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Chapter One

Charlie, you son of a bitch, you always did have a warped sense of humor. How the hell could you do this to me?

Joel Blackstone stood at the back of the tiny church and surveyed the cluster of mourners gathered in the front pews. September sunlight filtered down through the stained-glass windows illuminating the inside of the A-frame structure with a glow. The minister's voice was strong and surprisingly cheerful, given the fact that he was officiating at a memorial service.

"Charlie Thornquist was the most dedicated fisherman I ever knew," the minister said. "And that's saying something, because God knows I've done a pretty fair job of dedicating myself to that noble pursuit. But for me it was an avocation. A hobby. For Charlie it was nothing less than a true vocation. A calling."

At the minister's right, an urn rested on a wooden stand. The small brass plaque that hung on it was engraved with the words GONE FISHING. Inside the urn were the last earthly remains of Joel's eighty-five-year-old boss, Charlie Thornquist. Several photographs of Charlie with some of his prize catches were displayed around the urn. The most impressive was the one of Charlie with a marlin he'd landed off the coast of Mexico.

Joel still could not believe that the old bastard had ripped him off in the end. After all that talk of letting Joel buy him out in another year, Charlie had stiffed him. The company Joel had built from the ground up had gone to the daughter of Charlie's nephew. Ms. Letitia Thornquist was a librarian at some little midwestern college in Kansas or Nebraska or some equally foreign locale.

The hell with it. Thornquist Gear belonged to him, Joel Blackstone, and he was damn well not going to allow it to fall into the grubby little palm of some ivory tower type who didn't know a balance sheet from an unabridged dictionary. Joel's insides tightened with anger. He had been so close to owning Thornquist free and clear.

The company was his in every way that really counted. It was Joel who had poured everything he had into the firm for the past ten years, Joel who had single-handedly turned it into a major player in the marketplace. And it was Joel who had spent the past eight months plotting a long-awaited vengeance. But to carry out his revenge, he needed to retain complete control of Thornquist Gear.

One way or another, Joel thought, he was going to maintain his hold on the company. The little librarian from Iowa or wherever could go screw herself.

"We have gathered here today to bid Charlie Thornquist farewell," the minister said. "In some ways it is a sad moment. But in truth we are sending him into the loving hands of the master fisherman."

We had a deal, Charlie. I trusted you. Thornquist was supposed to be mine. Why the hell did you have to go and die on me?

Joel was willing to concede that Charlie probably had not intentionally collapsed from a heart attack before changing his will as he had promised to do. It was just that Charlie had a way of letting business slide in favor of fishing. He had always been good at that. This time good old Charlie had let things slide a little too far.

Now, instead of owning Thornquist Gear, the rapidly expanding Seattle-based company that specialized in camping and sporting equipment, Joel had himself a new boss. The thought was enough to make him grind his back teeth. A librarian, for God's sake. He was working for a librarian.

"For most of his adult life Charlie Thornquist enjoyed one driving passion." The minister smiled benignly on the small group. "And that passion was fishing. For Charlie Thornquist, it was not the actual catch that counted, but the communion with nature that accompanied each and every fishing trip. Charlie was happiest when he was sitting in a boat with a pole in his hand."

That was true enough, Joel reflected. And while Charlie had gone off to fish, Joel had sweated blood to transform Thornquist Gear from a two-bit storefront operation into a cash-rich empire, a young and hungry shark that was on the verge of swallowing whole its first live prey. Charlie would have appreciated the analogy.

Joel narrowed his eyes against the golden glow filtering through the colorful windows. He studied the trio in the front pew.

He bad already met Dr. Morgan Thornquist, thanks to Charlie. Morgan was a full professor in the department of philosophy and logic at Ridgemore College, a small private institution in Seattle. Morgan had been raised on a midwestern farm, and some of his past still showed in his sturdy frame and broad shoulders.

