“You’re so beautiful,” he said. “Damn, Quinn-I’m the luckiest man in the world.”

He smoothed his palms over her breasts, and she caught her breath, surprised at the sheer enormity of her reaction, until, finally, he drew her down to him, capturing one nipple in his mouth. She helped get him out of his clothes, and by the time they cast his jeans off, the anticipation of making love to him had her aching.

“I can’t…wait anymore,” she said.

He smiled. “Good.”

She lay on her back, taking him with her, into her. For a moment, neither breathed. Then he moved, a slow, erotic thrust, and she clutched his arms, digging in her fingers, and lifted her hips to take in all of him, exulting in the feel of him inside her. It was all the cue he needed. He deepened, quickened his thrusts, and she responded, never having experienced such a powerful mix of emotions and sensations.

When she came, she cried out his name, but he was coming too, falling hard with her, until they were, exhausted, spent, clinging to each other in the afternoon breeze.

They made love again, taking their time, exploring each other at length, holding back nothing.

Quinn couldn’t imagine not having him in her life.

Afterward, they drank iced tea on the porch, the tide out, dusk coming more slowly now that it was late spring.

“Now,” Quinn said, “about Fredericksburg and my grandfather…”

Huck stretched out his thick legs. “You didn’t tell me he dresses like Rhett Butler.”

She laughed. “You’re making that up.”

His eyes glinted with humor. “Ah, the things your grandpapa’s never told you.”

“Who did you tell him you were?”

“The lawman in love with his granddaughter.”

“Huck.”

“He liked it that I’m a marshal. He’s probably one of about a dozen people who knows that the Marshals Service is the oldest law enforcement agency in America.”

“That’s not what-”

He wasn’t listening. “I told him that his granddaughter is a romantic adventurer at heart. He liked that, too, because it shows that I know you.”

Unable to hold on to her tea glass, Quinn set it down. “Huck, my grandfather isn’t an adventurer.”

“I don’t know. In some ways, he’s the biggest adventurer of all you Harlowes. He’s not afraid of asking questions, of seeing people in all their complexity. I told him I’m not a perfect man.” Huck set down his own tea and got up. “I told him that I know I have to prove to you that you’re the one for me. The only one.”

“You don’t have to prove anything to me.”

“Quinn-”

This time, she was the one who didn’t listen. “Diego says I should see the McCabe family hotel in San Francisco.”

Huck grinned. “He likes the towels. I should get him a set.”

“I’ve only been to San Francisco once,” she said.

“All right. We’ll stay at the McCabe family nuthouse-I mean, hotel-for a few days.” He put his arms around her waist, his eyes serious now. “But we’re not honeymooning there. No-don’t talk. I love you, Quinn. I want to marry you and be with you for the rest of our lives.”

“We fell hard for each other, didn’t we? Damn, Huck, I’m starting to cry!”

“A hard-ass Harlowe like you?” He grinned. “We need to get a move on. Diego’s waiting for us.”

“But he went back to California.”

“Nah. He had to come out here one last time. As himself. Without the Yankees shirt, not playing fisherman. Smoking one last cigarette.” Huck winked at her. “He wants to take us out on his boat.”

“I love you, Huck. I don’t think I said that-”

“I kind of got that feeling.” He tightened his hold on her. “We need to put some ghosts to rest, Quinn. You, me, Diego. We’ll go out on the water and drink a toast to lost friends, and we’ll make this place special again.”

Quinn looked out at the water, mirrorlike under the blue-gray sky. “I was thinking I’d have to sell my cottage.”

“Then I’d have to buy it. I can’t think of a better spot for a honeymoon than right here.”

She thought of Alicia, and knew somehow that her friend would approve.

An osprey circled out at the mouth of her cove. When they’d gone back for Alicia’s bag, the FBI evidence team had taken care not to disturb the nest. Now, there were osprey babies.

“Ospreys mate for life, you know,” Quinn said.

“My kind of birds.” He kissed the top of her head. “Let’s take a walk and go find Diego.”

About Carla Neggers

Carla Neggers lives in rural Vermont with her husband and their two children. Since completing her first novel at the age of twenty-four, she has written over forty books and has appeared on the New York Times and USA Today bestseller lists.