner."

"Griff-"

"Tess. I told you I have a lover. I'm with Jane now."

Not even for the chance to get this job and regain her reputation was she going along with a lie of this magnitude a moment longer. "I'm not his anything," she said, ignoring the fierce frown Griffin turned on her. "Believe me."

"Oh." Tess looked from her to the grim-faced man in the corner. "I don't understand."

"Though he said that we're together," Jane explained, "it's not true."

Tess blinked, and now that Tess's eyes were dry, Jane realized they were the same distinctive and bright turquoise as Griffin's. "That's fabulous news," the other woman replied.

Jane thought it was a little odd to be happy that your ex, the father of your children, had just been lying to you, but she figured Tess's hopes of getting Griffin back had been renewed.

"Because love's a crock and men are beasts," Tess continued in loud tones, and Jane could see from whom Rebecca had inherited her dramatic presence. The brunette sent a pointed look at Griffin. "Even my brother."

Brother?

Oh. Oh.

Now feeling stupid, Jane once again glared at the man in the room.

"What?" he asked with a look of aggrieved innocence.

But Tess snagged his attention by launching into her reasons for staying at Crescent Cove. "We need a break. The kids will love it here."

He shook his head right away. "There's no available cottage. Ask Skye."

Tess flapped a hand. "There's plenty of room in Beach House No. 9."

He definitely looked panicked now. "I need my privacy."

"You've been hiding from everyone for months," his sister responded.

"No. No, I haven't. Old Man Monroe jaws at me every day. And, uh, I have Jane here. We, uh, have a project to do."

Jane perked up at that. Her spine straightening, she pinned him with her gaze. "So you're committing to working on the book now?"

"As you've been telling me, I have a deadline to meet." He turned to his sister. "See? I can't have all of you underfoot."

"But we won't be any trouble," Tess said. "The kids won't get in your way."

Jane was no longer listening to the other woman, her mind already on the project ahead. She didn't rub her hands together, but she wanted to. "We'll start first thing in the morning."

"Griffin," Tess pleaded. "We need Crescent Cove this summer. Me and the kids. We need it for just a few weeks."

He looked from Tess to Jane, who had no trouble giving him the out he wanted this time. "You need to finish the book, Griffin. That's why I'm here."

His gaze shifted back to Tess, to her, to Tess again. Jane saw a calculating light enter his eyes. Uh-oh, she thought.

"All right, sis," he finally said. "You and the kids can stay."

She clapped her hands, and the baby did too. "Thank you."

"You can stay in No. 8," Griffin clarified.

What? Jane mouthed.

Tess frowned. "No. 8?"

"Yes," Griffin answered. "In No. 8, with my a.s.sistant Jane, here. Though I'll be busy with my memoir, I'm sure she'll be happy to a.s.sist you at every opportunity."

WORN PACK OF CARDS in hand, Private padding at his side, Griffin strolled into the small backyard of Beach House No. 9. Okay, skulked was a better term, because he couldn't deny the furtiveness of his movements. He stayed close to the side of the house and craned his neck for any sign of the occupants of No. 8. His property provided a view of a slice of the smaller house's rear patch of scruffy gra.s.s. When he didn't spy any rowdy relatives or rigid-spined governesses, he picked up his pace toward the nearby picnic table painted sailor-blue.

Once seated on its bench, he tucked in earbuds and thumbed on his iPod. The crashing chords and heavy backbeat of cla.s.sic Metallica poured into his head as he laid out yet another of his mindless games of solitaire. This was the second day in a row he'd managed to dodge his sister, her children and the woman he'd foisted them on. Or was it, he thought, frowning, the woman onto whom he'd foisted them?

He stared down at his cards for a moment, then cursed the stupid question circling in his head. d.a.m.n it! He'd always been lousy at the picky points of grammar and had accepted that fact. But now he was thinking like Jane. Or at least about Jane. Hadn't he been doing a pretty good job of avoiding that too?

With the heel of his palm, he b.u.mped the side of his skull, a little signal to his psyche to move on. For the past forty-eight hours he'd been in the best mood he could remember having in months-the kind of mood a prisoner might experience upon avoiding the electric chair-and though he was still behind bars of a sort, he planned on holding on to this good humor. After all, hadn't he managed to escape his sister, her progeny and the librarian, all in one fell swoop?

Two hands of the card game later, he saw Private jump to his four furry feet. On a groan, Griffin tugged the buds from his ears and quickly scrutinized the vicinity. He groaned again when he realized the one invading his privacy was none other than his elderly neighbor. "What do you want, you old coot?"

Though he was certain he didn't sound the least bit welcoming, Old Man Monroe sat down on the opposite bench.

Griffin returned his gaze to his game. "My dog was right here the whole time, and don't try saying otherwise."

"I'm not here about the dog."

"Yeah? Well, I'm not here to give you your daily senility check. Go home."

"Hear from Gage? Skye said you had mail."

At that, Griffin had to smile, even though he knew the postcard that had been delivered to the cove today-all correspondence addressed to the cottages went to Skye, who then distributed it to the residents-was more than a week old. Seeing his brother's distinctive block lettering pleased him.

"It was one of his own photos." For years, whenever Gage could manage it, he'd find a place that would put an image on card stock and send it across the country or across the world to Griffin. It had started as a friendly twin-to-twin taunt-photojournalist Gage bragging to his brother about the exotic places he found so thrilling. Now, when Griffin had nearly as many faraway locales and out-of-the-ordinary sights stored in his own memory banks, it was a tangible connection. Looking at an image his brother had found through his own viewfinder, touching paper that his brother had also touched, it was as if they were in the same room, at least for a brief moment.

"He's well?" the old man asked.

"As good as he can get, in the kind of places that he goes." Griffin thought about the child Gage had captured on that postcard, in apparent midgiggle. Dirty and thin, he'd still found something to laugh about.

Children had that gift. The thought gave him a guilty prod about his niece and nephews. Angry at himself for letting in the emotion, he slapped down a king in an empty s.p.a.ce in the line-up.

Rex Monroe shifted, straightening out his bad leg. Griffin didn't bother looking up. "Don't you have a date with The Golden Girls about now?"

"My cable's out. Entertain me."

Instead, Griffin decided to ignore him.

"I have the patience of Job," Rex cautioned after a few minutes had pa.s.sed.

"You mean you're a job. But not my job. Go hara.s.s somebody else."

"Maybe I'll find your sister, tell her you're sitting outside with nothing to do. Looking morose."

The threat put Griffin on his feet, startling Private, who let out a bark. He didn't want Tess or anyone else checking on him, d.a.m.n it. "I'm not morose."

"You're in a happy frame of mind, then?"

"Sure." He strode to the yard's narrow flower bed and bent over to yank at some weeds, as if he gave a s.h.i.t about them. "For your information, I'm in a very happy frame of mind."

"Huh," the old guy said, slyness entering his voice. "Does this happiness have to do with Jane?"