But nothing else about Morgan reflected his early years as a farm boy. He was in his early fifties and, according to Charlie, had lost his first wife five years earlier. With his bushy brows, a neatly trimmed gray beard and an air of academic pomposity, Morgan perfectly suited Joel's image of a college professor. Joel had nothing against Morgan. On the couple of occasions when they had met, the man had been gracious and civil. Joel respected intelligence, and there was no denying Morgan Thornquist was highly intelligent.

The same could be said of his current wife, the tall, ice-cool, very pregnant blonde seated on Morgan's right. Stephanie Thornquist was, by aft accounts, just as brilliant as her husband. Forty years old, she was a professor in the department of linguistics at Ridgemore College.

There was no denying Stephanie was a striking woman. Her features were patrician, her figure tall and elegant, even in pregnancy. Her silver-blond hair was cut in a very short, very sleek, very angular style that was at once modern and timeless. Her cool blue eyes reflected the same serene intelligence one noticed in her husband.

Having at least made the acquaintance of Morgan and Stephanie, Joel had a fair idea of what to expect from them. They were neither a direct threat nor a mystery. His new boss, on the other hand, was both.

Joel's gaze slid almost reluctantly to the young woman seated on Morgan Thornquist's left. He had not yet met Letitia Thornquist, and he was not looking forward to the experience.

From where he was standing he could not see her face very clearly, mostly because she kept sniffling into a huge hankie. Ms. Thornquist was the only one in the small crowd who was crying. She did so with some enthusiasm, Joel noticed.

Joel's first impression of the new owner of Thornquist Gear was that she bore no resemblance whatsoever to her stepmother. Instead of being tall, elegant, and blond, she appeared to be short, rumpled, and definitely not blond.

In fact, the thick, wild mane of honeyed brown hair was the first thing Joel really noticed about her. She had made an obvious effort to anchor the unruly mass in a severe topknot, but the entire affair was already slipping its mooring. Tendrils of hair had wriggled free of the gold clip and gone exploring on their own. Some dangled down the soft nape of her neck; others were darting playfully over her brows and curled down her cheeks.

Charlie had told him once in passing that Letty was twenty-nine years old. Charlie had also mentioned the name of the college where she worked as a librarian, but Joel had since forgotten. He tried to recall the name of the institution — Valmont or Vellcourt, something like that.

At that instant Letitia Thornquist turned around and saw him watching her. Joel did not look away as she peered at him through a pair of round tortoiseshell frames. Her eyes were large and curious. The little round glasses and the high arch of her dark brows combined to give her a look of wide-eyed innocence. It reminded Joel of the expression on the face of an inquisitive young kitten.

She frowned thoughtfully at Joel, apparently trying to figure out who he was and what he was doing there.

He realized with a small shock of interest that she had a nice full mouth. He also noticed that the jacket of her suit appeared to be rumpled, at least in part, due to a certain roundness of her figure. She was not the least bit heavy, he saw, just pleasantly curved in all the right places. There was a certain earthy sensuality about her. This was the kind of woman men secretly pictured in their minds when they thought of home and hearth and babies.

Joel groaned inwardly. As if he did not have enough problems on his hands. Now he had to figure out how to do business with a bright-eyed innocent who looked as if she should be toiling over a hot stove with a couple of toddlers playing around her feet.

On the other hand, he told himself encouragingly, if Letitia Thornquist was what she appeared to be — a naive midwestem librarian — he should be able to handle her. He would make her the same offer he had made Charlie.

With any luck Ms. Thornquist would jump at the chance to get rich in a few months and hop the next plane back to Kansas, or wherever it was she came from. There was supposed to be a fiancé in the picture somewhere, Joel belatedly recalled. He was sure Charlie had mentioned her recent engagement.

Joel was checking out her slender fingers in search of a ring when Letitia Thornquist turned her attention back to the minister, who was concluding the service.

