"Dad," she asked, listening to him chew the last bite of a sesame seed cracker. "Are you really in trouble with this Yarington character?"

"Worrying about your old man, Red?" He patted her shoulder again with his big paw of a hand. "Don't fret.

I've been in worse situations. This one is under control. If your friend Quarrel comes through for me, I'll be free and clear of Mr. Reginald C. Yarington, international loan shark, soon enough."

Verity stepped back out of his arms, scanning his face for reassurance. She was about to ask another question when the back door of the cafe opened and Jonas strolled into the kitchen. He smiled blandly at Verity, looking for all the world as if he had only a vague recollection of how he had spent the previous evening. She scowled at him. If he couldn't look like a man who had been recently overpowered by passion, the least he could do was have the grace to appear mildly apologetic about that passion.

"Am I late?" he asked easily, seeing her frown.

"No, you're not late," she was forced to admit. "You can start rinsing spinach for the salads I'm going to do for lunch." She winced at the edge to her words. If this situation was to remain bearable, she would have to demonstrate some graciousness. The only alternative was to fire Jonas on the spot. She decided he would probably sue on grounds of sexual discrimination if she tried that.

"You see what I have to put up with for minimum wage?" Jonas appealed to Emerson.

Emerson gave Jonas a commiserating look as he helped himself to another cracker. "I assume the tips must be good or you wouldn't stick around to take this kind of abuse," he murmured meaningfully.

Jonas grinned and looked straight at Verity. "The tips," he agreed, "are excellent."

"That does it," Verity announced. "If you two are going to hang around you can both start rinsing spinach. I won't tolerate loafers and freeloaders." She went to the refrigerator, opened it, and pulled out several large bunches of spinach. "Here, show me that God put men on earth for some useful purpose after all." She tossed one of the spinach bundles at Jonas.

"Anything you say, boss." Jonas fielded the spinach with casual expertise. "Come on, Emerson. Give me a hand. You owe me for taking the bed last night."

"Sure, why not?" Emerson rolled up his sleeves and turned on the water. "Won't be the first time I've played kitchen helper. Verity always puts me to work when I show up."

"It's good for you," Verity said briskly as she busied herself preparing pasta for a chilled salad. "Builds character."

"Hah. I haven't worried about building character since I wrote Juxtaposition," her father retorted. "I learned then it was a distinctly painful and unrewarding process." He held spinach leaves under the running water and gave Jonas a speculative glance. "Ever read it, Quarrel?"

" Juxtaposition' ? I read it. Everyone on campus was reading it ten years ago. It was hot for a few months."

"What did you think of it?"

Jonas unwrapped the thin wire that bound a bunch of spinach. "It's been ten years, Emerson."

"Don't hedge, man. Tell me what you thought."

Verity waited expectantly, spoon poised over a steaming kettle of pasta shells. "It was a fantastic book, wasn't it, Jonas?" she said encouragingly.

Jonas gave her a wary glance and then said to Emerson, "You want the truth?"

"Yup."

Jonas paused again. "Well, like I said, it's been a while. But I seem to recall being very impressed at the time."

Verity was pleased. "What impressed you about it?" she prodded.

Jonas shrugged and dumped a pile of spinach into a colander. "I remember thinking that Emerson Ames, whoever he was, was nothing less than brilliant. He'd found the perfect formula for putting on the entire literary establishment. He'd written a book that had it all: lots of painful, maudlin introspection, a neurotic hero who liked to wallow in guilt and anxiety, a generous sprinkling of cynicism that passed for insight, a dash of psychodrama, and a meandering, plotless tale that ended somewhere in the middle of a sentence. I knew by the end of the first page that New York was going to love it, and because New York loved it, everyone who had any claim to being a member of the literati was going to fall all over himself praising the book. I remember telling myself when I finished that Emerson Ames had balls. Not to mention chutzpah."

Emerson was laughing so hard by the time Jonas finished that he could hardly stand. He leaned his elbows on the sink and roared until his eyes grew moist. "Jesus, Red," he gasped, "you waited so long I thought you were planning to enter a convent, but I got to admit that when you finally picked a man for yourself, you did all right. I must have brought you up right, after all. Congratulations, kid. Not only can he use a knife, he's got some brains. A damn rare combination in this day and age."

Verity lifted her eyes helplessly toward the ceiling. "You'd think I'd have the sense to know when I'm outnumbered," she mumbled as the kettle of pasta boiled over onto the stovetop.

The day went surprisingly smoothly after that. The No Bull Cafe got busy around eleven-thirty, which took Verity's mind off the problems she was having dealing with the men in her life. She ran the kitchen with a firm, competent hand, giving orders to Emerson and Jonas, greeting her guests, organizing the cooking.

She was in her element.

By the time the No Bull closed for the afternoon, she felt much better. There was nothing like taking charge of a situation to restore a woman's self-confidence. As she totaled up the noon profits and prepared to make a trip to the bank, she told herself she could even deal with the shaky beginning to her first love affair.

"Going into town with the loot?" Jonas asked, wiping his hands on a towel as he finished the dishes.

"That's right."

"I'll ride shotgun with you. I want to pick up some more beer."

Verity tried to keep her pleasure from showing. This would be the first time she would be alone with Jonas all day. "All right, you can come as long as you don't buy any junk food to go with the beer."

Jonas tossed aside the towel. "Honey, you know you can't drink beer without junk food. The two go together in a very delicate chemical process. It would be foolish to interfere. No telling what harm might be done. Let's go."

The day was sunny and warm, the kind of fall day that would help ensure a good harvest for the nearby wineries. The road from the lake front into the town of Sequence Springs passed through a stand of trees and then through a wide meadow. Jonas reached out and took Verity's hand as they walked along the roadside. His fingers tightened around hers.