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She laid her book down. He was dressed casually in white shorts, white athletic shoes, and a royal blue cotton shirt that matched his eyes. "Where are you going, Nick?"

For a minute she thought he wasn't going to answer. A thoughtful look crossed his face, and his blue eyes studied her. "The Buffalo Children's Home."

His answer was so entirely unexpected, Claire didn't say anything for a minute. Then she smiled. "Would you take me with you?"

Buffalo Children's Home sat on the top of a gently sloped hill on the banks of Buffalo Bayou near downtown Houston. It had originally been the home of a man who had made a fortune in the oil fields of West Texas and had wanted a mansion to prove he was one of the elite. He had subsequently lost his fortune because of lousy judgment at the gaming tables and in his choice of women. A group of civic-minded citizens had banded together to buy the opulent home and turned it into a children's shelter. Through the years the home had become one of Houston's landmarks, both in real estate and as an instrument for raising social con-sciousness.

As Claire walked beside Nick through the heavy oak doors and into the large marble-floored entryway with its twenty-foot ceiling graced by an ornate chandelier, she remembered all the stories she'd read about the home and wondered why she'd never visited before. The receptionist, a petite redhead, smiled as they approached.

"Hello, Mr. Callahan."

"Hello, Dawn." He put his arm loosely around Claire's waist. "This is my wife."

The redhead grinned. A few minutes later, they were following her bouncy figure down a long hallway which led to the rear of the house and into an enormous room that was brightly lit from a solid wall of long windows filled with hanging baskets of ferns and flowers.

A group of children ranging in age from about six to fourteen were laughing and talking, and when they saw Nick, they immediately surrounded him. Within minutes, he was sitting in the middle of the floor with the kids on all sides. His dark hair was no longer perfectly combed and a thick lock fell over his forehead, giving him a little-boy look that was completely at odds with the powerful, in-charge persona he usually wore.

Nick looked at her and smiled. "This is Claire, guys. I told you about her. Claire, these are my buddies." He pointed to a good-looking boy of about ten with ink-black hair and large brown eyes. "This is Ricardo, the star pitcher of the softball team." Next came a girl with protruding teeth and a shy smile. "This is Sarah. She plays left field." One by one he pointed them out: Jeff, Jimmy, Shari, Doug, David, Allison, Elizabeth, Lisa, Joey, Beth, Erin, Jason. After each name, he added the position they played on the team. "And this young lady is Brigitte, our cheerleader," he finished with a grin and a wink.

"Cheerleader?" Claire said, mind whirling from his rapid-fire introductions.

"Somebody has to do it," said the tall, animated girl with long, golden-brown hair and dancing blue eyes. She was about thirteen and pretty enough to be a model. Claire warmed to her instantly.

"Nick helps our coach," piped up a stocky-looking black boy with a scarred face and sweet smile. Claire couldn't remember his name. "When he can make it."

"We're the Callahan's Commanders," boasted another boy.

" 'Cause we're always in command," said one of the girls.

"Like Nick," said the one he'd called Sarah, grinning at Nick with a gap-toothed smile.

"That's enough bragging," Nick said, "let's hear the weekly report." Claire sat on a chair near the fringes of the group where she could watch.

"Lisa got two demerits," said a skinny blond boy, " 'cause she sassed Mrs. Ford."

Nick shook his head at Lisa, a small, dark girl who didn't look the least bit sorry for her lapse. "Got anything to say for yourself, Lisa?"

"She made me mad," Lisa said.

"That's what you always say," Nick said dryly. "What did I tell you about that?"

Lisa shrugged her shoulders, and Claire wanted to laugh at the flash of defiance in her eyes. None of Nick Callahan's adversaries openly defied him, but here was this tiny girl of about twelve who didn't seem the least bit intimidated by him.

"Didn't I tell you to count to ten and think before you answer back?" Nick persisted.

"Yeah." Lisa rolled her eyes.

"Then why don't you do it?"

Another shrug. "I try, but she says such dumb things sometimes, and I . . . well, I can't stand it."

