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“Hey, Mandy,” a young guy called to his woman.

Honeymooners, judging by the dopey look on the man’s face and the Isn’t he amazing expression on the woman’s face.

The groom pointed to the old-fashioned jukebox with a grin. “They have our song.”

Cal decided it really was time to go, because they looked like the Cyndi Lauper type, and he wasn’t ready for that peppy a song. But the creak of the jukebox’s mechanical arm was followed by the scratch of the needle over the LP, and when the first notes of a jazzy trumpet played…

Cynthia stopped in her tracks, and Cal did too.

“Dream a little dream of me.” The groom beamed at his bride as the timeless voice of Ella Fitzgerald filled the room.

Cal didn’t budge through the first few lines of the song. It was daylight, so the stars weren’t shining above him, and there was no bird in a sycamore tree. But damn. The breeze really did seem to whisper, I love you.

I love you, he echoed, gazing into Cynthia’s eyes.

“Dream a Little Dream of Me” was their song. Or it would be if he had to name just one. They’d slow-danced to it on their second night together. Cynthia had snuck him over to her father’s boathouse in the Adirondacks, a rustic little place right on a lake. The band at the fancy club on the opposite shore had played a lot of classics, and music drifted over the water in a magical way. Cal and Cynthia had taken a break from making love long enough to dance a few times. Him and her, holding each other close, their footsteps creaking softly on the wooden slats of the boathouse balcony. Autumn leaves fluttered in the woods, and moonlight rippled over the calm waters of the lake.

Cynthia turned to him with wide, vulnerable eyes, and he gulped. Yeah, she remembered too.

They’d danced to that song dozens of times, and the only part that didn’t ring true was the word little. Little didn’t begin to describe his dreams over the past twelve years.

Hold her tight? Tell her he missed her? Hell, where would he begin?

Another few lines went by without either of them making a move, but by the time Louis Armstrong kicked in with his low, gravelly, craving lines, Cal found his feet moving. His arms too, pulling Cynthia close. Behind her, the honeymooners started dancing as well, and the other customers turned to

watch. Not that Cal cared. His whole world narrowed to the tune in his ears and the woman in his arms.

Just like old times. His wolf grinned.

It was, right down to the smallest details. Like her hand on his shoulder and the silky brush of her hair over his shoulder as their bodies began to sway. He leaned in, closed his eyes, and inhaled her scent.

Dancing was a funny thing, really. You only took a few steps, but it was like traveling to a different world. A place where only the present existed, along with a sense of calm. A lot like the calm he’d always felt holding Cynthia after they made love. Feeling spent and tired of taking on the world, but relieved at the same time because he didn’t have to be a warrior for a while. He could just hold his true love and enjoy.

Dancing had a way of dividing his senses too, keeping part of him aware of the whirling overhead fans, the clatter of silverware, and the sensation of eyes on their backs as people looked on. But that was all detached and distant, and he stayed in his private world as long as he could, relishing every step, every touch, every glance they exchanged.

Far too soon, the song reached its final chords, and before he knew it, the jukebox needle was scratching over silence again. But Cynthia was looking up at him with an expression he couldn’t decipher, and her heart beat steadily against his. A smattering of applause made her blush, but she kept her eyes on his.

Just like old times, Cal couldn’t help thinking.

Just like old times, Cynthia’s eyes agreed.

CYNTHIA SAT ON THE ROCKING CHAIR ON HER PRIVATE WING OF THE

porch, gripping the armrests, trying not to let her hands shake. She closed her eyes, telling herself to clear her mind. It would be dinnertime soon, and there was no way she could appear in such a state.

Still, her fingers tingled, and her blood raced. Cal’s heady scent still filled her nose, and her cheeks warmed.

Our mate is back, her dragon sighed. He really is back, and he really does love us.

It had been a silent drive home from Lahaina — well, silent between her and Cal, though she could feel sparks fly the entire time. Joey, on the other hand, kept up an excited conversation for the short ride home in the borrowed pickup. It was amazing how her baby had gone from little boy to…well, big boy — one more curious than ever about the world.

“Bruce said his boat has two engines. Two! And Dell said he catches fish bigger than me! There was a storm once, and Bruce said…”

Her mind had wandered while Joey enthused about everything he’d done, seen, and heard. Cal was back, and he loved her. He hadn’t betrayed their promise as she’d been led to believe. And now that she was a widow…

She cleared her throat and rocked faster.

