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reminded of how Kaz had always treated my “littlehobby” as just that always had a way of rankling. I stood, ready to head up to the open deck. “I’ve got to go make sure everyone is happy,” I told him.
    “You could start with me.”
    Oh yeah, he was smiling, all right. In that devil-may-care way that used to make my blood boil. In a good sort of way. These days, the boil was usually because he was annoying me. This time…
    I gave him a smile. “Thanks for helping out. For the rest of the week, Thad will be at the conference and at the hotel. You can take the limo back.”
    “And miss all the fun?” Kaz followed along behind me. “Hey, I’m just getting into all this button stuff.”
    “Right, and I just fell off a turnip truck.” I shook my head. Honestly, the man can be brazen. The fact that he still expected me to fall for his line never ceased to amaze me. “Good-bye, Kaz,” I said, just as a man came up behind me.
    “Oh, there you are!” I turned to see what he wanted from me and realized he was one of the waitstaff and was talking to Kaz. “We’ve got the tea you requested for that woman from Japan,” he told Kaz. “It took some digging, but we found it in the kitchen.” The waiter turned to me. “You’re Josie, right? I saw you talking to Micah a little while ago. I’ve got to tell you, I don’t know where you got this guy…” The look he gave Kaz was one of pure admiration. “But you’ve got an amazing assistant here.”
    “Assistant? I—”
    There was no use trying to explain. Kaz and the waiter had already walked away.
    And I told myself not to worry. If Kaz wanted to play the good guy for tonight, so be it. Once he took Thad back to the hotel, that would be that, and we could get on with our conference.
    My conference.
    I breathed a sigh of pure contentment.
    Every program was organized and interesting.
    Every speaker and panel was ready to go.
    All was right with the world, Lake Michigan was as smooth as glass, and my guests were having the time of their lives.
    “Oh, yeah?” The words—spoken by a woman—were loud and said with enough sarcasm to sour a lemon. They echoed down the metal stairway from the open third deck. “I can’t believe you’d have the nerve to show up here, you son of a bitch. I’m warning you right now; you’d better step away from that railing, Thad Wyant, or you’re going to find yourself in Lake Michigan—floating fish food!”

Chapter Three

    I SCRAMBLED UP THE STAIRWAY AS FAST AS MY LESS-THAN -long legs allowed, and got up onto the open deck just in time to see that every single person out there had gathered in a semicircle around the far railing. The fabulous Chicago skyline was at their backs. But the show was happening right in front of them. Eager to diffuse whatever time bomb they were watching and waiting to explode, I pushed myself to the front of the crowd (politely, of course) just in time to see Thad Wyant shake his head in a way that told me that woman’s outraged voice I’d heard was nothing to him—nothing but pitiful.
    My guest of honor had both his elbows propped against the railing. His lanky legs were stuck out in front of him, crossed at the ankle. With his Stetson far back on his head and those cowboy boots of his coated with enough dust to make it look as if he’d just come in off the range, he was the picture of serenity.
    Not so the middle-aged woman who stood across from him, a woman I didn’t remember checking in at the gangplank. She was no more than five feet tall and as thin as a stick of chewing gum. Tiny hands, bitty feet. She reminded me of a little gray mouse. Gray pantsuit, gray hair, sensible gray shoes. From where I stood, I could see her trembling like the flag that snapped at the back of the boat in the breeze we kicked up as we scooted through the water.
    “You don’t even care, do you?” Her voice—high-pitched and quivering—floated away on that same breeze. “How can you stand there and