The Manor House, formal dining room…

Jonesy scowled at his plate. It looked like food. It probably even tasted like food, but how was he supposed to know? He had no idea what the sauce-covered meat was, much less which fork he was supposed to use. Even worse, there was more than one knife. Seriously? Multiple spoons and forks he could understand, but knives?

Wheeler was messing with him. He was sure of it.

Though it went against every instinct, he risked one look up toward the head of the table where his half-brother sat. Not his face. He avoided that whenever possible. It was bad enough that they shared a mother. That Win the Wonderful had inherited Viola's hair and eyes was an unforgivable offense. A daily reminder that Jonesy had lost the only person who had ever come close to loving him, to be left with a piss-poor replacement.

He scowled again and stabbed at his meat, no longer caring whether or not he was using the correct utensil. The fork scraped against the plate and he felt the censuring stare of his fellow dinner guests. Snobs, every last one of them. Including the Belden family that could barely claim upper middle class status. They were snobs by association, that's what they were. They'd spent too much too much time with the Wheelers. And the Fraynes.

"So, Mr. Jones," the blond Belden girl said, setting down her knife with almost as much clatter as he'd made trying to cut the damn chicken? Duck? …Pork? "What have you been up to since your release?" she asked, her round eyes fixed on him.

"Trixie!" Honey gasped quietly, but Trixie didn't even flinch. The girl had moxie; he'd give her that much. Not many people had the nerve to mention his incarceration in his presence.

"A little of this, a little of that," Jonesy grunted when it became apparent that the chit was actually waiting for an answer.

"Like what?" she pressed, and she went from being unconventionally forthright to being downright irritating. What did she want? A rundown of the petty crimes he had so far kept Win from finding out about? A glimpse into the plan that would see him freed of Win's interference for the rest of both their lives? Because he wasn't a fool. He knew that Win was as ready to be shot of him as he was. Inadvertently, his eyes dropped to the antique china and crystal that comprised his place setting. If all went well, he'd be relieving the Wheelers of their possessions and securing his own future at the same time.

But he couldn't very well reveal that, could he?

Eager to find something, anything, to focus on other than Winsome Win and Lucky Jim, as he was wont to think of his nephew, his eyes darted to the dark-haired young man and the blushing Wheeler girl seated close to the host and the guest of honour. Honey, he thought with a sneer. A sickeningly sweet name for a sickeningly sweet girl.

It was revolting. Why on earth should a man as boring as Brian Belden attract the attention of the most beautiful girl in the room? Brian Belden, of all people! He glowered at the man, his grip on his fork tightening until the fork tilted and the pilaf rolled off, earning him more censuring stares from the guests seated around him.

What? Hadn't they ever seen a man eat before?

Rather than meet the eyes of any of the guests, he scowled at his food and meticulously placed a perfectly-sized portion of asparagus on his fork and raised it to his mouth. Success, he thought, even though he had to fight a grimace at the taste and texture of the vegetable. See? he thought savagely. He was every bit as civilized as the others at the table. It didn't matter that Wheeler had invited him only to appease Winny, who wasn't happy unless he had both eyes on him. He had as much right to be there as any of the guests did.

More right, certainly, than Brian Belden. The man was Win's doctor. His doctor! Sure, he was the son of the Belden man who lived in the pile of sticks in the valley, and who had somehow managed to ingratiate himself into Wheeler's good graces, but come on! Brian was a hired saw bones who thought that he could tell everyone how to live. It was bad enough that Win had insisted on Brian examining him after he'd been released from his incarceration. But for the whelp to tell him to quit smoking? And to cut out processed foods and triglycer-somethings? He used his fork to tear a hunk of meat and shoved it in his mouth, hoping it was full of nitrates.

No one told him what to do. No one.

The Manor House, Honey Wheeler's bedroom…

"Well, what do you think?" Honey Wheeler asked, assessing her appearance in the full-length mirror. Biting her lip, she turned to her best friend. "The black or the red?"

Trixie stared at her helplessly. "How should I know?" she asked. "They're both dresses. They both look really uncomfortable." She shrugged. "You look good in both of them. I think."

"What do you mean, you think?" Honey demanded. "You're not sure? The red one pulls in the waist too much, doesn't it? I knew it didn't fit quite right!"

"It fits fine!" she assured her. "I just meant that you can't really trust my opinion. I seem to get anything fashion-related wrong." She looked down at her simple black dress and frowned. "I still don't see why I couldn't have worn pants. Or my jean skirt."

Ignoring her, Honey turned back to the mirror and smoothed the long line of the skirt. "I just can't decide…"

"The red dress," Diana called, bringing the scent of lavender with her as she slipped into the room. "Definitely the red."

"You're sure?" Honey questioned, eyes still riveted on her appearance.

"Honey Wheeler!" Trixie exclaimed. "It's a dress! When have you ever cared so much about what you wore?" Frowning, she eyed her friend sternly. "If this is about impressing Brian—"

The young woman blushed.

"Oh, gleeps," Trixie groaned, and heedless of the state of her dress, collapsed on the sunshine yellow duvet on Honey's bed. "I can't believe it! My brother! Brian! Really?" she asked, one arm flung over her face as if to shield herself from the answer.

Honey wrung her hands and hurried to her side. "You don't think it's too awful, do you? I mean, he did act as if he sort of liked me, didn't he? I'm not just throwing myself at him?"

"Of course not!" Trixie exclaimed, sitting up to glare at her. "I told you yesterday that he was positively goofy about you. In fact, when he came home last night, all he wanted to talk about was you!"

"Really?" she breathed.

"Really," Trixie affirmed. Her expression softening, she said, "I just don't see why you would want to date anyone. Men are such pains!"

"That's only the first time," a new voice said cheerfully. "After that, they can be a lot of fun."

"Jane!" Honey gasped, greeting the newcomer. "That's not what she meant at all!"

"It's true, though," Jane insisted. "So, who are you getting dolled up for?" Waggling her eyebrows, she asked, "Is it that yummy lawyer your mom keeps trying to set you up with? Because I say go for it. He spends time in the gym, that one."

"Jane, I am not trying to impress Richard Malcolm Williams the second."

"No," Trixie said glumly. "She's trying to impress my brother."

"Mart?" Jane questioned. "Really? I didn't think he was your type at all." She glanced at Di, who had busied herself by attempting to fuss with Trixie's hair between impatient swats from the owner of said hair.

"Ew!" Trixie cried, wrinkling her nose and ducking out of Di's reach. "No offense, Di, but… ewwww!"

"None taken," Di said wryly, attacking her with a powder puff instead. It was common knowledge among the girls that she had a soft spot for Martin Belden.

"Cut it out!" Trixie complained, but submitted while the raven-haired beauty smoothed out her complexion. "No, it's Brian that Honey's gone ga-ga over."

"I haven't gone ga-ga over him," Honey giggled, taking the powder puff away from Diana and adjusting one of Trixie's stray curls. "I just like him. I always have," she admitted. "He's so smart, and strong, and dedicated, and handsome…" She shrugged and looked down at her fancy shoes. "He makes me feel special and beautiful just by looking at me," she whispered. "How can I not like him?"

"Oh, Honey!" Trixie hugged her friend impulsively. "You are special and beautiful!"

"Yes, but Brian makes me feel special and beautiful," she sighed.

She groaned. "You really like him, don't you?"

She hesitated, and then nodded.

"I suppose it had to happen sooner or later," Trixie muttered. "And at least it's not Tad."

"Tad's not so bad," Jane protested. "In fact, I think I'll hunt him down tonight. He's always good for a little fun, if you know what I mean." She winked broadly at the girls and strutted past the mirror in her skin tight hot pink dress.

"Jane!" Honey protested. "You wouldn't!"

"Of course I would!" she snorted, plucking at the neckline of her dress to reveal more cleavage. "Tad doesn't mind. He gets what he wants, I get what I want. Win-win!"

Trixie shuddered. "How you can want that is totally beyond me," she said, looking slightly ill.

"It's just sex, Trixie," Jane teased, watching Trixie's face flame.

