.

it up to her just being Melinda. But he couldn’t do that now. They weren’t kids anymore.

      He nodded toward the rear of the house and the yard beyond. “Is the cat back there?”

      Remorse and frustration tugged at Melinda even harder than the children who were twisting their fingers into her long floral shirt. She didn’t want to talk about treed cats, she wanted her friend back. Even if she didn’t deserve him.

      “Talk to me, Carly—Carl,” she corrected herself. She bit back the “please” even though it trembled on her lips, trying to get free. If she added the single word and he still looked at her coldly, she didn’t know if she could stand it. Funny, the separation and divorce from Steve had hurt less than being rejected by Carly.

      It took effort, but he didn’t allow himself to be pulled in. She was here now, but tomorrow, she could be gone again because someone new had won her heart and written her promises in the sand. Someone she would run off with. He wasn’t about to feel anything for someone who hadn’t so much as sent him a postcard in all the years she’d been gone.

      The girl he’d been in love with existed in his past. He was just going to have to learn to deal with that.

      “I am talking,” he answered crisply, though he couldn’t resist winking at the little girl closest to him. He raised his eyes to look at Melinda. “So where’s the cat?” he asked for the third time. “You called to say you had a cat stuck in a tree.” He enunciated each word slowly, as if reading it from some giant cue card held just out of sight. “Now where is it?”

      It was as if she felt the harsh tone physically and took a step back from him.

      “He’s out back.”

      Pointing behind her, Melinda turned to lead the way. Progress was impeded by six small feet that didn’t quite make the turn as smoothly. Because they were all clustering so closely, the boy fell down as his sisters huddled again around their mother, hurrying to keep up. Carl was quick to scoop him up as the three-year-old’s sisters giggled, hanging on to either side of their mother.

      Carl made an elaborate show of brushing him off. “Gotta watch those turns, fella.” He set the boy back on the floor and was rewarded with a sunny smile that was so much like Melinda’s, it punched him in the gut.

      It took Carl a second to catch his breath. “What’s your name?”

      The boy shyly popped a finger into his mouth, staring at him with his mother’s eyes.

      “That’s Matthew,” Melinda told him. “Matthew Carly Greenwood.”

      Carl looked at her sharply.

      “I named him after my best friend,” she added quietly. Then recovering, she ushered each giggling little girl forward as she completed the introductions. “This is Mollie Ann and this is Margaret Mae.” She smiled, looking first at the little girl, then at Carl. “Maggie Mae, like the old song.”

      He remembered. Melinda had always liked the songs that belonged to another generation. “Maggie Mae” was one of her favorites.

      Since the girls were looking up at him, he inclined his head, his features softening. He shook each hand separately. “Nice to meet you, ladies, Matt. Is that your cat up in the tree?”

      Blond curls sprang about animatedly as three heads bobbed up and down in syncopated rhythm. Unable to resist, Carl gave in and squatted down to their level.

      “Which of you chased him up there?” Hesitation was followed by three stubby fingers all pointing at a different culprit. Carl gave them his gravest, most thoughtful deputy sheriff face. “I see, so it was a team effort. Well, let’s see if we can convince him to come down and join us.” He rose and his smile faded as he looked at Melinda. “Show me which tree.”

      Damn it, Carly, don’t look at me like that. Like you don’t know me. Like you don’t want to know me. Taking a deep breath, Melinda got her bearings and turned on her heel.

      “Right this way.” She did her best to sound breezy, as if she were talking to an amiable stranger instead of someone who had known her since she was almost as young as her triplets. “I don’t know why cats can go up trees, but they can’t come down.”

      “Probably impulse makes them run up. They want to see how far they can get, maybe grab themselves something elusive. And they look down and stop to think about what they’ve done and what might happen if they try to get down again.” He slanted a glance at her profile. “Paralyzes them.”

      Her eyes met his. “Are you still talking about the cat?”

      He shrugged, as innocent as he had once been. “Sure, what would I be talking about?”

      She dropped it. There was no point in going on. Melinda opened the back door and stepped out into the yard. “Nothing.” They walked over to the giant oak that stood like an aged companion near the house, its branches almost caressing the rear window that had once belonged to her bedroom. “He’s up there.”

      Carl stood back, trying to get a better view of the upper portion of the massive tree. He could remember one summer when Melinda had wanted a tree-house built into its massive branches more than anything in the world. He’d set his mind to building it for her using wood he’d paid for with money he’d earned mowing lawns all summer—until her father forbade it, saying it would damage the tree.

      Shading his eyes, he tried to make out the form of a cat and failed.

      “You sure he’s there?” Maybe the cat had decided to be courageous after all and come down.

      Tilting her head, with the triplets mimicking her every move, Melinda looked for the elusive feline.

      “Yes, there he is.” She pointed to a section, then turned Carl’s head with her hands to position him better. “See? That glob of gray and white fur?”

      He tried not to allow the touch of her hand take over all his senses. It was futile despite the best of intentions.

      With effort, he forced himself to focus on the reason he was here. To rescue a cat, not resuscitate a friendship gone sour. Squinting, he could finally make out the furry form. The cat looked to be at least twenty feet off the ground.

      “Yeah,” he snapped the word off, tension dancing through him. “I see him.”

      She was having second thoughts about this rescue action. The cat belonged to the children, but she didn’t want to risk having Carl plummet out of a tree just to retrieve him.

      “Maybe we’d better forget the whole thing, or call the fire department.” Damn it, she was stumbling over her own tongue, and she knew why. She was letting her guilt overwhelm her.

      He waved a dismissive hand at the suggestion. “I’m here now.”

      They weren’t kids anymore, shimmying up the tree like monkeys. She glanced at the garage. “Do you want me to get a ladder?”

      Not that she knew if her father even had a ladder anymore. He’d long since given up doing chores around the place himself, hiring gardeners and handymen to do them instead.

      Carl shook his head at the offer. The next moment he jumped up to grab the lowest branch, then swung himself up into the tree.

      Melinda couldn’t help smiling again as another whiff of nostalgia drifted over her. “I forgot how agile you could be.”

      He spared her one look before climbing up higher. “Seems to me you forgot a lot of things.”

      She had that coming, too, Melinda thought, crossing her arms before her as she saw him make his way up the tree.

      “Not really.” He climbed a few more feet up and she watched him, debating. Finally she said, “You know that argument we had? The one just before I left?”

      He refused to look down at her, keeping his eyes trained on the cat. But he felt something tighten in his stomach.

      “What