"How in the world did he get the impression that we were getting married?" J.C. demanded. Head tucked down, she marched at high speed back to the office from the Heritage Club. No doubt she would pay for the rare outburst of physical energy, but for now, overwhelmed by shock, she was oblivious to mere mortal pain. How else to explain the fact that she didn't even notice the pre-season sale at the Ralph Lauren store?

Liam doggedly kept up with her torrid pace, one of his long strides matching every two of J.C.'s. When she walked this quickly, her rear end swayed in the straight skirt in a highly provocative way. He took short breaths through his mouth. And quite frankly, he was not out of shape.

"Beats me. He's probably just confused," he replied. "And honestly, I think we've got bigger things to worry about than the fact that Ned Borden thinks we're getting married."

"You say that now. Wait 'til your mother gets you on the phone tonight."

"My mother, my sister." Liam ran a hand through his hair. He really was going to have to get it cut if he was going to remain in Grantham and be dealing with clients like Ned Borden and having soggy scrambled eggs at the Heritage Club on a regular basis. His heart gave a silent groan.

"Forget the grapevine. The more pressing concern is Ned Borden."

J.C. stopped in her tracks, causing a young mother with a four hundred dollar Prego stroller to run up her heels. J.C. winced and waited for the self-possessed woman with shiny hair to maneuver the four-wheel drive pram around her. The baby, she couldn't help noticing, wore a Burberry coat and cap.

"Liam, is it really you?" The Shiny-Haired-Prego-Pushing-Mom-With-the-Too-Cute-For-Words-Designer-Clad-Baby stopped and threw her arms around Liam.

Okay, to give him credit, Liam introduced J.C. as "a rising, young member of the firm." Young was pushing it, she thought. And in the process, he somehow bumped her arm three times, and she, while trying not to eavesdrop during their conversation, was still aware enough to fish out a tissue -- clean, mind you --from her pocket, when she saw him sniffling. But did the woman, who J.C. learned was Mona Grabner, the managing editor of the Grantham Gazette, have to give Liam quite so lingering a kiss and quite so tight a hug in departure?

He brought his attention back to J.C. when the young mom rolled on. "Sorry, Mona's been my sister's best friend since nursery school." Liam thought J.C. looked irritated.

"You don't need to explain anything to me. You're free to talk to any number of beautiful women, married or otherwise."

Liam stared at her. "I don't believe it. You're jealous."

"That's ridiculous. I am not jealous." She held out her arm.

"Yes, you are. I can tell."

She placed her hand on her chest. "Excuse me? You can tell? You don't even know me and you can tell?" She let her mouth remain open in a no-way-mister expression.

"I know you, just like you know me."

"Hell-llo?"

"You know how I take my coffee and that I tend not to wear underwear on the weekends. What more do you need to know?"

That still left open whether he wore boxers or briefs on weekdays, J.C. couldn't help thinking, even though she could really care less.

"The answer is boxers." Liam laughed when he saw her startled expression. "So, would it make you feel better if we changed the subject and went back to discussing Ned Borden?"

J.C. closed her eyes to regroup. Instead, she pictured Liam in boxers - and nothing else. She opened her eyes. It was no use. "Yes, let's talk about Ned." She started to walk on.

Liam joined her. Their pace was slower. "I presume you formed the same impression that I did?"

"You mean that there's a good chance that somebody is trying to royally screw our good buddy Ned over the sale of his farm?" She kept her voice low.

"Yeah. My opinion exactly." He frowned. "So what tipped you off? For me it was that some agency, which I hadn't come across during my search yesterday, had already muscled into the act."

"I have to go with my penchant for numbers." She shook her head. "Penchant, what kind of a word is penchant? I thought it meant a little hotel in Europe with flowered wallpaper and noisy plumbing?"

J.C. waited as Liam pulled open the door to a narrow brick building. Their office occupied the top two floors. A cutesy-wutesy teashop, specializing in lots of chintz and Earl Grey, had occupied the first floor until a few months ago. It was now the site of a thriving Indian restaurant, a fact that irked Baldy/Triple A no end. "The end of civilization as we know it," he tut-tutted whenever the wind blew the wrong way on the restaurant's exhaust fan.

J.C. trudged up the stairs ahead of Liam. It was too early for the restaurant to be open, but the way the day was going she could really use a chicken vindaloo.

"It's the kind of day I could really use a good hot curry," Liam commented behind her.

J.C. stopped and turned around. Liam was a step below her. His head at breast level. She frowned. "Would you stop doing that?"

He pulled back. "Sorry. I didn't know you were going to pull up like that." The faint smell of her baby powder lingered in his nostrils.

"That's not what I meant. It's this uncanny ability you have to echo my thoughts."

Liam smiled. Maybe he was beginning to understand women after all? "So I assume this means both you and I are planning on confronting Baldy, sorry, Triple A, if the old coot is in his office?"