"It's not the sex that's the problem!" she protested. "It's the fact that you have to put up with a man to get it!"

"Someday," Di soothed, "you might change your mind."

Raising an eyebrow, Trixie picked up the small clutch Honey had insisted she borrow. "I hope not," she said earnestly, and led the way down to the party.

The Manor House formal gardens…

"Gleeps!" Trixie exclaimed with excitement. "Why didn't anyone tell me it was a masked party?"

"Because we didn't know!" Honey adjusted her own mask, smoothing down her hair as best she could. "It was a surprise Ms. Trask and Mother came up with at the last minute."

"These masks are amazing," Di said, fixing Trixie's mask so that it was no longer askew. "Honestly, if I didn't know who you were, I wouldn't recognize any of you!"

Jane grinned wickedly before slipping on her own mask. "Oh, I am definitely going to have some fun with this."

Trixie rolled her eyes at the idea of an even more uninhibited version of the brash, bold girl. She might be nice to the girl for Honey's sake, but there were some things she had no desire to witness. Taking a mental picture of what Jane looked like in her hot pink dress and black mask so that she would know to avoid her, Trixie linked arms with Honey and stepped through the French doors into the formal gardens of the Wheeler estate.

In keeping with the mystery of the masked theme, the lighting had been kept to a minimum. Tables burdened with food were well-illuminated, but where the guests mingled the darkness was broken only by gentle white ground lights and scattered torches.

"It's beautiful," Honey breathed, her eyes shining with delight at the transformed grounds.

"It really is," Trixie agreed, but her eyes drifted to the perimeter of the grounds. "I wonder if they increased security…"

"Oh, Trixie," Di said, tossing her hair and slipping on her mask.

"Well, you have to admit it's a risk," Trixie replied seriously. "The house and grounds are full of guests and they're all masked. Anyone could be lurking around!"

"I'm sure that Daddy looked after it," Honey said, though she, too, glanced uncertainly at the dark shadows.

"Of course, he did," Di said soothingly, sending a quelling look in Trixie's direction. Trixie, however, had already moved on to studying the other guests.

"Wow," she breathed. "I don't recognize anybody!" Laughing nervously, she tugged at her skirt. "I hope I don't offend any of your father's fancy friends."

"Oh, I imagine that's a moot point," someone behind her said. "I've heard that you can't go more than five minutes without insulting somebody."

"Who told you that?" Trixie asked, whirling on the newcomer. "I bet it was Jim Frayne." Steaming, she planted her hands on her hips and glared. "It was, wasn't it? I knew it!" Pointing her finger, she said, "And for the record, he's the only one I insult!"

"Lucky him," the figure muttered, taking a step back from Trixie's wrath. "And what did this Jim Frayne do to deserve your insults?" he inquired, his voice low and rough.

"What did he do?" Trixie snorted. "What did he do? What didn't he do! He's the most arrogant, self-satisfied—"

"Really?" the figure questioned, clearing his throat. "Everyone I've talked to seems to think he's very responsible. An upstanding citizen."

"Then they haven't met the real Jim Frayne," Trixie asserted. "He's absolutely insufferable! Thinks he knows everything about everything!"

"I've heard he's very knowledgeable," the man admitted.

"Knowledgeable! Well, maybe he is," she conceded. "But he doesn't need to act so smug about it, does he?"

The figure shifted his weight. "I suppose that's—"

"And really! Does he have to instruct everyone with his knowledge? He tried to teach me how to lengthen my stirrups while astride a horse. I've been doing that for years!"

"Maybe," the figure said through tight lips, tugging at the collar of his shirt, "he was trying to be helpful."

"Helpful!" Trixie hooted. "Then he should have offered to clean my tack!"

"Trixie," Honey whispered. "He wasn't that bad. And I think he did offer to clean the tack."

"I'm sure that this Jim person has learned his lesson," the figure said stiffly. "You are, without a doubt, the very last person in need of assistance, and he would be stupid to offer it to you again."

Trixie nodded briskly. "That's right. Now if only he would see it that way!"

"Trixie," Honey said, her voice strained. "Maybe we should greet some of the other guests."

"Oh! Right," she said, blinking as she interrupted her tirade. "It was nice meeting you, Mr…" She glanced at the man, as if realizing for the first time that he hadn't introduced himself.

"Bob White," he managed, but didn't elaborate with more information on how he had made it onto the guest list.

Before Trixie could press him for more details, Honey grasped her arm and firmly steered her away. "Trixie!" she hissed when they were well out of earshot. "Really! Do you have to insult Jim every chance you get?"

Shrugging sheepishly, Trixie allowed herself to be led away. "Well, why not?" she demanded. "It's not as if he knew who I was."

"You don't know that! What if it was Jim?"

"Pft. Jim would never be quiet long enough for me to talk that much! He would have been too busy instructing me on the proper way to wear a mask, or identifying all the different nocturnal birds in the area."

Honey's lips twitched. "Well, the bird part might be true. He is a naturalist, after all. The mask instructions sound more like your brother, Mart, though."

"Ug!" she exclaimed. "Why did you have to mention him? Maybe he's stuck at the police department, typing up reports," she concluded brightly. "It could happen, right?"

"Not likely," Honey said, linking arms with her and nodding at guests as they passed. "I'm sure Dad requested a police presence at the party, and you know how Mart is about any party that involves catered food."

"Too true," Trixie agreed. "I'll just have to avoid the food tables and I should be fine—" Her voice trailed off as she stared at a masked couple. "Oh, gleeps," she groaned.

"What?" Honey demanded. "Do you see Mart? Or Jim?"

"I wish," she muttered. "Look over there," she said, inclining her head toward a couple backing toward a grove of trees, their lips and hands leading the way.

"Oops," Honey giggled, covering her mouth. "I don't know if Mother thought this through very well. I wonder how many couples are going to sneak off for a tryst in the moonlight before this night is over!"

Shuddering elaborately, Trixie turned away from the amorous couple. "I am never going to let a man slobber all over me," she vowed, her tone fervent.

"Someday," Honey chuckled, "you're going to eat those words."

"It's possible," she said doubtfully. "But I really can't imagine it." She paused. "Can you?"

"Imagine you in love?" Honey questioned. "No. But I'd pay good money to see it!"

"Well, I think I'm safe for a while," she decided, wrinkling her nose at the cavorting couple.

Honey smiled and started back toward the table laid with food. "We'll see about that, Trixie Belden."

Back in the grove of trees…

Jane Morgan giggled as the tall young man tugged her further into the trees, stumbling as she tried to keep up in her four-inch hot pink heels. "This is far enough!" she protested, still laughing. "Unless you're going to carry me?" she asked, batting her eyelashes at the handsome young man. At least, she assumed he was handsome. It was awfully hard to tell in the dark grove, and most of his features were covered by his mask. Still, she was reasonably certain that he was good-looking. And she was also reasonably certain that he was none other than Jim Frayne, son of the famous Senator Frayne.

"Here's good," the man decided, catching her around the waist and pulling her close to him. Jane stumbled in her heels and the two tumbled to the ground, Jane landing on top of him. He sat up, keeping her in his embrace.

"There," he murmured, "that's better." His hand inched up her thigh and crept under her dress, struggling to wedge itself between her skin and the tight fabric.

"I don't even know who you are!" Jane protested, but didn't push his hand away. Instead, when he leaned close to her, she shifted, allowing his hand to move higher.

"Does it matter?" he asked, his voice raspy. Eyes dipping to the expanse of breast exposed by the low-cut dress and accentuated by a push-up bra, he dragged her more firmly against him.

"I don't know," Jane murmured, her lips at his ear. "That depends on whether or not you're the right sort of man."

He busied himself with the zipper at the back of her dress, sliding it down an inch at a time. "Oh, I'm definitely the right sort of man," he told her. "And I can prove it to you."

"Oh, that's what all the senators' sons say," she teased, still confident that she was being seduced by none other than Jim Frayne.

