Troy dropped his towel to the cement, shaking his head and wanting to laugh. Cam had cursed. And fought back against her family's constant nagging. Check and check. Now they were getting somewhere.

He glanced at Tim, standing near the grill with a pan of uncooked steak, wearing a man apron and looking shell-shocked. Troy picked up his cell and sat in the chair. "I like my steak medium-rare, Tim. And Camryn likes hers well-done."

"Troy Lansky," her mother said. "Why are ...