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her father's eye, a gift that had come as swiftly and as unexpectedly as her parents had gone.
    She turned back to the refrigerator and reached again for the lemonade. Her hand trembled and she spilled a few drops on her tiny countertop.
    "It's just something I do," she explained quietly. Something she couldn't stop doing if she tried. "It’s my job." But it was more than a job. It was her sanity.
    "They're good."
    With reluctance, she met his eyes, trying again not to care that he liked them. If she worried what people thought, her gift would disappear, and with it, she believed, the stark honesty of her photos.
    Peter turned his attention back to the picture in his hand.
    "Keep it," Jann offered, the words escaping her lips before she realized they were there.
    "I'll buy it," he said in return.
    "It's not for sale."
    His jaw clenched. With deliberate care he placed the photo back on its nail then slowly turned to face her.
    "Where's my nephew?" he demanded.
    "Why? So you can buy him, too?"
    "I want to see him."
    "Once you've seen him, I want you to leave."
    She pushed past Peter, past his solid, statue-like immovability, and moved swiftly down the passage toward Alex's cabin. Before she opened his door, she pulled in a deep, cleansing breath, not wanting even a hint of the tension swirling through her boat to enter her baby's room. Since Clare had died, she'd done everything she could to wrap Alex in love, and she was not about to let Peter Strickland's possessiveness seep in and destroy that love.
    Her baby slept peacefully, his face rosy in the glow of the sun sparkling through the glass hatch. His black hair, flattened by sleep, clung softly to the edges of his face.
    Fear slivered through Jann. If Claire's brother gained custody of Alex, how would she survive?
    "He looks like Claire."
    She hadn't heard Peter approaching. Incredibly, she hadn't sensed him, but now she knew he was near, her nerve-endings jangled loudly enough to wake the dead.
    He leaned over her shoulder, his breath tickling the hairs on the back of her neck. She could smell him again, a clean scent overlaid with the subtle bouquet of his aftershave. Turning, she faced him, placing her body solidly between his and that of her child.
    Desire raged through her, sharp and unexpected, loosening her limbs and softening her lips.
    Peter seemed to feel it also, for his eyes widened with shock, and gazed into hers so intently her breathing stopped. His eyes changed color from sea-green to emerald and for one agonizing instant, she was sure he meant to kiss her, was sure, also, that the idea appalled him as much as it did her.
    With a swift intake of breath, she scooped up her sleeping son and thrust him towards his uncle. Alex woke, his face wrinkling with outrage, and his mouth opened wide in a high-pitched baby cry.
    For a single second only, Jann felt safe, an obstacle now between her and this man who could destroy her life. Then her lips parted in a soundless protest, for Alex, beloved Alex, was now in the hands of the man who could take him from her.
    With a gentle motion, Peter turned the small bundle to face him, his gaze softening as he stared down at his sister's child. A man like him, so large and strong, should appear awkward holding a baby, but this man didn't. He held Alexander as though he had been doing it forever.
    A lump formed in Jann's throat, making it impossible to swallow.
    Peter stroked Alex's cheek and the baby's howls died to nothing. Solemnly reaching into his jacket pocket, Peter pulled out a tattered, one-ear-chewed-off teddy bear.
    "This is for you, Alexander Strickland," he said, speaking to his nephew so softly Jann had to strain to hear. "It was your mother's."

 
     
     
    Chapter 4

     
    Jann tugged her hair back from her face and looped it into a knot on the top of her head before stepping over the railing on the stern of her boat. Standing on the lip of the deck, she reached back and up as far as she could. No good. She was