“Yes, you’re right. I saw his face when I told him. He looked almost awed. Professor Quinn must have been an extraordinary man.”

“My parents were special. They had the kind of marriage you rarely see. A true partnership, based on trust, respect, love, passion. It hasn’t been easy wondering if my father broke that trust.”

“You were afraid that he had cheated on your mother with Gloria, fathered a child with her.” Sybill sat down. “It was hideous of her to plant that seed.”

“It was also hell living with the seeds in me that I couldn’t quite stomp out. Resentment for Seth. Was he my father’s son? His true son, while I was just one of the substitutes? I knew better,” he added as he sat beside her. “In my heart. But it’s one of those mind games that nag at you at three A.M.”

If nothing else, she realized, she’d eased his mind on that one point. But it wasn’t enough. “I’m going to ask my mother to corroborate my statement in writing. I don’t know that she will. I doubt that she will,” Sybill admitted. “But I’ll ask, I’ll try.”

“Teamwork, see.” He took her hand in his, nuzzling it, which had her turning her head to study him warily.

“Your jaw’s bruised.”

“Yeah.” He grimaced, wiggled it. “Cam still has a damn sneaky left.”

“He hit you?”

The absolute shock in her voice made him laugh. Obviously the good doctor didn’t come from a world where fists flew. “I was going to hit him first, but he beat me to it. Which means I owe him one. I’d have paid him back then and there, but Ethan got me in a choke hold.”

“Oh, God.” Swamped with distress, she got to her feet. “This was about us. About what happened today on the boat. It should never have happened. I knew it would cause trouble between you and your family.”

“Yes,” he said evenly, “it was about us. And we worked it out. Sybill, my brothers and I have been pounding on each other as long as we’ve been brothers. It’s a Quinn family tradition. Like my father’s waffle recipe.”

Distress continued to ripple through her. But confusion ran with it. Fists and waffles? she wondered, pulling a hand through her disordered hair. “You fight with them, physically?”

“Sure.”

To try to compute it, she pressed her fingers to her temples. It didn’t help a bit. “Why?”

He considered, smiled. “Because they’re there?” he suggested.

“And your parents allowed this type of violent behavior.”

“My mother was a pediatrician. She always stitched us up.” He leaned forward to pour himself more wine. “I think I’d better explain the whole picture. You know that Cam, Ethan, and I are adopted.”

“Yes. I did some research before I came . . .” She trailed off, glanced back at her laptop. “Well, you know that already.”

“Yeah. And you know some of the facts, but not the meaning. You asked me about my scars. It doesn’t start there,” he mused. “Not really. Cam was the first. Ray caught him trying to steal my mother’s car one morning.”