He paused in his endeavor, hesitating only an instant. "Sure. Whatever," he muttered, finally easing the zipper down far enough that the dress fell from her shoulders, leaving her exposed to the cool night air.

She shrugged the rest of the way out of her dress, draping her arms around his neck. "This is just a bit of fun, right?" she questioned, nipping at his ear. "No strings attached?"

Tad groaned and pulled her tighter onto his lap. "Perfect," he breathed.

Jane hid a pleased smile against his shoulder. He might be the senator's son, and he might not be. As he busied himself acquainting himself with the rest of her body, she found that she didn't care in the slightest.

Several hours later…

"Senator Frayne!" Honey exclaimed, watching as Trixie was whisked away to dance with a friend they'd known since high school.

"Honey Wheeler," the Senator countered, smiling and offering her his arm. "I hear I have you and the remarkable Ms. Trask to thank for this lovely evening." He gestured to the beautifully decorated grounds filled with influential supporters.

"We were happy to," Honey demurred, smiling up at him and allowing him to draw her to the edge of the dancing crowd. "Without your work on the bills protecting wildlife and their habitats, we wouldn't be able to enjoy the preserve nearly so much."

"I'm glad," he said simply, and danced her completely out of the circle and toward a stone bench. "But I didn't seek out your company to talk politics."

"No?" She settled lightly on the bench, leaving plenty of room for him to join her. He did, seating himself at nearly ninety degrees to her, their knees touching. He reached for her hand, but not before pausing to adjust her mask and tuck a strand of hair behind her ear.

"No."

Honey stared at him with wide eyes. Only hours earlier her father had informed her of the rumour that Winthrop Frayne was interested in her. She hadn't believed him. Senator Frayne had been a friend of the family since she was a child. Winthrop and Matthew had gone to school together, though they'd lost track of each other for some years while they'd both been establishing their careers. He wasn't just old enough to be her father, he was good friends with her father!

Still, she could understand the appeal some young women might feel to him. He was certainly handsome, wealthy, and successful. Best of all, in Honey's mind, was the fact that he was passionate about the environment.

But he was no Brian Belden.

"You've grown into a beautiful and desirable young woman," Senator Frayne continued.

She was grateful for the mask that shielded her blush.

"And I'm not the only one who's noticed." He leaned in close, whispered a name in her ear, and all of Honey's doubts faded away.

"Really?" she breathed, and threw her arms around him when he nodded. Never, she thought as she laughed with delight, had she been so utterly and gloriously happy!

Elsewhere at the party…

Bobby Belden balanced a precariously heaped plate in one hand and attempted to dip a thinly sliced carrot in what he suspected was hummus. A pastry-covered meat teetered on the edge of the plate, threatening to jump overboard.

"Let me help you," an amused voice called, and before he realized quite what was happening, he'd been led away from the table of fancy food and directed to a seat next to a delicate wrought-iron table barely big enough to hold his small plate.

"There," she said, sinking into a chair and motioning for him to do the same. "Isn't that better?"

Popping a stuffed mushroom cap in his mouth, he nodded. "It's always better to be rescued by a beautiful woman," he said, emboldened by his anonymity. Why hadn't he ever been to a masked party before? They were brilliant!

"Oh, Bobby," the dark-haired beauty laughed. "You're sweet."

Bobby froze. Had she really recognized him? It wasn't as if it really mattered, but it was a little embarrassing to be caught flirting with the girl his brother had been in love with for the past ten years.

"I'm not Bobby," he protested, realizing too late that he sounded much too defensive to be believable. Still, it was worth a try. She probably was hazarding wild guesses and had no idea who he really was.

"Yes, you are," Di said, her tone matter of fact. "You have the Belden hands."

"The Belden… what?" Disbelieving, he stared at his hands. They looked perfectly normal to him…

"You sure do," she continued, picking up his hand. "See how your fourth finger is almost as long as your third?"

Bobby stared at his hand. Sure enough, his fourth finger was almost equal in length to his third.

"What about it?" he asked. "Are you saying that's not normal? Not," he amended quickly, "that I'm this Bobby Belden person. I'm just curious."

"Of course," she agreed, her lips twitching. "You're just curious."

"I am!" he argued, determined that she believe him. Too late, he realized that his stubbornness was only cementing the notion that he was part of the Belden family. "I mean…"

"You really ought to try the crab puffs," she said, pointing to something on Bobby's plate that he hadn't been able to identify. "They're very good."

"Go ahead," Bobby urged, his embarrassment forgotten in his amusement. Di Lynch might appear every inch the sophisticated young lady, but it was a closely guarded secret that she enjoyed food almost as much as his brother Mart did.

"So good," she sighed, closing her eyes as she savoured the crab puff.

Bobby grinned back, though she wasn't paying the slightest attention to him. Di Lynch would never hold the place in his heart that Honey Wheeler did, but if Mart wasn't smart enough to snap her up and spend the evening with her, well, that was his loss.

And Bobby's gain.

"Have another," he urged, thinking that the night was really turning out far better than he'd expected.

In the shadows…

Jonesy fingered his pack of cigarettes, slowing drawing one white stick from the box, and then replacing it. He ran his index finger over the corner of the flap, lifting, closing. Lifting, closing. When the stillness beside him became absolute, he withdrew the cigarette and lit it, the flame from the lighter barely piercing the heavy darkness.

Still, he knew that the silent figure beside him could see it. And smell it. Lips curled in a cruel smirk, he took a long drag, breathing deeply and savouring the first hit of nicotine. He made sure to make his pleasure known, his entire body relaxing just enough to convey the euphoric sensation of the nicotine flooding his system.

God, he loved messing with Mangan's head. Anyone's head, truth be known. But Mangan was especially satisfying. The whelp was so… rigid. Untouchable. He held himself apart from everyone, and had done so since the day Luke had drawn him into the fold, so to speak. And while Mangan had leaned against walls and watched the action around him unfold, he'd always had a cigarette in his hand.

Not when Jonesy had been sprung from the slammer, though. It had taken him a while to notice. The dark, silent man still hovered on the periphery of the group, but he did it without a cigarette. He didn't flinch when anyone lit up. Didn't look away. Didn't tap his fingers in a relentless beat against his legs.

But Jonesy knew.

He knew what it was like to go without.

And it made him smile every time he lit up in front of Mangan.

Jonesy gave the cigarette package one last flick and slid it back into the breast pocket of his sweat-stained dress shirt, satisfied.

"That's Brian," Dan said, and Jonesy stifled a pang of irritation. Mangan showed absolutely no sign of being bothered by the cigarette. How was that even possible? he wondered. The man had some sort of iron resolve that Jonesy just couldn't wrap his mind around. He was cut from a different cloth. And that bothered him. What it came down to was that Jonesy really had no idea what, other than survival, motivated Mangan. And that was dangerous. It was much more difficult to manipulate people and keep them under your thumb if you didn't know what made them tick.

But that was a problem for another day, he thought, hoping that his inability to understand him wouldn't bite him in the arse.

Reluctantly following the other man's gaze, he saw a masked figure standing at a small remove from them. "You sure?" he asked, squinting at the generic mask. "All the masks are the same. Could be anyone."

"It's him," Dan repeated, but offered no explanation for why he could be so certain.

"Huh." Jonesy took the doctor's measure. The calm, quiet demeanour he'd come to associate with him was still present, but it seemed to Jonesy that Brian looked more… alert. More engaged. More tense. Puppy love, he thought derisively. Well. That could be cured easily enough.

"Follow my lead," Jonesy muttered, dropping his cigarette and giving it a quick twist with his boot. "Jim," he said, addressing Brian. "Fancy seeing you here."

"I'm not Jim," Brian said, his eyes searching the crowd. "You've got the wrong person."

Jonesy's lips twisted in a tight smile revealed pointy, smoke-yellowed teeth. "Oh, I'm pretty sure you're the right person."

Brian frowned. "I'm not Jim."

"Sure you're not," Jonesy replied, winking broadly. "And I'm not Senator Frayne's good-for-nothing half-brother."

