Hidden Talents

grandfather is a genuine filial love,” Serenity said. “And he loves you like a son. I can tell.”
    “Is that right?”
    “I'm sure of it.”
    “You're entitled to your opinion. Now, if you don't mind, I'd like to change the subject.”
    “What do you want to talk about?”
    “Your training schedule.” He brushed his mouth lightly across hers and then he kissed the line of her jaw.
    “Oh, that.” Serenity smiled in the shadows. “I want to do the best possible job on this baby. After all, it will be the first baby born in Witt's End since I arrived.”
    “I can understand your desire to do your best. Rest assured that you have obtained the best possible consulting assistance on this project.”
    “That's nice to know.”
    Caleb framed her face between his palms and looked up at her with disturbingly serious eyes. “I should warn you that I haven't had much experience with babies and all the stuff that goes with them.”
    “Don't worry about it,” Serenity whispered. “Something tells me you'll be very good at that kind of thing.”

    The loud knock on the front door brought Caleb abruptly awake. He turned on his side, untangled his legs from Serenity's and sat up in bed. The cold light of morning was seeping through the window.
    Whoever was at the front door pounded again, more heavily this time.
    “Someone's at the door,” Serenity mumbled from beneath a pillow.
    “No kidding.” Caleb shoved aside the covers. “Whoever he is, he hasn't got long to live.”
    Serenity gave a muffled laugh. “It's probably Harry come to collect your grandfather and take him home. He'll be nervous enough as it is, don't terrorize him.”
    “He didn't have to arrive at the crack of dawn.” Caleb yanked on his jeans and stalked down the hall toward the living room. He heard the front door open before he reached it.
    “Good morning,” Roland drawled politely. “Bit early to come calling, isn't it?”
    “Who the hell are you?” a deep, gruff voice demanded.
    “Name's Ventress. Who are you?”
    “You're Ventress?” The bearlike voice rose on a note of patent disbelief. “Ariadne told me you were in your thirties. Some kind of hotshot business consultant or something.”
    “I'm Caleb Ventress,” Caleb said stonily as he rounded the corner.
    “Is that a fact?” The huge man in the doorway glared at him from beneath a jutting browline that would have done justice to a Neanderthal. The gold earring he wore gleamed evilly. He flicked another glance at Roland, who was holding the door open. “Just how many Ventresses are there around here?”
    “Two.” Caleb swept the visitor with a quick, assessing glance.
    The big man not only sounded like a bear, he looked like one. He had massive shoulders, a thick beard, and broad, heavy features. His dark brown eyes glittered ominously. He was dressed in faded jeans, leather boots, and a black leather jacket trimmed with silver studs. He wore a bandanna tied around his receding gray hair in a fashion favored by motorcycle outlaws and pirates.
    “Well, well, well.” The man looked Caleb up and down with a blunt, appraising expression. “So you're the one.”
    “Looks like it. Who are you?” Caleb asked.
    “Name's Julius Makepeace, son.” White teeth flashed in the middle of a brushy beard. “Let's hope we get along real good. From what I hear, I'm the closest thing you've got to a future father-in-law.”

20

    N INE AND A HALF MONTHS LATER, SHORTLY AFTER NOON on a bright summer day, Serenity abruptly realized that something was happening inside her. She looked up from the glowing review of the Ambrose Asterley Retrospective exhibit that had appeared in yesterday's edition of the Seattle Times .
    “I think you'd better go find Caleb,” she said to Zone.
    Zone did not lift her gaze from a stack of order forms that had arrived in the morning mail. The second edition of the Witt's End by Mail catalog had gone out and business was brisk. “The mayor and his grandfather are inspecting the warehouse. The big storm last night did some damage, apparently. A tree was blown down across the roof.”
    A warehouse had become a necessity within three months of the publication of the first edition of Witt's End by Mail. The orders had come in swiftly and steadily. Caleb's major concern, in fact, had been finding ways to stabilize and control the growth of the business.
    Serenity put her hand to her lower back and winced. “Please go find Caleb and tell him it's