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cocoon, for that first trembling emergence.

Tim had been five years old when their parents had died, and Mary had been just seventeen. The

latter part of her teenage years-indeed, all through undergraduate school-had been devoted to

being his surrogate mother.

She hadn't needed to take on such a demanding role. Their family was rich, and they could have

afforded all kinds of quality child care; But she loved her brother deeply. She had wanted to do

it. At a time when other young women were dating and exploring adult relationships, and often

making disastrous mistakes,

Mary had been either studying or watching Tim grow up, sharing with her grandfather Tim's

childhood milestones. She'd taught him how to ride a bike. She'd been there, cheering and

waving a tearful goodbye on his first day of school. More than a brother, Tim was almost her

son.

By the time things had settled enough for her to consider a little exploration of her own, Mary

was in medical school and settled into the habit of a quiet life. She was able to judge for herself,

calmly and rationally, the risks of casual sexual contact, and she had decided to wait for a

serious, committed relationship. She had not achieved that level of commitment with anyone yet,

not even with Victor.

And she had been content with that. Before, she had been content. Now she said to herself

starkly, I am a twenty-six year-old spinster. Yes, a spinster. What an awful, sad, ridiculous word.

Maybe it was time to find out if Victor wanted to get engaged. Maybe they could get married

next spring, have the wedding of the social season, spend their honeymoon in the Bahamas,

come back home and-get back to work.

The prospect didn't sound any better today than it did yesterday. Feeling terribly sorry for herself,

Mary buried her face into her pillow and snuffled. Marrying-well, anybody else was even harder

to picture than marrying Victor.

That's it, she thought. In thirty years I'm going to be a skinny, shrivelled-up old woman, with

Coke-bottle glasses and gray hair, and Tim's children will call me Aunt Mary.

-She gritted her teeth, rebelling against the fatalistic depression. Surely that's not it. Why I'll-I'll

maybe take out a personal ad in the paper. "Wanted: a NICE, faithful husband and father type,

not obsessed with careers or social climbing, must like Tim."

And picnics. And walks on the beach. And having fun, I'm not going to think of Chance. He's out

of my life-not that he was really in it for long. I'm sad about Cassie, but if I called her and we

became friends, sooner or later I'd run into-that man. And I couldn't do that. No, a clean break

would be best. That's it, it's over, shut the door on it and get on with things, kaput.

What if he calls today? He might, he just might. I can't lie in bed any longer-I've got to tell

everybody I'm not home. Mary surged out of bed, hurried to shower, and dressed in a

Greenpeace T-shirt that said "Otter Joy" and shorts. Then, with her hair hanging loose and damp

down her back, she hurried downstairs.

She told Tim, who was listening to music on his headphones in the study. She told her

grandfather, who was stumping around in the back gardens with their handyman, plotting what

he was going to tear down next year. She ran off to tell Janice, their housekeeper, who was busy

vacuuming the front reception rooms. Only then did she relax enough to eat a sandwich, some

freshly baked cookies and a glass of milk. She left the kitchen afterward, intent on finishing a

book upstairs.

The hall phone rang just as she passed it. She picked up the receiver and said, "Hello?"

Damn!

"Hi, Mary." The voice was deep, growly and unmistakably Chance.

Shock bolted down her spine, and she panicked, slamming down the phone. She held the receiver

down with both hands and stared at it as if it might jump off the hook and bite her. After a few

seconds, it rang again. She jumped and looked around wildly. No, there was nobody-else around.

"Janice?" she called weakly.

She could hear the rumble of the vacuum cleaner, and Janice singing loudly. The phone sounded

again.

Don't-don’t pick it up. Let the answering machine get it. She looked at the machine and

whispered, "Tell him I'm hot home."

The phone stopped ringing, and the machine played its message. She hovered, heart pounding

idiotically, and then there was an electronic beep and Chance's voice sounded on the speaker.