When Cal dropped off her and Joey at home, he’d left the engine running, ready to turn around and head back to town for his Triumph. Cynthia had stepped out of the pickup, intending to utter a quick thanks and walk briskly to the house, because she’d already let down her guard too far. But the moment her eyes met Cal’s, her feet refused to move. His deep, smoky eyes sparkled as he took her in.

“Thank you,” she’d whispered, hanging on to the door like a woman at the edge of a cliff.

“Thank you!” Joey chirped, making Cal flash one of his rare smiles. Then he went all serious again, with eyes for no one but her.

“Sure thing.”

His lips hadn’t closed all the way when he finished, and she’d been hit by the urge to clamber across the front seat and kiss him.

Motorcycles are much more convenient, her dragon grumbled.

It had taken everything she had to shut the door and let Cal drive away. Even when he did, she’d stood watching the driveway a long time after the pickup disappeared.

She gave the rocking chair a push and looked out over the sea, trying to distract herself. But instead of the rainbow of blues in the tropical water, all she saw was the worn leather of Cal’s jacket. Instead of watching palm trees sway along the edge of the beach, she pictured the thick strands of Cal’s hair, curling around his ears.

What’s really keeping us apart? her dragon whispered.

Cynthia closed her eyes. Pride. Nothing but damn pride — hers as well as his — not to mention that gaping chasm filled with all the pain of the past. A whole river of regret she was afraid to wade into, lest she get swept away. That, and a mountain of guilt. She hadn’t chosen to be mated to Barnaby, but she had agreed in the end, and he’d sacrificed his life for her. Didn’t she owe it to him to remain true?

“Look, Mommy. I drew a picture of Bruce on his boat.” Joey was sprawled on the floor not far from her feet, and he twisted around to show off his latest artwork.

Cynthia snapped her eyes open to look. “That’s great, honey.”

Her son’s smile was a thing of joy. She took a deep breath and looked around. Joey’s crayons scratched across paper, and the corner of his sketchbook lifted and fell in the light breeze. Outside, a myna chattered, busying itself with its day.

Her gaze lifted to the mountains that Cal had roared off to shortly after he’d returned from Lahaina on his Triumph. What exactly was he doing up there? Was he thinking about the future, or was he just as stuck in the past as she?

Every time an engine sounded at the top of the driveway, she jumped to her feet, but the others returned before Cal did. Sometime that afternoon, Anjali and Dell came cruising down in their new minivan — a vehicle that hinted at plans to expand their family, no doubt. Not long after, Sophie and Chase coasted down the driveway in the pickup, met by a happy chorus of barking dogs. The others — Tim, Hailey, Connor, and Jenna — had been out and about, but everyone had promised to meet for dinner. Everyone but Cal.

Joey added some splashes around the hull of the boat he’d drawn. “Maybe someday I can go fishing with Bruce.”

She nearly said, Certainly not, but she caught herself just in time. “Maybe you can someday,” she whispered.

The sun glinted off his red hair just like it once had Barnaby’s, and sorrow sliced through her soul. She’d grown to love Barnaby over time. As a friend, if not a lover. He’d been good to her, a great father to Joey, and he had made the ultimate sacrifice for them both. Was it selfish of her to dream of Cal instead of honoring Barnaby’s memory?

She frowned as her mind replayed the last day she’d spent with Barnaby, in what seemed like a different life. She’d woken in her bedroom, showered, and met him in the gleaming kitchen downstairs. Barnaby had given her his

usual peck on the cheek, and when Joey came down in his Star Wars pajamas, Barnaby had lifted him high and spun him around.

There’s my boy. His rich tenor mingled with the squeak of Joey’s laughter and rang through the house.

Cynthia closed her eyes, feeling guiltier than ever.

“I wish…” she whispered, without knowing what she really wished for.

Much as she resented the sharp turns her life had taken, they had each led to something better. Being with Barnaby had given her Joey, and nothing would ever make her undo that. In the aftermath of the dragon attack launched by Moira and Drax, she’d lost everything, but that had also led to her starting a whole new life on Maui. A good life, even though she never would have believed it at the time.

So what exactly did she wish for now?

Cal, her dragon said without hesitation. Cal. Stop wallowing in the past.