"Charlie left this world while engaged in the activity he loved best," the minister concluded. "Not all of us are thus privileged. His family and friends will miss him, but they can take satisfaction in knowing that Charlie lived his life the way he wished."

Joel gazed at the urn. I'm going to miss you, you old son of a gun, even if you did throw a monkey wrench into everything at the end.

Joel watched with interest as Letitia opened her black bag, removed another large hankie, and blew her nose. She shoved the handkerchief back into her purse and tried to straighten her suit jacket with an unobtrusive movement. It was a useless effort, Joel concluded as he watched. It was obvious Letty was one of those people who could not put on a suit without having it look rumpled inside of five minutes.

As if again aware of his gaze, Letty turned around. With an odd rush of prurient interest that came straight out of the blue, Joel found himself wondering if she wore that same expression of intent curiosity when she was in bed with a man. He could just imagine her surprise when she reached her climax. The thought made him smile. He realized it was the first time he had done so in days.

"Let us all observe a moment of silence as we wish Charlie Thornquist an endless fishing trip." The minister bowed his head, and everyone else followed suit.

When Joel looked up again, he saw the minister hand the urn to Morgan Thornquist. The small group in the pews rose and started down the aisle toward the front of the small church.

Morgan and Stephanie paused to talk to a couple of the other mourners. Joel kept his eye on Letitia, who was reaching for another hankie. When she opened her purse, two of the large pile of used handkerchiefs popped out and fell to the floor. Letitia bent over to retrieve them from under the pew. The action exposed the curves of a sweetly rounded derriere. The movement also tugged her blouse free of her skirt band in back.

It was then that he decided Ms. Letitia Thornquist was going to be merely an inconvenience, not a major problem. On impulse he started down the aisle toward the pew where Letitia was on her hands and knees searching for the lost hankies.

"I'll get that for you, Ms. Thornquist." Joel came to a halt, bent down, and scooped up the damp handkerchiefs. He handed them both to Letitia, who was still crouched between pews. She looked up in astonishment and Joel found himself gazing down into a pair of huge, intelligent sea green eyes.

"Thank you," she murmured, struggling to get to her feet and straighten her skirt and jacket at the same time.

Joel stifled a sigh. He grasped her arm and hoisted her up. He realized she felt light but surprisingly strong. There was a healthy, vibrant quality about her.

"Are you all right?" he asked.

"Yes, of course. I always cry at funerals."

Morgan Thornquist ambled over, smiling. "Hello, Joel. Glad you could make it."

"I wouldn't have missed Charlie"s funeral for the world," Joel said dryly.

"I understand. Have you met my daughter?" Morgan inquired. "Letty, this is Joel Blackstone, Charlie's chief executive officer at Thornquist Gear."

Letty's eyes were brilliant with curiosity and a hint of excitement. "How do you do?"

"Fine," Joel said shortly. "Just great."

Morgan looked at him. "You'll come out to the cabin with us, won't you? We're going to have a couple of drinks and dinner in honor of Charlie."

"Thanks," Joel said, "but I had planned on driving back to Seattle tonight."

Stephanie walked over to join the small group. "Why don't you spend the night with us, Joel? We have plenty of room. That way you can join us for drinks and dinner."

What the hell, Joel thought. It would give him a chance to see just what he was going to be up against in the form of Ms. Letitia Thornquist. "All right. Thanks."

Letty was frowning thoughtfully. "You're my uncle's chief executive officer?"

"Right."

Her eyes skimmed somewhat disapprovingly over his black windbreaker, jeans, and running shoes. He knew the precise instant when she noted the absence of a tie.

"Were you in a hurry to get here, Mr. Blackstone?" she asked politely.

"No." He smiled faintly. "I dressed for the occasion with Charlie in mind. I worked for him for nearly ten years, and I never once saw him with a tie."

Morgan chuckled. "Good man. Charlie was always telling us how useful you were. He claimed it was solely because of you that he got to spend the past ten years fishing full-time."

