The headline in next morning's paper didn't mince words:

Grantham Lawyer and Mob in Local Land Deal

The article spelled out the whole story, citing every damning fact and number.

At nine-oh-one and nine-oh-four, respectively, Liam and J.C. received their dismissal notices over the phone -- transmitted by Mrs. Oliphant.

The next day, the Newark Star-Ledger sent a reporter. The Metro section of the New York Times called. NJN TV News did a story with a reporter camped in front of A&S's office. The Indian restaurant on the first floor saw a sudden surge in business.

Then the FBI swooped down and questioned the two of them for hours, confiscating their notes.

Two days later, Baldy was stopped at Philadelphia Airport where he was trying to board a flight to Caracas.

He was accompanied by Mrs. Oliphant. She had a handful of mints in her quilted Vera Bradley bag.

Baldy's wife decamped permanently to New Canaan.

Phoebe agreed to put J.C.'s house on the market, provided she cleaned out some of the tchotchkes and updated the look of the place a bit. J.C. didn't think clearing out the crocheted toilet paper cozies was going to compensate for the burnt-sienna kitchen countertops, but she didn't say anything.

Mrs. Dibenski appreciated the cozies, in addition to the back issues of Good Housekeeping.

J.C. also finally met Becca. She came over with Pheobe one day when Phoebe was evaluating the house. Becca took one look at the soup tureens and squealed. Did J.C. realize what a fortune she had in rare export china? Frankly, no, but if Becca was interested, there were cabinets chock full of tea services. Oh, and by the way, did she know there were complete table settings for twelve commemorating King Juan Carlos?

Becca had nearly fainted dead away. It seemed that if J.C. were willing to part with some of the items, a small fortune awaited her at auction. J.C. thought the idea of awaiting a small fortune was a good idea, seeing as she was out of work with no immediate prospects of employment.

Ned Borden called, too. He thanked J.C. for all she and Liam had done to protect his interests. He had already spoken to Liam, and following his advice, he was going to have the Sourland Mountains land preservation group put together the transfer deal. He had a good feeling about them, and not just because Max, the executive director, had gone to Grantham University. "Oh, by the way, did she know that Max was stepping down soon?"

J.C. thanked him for calling and said whatever Liam advised him to do was probably a wise choice.

And Liam?

He didn't. Call, that is.

###

Instead, the following Wednesday, the doorbell rang. And a McDonald came calling.

Becca.

She was at the house to pick up J.C.'s china. It was going to be featured in an upcoming auction at Sotheby's, and Becca wanted to inventory it for the catalog.

They stood next to each other at the base of the stairway and watched the movers from Mayflower Van Lines carry the boxes out to the truck.

Becca was in full take-charge mode, wearing an amazingly well-tailored, safari-jacket ensemble in a shade of putty that only looked good on women with six-figure incomes and size six hips. When she wasn't giving orders to the movers, she was jabbering on her cell phone, which she finally clipped shut.

She turned to J.C., who was in her I'll-just-feel-sorry-for-myself-and-maybe-think-about-going-back-to-bed mode, i.e., sweatpants and an Eagles T-shirt. "I gather my brother hasn't called?" Becca asked.

J.C. shook her head and tucked her bangs behind her ear. She really needed a haircut. Seeing as she had so much time on her hands, she could easily schedule an appointment.

Or not.

"Men can be so useless," Becca commiserated. "Except when it comes to lifting heavy objects." She watched one of the strapping moving men. "And I suppose there's the benefit of regular sex."

J.C. cast a startled look at Becca.

Becca saw her surprise. "I'm talking about my husband, of course." She gazed fondly at her beveled diamond wedding band. "Then there's also the companionship, the fact that there's someone to rub your cold feet at night, not to mention the extra income."

She turned her attention back to the boxes. "Hey, be careful there. These are not parts of a ride-on lawnmower, you know?"

J.C. hugged her sides, feeling suddenly nostalgic about the soup tureens going out of her life. A little piece of her past and memories of her mom. Still, it was time to move on.

But where? And to do what?

To think only two weeks ago - no, J.C. shook her head. She would not automatically compute how many hours and minutes; okay, two hundred eighty-three hours...but she was definitely not going to figure the minutes...how did that forty-one get lodged in her brain? Whatever, it wasn't that long ago that she'd first been laid flat on her back by the man of her teenage dreams.

"Well, I suppose Liam has an excuse for not calling. He's half out of his mind with Red Dog missing. You'd think the mutt was some Westminster Kennel Club winner the way he's carrying on."

J.C. snapped out of her mood. "Red Dog's missing?"

"Yup, he ran away sometime yesterday when I had him at my place. How he got through the holly hedge is still a mystery."

Four hours later, the phone rang.

At the McDonald residence.

###

"Not the flowers again? I can't believe it." The words were out of Liam's mouth before he'd even finished slamming the car door.

Red Dog, oblivious to his master's distress, lolled on the bed of daffodils.

"Look at it this way," J.C. offered. "The flowers had already finished blooming." She'd heard the car pull up in the drive, and was already standing on the lawn near the once more trampled flowerbed.

The dog raised his head, his brow wrinkled in contented bliss. He started drooling out of the corners of his mouth.

J.C. frowned. "You know, when he drips like that, he reminds me of Baldy on Vicodin. And speaking of the old coot, you heard that Mrs. Oliphant ratted him out, didn't you? Apparently, she even confessed that it was her idea to bring you in on the case and get me out. She'd remembered the way I had busted this drug company for pension tampering and didn't want me getting too involved in the numbers."

"Yeah, while Baldy knew he could blunt your efforts by hiring a McDonald -- traditionally a surefire solution for not getting something done right."

"Well, we showed him." J.C. rocked on the heels of her sneakers, red sneakers.