Dan chuckled, supporting the charade. Well, Jonesy assumed it was a chuckle. Most sounds that came out of Dan's mouth could be categorized as grunts, but if he had to guess, he would have said there was a touch of amusement in the sound, putting it firmly in the category of a chuckle.

Jonesy shuffled, attempting to appear reluctant to speak. "Look, kid," he finally said. "I was hoping you could do me a favour."

"A favour?" Brian raised an eyebrow. "I'm not sure I can help you, but…"

Jonesy scratched his chin. "I was walking through the party," he began.

Brian waited expectantly, but Jonesy didn't continue the story until the other man gestured impatiently.

"I was walking through the party," he repeated, "and I saw your father, the senator."

"I told you; I'm not—"

"Sure, sure," Jonesy said. bumping his shoulder. "You're not the senator's son. Right. But if you happened to run into the senator, you might want to ask him if he plans on marrying the Wheeler girl or if he's just toying with her."

Brian's eyes widened. "What are you— Senator Frayne wouldn't—"

Jonesy laughed. "I wouldn't have thought so either, but they were looking pretty cosy. She's a good-looking girl," he added, waggling his eyebrows. "I don't blame your dad one bit. But you might want to say something to him, all the same. Not everyone would be pleased to see Senator Frayne marry a girl young enough to be his daughter."

Though he loved the anonymity of the masks they all wore, Jonesy would have given anything to see the blood drain from the other man's face. There were some moments, after all, that could never be reproduced.

The sudden tension in Brian's shoulders would have to be enough, he decided.

"You're mistaken," Brian said, his voice stiff and formal. "Senator Frayne would never— You probably mistook him. These masks…" His voice trailed off as he adjusted his mask which was slightly askew, his motions jerky.

Yes, Jonesy thought, grateful that his own mask hid his smirk, he'd ruffled the young man's feathers quite nicely. "Maybe," he shrugged. "But they referred to each other by name. She's a pretty little thing, isn't she? She'd tempt many a man stronger than your dad. Doesn't hurt that she'd be an asset to his next campaign, either, does it? The Wheeler name carries plenty of clout. I don't blame your dad one bit."

It spoke to Brian's preoccupation that he didn't bother to correct Jonesy's assumption about his identity. "I have to go," he muttered, and stumbled away from them, disappearing into the crowd.

"Well played," Dan commented, staring at the retreating figure. "That ought to stir up some trouble."

"Not enough, though," Jonesy mused. "I imagine this will get cleared up shortly enough. Unless Winsome really was seducing the girl…" He shook his head. "Nah. Too honourable."

Dan looked off into the distance. "There might be more we could do. Something that wouldn't be so easy to explain away."

Jonesy turned toward him, drawing the package of cigarettes from his shirt pocket at the same time. "Oh?"

"Hard to explain away something that you see with your own eyes," Dan commented, still not looking at him.

"True," he agreed, and slid a cigarette out of the box. He lit it immediately, choosing not to draw out the process. The time for teasing, after all, had passed.

Elsewhere in the Wheeler's garden…

Brian stumbled through the crowd, his customary grace and quiet demeanour absent. Senator Frayne? Hitting on Honey? How could he do that? She was over twenty years his junior! And she was the daughter of his friend! Of course, Brian realized, there was a significant age difference between he and Honey, too. But not twenty years! And yes, the Beldens and Wheelers had been friends for years, but…

His heart sank. Senator Frayne might not be a good match for Honey, but neither was he. Slumping against a tree, he stared blindly into the crowd, oblivious to everything except his own misery.

"It's not that bad of a party, is it?" a jovial voice inquired. "I wasn't sure about the masks at first, but it turns out you can actually learn a lot about people when—" Jim stopped as he took a closer look at his friend. "What's wrong?" he demanded, frowning.

Brian tore his gaze from staring into the distance and fixed his hopeless expression on Jim. "Everything. Everything is wrong."

"What are you talking about?" Jim asked. "Seriously, what's wrong with you? You never act like this."

"What's wrong with me?" Brian demanded, turning sharply to glare at him. "What's wrong with me? What's wrong with your dad is more like it!"

"Wrong with Dad? Brian, what are you talking about? Is Dad sick?"

"Sick in the head," he muttered. "He was hitting on Honey!"

Jim stared at him. "What on earth are you talking about?" he demanded, mystified.

"He was hitting on Honey!" Brian repeated, his voice rising. Fists clenched, he glared at the son of the object of his anger.

"Why would he hit on Honey? He knows that you're interested in her, doesn't he?"

"Yes! He does!" Slamming his fist against the tree, he glared into the darkness. "I told him I liked her! And he encouraged me to talk to her! And now he does this!"

"Does what, exactly?" Jim asked.

"I don't know! Jonesy said Win was flirting with Honey." He paused. "I did see them dance earlier, and you know your dad's reputation…"

Jim flushed. "That was uncalled for," he said, holding himself in check with difficulty.

Brian ignored his rising temper. "You bet it was uncalled for! He offered to talk to Honey and put in a good word for me. Not swoop in for the kill himself!"

"Look—" Jim said hotly.

"Oh, forget it," he interrupted, waving off his friend and appearing to deflate. "Just forget it. I'm going to—I don't know. I'm just going to go."

Brian turned away and strode toward the house, not caring how many people he brushed against and jostled. What did it matter, anyway? He was over-reacting, and he knew it. He'd only been back in Sleepyside for a day! Not nearly long enough to develop a serious attachment to anyone. And yet, he had. The boulder-like pressure on his chest attested to the fact. And it wasn't as if he'd only met Honey yesterday. He'd known the Wheelers for years. And it felt as if he'd loved Honey for every one of those years, though he hadn't had the sense to realize it.

Worst of all, he couldn't even really blame Winthrop. He might have approached Honey with the goal of encouraging her to give Brian a chance, but found himself falling for her instead. It was, after all, how it had happened for him, Brian reflected bitterly. Was there any man immune to Honey Wheeler's charms? If so, they were stronger men than he. And, apparently, stronger than Winthrop Frayne.

And he was going to lose her to Senator Frayne. There was simply no way to compete with the suave, successful, handsome, honourable man. Out of sight of the guests, Brian sagged against a tree and closed his eyes. He'd get over this. He would. But he'd be a long time forgiving the senator.

Still in the Wheeler's garden…

Jim mastered his temper with difficulty. He normally got along well with Brian Belden. They were of a similar age and had spent a fair amount of time together whenever Jim worked with his father. Brian was an even keel to Jim's more volatile personality, and they shared the same work ethic and drive. For Brian to be so out of sorts was disconcerting. For it to be directed at him and his father was positively baffling.

And, Jim reflected bitterly, he wouldn't be so bothered by it if it hadn't been for his conversation with Trixie earlier in the evening. Did she really think that he was an insufferable know-it-all? He did know a lot about a lot of things, and it wouldn't be very responsible of him if he didn't use that knowledge to help other people, would it? How was he supposed to know that she didn't have the grace to accept good-natured help? She was a shrew, that one. Independent to the point of shooting herself in the foot. Or at least putting her foot in her mouth on a regular basis.

And now Trixie was causing him to mix his metaphors and sound almost as convoluted as her friend Honey.

Who just happened to be the other source of his irritation. Was his father really pursuing a girl younger than his own son? And was she actually encouraging him?

He pressed his lips together and swallowed down thoughts of his departed mother. Jim had understood Win's need to date after Katie had died, mostly because none of the girls he'd dated had been any sort of threat. None of them had had what it would have taken to replace Katie Frayne. Honey Wheeler, though, was cut from a different cloth, and he could see his father wanting to tie himself to her permanently.

He rubbed at his temples, willing away the throbbing vein pulsing in time to his frustration.

"There you are!" his father exclaimed. "I've been looking all over for you."

Jim raised an eyebrow at Win's cheerful countenance. Did his happiness mean that Brian was correct? Was he really in love with Honey?

"I was just talking to Brian," Jim informed him, watching for a reaction.

"Excellent! And where is Brian now? I've been looking for him myself."

