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refrigerator, she pulled out green salad and the vegetables she wanted to steam. She’d already prepared her mother’s famous potatoes and had them simmering on the back of the stove. After putting the vegetables into a pot, she walked into the dining room and set the salad in the middle of the table, then returned to the living room.
    Jake stood by the window again, staring out at the view. She wondered what he was thinking. Laurel bounced up from her perch on the sofa.
    “You don’t need any help in the kitchen, do you?” she asked, obviously hoping for a refusal.
    “It will just be a few more minutes,” Anne answered. “I have it all under control. But thanks for asking.”
    Laurel looked at her father as if to show him she’d done as he requested, then turned back to Anne. “It sure smells good. Back home—Dallas, I mean, not where we live now—we had a housekeeper who did the cooking. She was okay, but she wouldn’t fix any good stuff. You know, like cookies. My mom—” Laurel suddenly stopped talking and stared at her empty glass.
    Anne drew in a breath to fight the unexpected tightness in her chest. Silence filled the room. Laurel fidgeted. Damn. She was obviously uncomfortable. This was difficult for all of them, but as the child, Laurel was the least equipped to
    handle the situation. Anne glanced at Jake, but he had his back to them. Apparently she was on her own. She took Laurel’s glass and walked over to the wet bar. The teenager trailed along behind.
    “Ellen Masters was your mother in every sense of the word,” Anne said as she popped the top on another can of soda. “I don’t mind if you talk about her.”
    She handed the girl her drink. They looked at each other. Pain flashed through Anne as she stared at eyes so much like her mother’s. The older woman had been gone eleven years, but she still missed her. Laurel must feel even worse about Ellen. “I know that you loved your mother very much,” she said.
    Laurel blinked in surprise.
    Anne perched on the end table between the sofa and the wet bar. The teenager took a step closer. Anne drew in a deep breath, then reached forward and briefly touched the girl’s arm.
    “I’d like us to be friends, Laurel,” Anne said. “We don’t know each other very well so we’re both going to say things that make us feel funny. I think we should keep trying until we get it right. What about you?”
    “Okay.” Laurel gave her a quick smile, then took a sip of her soda. “I’m glad you’re not mad or anything. I don’t talk about her much, but sometimes things just kinda slip out.” She darted a glance at her father. Her voice dropped to an audible whisper. “Daddy gets upset if I talk about her.”
    Anne followed Laurel’s gaze. Jake Masters remained in front of the window, staring out at the city The sun had slipped below the horizon and lights twinkled all around. With his hands shoved into his pants pockets and his legs braced, he seemed more conquering hero than mere visitor in her home. At his daughter’s words, his shoulder’s tightened, but he didn’t turn around or otherwise acknowledge that he’d heard the confession.
    Anne decided it was best to return to a safe topic of conversation. “I’m not much of a cook,” she said. “I don’t get home from work before seven, and by then it’s so late that I don’t want to bother.”
    “Mom cooks—” Laurel glanced at her father and worried her bottom lip. Then she took a deep breath and spoke very quickly. “My mom used to cook a lot. She made special things. You know, like gourmet foods? I didn’t like all of it, but it was fun to try. There used to be parties with lots of people and I’d help sometimes. Once for my birthday, my mom decorated a cake with—”
    “Laurel, I’m sure Ms. Baker doesn’t want to hear this,” Jake Masters said, without bothering to turn around.
    “But, I—”
    “Laurel.” The tone of his voice made even Anne sit up and take notice.
    The