“Here?” he teased in a hoarse voice, but he picked Shay up in his arms and carried her into the room she pointed out to him. The night was a long one, full of tender abandon.

The pit of Shay’s stomach quivered with nervousness as she dialed the number Mitch had given her. What, exactly, was she going to say to this grandmother she had never known, never heard a word about?

Mitch puttered around the kitchen, getting breakfast, while the call went through.

“Mrs. Bretton?” Shay’s voice shook. “My name is Shay Kendall and—”

“Shay!” The name was a soft cry of joy, full of tears and laughter. “Is it really you?”

“It’s really me,” Shay answered, and she made a face at Mitch as he shoved a dishtowel into her hands. Then she dried her eyes with it. “T-tell me about my father. Please.”

“There is so much to tell, darling, and so much to show. Could you possibly come to Springfield for a visit?”

Shay wanted to hop on the next plane, but she had responsibilities to Marvin and Jeannie and she couldn’t go away without letting Hank know. Suppose he got sick and Garrett brought him home and there was no one there to take care of him? “This is a bad time—my job—my son—”

“Then I’ll come there!” Alice Bretton interrupted warmly. “Would that be all right, Shay? I could bring the photo albums and we could talk in person.”

“I’d love to have you, Mrs. Bretton.”

“In that case, I’ll make arrangements and call you right back.”

“That would be wonderful.”

They said goodbye and Shay set the phone receiver back in its cradle as Mitch poured scrambled eggs into a pan of hash browns and chopped onions and bits of crisp bacon.

“I take it she’s flying out for a visit?” Mitch asked moderately, looking back at Shay over one bare shoulder.

Shay nodded. “I can’t make sense of what I feel, Mitch. I’m happy that I’m finally going to meet my grandmother and I’m sad because my father died and I’m furious with Rosamond! Here she is, this poor, sick, wretch of a woman, and I could cheerfully wring her neck!”

“That’s normal, Shay. The important thing is that you wouldn’t really do it.”

“I want to thank you for this, Mitch. F-for my grandmother.”

He turned from the stove, grinning, almost unbearably handsome in just his jeans. His hair was rumpled and his feet were bare and, as always, he needed to shave. “Don’t be too hasty with your gratitude, kid,” he warned. “For all you know, she’s a bag lady with bad breath, bunions and bowling shoes.”

“That was alliterative, in a tacky sort of way,” Shay responded. She slid off the stool near the wall phone and put her arms around Mitch’s lean waist.

He kissed the tip of her nose and gave her bottom a squeeze that brought back memories of the night before. Shay blushed to recall what a greedy wanton she’d been.