Rachel had barely opened the door when Seth took her by the shoulders and anxiously searched her face. “Are you all right?”
Less than fifteen minutes had passed since she’d called him. During that time, she’d convinced herself she’d overreacted, that she shouldn’t have called Seth. “I’m fine,” she assured him, embarrassed that he’d taken the call so seriously. “I’m sorry I bothered you with this.”
Seth shook his head impatiently. “When did he call? What, exactly, did he say?”
“Nothing specific. He was drunk again, and rambling about making me sorry for what I supposedly did to him. He claimed I’m trying to ruin his life and said he would make me pay.”
Seth’s fingers tightened spasmodically on her shoulders. A quick flash of temper heated his green eyes. “Tell me where he lives.”
She sighed. “Now you sound just like Cody. Surely you aren’t planning to go beat the guy up? I thought attorneys believed in handling everything through the legal system.”
Seth had the grace to look a bit sheepish. “We do, usually. I guess it’s different when there’s a personal involvement.”
Rachel stiffened. “I called you on a professional basis, as my attorney,” she reminded him. “This isn’t personal.”
He smiled and dropped his hands from her shoulders. “Whatever you say, Rachel.” His sardonic tone mocked her denial, but at least he didn’t look so worried and angry now. She decided that she much preferred his easy smile.
“Have you called the police?” he asked.
“No. I didn’t know whether I should.”
“As your attorney, I would advise you to call the police and file a report. They probably can’t do anything to the guy, but at least you’ll be on record with a complaint if anything else happens.”
That sounded reasonable. Rachel nodded. “All right. I’ll call now.”
“Who are you going to call, Mama?” Aaron asked from the doorway to the den. He was looking curiously at Seth.
Seth smiled at the boy.
“Hi, Aaron, remember me?”
Aaron nodded gravely. “You’ve got the fish.”
Seth chuckled. “Right. Where’s Paige?”
“Playing Sonic Spinball,” Aaron replied.
Rachel started to explain that it was a video game for a system connected to their television set, but Seth spoke before she could. “You’ve got a Sega system?” he asked Aaron, proving that he recognized the game.
Aaron nodded.
“Want to show it to me? Your mom needs to make a telephone call.”
“Do you know how to play Sonic Spinball?” Aaron asked, his eyes lighting up.
“You bet I do. I’m the champ,” Seth bragged.
Aaron shook his head. “Uncle Cody’s the champ.”
Seth shot Rachel a lazy grin that made her pulse do strange things. “You make the call,” he urged her quietly. “I have to go defend my video game reputation now.”
She chewed her lower lip as she watched Seth turn and follow her son into the den. He was certainly making himself at home, she thought in bemusement.
It was becoming more difficult all the time to think of Seth as nothing more than her attorney. And she’d only known him for a few days!
She made the call from the telephone in the kitchen, knowing that Seth would keep the children occupied until she was finished. On an impulse, she asked for the police chief, Leon Jackson. She doubted that he would be in his office on a Saturday evening, but it was worth taking a chance since she hated to discuss this problem with a stranger. She was both surprised and relieved when Chief Jackson answered.
“Leon? It’s Rachel Evans.”
“Rachel, it’s good to hear from you. What can I do for you?”
Leon had played high school football with Ray, and the two had remained close friends until Ray’s death. Few people had been more pleased than Ray when Leon had overcome lingering small-town Southern biases to become Percy’s first black police chief almost ten years ago. Leon had been one of the groomsmen in Rachel and Ray’s wedding, and Ray had been named godfather to Leon’s only son. Leon had stood close to Rachel’s side during Ray’s funeral.
Rachel explained her reason for calling. “It’s not that I want Frank arrested or anything,” she added when she’d finished. “He certainly has enough problems without that. And I doubt that he’s really a threat to me. But my attorney recommended that I file an official report, just to be on the safe side.”
“Your attorney was right,” Leon said grimly. “You should have told me sooner that this guy’s been harassing you.”
“It hasn’t been a serious problem yet. Only a few phone calls and a lot of loose talk that others have reported to me.”
“You never can tell with a drunk,” Leon informed her. “Especially if he goes over the edge, which it sounds like this guy might be very close to doing. Losing his job and his girlfriend—well, it might be enough to cause him to do something stupid if we don’t step in.”