Sympathy for Nick caused Claire to smother a smile. Obviously Lisa was not a child who would be easily molded into any pattern she didn't fit. "A kid after my own heart," he muttered under his breath, "who doesn't easily suffer fools."

Claire watched in fascination as Nick talked to the kids about their week, praising them for their small victories and gently chiding them for their transgressions.

He obviously knew the children well. It was evident that he came here often.

Later, they moved upstairs to the nursery and Nick picked up a little redheaded boy of about eighteen months whose right arm was in a cast, putting him on his knee and cuddling him.

A woman named Norma explained to Claire that Scotty, the name they'd given the boy, had been abandoned two weeks earlier, and that examinations had revealed long-term child abuse. Claire blinked back tears. How could anyone abuse a child? she wondered. When she and Nick had a child she'd cherish it and love it and thank God every day for giving it to her.

After they once again returned to the first floor, Claire watched and listened as Nick talked to Paul Civic, the director of the home, and his wife, Gerri. The three of them went over the books and talked about the new roof the home needed. From Nick's questions Claire realized he was intimately aware of all aspects of the running of the home, from its financial situation to the day-to-day work involved in an undertaking of this magnitude.

By the time she and Nick walked outside, Claire's concept of who and what her husband was had taken on another dimension. She'd always known about his aggressive side, the part of him that ruthlessly manipu-lated people—including her—using any and all weaknesses to his advantage. She'd also seen his softer side, one that was compassionate and caring, even though he exposed that side less often. And now today she'd seen something even deeper, a part of him that needed to give and receive love, a part of him that was vulnerable and lonely, a secret part of him that until now she had been afraid did not exist. Hope swelled her heart.

"Aren't they great kids?" he asked, a smile lighting his eyes. They stood just outside the front door.

There was a lump in Claire's throat as she nodded, suddenly assailed by longing as she remembered the feel of Scotty's soft skin when she'd kissed his cheek before they left. She wanted so much to give Nick a son like Scotty.

"I'm glad you came today. I wanted to tell you about the kids, but before we were married I was afraid you'd think I was trying to make myself look good. And afterwards, well, I wasn't sure how you'd feel."

"I don't understand."

"Let's go sit over there," he suggested, pointing to a bench on the front lawn.

When they were seated side by side with his arm draped casually over the back of the bench, he stared off into the distance, where Claire could see the downtown skyline just beyond the banks of the bayou. A jet passed overhead, a small splash of silver against the blue sky. A few feet away, a cardinal sat perched on a low hanging branch of an ancient oak tree. The air was hot and still.

"The first time I visited the home, it was with the intention of adopting one of the kids. But I changed my mind after I'd been here several times."

"Why?"

"Because by the time I knew the kids well enough to know which one I might want to adopt, I couldn't choose just one. So I decided to adopt them all. To come here as many times a week as I could manage."

Claire's eyes misted. His voice had taken on a gruffness that told her how deeply he felt about the children.

"I know what it's like to feel unwanted. I didn't want any of the kids to feel that way. At least not because of me."

"Tell me about it," she said gently, knowing they were on the verge of something—a line, a barrier, something. She wasn't sure what it was; she only knew that if she could get him to cross it, things would be different between them.

He turned and his eyes were incredibly blue in the sunlight. He studied her for a long time. "Not now. Maybe I'll tell you about it another time."

She wanted so desperately to tell him what she was feeling, but if he persisted in keeping this distance between them, she couldn't.

"I'm doing my damnedest to find good homes for every single one of these kids," he said. "Do you think I'm doing the right thing?" There was a note of uncertainty in his voice.

Impulsively, Claire reached up and smoothed back his stray lock of hair, then she let her hand slide down to touch his cheek. Their eyes met again, and Claire's heart thudded up into her throat. "Yes," she said softly. "I think you're doing the right thing."

He touched her hand, holding it against his cheek. As his warm, strong fingers closed around hers, she could feel the heat transfer itself from him, a connection of flesh that caused a fine tremor to pulse through her. A fierce longing consumed her.

Then the moment passed. He released her hand and said, "It's getting late. We'd better be going. We're due at the Nicholls' at seven."

That night, when they made love, Claire felt closer to him than she'd ever felt before. She felt she was making progress, when, during his climax, he called her name, and there was desperation in the sound. But he was still holding something back.

