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swap confidences with this youngster. And suddenly, in the midst of his discomfiture, a realization struck. "You said you're Carrie's brother? Would that be Carrie Wilcox, the—er— widow who inherited this place from old Mr. Wilcox?" Something didn't compute here. Could a fifty-something widow have a college student for a brother?
    "Yeah, that's my sister and she—" Ben cut himself off, turning abruptly to yell, "Hey, Carrie, you've got company!"
    Tyler heard the voice before he saw the woman. "Benjy, sshh! You'll wake the baby!' • The tone was admonishing but it was the same husky, slightly girlish voice he'd conversed with over the phone.

    Ben shrugged and looked sheepish. "Carrie, this is your neighbor, Ty—"
    "Oh, Mr. Tyler! *' Carrie Shaw Wilcox appeared in the small hallway. "It's so nice to meet you at last." She came right up to Tyler and took his hand in hers in a firmly gentle shake, smiling up at him, her wide-set blue eyes shining with warmth. "Have you come to check on Sleuth? He's doing fine. He made a quick adjustment to life as an indoor cat."
    Her voice swirled around Tyler's head and he heard the words, something about the cat, but he wasn't really comprehending them. He stared at her in total confusion for she was clearly not the fiftyish widow he'd been expecting. Carrie Wilcox looked as young as her brother, maybe younger—a teenage widow?— and she was strikingly pretty, small-boned with a heart-shaped face and delicate features.
    His eyes swept over her pale blond hair, which swung thick and straight around her shoulders. She was petite, about five foot three, and she appeared all but dwarfed between him and her brother. She had ocean-blue eyes that were framed with long, dark lashes, and when she smiled, her whole face seemed to light with pleasure. She was wearing loose-fitting blue-and-white-striped shorts and a matching crop top, and though her clothes were certainly modest enough, Tyler was startlingly aware of her slender but shapely nubile young body. Her skin was clear and smooth and looked soft to the touch.
    Tyler took an instinctive step backward and had to remind himself to breathe. So this is what it felt like to be struck by a lightning bolt?
    "Carrie, his name isn't Mr. Tyler, it's Tremaine," brother Ben informed his sister urgently. "You know, Tremaine Drugs and Tremaine Books. That Tremaine."
    Carrie looked confused. "I thought he said his name was Mr. Something Tyler when we talked on the ph—"

    "No, you must've heard him wrong. He's Tyler Tremaine, " Ben insisted. "I have his business card to prove it. Want to see?"
    It occurred to Tyler that they were discussing him between themselves as if he were invisible. He cleared his throat. It was definitely time to assert his presence. "Perhaps we had a bad connection that night, uh, Mrs. Wilcox. You caught the Tyler but not the Tremaine."
    "A bad connection from next door?" Carrie laughed. "You're very tactful, Mr. Tremaine."
    "Please, as we're neighbors, I insist that you call me Tyler, Mrs. Wilcox."
    She tilted her head and looked at him, those big blue eyes of hers dancing with amusement. "That sounds like a cue for me to insist that you call me Carrie."
    "It was and I will, Carrie."
    Tyler studied her curiously. She was much too young for him, of course, and she'd mentioned a baby, therefore canceling any chances she might've had with him even if he'd chosen to overlook her tender years. But she was a pleasure to look at, lovely and natural with a wholesome freshness he rarely saw in his sophisticated life in the fast lane. He couldn't take his eyes off her.
    "You're—not at all what I expected," Tyler blurted out, surprising himself by actually speaking his thoughts aloud. Although he appeared to be the soul of spontaneity—he'd often been described that way by Tremaine friends and admirers—all those ingenuous remarks and impetuous, capricious deeds of his were actually quite premeditated, calculated and studied for