Rachel sighed, feeling strangely guilty about Frank’s problems, even though she knew there was nothing she could have done differently. She’d warned him repeatedly about his job performance, given him as many chances as she could afford to take, and still he’d refused to even try to shape up.
“I’ll talk to him, myself, Rachel. Pass along a friendly little warning about what’s going to happen to him if he continues to give you problems. You hear from him again, you give me a call, okay? At home, if you can’t catch me here.”
“Thank you, Leon. I really appreciate this.”
“Ray Evans was my best friend,” Leon said gruffly. “He would have wanted me to look after you and the kids. Just like he’d have been there for Dolores and my boy if it had been me in that car instead of him.”
“Speaking of Dolores and DeShawn, shouldn’t you be home with them now?” Rachel asked, lightening her tone to hide the rush of emotion that coursed through her in response to Leon’s sincere words.
Leon chuckled, following her lead. “Yeah, I should. I got held up here with paperwork, and Dolores is going to have my hide if I don’t get home soon. I’ll talk to Holder for you, Rachel. You take care of yourself, you hear?”
Following familiar beeping, blooping sounds from the den, Rachel found Seth cross-legged on the carpet in front of the television set, a video game controller in his hands, his attention focused intently on the colorful action on the screen. Paige sat at his left side, Aaron at his right, both children gravely watching him play and occasionally offering advice.
Paige was the first to notice that Rachel had joined them. “Hi, Mama. Did you make your phone call?”
“Yes, I did. And everything’s fine,” she added for Seth’s benefit when he looked at her in silent question. “How’s the game going?”
“Seth’s almost as good as Uncle Cody,” Aaron announced in some awe.
Seth’s eyebrows rose. “I’m sure I’m better.”
“I don’t know,” Aaron said skeptically. “Uncle Cody’s awful good.”
“Mr. Fletcher said we can call him Seth, Mama,” Paige explained. “Is that okay with you?”
Rachel met Seth’s gaze, saw that he was laughing at her again, and swallowed a sigh. “Yes, Paige, it’s okay with me, if that’s what he wants.”
“Is dinner ready yet, Mama?” Aaron asked. “I’m getting hungry.”
Rachel had completely forgotten her dinner preparations when Holder had called. She thought of the vegetables she’d been chopping half an hour earlier and hoped they hadn’t shriveled. “It will be ready soon,” she promised her son.
Aaron nodded. “Can Seth eat with us? He’s prob’ly hungry, too.”
The children waited for her answer in innocent inquiry, Seth with a blandly amused expression that made her long to snarl at him. Trapped by deeply ingrained manners, she could only smile weakly and say, “Of course Seth is welcome to eat with us. Unless he has other plans?”
“Not a one,” he assured her briskly, dashing her faint hopes. “What can I do to help?”
“I’ll take care of the food,” she assured him hurriedly. “You finish your game.” She didn’t want to think about sharing her snug little kitchen with him. He’d probably make her so self-conscious she’d chop her fingers off!
* * *
When Rachel returned to the den to announce dinner twenty minutes later, she found Paige and Aaron watching television, and Seth standing beside the fireplace, studying the framed portraits she’d grouped on the mantel. He seemed to be concentrating particularly on the large photo in the center. It was a family portrait, taken when Paige was three and Aaron not quite a year old. Ray had been wearing his best blue suit and only designer silk tie, and Rachel had worn her favorite red dress. She’d spent a long time getting the children ready, dressing Paige in white ruffles, coaxing her fine dark hair to curl beneath a lacy bow. Aaron had worn a navy sailor-collared suit with a red tie.
The photographer had told them that he’d rarely seen a more attractive family. He’d probably said that to all his photo subjects, but Rachel had been very proud.
Seth turned away from the photograph when Rachel entered, his expression unreadable.
“Dinner’s ready,” she said.
He smiled. “Good. I’m starving.” He walked away from the mantel without glancing back.
Dinner was a pleasant affair. Rachel had prepared a quick and easy chicken-and-vegetable stir-fry dish served over steamed rice, a favorite meal for her children. Rachel considered herself fortunate that her children had always enjoyed fresh vegetables, especially when she heard how much trouble other mothers had getting their children to eat nutritious meals. Seth seemed to like the simple fare, as well, judging from his effusive praise and hearty appetite.
He seemed quite content to be dining with Rachel and her children. He swapped video game tips with Aaron, sympathized with Paige about the difficulties of second grade, asked questions about Rachel’s business and seemed genuinely interested in her answers.