Live in the present, and look to the future.

She would love to. But she was out of practice when it came to that — and not as ready to risk her heart as she had been, once upon a time.

Know this, Barnaby had told her years ago — that evening they’d had a heart-to-heart, when he had revealed all. I may not be the mate you dreamed of, but I love you, and I want you to be happy. If it were in my power to set either of us free, believe me, I would.

Freedom. She sighed. She’d only ever tasted it with Cal.

“Hey,” someone called from the point where the porch took a ninety- degree turn, giving her privacy from the front of the house.

Cynthia turned to find Dell there, and she didn’t know whether to laugh or groan. But the lion shifter wasn’t wearing his usual cocky grin, and his eyes weren’t full of mischief.

“Just checking,” he said, sounding uncharacteristically reserved. Even concerned, if that were possible. “How many places to set for dinner tonight?”

Cynthia tilted her head. Back when they’d all just arrived on the plantation as strangers, she had designed a strict duty schedule, working on her parents’ example. Dragons took charge, and it was important to run a tight ship. It had annoyed her to no end when the men had swapped tasks. Contrary to her fears, however, the guys had proven themselves reliable, with each falling into the role he did best. Soon, everything was running smoothly, almost by itself.

Funny how that had all worked out — and how many lessons she had learned along the way. Cooking was a prime example. That had pretty much become Dell’s domain, and everyone was happy not to intrude. So why was Dell asking her about such details now?

“I mean, do I set for eleven or twelve?” he asked.

Eleven was on the tip of her tongue, but then she realized what Dell meant. There were eleven residents on the plantation: Connor and Jenna, the dragon shifters; Tim and Hailey, the bears; and Anjali and Dell, the lion shifters, plus their baby, Quinn. Then there were Chase and Sophie, the wolves, and Cynthia and Joey brought the total of their eclectic little group to eleven. So, who was number twelve?

Dell’s gaze remained expressionless, but she could have sworn he was holding his breath.

Cal, she realized. Dell was asking about Cal. So far, Cal had taken his meals alone or gone over to report to Silas at dinnertime. But now…

Her lip quivered. Dell was offering to include Cal?

She closed her eyes. How long had she yearned for something as simple as seeing her mate in small, ordinary ways? But now that she had the chance

to, the old barriers still loomed in her way. “Twelve,” her dragon made her say.

Hey, she blurted.

Don’t overthink things, the beast snipped.

And dammit, the next words out of her mouth were an affirmation of the first — her dragon taking charge once again.

“Twelve would be fine.”

Dell nodded, but he didn’t move. He just stood there, studying her. Finally, he stuck on an oversized smile and turned to her son. “Heya, Joey. Whatcha drawing?”

Joey held up his stick-figure Bruce and boat, then beamed when Dell lavished him with praise.

“Wow. That is amazing. Will you show it to Anjali and Quinn? Can we put it on the fridge when you’re done?”

“Sure.” Joey jumped to his feet, grabbed his crayons, and ran toward the kitchen.

“Just make sure Quinn doesn’t eat them,” Dell called after him. “She’s just a baby, you know. Not a big kid like you.”

When Joey disappeared around the corner, Dell turned back to Cynthia, and his smile faded.

What? she wanted to scream. Why was he looking at her that way?

“You okay?” Dell finally asked, in a tone softer than he’d ever used with her. No laughing, no teasing, no jokes.

“I’m fine.”

Dell rubbed his golden beard. “Really fine? Seriously, Cynthia…”

She did a double take. Dell never called her by her full name. God, was she that pitiful?

“Please don’t be nice to me just because…because…” She choked up before getting as far as, Because my life is a mess.

Dell cocked his head. “You want me to be mean?” “No. Just… Call me Cynth.”

Dell stared until she banged a fist on the armrest of the chair. “Pretend everything is normal, okay?”

He arched an eyebrow. “Pretend?”

She grimaced. “I’m better at it than you know.”

The lion shifter broke into a grin. “And here I was thinking you were all cold and heartless.”

She stuck a finger in his direction and turned on her fiercest alpha glare. “Don’t you dare tell anyone otherwise.”

He crossed his heart. “It’ll be our secret. Scout’s honor.”