"I did my best to take the day-to-day problems of running Thornquist off his shoulders," Joel murmured.

"I know you did. I'm sure you and Letty are going to work very well together, too," Morgan announced. "You two have obviously got a great deal to discuss."

"Dad, please," Letty said, "this is hardly the time or place to talk about business."

"Nonsense," Morgan retorted. "Uncle Charlie would not have wanted us to get maudlin. And you and Joel need an opportunity to get to know each other. The sooner the better. Letty, why don't you come on back to the cabin in Joel's car? You can give him directions, and the two of you can introduce yourselves properly."

Joel saw the uncertainty in Letty's eyes as she considered that proposition. He decided then and there that the best way to handle his new boss was to save her the difficulty of having to make challenging decisions all by herself.

"Good idea," Joel said easily. He took a firm grip on Letty's arm and started toward the church steps. "My Jeep is parked right outside."

"Well..." Letty's eyes darted quickly back and forth between her father and Joel. "If you're sure you don't mind?"

"I don't mind at all."

Just as Joel had anticipated, his own decisiveness seemed to make up Letty's mind for her. Clutching her black shoulder bag, she allowed him to draw her along in his wake.

No sweat, Joel thought. This was going to be like taking candy from a baby. Charlie had been just as easy to handle in his way.

Right up until the end, that is, when good old Charlie had screwed him over royally.

"Ouch," said Letty. "You're hurting my arm."

"Sorry." Joel forced himself to relax his fingers.

Charlie, you bastard, how could you do this to me?

Letty sat uneasily in the passenger seat as Joel drove the Jeep through the tiny mountain community and onto the blacktop road that ran along the small river gorge. She her purse firmly in her lap and slanted her new CEO an assessing sidelong glance. She was puzzled by the tension she sensed in Joel Blackstone.

Granted, funerals were emotional occasions, but this was more than the somber mood one would have expected at the loss of a boss. There was a restless impatience in Joel Blackstone. Letty could feel it. It burned in his tawny eyes and vibrated along every line of his lean, hard body.

He seethed with it, although he was masking it well beneath a layer of cool self-control. There was anger burning in him, too. Letty could feel it, and it sent a shiver down her spine.

Angry men were dangerous.

The sense of potentially explosive power in Joel was underlined by the fiercely molded planes and angles of his face. It was a savage face, Letty thought, a face that reflected the ancient hunting instincts that by rights should have lain deeply buried in a modern, civilized man. They were clearly much too close to the surface in Joel Blackstone. She guessed he was in his mid-thirties, thirty-six or thirty-seven, perhaps. Something about him looked and felt far older, however.

Letty was torn between a nearly overwhelming curiosity and an equally strong sense of caution. She had never met a man who managed to make her wary in quite this manner. It was a primitive sensation.

"How long did you work for my great-uncle, Mr. Blackstone?" she finally asked politely when the silence got to be oppressive.

"Nearly ten years."

"I see." Letty moistened her lips. "He, uh, spoke highly of you. Said you were very sharp. He thought you had a certain instinct for business."

"Yeah. I had an instinct instead of an M.B.A." Joel flashed her a brief amused glance. "He spoke highly of you, too, Ms. Thornquist. Said you were a bright little thing."

Letty winced. "I don't think Great-Uncle Charlie was very much impressed by academia. He always treated it with a sort of indulgent condescension."

"He was a self-made man. He didn't think too much of the ivory tower life."

"And neither do you, I take it?" With effort, Letty kept her tone polite.

"Charlie and I had a few things in common. That was one of them."

Letty pursed her lips. "Not exactly. I think you feel actual disdain for it. Charlie was not disdainful."

"Is that right?" Joel did not sound particularly interested.

"Charlie raised my father after my grandparents died. It was Charlie who financed Dad's education all the way through graduate school, you know. So you see, he couldn't have been completely disdainful of the academic life."

