“Fine,” she repeated in a tone that was anything but. Without saying goodbye, Louise turned and went down the hall.

Liam stood there, waiting till she was in the elevator, then stepped inside his apartment. Locked the door. Unlocked it. Locked it again. Then he went to the sink, slammed on the hot water and lathered up. Fifty-five seconds. It was never enough with the Tates. He’d moved across the continent and gave them pretty free access to their granddaughter, endured their crappy WASP dinners and veiled insults, but it would never be enough. And yet they were his backup plan for his child. Who wouldn’t be a child much longer.

Hands washed and dried. Door locked. Jaw still clenched.

What time had he told Cordelia he’d pick her up? Well, how about now? Would now work?

Twenty minutes later, he pulled into her driveway, feeling slightly better. Cordelia’s church stood alone, no neighbors, just a few thick stands of trees. Though the church could definitely use some work, it looked nice there in the sunshine, little purple flowers pushing through the earth in clumps. A nice place to live.

He knocked on the door, which opened almost immediately. The chef, what’s-her-name, stood there, barely clothed. “Well, hello there, Liam,” she said, sliding one hand up the doorframe.

“Hi,” he said. He heard a deep woof, and the giant dog appeared, galloping straight at him, nose aimed for Liam’s crotch, but the cousin grabbed his collar. The creature barked again, wagged its tail, knocking something to the ground, and offered an enormous paw. Some watchdog.

The cousin, meanwhile, looked like she was about to eat him alive. “So, how are you today?” she asked, giving him a slow once-over.

“Fine, thanks. Is Cordelia home?”

“She is. You guys are so cute,” she said. “Come on in.” She turned and walked inside. Liam followed, his eyes dropping automatically to check out her swaying ass, which was very nice, he had to admit, and outfitted for maximum attention—short shorts, even though it couldn’t have been more than fifty-five degrees outside. Or in here. Not the warmest place, this church. “So, Liam, I didn’t even know you guys were seeing each other, you naughty boy.”

“We’re friends,” he said.

“Friends with privileges?” she said suggestively, sweeping her hair off the back of her neck, then patting the couch. “Sit down, sit down, relax.”

He didn’t, though the white cat with the big head took her up on it. Liam looked around. He hadn’t seen a lot the other night, as Cordelia had practically dragged him up to her bed. Not that he was complaining. But there was lots of cool stuff here…an ornate, thronelike chair, a chandelier made of antlers, a statue of a scowling angel who looked ready to kick some sinful ass. “So, where is she?” he asked, feeling the cousin’s eyes still on him.

“Upstairs. When she told me—well, I’ll be honest, she was so cute and shy about it, you’d think it was her first date ever. Come to think of it, it might be. Anyway, I had to pry it out of her, because I thought that was you leaving our house the other day, and then when I saw you sitting together in the beer garden yesterday, I put two and two together.”

“Genius,” he said.

“Thanks,” she purred. “So at any rate, she still dresses like a tiny lumberjack, no clue, as I’m sure you’ve noticed, so I gave her a little help. Poor Posey.” She stretched hugely, arms over her head, arching her back. “You can thank me when you see her.”

Piece of work, the cousin.

“Posey! Your date’s here!” Also shockingly loud.

A door closed upstairs, and they heard footsteps. Tentative footsteps. Meanwhile, the cousin and dog both were eyeing Liam’s groin. Move it, Cordelia, Liam thought. One of these two is going to jump me any second.

She came into the room, and the dog burst into furious barking. Liam flinched. “Uh…hi,” he said after a moment.

“Hi.” She scowled. “Too much?”

At the sound of her voice, the dog fell into a confused silence, punctuated with whining. “Shilo, it’s me,” Cordelia said tightly. He growled, disbelieving, then barked again.

“You look so cute!” the cousin exclaimed, clapping her hands.

