The heavens wept for Catherine and sang her eulogy. While the minister prayed over her, lightning cracked and snapped, and thunder bellowed. The torrential downpour didn't let up until the ash-filled urn was locked inside the vault.

Catherine was finally at peace, and her husband's torment was over. His friends expected him to grieve but at the same time feel relief that his wife wasn't suffering any longer. He had loved the woman with all his heart, hadn't he?

Despite others urging him to take some time off, the widower went back to work the day after the funeral. He insisted he needed to keep busy in order to take his mind off his anguish.

It was a bright, blue, cloudless day as he drove down St. Charles toward his office. The sun warmed his shoulders. The scent of honeysuckle hung heavily in the humid air. His favorite Mellencamp CD, Hurts So Good, blared through the speakers.

He pulled into his usual spot in the parking garage and took the elevator up to his suite of offices. When he opened the door bearing his name, his secretary hurried forward to offer her heartfelt condolences. He remarked to her that his wife would have loved such a glorious summer day, and she later told the others in the office that there had been tears in his eyes when he'd said Catherine's name.

As the days passed, he appeared to be battling his depression. During most of his hours at work he seemed withdrawn and distant, going through his routine as if in a daze. Other times, he seemed shockingly cheerful. His erratic behavior was a concern to his staff, but they dismissed it as the understandable remnants of his grief. The best thing they could give him now was space. John was not one to discuss his feelings, and they all knew what a private person he was.

What they didn't know was that John was also quite the busy boy.

Within a couple of weeks after "the event," he had thrown out every painful reminder of his wife, including the Italian Renaissance furniture she had so loved. He dismissed her loyal servants and hired a housekeeper who hadn't known Catherine. He had the two-story house painted from top to bottom in bright, bold colors, and he had the garden re-landscaped. He added the fountain he'd wanted, the one with the cherub spouting water out of its mouth. He'd wanted the fountain for months, but when he'd shown Catherine a picture of it in a catalog, she had decreed it too gaudy.

Everything was finished to his satisfaction. He'd chosen contemporary furniture because of the sleek, uncluttered lines. When it was delivered from the warehouse where he'd been storing it, the placement of each piece was personally overseen by the interior designer.

Then, when the last delivery truck had pulled away-from the drive-way, he and the oh-so-clever, beautiful young designer christened the new bed. They screwed the night away in the black-lacquered four-poster-just like he'd been promising her for over a year now.

CHAPTER TWO

Theo Buchanan couldn't seem to shake the virus. He knew he was running a fever because every bone in his body ached and he had chills. He refused to acknowledge that he was ill, though; he was just a little off-kilter, that was all. He could tough it out. Besides, he was sure he was over the worst of it. The godawful stitch in his side had subsided into a dull throbbing, and he was positive that meant he was on the mend. If it was the same bug that had infected most of the staff back in his Boston office, then it was one of those twenty-four-hour things, and he should be feeling as good as new by tomorrow morning. Except, the throbbing in his side had been going on for a couple of days now.

He decided to blame his brother Dylan for that ache. He'd really nailed him when they'd played football at a family gathering in the front yard at Nathan's Bay. Yeah, the pulled muscle was Dylan's fault, but Theo figured that if he continued to ignore it, the pain would eventually go away.

Damn, he was feeling like an old man these days, and he wasn't even thirty-three yet.

He didn't think he was contagious, and he had too much to do to go to bed and sweat the fever out of his body. He'd flown from Boston to New Orleans to speak at a law symposium on organized crime and to receive recognition he didn't believe he deserved for simply doing his job.

He slipped his gun into its holster. The thing was a nuisance, but he was required to wear it for the time being, or at least until the death threats he'd received while trying the mob case died down. He put on the jacket to his tuxedo, went into the bathroom of his hotel room, and leaned close to the framed vanity mirror to adjust his tie. He caught a glimpse of himself. He looked half-dead. His face was covered with sweat.

Tonight was the first of three black-tie affairs. Dinner was going to be prepared by five of the top chefs in the city, but the gourmet food was going to be wasted on him. The thought of swallowing anything, even water, made his stomach lurch. He hadn't eaten anything since yesterday afternoon.

He sure as certain wasn't up to pointless chitchat tonight. He tucked the room key into his pocket and was reaching for the doorknob when the phone rang.

It was his brother Nick calling to check in.

"What's going on?"

"I'm walking out the door," Theo answered. "Where are you calling from? Boston or Holy Oaks?"

"Boston," Nick answered. "I helped Laurant close the lake house, and then we drove back home together."

"Is she staying with you until the wedding?"

"Are you kidding? Tommy would send me straight to hell."

Theo laughed. "I guess having a priest for a future brother-in-law does put a crimp in your sex life."

"A couple of months and I'm gonna be a married man. Hard to believe, isn't it?"

"It's hard to believe any woman would have you."

"Laurant's nearsighted. I told her I was good-looking and she believed me. She's staying with Mom and Dad until we all head back to Iowa for the wedding. What are you doing tonight?"

"I've got a fund-raiser I have to go to," he answered. "So what do you want?"

"I just thought I'd call and say hello."

"No, you didn't. You want something. What is it? Come on, Nick. I'm gonna be late."

"Theo, you've got to learn to slow down. You can't keep running for the rest of your life. I know what you're doing. You think that if you bury yourself in work, you won't think about Rebecca. It's been four years since she died, but you-"

Theo cut him off. "I like my life, and I'm not in the mood to talk about Rebecca."

"You're a workaholic."

"Did you call to lecture me?"

"No, I called to see how you were doing."

"Uh-huh."

"You're in a beautiful city with beautiful women, incredible food-"

"So what do you want?"

Nick gave up. "Tommy and I want to take your sailboat out tomorrow."

"Father Tom's there?"

"Yeah. He drove back with Laurant and me," he explained.

"Let me get this straight. You and Tommy want to take my sailboat out, and neither of you knows how to sail?"

"What's your point?"

"What about my fishing boat? Why don't you take the Mary Beth out instead? She's sturdier."

"We don't want to fish. We want to sail."

Theo sighed. "Try not to sink her, okay? And don't let Laurant go with you guys. The family likes her. We don't want her to drown. I've got to hang up now."

"Wait. There's something else."

"What?"

"Laurant's been bugging me to call you."

"Is she there? Let me talk to her," he said. He sat down on the side of the bed and realized he was feeling better. Nick's fiancee had that effect on all the Buchanan brothers. She made everyone feel good.

"She isn't here. She went out with Jordan, and you know our sister. God only knows what time they'll get home. Anyway, I promised Laurant that I'd track you down and ask…"