It also put a damper on the conversation.

"Do you think he's trying to tell me something?" Liam finally asked.

J.C. gave Liam a quick look. His jeans were old and worn -- weekend attire. But this was a weekday. Did that mean? No, she wasn't going to go there.

"Maybe Red Dog was trying to communicate that if you're not going to be there in person, it might be nice if you wrote or called?" she replied to his question.

Liam narrowed his eyes. "Are we still talking about the dog here? Because if we're not, I don't want to put my foot in it and receive a lot of flak. I've had a pretty rough week as it is already."

Easy for him to say, she thought. He wasn't the one suffering from a broken heart.

"I kept wanting to call, but I wanted to make sure I could make things work out." He ran his hand through his hair, disheveling it even more.

J.C. watched Red Dog thump his tail to an irregular beat. "Things? What kind of things?" she asked.

The two of them stared silently at the dog for another moment. For an animal that wasn't doing much of anything, he certainly commanded all their attention.

Fear will do that.

Liam set his jaw and finally slanted J.C. a glance. "I've been speaking quite a lot with Max Forman, the head of the Sourland Mountains preservation group?"

J.C. shrugged in acknowledgement. "Ned mentioned he was stepping down."

"Yes, and they're looking for a replacement."

"That sounds up your alley." J.C. tried not to feel one way or the other about the news. Impossible.

"Actually, he offered the job to both of us - a joint appointment."

That made J.C. turn her head. "Both of us?"

Liam nodded. For someone who prided himself on his verbal skills, he was feeling totally tongue-tied. He sniffed and rubbed the end of his nose. "That's right."

Take it easy. Don't press, he'd coached himself on the drive over to her house. Don't have her running off.

Liam squatted down and rubbed behind Red Dog's ear. It was a good "aw-shucks" posture. The dog sure liked it. "Yeah, he spoke to me at length about their long-term goals. Their aim is to ensure that New Jersey is on the leading edge of creating parks and recreation land, thus preserving the natural beauty of the state, increasing tourism revenue and thereby expanding the number of jobs."

J.C. still didn't respond.

Liam straightened up. Oh, to hell with the subtle approach! "Don't you see, J.C., it was as if he'd channeled your dreams and mine? Your goals and mine? Our reasons for becoming property lawyers to begin with?"

"I don't know," J.C. hedged despite the clippity-clopping of her heart. "The Sourland Mountains? That sounds pretty...well...rural?"

"That's the best part. The group's primary focus is the Sourlands and surrounding countryside, but their headquarters are in Bridgewater."

J.C. perked up. "Bridgewater, as in Bridgewater Commons, home of Bloomingdale's?"

"As well as Coach, Brooks Brothers, Sephora, Godiva and Lindt. Not to mention less than an hour from Paramus with Nordstrom's and Saks."

J.C. wet her lips. "You've been doing your homework."

"A good lawyer always does his homework."

J.C. felt better than she had in years.

She studied Liam. He seemed anxious, not his usual self-assured, jock-rich-boy self. "Is this a business relationship you're proposing?

"Yes." Dare he start to get his hopes up? She hadn't bashed him over the head yet, so maybe he was making progress?

"But I also am one of those guys who believes in taking his work home with him."

"Are you saying you're a workaholic?"

"I'm saying I think we should move in together, start thinking about an extended lease...not just on a house, but on life. And you should know, I believe in contracts."

He waited.

And Red Dog took that moment to fart, without even bothering to look guilty.

"Oh, cripes, dog." J.C. passed her hand in front of her nose.

Liam looked heavenwards. "Talk about destroying the mood." He'd chewed the inside of his cheek so much it was sore. "So what do you say?"

J.C. studied her feet. "You wanna know what I think?"

He nodded.

"What I think is that I fell in love with the fantasy of Liam McDonald years ago, and then you showed up in person and fulfilled my fantasy. Then, this is the kicker -- you became real. And wouldn't you know it, then I fell in love with the real Liam McDonald, knowing it was impossible, knowing it was a stupid thing to do. You broke my heart, Liam."

"I'm sorry. I was stupid."

Yeah, that's what your sister said."

"Becca said I was stupid?"

"Actually, she said all men are stupid."

"Well, for once, I won't disagree." He took a deep breath. "But every once in a while, even stupid guys can get smart. In fact, you might not think so, but it's a good thing you ran into me -- or rather that I ran into you -- now. When I was a teenager I was too full of myself. Later in college, I was too drunk. Then in my late twenties I was too interested in anything that was anti-Grantham."

"I'm about as anti-Grantham as you can get," J.C. scoffed.

"No, you're not anti-anything. Despite all the differences in background, family, money, lifestyle, not to mention wardrobe, we're not really that different. We both have the same values, the same need to right injustice, to improve the lot of our communities."

She was still scared. Scared to believe that maybe there was such a thing as luck. "Those differences you want to dismiss so easily don't seem to superficial to me."

"No, I don't believe that. He grabbed J.C. by the shoulders and twirled her around to face him. "Don't you see? The J.C. I know and love never gives up, even in the presence of Joey the Juicer. J.C., forget the odds. Put it all on the line. Give us a shot."

J.C. worked her lips. Maybe it wasn't luck after all?

"It's not a question of luck, it's a matter of love," Liam answered her unspoken thoughts, just like he always seemed able to do.

J.C. smiled. Really smiled. "I tell you what, big boy-" she placed her hand brazenly on his crotch.

Liam's eyes popped, but he didn't step back. Nobody ever said he was stupid, especially when it came to the closing arguments.

"Why don't we give Mrs. Dibenski something really good to talk about? Afterwards, we'll hammer out the details of the long-term contract."

And they did. Inside, of course.