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out of wedlock." Those brightly painted lips folded thin. "Disgraceful."

"A . . . delicate situation, but one that happens, very often in any family history. As it happens, one of the legends I've heard regarding the house, the family, deals with a ghost, that of a young woman who may have found herself in this same delicate situation."

"Balderdash."

He nearly blinked. He didn't believe he'd ever heard anyone use that term in actual conversation.

"Ghosts. I would think a man with your education would be more sensible."

"Like scandal, Miss Harper, ghosts add spice. And the legend of the Harper Bride is common in the area. Certainly it has to be mentioned in any detailed family history. It would be more surprising if a house as old and rich in history as Harper House didn't have some whisper of hauntings. You must have grown up hearing the story."

"I know the story, and even as a child had more sense than to believe such nonsense. Some find such things romantic; I do not. If you're skilled or experienced at your work, you'll certainly find that there was no Harper bride who died in that house as a young woman - which this ghost is reputed to be. Not since the story began buzzing about."

"Which would have been?"

"In my grandfather's time, from all accounts. Your own papers here," she said as she tapped the folder, "debunk any such foolishness. My grandmother lived to a ripe age, as did my mother. My aunts were not young women when they passed. My great-grandmother, and all of her children who survived their first five years, lived well past their forties."

"I've heard theories that this ghost is a more distant relation, even a guest or a servant."

"Each nonsensical."

He fixed a pleasant smile on his face and nodded as if in agreement. "Still, it adds to the lore. So none of your family, to your knowledge, actually saw this legendary bride?"

"Certainly not."

"Pity, it would have made an interesting chapter in the history. I'd hoped to find someone who'd have a story to tell, or had written of it in a journal or diary. But as to journals or diaries, in a more earthbound sense. I'm hoping to add some to my research, to use them to personalize this family history. Do you have any that your mother or father, or other ancestors kept? Your grandmother's perhaps, your own mother's, aunts', cousins'?"

"No."

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Jane open her mouth as if to speak, then quickly close it again.

"I hope you'll allow me to interview you more in-depth, about specifics, and whatever anecdotes you'd care to share. And that you'd be willing to share any photographs, perhaps copy them at my expense for inclusion in the book."

"I'll consider it, very seriously, and contact you when I've made my decision."

"Thank you. I very much appreciate the time you've given me." He got to his feet, offered his hand. "Your family is of great interest to me, and it's been a pleasure to speak with you."

"Goodbye, Dr. Carnegie. Jane, show the man out."

At the door he offered his hand to Jane, smiled straight into her eyes. "It was nice to meet you, Miss Paulson."

He walked to the elevator, then rocked back and forth on his heels as he waited for the doors to open.

The old woman had something - something she didn't want to share. And the quiet little puppy knew it.

ROZ STROLLED HOMEthrough her woods in the best of all possible moods. It was nearly time for the major spring opening. Her season would begin with a bang, the work would be long, hard, and physical - and she'd love every minute.

The new potting soil was already beginning to move, and once the season got into swing, the twenty-five - pound bags were going to march out the door.

She just felt it.

The fact was, she admitted, she felt everything. The hum in the air that said spring, the streams of sunlight that spilled through the branches, the loose and limber swing of her own muscles.

Hardly a wonder they were loose and limber after last night, she thought. Four orgasms, for God's sake. And Mitch was a man of his word. Stick with me, he'd said, and it won't be the last time.

He'd proven just that in the middle of the night.

She'd had sex twice in one night, and that was certainly worth a red letter on her calendar.

With John . . . they'd been young and hadn't been