Joel shrugged. "Charlie believed in letting people do what they wanted with their lives. All he asked was that they leave him alone so that he could go fishing as often as possible."

"Yes, I guess that's true, isn't it?" So much for trying to ease the tension with idle conversation, Letty thought. She wondered what sort of woman Joel Blackstone dated. Surely if he had a wife he would have brought her to the funeral.

Whoever his woman was, she would have to be a very sensual creature, Letty decided. A man like Joel would want a woman who could respond to him in a very physical way.

Of course, she reminded herself, most men wanted that sort of woman. Even Philip, whom she'd thought would not be quite so demanding, had needed a more responsive woman. It was fortunate for all concerned that she had discovered that fact during their engagement rather than after the marriage had taken place.

"How long will you be out here on the Coast, Ms. Thornquist?"

"You may call me Letty."

"Sure. Right. Letty. How long?"

"I don't know yet."

Some of Joel's superficial control dissolved for an instant, revealing a hint of the restless impatience Letty sensed churning inside him. "What do you mean, you don't know?" Joel glowered at the narrow, winding road through the Jeeps windshield. "Don't you have to get back to that college where you work?"

"Vellacott?"

"Yeah, Vellacott, or whatever. Don't you have to get back to your job?"

"No."

"But Charlie said you worked in the library there."

"I did. Reference desk. Nearly six years." Letty gripped the dashboard. "Would you mind slowing down a little."

"What?" Joel threw her a scowl.

"I said, would you mind slowing the car a little," Letty repeated carefully.

"Your father's already pulling ahead of us. Nice car, by the way."

Letty glanced at the red Porsche convertible. it was moving swiftly, clinging to the twisting road like a limpet. Morgan had the top down, and Stephanie's silver-gold hair was secured beneath a white scarf. Stephanie looked good in white, Letty reflected. It suited her ice-maiden beauty.

"The Porsche belongs to Stephanie," Letty said. "My father drives a BMW."

Joel cocked a brow. "You sound as if you disapprove. Got something against nice cars?"

"No. It's just that it's a little odd to have a stepmother who drives a candy red Porsche," Letty admitted, "when the most exciting thing I've ever driven is a Buick. Please slow down. You don't have to worry about getting lost. I know how to get to their house."

Joel eased his foot off the accelerator. "You're the boss."

Letty smiled, pleased at the sound of that. "Yes, I am, aren't I? It feels very strange, you know."

"Inheriting a company the size of Thornquist out of the clear blue sky? Yeah, I can see where that might feel a little weird." Joel's hands tightened around the steering wheel. "Tell me, Letty, do you have any experience in the business world?"

"No, but I've read a great many books and articles on the subject since I learned that Great-Uncle Charlie left me Thornquist Gear."

"Books and articles, huh? You know, Letty, there's quite a difference between the business world and an academic environment."

"Is there?" She studied the scenery. Twilight came early in the Cascades, she noticed. The heavily forested terrain was already turning dark and mysterious as the last of the sun disappeared. She was accustomed to wide open spaces and gentle rolling hills. These wild, aggressive mountains were a bit overpowering. Just like Joel Blackstone.

"A world of difference," Joel said pointedly. "I don't know if Charlie ever mentioned it to you, but he and I had a sort of unofficial understanding."

"Did you?"

"I was going to buy him out in another year."

"Were you?"

Joel flicked her another quick sidelong glance. "That's right. Look, I know it's a little too soon to talk about it, but I want you to know I'm still prepared to go through with the deal. I'll continue to run the company for the next year, just as I have for the past ten years. Then, when I've got the financing in place, I'll cash you out. How does that sound?"

"The turnoff is up ahead on the right."

Joel's jaw tightened. "Thanks."

He slowed the Jeep and obediently turned off the river road onto an even tinier one that led into the trees. The structure of glass and wood at the end of the lane was a cabin in name only. By anyone's standards it was a lovely and expensive home.