Though his easy smile and ready laughter reminded Rachel of Cody, Seth’s was a gentler, quieter humor than Cody’s effusive high spirits. There were times when Seth’s green eyes grew pensive, making her think that he was more serious in some ways than he let on. She wouldn’t have been surprised to learn that he had known his own share of heartache, though he hid it well.
By the time dinner ended, Rachel had convinced herself again that his interest in her was merely amicable. He simply hadn’t met a lot of people in Percy yet, and he was enjoying the opportunity to share a home-cooked meal, simple as it was, with a friendly family. As for his overreaction to Holder’s phone call—well, she was his client. His friend’s widowed sister. He probably felt that he was being chivalrous or something in helping her with her problems.
That possibility left a dry taste in her mouth that killed her appetite before she’d cleaned her plate.
He didn’t linger after dinner. He thanked Rachel for the meal, and she thanked him for coming in response to her call. After that rather stiffly polite exchange, Seth bade good-night to the children and headed for the front door. Telling herself she was only being hospitable, Rachel left the children in the den and walked Seth to the door.
“You’ll call me if Holder bothers you again?” he persisted, one hand on the doorknob.
She nodded. “I’ll call. I’ve got several other minor legal matters to discuss with you soon...a couple of contracts I’d like you to read before I sign them, two customers who may have to be sued for delinquent accounts. I’ll call your secretary to arrange an appointment.”
It seemed easier to treat Seth as an attorney rather than anything more intimate. She knew how to act with an attorney; she’d almost forgotten how to behave with an attractive man who’d shown signs of a personal interest in her. Though, of course, she’d probably misread those signs completely, she assured herself.
That suspicious amusement was back in his eyes when he gave her a bland smile. “I’ll tell my secretary to expect your call.”
She swallowed and glanced downward, uncomfortable with the way he was looking at her. Why did she so often imagine that he was laughing at her? She couldn’t think of anything she’d done in particular to amuse him.
She jumped a bit when he unexpectedly cupped her chin in his hand and raised her face to his. With his free hand he touched her hair, which she was wearing loose and straight to just below her shoulders. “I like your hair down,” he murmured. “I’ve only seen it pinned up before today.”
“I...uh...”
“And I like seeing you in casual clothing,” he added, glancing down at her soft pink sweater and gray wool slacks. “Much more approachable than those suits you wear to work.”
She frowned. “Seth, I—”
He kissed her before she realized his intention; just a quick, firm brush of lips. He didn’t linger long enough to allow her to resist—or to respond. Yet every nerve ending in her body was suddenly quivering in reaction. She told herself it was only surprise, and annoyance. “Do you make it a practice to kiss your clients?” she asked, wishing her voice sounded cooler and less breathless.
“No,” he answered, and this time he didn’t even try to hide his grin. “But then I’ve never gotten personally involved with a client before.”
“Seth, you aren’t—we aren’t—”
He placed a finger over her lips, effectively silencing her sputtering. “Oh, but I am. And I certainly hope we are. But I won’t rush you, Rachel. Or at least I’ll try not to,” he amended. “Good night. Sleep well.”
He left her convinced that she probably wouldn’t sleep a wink. And that he knew it, darn him.
* * *
She did sleep, of course. And she dreamed. Strange, disturbing dreams that made her wake in the middle of the night, restless, edgy, her skin damp and oversensitized. She didn’t remember details, didn’t even try, but she knew her dreams had centered around a man with laughing green eyes and a lazy, sexy smile.
She was glad it was dark in the room. Relieved she couldn’t see her own flushed reflection in the mirror across the room. Or the photograph that sat on her nightstand.
When she finally fell back into a fitful sleep, there were tears on her pillow and on her cheeks. And a deep, aching emptiness in her heart.
* * *
Celia arrived early the next afternoon, Rachel’s beaded jacket over one arm and a covered dish in her other hand. “I’ve made broccoli-and-rice casserole for dinner,” she said with a self-mocking smile. Broccoli-and-rice casserole was the only dish Celia cooked. She provided it for every family potluck meal. Fortunately, Rachel thought fondly, she made it very well.
She took the jacket Celia held out. “You could have kept this,” she reminded her sister.
Celia shook her dark head. “I’d rather have you store it, and I’ll just borrow it when I need it.”