Jim studied his father with a critical eye. Win wasn't two-faced by nature, but politics had enabled him to perfect the ability to put a good face on any situation. "Why?" Jim demanded, his forthright nature taking precedence over the watch-and-see plan he'd employed for almost thirty seconds. "To tell him what a good time you had hitting on Honey?"

Win raised an eyebrow reminding Jim of the many times he'd been chastised as a child. "Is that what you think?" he asked, his lips twitching. He shook his head. "Honey's a wonderful girl, but…" His voice trailed off, and Jim knew that he was thinking of Katie.

"Right," Jim said with a sigh of relief. "I didn't think so, but Brian seemed fairly certain. He wasn't very happy about it, either."

"I should think not," Win agreed. "The poor man is head over heels in love with her." He smiled wistfully, but quickly sobered, his gaze sharpening. "It's odd that the gossip travelled so quickly. Still, I'm sure Brian will be set to rights soon enough. And, after all, it doesn't do a man any harm to know he has competition," he decided. "I asked Trixie to keep an eye out for him. I wonder if—"

His question was answered as the chatter of excited voices reached them.

"Oh, for the love of—" Jim muttered. "Dad, don't you have an errand for me to run?" he asked, eyeing an approaching blonde party guest malevolently. "Supporters for me to talk to?" When Win shook his head a second time, Jim grew more desperate "A drink? Do you need a drink? I need a drink."

Without waiting for Win's reply, he hurried away from the approaching group, fixing Trixie with a cold look of disdain as he strode past her.

"Uh oh," Win said, smiling indulgently at the girl. "I think you've hurt his feelings."

"As if!" Trixie sniffed, disentangling the arm she had linked with Honey's. "He doesn't have sense enough to have feelings to hurt," she added, her tone tart.

"Even worse!" Win laughed. "Now you're just breaking his heart!"

"He'll get over it," she assured him with a roll of her eyes. "Eventually."

"I don't know," he said, his eyes glancing to the place where Jim had disappeared into the crowd. "I think you might have pushed him away permanently this time."

Trixie shrugged, unrepentant. "I'm sure I have no idea why. It's not as if I've done anything to him!"

"Other than make fun of him to everyone you meet," Honey suggested.

"Not to mention to his face," Win continued, but his focus was still on the crowd. "Trixie, were you able to find your brother?"

"Yes. Well, no. Not exactly." Flushing, she said, "I found Bobby, who said he was pretty sure he knew where Brian was. He was going to bring him here… And here they are!" she exclaimed, waving over the pair of young men. Bobby had grown into his height in the last few years, only a half-inch shorter than his oldest brother. In the masks and dim lighting it was almost impossible to tell them apart.

The air of tension they brought with them, however, was impossible to mistake.

"Brian!" Win exclaimed, ignoring the young man's stiff posture and draping his arm around him. "Good news!"

Brian shrugged out of the one-armed hug. "Congratulations," he muttered, and turned to leave.

Win steered him back to the group, physically guiding him closer to Honey.

"Aren't you going to ask me what the good news is?" he prompted, his tone still jovial despite Brian's glower. When he crossed his arms over his chest and scuffed his foot in the pristine grass, Win took pity on him.

"The good news," he said, drawing out each word, "is that I've managed to convince Honey to escort you to the fundraising gala in the city next week." Winking in the young woman's direction, he said, "And it wasn't easy, either. You owe me, Dr. Belden."

Brian blinked, staring first at Win, and then directing his attention to Honey. His mouth worked as if he wanted to speak, but no words were forthcoming.

"Oh, good grief," Trixie groaned. "You've rendered him speechless." Elbowing Honey, she said, "And you're not much better. If neither of you are going to use your mouths for talking, you might as well just kiss and put us all out of our misery!"

Honey flushed crimson at her best friend's taunt, but didn't hesitate to put her hand in Brian's when he offered it to her.

"It's not a bad idea," Brian murmured, tugging Honey away from the others. She blushed again, but didn't contradict him.

"We'll see you later," he called, striding away from the group and taking Honey with him.

"Oh, geez," Trixie muttered. "I didn't actually mean it." Shuddering at the thought of her brother and her best friend kissing, she turned away, only to note Bobby's forlorn expression.

"What's the matter with you?" she asked curiously. "You look almost as grumpy as Brian did before Honey agreed to—"

"I'm going to go get some food," Bobby muttered and pushed past Win and Trixie.

"What was that about?" Trixie questioned, staring after him.

"Trixie," Win said, hiding a smile, "not everyone is quite as happy to be single as you are."

Her jaw dropped open. "Bobby?" she questioned. "Bobby wants a girlfriend?" Her eyes widened as she realized the truth of the matter. "He's crushing on Honey," she groaned. "Hard. I mean, I knew he liked her, but he really likes her, doesn't he?"

Win shrugged. "I assume so."

"Well, that's just…" she paused, unable to complete the thought. "Silly," she finally decided.

"Is it?" he inquired mildly. "The heart wants what it wants, Trixie, and far too often there's little rhyme or reason to it."

"Well, yes, but…" Groaning, she gathered her skirt and plunked herself down on the grass. "I just don't get it," she said.

"What's to get?" Win asked, lowering himself with casual grace to sit beside her. By the time she got up, Trixie knew, her dress would be spotted and grass-stained. Win's trousers, she groused, would no doubt be pristine.

"We all want to be loved," Win continued, his leg brushing against hers as he settled himself. The smell of his cologne tickled her nose, but it wasn't an unpleasant sensation. "And often times, we find ourselves attracted to a person who is wholly unsuitable, for whatever reason."

He angled himself so that he supported some of her weight, his chest and shoulder slightly behind her.

"But—"

"Trixie," he interrupted, "when are you going to let down your guard and let someone in?" he asked, his breath brushing her ear.

This, Trixie thought desperately, was why she avoided men. And relationships. They were so complicated! And confusing! Was Win implying that he was interested in her?

"Relax, Trixie," Win said, and moved back slightly so that while he still supported some of her weight, his lips were no longer at her ear. "I'm a smart enough man to know when my advances aren't welcome."

She huffed out a sigh of relief. "It's not that I don't like you," she said, twisting to face him. "Really! I'm just not interested in anyone. And besides," she said, relaxing when it became apparent that he wasn't offended. "I'd be sure to embarrass you if we were ever in public together." Biting her tongue, she admitted, "I don't have much of a filter."

Win burst into laughter. "This may surprise you, but that doesn’t exactly come as a shock to me."

Rolling her eyes, Trixie struggled to her feet, cursing the dress Honey had insisted she wear. "Bobby has the right idea," she informed him, "though I'll deny it if you tell anyone."

"The right idea about what?" he questioned, standing up in one fluid motion and dusting grass from his trousers.

"Food, of course," she said with an impish grin, and gave him a quick wave before setting off in search of appetizers. Because food, she reflected, was a lot more satisfying and a lot easier to understand than matters of the heart. Plucking a salmon puff from the tray of a passing waiter, Trixie bit into it and relished the perfect pastry. Brian, Honey, Bobby, Win… they were all crazy if they thought love was better than a perfectly prepared appetizer.

The Manor House veranda…

Honey sighed in contentment and rested her head against Brian's shoulder. She knew that it was entirely ludicrous how quickly she'd grown comfortable with him, but it was impossible to tell her heart to slow down, to move with more caution. More importantly, she didn't want to slow down. She'd kept to herself and rejected the advances of men for as long as she could remember—what was the harm in relaxing a little, and listening to her heart for once?

Brian pressed a kiss to her temple, his touch reverent. He was so very careful, Honey realized. Not because he thought she was weak and needed to be coddled, but because he was just as much in awe of their fledgling relationship as she was.

Much to her wonder, they'd taken Trixie's advice and slipped into the deserted veranda of the Manor House to… talk. Well, there had been some talking. In any case, lips had been involved. A tiny giggle escaped her mouth as she recalled the euphoria of that first kiss. It had been magic, she remembered dreamily.

"What's so funny?" Brian whispered, his mouth at her ear. "You're not laughing at me already, are you?"

