“I’ll send you a memo.” Cybil rose as well. “Research time. I’ll see all you handsome men at the O’Dells’ tomorrow. I’m looking forward to it,” she added, and gave Fox a brush on the shoulder as she passed.

“Cal, I need you to look at the toaster.”

Cal’s brows drew together as he glanced at Quinn. “The toaster? Why?”

“There’s this thing.” She wondered how an intelligent man could be so dense. Didn’t he see it was time to clear the room and give Layla and Fox a minute alone? She grabbed his hand, tugged, rolled her eyes. “Come take a look at the thing.”

“I guess I’d better get going, too,” Fox said when they were alone.

“Why don’t you stay? We don’t have to… We can just sleep.”

“Do I look that bad?”

“You look a little tired yet.”

“Too much sleep does that, too.”

And sad, she thought. Even when he smiled, she could see the shadow in his eyes. “We could go out. I know this nice little bar across the river.”

He framed her face, touched his lips to hers. “I’m lousy company tonight, Layla, even for myself. I’m going to go home, and do some research. Of the kind that pays the bills. But I appreciate the offer. I’ll come by, pick you up tomorrow.”

“If you change your mind, just call.”

But he didn’t call, and she spent a restless night worrying about him, second-guessing herself. What if he had another nightmare and she wasn’t there to help him through it?

And somehow he’d managed to get through much worse than nightmares for the last twenty years without her.

But he wasn’t himself. She rolled in bed to stare at the ceiling. He wasn’t Fox. The dream, the memories, the telling her about Carly-all of that had just snuffed out the light inside him. Comfort, anger, understanding, rest. None of those had brought the light back. When it came back, because she had to believe it would, would she put it out again if she told him her thoughts about Carly’s connection? If her thoughts proved to be fact, would it be worse for him?

Because the thoughts and worries wouldn’t stop circling, she got out of bed. Downstairs, she brewed herself a cup of Cybil’s tea, carried it up to the office. While the house slept, she selected the correct color index cards to note down the key words and phrases she remembered from the reading. She studied the charts, the graphs, the map, willing for something new and illuminating to jump out at her.

She frowned over Cybil’s notepads, but even after the weeks of working together she couldn’t decipher the odd shorthand Quinn often called Cybilquick. Though she’d already told both her friends the details, she sat now and typed up a report on Fox’s dream, another, longer one of Carly’s death.

For a time, she simply watched out the window, but the night was empty. When she returned to bed, when she finally slept, so were her dreams.

FOX KNEW HOW TO FEEL ONE THING AND PROJECT another. His profession, after all, wasn’t so different from Gage’s. Law and gambling had a lot in common. Many times he had to show a certain face to a judge, a jury, a client, opposing counsel that might not reflect what he had in his heart, his head, his gut.

When he arrived with Layla, his brother, Ridge, and his family were already there, as was Sparrow and her guy. With so many people in the house, it was easy to deflect attention.

So he introduced Layla around, tickled his nephew. He teased Sparrow and hunkered down with her live-in, who was a vegan, played the concertina, and had a passion for baseball.

Because Layla seemed occupied, and he could feel her trying to scope out his mood, Fox slipped off to the kitchen. “Mmm, smell that tofu.” He came up behind his mother at the stove, gave her a hug. “What else is on the menu?”

“All your favorites.”

“Don’t be a smart-ass.”

“If I wasn’t, how could I have passed the quality on to you?” She turned, started to give him her ritual four kisses, then frowned into his eyes. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Worked late, that’s all.”

Someone had talked Sparrow into picking up the fiddle from the music room, so Fox used the music as an excuse to dance his mother around the room. He wouldn’t fool her, he knew, but she’d leave it alone. “Where’s Dad?”

“In the wine cellar.” It was a highfalutin name for the section in the basement where they stored homemade wine. “I made deviled eggs.”

“All is not lost.”

He lowered his mother into a dip as Layla came in. “I thought I’d see if there was something I could do to help.”

“Absolutely.” Jo straightened, patted Fox’s cheek. “What do you know about artichokes?” she asked Layla.

“They’re a vegetable.”

Jo smiled slyly, crooked her finger. “Come into my parlor.”

Layla did better when put to work, and felt very at home when Brian O’Dell handed her a glass of apple wine, and added a kiss on the cheek.

People came in and out of the room. Cybil arrived with a miniature shamrock plant, Cal with a six-pack of Brian’s favored beer. There was a lot of conversation in the kitchen, a lot of music outside of it. She saw Sparrow, who lived up to her name with her sweet, airy looks, walking her nephew outside so he could chase the chickens. And there was Ridge with his dreamy eyes and big hands tossing the boy in the air.

It was a happy house, Layla thought as she heard the boy’s laughs and shouts through the windows. Even Ann had found some happiness here.

“Do you know what’s wrong with Fox?” Jo kept her voice quiet as she and Layla worked side by side.

“Yes.”

“Can you tell me?”

Layla glanced around. Fox had gone out again. He wasn’t able to settle, she thought. Just wasn’t able to settle quite yet. “He told me about Carly. Something happened to remind him and upset him, so he told me.”

Saying nothing, Jo nodded and continued to prepare her vegetables. “He loved her very much.”

“Yes. I know.”

“It’s good that you do, that you understand that. It’s good that he told you, that he could tell you. She made him happy, then she broke his heart. If she’d lived, she’d have broken his heart in a different way.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

Jo looked at her. “She would never, never have seen him, not the whole of him, not everything he is. She would never have accepted the whole of him. Can you?”

Before Layla could answer, Fox shoved in the kitchen door with his nephew clinging like a monkey to his back. “Somebody get this thing off me!”

More bodies pressed into the kitchen, more drinks were poured. Hands grabbed at the finger food spread on platters on the sturdy kitchen table. Into the noise, Sage walked, holding the hand of a pretty brunette with clear hazel eyes who could only be Paula.

“I’ll have some of that.” Sage picked up the wine bottle and poured a large glass. “Paula won’t.” Sage let out a breathless, giddy laugh. “We’re having a baby.”

She was still laughing as she turned to Paula, as Paula touched her face. They kissed in the old farmhouse kitchen while shouts of congratulations rang around them.

“We’re having a baby,” Sage said again, then turned to Fox. “Good job.” And threw herself into his arms. “Mom.” She swung from Fox to her mother, to her father, her siblings while Fox stood, a dazed expression on his face.

What Layla saw was Paula stepping through the excitement. As she had with Sage, Paula touched Fox’s face. “Thank you.” And she pressed her cheek to his. “Thank you, Fox.”

What Layla saw was the light come back into his eyes. She saw the sadness drop away, and the joy leap into its place. Her own eyes went damp as she watched him kiss Paula, and wrap his arm around his sister so that the three of them stood for a moment as a unit.

Then Jo moved into her vision, stopped in front of her. She kissed Layla on the forehead, on one cheek, the other, then lightly on the lips. “You’ve just answered my question.”