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master, she realized the house had grown silent and night had fallen completely.
    A small lamp burned on the table next to the bed. No ghost of Tom Reilly haunted the room. Tom had been hospitalized the day before his death. Lana had remained here, hoping he would rally and be returned to his home, but it had not been so.
    She grabbed the book from the stand and stood for a moment, staring at the bed as she said a silent prayer for Tom Reilly’s soul. He had not been a pleasant man and she had a feeling he could use all the prayers that were offered on his behalf.
    â€œI’ll bet he’s barking orders in hell right about now.”
    Lana jumped in surprise and whirled toward the window, where she spied Chance sitting in the shadows of the room. “You scared me half to death,” she exclaimed and clapped the paperback book over her breast to still her thudding heart.
    â€œSorry,” he said.
    â€œI just came in for my book,” she explained. “I’m all packed, so I guess I’ll just say goodbye.” She turned to leave, but stopped in the doorway as he softly called her name.
    â€œHave a cup of coffee with me.” He stood and approached her, stopping just before he got close enough to invade her personal space.
    In the dimness of the room, his features looked stark, taut with tension. “Everyone else has gone home and now the house seems so quiet…” His voice trailed off.
    â€œI’d like a cup of coffee before I leave,” she saidsoftly. Although Chance had always professed to hate his father, Lana remembered a time when all Chance had wanted was a kind touch, a word of encouragement and a simple acknowledgment of affection from the man.
    There must be a small part of him that was grieving, and Lana couldn’t walk away despite the fact that she still was embarrassed by her earlier outburst.
    She turned and left the room, conscious of him just behind her as they walked down the hall toward the living room and kitchen.
    When she’d first moved in here, she’d been struck by how plain, how austere the place was. Each room held the utilitarian furniture necessary, but little else. There were no floral arrangements, no little knickknacks, no pictures or personal items to make the house feel like a home.
    In the kitchen, she sat at the table and watched as Chance made coffee. At some point during the evening, he’d taken off his suit jacket and rolled up the sleeves of his white shirt, exposing tanned, muscled forearms.
    She searched for something to say to break the silence, but her usual shyness rose up to hinder any efforts she might make toward conversation.
    He didn’t speak until he placed a cup of coffee before her. “Cream or sugar?” he asked.
    She shook her head. “No, this is fine.”
    He poured himself a cup, then joined her at the table. “I haven’t had a chance to thank you for all you did for Sarge,” he said.
    She shrugged. “I was just doing my job.” Shecleared her throat, desperately wanting to fill the silence that once again fell between them. “I understand you travel a lot with your job.”
    He nodded, the overhead kitchen light gleaming on the sun-kissed strands of his hair. “I’m usually on the road six days of the week.”
    He leaned back in his chair, for the first time since arriving home he looked relaxed. “I love it. No ties, no binds, new places and new faces all the time. I spent the first twenty years of my life trying to please Sarge, now I please nobody but myself.”
    Although he appeared to be relaxed, Lana felt the tension that rolled from him, saw the sparks of anger that still torched the depths of his eyes.
    â€œThen I guess you don’t care that this place will all go to charity,” she said.
    He sat back up, his gaze burning into hers. “Yes, I care.” He pushed away from the table and stood, then drew a deep breath and raked a