Jenny couldn't help smiling back. She should have known her father would have an answer; he always did. It wasn't always the right answer, of course, but he never let that bother him.

"Dad, all I said was I wasn't crazy about the rimrocks. I didn't mean I had any deep, morbid fear of them that needed conquering."

"I didn't mean you did, either," he said, buttering the toast and handing it to her. "I just meant you might sleep better if you got more exercise." He fed two more pieces of bread into the toaster. "Unpacking boxes and putting things away isn't the same as getting outside and stretching your legs. In fact, we could all do with some real exercise. I think I just hit on a good idea."

Her father's voice was enthusiastic, and Jenny knew what was coming. By lunchtime, he'd have the three of them standing at the bottom of the bluff, outfitted in climbing gear, and ready to conquer the forces of nature. Her mother wouldn't mind, she knew; in fact, Grace Fowler would probably head the expedition. Jenny had inherited her mother's blonde hair and freckles and her father's brown eyes and long legs, but somehow they hadn't managed

to pass on their go-get-'em, I-can-do-anything attitude to her. Her mother said she was too cautious and waffled back and forth about everything. Jenny guessed it must be annoying that their only child was so different from them, but she couldn't help it. She just approached things more slowly and thought a lot about something before she did it. Especially something like climbing that mini-Matterhom out there.

"Richard!" Mrs. Fowler's voice bounced off the still-bare walls, and they heard her footsteps slapping rapidly down the stairs. In a couple of seconds, she bustled into the kitchen, her eyes bright with excitement. "Good news!" she announced. "I just got off the phone with the real estate agent, and we've sold the other house!"

"Great!" Mr. Fowler lifted his coffee cup in a toast. "For once we won't be carrying two mortgages."

Mrs. Fowler reached for the telephone book and started paging through it. "I just hope I can get a reservation," she muttered.

**Where are you going?" Jenny asked.

*Well, we've still got things in that house, you know," her mother reminded her. "And there might be some snags in the closing or something. Somebody should be there to make sure everything goes smoothly."

Jenny nodded. Her mother couldn't stand watching from the sidelines.

"Make two," Mr. Fowler said as his wife punched the phone number.

"Two what?"

"Reservations," he said. "I was going to fly back in a week or so anyway, to firm up that consulting deal. Might as well kill two birds with one stone."

"Good idea," Mrs. Fowler agreed. "I'll make two. 7f they have them."

Jenny cleared her throat. "Aren't you forgetting somebody?"

Her mother stopped jabbing at the phone and slapped her forehead. "Of course!" she cried. "The painters."