“Well,” he said, “I’m glad to see that the house will have a little more life in it than usual. How long are you here for?”

“Just a few days.” Carolyn seemed to consider something. “To start, anyway. I’ll be back, however. I suspect the project is going to…take some time.”

He grinned. He was pleased to hear that. As much as he loved Uncle Howie, it sure would be nice to have a pretty woman, and one close to his age at that, around to keep things lively. Douglas had an eye for the ladies. Always had. He liked them, and they liked him. His eyes twinkled at Carolyn. She was looking at him, too-but then Douglas realized that what she was looking at were his muddy clothes.

“Oh,” he said, giving a little laugh. “I had a little accident on the way up here. Swerved to avoid…” Now it was Douglas’s turn to hesitate. “A squirrel. I took a spill on my motorcycle.”

“Were you hurt?”

“Just scraped up my leg a bit. Nothing serious. I should probably hop in the shower and change my clothes.”

Carolyn was nodding. “Your uncle is just taking a brief rest. He’s in his room. We’ve been discussing the project for the last couple of hours, and it sort of wore him out. So while he rests, I’m in here going through some books and reports…”

“It’s okay, I know where his room is,” Douglas said, smiling. “I’ll pop in on him and surprise him.”

Carolyn’s face betrayed a hint of concern. “Don’t surprise him too much. He’s…well, a bit overwrought. This project…it’s…stressful.”

Douglas made a face. He had never understood Uncle Howie’s “projects.” Often there were people here, going through books and reports like Carolyn was doing now. Just what Uncle Howie did for his living Douglas had no idea, but even at ninety-eight, the old man still seemed incredibly active in it. Must be a lot of work managing all those investments and properties, Douglas thought.

“Well,” he said, flashing a smile, “it was very nice meeting you, Miss Cartwright.”

“Please,” she said. “Call me Carolyn.”

“And you can call me as many times as you’d like,” Douglas said, his grin pushing his cheeks up into his face, revealing the dimples that many women had told him were irresistible. He counted on them having the same effect on Carolyn.

Whether they did or not, he wasn’t certain. She smiled noncommittally and turned back into the parlor to return to her books and papers. Douglas sighed, heading down the corridor to his uncle’s room. Carolyn seemed like one smart, serious lady. No wonder Uncle Howie had hired her to do work for him.

Once again he wondered just what his uncle had done all these years as actual work. Oh, he figured managing millions took a lot of time and effort. Can hardly call it a job, though, Douglas thought. It sure wasn’t like landscaping, or carpentry, or steering a boatload of slaphappy tourists out to see the sharks. That’s why Uncle Howie always had “projects,” Douglas supposed, and he had “jobs.”

Douglas’s father had been very different from both his son and the wealthy family patriarch. He’d always worked for his living, even though he expected someday to be a beneficiary of at least some of the family fortune. “You’ve got to find your own way in this life,” he’d told Douglas many times. “You can’t rely just on what you hope to get someday. You’ve got to make it happen for yourself.”

Dad was a lawyer, often taking on cases pro bono for clients who couldn’t afford to hire representation. Douglas admired his father, wishing he’d inherited his drive and his commitment to do something for the world, to make a difference. But all Douglas had ever really cared about-well, at least after his father had died-was just getting by. His life’s goal was just to avoid too much hassle. Living the gypsy life had suited him fine for the last several years. No worries. Just be happy.

But now the idea of Uncle Howie setting him up somewhere, maybe in a little house here in Maine-a little cabin on a brook-sounded very appealing. Maybe he was growing up finally, or maybe some of Dad’s sense of stability had finally started to sink in. Maybe, Douglas thought, Uncle Howie could help him set up a carpentry shop where he could build furniture for the locals. Douglas thought he might like that. Maybe he’d even meet a girl up here, someone who might set his heart afire in a way that Mom had once done for Dad, in a way that Brenda, good as she was, had failed to do for him…

He turned the corner into his uncle’s room, tapping lightly on the open door.

“Uncle Howie?” Douglas whispered.

The room was dark. The drapes were drawn in the room, blotting out much of the bright sunshine from outside. But as Douglas’s eyes adjusted, he could make out his uncle lying on his enormous four-poster bed, fully dressed, even wearing his shoes. He lay on his back, his hands folded over his chest. He looked like he was dead and ready for the casket. A tiny flutter of alarm surged in Douglas’s chest.

“Uncle Howie?” he asked again, louder this time, taking a few steps into the room.

The old man didn’t move. Douglas stood over him.

“Uncle Howie?” He spoke for a third time, touching his fingers to the old man’s hand. It was cold.

But the eyes suddenly slid open.

Douglas made a little gasp and took a step back.

“Douglas!” the old man rasped. He struggled to rise to a sitting position, but couldn’t manage. He turned his head instead to look at his nephew. “My little hoodlum. What are you doing here?”

“I…I came to visit,” Douglas said.

“But the reunion is next month.”

Douglas tried to smile. Something about seeing Uncle Howie stretched out like this gave him the creeps. The old man still had not unfolded his hands from his chest. He looked like a talking corpse. “I came early,” Douglas said. “To spend some time with you.”

Howard Young’s tongue snaked out to wet his lips. “Look at you. You are a mess. Why are you so dirty?”

“I had a little accident with my bike.”

Finally the old man raised himself with difficulty on one brittle elbow. “I have always feared that motorcycle would bring you to a bad end.”

“It was just a little spill. I wasn’t hurt.”

Uncle Howard was sitting now. “Are you certain?”

Douglas nodded. “I just need a good hot shower.”

Uncle Howie grunted. “Well, anyway, I’m glad to see you, Douglas.” He smiled. Now that he was sitting up, he seemed warm. Back to life. He was once again the uncle that Douglas knew. “I’m glad you’re here.”

“You okay, Uncle Howie?” Douglas asked. “The pretty young lady downstairs said you got kind of shook up.”

The old man’s eyes twinkled. “Oh, so you’ve met her? Yes, indeed, she’s quite pretty.” He frowned. “But I wasn’t shook up. I just get tired more easily these days.”

“Well, don’t work too hard. Whatever these projects are, don’t let them stress you out.”

Uncle Howard sighed. “Would that they would simply go away.” He managed a weary smile at his nephew. “I’m glad you’re here,” he said again.

“So tell me,” Douglas said, grinning. “Is this Carolyn married?”

“No.”

“Boyfriend?”

“I don’t know,” Uncle Howie told him. “But I don’t think so. Not anymore.”

“Good.”

“Now, hold on a moment, you hoodlum.” Uncle Howie was smiling. “Carolyn is here on a very important matter. I don’t want you hassling her.”

“Me? Hassle a pretty woman?”

His uncle just gave him a look.

“All right,” Douglas said. “I’ll go easy on her. But she sure is hot.”

Uncle Howard nodded. “Yes, she is lovely. But what she is working on…it’s going to need her full attention. Which brings me to the reason why I am so pleased you came early to visit me, Douglas…”

The old man was struggling to get off the bed and stand. Douglas allowed him to lean on his arm. Once standing, Uncle Howard got quite close to his nephew and looked him directly in the eyes.