"You're describing a different child."

"I know. Clara died and Bridget stopped laughing. Stopped looking at me. True, she said she loves you, but in the attic, she called me Papa Gabe, Suttie said, and frankly that's the best I've had from her in months." He ran a hand through his hair. "I think she blames me for her mother's death."

"Oh Gabriel, no." Jacey had never wanted to comfort him more, the urge so strong, and dangerous she stepped back. "She's confused. She'll be happy again soon."

"If you stay, maybe. One day with you and she's more herself." He turned away, ran a hand through his his hair, and turned back, as if he didn't know where to put himself. "It's good to discuss her with you." He sighed. "I'm thanking you; this has been a good day for me, too."

"Gabriel Macgregor, this is the most you've ever said to me."

He looked sheepish. "Wait till you hear one of my sermons. Stay, Jace. For as long as you want."

"There'll be talk."

"To the devil with talk."

"It'll begin sooner than we think. Nick Daventry is home from America."

Twelve.

Nick Daventry. Even the cadence of the name dogged Gabriel. If he lived to be a hundred, he'd never forget Jacey's words to him on the day he'd gone to confess his paternity to her mother.

"It's not yours, Gabriel," Jacey said, waylaying him in the parlour. "Nick Daventry is my baby's father."

In that first horrific moment, her words might have been an axe blade in his back. From that day to this, Gabe wanted Nicholas "bloody" Daventry to go straight to hell.

Now he was back. He should have stayed in America, but as Jace's distant cousin, he'd come home to inherit Lockhart Keep, after the death of his brother, who inherited in Jacey's place, because her mother had disowned her.

He'd always suspected the woman would have ruined him, if Jace's babe had been his. Give him sheep for company; they were easier than his flock to deal with. He would be happy with a parish, any parish, or simply a farm, and Bridget and Jacey.

To hell with everyone else. Well, Mackenzie. He guessed he'd take her, too, the nosy old thing.

When he got home that afternoon, the best parlour looked like a family of squirrels had danced the highland fling. In the doorway, he stepped on something hard, the arm of an ugly French figurine that belonged to his grandmother.

Mackenzie, sweeping up its remains by the hearth, didn't notice him. Neither did anyone else.

Gabriel relaxed at the sight of Jacey's head tucked beneath the camel-back settee, her gown, one of Clara's, had crinolines that bobbed in the air, affording him a lovely view of her sweet backside.

Never before had lust, tenderness, and the urge to chuckle overcome him at one and the same time.

"Can you see it?" Jacey called.

"I can, almost, but it's wiggling a lot," Cricket said, from behind that piece of furniture.

"You have it, then?"

"Ouch. Not anymore."

"Where did it go?"

"Up. Inside."

Jacey's petticoats quivered, from shock or laughter, he didn't know. Before they finished their flutter, Jace backed out and sat on her knees, hands on hips. "Bridget Macgregor, are you saying your kitten disappeared into the sofa stuffing!"

What kitten?

Cricket came tottering into sight on high heels thrice her size, trailing a god-awful green dress and red boa, wearing a straw hat his mother once favoured. From its brim, dangled a clump of berries, and a moulting bluebird.

Gabriel cleared his throat.

Bridget and Jacey looked up, both with stunned surprise. Mackenzie grumbled louder, so Gabe confiscated her broom. "See to dinner," he said. "We'll clean up in here."

Gabriel turned back to the two people he loved most in the world. One would rather step around him as look at him. The other was bound to break him for good one of these days, especially if she discovered his lingering love. Still, there was no changing destiny.

He sat and crooked a finger to bring his comically adorable wee one over to him. And Cricket must actually have looked at him long enough to catch his summons, because she obeyed.

"Lovely dress," he said.

Her doe eyes came alive. "It's Mama's. Myjacey made it smell like the water meadow again." Bridget shoved her arm under his nose, so he sniffed it, nodded, and kissed her elbow. "Did you say, 'Myjacey?'" He looked at her and felt a rush of love he so strong, he had to clear his throat. "Haven't you noticed, Cricket, that everybody else calls her Jacey?"

Bridget nodded. "Mama called her that, but Nanny Mac called her Myjacey the day we met, and I like it ever so much better."

Jacey sent him a plea with her look, and a similar rush of love for her engulfed him. For a bold minute, he let it show, but Jace sat, as if enticed by it but ruling it a danger.

He knew exactly how she felt.

"Can I call you Myjacey?" Bridget asked, standing before Jace, undoing a bodice button or three, shyly waiting for her aunt's answer.

"Of course you can, sweetheart." Jace smiled at his daughter's plea, her cheeks like the rosebuds marching across the bit of chemise Cricket revealed. "Myjacey can be your special name for me, like Cricket is your papa's pet name for you."

