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Gwen and her son sat on the floor with an old board game between them. Her back was
toDuncan. Sunlight washed it, making her short, pale hair glow almost molten. "That's
right. Nowyou go back to start."
Zach's face puckered up in a scowl so familiar, however condensed on that smaller,
rounderface, thatDuncan's throat closed up.
"Sounds like a cutthroat game," Charlie said from behind him. "Just my kind."
"Hi,UncaDuncan ! Hi,UncaCharlie !I'm winning!"
Gwen looked over her shoulder, smiling. "Want to join us?" Her gaze snagged
onDuncan's for a second and quickly skipped past him to Charlie.
His heart hitched in his chest. Four more days&
"Mom, they'll never catch up. You guys can play with me after supper," Zach told them
generously. "You're gonna be in charge of me then. I want a cheeseburger."
"If that's okay," Gwen said quickly, picking up the dice. "Ben was supposed to ask, but
he had an errand to run."
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"Sure," Charlie said easily. "You and Ben going out?"
Shenodded, her attention on the dice in her hand.
If she left without getting herself committed to his brother, he could go after her. He'd
given Ben his chance, hadn't he? He'd held back, let Ben do his best to win her hell, he
was going to watch their kid tonight so they could be together. Surely that was enough
nobility for any man.
"Mom, it's my turn."
"Oh yes, so it is." She handed Zach the dice. She didn't look up.
He couldn't go in there. His feet wouldn't move. "I'm going to wash off some of the
sweat Michael Jordan, here, forced me to work up." Charlie slapped him on the arm and
headed for the stairs.
On hisinjured arm. It hurt. It also jarred him into speech. Had Charlie done it on
purpose? "Cheeseburgers for suppersounds good. I'd better go wash up, too."
That had come out okay, he thought. He started for the stairs. His foot was on the first
step and Charlie was halfway up when he heard Zach's voice again.
"Mom, are you gonna marry my dad?"
Duncan froze.
"What in the & where did you get that idea?"
"From my dad. He told Mr. Hampton at the site maybe you would."
"Your dad has been jumping to some big conclusions," she said grimly.
"I like it here. I want to stay. If you an' my dadgets married, we'd stay here all the time."
Duncanforced himself to start moving. His heart was beating harder than it had in the
middle of the fast and furious third game of two-man basketball.
God. Had he been patting himself on the back for deciding to wait four whole days?
What an ass he was. What a selfish ass. If there was a chance that boy could have his
parents together,Duncanhad no business messing with it. Even if it meant waiting four
months or four goddamned years. Even if it meant never.
* * *
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Highpoint had more restaurants than Gwen had expected in such a small town. Skiing
meant tourists, and tourists meant shops, cafés and restaurants, bed-and-breakfast inns,
two nice hotels and a posh resort just outside town.
The movie theater was old but had been recently renovated, with comfortable seats. She
and Ben went to an early showing of a new Kevin Costner film, then to a little Italian
place with red tablecloths and a pesto that rivaled any she'd had anywhere.
He'd held her hand at the movie. His hands were what she remembered best about him
big and gentle. She'd felt cared for, protected & and a little restless. Shekept having to
shut out the memory of another man's hands.
Gwen hadn't wanted Ben to put his hands anywhere else. And he hadn't.
But then, Ben wasn't a grabber. Gwen wasn't normally a fan of the "good old days," but
Ben possessed an old fashioned courtliness she couldn't help but be charmed by. It was
more than just holding doors or consulting her on where they would eat. When Ben took
a woman out, he gave her comfort and enjoyment his complete attention.
And that, she found, was both appealing and distressing. What woman wouldn't enjoy
being the focus of such solicitous masculine attention? Yet it felt impersonal, a tribute to
her gender rather than herself. He would have devoted himself to the comfort of whatever
woman he was with because he considered that the right thing to do.
Between the salad and the pasta courses a thought flew into her head: living with
someone who always did what was right might just drive her crazy.
She escaped to the ladies' room. It was, happily, empty.
Idiot, she told herself as she fluffed her hair with her fingers. Would she rather have a
man whodidn't do what was right?
None of this had bothered her five years ago. Had his courtesy been just as generic then
as it was tonight? She sought the memories she'd repressed for so long and couldn't be
sure, but something else did become clear. Five years ago she wouldn't have cared if his
attention was truly personal or not. She'd needed exactly what he offered the care, the
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