Cordelia did not look cute. She looked—well, crap, there was no other way to put it—like a kid who’d gotten into her mother’s stuff. That, or an underage prostitute. Her long, wispy eyelashes were coated with gunk, her eyelids smeared with purple. Hair was slicked down with some sort of product that made it look both greasy and stiff as the same time. Worst of all was her mouth, her beautiful, full lips smeared with oily red. If Liam tried to kiss that mouth, he’d slide right off. She wore an ill-fitting miniskirt and a shirt that was sheer (he had to give the cousin credit for something), revealing a black bra underneath. Tacky, but hot nonetheless. Just not…her. When Liam managed to look into her eyes, he saw that she was glaring at him.

“I liked you better before,” he said. “Personally.”

“Me, too,” she said. “Back in a flash.”

“I think you look great!” the cousin called. “Oh, well. So much for all my hard work.”

Ten very long minutes later, she was back. Hair damp but in its usual clumps. Sturdy jeans, couple of layers of flannel and fleece, engineer boots. Much better. “All set,” she said, grabbing her backpack. She barely looked at him.

“Have fun, kiddies!” the cousin said.

“Sorry about that,” Cordelia said as they went outside. Her face was pink. “I had a delusional moment I could look like a…”

“Prostitute?” Liam suggested.

She shot him a glance, then smiled. “I don’t know. Living with Gretchen, I kind of lost perspective. Since she’s all flowy and shiny and stuff. She said I just had to get used to it, but I could barely see with all that gunk on my eyes.” She had something in her hand—candy, it looked like, wrapped in wax paper, and she took a bite. That mouth of hers was even more distracting, now that she was chewing.

“Well,” he said. “You have your own special thing.”

She looked up in surprise, dropping the candy on the driveway. In a flash, she picked it up, gave it a quick glance, and took another bite.

“Really?” Liam asked.

“Shush. My college roommate sent me this fudge. It’s from Z. Cioccolato. In San Francisco, okay? Best stuff ever.” She held it out. “Want a bite?”

“Pass.”

“Your loss.”

Now her lips had just a little chocolate on them. Liam found himself getting a little…aroused. More than a little, actually. “So, your cousin lives with you?” he asked, trying to focus on something else.

Cordelia groaned. “For the moment. She’s between mansions right now.”

He laughed. “She looks a lot like your mom, doesn’t she? More than you do.”

She gave him an odd look. “I’m adopted.”

“Oh, really? I didn’t know that.”

“Yeah. My brother, too.”

“Well, that I did guess, since he’s what? Vietnamese?”

“Yep.”

“And what are you? Ethnicity-wise?”

“I don’t know. It was a closed adoption. So, where are we going?”

Hint taken. “Um…” Right. He should’ve thought of that. It’d been a while since he’d been on…well, it wasn’t really a date. Whatever. “Where do you want to go?”

She thought for a moment. “I have to check on something, and you might like to see it. Want to come?”

“Sure.”

“Let me get Shilo. He can come with us, if that’s okay.”

“Sure.”

She ran back into the church, opened the door and called her dog, who galumphed out, baying joyfully. “My truck?” Cordelia asked, as the pony-size dog whirled in circles next to her.

“We can take my car,” Liam said. He opened the back door for the dog, who leaped right in, then seemed to fall unconscious. He was too big for the backseat, so his head drooped to the floor, nose almost touching.

“I thought you might have your motorcycle today,” Cordelia said as she buckled up. “It’s so nice out.”

“I don’t ride it much anymore,” he said.

“Since the accident?”

He gave her a sharp look. “Who told you about that?”

She grinned. “You did, biker boy. When you were under the influence of pain meds.”

“Right. After you broke my rib.” He started the car and pulled out of her driveway.

“Cracked. And don’t worry, you swore me to silence. Take a left at the stop sign.”

“So tell me, Cordelia, have you always sucked at baseball?” Liam asked, and she punched his arm.

“I almost got a hit the other day,” she said. “It was very close.”

“Wow. So exciting.” He grinned as she smacked him again.

“We can’t all be perfect like you, Liam. Heard you had four hits against Oasis.”

“It’s true,” he acknowledged.

“Good. Glad you’re having fun. Go left here.” He obeyed. “Where’s your daughter today?”

