“I know better than to burn applesauce.”

“That puts you one up on me, Mrs. Hunter. Welcome aboard.”

“What do you mean, ‘Welcome aboard’?”

“We’re a family. You’re Mrs. Hunter. What would people say if we didn’t spend Thanksgiving together?”

“I’m not Mrs. Hunter. We’re not a family. I don’t give a flying moneky what people say-”

“Please.”

It was the first time she’d seen him totally serious, and it left her speechless. His eyes were unsettling when they were teasing, but they were devastating when they were serious, and he’d spoken in a husky whisper that could have pursuaded her to do almost anything.

Pat was even more surprised than Megan. The unnerving truth was that he couldn’t imagine a Thanksgiving without her. He knew it was crazy, but he actually thought of her as Mrs. Hunter. He suspected it was because all day he’d been fantasizing about her performing wifely functions- most of them in her satiny nightgown.

A real, old – fashioned Thanksgiving with Pat and his family and little Timmy, Megan mused. The more she thought about it, the more excited she became. It would be wonderful to have a Thanksgiving feast in the little restored house with the huge fireplace.

“Are you really going to make all your own food?”

“Will you help me?”

“Of course I’ll help you. It’ll be great. We can have pumpkin pie and homemade cranberry sauce and spoon bread.”

Pat poked at his veal. It was still frozen inside. “Do you honestly think we can cook a real meal?”

“Piece of cake.”

Timmy slumped down, still bound to the back of the chair with the apron. His eyes were closed in sleep and his mouth was slightly parted.

Megan and Pat smiled as they shared a moment of parental affection.

“I think I should be getting him to bed,” Pat said, untying the sleeping child while Megan got the big blue blanket. He wanted to bed Megan, too, but he didn’t think that would be such an easy task.