April didn’t call her on her obvious lie. “I’m sorry about your mother. Does your father know you’re—” April’s expression hardened. “Of course he doesn’t. He hasn’t got a clue, does he?”

“Not most of the time. But he’s very nice.”

“Nice…” April rubbed her forehead. “Who’s supposed to be taking care of you?”

“I have an au pair.”

April reached for the notebook she’d left on the counter last night. “Give me her number so I can call her.”

“I don’t think she’ll be out of bed yet.”

April locked eyes with her. “I’m sure she won’t mind if I wake her up.”

Riley looked away. “Could you tell me…Is anybody…Is like maybe my…cousin living here? Because it’s very important for me to find him?”

“Why?” April said tightly. “Why do you need to find him?”

“Because…” Riley swallowed. “Because I need to tell him about me.”

April drew a shaky breath. She gazed down at the notebook. “This isn’t going to work the way you want.”

Riley stared at her. “You know where he is, don’t you?”

“No. No, I don’t,” April said quickly. She looked at Blue, who was still trying to absorb what she was hearing. Dean bore no resemblance to Jack Patriot, but Riley did. They had the same olive skin tone, mahogany brown hair, and straight bladed nose. Those darkly rimmed caramelized sugar eyes had stared back at her from countless album covers.

“While Riley and I talk,” April said to Blue, “would you take care of that matter upstairs?”

Blue got the message. She was supposed to keep Dean away. As a child, she’d felt the pain of withheld secrets, and she didn’t believe in shielding kids from the truth, but this wasn’t her call to make. She pushed back from the table, but before she could get up, a firm set of footsteps approached from the hall.

April grabbed Riley’s hand. “Let’s go outside and talk.”

It was too late.

“I smell coffee.” Dean walked in, freshly showered, unshaven, a GQ ad for hip country casual in blue bermudas, a pale yellow mesh T-shirt with a Nike swoosh, and high-tech lime green sneakers as streamlined as race cars. He spotted Riley and smiled. “Morning.”

Riley sat paralyzed, drinking him in with her eyes. April pressed a hand to her waist, as if her stomach ached. Riley’s lips parted ever so slightly. Finally, she found her tongue. “I’m Riley.” Her voice came out in a papery croak.

“Hi, Riley. I’m Dean.”

“I know,” she said. “I—I have a scrapbook.”

“You do? What kind of scrapbook?”

“A—about you.”

“No kidding?” He headed for the coffeepot. “So you’re a football fan.”

“I’m sort of…” She licked her dry lips. “I’m sort of like…maybe your cousin or something.”