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hadn’t occurred to her that they wouldn’t at least have regular access to a primary care physician.  “Where does Brennan live?”
    “Why?”
    “Maybe I could talk to him.”
    “About what?”
    “About seeing a doctor.”
    Dominic smiled.  “Tell you what, Tara.  If you decide you want to have a talk with Brennan Lockley, you let me know.  I’ll walk you over there myself.”
    “Why?”
    “Because I don’t want to miss his reaction.”
    Tara angled her head.  “You don’t think he’ll listen to me?”
    “I’ll be surprised if he even lets you into his house.”
     
    ***
     
    “He really doesn’t think much of me, does he?” Tara asked, still staring at the door Dominic and Kelsey walked through after they left.
    “No,” Caitlin admitted.  “He doesn’t.”
    “Why not?”
    Caitlin reached for the book, flipped to a new recipe.  “You remind him too much of someone else.”
    “Who?”
    Crossing the kitchen, Caitlin pulled a sack of potatoes off the shelf.  “Kelsey’s mother.”
    “Kelsey’s mother?”
    Caitlin nodded.
    “Where is Kelsey’s mother?”
    “I’d rather not get into that at the moment.”
    “Is she on the island?”
    “No.”
    “Are they still… together?”
    Caitlin shook her head.
    “But I remind him of her?”
    Caitlin nodded.
    “Do I look like her?”
    “No,” Caitlin answered, pulling the flour out of the cabinet.  “She was blond and blue-eyed.  Like Kelsey.”
    “If she looks nothing like me, then what about me reminds Dominic of Kelsey’s mother?”
    “Maybe it’s your lack of talent in the kitchen.”  At the sound of the unfamiliar voice, Tara turned and came face to face with a woman whose hair fell in rich, chocolate ringlets.  Her eyes were the same warm tawny as the amber stones that dripped from her ears and clung to her throat.
    Glenna McClure dropped the scone she’d snagged off a plate on the bar into the trash distastefully, taking in Tara’s thin white T-shirt and a stained apron.  “Hello,” she said smoothly, extending a hand that sparkled with a variety of silver rings.  “I don’t think we’ve met.”
    “Tara Moore,” Tara said, taking the other woman’s hand.
    “Glenna McClure,” Glenna said, eyeing the stranger curiously.  “You seem… familiar to me.  Maybe we have met before?  Somewhere else?”
    “I don’t think so,” Tara said quickly, releasing her hand.
    “Tara just arrived yesterday,” Caitlin explained, walking over to give her friend a hug to welcome her back to the island.  “How was Paris?  Did you take pictures?”
    “You know I never do.”  Glenna smiled.  “But I brought you something better.”  She pulled a package from her shoulder bag.
    “Glenna, I told you—”
    Glenna shoved the box at her and Caitlin took it, grumbling.  Digging through the layers of tissue paper, she found a pair of three-inch heels the color of rubies and a matching silk scarf.
    Caitlin lifted a shoe with one finger, let it dangle between them.  “What am I going to do with these?”
    “I don’t know, maybe wear them?”
    “Where?”
    “Here.  Wear them to work.  Show off your legs.”
    “Oh sure, and then I’ll have a broken ankle as well as a hand.”
    Glenna’s brows snapped together in concern.  “What happened to your hand?”
    “I fell off a chair yesterday, and broke my finger.”  She held up the splint.  “It’s better now.  Tara fixed it.”
    Glenna’s gaze drifted back to the newcomer.  “How?”
    “It wasn’t a big deal,” Tara said, turning back to the stove.  “She just needed a little wrapping.”
    “ After you reset the bone,” Caitlin corrected.  “Let’s not forget that part.”  She glanced back down at her hand.  “It hurt like crazy at the time, but it feels better now.”  Turning, Caitlin set her new package on the counter and looked up at Glenna.  “These are going in the back of the closet next to the dress you bought me in Italy.”
    “I’m