His hostess had refused to answer a single question about the robberies she’d reported—robberies from the research station—until she’d served tea. Her cozy living room with its comfortable chairs, collection of lighthouse replicas, and bright bay windows was as different from Kate’s cluttered apartment as the plump, white-haired woman was from Kate. He groaned. There he went again, letting his thoughts stray where they didn’t belong. It was bad enough that Dad thought he had a thing for her. Tom cringed at the memory. At breakfast this morning, without warning, his dad had said, “Have you told Kate how you feel about her?” Of course, Tom did what any red-blooded male would do. Deny. Deny. Deny. But apparently he hadn’t tamed the goofy grin that had been smiling back at him from the bathroom mirror a few minutes earlier because his dad just said, “Uh-huh,”
