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place,” Melanie said, giving him a kiss. “Don’t be a stranger. I expect you to come to dinner soon.”
    To Kathleen’s surprise, his expression softened and he rested a hand on Melanie’s huge belly. “I’d better hurry before this little one steals all your attention.”
    “We’ll always have time for you,” Melanie told him. “And we’re counting on you to give the baby its first set of paints and plenty of free art lessons, just the way Destiny did for you. Mack’s going to teach the baby the finer points of football.”
    “Even if it’s a girl?” Ben inquired skeptically.
    “There will be no gender discrimination in this family,” Melanie retorted. “Right, Mack?”
    “None,” Mack agreed at once. “And if it is a girl and she’s really, really good, I’ll make her the first woman in the National Football League. Who cares about a few cuts and bruises and broken bones?”
    “Hold it,” Richard said, scowling at his brother. “Nobody gets to tackle any daughter of mine.”
    Beth nudged Mack in the ribs. “You knew your brother would forbid it, didn’t you? Obviously you inherited Destiny’s sneakiness. You sound very broadminded since there’s absolutely no risk that you’ll ever have to pay up.”
    “Hey, my offer was genuine,” Mack insisted, looking hurt that his wife would think otherwise. “Now let’s get out of here. We’ve got some kids at the hospital we want to see tonight. I promised them pie for dessert.”
    Destiny stood up at once. “I have the pies all ready in the kitchen. I’ll get them.”
    Melanie and Richard left as Mack, Beth and Destiny headed for the kitchen, leaving Kathleen alone with Ben.
    “You have an amazing family,” she told him.
    “They’re good people,” Ben agreed, then regarded her curiously. “What about your family? Were they together today?”
    “Of course. It’s tradition.” She knew there was no mistaking the harsh edge in her voice, but she was unable to contain it.
    “But you weren’t there,” he noted.
    “I’d had enough of tradition,” she said succinctly. “I decided it was time to do my own thing.”
    “Something tells me there’s a story there,” he said.
    “Not a very interesting one,” she insisted, unwilling to air the Dugan family laundry to this man she barely knew.
    He studied her so intently that she felt herself flush under his scrutiny.
    “If you ever change your mind, I’m a good listener,” he said eventually.
    Kathleen didn’t talk about that part of her past any more than she talked about her marriage. “I’ll keep that in mind,” she said with no intention of following up on it. Why reveal intimate secrets to a man she wanted to represent, not to date? Not that she’d ever shared any part of her family history with anyone. Keeping quiet had been ingrained in her from an early age.
    “But you have no intention of talking to me about that or anything else personal, do you?” Ben guessed. “It’s all about the art with you.”
    “Yes,” she said, seeing little point in denying it.
    “Even if I were to tell you that I’d let you take a look around my studio, if you’d open up to me?”
    She gave him a sharp look. “Why would you do that?”
    “I’m not sure,” he responded slowly, looking faintly bewildered. “Maybe because I’m as fascinated with what you’re holding back as you are with the paintings I’m keeping from you.”
    Kathleen was caught completely off guard by the admission. It was an opening, a chance to get what she wanted, but at what cost?
    “I don’t think so,” she said at last.
    “What are you afraid of?”
    She wasn’t about to answer that. She couldn’t tell him that talking about the past would make her far too vulnerable, that it would create an illusion of intimacy that could be far too dangerous. There had been so many times in her life when she’d wanted to share all the secrets, to lean on someone stronger, but she’d kept her own counsel instead,