"You can park behind the Porsche," Letty said.

"Nice place," Joel said, casting a knowledgeable eye over the sleek lines of the house. "I didn't know professors got paid enough to afford Porsches and weekend cabins like, this."

"My father is one of the country's leading experts on medieval philosophy. By temperament and training, he is himself a fine logician. My stepmother has written some of the most important papers being published today on syntactic and semantic analysis."

"So?"

Letty was amused. "So they are both brilliant analytical thinkers. It gives them an edge when it comes to making financial investments."

"I'll keep that in mind the next time I want some advice on the stock market," Joel said. He opened the Jeep door and got out. Then he started around the hood to open Letty's door.

Letty saw what was happening and scrambled out on her own. She did not want Joel getting the impression that just because he worked for her, he was expected to wait on her hand and foot. She had a feeling things were going to be difficult enough as it was between herself and Joel Blackstone.

Letty walked hesitantly into the gleaming kitchen and saw Stephanie at the sink. "Can I help?" she offered, already knowing what the answer would be.

"No, thank you, Letty." Stephanie smiled her cool, serene smile as she peeled shrimp. "Everything's under control in here. Why don't you go out and visit with your father and Joel?"

Everything was always under control with Stephanie. Letty wondered what it would take to ruffle the glassy smooth surface of her stepmother's glacial poise. "All right. If you're certain there's nothing I can do."

"I'll call you if I need you," Stephanie promised.

"Well, if you insist. What are you preparing?"

"Black linguini with shrimp and mussels."

Letty blinked. "I don't believe I've ever had black linguini. Do they use food coloring to make it black?"

"Heavens no." Stephanie looked startled. "Squid ink."

"Oh." Letty retreated from the kitchen.

Stephanie would not call for assistance, Letty knew, because she would not want anyone else in her pristine, orderly world. Too much risk of a mess, no doubt.

Stephanie was a gourmet cook. This did not surprise Letty, because she had learned very quickly that everything Stephanie did, she did with a high level of expertise. What amazed Letty about Stephanie's cooking was that she turned out truly exotic fare without creating so much as a ripple of disorder on the surfaces of her steel and white tile kitchen.

Morgan was talking to Joel near the seven-foot windows when Letty entered the living room. He glanced at his daughter.

"Ah, there, you are, my dear. We were just about to open a bottle of Yakima Valley sauvignon blanc. I think you'll like it." He turned to Joel. "Letty hasn't spent much time out here in the Northwest yet. We're trying to educate her palate — "

"I am told Seattle is a foodie town," Letty said dryly.

Joel shrugged. "I don't know about that, but we like to eat. And we like to eat well."

"So I have been given to understand. All right, Dad. I'm ready to try your latest discovery." Letty sat down on one of the white leather sofas. She noticed Joel stayed near the window, gazing out over the night-darkened forest.

"This one is a genuine find, I'm pleased to say." Morgan went to work at the small bar built into the far end of the living room. "Great depth and finesse. Very subtle. Quite sophisticated, actually."

"Sophisticated" was a word Professor Morgan Thornquist would never have applied to a bottle of wine in the old days. Letty was still coming to terms with the changes she was witnessing in her father.

Some of them were good, she conceded. He had shed the extra twenty pounds he had carried for as long as Letty could remember, and he'd given up his pipe. He looked healthy and happy, and there was a new spring in his step. There was no denying he was thriving out here in the Pacific Northwest.

For the most part Lefty was happy for him. But as far as she was concerned, the decision to start a second family at Morgan's age was taking things too far. She still could not believe she was going to have a baby brother soon.

"Here we go." Morgan drew the cork from the bottle with a flourish. "Excellent color, don't you think, Joel? Letty, let me have your glass."

Letty got up and handed her father the long-stemmed wineglass. Morgan filled it before setting it down on the lacquered Art Deco coffee table in front of the sofa.