J.C. shooshed him. "Be careful. I know the main door is shut, but Mrs. Oliphant has radar hidden in her headband, and she can pick up whispered conversations within a radius of two counties, possibly three. You don't want to get on her bad side."

Mrs. Oliphant was Baldy's secretary. She sat behind a massive desk in an anteroom in front of the partner's office. The desk so massive, in fact, it could easily double as an entertainment center and a coffin -- at the same time.

Liam beamed. "Not to worry. Mrs. Oliphant adores me."

J.C. shook her head. "Maybe I need to clarify something here. Mrs. Oliphant has a bad side, and then she has a worse side. It's just a matter of degree."

Liam waggled his eyebrows. "You underestimate my charm."

J.C. wasn't going to go there. Instead, she held out her hand. "In that case, be my guest."

Liam eased passed her, his shoulder and thigh brushing up against her. He heard the quick catch in her breath and smiled.

As to be expected, Mrs. Oliphant was behind her oak rampart. A blue velvet headband, which matched the carpeting, held back her gray pageboy hairstyle. Carefully attached to one side of her sweater set was a pin declaring her membership in the Daughters of the American Revolution. Pearl button earrings, which must have once graced the jacket of some colonial ancestor, hung like hardened drops of Elmer's glue from her giant lobes.

"Mrs. O., good to see you." Liam positively twinkled. "Is Mr. Armstrong in yet? By the way, my mother wanted me to let you know that the orchid club in Scottsdale doesn't hold a candle to the one here in Grantham."

Liam looked at J.C. "You knew, of course, that Mrs. O. is president of the local chapter?"

"Mr. McDonald, really."

"Liam, please."

Wonder of wonders, a rosy blush appeared on Mrs. Oliphant's cheeks.

"No, I didn't know that," she acknowledged. To think that for five years the battle-ax had done nothing but sniff derisively in J.C.'s direction and announce, "Junior associates are expected to get their own supplies at Staples."

"About Mr. Armstrong?" Liam prompted Mrs. Oliphant with a smile capable of melting barnacles off a ship's hull.

"He's at home today and gave strict instructions not to be disturbed."

"That's a pity." Liam looked sad.

J.C. thought she'd throw up.

"I'm so sorry." Mrs. Oliphant looked genuinely disturbed. She held up a cut-crystal bowl, a souvenir from her trip to Ireland three summers ago with her sister Mary. "Perhaps a mint would cheer you up?" she asked Liam.

"What about in case of emergency? Surely, Mr. Armstrong made some exceptions?" J.C. smiled sweetly.

"No," Mrs. Oliphant said curtly. She didn't bother to offer J.C. a mint.

Liam nodded earnestly. "We understand. We'll catch him tomorrow." He dipped his hand in the mint bowl and took two.

The swine!

"There is one thing though," he added casually, as if the thought had just come to him. "You wouldn't happen to have the phone number for this land preservation organization called Land for Generations, would you? From the file we have on Mr. Borden's case, it seems Mr. Armstrong had already contacted them?"

Mrs. Oliphant frowned. "The name isn't familiar to me, and I place all of Mr. Armstrong's outside calls. Still, let me check." She attacked the Rolodex with the determination of pig going after truffles. "I'm sorry, I don't have a listing for them."

Liam popped a mint in his mouth. "Not to worry. I probably got the name wrong." He nodded his head to the side, indicating for J.C. to follow him to his office.

Actually, office was a bit of a misnomer. Since there was no available office space, he'd been given the conference room, and outfitted with the latest in technology in addition to an incredibly expensive, ergonomically designed desk chair. This situation merely confirmed J.C.'s suspicions that the august partners of A&S were wooing Liam for all they and the company's credit card were worth. The message was loud and clear: her days were truly numbered.

Disgusted, she passed over the transom.

And got hit with a mint in the chest. "Have a seat," he offered.

J.C. dug the candy out from between her lapels and pulled a chair from the corner of the conference table. "So what's the plan of action?"

Liam sat next to her, ignoring the fancy chair on the opposite side. "Why don't you run the numbers by me again, so I can get a better idea of just how royally screwed Ned, and possibly we, really are?"

"Ah, that wonderful way with words you have!" J.C. opened the file and laid out all the documents between them. "Okay, understand that I haven't looked at these fully and I'm going on gut instinct."

He nodded. They bent their heads together as she ran through the columns.

"So, these are the figures I put together based on the data already supplied in the file, as well as the figures available from similar transactions in New Jersey and Pennsylvania. You can see I've worked out high, low and moderate estimates, based on the funding that might be available to purchase the property on such short notice." J.C pointed with a pencil at the appropriate columns.

"And you think that if Ned were willing to wait longer, he'd get an even higher price?" Liam asked, surveying the information.

"No doubt about it. Take State grants. They require an approval procedure that takes months."

