“Agnes, come on, honey,” Taylor said without putting much coaxing into the honey, and Agnes thought, Who am I kidding? This was a mistake from the beginning, and let her breath out in a huge sigh.

“Okay, I knew this was coming, but Iwas ignoring it because-” She looked up at his truly handsome face that was going to look great on their cookbook cover and thought, Because I live for my work and you were good for my career. “-because I really wanted this to work. But it isn’t.”

“Agnes, honey.” He reached for her.

“No,” Agnes said, stepping farther back. “It’s not just you. A guy with a gun broke into the house tonight, and you know who I turned to? Joey. I completely forgot about you until you showed up, all I wanted was Joey. That’s all I want now.” And Shane, she thought, and tried to ignore that one. “So it’s not just you, it’s both of us. I was just lonely and-”

“Agnes, you’re upset,” Taylor said, taking a step toward her, “but you’re forgetting something.” He gestured to Two Rivers. “We’ve got our dream, sugar.”

She looked back at the house, the white columns gleaming in the moonlight and the windows shining gold in the darkness. “I know. I’ve loved this house since Lisa Livia brought me home from school with her that first summer.”

Taylor tried to put his arm around her again. “Brenda said it was like having a second daughter when LL brought you home. That’s why we belong here, sugar. This is your family home.”

That was a complete crock, but Agnes liked the sound of it, just the same. “You know, I sat on the high dock and dreamed about owning a house like this some day, and cooking with butter just like Brenda cooked with butter, and marrying a fine Southern gentleman like Brenda married the Real Estate King.” She looked back at Taylor. “And when I saw you here on the lawn saying, ‘Agnes, marry me,’ I thought I was finally going to be just like Brenda. Or Scarlett O’Hara. With butter.”

“Agnes,” Taylor said. “You are Scarlett O’Hara with butter.”

“Taylor,” Agnes said. “You have no idea what I’m talking about. It’s my dream not yours, you hate this house, that’s why you’re never out here. So give me some time to find a way to pay you back for your half of the down payment and what you invested rehabbing the barn-”

“Oh, God, Agnes, I’m so sorry!” Taylor swept her into his arms, and Agnes found her nose smushed into Taylor’s shirt, which smelled faintly of butter and rosemary, which was probably another reason she’d said yes to him. “I’ve neglected you, sugar. I’ll move out here tomorrow!”

“No,” Agnes said into his shirt, but he kept talking.

“I’ll make it up to you, you’ll see,” he said. “It’ll be just like we planned it, I swear. We’ll be out here, living our dream, writing cookbooks that’ll make us even more money than Mob Food made you, we’ll have it all.” He let go of her just enough to get a line on her mouth and then he kissed her passionately, which Agnes went along with because he was a good kisser, but when he broke the kiss, she took a deep breath and stepped back.

“No, Taylor,” she said. “I-”

“We’ll talk about this next week,” he said, opening his car door, “sittin’ on our porch with a couple of juleps, talkin’ about the books we’re gonna write together, just you and me, Scarlett and Rhett at Two Rivers.”

“I already have a Rhett,” Agnes said, but he was sliding into the

Cobra.

“Tomorrow is another day, sugar,” he said, and then the Cobra roared to life, and he peeled off toward the bridge, and she watched his taillights fade into the darkness.

Maybe they could keep the business partnership going, and she wouldn’t have to pay him back. That would be good, since she had no money. And he was going to look so handsome on that book cover. Joey had looked really good on the cover of Mob Food, really authentic, but Taylor was young and handsome and, well, bankable. His picture was going to sell a lot of books.

She could use some bankable. Brenda’s house was a real money pit.

Rhett yawned, saying, “Ar ar ar,” which was probably a comment on Taylor, too, and then he shambled back toward the house, and she followed him. She could deal with Taylor after the wedding. Tomorrow was another day. Well, not tomorrow, either.

“I am so not Scarlett O’Hara,” she said to Rhett, and went back to the kitchen, where Xavier and Hammond were packing up to leave, promising to return later that day, Hammond telling her to please say hi to Maria for him.

