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usual marry-the-girl-and-make-babies-for-your-grandmother deal. He doesn’t think she’s my type—told me straight-out it was a one-shot to get Myra off his back.”
    Shelby opened her mouth, shut it again. Very, very foolish boy, she thought, amused. “I see. And what did you think of her?”
    “She’s all right. Great face. I want to paint her.”
    “You—” Shelby nearly bobbled the clean cup she’d found in the cupboard. “You don’t do portraits.”
    “Now and then.” In fact, he was debating which snapshot he’d use to paint little Travis as a gift for his sister.
    Once again Shelby decided to keep her mouth closed. Her son had indeed done some portraits. Of the family, she thought now. Of people who mattered most to him.
    Just what, she wondered, did Layna Drake mean to him?
    “You’ve asked her to sit for you?”
    “No, I’m working from sketches.”
    “Then you’ve been seeing each other.”
    “Off and on. A few times.” He glanced up. “Why?”
    “Just curious,” Shelby said lightly. “I know her parents slightly. She doesn’t seem a great deal like them.”
    “And is that a good thing or a bad thing?” He moved his shoulders restlessly. “She doesn’t have much to say about her family.”
    “Well.” Shelby turned, leaned back on the counter. “I suppose I’d call them surface people. Lots of gloss. She has the polish, but there seems to be more under it. I prefer undertones, don’t you?”
    “Yeah.” Appreciating the fact that his mother could always put her finger on the pulse, he grinned. “I’m working on getting down to them with her. I like her—haven’t figured out why yet, but I do.”
    “She isn’t your usual. That wasn’t a complaint,” she added with a laugh when D.C.’s grin turned into a typical MacGregor scowl. “Or a criticism. Just a comment that your usual choice of women lean toward the bohemian or the flamboyant. And she’s neither.”
    “I didn’t say she was my choice, I said I liked her.” Now he grinned again. “And I’m told mymother was a flamboyant bohemian.”
    Shelby lifted her eyebrows. “I heard that somewhere. What ever happened to her?”
    “She made it fashionable, and she’s still the most important woman in my heart.”
    “Oh.” Touched and delighted, she moved over to fold her arms around him, to rest her cheek on the top of his head. “I’m so glad you moved back, so glad, D.C., that you’re here where I can pretend I’m not going to drop in on you.”
    “Dad pretended not to drop by yesterday.” He wrapped his arms around her waist and squeezed. “Don’t stop.”
    “Can’t.” She sighed. “But we won’t hover.”
    “You never did. You were both just always there—even when you weren’t.”
    “That’s our job.” She kissed the top of his head, then turned back to pour the coffee.
    “Can I keep this one?” he asked, holding up a shot of Travis showing off his two teeth in a grin.
    “Sure. Sketches in here?” Casually, she flipped open the book on the table, browsing through until she came to several studies of Layna Drake. “She’s lovely,” Shelby murmured, and a little part of her heart sighed. “You’re very attracted to her.”
    “She’s got a great face.” When his mother’s gaze shifted to his, held, he shrugged. “It’s no big deal. Grandpa’s right, she’s not my type.”
    “Yes, The MacGregor rarely misses a step.” Cagey old goat, she thought as she sat down to enjoy her coffee. He was probably already planning the wedding reception.
    She decided then and there it was time to go shopping. She’d take a look at what Drake’s was showing in the new spring lines.
    *   *   *
    Layna’s assistant was all awed eyes and reverent whispers as she popped her head into Layna’s office. “Ms. Drake, there’s a Mrs. MacGregor to see you.”
    “MacGregor?” Layna glanced up from her sample book. “Shelby MacGregor?”
    “Yes. The former First Lady. She’s right out there. I