LITMIR.BIZ

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and smoked and sometimes drank to excess. He said what he wanted to say and he offered no apologies or excuses.

      Rebecca had never been happier to see anyone in her life. She sank into the white wicker chair on his grandmother’s porch, put her feet up on the railing and felt at home in her own skin for the first time in months.

      “I couldn’t believe it when my father said you were in town. Why haven’t you called me?” she said.

      He handed her the cold beer he’d offered her when she first came to the door and carried his own to the porch swing a few feet away. Popping the cap, he took a long drink and sat down before answering. “I wasn’t so sure you’d be excited to see me. Your father was always one of those law and order types.”

      “Yeah, well, he still is. If he gets the chance, he might try to run you out of town. But don’t take it personally. And don’t let anything he does reflect on me.”

      He chuckled. “I see you two are still close.”

      Rebecca remembered the way her father had treated her in the salon that morning compared to the way he’d treated Josh—stop by City Hall and I’ll take you to lunch—and felt her temper rise. But she didn’t want to talk about it. She’d been trying to forget Josh ever since shampooing his hair had felt like a sexual encounter.

      She took a sip of her beer. “You ever marry?”

      “No.”

      “Kids?”

      “No. You?”

      “None so far. I am getting married, though. I just don’t know when.”

      “That sounds promising. Who’s the lucky guy?”

      “Name’s Buddy. Lives in Nebraska.”

      He nodded.

      “What do you do for a living?” she asked.

      “Nothing right now.”

      This time the silence felt awkward, and Rebecca knew she’d treaded too close to something he wasn’t willing to discuss. So she backed off. “Haven’t you been going stark-raving mad out here with only your grandmother for company?”

      “Not yet. I only got in last weekend, and Granny’s kept me busy fixing up the place.” He gazed out over the meadowlike yard. “It’s prettier here than I remembered.”

      The Hatfield property was pretty. Set away from Dundee, back in the mountains, it consisted of several wooded acres. The house, a simple white A-frame as old and charming as the one on Little House on the Prairie, had a wraparound porch with a hint of fancy woodwork at the windows and doors. A detached garage sat off to one side, at the end of a long drive, and a stone path led through the backyard, past a root cellar and a neatly tended vegetable garden, to the back porch.

      “My dad said you’ve come to look after Hatty,” Rebecca said. “Does that mean you’re staying for a while?”

      He pulled a pack of cigarettes from his shirt pocket and lit one, then offered one to her.

      She almost grabbed it. She wanted to. But Josh didn’t chew or smoke. In the bad habits department, as in all others, she didn’t compare favorably to him, and she hated that.

      “Figured it was the least I could do for all the years she’s spent trying to reclaim my soul from the devil,” Booker said. He set the cigarettes on the arm of the swing—within easy reach—when she refused them. “Fortunately, she’s a lot better off than she let me believe. I think it was all a ruse to get me out here. But now that I’m here—” he shrugged “—I think I’ll stick around. For a while, anyway.”

      “So did she ever manage to reform you? Are you a better man?” Rebecca shifted farther away so the smell of his smoking wouldn’t tempt her beyond her endurance.

      “I don’t think I’ve changed a whole hell of a lot. But then, I’m getting the impression that neither have you.”

      “Even you?” she cried. “What does a girl have to do?”

      He laughed outright. “What are you talking about?”

      “I’ve been trying to change. I’ve been trying for years, but no one’s even noticed, except maybe Delaney. If anything goes wrong, I still get the blame. When Josh Hill knocked over the food table at my sister’s wedding, did anyone say, ‘That Josh Hill, you just can’t invite him anywhere.’ N-o-o-o. You know what they said? They said they should’ve expected something like that with me around. All I want is to live my life without the extra baggage, you know? I mean, I’m thirty-one years old. How long is it going to take for people to forget my past sins? Will I ever live them down?”

      “Why would you want to?” he asked.

      He wasn’t getting it. Of course he wouldn’t. He was Booker Robinson, and to him a bad reputation was a mighty fine thing to have. He’d worked hard to establish his own.

      “Forget it,” she grumbled. “You don’t understand.”

      “Yes, I do.”

      “What?” She leaned forward. “What do you understand?”

      “That they’re getting the best of you.”

      “Who?”

      “The critics.”

      “They’re not critics. They’re my friends, my family.”

      He tipped his bottle at her. “That doesn’t mean they’re not critics, babe. Why don’t you tell them to go to hell?”

      “Oh, great solution,” she said. “Thanks.”

      He finished his cigarette, dropped it on the porch floor and ground it out. “You are what you are. You can’t apologize for that.”

      They fell silent while they drank their beer and watched the sun set.

      “What ever happened to Delaney?” he asked when it was almost dark, his body a mere shadow in the swing. “She still around?”

      “She’s pregnant.”

      “Married?”

      Rebecca folded her arms and leaned back. “Yeah. She married Clive’s grandson, Conner Armstrong.”

      “Who’s Clive?”

      “He’s the old guy who owned the Running Y Ranch. Conner owns it now. He’s in the process of building a big resort and golf course.”

      “No shit. Delaney’s rich, then?” he asked.

      “Not yet, but if everything goes the way it should, she will be. So will Josh and Mike Hill. From what Delaney has told me, they’ve invested quite a bundle in the project.”

      “Josh again, huh? This name seems to come up quite often with you.”

      “Not really. You just caught me on a bad day.”

      “From what I remember, he was a pretty decent football player. He ever go pro?”

      “No. He played for the University of Utah for a few years. But once he got his degree he returned home. His brother was already out of school and wanted to partner up, buy some land and start a breeding business.”

      “And that’s what they did?”

      “That’s what they did.”

      “What kind of degree did Josh get?”

      “I think they both majored in animal husbandry.”

      Booker hooked an arm over the swing and scowled. “What the hell is that?”

      “It’s the degree most everyone around here gets,” Rebecca said. “Not that I know a whole lot about it. I went to massage school, realized I couldn’t make a living doing massage, at least in these parts, then went to beauty school. I’ve never seen

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