"Never!" Honey declared, giggling again. "I can't help it!" she claimed. "I'm just so happy!"

And in that moment, she realized, she really was. Not just happy, but happier than she could ever recall. It was too soon to think of love, but being in Brian's arms felt incredibly right, despite the fact that they were cuddled on the only moderately comfortable deck furniture in the enclosed veranda. The heat of the day had faded, chased away by the moon and a gentle breeze. Normally Honey would have been chilled, but in Brian's arms she couldn't imagine feeling anything other than delicious warmth.

"We should probably get back to the party," she whispered.

"No."

She smiled at his petulant tone of voice, pleased that he was just as reluctant for the moment to end as she was.

"It must be almost over," Honey mused. Since she was unwilling to shift from her position even enough to locate her phone, she wasn't certain of the time. But even though the moments had passed all too quickly, she was certain that she and Brian had been using their lips to communicate for at least an hour.

Possibly longer.

And even though it had been the best hour of her life, she knew that at any moment they would be interrupted by—

"I still think that Ed Lynch double-dipped," Win insisted, his stride heavy as he pushed through the flimsy screen door.

"Probably," Matthew agreed, laughing and sounding completely relaxed. "Elaine filled his plate with vegetables. How else was he supposed to eat it? Dip is the only answer when you're stuck with cauliflower and broccoli. Poor bastard," he muttered under his breath.

Honey stifled a giggle by clapping her hand over her mouth. Her father and Win had obviously been drinking. A lot.

"Okay," a pained voice said. "Let's take this conversation inside."

This time it was Brian who laughed, amused as his youngest brother attempted to corral the two men into the enclosed veranda.

"Be nice," Honey hissed. "I think it's adorable that Bobby's taking care of them."

"Right," he said, shifting to a more upright position. "Adorable." Pressing one last kiss to her temple, he stood and helped Bobby guide the men to couches.

"That's better," Matthew grunted, stretching out on the cushioned seat. "Long walk."

"You're getting old," Win accused, though he was just as fast to find a seat.

Matthew waved his hand and then let it fall heavily to the side of the couch, grazing the floor. "Not old," he muttered. "Well-seasoned. Like wine."

"More like sweaty gym socks," Bobby accused. "Sheesh. What did the two of you do? Bathe in the wine?"

"It jumped out of the glass," Matthew said, frowning and rubbing at a purple splotch on his rumpled white shirt. "You saw it, Win. Wasn't my fault at all."

Win gave a non-committal grunt. "Should have stuck with vodka," he advised, running his hand over his immaculate trousers. "Stains don't show nearly as much."

"And you didn't think a conversation with two drunk men could be educational," Honey whispered to Brian, hiding a giggle.

"Oh, sure. Go ahead and laugh," Bobby groused. "You didn't have to haul these two jokers all the way to the house before they could bring shame to the honoured name of Wheeler."

"You've been talking to Mart again," Honey laughed.

"We weren't talking about Mart," Win protested, leaning back and closing his eyes. "We were talking about Jim. And what a stick in the mud he's being. Too serious," he said, rubbing his eyes. "Needs to get out and have some fun."

"Needs to meet a girl," Matthew corrected. "Not just any girl. A girl who will force him to loosen up a little. Shake up his world."

Honey raised her eyebrows. "That sounds like a tall order," she said doubtfully. "Jim's pretty stubborn. A girl would have to be awfully persuasive to get anywhere with him." Nibbling her lower lip, she tried to picture the sort of girl that could accomplish the seemingly impossible task. "It's pointless!" she decided, shaking her head. "Getting Jim to loosen up would be as much of a miracle as getting Trixie interested in a guy."

The room fell silent save for the noisy breathing of the two inebriated men.

"S'not a bad idea," Matthew decided. He struggled to sit up, but gave up when the room tilted on its axis.

Win turned his head toward Matthew as if addressing him, but didn't manage the Herculean task of opening his eyes. "I 'gree."

"You agree with what?" Honey demanded, bewildered.

Win managed to prop one eyelid open, but allowed it to close again only seconds later after wincing at the dim light of the veranda. "That we should get Jim and Trixie together, of course."

"We should?" she asked doubtfully, trying and failing to figure out how he had possibly come to the conclusion. "I don't know. Trixie is pretty firm about not dating. And she really doesn't like Jim. No offense," she added hastily, glancing in embarrassment at Jim's father.

"None taken." Win waved his hand dismissively, only to nearly unseat himself. Picking himself up, he struggled to a more upright position and closed his eyes against waves of vertigo.

"Jim's a good guy," Brian said thoughtfully, reclaiming his place beside Honey on the couch and taking her hand. Honey blushed at the casual, yet new, display of affection and darted a quick glance at her father, but he was still sprawled on another couch, eyes firmly closed.

"And it would be good for Trixie to date someone," she admitted. Blushing even more, she looked up at Brian. "After all, I'd like to see her just as happy as I am."

"You're all crazy," Bobby decided. "But…" He glanced once at Honey before staring out the screened veranda windows into the dark night. "If you want my help, I'm in. Between the two people drunk on love and the two who are actually drunk, you're going to need someone with common sense."

"And that's going to be you?" Brian teased.

"Sure. After all, I'm the one who thought to flag Celia down and ask her to have coffee brought to the veranda."

A knock sounded at the screened door, confirming his claim. As Honey let in the maid, she noted with relief that there were enough mugs for all of them. And that was a good thing, because coming up with a plan to get Trixie and Jim dating was going to require every brain cell the five of them owned.

Most likely more.

Glen Road Inn…

Jonesy frowned at his tie, wondering when he'd managed to soil it. He'd barely eaten at the forced "family and friends" dinner. And during the masked portion of the evening he'd spent his time doing what he did best—watching and listening.

Jerking off the offending garment, he tossed the tie in the corner of the cramped hotel room. No. Not cramped. What had Win called it? Quaint. Historic. He popped the top three buttons on his shirt, sending one of them flying to join the tie.

"Good party?" Luke asked, eyes glinting with the smirk he was wise enough not to openly display.

Still, it was too much.

"Get out," Jonesy snarled.

Luke held up both hands and gave a nervous laugh even as his eyes darted to Dan.

What? Jonesy thought. Was Luke looking to Dan for guidance? Screw that. He was the leader of this organization, and if he told Luke to clear out, then Luke would learn to clear out. Without laughing at him behind his back.

"Now!" he barked, his voice not quite a yell, but not his usual carefully controlled tone, either. Luke slunk from the room, his eyes flashing yellow. Revulsion trickled down Jonesy's spine. Luke had been a contributing member of his crew for years, but he could never quite shake the notion that he was a copperhead lurking in the bush. Something to be eradicated, should the opportunity arise.

"Not you," he snapped when Dan started to follow Luke. The young man stopped, seemingly unconcerned both by the curt order and the fact that he would be left alone in the room with the ill-tempered man.

A cat of some sort, Jonesy decided, watching as Dan fluidly moved back to his favoured position, leaning against the wall as if he couldn't care less what happened around him. If Luke was a copperhead, then Dan was a cat. A big one. Catamount, maybe. Or panther. Hell. Anything with a standoffish attitude, really.

And he wasn't entirely sure that the catamount could be trusted any more than the copperhead could.

He narrowed his eyes as he studied the young man. He didn't flinch. Didn't even seem to care that he wasn't the only one in the room. That he was being watched. And yet, Jonesy knew, Dan was hyper aware of everything that went on around him.

"Enough," he said, slamming his hand down on the lone table in the room.

Movements languid, Dan turned to face him, looking him in the eye for the first time since he'd returned to the hotel room.

"This town is getting on my nerves," Jonesy snarled and struggled to his feet, ignoring the pain in his hunched shoulder. Pacing the narrow length of the room, he gave vent to his frustrations.

