LITMIR.BIZ

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appetite gone, she set her fork down with a clatter. What was the matter with her? Why had she argued with the waitress like that? It was just that she felt so lonely and scared and desperate, and so self-conscious about how cheap she looked. And then the woman had told her Phillip had lots of classy girlfriends.

      Oh, why had she come here? Why had she ever thought— If she was smart, she’d catch the next bus to San Antonio. Then she’d lose herself in the big city.

      Celeste should have known that wouldn’t be the end of her exchange with the waitress. Not in a nosy little town like Mission Creek. Before her eggs had time to congeal, the plump woman was back with a cordless telephone and a great big gottcha smile.

      “He’s home,” the waitress said.

      “You didn’t call him—”

      The waitress winked at her and grinned slyly as she listened to Phillip.

      “Oh, no…. You didn’t. Hang up.”

      “She’s got long yellow hair. It’s sort of dirty. And a low-cut black dress with a rip up the left thigh. Nice legs, though. Sensational figure. And a great big shiny guitar that has a booth seat all to itself.” She hesitated. “Yes, a guitar! And…and she’s hurt… Her ankle….” Another pause. “What?” Again there was a long silence.

      Celeste stared out at the prickly pear and chewed her quivering bottom lip. Then she buried her face in her hands.

      “He wants to talk to you.”

      With a shaky hand, Celeste lifted the phone to her ear. “H-hello…?”

      “Celeste?” Phillip’s deep Marine Corps-issue voice sliced out her name with a vengeance.

      “Phillip?”

      “Mabel said you’re limping.”

      “I’m fine. Never better.”

      “You’re in some kind of trouble—”

      She bit her lip and coiled a greasy strand of gold around a fingertip with chipped pearly nail polish. What was the use of lying to him? “I—I wish I could deny it.”

      “And you want me to rescue you….”

      She swallowed as she thought of The Pope and Nero. If they followed her and killed Phillip, it would be all her fault.

      Her throat burned and her eyes got hot. She squeezed them shut because the waitress was watching.

      “How do you intend to play this? Sexy? Repentant? Do you see me riding into town on a white horse and carrying you out of the café in my arms?”

      “Don’t make this harder.”

      “What do you want from me then?”

      Not to end up in some back alley with my skirt tossed over my head, my panties shredded and my throat slit.

      “Just to see you,” she said softly.

      He laughed, but the brittle sound wasn’t that deep chuckle she’d once loved. “You want way more than that and we both know it.”

      He knew how she hated that military, big man, know-it-all tone. She couldn’t bear it any more than she could bear to answer him when he was feeling all self-righteous and judgmental.

      “I wasn’t born rich…like you…. Maybe if you’d gone through even half of what…” She stopped. That was a low blow. “I—I’m sorry.”

      For an instant—just for an instant—she saw her mother’s white, lifeless face in her coffin and remembered how little and helpless she’d felt.

      “Stay at the café. I’ll send Juan to get you as soon as he gets back with the truck.”

      “Juan? I’d… I’d rather you came….”

      But he didn’t hear her heartfelt plea. He’d already hung up.

      Thirty minutes later Phillip’s ranch hand arrived in a whirl of dust. When Celeste saw him, she grabbed her guitar.

      The waitress stared at the blowing dust and said to no one in particular, “It’s awful dry out there. We could do with some rain.”

      Juan was short and dark, and dressed in a red shirt and baggy jeans coated with a week’s supply of dirt. He didn’t speak much English, and she didn’t speak any Spanish. So she spent the ten-minute drive singing to the radio and watching the scenery go by. If you could call it scenery.

      Unlike Vegas, south Texas was flat and covered with thorny brush. When they flew through the gate, Juan braked in front of a tall white house with a wraparound porch. Dust swirled around the truck and the wide front porch as he lit a cigarette.

      She coughed. “Where’s Mr. Westin?”

      “Señor Westin?” Juan clomped up the stairs and pointed inside the house. Then he opened the screen door like a gentleman and beckoned for her to go inside. She nodded. Picking up her long skirt, she hesitantly stepped across the threshold into the living room.

      The second she saw the burgundy couch she’d picked out at Sears, her heart began to beat too fast. Nothing much had changed. The same easy chair she’d bought for Phillip still squatted in front of the television set. Maybe the set was a little larger. She wasn’t sure.

      She knew her way around the house, not that she intended to explore the rooms in the house she’d once called home.

      The Lazy W had been a rundown ranch Phillip had visited most summers as a kid. He’d grown up loving it. As an adult, he’d helped his uncle out when he’d been unable to do the work himself. Then a few years back, his elderly uncle had died and left him everything including the ranch.

      Phillip had told her several of his friends who’d served under his command in the 14th Unit of the U.S. Marine Corps lived nearby, too. The guys had all belonged to the Lone Star Country Club, so Phillip had joined because they’d told him that’s where the prettiest girls in town were. Apparently when the 14th unit was off duty, their favorite sport was chasing women.

      Once a Marine, always a Marine, she thought grimly as she set her guitar down by the front door. Oh, dear, now that she was inside, it was all coming back to her. She’d been so crazily in love with Phillip, but at the same time, she’d wanted to be a star for as long as she could remember. Loving Phillip had only made her want it more. She’d wanted to be somebody…somebody special enough for Phillip to love on an equal footing, a somebody like her beautiful mother.

      The two obsessions had fought within her. She’d felt deliriously happy when she was in Phillip’s arms, and then the minute he’d gone off to war she’d felt scared and trapped. Then he’d gone missing.

      How long did a woman wait for a man missing behind enemy lines? Her fear that he’d been dead, like her parents, had driven her mad. She’d felt as if she’d be a nothing forever if she didn’t do something besides wait at the ranch. These very walls had seemed to close in on her like a prison. She’d had to run. She’d had to, but Phillip hadn’t seen it that way.

      When he’d turned up alive and called her, she’d been overjoyed. She’d wanted to see him so badly, to tell him about recording her first song, the song he’d inspired.

      Oh, why hadn’t he listened? Why hadn’t he been able to understand? All he’d understood was that she’d left him.

      “But I didn’t know you were coming back! I thought you were dead!” she’d cried over and over again.

      He hadn’t listened. He’d believed the worst of her.

      Now she was back in Phillip’s living room. How would he treat her? Was he in love with someone else?

      “Phillip,” she cried, suddenly wanting to stop the bittersweet memories as well as her doubts about the wisdom of coming here.

      “Phillip?”

      He

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