"Mary? I know you're there, Mary. Are you okay?" A pause. He sounded so real, so vital, close

enough to touch. He sounded both nettled and amused. His voice lowered confidentially. "This is

Chance-is Victor there? Is that why you won't pick up the phone, Doc?"

Mary, chewed her fingernails. The message time on the tape was thirty seconds, but it seemed to

go on forever. Stop now. Stop. Then finally, thankfully, the machine clicked over, and she

sagged. Her T-shirt clung to her clammy skin.

There, that was it. He had to have gotten the point. She didn't want to talk to him. It was over.

She sniffed and blinked hard. "It" hadn't even started, and my, hadn't she been lucky?

The phone rang again. She shot away from it until she was pressed against the opposite wall.

This time he sounded worried.

"Mary, if you're still there, please pick up. If you don't, I'm coming over-"

She' lunged, snatched up the receiver and said breathlessly, "No, don't! Don't come over! That's

all right-I'm fine! Everything's fine here now, and and I have to leave the house for' the whole

day, so that's it. Thanks for calling-"

"Wait a minute!" he interrupted sharply. "What's gotten into you? I told you I was going to call

today you gave me your number. What's going on, babe?"

Her hand shook badly. Her voice did, as well. "I've changed my mind, that's all. Please don't call

again. I-I-I'm sorry, I just made a mistake yesterday. I was tired, I didn't know what I was doing-"

"Victor," he snarled. "What the hell did he say to you?" There was a faint, tight sound, as if he'd

sucked in his breath. "I want to talk to you," he said more calmly. "I'm on my way."

"No-please-" The connection went dead.

He was on his way over. He was coming over here, oh, yes, because he knew where she lived,

didn't he? Now what did she do? She would just have to tell him to his face-she would just have

to look up into his face...Her hands fluttered frantically; her eyes darted around.

A cowardly part of her lifted up a finger. Or she could just run away.

Right! She'd told him she was leaving; he couldn't say she hadn't warned him. She raced up the

stairs, grabbed her purse from her bedroom, fumbled for keys as she ran back down and out the

door and toward her Cabriolet convertible that was parked in its usual ...

No Cabriolet convertible. Not anywhere she looked. Oh, DAMN! It was still back in the DAMN

hospital parking lot because he'd given her a ride home since she was too DAMN tired to drive

herself!

She shook the fist that held her useless keys, spun around to stare at Janice's Toyota parked to

one side, and spun back toward the house. Janice's keys. That's what she needed.

She froze then, hearing a sound that couldn't be happening.' No, that's not a car coming up the

drive. Her back hunched, and her shoulders crept around her ears. No, that had to be someone

else. Nobody could get here that fast, call one moment and arrive the next.

Unless he had a car phone, Mary. Do you remember if he has a car phone, Mary?

She peeked 'Over her shoulder, took one look at the black Jeep Cherokee that was pulling

smoothly to a stop twenty feet away, squeaked and ran Into the house she streaked, flying past

Tim up the stairs and into her room. She locked the door, panting, and leaned against it.

Other people could deal with Chance. Tim could. Tim would tell Chance she wasn't home. Oh,

God. She put her face in her hands. Chance got out of the car, watching her disappear into the

house like a frightened rabbit that's smelled a hawk. His tension eased a bit as soon as he had

seen that she was all right, at least physically.

He removed his sunglasses and stretched himself, squinting at the door. Something certainly

must have happened between last night and this afternoon; unless he had severely misjudged her,

Mary was not the sort of woman to play stupid games. She really was spooked. He glanced at the

Toyota parked beside the driveway and wondered if it was Victor's. No, he thought, smiling in

spite of himself. Dr. Prentiss. probably drove a Mercedes, or something equally impressive.

He debated for only a moment about whether to follow her or not, and then strode purposefully

to the porch. Whatever Victor had told her, Chance was not about to concede without a battle.

He leaned on the doorbell until Tim answered. The boy was chewing pretzels from a bag in his

hand. His grin, at least, was a welcoming sight. "Hi, Chance!"