"Win the Wonderful is comfortable at the Manor House, living it up with the Wheelers and the Beldens while you and I swelter in the comfort of a historic inn. Damn Beldens," he muttered. Peter ought to be down in his precious valley with his precious children, suffering through the heat wave like the rest of the world. Instead, he, his mouthy daughter, and Dr. Kill-Joy were probably enjoying fancy iced drinks and central air conditioning.

Dan's eyes flicked away, as if ignoring him.

Unacceptable. Didn't the boy know he ought to show respect to the man who had saved him from the streets of New York? Didn't he know that he owed him? That he wasn't a man to be ignored? That he could ruin the twerp's life with a flick of his wrist?

"There's more than one way to make a man's life miserable."

Jonesy narrowed his eyes, his irritation forgotten for the time being. He waited for an explanation, but when none was forthcoming, he gritted out, "How so?"

"You want to make Brian's life a living hell."

Jonesy nodded. "Why not? The kid deserves to be taken down a notch or two. Just because Win treats him like an advisor instead of just a dime-a-dozen saw bones—" He stopped, angry with himself for saying too much. It was all true, but he didn't to give Dan ammunition against him. The man was a cool customer, probably capable of watching him die in a burning building without batting an eye.

No, Mangan didn't need to know that Jonesy's hatred of the Belden family was rooted in a poisonous jealousy.

Hell. He probably already knew. But he didn't need to confirm it.

"Easiest way to mess with a man is to make him think someone's making a fool of him."

Jonesy considered the statement. Pride was a powerful motivator, and he had no doubt that the each and every one of the Beldens possessed it in spades, despite their less than affluent state.

"What's your point?"

Dan shrugged. "Brian would feel like a complete fool if he thought Honey was cheating on him."

Resisting the urge to upend the table and roar, Jonesy gritted his teeth. "We tried that already. Remember? Didn't take more than an hour to straighten it out." He pulled his lips over his teeth in a parody of a smile. "Fun while it lasted, though."

"What if I could guarantee that it wouldn't be so easy to disprove the rumour?"

Jonesy waited, letting the notion revolve in his mind. It was tempting, to be sure, but Win probably knew that he'd been behind Brian's morose mood that evening. It would be foolhardy to risk it again, but…

"What do you mean?" he finally asked.

Dan looked away again. "It's hard to ignore what you see with your own eyes."

Jonesy tilted his head to the side, considering. "And you could make that happen."

He gave a slow, controlled nod, and Jonesy sank to a seated position at the table again, motioning for Dan to join him. As the younger man revealed his plan, Jonesy smirked and lit up a cigarette, reveling in the chaos that was about to unfold.

Manor House stables…

Horses, Jim decided, were the only sane people. Animals. Whatever. In any case, he thought, offering Jupiter a carrot, they didn't let ridiculous emotions like love rule them.

Not that there was anything wrong with love. He loved his parents, after all, and they loved him. Well, he amended, his father loved him. And his mother had loved him.

Until she died.

And that, that right there, that was the problem with love. And why he absolutely refused to entertain the idea of falling in love. It was enough that he loved his family, wasn't it? And had a few close friends? Surely he didn't need to open himself up to the world of hurt that romantic love could bring. He'd seen firsthand what had happened to his father at the death of his mother.

No. That wasn't going to happen to him. He'd make sure of it by never allowing himself to care for another person they way his father had loved his mother.

Simple.

And probably a moot point. Most of the women he ran into were only interested in attaching themselves to the son of a senator. Probably in the hope that Jim would follow in his father's footsteps and pursue a career in politics.

Well. That wasn't going to happen. In any universe.

No, horses were definitely the better choice, Jim decided, running a brush over Jupiter's withers. Followed closely by dogs. Horses were strong and noble, but dogs understood. Of course, that was slightly problematic as well. Dogs were so very open about their unconditional love that it never failed to make him feel slightly itchy.

Shaking his head, he turned back to Jupiter. "Sorry, boy," he whispered, realizing that he'd been brushing the same patch of flank for too long. Jupiter tossed his head, acknowledging the apology.

No more distractions, Jim decided, and set about systematically finishing the grooming. After all, it wasn't as if he was Brian and could use the distraction of puppy love for his lack of attention to detail. No, it would be a frosty day in hell before he'd fall head over heels in love with a girl. Not that Honey wasn't a sweet girl. She was. But not only was it impossible for Jim to imagine himself falling in love, it was even more impossible for him to imagine it with someone as sweet as she was. No, if he were ever going to fall in love, and he wasn't, it would be with someone who had a little more fire, a little more spice, to their personality.

Brian was a fool.

Tossing the curry comb onto the bench, Jim gave up. He'd groomed the horse within an inch of perfection, the tack gleamed, and he was ready to do something different. Whistling, he stepped out of the stable and shielded his eyes against the glare of sunlight that greeted him. It was a beautiful day, and he didn't have a thing that he had to do. Eyes tracking to the dense wooded area surrounding the padlock, he smiled. Riding was all well and good, but a walk through the preserve was certain to be a balm to his irritated nerves. If there was any activity more settling than joining the quiet of nature, he hadn't yet found it.

But that quiet was marred almost before he reached the tree line. On any other day, Jim would have waited to see who was approaching the stable. This day, however, he hesitated. Go? Stay? When he spotted the shock of red hair that mirrored his own, his feet made his decision for him. He loved his father. He did. But if his father was riding, then most likely—

Yes. Brian's tall, dark form was also visible.

And after the events of the previous night, he simply wasn't in the mood to deal with the lovesick doctor. No, he'd simply slip into the preserve and—

"Did you talk to Honey this morning?" Win asked, his voice carrying easily across the clearing.

Rolling his eyes, Jim attempted to move further into the cover of the trees, but froze when he stepped on a dry twig. He didn't want to alert the others to his presence, but he certainly didn't want to stay for more mushy talk.

"Yes," said Brian, sounding goofier than any doctor had a right to. "Even her voice is beautiful," he sighed.

"Oh, brother," Bobby complained, but Jim caught the note of wistfulness in the younger man's tone. "Really, Brian?"

"It's true!" Brian protested, not sounding in the least ashamed of his observation. "Even when she's griping about my sister she sounds beautiful."

"Griping about Trixie?" Win asked. "Why? I thought they were friends."

Uh oh. Jim's eyes widened. Did his father sound guilty? If so, it could only be for one reason. Had Win hit on Trixie and upset her? No. He wouldn't.

Would he?

Jim pictured the vivacious blonde and bit back a curse.

Yes. Yes, Win very well could have. Trixie was enough like Katie that he might not have been able to stop himself, even though he knew better.

"Oh, they're not fighting," Brian said in answer to Win's question. "No, Honey was trying to cheer Trixie up. Apparently she's in love," he said sounding, both amazed and amused.

"Trixie?" Bobby scoffed. "In love? With who?"

Yes, Jim wondered, with whom? What poor sap was the unlucky recipient of her dubious charms? He shuddered in sympathy for the cursed man. Whoever ended up with Trixie was bound to have a life of navigating the mine field of her horrid temper.

Poor schmuck.

The urge to stride away, whistling in relief that he was not the poor schmuck in question, was almost overwhelming.

Still, it wouldn't do to alert the others to his presence. Not if he wanted to escape being forced to participate in a conversation with love-struck Brian instead of merely listening to it.

It was a fine distinction, but an important one.

"No, really," Bobby continued. "Who does she have a thing for?"

Brian contorted his normally handsome face into a grimace. "That's the worst part," he said. "It's Jim."

Even from twenty feet away, Jim could hear the others suck in startled breaths. Because it was ludicrous for someone to have a crush on him? Jim felt his face heat as he struggled to curb his temper. What was their problem? he silently demanded. Trixie could do a lot worse than to like him. She could like… Ben Riker, Honey's goon of a cousin. Or that Tad Webster person he'd had the misfortune of spending a weekend camping with. Or… or… Jonesey! Yes, that would definitely be worse than liking hi—

Jim's jaw grew slack as the meaning of Brian's words sunk in past his quick-fire temper.

Trixie liked him?

Trixie Belden?

Him?

