Cathryn. Shannon Waverly

later, and Tucker had respected that. Also, her parents and the Langs were neighbors. They did what good neighbors do—traded news and recipes and tools, and lent each other help whenever it was needed. For some odd reason, that bond seemed to affect Tuck’s attitude toward Cathryn. That, and his being four years older. When he wasn’t ignoring her, which he often did, he unfailingly treated her like a kid sister, someone meant to be endured and occasionally protected, but not seduced.

      But even if he had hit on her, she was positive nothing would’ve come of it, because, quite frankly, the appeal of Tucker Lang, bad boy extraordinaire, was lost on her. Although other girls had swooned over his dark eyes and rugged unshaven jaw, Cathryn had much preferred Dylan’s blond and blue-eyed all-American looks. In fact, Tucker’s aggressive demeanor had sometimes scared her, and his behavior had positively turned her off.

      She didn’t find Tucker Lang exciting or irresistible, the way other girls did. Cathryn’s idea of irresistible took the form of respect, loyalty, industriousness and being family-oriented, all of which Dylan possessed in spades. Rather, she considered Tucker confused, immature and pitiable, and the girls who allowed him to use them were fools.

      Slowing her van for the stop sign at Four Corners, a central marker on the fifteen-square-mile island, Cathryn’s rambling remembrances also came to a stop, and she realized with some annoyance that she’d spent an unwarranted amount of time thinking about Tucker Lang today. She hadn’t seen the man in nearly fifteen years, and before that they hadn’t exactly been bosom buddies. He probably didn’t even remember her. Yet, from the moment she’d heard about his uncle’s death and realized he’d probably be home for the funeral, he’d been drifting through her thoughts like a low-grade obsession. Probably because, despite all his shortcomings, I liked the guy, she thought with a slow smile. We were oil and water, but we always got along.

      Cathryn set her van in motion again and soon arrived at D’Autell’s, located near the cemetery rather than within the touristy harbor district, which the Chamber of Commerce seemed to appreciate.

      There weren’t many cars in the parking lot, Cathryn noticed as she shut off the engine. Most people probably intended to pay their respects during the evening visiting hours. She sighed in dismay as she gathered up her purse. It would be easier to leave quickly and unnoticed if there was a crowd, and she definitely wanted to leave quickly. She was eager to get home and continue decorating the dining room.

      Because it was Valentine’s Day, she’d planned a special dinner—beef stroganoff, Dylan’s and the kids’ favorite, with a heart-shaped raspberry-chocolate cake for dessert. Actually, she wasn’t aiming to make this Valentine celebration special; she was aiming to make it perfect. She already knew what Dylan intended to give her, and only perfection on her part would do.

      She’d found the gift by accident last week. Normally she didn’t go into Dylan’s business files, but a supplier had phoned with a question about an order, Dylan had been out and she’d figured the information must be somewhere in the drawer.

      It was. So were the diamond earrings. Not rhinestone, not cubic zirconia. Diamond, the real McCoy. The sales slip was in the bag, as well, and when Cathryn saw the bottom line, she’d suffered serious heart palpitations. Dylan’s landscaping business was doing well—but eight hundred dollars for earrings? Was he out of his mind?

      But then she’d found the card, also hidden under the files, its verse so romantic and intimate it had brought tears to her eyes. And at that moment she’d decided that being impractical once in a while was perfectly forgivable in a man. In fact, it was perfectly…perfect.

      She’d kept the discovery a secret, even from her best friends, Julia and Lauren, but it had been difficult. Heavens, diamond earrings! Usually Dylan’s Valentine gifts ran to flowers or chocolates. Was he finally going to say, yes, he’d like to have another child? Was this his way of making up for the disagreements they’d had whenever she’d broached the subject? God, she hoped so.

      When Bethany, their youngest, had entered first grade in September, Cathryn had thought she might get herself an outside job. Dylan had thought the time was right, too. But after considering several positions and becoming mysteriously anxious and depressed, she’d come to the conclusion that she was just a natural-born, stay-at-home mom, a one-hundred-percent throwback to another era. Trying to be otherwise was fighting against type.

      Her family and home were the core of her life, and unlike a lot of women she knew, she loved taking care of them. She loved everything domestic and was never happier than when she was cooking or sewing, gardening or helping with homework. And having a toddler underfoot just seemed like an integral part of the picture.

      Smiling, Cathryn recalled that there was one more reason having another child would be fun. Last summer she’d jokingly proposed to Lauren and Julia that they all have babies at about the same time. That way, she’d said, they could share prenatal joys and woes, and later help each other with child-rearing. She’d seen the arrangement as great fun and a wonderful way to broaden their already deep, lifelong friendship. Her friends, however, had predictably considered the idea absurd. At the time, Julia had been content simply being a newlywed, and Lauren hadn’t even been dating anyone.

      Well, Lauren’s baby was due in August, and, to no one’s surprise, Julia had recently announced that she was two months along. Now it was Cathryn’s turn, and she had a strong hunch that was the message behind Dylan’s extravagant gift. He’d just needed a little time to get used to the idea.

      Cathryn suddenly felt the urge to skip the wake and hurry home. Unfortunately, though, some things couldn’t be sloughed off. Paying final respects to an old neighbor was one of them.

      She angled the rearview mirror toward her, fluffed her long sandy bangs—and squeaked in horror. She was still wearing her Valentine earrings, the dangling hearts that looked exactly like candy. One said, Kiss Me, the other, Be Mine. Not quite right for a wake. After removing them and tossing them on the dash, she fingered off a tiny smudge of pink lipstick from the corner of her mouth and tried not to think about how much heavier Tucker was going to find her. Each of her three pregnancies had left her with ten extra pounds, then a couple more. Sly devils, had slipped in all on their own. Ah, well. There was nothing she could do about it right now. With a resigned sigh, she opened the door and stepped out into the slush.

      Inside the foyer, Cathryn signed the guest book and took a bolstering breath before walking into the viewing room. It was overly warm and smelled of carnations and dusty velvet. Serene harp music, meant to create a celestial ambience, drifted from speakers poorly hidden behind the coffin. To Cathryn’s chagrin, her attention zoomed straight to Tucker. Not to poor Walter, the reason she was here. Tucker. He was sitting in the first chair in a short receiving line of relatives, talking quietly to the elderly woman on his right, Walter’s sister-in-law Sarah from Barney’s Cove Road.

      Oh, Lord. He looks like a Mafia hit man, Cathryn thought. It was the maroon shirt that did it. With a white or otherwise pale shirt, Tucker’s charcoal sports jacket and fitted black pants might almost pass for normal. But that shirt, all that head-to-toe darkness, distinctly marked him as an underworld figure. Maybe not the underworld, but an underworld nonetheless.

      Cathryn’s first glance also registered that he’d grown a beard, a feature that in her opinion added absolutely nothing to his appeal. Moreover, in disregard of current fashion, he still wore his hair long.

      Cathryn changed her mind. Tuck didn’t look like a hit man; he looked like an aging rock star.

      He was neither, of course.

      She remembered her father once remarking that Tucker, being unusually charismatic and street-smart, had the potential to become somebody really special someday, a top-flight salesman, for instance, or a politician—if he got the right breaks. But with bad breaks, getting involved with the wrong people, for instance, he could turn into a bum, a hood or even a criminal. He was walking a precarious fence rail, her father had theorized. Tuck’s life could fall either way.

      Like most people grafted to Harmony’s grapevine, Cathryn knew that Tucker had drifted through several trades before settling into the one that currently occupied