Cynthia nodded quickly, fighting the urge to bury her face in her hands. What other secrets had Dell guessed at? She blanched. God, it would kill her if any of the men of Koakea knew she had dirty dreams about Cal.

“Anyway…” She covered her string of pearls, ordering herself not to blush. But if her chest felt that hot, surely her cheeks were about to show it too. “Twelve is fine.”

Dell scratched this jaw. Finally, he sighed, turned a chair backward, and straddled it. “Look, I hate to ask…”

So, don’t, she nearly said.

“But I will,” Dell finished before she had a chance to protest.

The crazy thing was, Cynthia caught herself celebrating that. As if she needed to get everything off her chest at last. Which was crazy. Dragons didn’t confide in anyone. And certainly not in a man-child like Dell.

She pushed the rocking chair back into motion but couldn’t quite bring herself to send him away.

“About Cal…” he ventured. Cynthia rocked harder.

“One minute, I get the feeling you hate him. The next, you act like you love him.”

She waved away the notion. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

Dell tilted his head to one side, then the other, considering. “Is it? I’ve seen the way he looks at you — and the way you look at him.”

The porch creaked under the motion of the rocking chair. “I don’t look at him,” she insisted.

“Right. And Cal doesn’t look at you like a man staring out from a cage.” Cynthia’s mouth cracked open. Was it really true?

“If you do hate him, I’d be happy to run him off Maui,” Dell offered. “Everyone would pitch in, no matter what Silas says.”

Her chest warmed. God. How lucky was she to have friends like Dell? True friends — not acquaintances or hired hands, as her parents had insisted relationships with lesser shifter species should be. Lions could be just as insightful as dragons. Wolves could be just as noble, and bears just as self- sacrificing. She knew firsthand.

“But if you do love him…” Dell whispered.

Her eyes slid closed. Love. If only the word slipped as smoothly off her tongue as Dell’s. Other than loving Joey, she’d never openly admitted to loving anyone.

Finally, she sighed and whispered back, “I don’t hate Cal. I hate myself.”

Dell looked bewildered. Clearly, self-loathing was a new concept to the sunny-hearted lion.

Cynthia kneaded her hands, holding back the truth. There was no way she was confiding in Dell. And yet, a moment later, she found herself speaking in halting, nervous spurts.

“My parents had my future all set up. They didn’t even tell me they were negotiating a betrothal with Barnaby’s family.”

Dell’s eyebrows shot up. “Negotiating?”

Her shoulders slumped. Dell would never understand. But now that she’d started…

“It was a done deal before Barnaby or I even knew about it. We had no choice.”

“How could you not have a choice? How could they do that to you?” Cynthia sucked in a long breath and let it out just as slowly, buying time.

“I did have a choice,” she said, thinking back to the half-dozen potential suitors her parents had introduced her to. All old, crusty dragons who, like her, were the last of their lines. When she’d finally worked up the nerve to admit to her parents she was already in love, her mother had clapped in delight.

That’s wonderful! Who is the lucky man?

The lucky man was a wolf shifter, and when she’d admitted as much — boy, had the shit hit the fan.

What? her mother had screeched.

Who? her father had hollered. Within minutes, he’d called in his dragon allies to drag Cal’s undeserving wolf hide in.

Of course, Cal was too crafty to be hunted down by anyone. She’d sent word to him, urging him to flee. Instead, he’d come marching right into her parents’ parlor, holding his head high.

And who might you be? her father had demanded.

The man who loves your daughter.

She’d never loved Cal more than in that gallant moment, but even that couldn’t change the way things had worked out. Not with twenty generations of dragon ghosts peering over her shoulder, demanding the Baird clan

wouldn’t die out with her. In the end, she’d been the one to beg Cal to go. She’d even made up some nonsense about not loving him, insisting it was all just a fling.

Never had a man looked more wounded. Never had she felt so ashamed of herself or so angry at what her parents had forced upon her. But they had both passed away since then, and she had only herself to despise now.

She swallowed hard and glanced at Dell. “Old dragon clans take bloodlines very seriously.”

He scowled. “I bet they do. But, hell. You’d have to be a goddamn legend to want to preserve the family line that bad.”

She kept her eyes level with Dell’s, telling him how right he was. He stared, and she could see the gears turning in his head.

“You come from the Llewellyn clan?” he tried. “No? The Draigs, then?

The Rhyddericks?”

