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you,” Briar revealed. “A friend can save a life.”

      Mavis felt a frisson of awareness scaling her spine. She crossed her arms. Did Gavin need saving? Would he want her to be the one to save him?

      Doubtful. Regardless, she couldn’t let Briar down. And just like at the inn, she wouldn’t let him drown on his own. Not without him taking her down with him, if necessary.

      The door to the Leightons’ rear deck swung ajar wide enough to bash the handle against the wall behind it. A short blond head streaked through, bounding down the steps to the ground. “Mammy! Mavis!”

      “Here comes trouble,” Mavis said, a fond smile tugging at her lips as Briar waved a cheerful greeting.

      Briar crouched to wrap her granddaughter up like a present. “The world is right again,” she murmured. She chuckled low in her throat, hugged Bea tighter, then sat back on her heels to skim curls from the girl’s brow. She pressed a kiss to the center of her forehead. “Your grandfather showed up early with you, as promised. Good man. But did he bring watermelon?”

      Bea nodded eagerly. “They were selling them on the side of the road. There were hundreds of them, big and dirty—like they’d just popped out of the ground. He let me pick two, but I wasn’t big enough to carry them...”

      “Give it time,” Mavis said, amused. The precocious four-year-old was growing like a weed.

      “...so Uncle Gavin carried them for me,” Bea concluded.

      “What?” Mavis said, slack-jawed, while a surprised Briar said, “Gavin? He came?”

      “Uh-huh,” Bea replied. “He might not see so good anymore, but he sure can carry a watermelon!”

      The happy report of barking brought Mavis’s head up. Prometheus, who’d been gleefully chasing squirrels since arriving in the back of her Subaru, trampled a shrub of Indian hawthorn as he made a break for the raised deck.

      Gavin was ready for him this time, folding to one knee and hooking one muscled arm over Prometheus’s collar. He rocked back from the torrent of kisses Prometheus rained over the surface of his face. “Back,” Gavin said, gentle. “Back.” Prometheus’s wriggling body went still as Gavin found the place behind his ear that made the canine groan. “Good boy,” Mavis heard him murmur. He ran a hand along Prometheus’s spine before glancing up.

      The frown was never far from his face. It returned in force. Replacing the Oakley sunglasses he had wisely removed before receiving Prometheus’s attentions, he straightened, his feet braced apart on the decking. He didn’t say a word when Prometheus began to wind circles around them, bumping his head and body against the man’s knees in a motion that would’ve looked feline had it not been for the speedy whip motion of the dog’s tail.

      Briar didn’t hesitate to approach Gavin. “You made it,” she greeted, taking his rigid form into her arms.

      “I’m sweating.” Gavin’s hands lifted, lowered, then rose the rest of the way to hug Briar back. After a second, his head dipped so that his cheek touched her temple. He let her go, but not without a small rub over the slender line of her back. “I heard rumors about your potato salad and Gerald’s rum ribs.”

      Briar patted his flat tummy. “You could use some of both, I think.”

      “Thanks,” he said without seeming to take offense. He reached down and ran his fingers down Bea’s upturned face, pinching her nose lightly between his knuckles. “This one charmed me out of wrestling Harmony for shotgun.”

      “He taught me how to make a spitball,” Bea revealed.

      “Lord help us, Gavin,” Briar said, and sighed.

      “Yeah,” he said. “Sorry about that.” His gaze relocated—to Mavis. “How’s it hangin’, Frexy?”

      Mavis narrowed her eyes. “Frexy?”

      He lifted a shoulder. “Since you hate Freckles so much. Thought I’d change it up.”

      “Frexy?” she said again.

      When he said nothing further, Briar pointed out, “We were just talking, Mavis and I, about Miss Zelda.”

      Lines barred the sides of his mouth, his attention all over Mavis again and displeased. “And me.”

      Rigid as he was, he still emitted a waver of suspicion around his full lips. “Well, yeah,” Mavis answered. She crossed her arms. “Your stepmother wanted to know if you can do a Fallen Angel yet.”

      He hesitated, measuring her. “What’d you tell her?”

      “That I can’t wait to see you try.”

      His features didn’t ease much. Mavis knew him well enough, however, to see them smooth, even if the frown persisted. He shifted his feet beneath him. “Can you?”

      “What?” she asked. Jesus. It’d been nearly a week. She’d forgotten how little effort it took for the center line of his focus to knock her off-kilter.

      “Do a Fallen Angel,” he said.

      She spread her hands. “Come to class and find out.”

      A hint of a grin flirted with the edges of his mouth.

      Her heart reeled. Son of a bitch, she thought. Uncomfortable, she snapped her spine straight. There was a crepe myrtle encroaching on the deck. The white blossom heads were heavy enough to bow to the ensuing heat. One tickled her elbow. Irritably, she pinched the crown of blossoms until she rent flowers loose between her fingers. She stared at them for a moment before handing them absently to Bea.

      She and Briar made a motion to escape into the air-conditioned house. Mavis’s feet shuffled in an awkward ball change to follow. “I taught a beginner class a few months ago. I could teach you a few poses or help you build your own flow to manage tension, stress...even head and neck aches.”

      “I don’t think stretching’s going to solve all my problems,” he said.

      “Probably not,” she agreed. She let the door close after Bea and Briar, lingering with her hand on the knob. He pivoted slowly to face her, giving her a second to measure the solid slope of his shoulders and his T-shirt-clad back. Briar was right. He had lost weight. “But if you can’t punch your way through the bigger problems, you might as well start chiseling away at the small stuff. Otherwise, you’re just...standing still.”

      He stared. It wasn’t like being bathed in sunlight. More, moonlight. Lots and lots of super moon–light. It was mystical in its intensity—as was Gavin’s effect on her.

      When she realized neither of them had spoken in nearly two minutes, she opened the door. The sounds of family conversation lured her in. The door was solid paneling, heavy. She hid a grunt behind her teeth.

      A large fist clamped over the top of hers, spreading the door wider from the jamb. He was there, close.

      They’d been close before, but she couldn’t remember ever being this aware of him, his large, roughened hands, or his arms roped with muscle and dark hair. Under his white T-shirt she could see the outline of black

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