"You shouldn't drive," Serena told her. "Sleep in our spare bedroom."

"Thanks, but I've done that too much lately. I've got my own home, you know. At least until I sell that stinking mausoleum and get my own place. Besides, I'm not as buzzed as I look. Talking about dead bodies sobers me up. Don't worry, I'll go slow."

"I'll walk you out," Stride said.

As they left the ring of fire, Stride felt the remnants of winter chill creep back in under his clothes. Maggie seemed unaffected. She dangled her red leather jacket over her shoulder. The top two buttons on her pink blouse were undone. Stride had a flashlight, and the beam guided them along the trail through the woods. He walked with her past his house, past the used and dusty black Ford Expedition in his driveway, and out to Minnesota Avenue. The road cutting through the Point was deserted. Maggie's gleaming new Avalanche, painted in shocking yellow, was parked at the curb.

"It's good to have you back, Mags," he said, as they leaned against her truck. His fingers itched for a cigarette, but he had given them up again, and hopefully for good. Serena couldn't handle the smoke now.

"Thanks."

"You don't need the money anymore," he said. "Why come back to a job like this?"

Maggie shrugged. "It's what I do."

"You come to any decision about adopting a kid?"

"I'm still thinking about it," she admitted. "I've got to get my life put back together, and then we'll see. One step at a time."

"That would be one lucky kid," Stride said.

Maggie got up on tiptoes, ran her fingers through his wavy hair, and pulled his head down and kissed him. Her lips were soft as they moved on his mouth, and he wrapped his arms around her back and pulled her close. The kiss went on, a deep kiss, the kind of kiss he never imagined he would share with her.

She broke it off and smirked at him.

"No offense, but I've decided to stop loving you."

"Okay." As if anything was that easy.

"I have other things to do with my life, and you're in love with Serena. But it was nice to know I had a shot for a second there." She gave him one of the sarcastic, know-it-all, infuriating looks she had given him for ten years. "I did have a shot just now, didn't I?"

"Yeah, you did," he said, surprising himself.

"Leave them wanting more, that's my motto."

"Go away."

"I'll see you tomorrow, boss."

Maggie tossed her keys in her hand as she strolled around to the driver's door. He heard her whistling. He stayed where he was for a long while, because he could still feel the touch of her lips and smell her perfume, and it disoriented him. When he followed the snowy trail back to the lake and sat down in front of the fire next to Serena, he was quiet. He felt guilty.

Serena glanced at him, suppressed a grin, and stared off at the lake.

"So she kissed you, huh?" she asked.

"Are you a mind reader?"

"No, but that's not your shade of lipstick."

Stride cursed and wiped his face. "Sorry."

"It's okay."

They watched the bonfire dance. Knotty pine crackled and spit.

"Just so we're clear," Serena added, "if you ever do it again, I'll be forced to kill you both."

"Don't worry, you're my alpha girl."

"Better believe it."

Serena sidled across the sand and sat so that their legs were touching. He put his hand carefully on her thigh and caressed her skin through the loose fabric of her sweatpants, not touching too hard. She didn't stop him. Her body didn't cringe in pain, and her soul didn't pull away. When he looked at her, her eyes were closed, and she was smiling.

"This is okay?" he asked her.

"This is great."

They sat there in silence while the fire worked itself down to ash, and when it was nothing but a faint auburn glow on the ribbon of sand, they buried it with snow and hiked back over the grassy slope to their home.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Much of this novel was conceived and researched in a rental cottage on Park Point in Duluth that bears suspicious similarity to the home now owned by Stride and Serena. You can actually stay there yourself, or you can tour the home at www.cottageonthepoint.com. Many thanks to Pat Burns for her hospitality.

As in the past, I am in debt to several people who have done so much to advance my career and who help me turn a manuscript into a novel each year: my agents Ali Gunn, Deborah Schneider, and Diana Mackay; my editors Jennifer Weis and Marion Donaldson; and my wife Marcia (to whom I owe so many other debts, too).

I would be remiss if I didn't mention several others in the industry who have been wonderful friends and supporters: Peter Newsom; Kim McArthur; Beth Goehring; Carole Baron; Markus Wilhelm; Sally Richardson; Gary Jansen; Silvia Sese; Iris Graedler; Matthew Shear; Carrie Hamilton-Jones; Kate Cooper; Carol Jackson; Gunilla Sondell; Genevieve Waldmann; Frank van de Stadt; and a host of editors and publishing colleagues in the United States and around the world.

In the past three years, I have built relationships with many, many booksellers and readers. Thanks to all of you for your enthusiasm and support. Special thanks to Gail F.; Eric S.; Paul P.; Shelly G.; Jean N.; Ron F.; Bonnie B.; Mike O.; and Jim H.

Finally, I hope you'll all visit my Web site at www.bfreemanbooks.com and continue to send me e-mails at [email protected]. One of the great pleasures of my life as an author is the opportunity to chat with readers.

Thanks, Mom and Dad. You made everything possible.

Brian Freeman