Afterwards, when he was sleeping soundly beside her, one arm thrown over her stomach, Claire lay in the darkness, happiness humming through her.

She was positive that tonight she had conceived and was carrying Nick's baby inside.

Claire's heart sank at the first twinge of cramps. Why? She asked herself yet again. She and Nick had been married for almost four months now. And each month, on the dot of the 28th day, her period would start.

Why couldn't she get pregnant? The one thing Nick wanted from her, she still hadn't been able to give him. And he had given her so much.

Claire's thoughts turned to Kitty. From the day of their wedding, Nick had been wonderful with her mother. If Claire wanted to visit her in the evening, he always accompanied her. In fact, they had visited Pinehaven the previous evening.

"You don't have to go with me," she had protested. "I know you're tired." She was worried. Lately he'd seemed preoccupied. She wondered if his preoccupation had anything to do with her inability to get pregnant.

He smiled down at her. "I want to." He touched her cheek with his fingertips. "I don't like you going to the nursing home at night alone. Besides, I enjoy Kitty."

Claire swallowed against the sudden lump in her throat. When he was thoughtful and protective, she loved him so much it was almost a physical pain. At that moment, she would have given anything, anything at all, to hear him say he loved her.

She smiled wryly. She was such a fool.

Sighing, she decided that if she still wasn't pregnant next month she would go back to the doctor. Perhaps there was something she could do that she wasn't doing. Maybe she and Nick were making love too often.

She decided to call Peachey and see if she'd like to go to the Buffalo Children's Home with her that afternoon. Going there would certainly take her mind off her own problems.

"Oh, sugar, I wish I could, but I have an appointment with my accountant. Quarterly taxes are due in three weeks, and he says it's time we had a talk." Peachey chuckled, the sound warm and friendly, making Claire smile. "He's mad at me. Says I have no sense when it comes to money."

Claire knew that wasn't true at all. Peachey was extremely sensible about her finances. "I never see you anymore," she said. "When are you coming to dinner?"

"How about this weekend?"

"It's a date. Saturday night?"

"Saturday night it is."

"Will you bring a date?"

"Nope. I've sworn off men for a while."

Now it was Claire's turn to chuckle. "Would you mind if I asked Tim Sutherland to come then?"

"You mean that tight-assed lawyer-right-hand-man of Nick's? I thought you couldn't stand him."

"Well, I've gotten to know him better, and he's really quite nice." Claire was surprised herself. She hadn't expected to like Tim, but after the first few times they'd been together, his stiffness and suspicion gradually faded, and now she found she enjoyed his company. He was actually very nice and he was devoted to Nick. Claire mentally laughed at herself. She already felt a fierce loyalty to Nick, so how could she dislike Tim, who obviously felt the same way?

"Okay. See you about seven on Saturday."

After she and Peachey concluded their conversation, Claire showered and dressed. One of the many pleasures of her new life as the wife of Nick Callahan was her extensive wardrobe, a wardrobe that Nick insisted she constantly add to. Today, even though it was late September, the weather forecast was for hot temperatures, in the high eighties with high humidity, so Claire chose a cool-looking aquamarine linen sundress. Now that she spent so much time lounging around the pool, her legs were nicely tanned, so she left them bare, slipping them into matching turquoise sandals. She was letting her hair grow longer in response to a comment of Nick's, so she swept her hair back from her face with a headband.

By ten o'clock she was ready to face the world and after telling Mrs. Stone, the full-time housekeeper who had been with Nick for years, where she was going and when she'd be back, Claire walked out to the six-car garage where her shining green Mercedes sat neatly between Nick's blue Porsche and red Maserati. She smiled. He'd taken the Lotus today.

He was like a kid sometimes, she thought, as she carefully backed the beautiful car out of the garage, then lowered the automatic door with her hand control. He loved expensive toys, and he loved giving her toys to play with, too. This car was one, but Claire had to admit she loved it. She ran her hand possessively against the Italian calfskin leather seat, smelled the new-car smell it still held, and sighed happily. She'd never thought she would own a car like this one.