“Mr. O’Roarke, you impress me with your knowledge of dragondom.” He made a face. “Can’t help overhearing some of the stuff you teach

Joey.”

She frowned. Honestly, she hadn’t ever thought through what she’d been teaching Joey. She’d taught him about the great clans because that was all part of dragon lore. But did she really want her son growing up believing bloodlines mattered more than love?

“My husband — Barnaby — was a Brenner,” she said.

Dell’s eyes went wide. “That old clan with all that property in the Northeast? The Newport mansion?”

Mansions, she refrained from correcting him. Instead, she dropped the bombshell. Why the heck not?

“My maiden name is Baird. Cynthia Baird.”

His jaw dropped, and a moment later, he sputtered. “Holy crap. You mean, those Bairds?”

Cynthia sighed. “Yes, those Bairds. I’m the last one.”

Dell stared at her, and for a moment, everything was silent. Uncomfortably so. Then he found his voice again and dropped his own bombshell. “How could you be a Baird if Moira is your cousin?”

Cynthia whipped her head around. “How did you know that?” Del shrugged. “Moira told me.”

“She what?” Cynthia screeched. “When?”

“In Chicago.” Dell motioned over his shoulder as if the Windy City were right there. “When I went to close Quinn’s adoption.”

Cynthia gaped. For months, Dell had known one of her deepest, darkest secrets, but he hadn’t told a soul.

Mother, she wished she could summon her parents. Father. You were wrong about other shifters. So utterly wrong. They can be loyal. They can be honorable. They can be trusted.

Maybe even more than fellow dragons, her inner beast growled, flexing its claws.

“How can you possibly be related to Moira?” Dell motioned at her. “You’re all…classy. She’s just a bitch.”

Cynthia laughed. Either Dell was being generous, calling her classy instead of snobby, or she’d changed for the better over the past few years. Either way, he was right about Moira.

“Sorry,” he muttered in an afterthought.

Cynthia shook her head. “Moira is a third cousin, and not a Baird. But yes, we’re related. And yes, she is a bitch. But anyway…”

For once, Dell didn’t call out her obvious hint to change the subject. He did, however, go back to the original thread of their conversation.

“So why did you do it? I mean, why agree to mate with Barnaby?”

His words were so gentle, it made her feel worse. Damn it. She was the last in a long, proud line of dragons — one of the mightiest clans in history. Bairds were to be revered and admired, not pitied.

But there she was with a lion shifter looking at her with eyes so mournful, she could have cried.

“Cynthia. Why?”

Funny, she’d asked herself that question a hundred times.

“Because two thousand years of pure dragon bloodlines couldn’t end with me,” she whispered, feeling defeated all over again.

Dell, to his credit, didn’t point out how hopelessly elitist that sounded. He just scratched his chin. “The whole bloodline thing is a little outdated, don’t you think?”

She slumped. You had to be a dragon to understand, she supposed. “Seriously, Cynth. Would you force Joey to take a mate he didn’t love?” Her head snapped up. “Of course not.”

“So what makes you different? Don’t you deserve happiness?” She blinked back the sting in her eyes. “Because… because…”

Dell waited patiently — infuriatingly so — while Cynthia hemmed, hawed, and finally trailed off.

The sounds of the plantation filled in the uncomfortable silence that ensued. Birds calling, crickets chirping, and the distant hum of the ocean rolling over the shore.

“You know what I think?” Dell finally whispered.

Cynthia rolled her eyes, pretending to be annoyed. “What do you think, Mr. O’Roarke?”

Dell let a heartbeat or two pass, making it clear he wasn’t about to crack a joke. “I think you deserve happiness. You deserve love. And, really —

what’s your biggest obstacle? Other than yourself, I mean.”

Cynthia stared at a spot on the floor like it was the bare, naked truth she’d never wanted to face.

Dell’s chair creaked as he leaned closer, speaking more earnestly than she’d thought he was capable of.

“If you were Joey, I would tell you to fight for what you want. What you really want.”

Cynthia gulped.

“But seeing as you’re not Joey…”

She glanced up, wondering what he would say.

Dell let a pregnant pause tick by. Then he stood, wiped his hands on his pants, and flashed a quirky smile that said, The ball’s in your court.

“Dinner’s in twenty minutes,” he said, turning to go. “See you then, Cynth.”