Well, she thought as he left her office and shut the door with a smart bang, we’re off to one hell of a start.

Jesse came home to find Sally, a six-foot iguana, speculatively eyeing Barney, an animated African gray parrot. Apparently in the mood to show off, the chatty bird sat atop the lizard’s terrarium reciting gibberish he’d picked up from the television. Since Barney had figured out the buttons on the remote control, he spent his days switching channels. He adored the clatter of game shows and cartoons, but occasionally Jesse caught the bird tuned in to a soap opera, his head cocked curiously.

“Hi, guys,” Jesse said, as he passed. Barney and Sally didn’t know that in the real world, lizards and birds weren’t supposed to be friends. Although Jesse’s woodsy home boasted plenty of greenery and primitive artifacts, it was hardly a jungle. Barney and Sally had been hand raised in captivity.

Turning the corner, he strode into the kitchen. Uneven stacks of dirty dishes cluttered the chopping-block counters. He blew a windy sigh and filled the sink with warm water, adding a fair amount of soap. Dissolving dried pancake syrup and crusty chili would take some elbow grease. He wasn’t the sort to ignore chores, household or otherwise, but his organized existence had gone to hell and back since he’d set eyes on Tricia again.

Keeping busy was important, he decided, and pacing the floor with cigars in his pocket wouldn’t do. He might be a new father, but his son wasn’t an infant. Dillon Hawk was eleven years old. And although it wrenched his heart, he couldn’t blame the boy for being apprehensive about meeting him. Apparently Dillon respected his mother enough to stand up for her honor, something a young brave had the right to do.

He dunked another set of dishes and wondered how he and Tricia were going to tackle friendship. It was, of course, Jesse’s only option if he wanted a healthy relationship with his son.

What was the boy like? he wondered. Was he tall for his age? Dark or fair in coloring? Shy? Outgoing? Did he wear his baseball caps reversed, or did he avoid hats altogether? What television shows did he watch? Was there a girl in the neighborhood he had a painful crush on, or was Tricia the only female who had yet to influence his life?

As Jesse scoured a frying pan, he tried to envision the items on Tricia’s shiny black desk. Had there been a framed photograph he’d missed—a snapshot of his son? He’d been too keyed up to even think about searching for a picture, much less grill Tricia for sentimental facts.

Her secret had blinded him from anything but rage. Damn her for not telling him about their baby—for making him miss the first eleven years of his son’s life. She knew how badly he had wanted children, how he longed for a family of his own. But Jesse had given up on that dream soon after Tricia’s betrayal. Children meant a wife, and a wife meant falling in love—something he never intended to do again. Sure, maybe the weak part of him had never quit missing Tricia, but the other side, the proud, willful side, had suffered from her disloyalty—almost to the point of hating her for it. And now, God help him, he had no choice but to befriend her.

A deafening sound drew Jesse’s attention. He dried his hands and went back into the living room where Barney had decided to blast the volume on the TV.

Having abandoned the iguana, the African gray patrolled the coffee table, protecting the remote control like an armed guard.

“Come on, pal, that’s too loud.” Jesse reached for the remote, then scolded Barney when the parrot went for his hand. “Don’t even think about.”

Barney ducked his head in what looked like shame. Jesse set the volume on mute and grinned at his feathered friend. “Want to learn a new word?”

The bird stepped closer, inching its beak toward the remote in Jesse’s hand. He hid the device behind his back. “No TV. A new word.”

“Cochise,” Barney squawked.

“Cochise is outside with the other dogs.” Although some would disagree, Jesse believed parrots did more than mimic. They were extremely intelligent birds, and Barney knew that Cochise was the dog that shared their home.

“Dill-on,” Jesse said, emphasizing each syllable.

He wanted Barney to learn his son’s name, as he intended to introduce Dillon to all of his pets—hopefully soon. While the bird listened, Jesse sat on the edge of the coffee table and continued to repeat the name in a slow, patient tone.

A short time later, the African gray fluffed his feathers. “Hello, Jesse.”

Jesse smiled. Was Barney’s parrot-voice spiced with an Oklahoma twang, or was that his imagination? “Dillon,” Jesse coaxed once again. “Hello, Dillon.”

“Hello, Jesse,” came the quick reply.

No. No. No. “Hello, Dillon.”

Barney bobbed his head. “Hello, Jesse. Hello.”

Jesse set the remote down. “We’ll try later, okay?”

“Okay.” The bird repeated the familiar word, then pecked at the buttons until he discovered sound once again.

Jesse’s mind drifted back to his son. Would he meet Dillon tonight, or would the child refuse an introduction until he felt certain his parents had worked through their differences? He removed Tricia’s business card from his pocket and gazed at the address she’d written. What would Dillon think of him? Jesse wondered as he studied the card. Would he fit the boy’s image of a father? Or would Dillon be expecting someone suave and sophisticated, like the kind of men Tricia probably dated?

Jesse combed his fingers through his hair. He couldn’t enter his son’s home for the first time empty-handed. He should bring the boy a gift. But what? He had no idea what would interest an eleven-year-old, especially one born into wealth. Dillon probably had every video game and computer software available, not to mention sports equipment. The thought nagged him. How was he going to compete with Tricia’s money?

You’re not even going to try, a sensible voice in his head said. Parents shouldn’t compete for their child’s affection. Love comes from the heart, not the wallet.

Even so, he still intended to take his son a present. He felt for the leather strap around his neck and reached under his shirt for the medicine bag he’d worn since his own youth. Yes, he’d take Dillon a gift.

And what about Tricia? Should he offer her something as well? Flowers perhaps? She used to love sunflowers. Their bright yellow heads always made her smile.

Jesse went back into the kitchen and began scanning the phone book. He’d make dinner reservations first, then locate a florist for the biggest, brightest sunflower arrangement he could find. Tricia had given birth to his child, and for that he should thank her.

“Hi, Elda.” Patricia set her briefcase on the kitchen counter and greeted her friend. She preferred to think of the nurturing woman as a friend rather than an employee. Raymond Boyd had hired Elda Yacabucci as a nanny for Dillon while Patricia suffered the stigma of being an unwed mother in an affluent, but narrow-minded, community. Patricia had protested at first, not wanting her son raised by nannies. But she’d given in soon enough when she’d realized Dillon needed care while she furthered her education.

The year Patricia and Dillon moved out of the Boyd mansion and into their own home, they’d taken Elda along, offering her accommodations in a guest house located on the property. These days, Elda did more cooking and cleaning than baby-sitting, but the older woman didn’t seem to mind.

“Dillon’s having a snack in the den,” Elda offered, as she headed toward the laundry room, basket tucked against an ample hip. “I made lasagna for lunch, and now that boy’s hungry again.” Elda, a nonjudgmental woman who attended mass every Sunday and routinely wore her salt-and-pepper hair in a tidy bun, glanced back and sent Patricia a pleased smile. “I fixed him another plate.”