Rachel chuckled. “How thoughtful of you. Take your casserole into the kitchen and help yourself to something to drink, if you like. I’ll be there as soon as I hang this up.”
Paige and Aaron were in the kitchen with Celia when Rachel joined them. Excited about their beloved great-grandmother’s imminent arrival, they were both chattering like magpies, making Celia laugh at their enthusiasm.
“Why don’t the two of you go outside and play for a while?” Rachel suggested. “It’s a beautiful afternoon and you need to work off some of this energy.”
“It sure would be a great day to swing,” Aaron hinted broadly. “I bet I could almost touch the sky if we had a swing set.”
Rachel rolled her eyes. “Yes, Aaron, I know you want a swing set. You’ve only hinted about it a few thousand times now. But today you’ll have to be content with your other toys. Now, scoot.”
“You’ll call us when Granny Fran gets here?” Paige demanded on her way out.
“I promise,” Rachel assured her.
She closed the door behind the children, then turned to find Celia looking at her with a quizzical expression.
“What?” Rachel asked.
“The kids told me that Seth Fletcher had dinner here last night.”
Rachel gave a mental groan at the unnecessary reminder of something she’d been trying unsuccessfully to put out of her mind all morning. That kiss, for example. And the dreams that had followed it.
“It was business,” she said a bit too brusquely. “I’d better baste the ham. It smells good, doesn’t it?” She opened the oven door, carefully avoiding her sister’s eyes.
“Business?” Celia repeated, sounding skeptical. “What kind of business?”
“Celia, the man is my attorney. That’s all.”
“Hey, come on, Rach. I saw the way he looked at you in your office the other day. It was more than professional interest.”
Rachel did groan then. So Celia, too, had found Seth’s behavior curious. So much for pretending she’d only imagined it.
“He seemed very nice,” Celia offered. “And you have to admit he’s great looking. That smile...”
“He’s too young,” Rachel muttered.
“He’s a full-grown male, Rachel. A couple of years’ difference in your ages doesn’t change that.”
“He’s...cocky,” Rachel added, blushing at her own inanity.
Celia laughed. “Aren’t they all?”
Rachel sighed, closed the oven door and turned to face her sister. “I’m just not ready to start dating again, Celia.”
Celia’s smile faded. She reached out and took Rachel’s hands in her own. “Honey, it’s been three years,” she said gently. “It’s time.”
“Even if it is,” Rachel murmured through a tight throat, “I wouldn’t pick someone like Seth. He’s too...too...”
“Too dangerous?”
Startled by Celia’s choice of description, and the confidence with which she’d said it, Rachel shook her head. “I’m not sure I know what you mean.”
Celia’s smile, this time, held a wealth of understanding. “I mean that Seth is the type of man who could make a woman do something foolish. Make her forget to be cautious and controlled. A woman might even be tempted to fall in love with a man like that.”
A ripple of pain coursed through Rachel in response to the word. “I’ve been in love,” she whispered. “It hurts too badly when it ends, however it ends.”
Celia’s hands tightened around Rachel’s fingers. “I’m sorry, Rachel. I didn’t mean to upset you like this,” she said contritely. “I only thought...”
Seeing the distress in Celia’s blue eyes, Rachel made an effort to shake off her moodiness, which she blamed on tension and lack of sleep. “Look at us, standing here wasting time when there’s so much to be done. Do me a favor and make a pot of coffee while I cut up a salad, will you? You know how addicted Adam is to his coffee.”
“I also know that he thinks I make the worst coffee in history,” Celia said, more cheerful now.
“Oh, that’s right, he does. Maybe I’d better make it.”
Celia laughed and reached for the coffeemaker. “Don’t you dare. Making Adam drink my coffee is one of my most cherished pleasures.”
“You’re a wicked woman, Celia Carson.”
Celia sighed gustily. “Yeah, right. Wicked Saint Celia.”
Which, of course, reminded Rachel of Celia’s date with the dashing Damien Alexander. It worried her a bit that Celia was very evasive in response to questioning during the next ten minutes. Celia finally, firmly, changed the subject by asking about the children’s schoolwork. Rachel went along only because she didn’t want to tempt Celia to turn the interrogation back to her own complex relationship—or lack of one—with Seth Fletcher.
* * *
The doorbell rang less than half an hour later. Celia went to answer it while Rachel hastily wiped her children’s hands and faces with a dampened dish towel and straightened the bow in Paige’s hair. Deeming them ready for greeting company, she led them into the living room.