He shook his head, trying to make sense of the notion. Surely he'd heard wrong. Strong, willful, critical Trixie Belden couldn't possibly be interested in him. He'd heard wrong. That was the only plausible explanation.

Please, please let that be the explanation…

"Well, now," Winthrop said mildly. "It could be worse."

Worse? No. No, it could not be worse, Jim thought, savagely kicking at a tuft of over-grown grass with so much vehemence that he nearly over-balanced himself. He grasped the nearest tree to steady himself and crouched, hoping that the others hadn't noticed him. When no one even glanced in his direction, he blew out a breath of relief before remembering what had upset him in the first place. The situation could be worse somehow? How could it possibly be worse? No, the only thing worse than Trixie Belden falling in love with him would be if he fell in love with her.

And that was never going to happen.

The very idea was enough to make him queasy.

"I think Trixie doesn't think it could be worse," Matthew Wheeler said, his tone serious. "Honey's worried about her."

Win sobered. "She is? Why?"

Even from his hiding spot in the trees, Jim could make out Matthew's worried shrug. "You know Trixie. She doesn't like to talk about her problems. Honey says it's eating her up inside, though."

"Why doesn't she just tell Jim how she feels?" Bobby asked, sounding genuinely bewildered. "Jim wouldn't—" He stopped abruptly. "Oh. Right."

Jim wouldn't what? Jim wondered.

"Exactly," Mathew said. "I love Jim like a son, but he's taken a lot of teasing from Trixie over the years. If she tried to tell him that she had feelings for him, he'd probably laugh himself sick."

Jim rubbed his stomach, willing away the rapidly forming knot.

Win nodded. "True," he said, acknowledging Matthew's statement. "And it would be a shame, too. When someone like Trixie falls in love…" He shook his head. "Well, they say the ones that fight love the hardest fall the hardest. I don't think she'll get over him easily."

"And she won't move on, either," Matthew lamented. "Trixie is the most loyal person I've ever met. If Jim doesn't return her feelings…"

His voice trailed off and Jim crept closer, attempting to catch the stray words. His eyes on the group of men, he nearly leapt out of his skin when he was nudged from behind. His startled yelp was somewhat muffled, though, by the ground as he pitched forward. Stunned, he lay perfectly still while an animal whined and licked his face.

"Reddy," Jim muttered, willing the dog to be quiet. "Reddy! Hush!"

But the Irish setter was no friend to commands and merely whined louder and continued to lick his face, apparently in apology for knocking him over.

"Quit it!" Jim whispered, struggling to a seated position and pushing the dog away. It seemed impossible that the others hadn't heard the commotion, but not one of them so much as glanced in his direction.

"Good Reddy," Jim said, though the dog was still bathing his face with drool. As if in answer to Jim's praise, Reddy whimpered and settled on his haunches beside Jim, the picture of obedience. The dog was ruled by opposites, he remembered. Bobby had tried to explain it to him on a previous visit. Something about the dog always doing the opposite of what he was commanded.

Which wasn't surprising, given that the dog had grown up in close proximity to the most contrary creature Jim had ever met.

But could Trixie really have feelings for him? He scrambled to remember the nuances of their interaction over the past few days and examined them for tell-tale signs of a woman interested in him.

Zip.

Nada.

Less than nothing. He might not be as popular with the ladies as his father was, but he'd had his fair share of women bat their eyelashes in his direction. If how Trixie had treated him was her idea of flirting…

Well. No wonder she was miserable. She obviously had no skills whatsoever when it came to expressing interest in the opposite sex.

Which was actually kind of refreshing. Thinking of the steady parade of women that marched in and out of his father's life, he couldn't help thinking that Trixie's style was preferable.

If you liked that sort of thing.

Which he, obviously, did not.

Still, she wasn't unattractive. Lots of blonde curls. Yes, those curls looked as if they'd never seen the business end of a brush, but he preferred that to the perfectly coifed and made-up women he usually saw. And she wasn't scared to get dirty, which was a pleasant change from the girls who wouldn't know a Thoroughbred from an Appaloosa if it hoofed them in the face.

But that didn't mean that he liked her.

Still, it was a shame that a girl with so many good qualities had to go and fall for him when he didn't feel the same way about her.

"It's a real shame she fell for Jim," Bobby said, echoing Jim's thoughts.

Wait, what?

"I know," Matthew agreed, sighing. "Because he doesn't have the patience to look past her abrasive exterior and appreciate what she's really like."

Jim narrowed his eyes at the slight. It wasn't his fault that Trixie made it so difficult for him to like her, was it? And why wasn't his father defending him? He couldn't possibly agree with them, could he?

"Jim's a good man," Win said, and Jim exhaled loudly in relief before catching himself and hoping that no one had heard him. "But I'm afraid his pride has been piqued too many times." He shook his head. "No, I don't think Jim would respond well at all if he knew that Trixie liked him."

Jim spluttered in outage. What did his father think he would do; make fun of the poor girl?

"He'd probably mock her mercilessly if he knew, because he'd think it was just another trick on Trixie's part. Yes, I can definitely see why Honey doesn't want us to say anything to Jim."

Win sounded… disappointed? Jim flushed, and it wasn't due to the rising temperature. Did his father really think so little of him? How could he? Jim wasn't in the habit of treating women disrespectfully—he'd been raised far better than that.

The dog beside him whined, reminding him of his presence. "You're right," Jim whispered, scratching the dog behind his ears. "I haven't exactly been overly polite to Trixie."

Reddy whined and laid his head on his paws, looking up at Jim sorrowfully. "Now, don't look at me like that," Jim chided. "It isn't as if she's gone out of her way to be nice to me."

"It's a real mess," Bobby said, startling Jim and reminding him that he was supposed to be listening to the conversation, not getting lost in his own thoughts. "Trixie can't admit to Jim that she likes him because he'd never believe her. And since he's the only guy she's ever been even remotely interested in, it won't be easy for her to get over him. In fact, I can't imagine her finding anyone to replace him."

A heavy weight lodged itself in Jim's chest and he felt a surge of protectiveness. Trixie didn't deserve this! She was pretty, and smart, and brave, and she didn't take flack from anybody. Being picky about who she liked wasn't necessarily a bad thing—it had definitely saved her from wasting her teenage years on crushes instead of developing her own personality. And develop it she had! She had so much more to offer than the majority of girls thrown in his path! She deserved to have her feelings returned!

And, Jim realized, his eyes widening at the revelation, he wanted to be the one to return those feelings.

Reddy barked once, loudly, startling Jim so badly that he shot to his feet, creating a bigger ruckus than the time he'd accidentally flushed out a game hen protecting her chicks. Without a look back at the group of men in the padlock, he sprinted through the preserve, his heart and feet light.

"There you are!"

Jim stopped dead in his tracks at the familiar, annoyed voice. "Trixie?" he questioned, out of breath from his aimless run through the preserve. He blinked, realizing that he'd ended up close to Crabapple Farm.

Of course.

Because he hadn't been able to stop thinking about the blonde spitfire currently wrinkling her pert little nose in his direction.

"Moms sent me to invite you for lun— do you have a pinecone in your hair?"

Jim blinked. Did he? It was entirely possible, given that he couldn't even remember what path he'd taken through the preserve. It could even have happened when he'd been hiding—er, concealing himself—while he eavesdropped—er, accidentally on purpose overheard—the others talking about Trixie's feelings for him. He patted his head, searching for the item that was causing Trixie to look at him like he was an alien.

"Oh, good grief," she muttered when he liberated a stray twig and three leaves from his tousled hair. "Honestly," she said, plucking a small pinecone from a spot just above his ear. "And I thought I was a mess." Turning, she headed back to the cheerful farmhouse and called over her shoulder, "Lunch will be on the table in ten minutes. If you want anything, I suggest you get there before Bobby stows all the food in his hollow leg."

Jim stared after her as she marched away from him, and absently patted his head where she'd touched him. Touched him! Trixie Belden had touched him! Him!

She wouldn't have done that if she didn't have feelings for him, he decided, and whistled a jaunty tune as he made his way to Crabapple Farm's kitchen.