Liam huffed. "I could kick myself for not asking Ned Borden why he wants such a speedy closing."

J.C. turned her head. She was close enough to see the laugh lines fanning out from the corners of his eyes. "You think it might not be his idea?"

And he was close enough to see where she had chewed off the lipstick. He pressed his lips together. "I'm not sure. I'll follow up on it though." He reached across the table for a pad and pen, jotting himself a note.

Then he looked back at J.C. And saw her staring. "So is that all?" His throat felt dry despite the mint.

She sat, silent for a moment, before shifting her attention back to the charts. "No, I'm still not comfortable about the magnitude of the figures, or rather lack thereof. Granted, I'm not an expert on the price of farmland, but when estates of much smaller size are listed in the paper for more money than this, it makes me suspicious."

J.C. circled the amount supplied by Baldy's mysterious land group. "You're absolutely right. I mean, I would think he could get a hell of lot more and still get the same tax break for making a charitable gift - if not more.

Liam studied the information some more. "Does the file give any indication where this Land for Generations is getting the dough to pay for the property?"

J.C. flipped through the other papers in the file, and shook her head. "No, unless Land for Generations is self-funded." She paused. And looked up.

"Money laundering," they announced together.

Liam waited a beat and looked around. "What a mess. I can't believe Baldy's naivetŽ. Just think of the trouble he's getting the firm, himself and Ned Borden into?"

"We have no proof," J.C. cautioned.

Liam eyed her askance. "You're the number's guru. What do you think the odds are?"

She pursed her lips. "About five to ten - that's the number of years we'd get in San Quentin for signing our names to the bottom of a deal like this."

Liam placed his elbows on the table and rubbed his forehead. "Okay, let's not panic. Let's get the facts. I'll do more digging on this Land for Generations outfit. Meanwhile-"

"I'll check the tax records and whatever property value estimates are available from the municipal books. I've also got a contact in the local real estate market."

Liam nodded. "Okay, that seems like a plan. Why don't we pool information in two hours or so?" He looked at his watch. It was fast approaching noon. The day was zipping by with nothing positive to show for it.

J.C. gathered her stuff together and rose. "Sounds good. I'll come by in a couple of hours with whatever I've got. For all I know, I could be wrong."

Liam stood -- he might rebel against Grantham's social strictures, but some things were ingrained. "J.C., are you ever wrong about numbers?"

She shrugged. "It's not like I keep track."

"Please, don't start getting modest on me, J.C."

She paused at the door. "All right, let me put it this way. Was there ever a MacDonald who didn't know how to foxtrot?"

Liam grinned. Broadly. "Have I told you how great I think you are?"

J.C. didn't answer. She shut the door behind her and rested her back against it. Thank God she hadn't put the mint in her mouth yet. Otherwise she'd have choked on it.

##

J.C. rang Phoebe's cell phone number.

"J.C., speak of the devil," Phoebe answered. "I was just having coffee with Becca here. You remember I told you about meeting her at the ER?" She didn't wait for J.C. to respond. "Anyway, she wanted to get together to talk about a place for her brother who's just moved back to town. Right now he's living at his parents' place, and Becca is worried that if left to his own devices he'll never move out. Remind you of someone else maybe? Hint, hint?"

J.C. rubbed her eyebrows. "Listen, Phoebe, not to change the topic, but I'm on a bit of a deadline here."

"Who isn't? As far as I can tell, life is one big deadline." Phoebe really had to stop listening to Dr. Phil. "Anyway, you'll never guess."

J.C. looked over at the photo of the Vegas Strip on the wall of her office and wondered why she'd ever left. "You win. Tell me what I'd never guess." She felt like she was back in high school, lying on her bed while Phoebe confessed yet the newest place where she and Fred had made out. On top of the paint-mixing machine at the Sherwin-Williams store where Fred worked after school had to have been the worst. "The way the lid shook was enough to make me come!" Phoebe had squealed.

J.C. could never look at a paint chip in quite the same way.

"So Becca's brother? Guess who he is?"

"I don't know. What's Becca's last name?"

"Caruthers. But that's her married name. Her maiden name is McDonald. And her brother is-"

J.C. sat up straight. "Liam McDonald."

"Bingo. And then I found out that you've been holding out on me. You must have taken my advice on Saturday and then some?"

"What are you getting at?"

"You and Liam. Daa-da-da-daaa. Daa-da-da-daaa."

J.C. listened with mounting horror to Phoebe's off-key rendition of the "Wedding March". "Phoebe, I don't know who you've been talking to, but--"

"Actually, it's more who Becca was talking to. At this Music Together class she was at earlier this morning, she saw this friend of hers who's also a new mom..."

J.C. dropped her forehead to the desk and rapped it repeatedly against her blotter. "Let me guess, her friend's name is Mona Grabner?"

"That's amazing! How did you know?"

Well, duh.