Bridget gave him a nod, as if to say, "I told you", the way Jacey the brat had tended to do. Had Bridget learned it? Or was prideful stubbornness a Lockhart trait?

"Tell me about the kitten," Gabe said, to distract himself from Jace's open dress.

"Suttie gave it to me." Bridget sighed. "But it dist-appeared."

"No, it didn't," he said, not quite pleased to report. Gabe joined Jace on the settee and pointed to the padded back where the outline of two wee paws pushed on the fabric from inside.

"Oh, my, God," Jacey said. "We have to take the sofa apart."

Gabe sighed. "I knew you'd say that." He removed his jacket, waistcoat and collar, and rolled up his sleeves. Then he sat on the floor with his girls.

Two hours later, the sofa back flipped over the front, Bridget cuddled a wee white, blue-eyed kitten, trying to catch either bobbling hat berries or a bald bird.

Jacey massaged his back, because after sitting so long like a pretzel he couldn't straighten. "You're getting old," she said, working his spine.

He liked her hands so much, he wondered how to get a back kink tomorrow. "If I'm old, you're old."

"You'll always be older than me by three years."

Mackenzie stopped in the doorway and gasped. "You were going to clean up. It's thrice as messy."

"Er, have I come at a bad time?"

"Nick!" Jacey shot to her feet.

Gabe saw her skirt was stained with Eccles cake, her bodice splattered with jam, and he stopped her to re-button her dress.

Jace raised a brow. He'd known for hours that Bridget didn't button her up. "Your back got better fast." She turned to Nick. "I'm sorry I'm a mess."

Daventry smiled. "You never looked more beautiful."

Gabe placed a posessive hand on Jacey's shoulder.

"Is dinner still at eight?" Daventry asked.

"Oh, Lord," Jacey said. "I forgot I invited you."

Thirteen.

Bridget's first dress-up tea party monologue made dinner less awkward.

"Bridget, you're eating too fast," Jacey said.

"I'm hungry. Lydia said our pig should not be Lady Cowper. We should call our cow that. Do you think so, Papa ... Gabe?"

Jacey caught his pleasure at being directly addressed. "I think our pig is happy with her name. Though we could call them the Ladies Cowper and Pigger."

Cricket's eyes widened and Jace decided he and Bridget needed to play more.

"How can you be hungry," Mac asked. "After all those tea party sweets?"

Bridget dropped her fork.

"Bath time, lovey," Mac said. "Then bed. Wee lady's had a long day."

Gabe followed them up, and Jacey took Nick into the secondbest parlour.

"Bridget's sick," Gabriel said from the doorway, a minute later, his look thunderous. "She's crying for you."

Jacey looked from one to the other, shrugged and left the room.

"I'll show you out," Gabriel said to Nick as she took the back stairs.

He caught up with her at the top.

"What did you do, shove him out the door?"

"I said goodbye."

Bridget raised her arms. "Myjacey, my tummy hurts."

"We've got her Nanny," Jacey said. "Go to bed."

"If this was a parlour needed cleaning," Nanny grumbled, "I wouldn't, but I expect you two can manage this one."

Bridget wasn't well enough to undo his buttons. Bad sign.

Gabe caught her watching him undo his cuffs. He quirked a brow, but she didn't turn away. He settled in the way she liked him best, collar in his pocket, sleeves rolled up.

Something about him, dressed, or undressed, in that "at home" way, made Jacey want to curl up in his arms before a fire and comb her fingers through the hair at his nape.

"Myjacey!" Bridget placed her hands on either side of Jacey's face.

"I'm sorry, sweet, what is it?"

Bridget was sick.

Jacey gave her a bath and Gabriel changed her bed.

Jacey stroked Bridget's fevered brow. "She's sound asleep. Go to bed. I'll stay with her."

Gabriel shook his head. "I'll wash and change, and when I get back, you change. We're, neither of us, sweet and fresh right now." He nodded. "Go on."

After washing, Jacey left her hair loose down her back.

This time, she tied the ribbons beneath her breasts on the buttercup silk robe a bit tighter, and pinched her cheeks, before she left her room.

When she returned, approval leapt in Gabe's eyes as he went out to change.

Jacey checked Bridget's brow, pulled up her covers and opened the window.

She wondered where to go from here when Gabe came back in. He wore a black brocade dressing gown, and if she thought he looked good in shirtsleeves ...

He gathered her in his arms and came for her mouth with the same greedy hunger he'd shown the day he came home from the seminary.

Jacey embraced the perfection of his kiss. His big hands explored, as if he didn't have enough time to learn her, again.