The children broke away immediately to descend upon the tiny, gray-haired woman standing in the middle of the room. “Granny Fran! Granny Fran!”
Their great-grandmother gathered them into her arms. “Paige! Aaron! Goodness, how you’ve both grown.”
Rachel couldn’t help laughing. “It’s only been a month since you last saw them.”
Her grandmother smiled over the children’s heads. “I know. But they seem to have grown a foot apiece.”
Rachel kissed her grandmother’s soft cheek, inhaling the familiar scent of jasmine. “Did you have a nice drive?”
“It only took two hours,” Frances replied. “Adam’s new car is quite comfortable.”
“I usually make the drive from Malvern to Percy in an hour and a half,” Adam said dryly. “Gran wouldn’t let me drive above fifty.”
Rachel turned to speak to her cousin, who had been talking to Celia while the others exchanged greetings. She had to rise on tiptoe to kiss Adam’s hard, lean cheek. “I’m glad you were able to fit us into your busy schedule,” she joked. “Did you have a nice drive?”
“She chewed my butt all the way here,” Adam murmured ruefully. “Seems she’s gotten the idea that I need taking down a peg or two.”
Rachel laughed softly.
“And so you do,” Frances informed Adam, proving that her hearing was as sharp as it had ever been.
Adam didn’t even bother to look abashed. There was a softness in his dark eyes when he smiled at his grandmother that Rachel never saw there at any other time. Dr. Adam Stone was not a soft man in any sense of the word. Brilliant, capable and reliable, he could also be arrogant, demanding and temperamental. At thirty-eight, he was tall and fit, his dark hair just showing a touch of silver at the temples, his skin firm, tanned and unlined except for shallow creases around his eyes and mouth. His nose had a very faint bump that was the result of his childhood fall from Granny Fran’s apple tree. Rachel had often wondered why the talented plastic surgeon hadn’t bothered to have that minor flaw corrected. He certainly would have encouraged his patients to do so!
Celia—who was one of the two people in the world Adam could never intimidate, Granny Fran being the other—cocked her head and looked at her older cousin with an impish grin. “Well? Did it work?”
“Did what work?” he asked indulgently.
“Did she take you down a peg or two or are you still on a royal high horse?”
Adam frowned. “I think you’ve mixed a few metaphors.”
“Which means you aren’t going to answer, right?”
“I never respond to mixed metaphors,” he said gravely.
“Well, I’ll answer,” Frances said with a shake of her head. “The lecture didn’t help a bit. The boy’s still as cocky as ever.”
Celia giggled and glanced at Rachel. “Aren’t they all,” she murmured, repeating the words she’d used earlier in reference to Seth.
Rachel sent Celia a look of mild warning and turned back to her houseguest. “I’ve made the guest room ready for you, Granny Fran. I want you to be sure and tell me if you need anything at all while you’re here. Adam, you’ll carry her bags into the guest room, won’t you?”
“It will be my pleasure,” he said with a touch of irony. “Celia, you’d better show me the way. I’m not sure I remember which room is which.”
“We’re having glazed ham and angel biscuits for dinner,” Rachel told him, knowing those were two of his favorites.
“And broccoli-rice casserole?” he asked, slanting a smile at Celia.
Celia laughed. “Of course.”
“Pecan pie for dessert,” Rachel added tantalizingly. “With ice cream, if you like.”
He sighed. “For all that, I’d almost paint the guest room.”
Celia snorted. “You’ve never held a paintbrush in your life.”
“Okay, so I’d hire someone to paint the guest room,” Adam amended, following her out of the room. “Same thing.”
Frances had been holding a colorful shopping bag. She offered it to Paige. “There’s a gift for you and one for Aaron in here.”
The children thanked her promptly and then pounced on the bag. Rachel placed an arm around her grandmother’s shoulders and led her out of the room, leaving the children to exclaim over their gifts. “Would you like a cup of tea?” she asked as they entered the kitchen. “Or Celia made coffee.”
“Celia made coffee?” Frances repeated. At Rachel’s nod, Frances cleared her throat and said, “I think I’ll have tea.”
Rachel laughed. “Good choice.” She filled the teakettle and set it on a back burner of her electric stove. “Have a seat. It’ll just take a minute.”
Frances took a chair at the heavy oak kitchen table, but asked, “Are you sure there’s nothing I can do to help with dinner?”