"Hey, Tim," he said warmly. "Good to see you again. Can I come in?" Gain entry, that's the

ticket, and then on to the next phase.

"Sure." "Tim stepped back from the door. "You here to see Mary?"

Inside, Chance glanced around the spacious entry hall, heard the nearby whine of a vacuum and a

deep female voice belting out show tunes. The decor was deceptively simple: a beautifully kept

hardwood floor, tan rugs, cream-painted walls with dark wood trim. The effect was airy and

homey.

He made his body relax into an easy, non threatening posture. "Yes, but I'm not sure she wants to

see me," he confided, putting a hand on Tim's bony shoulder. "Did you have a good time last

night?"

"Oh, sure, it was great! How's Cassie?" His eyes, large and clear sky blue like his sister's, were

very bright. Chance kept his face bland.

"Just fine. I talked to her this morning and she said to tell you hi. Is Mary around?"

Tim appeared to deliberate. Chance kept his eyes steadily on the boy's gaze, waiting. Finally Tim

shrugged. "She went up to her room. You want me to tell her you're here?"

He hesitated, looking past the foyer to the stairway. "Well, I guess she knows that. Tim, do you

have any idea what happened last night after the fireworks? You rode home with Victor and her,

right?"

"Yeah."

"Did they talk much?"

"Not on the ride home, but I went in as soon as we got here, and Mary came in later."

"I see." He angled his jaw out, realized how that must look, and drew a breath. "She didn't say

anything to you today?"

"Only that I was supposed to say she wasn't home if anyone called."

" Chance put his hands on his hips, thinking. What had happened in the car after Tim left? What

did you .get up to, you son of a ... Did you tell some lies, Dr. Prentiss? Or some carefully twisted

half-truths you may have plucked from the rumour mill? Or-:-.

The sudden, jarring thought seized up his brain. Maybe Victor had seen his perfect, rosy future

slipping away, and gotten off his duff and proposed to her. Oh, that would be rich, he thought

bitterly. Victor realizes what a fool he's been, Mary realizes she really does care about him more

than she thought. and they skip hand in hand to a swanky condo in the suburbs and throw gala

parties for their prissy society friends.

I'll be damned.

He felt Tim's eyes on him, and forced a smile.

"Think she'd mind if 1 just went on up?"

"That's all right. I'll come down," said a very dignified voice from overhead. Tim and Chance

both looked up. Mary stood ramrod straight at the top of the stairs. Her pale face was tense but

composed, her eyes bleak. Her tawny hair was half-dried and floating around her narrow,

delicate face in wavy tendrils and her bare legs were slender as a gazelle's. Chance's gaze fell to

her hand as she clutched the banister; the knuckles were white. She looked so vulnerable, his

breath caught.

Mary was determined to follow through with the resolution she'd made in her room. She'd gotten

herself into this mess; she should see her way through to getting out of it. Whatever Chance may

or may not be, she was partly responsible for what had happened yesterday, and she owed him

that much.

It was far from easy, though. Clad in olive green fatigue pants and a black mesh top that hid none

of the tanned, powerful bulges of his broad chest and shoulders, he held his tough, muscular

body warily, as if ready to spring up the stairs at the slightest provocation. His face was hardened, mouth grim, and his unblinking eyes, by some trick of the angled afternoon sun,

looked slanted and tigerish, lit from within.

She gulped audibly. She had to go down and face that, and ten it she never wanted to see it again.

The gulp turned to a scowl. What was it doing wanting to see her anyway? Couldn't it see that

they were woefully mismatched? It needed to go pick on somebody its own size.

She marched down the stairs, nodded to her brother, who hovered curiously at the foot, and said,

"We'll be in the sun-room, Timmy."

"Right," the boy said, backing up. "See you later, Chance?"

"You bet, son." Chance watched him go, ran his fingers through his hair, and pivoted back to

Mary. Wordlessly she led him to the back of the house.