His smile dropped. “With her grandparents.”

“And how are they? With her, I mean?”

And so Liam found himself telling Cordelia an edited version of the Tates’ demands, the endless stream of gifts and overindulgences. It was…nice, having someone to talk to. He’d made a few friends since moving—Allan the lawyer was a pretty good guy, but obviously it was a little weird with the whole Taylor-belt stuff. Rose, the bartender, had a killer Harley and brought it in for a tune-up and flirted without coming onto him, which was fun. The girls at the bakery were friendly.

But Cordelia…maybe it was his link to her parents, but she felt…safe. And she listened. It had been a long time since someone really listened like that.

“Up here on the right,” Cordelia said, pointing. “Just pull in and stop, okay?”

An endless rock wall bordered a sloping lawn. There was a house up there, though Liam could only catch glimpses of it through the trees, which had started to bud out in earnest. A giant Victorian, from the look of it. Shilo, who’d been sleeping, perked up, pushing his giant head between the front seats to see where they’d stopped. A huge set of arching, wrought-iron gates with the words The Meadows spelled out on top marked their destination. Cordelia hopped out of the car, opened a metal box, punched in a code, and got back in the car. The gates swung open, and Liam drove in. Stone driveway. Very nice.

“You know the owner?” he asked.

“I do. Vivian Appleton. She used to live here before she got too old.” Cordelia peered through the windshield at the house. “Man, look at those daffodils! They were hardly out last week!”

The house was massive and ornate, green with cream and blue trim. Dozens of windows, a huge set of double doors, curving front porch. And yes, hundreds, if not thousands, of bright yellow daffodils bordered the lawn, bobbing in the sun.

Cordelia leaped out of the car, opened the door for her dog, and ran up the granite steps that led to a stone terrace. “Come on,” she ordered. “We’ll go in this way. The front door sticks.” Her dog, clearly no stranger to the property, trotted off, snuffling the air with enthusiasm. Liam followed her up the stairs. “It’s empty, but it’s gorgeous anyway. The owner’s heirs are going to tear this place down, and I’m hoping to get the salvage rights.”

“Tear it down?” he asked. “Are you kidding?”

Cordelia turned. “I know. Come on, come on. You have to see the inside.” She typed in a code, then opened the door.

It was incredible. Everything about the house was ornate and…well, expensive, if in need of some care. The walnut staircase, the French doors, the leaded windows, plasterwork and ceiling medallions…it went on and on. Cordelia pointed out a few features, but she seemed almost as in awe of the place as he was, as if she were seeing it for the first time, too. The sun shone through a stained-glass window, pebbling the floor—and the dog, who’d come in with them—with color.

“Doesn’t the town want to save it as a museum or something?” Liam asked, gazing out at the expansive lawns.

“Believe me, I tried. But you know how it is around here. Can’t swing a cat without hitting some historical home where George Washington or Franklin Pierce had a snack. No money in the budget for one more.” She ran her hand along a marble mantelpiece. “Vivian was hoping one of her nieces or nephews would want to live here, but nobody does. A developer made them a huge offer for the land.” Cordelia sighed. “I get the impression Viv thinks that if she doesn’t leave them the estate, they’ll declare her incompetent, or just make her life miserable. Or just stop visiting.”

“What a shame.”

“I know.” She was silent for a minute, then brightened. “Want to see the caretaker’s house? A whole family used to live there, five kids, the caretaker and his wife, who was the cook.”

The cottage was a short walk farther back on the property and was shaded by an enormous spruce. Diamond-paned windows, a stone fireplace, a snug little kitchen. “Viv tried living here for a while,” Posey said, quite the tour guide, “but even that got to be too much once she had her stroke. Isn’t it cute? Imagine being the family who got to live here.”

It was so far from the types of places Liam had lived in as a kid that he couldn’t. A bedroom of his own, rather than a ratty couch that smelled like beer or an air mattress on the floor. A yard full of trees and flowers instead of old car parts. Parents who made meals instead bringing home fast food…when they brought home food, that was.