"None for Stephanie, of course," Morgan said. "She won't touch alcohol again until after Matthew Christopher is born. How about you, Joel?"

Joel, who was standing near the window, studying the magnificent view, glanced at the wine bottle. "Any beer in the kitchen?"

Morgan smiled. "Of course. I kept the refrigerator stocked with Charlie's favorites. You know how he liked his Northwest-brewed beer and ale." He raised his voice. "Stephanie my dear, would you bring Joel a bottle of that good ale we picked up last month at that new brewery in north Seattle?"

Stephanie appeared almost immediately in the doorway with a bottle and a glass. "Here you are, Joel."

"Thanks." Joel ignored the glass and accepted the bottle. "To Charlie." He took a long swallow.

"To Charlie."

"To Charlie."

"To Charlie."

Letty took a sip of the sauvignon blanc and surveyed the platter of vegetables that sat in the center of the lacquered table. She was familiar with most of them, although she noticed one or two odd-looking items. She dunked a peapod in the dip.

"What is this?" she asked politely. "I don't recognize the flavor."

"That's a tahini- and tofu-based dip I whipped together," Stephanie said. "Do you like it?"

"Very interesting," Letty said. She moved on to a little dish of deep red spread surrounded by crackers. "And this?"

"Just a little something I make using sun-dried tomatoes. I'll give you the recipe if you like."

"Thank you," Letty said formally, aware that everyone was watching her with varying degrees of amusement.

"Do you like sashimi?" Joel asked a little too politely.

"Back home we bait fish hooks with sashimi," Letty said.

Morgan laughed indulgently. "Everyone eats sushi and sashimi out here on the Coast. Isn't that right, Joel?"

Joel nodded slowly, his eyes on Letty. "There are sushi bars on every third corner from here to Vancouver. And the corners that don't have sushi bars usually have Thai restaurants. But I imagine Letty prefers beef."

Stephanie looked immediately concerned. "Oh, dear, Letty, you aren't still eating red meat, are you? Nobody eats red meat anymore."

"Well, we don't eat a lot of raw fish back in Indiana, either. I read an article that said there's a risk of worms in raw fish. They cause a very unpleasant illness that can be extremely difficult to cure."

"Nonsense," Stephanie said as she started back into the kitchen. "Statistically, the chances of getting contaminated fish are extremely small if one is careful to eat in good quality restaurants."

Morgan looked at Letty. "Why don't you tell us what your plans are now that you have your own business?"

"Actually, I've been giving that a lot of thought." Letty paused to take another sip of wine. She could literally feel the seething tension vibrating close to the surface again in Joel. He had clearly gone on high alert. She realized with a trickle of dread that she had never been more aware of a man in her life. It was a very disconcerting sensation.

"Go on, Letty. Tell us what you've been thinking," Joel said softly, his eyes intent.

"I've come to the conclusion that I need to make a few changes in my life," Letty murmured. "This inheritance from Great-Uncle Charlie could not have come at a better time. It might almost have been fate. On the plane trip out here I decided not to go back to Vellacott."

Morgan looked astonished, but vastly pleased. "Well, well, well. I'm glad to hear it. You're not normally the impulsive type, my dear. What were these changes in your life that you made on the spur of the moment?"

Letty munched a sliver of toast slathered with sun-dried tomato spread. "I've broken off my engagement to Philip, I've quit my job, and I've decided to move to Seattle and take over the reins of Thornquist Gear."

The sharp crack of glass exploding on hard tile drew everyone's attention. Letty glanced across the room to where Joel had been standing by the window and saw that he had dropped his bottle of ale.

Joel looked up from the shards that glittered at his feet. His eyes burned like those of a tiger in the night as he stared straight at Letty.

"Sorry," Joel said very softly, his tone devoid of any emotion. "An accident. Don't worry. I'll clean it up."

Copyright ©1992by Jayne Ann Krentz