LITMIR.BIZ

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deal with the broken heart he always left behind. Sam wasn’t known for monogamy.

      Janey had gone out with him once or twice, but she’d been in no danger. Her heart had already been broken before Sam came into the picture.

      Sam dropped a kiss on her cheek and plucked the rest of the cookie out of her hand in one smooth motion. “You going to marry me, Janey?”

      “Not today,” she teased back, watching the rest of her cookie disappear in two huge bites. “Y’know, Earl sells those right in there.”

      Sam craned his head to peer in the open door of the bakery, then gave her the kind of grin he used to charm women out of more than baked goods. “I’ve got a perfectly fine kitchen of my own out at the ranch.”

      “Then maybe you should stop flirting with every girl in the state and marry one who can put that kitchen to use.”

      “I keep asking you, but you keep turning me down.”

      “You keep asking me because you know I’ll turn you down,” Janey said, setting off down the raised wooden walk-way that was a holdover from pioneer days, when the streets were dirt, or mud, and concrete wasn’t a fact of life yet.

      Sam laughed, slinging an arm over her shoulder and falling into step with her. “It’s just wrong for a woman to keep this kind of anatomy to herself.” He made a big show of peering over his shoulder.

      Janey elbowed him in the side. “Forget my anatomy.”

      “Your anatomy is unforgettable. Nobody fills out a pair of jeans the way you do.” Sam faced forward again. “But I should’ve known it was hopeless when I heard Noah Bryant was back in town.”

      “When did you hear that?” she asked, knowing she hadn’t managed to sound casual when Sam tightened his grip, turning it into a comforting one-armed hug.

      “George Donaldson ran into him in Plains City around lunch today. Said Noah told him he’d be in town on business for a little while.”

      “C’mon, Sam, can you believe anything George says?”

      “Why would he make it up?”

      “Well, it’s George,” was the nicest explanation she could come up with.

      “It’s no secret George gets a kick out of winding other people up and then watching them walk into walls, but I don’t think he’s stupid enough to make up something like this,” Sam said. “If Max didn’t kick George’s ass, then Noah would. The two of them never got along. I remember one time…”

      Janey tuned him out. She didn’t need Sam’s version of history; she’d lived it. “Do you know if he’s in town yet?”

      That question earned her another hug. “I don’t know. But here’s Clary. I’ll bet he knows.”

      “Knows what?”

      Janey looked up just as Clarence Beeber stepped onto the boardwalk, Jessie at his side. His gaze dropped to Sam’s arm, still draped over Janey’s shoulder. Clary didn’t say a word, but Sam took his arm back and put some distance between them.

      Janey smiled and shook her head. Even if Sam’s flirting had been more than big talk, he would never have moved in on a woman Clary was interested in. The two had been best friends practically from the womb.

      “What am I supposed to know?” Clary asked again.

      “Just the latest gossip,” Sam said, glancing at Jessie, all big ears and wide eyes, hanging on every word—spoken and unspoken.

      Clary’s face hardened, and Janey knew he’d heard about Noah’s return already. Even if his expression hadn’t given it away, there was no need to guess how he was taking it. Everything about Clary was starched, from his uniform to his personality, and once he made up his mind, there was no changing it. He had very definite ideas of right and wrong, the kind of ideas that could best be described as black and white. As far as he was concerned, Noah had screwed up, and no shades of gray, like youth or ignorance, could mitigate his crime. But Clary would never say as much in front of Jessie. He might apply the law as if it were set in stone, but he did it with compassion—when he felt compassion was warranted.

      “I don’t suppose there’s any way you’d leave it alone altogether, Clary,” Janey said.

      Sam snorted. “You’d have more luck asking old man Winston’s prize bull why he keeps charging with the barbed-wire fence.”

      “If you’re done insulting me, Sam, you ought to go on out there and stitch him up again.”

      “That’s where I was headed, before I decided to propose to Janey.” Sam winked at her. “She turned me down, Clary. Maybe you should give it a try.”

      Clary went red from his collar to his hairline. Sam clapped him on the shoulder and sauntered off in the direction of the vet clinic, laughing the whole way.

      “Sam’s just giving you a hard time,” Janey said, turning toward home because the longer she looked at Clary, the more embarrassed he seemed to get, and she didn’t want to be responsible for his head bursting into flame.

      He started walking with her, but he kept Jessie between them, the poor kid’s head swiveling back and forth like a tennis court official’s, even though no one was talking. Or maybe because no one was talking. They continued in silence for another block or so before Clary spoke. Janey didn’t miss the fact that Jessie got him going with a nudge.

      “Can I, uh, give you and Jessie a ride to the graduation party tomorrow?” he asked.

      Since everyone in Erskine and Plains City knew everyone else, they’d decided years ago to have one party each year for the eighth graders graduating from Erskine Elementary and the seniors who’d survived Plains City High School. Sara and Max Devlin didn’t have any actual graduates, but they had a nice, big ranch not too far from either town, and they’d offered to host.

      “Jessie and I are going out to Sara’s early to help them set up,” Janey said.

      “I think it would be a good idea if I drove the two of you.” Clary looked over at her. “You know,” he said, his eyes dropping to nine-year-old level, then back up. “Just in case.”

      “In case of what?” Jessie piped up.

      “Just in case,” Janey said to her daughter. “Do me a favor and go on home. I’ll catch up with you in a few minutes.”

      “You’re going to talk about me, aren’t you?”

      “I think we’re going to talk about Noah,” Janey said, giving in to the inevitable.

      “That’s still about me. I have a right—”

      “You’re nine years old. You don’t have any rights.”

      “Janey!”

      “Mom…” Jessie said at the same time, making that one word about three syllables long, and loading it with indignation.

      “Jessie, you know there are occasions when you get sent out of the room—or sent home, in this instance—so I can talk without having to worry about what I say. Sometimes that conversation will be about you, and sometimes it won’t, but it’s always going to be something I don’t think you’re ready to hear, and stamping your foot and scowling at me won’t change that fact.”

      “That’s not fair.”

      “No, sweetie,” Jane said, brushing a hand over her daughter’s hair. “It’s not fair, but it’s how things work, and I think you’d rather I was honest about that much, at least.”

      Jessie glanced over at Clary, and when she saw he wasn’t going to intervene, she did as Janey asked, making it absolutely clear she was going under protest.

      “Do you think that was the best way to handle her?”

      “She’s not stupid, Clary.

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