“No, everything’s almost ready.” Rachel pulled out another chair and sat close to her grandmother. “Cody will be joining us for dinner. He had a golf game this afternoon, but he promised he’d come here directly from the country club.”
“That boy and his golf. I think he’ll be golfing on Judgment Day.”
“Most likely,” Rachel agreed.
“I’m glad he’s coming. It will be nice having all my grandchildren together for dinner. It’s been a while.”
“Yes, it has, hasn’t it? I wish Mom and Dad were here.”
“I talked to them yesterday. Bill still seems to be content with his work in Saint Louis. And I think your mother finally feels at home there, after almost six years.”
“It was a hard adjustment for her,” Rachel agreed. “After living in central Arkansas all her life, it wasn’t easy to pick up and move when she was almost fifty. But it has been a good move for Dad. He seems to really enjoy working with the mental health center there.”
Bill Carson was a psychologist. He’d worked for the Arkansas health system for years before accepting the position in Saint Louis. Now, at fifty-six—with several years remaining until retirement age—he still enjoyed the challenges of his work. His wife, Evelyn, a year younger than her husband, hadn’t been as excited about the career move, since it had meant leaving her children and grandchildren.
At the time of the move, Celia had just entered her senior year of high school. She had been so upset at the thought of leaving her friends only months before graduation that she’d moved in with Rachel and Ray during that final year of school. Rachel had enjoyed having her younger sister in the household. Celia and Ray had gotten along well, and Celia had been a lot of help with Paige, who’d been just a baby at the time. That experience had left Rachel feeling even more responsible for her younger sister than ever, which explained her intense concern about Celia’s involvement with Damien Alexander.
“Speaking of the rest of the family,” Rachel said, “how’s Aunt Arlene?”
A slight frown creased Frances’s brow. “The same as always,” she said with a sigh. “Always suffering some imaginary illness, always complaining about one thing or another, always calling on poor Adam to drop everything and rush to take care of her, and then throwing a hissy fit when he can’t make time for her.”
“‘Poor Adam’ is quite capable of standing up for himself, even from his mother,” Rachel said.
“I suppose,” Frances agreed wistfully. “I swear, that daughter of mine is enough to try the patience of a saint.”
Rachel hoped her grandmother wasn’t comparing Adam to a saint! That would be stretching things. She prudently bit her tongue.
Two years older than her brother, Rachel’s father, Arlene Carson Stone had never gotten over her resentment at being widowed young. Though her husband had left her financially secure, with enough money to raise her son in pampered luxury and a firmly established place in Little Rock society, she had spent the thirty years since his death bemoaning her fate in being left to raise her “poor, fatherless child” alone.
She had called Rachel nearly every day for months after Ray’s death to compare their situations and cry buckets of tears over their shared misfortune. Rachel had made herself a firm promise during that time that she would never give in to public self-pity, and that she would never allow herself to become as emotionally dependent on others as Arlene had been since her own husband’s death.
“So, tell me, Rachel,” Frances said, suddenly changing the subject. “What’s been going on in your life? I hope you’re taking more time for yourself lately.”
Rachel stood and busied herself preparing her grandmother’s tea. “I’ve been rather busy with the business lately. But I take time off with the children occasionally. We drove into Little Rock just last week to visit the children’s museum.”
Frances didn’t look particularly impressed. “But what about yourself? Have you done anything just for fun? Are you seeing anyone new?”
What was it with everyone lately, urging her to have fun and to start dating again? Rachel wondered in silent exasperation. They acted as though she were still Celia’s age, rather than a mature woman of thirty-one. “No, Granny Fran, I’m not seeing anyone,” she said, sternly ignoring an unbidden mental image of a green-eyed, sexy-smiled attorney.
The front doorbell provided another welcome distraction. “That must be Cody,” Rachel said, leaping gratefully on the change of subject. “I’ll go let him in. And I’ll send everyone else to join you in the dining room now.”
As she’d expected, Rachel saw her brother’s face through the tiny, diamond-shaped window in her front door. “You’re just in time to eat,” she said. “I’ve just sent everyone in to sit—”
She stopped abruptly at the sudden realization that Cody hadn’t arrived alone. Seth Fletcher stood behind him, smiling blandly.
“I hope you don’t mind,” Cody said in a mischievous murmur. “I brought a friend.”