Man With A Message. Muriel Jensen

thought the house was, how warm and welcoming after his cramped apartment behind the fire station.

      “We’ll put a balloon payment at the end,” Hank said, “and by then you’ll be a well-known developer. Since you have plans to save our colonial charm rather than replace it with malls and movie-plexes, you’ll be popular and make big bucks.”

      “That’s a little optimistic.”

      “It never hurts to think positive.” Hank took his hand and slapped the key into it. “Even though that hasn’t been your experience in the past. You have control now. You’re not dependent upon neglectful parents, and you don’t have to worry about a selfish wife. Do what you want to do.”

      Cam was touched by his concern and grateful for his support. “You’re pretty philosophical for a NASA engineer-turned-electrician. You didn’t get zapped tonight while standing in all that water, did you?”

      “No.” Hank grinned and braced his stance as Fred came running back to them. “I’m charged on life, pal…charged on life. Oof! Go look at the house. Fred needs room to run. And someday you’ll want to think about getting married again and having children.”

      Well, he was right about Fred needing room to run, anyway. Cam closed the dog in the car, said good-night to Hank and the cleaning crew still working, waved at Haley, who photographed them, then headed for home. But somewhere along the way he took a turn toward Maple Hill Lake and Hank’s house on the less-populated far side of it.

      He pulled off the road onto a private drive that led through a high hedge, and into the driveway of the two-story split-level. He would look through it as Hank suggested, get the notion of buying it out of his system. Then he could just settle down, keep working and going to school so that he could finally achieve the goal for which he’d come here. He wanted an MBA behind him before he bought the old Chandler Mill outside of town and turned it into office space and apartments.

      He’d talked to Evan Braga about it, and he thought the idea was sound. Braga was another of Hank’s men who did painting and wallpapering, and sold real estate on the side. He’d been a cop in Boston and had come to Maple Hill for the same reason Cam had—to start over. He hadn’t said why and Cam hadn’t asked.

      Anyway…if he was going to buy a house in Maple Hill, it should be one of the classic salt boxes or Georgians that were such a part of the area’s history.

      But he loved this house. From the moment he’d arrived at Hank’s party all those months ago, he’d felt as if the house had a heartbeat.

      He let himself in and flipped on the light in the front room. Fred stayed right beside him intimidated by the new surroundings. As Cam walked from room to room, he became aware of details he hadn’t noticed before. The master bedroom had a fireplace that was also open to the bathroom, which had two sinks and vanities, a sunken tub and greenery growing all around it. It was probably what a Roman bath would have looked like. He could imagine lying in the tub after a particularly grueling and dirty day in the pipes, and being warmed by a real fire. Here was a tendency toward hedonism he didn’t even realize he had. Each of the three bedrooms upstairs had a private bath.

      He walked back downstairs to look around outside and Fred went wild, running through the tall grass that rimmed the lake, chasing imaginary quarry in the dark. He stopped to sniff the air and bark his delight to the woods across the road.

      The property spread for five acres in both directions, and except for Fred’s footsteps, there was nothing but the sound of insects. The natural perfume of the dark quiet night took his breath away.

      A broad deck ran all around the house, and Cam remembered Hank saying that when he’d bought the place, he’d anticipated having barbecues and inviting his friends. But Whitcomb’s Wonders had been more successful than even he’d imagined, and family life had kept him too busy.

      Cam looked at the covered gas grill in a corner of the porch, and the wide picnic table beside it. “I could have the guys over for a barbecue,” he thought aloud. He could get a small boat and go fishing.

      As a child, he’d never been able to bring anyone home because of the unpredictable condition of his parents. He’d dreamed of inviting friends over, hosting parties, having a Christmas open house the way his friends’ parents did.

      A curious hopefulness stirred in the middle of his chest. He could do that here. He could…maybe…someday…give some thought to getting married again, having a family.

      “Oh, whoa!” he said to himself.

      Fred, hearing the command and thinking it applied to him, came racing back. Cam caught him as he jumped against his chest.

      “I’m getting carried away here, Fred,” he said, going back to the front door to make sure he’d locked it. “That’s the trouble with having a cold, grim childhood and a selfish wife. You get a glimpse of warmth and happiness and you become this greedy monster, wanting more and more.”

      Fred raced around his legs, apparently seeing nothing wrong with that.

      Cam tested the doorknob and, finding it secure, led the way back to the truck and the little apartment behind the fire station. So he had cardiac arrest every time the alarm went off. He was learning to live with it.

      He didn’t need the house. And so far his life had taught him that you didn’t always get what you needed, much less what you wanted.

      CHAPTER FOUR

      THE ALARM SHRIEKED in Cam’s ear. Without moving his head from the pillow, he reached out to slam it off.

      Blessed quiet.

      He’d finally gone to bed at 4:00 a.m. and set the alarm for seven. There was too much to do at the school today to allow for eight hours’ sleep. But certainly he could steal another fifteen minutes.

      Fred, however, had other plans. The Lab, awake at the foot of the bed and waiting for the smallest sign that Cam was awake, leaped onto his chest and bathed his face with dog kisses.

      Cam tried to push him away, but he was weak after the all-night session and the measly three hours’ sleep. The dog plopped down on top of him and chewed on his chin.

      Cam knew if he didn’t get up he’d be eaten. It would be done with affection, but he’d be eaten.

      “Okay, Fred, that’s enough,” he said calmly but firmly, pushing the dog off.

      He sat up to swing his legs over the side of the bed just as Fred decided he’d cooperated long enough and it was time for some serious extreme wrestling. Growling, large mouth open in what Cam thought of as his alligator mode, Fred attacked.

      Cam’s body, unfortunately aimed toward the edge of the bed, went over the side, dog atop him and gleefully pretending to kill him.

      MARIAH HEADED FROM THE CAR where Parker waited, along the little walkway to the stairs that led up to Cameron Trent’s apartment. She’d awakened this morning determined to apologize to the man who’d given her mouth-to-mouth resuscitation and been slapped for his efforts.

      Provided the man was Cameron Trent. And provided he would even want to listen to her. She intended to reassure him quickly that she would take only a moment of his time, then she would never darken his doorway again.

      She climbed the stairs, rehearsing her little speech. “Mr. Trent, I apologize for slapping you. I thought you were my…” No. That was too much information.

      “Mr. Trent, I apologize for slapping you. I was in a sort of dream state and your lips were…” No, no! Too revealing of feelings she didn’t understand and he was bound to misinterpret.

      “Mr. Trent, I’m sorry I hit you. I awoke to see a stranger leaning over me and I…I…”

      Okay, get it straight! She told herself firmly. Don’t stammer like an idiot. Maybe a simple “I’m sorry.” He’d know what she was sorry about, so there was little point in belaboring why it had happened.

      She