Expectations. Brenda Novak

he was climbing through the kitchen window.

      I should call the police. Jenna looked up the stairs, once again tempted to wake the Durhams. Breaking and entering wasn’t kid’s play. Mendocino had a low crime rate, especially during the fall and winter, but that was no consolation if she, Ryan and the Durhams joined the few who’d been victims.

      Judging from the movements she heard, however, the thief was nearly inside. By the time the police arrived, whatever he planned to do would be done.

      Jenna had a better idea. Pressing herself to the wall outside the swinging kitchen door, she tightened her robe and calmed her mind, seeking her karate instructor’s voice in her head. After three years of lessons and intense training, she’d earned her black belt—and she’d proved herself capable of handling even a large man the last time her drunken husband had come after her. Drunken ex-husband.

      The sound of the refrigerator door opening and the clink of bottles came from within. Then the crackle of cellophane, water running in the sink and a cupboard being closed.

      What was he doing? Stealing food? Snooping? Or looking for a stash of money?

      Finally she could hear him crossing to the door. Jenna’s heart skidded and bumped as her taut nerves threatened to leave her in a quaking heap on the carpet. During her encounter with her husband, her emotions had sustained her, but long-smoldering anger was quite different from fear.

      She raised her hands in a defensive stance. Whoever it was wouldn’t expect her. She’d have the element of surprise on her side. Except that this housebreaker seemed to think he had all the time in the world, which was partly what frightened her. Only a bold thief would be so careless. Or a thief with a gun.

      The door swung open, and Jenna reacted, refusing to give the man a chance to use any weapon. Slicing the air with her right hand, she landed a blow to the neck. Her foot rose almost in unison, kicking him squarely in the groin.

      He grunted and collapsed to the floor, curling into a fetal position.

      Jenna grabbed the vase from the table at her side and lifted it high. “Who are you and what do you want here?” she demanded, prepared to bring it crashing down on his head.

      For a moment the intruder didn’t speak. At last he wheezed, “I’m Adam Durham. My grandparents own this place. What the hell is going on?”

      Jenna’s blood turned to ice. Adam Durham! She hadn’t seen Adam since high school—and she didn’t want to see him now. Especially not rolling on the floor because she’d kicked him.

      Or maybe he deserved it for ruining her life all those years ago.

      “What’s happening down here?” Jenna squinted as the lights flashed on. Lyle Durham stood at the foot of the stairs, a concerned scowl on his seamed face.

      “Jenna, girl, you all right?”

      Jenna realized she was still holding the vase. Setting it back in its rightful place, she nodded and followed Mr. Durham’s gaze to the man at her feet.

      “Adam, what are you doing here? And what the devil’s the matter?”

      “Kung Fu here just kicked the shit out of me. What does it look like?” he groaned.

      The old man’s scowl deepened. “What did you do to her?”

      Adam didn’t answer. He rolled to his back and tried to catch his breath, giving Jenna her first glimpse of his face. He’d changed—she saw that right off—and all for the better. The rangy reckless boy she’d known had grown into a well-built man in a tailored business suit. With slick black hair that shone almost as richly as his leather loafers, he looked the consummate business executive. Except for his eyes, which still sparkled with mischief.

      Myrtle Durham, wrapped in a fuzzy pink bath robe that complemented her husband’s gray terry-cloth one, came down the stairs and peeked over Mr. Durham’s shoulder. “Oh, my! It is Adam. And he’s hurt.”

      “I thought he was a burglar,” Jenna explained.

      “And she didn’t stop to ask any questions,” Adam added with a glower.

      Jenna lifted a challenging brow. “Most men who climb through windows in the middle of the night aren’t paying a social call.”

      “But why didn’t you use the key?” Mrs. Durham asked. “I always leave one out for you.”

      Adam shook his head. “It wasn’t where you usually keep it, and I didn’t want to wake you.”

      “Nothing gets past our new manager.” Mr. Durham winked at Jenna. “Come on, boy. You can’t be too badly hurt. Jenna’s not big enough to cause lasting damage.” He offered Adam a hand.

      “Unless you don’t know she’s lying in wait for you.” Adam accepted his grandfather’s help. “A man with a Twinkie in his mouth isn’t exactly prepared for attack.”

      His voice, full of the same wry humor she remembered so well, made Jenna wince. She’d spent fifteen years trying to forget Adam Durham.

      It felt as if it hadn’t been a day.

      “Look at you,” his grandfather said when Adam stood, towering half a foot above the older man. “You grow taller every time I see you. What’s it been, two years?”

      Frowning, Adam slapped the dust off his suit pants. “I’ve been six-two for ten years, Pop. You say that every time I come here. Besides, you know it’s only been four months since my last visit.”

      “Four months, two years—it’s the same to an old man with no other family. Did you get tired of all that talking in court and decide to move home, like you should’ve done a long time ago?”

      Seeming to recover his aplomb, Adam chuckled and ran a hand through his thick hair. “No, Pop. I’m still a lawyer, still living in San Francisco. I just had some time this week and thought I’d come for a stay.”

      “That means you’ll be on the phone till you leave.”

      “Lyle!” Myrtle brushed past her husband to give her grandson a hug.

      Adam returned the hug, lifting the short plump woman off her feet. Then he released her and pulled off his already loosened tie. Jenna assumed his jacket had been removed before his climb through the window and pictured it draped across the passenger seat of—what kind of car would he own now? Certainly nothing like the beat-up Chevy they used to drive everywhere, back when they were high-school sweethearts.

      “I won’t make a single call. Promise.” He crossed his heart, drawing Jenna’s attention lower. She’d tried not to notice the other marked changes in him, but now she couldn’t stop looking. Adam was no longer a gangly eighteen-year-old. He was a man, and he had the body to prove it. The white shirt he wore, unbuttoned at the neck, covered shoulders broad enough to fill a doorway, a lean waist and arms contoured with well-defined muscle.

      “What’s she doing here? And where’s my old buddy Dennis?” he asked.

      His use of the third person and his emphasis on Dennis’s name told Jenna he hadn’t yet forgiven her for the kick to his groin. And that he felt as uncomfortable around her as she did him. They hadn’t parted on the best of terms. The minute he’d graduated from high school, he’d broken up with her, saying he wanted the freedom to pursue a career. She’d retaliated by saying she was going to marry his best friend, who had chased her for years. They’d fought, Adam had gone off to college, and she hadn’t seen him since.

      Unfortunately, when she graduated a year later, she’d followed through with her threat to marry Dennis.

      “She has a voice,” Jenna answered, telling herself she wasn’t the same person she’d been back in those days—lost and vulnerable because her mother and stepfather had just died in a car accident and her real father had rejected her yet again. She’d been through a lot to toughen her up since.

      “Dennis and I are divorced.” She