When she’d handed them cupcakes, and they’d gone over the bridge into the darkness, Agnes turned to Shane and said, “I suppose you have more questions.”

“No,” he said, still expressionless. “I got most of it listening to Xavier. You’re tired. I’ll make a bed down here where I can stay close, and we’ll go over everything in the morning.”

“Thank you,” she said, struck by what a comfort that was, that he knew she was wiped out, that he was going to stay close all night, that he’d be there in the morning. “I’ll get you pillows and blankets,” she told him, but after she brought them to him, she stood there, not sure what to do or say next, grateful he was there, large and solid and standing between her and the rest of the world, resisting the insane urge to blurt, “Would you like to sleep in the bedroom with me?” because that might be misconstrued, and she might think it was all right if it was misconstrued, that it would be good to have that much strength wrapped around her or at least between her and the window, except she had enough trouble already without sleeping with a stranger who was armed. Plus, there was Taylor, she was technically still engaged, and she held strong views on cheating. Usually backed up witha frying pan. “Thank you very much for watching out for me.”

“You’re welcome,” he said. “Good night.”

“Good night,” Agnes said, and went into the housekeeper’s room, holding the door open for Rhett. The last thing she saw was Shane, leaning against the kitchen counter, looking alert as all hell.

Okay, tomorrow is another day, she thought, and felt positively comforted and definitely not alone.


Shane woke up the next morning when Agnes tripped over him trying to get out her bedroom door. “Good morning,” she said, looking half-asleep and completely confused. “You slept on the floor?”

He picked up his air mattress. “If anybody came, I wanted to be close.”

Agnes nodded. “Oh. I would have let you sleep with Rhett if I’d known you were that worried.”

He thought about telling her that it wasn’t Rhett he was protecting, and then wondered if she’d have offered to let him sleep with her, and then wondered if that would have been a good idea. Then he watched her go around the counter and into her dangerous kitchen, wondering if she was naked under the thin red sweats she was wearing, which answered that question. At least for him it did. If it came to it, she’d have to do her own deciding.

Focus on the problem, he told himself. Then get back to work before Wilson blows a gasket.

Rhett flopped down beside Shane when he sat down at the counter. The table was right there, but he couldn’t watch Agnes from the table.

Agnes put on her red-framed glasses and opened the large double door refrigerator. She loaded her arms with food, and then she shut the refrigerator door with her hip and came toward Shane to dump the stuff on the counter in front of him and take down a pan from overhead, every move effortless and efficient and distracting, especially with all of Agnes moving softly under her sweats.

“So why would anybody want to kidnap Rhett?” Shane said, mostly to get his mind off Agnes, since he was pretty sure the answer was going to come from Joey. “Was anybody asking about him before this?”

“Kind of.” Agnes took a white apron off a hook by the door and put it on-it said cranky agnes’s mob food on it under a drawing of Agnes in her glasses-and tore open a package of sausages wrapped in butcher’s paper and tumbled them into the pan. Then she turned on the heat under it, took down a wicked-looking fork from the magnetic rack, and began to poke the meat with it, not looking at him.

“Kind of.” Shane watched her. She didn’t look happy.

She turned and bent to look under the counter for something, her sweatpants pulling tight over her round butt. Agnes would never make a supermodel. Agnes was, Shane thought with a great deal of restraint, pattable. “What kind of kind of?”

She put a bowl on the counter and took down a wire whisk. “Right before the kid got here, Joey and I were on the phone and he asked about Rhett. So Joey might know something if you ask him. Coffeemaker’s over by the sink if you want some.”

“Okay.” Fuck. Joey again.

Shane went around the end of the counter and found a big white coffeemaker and a coffee canister in the corner just as the meat in the pan began to cook. The smell hit him like a wave: Joey’s Italian sausage. Joey’s Italian breakfasts from when he was a kid.

Forget that. Shane opened the jar and stared at beans instead of powder. “Uh.”

Agnes came over, reached into the cabinet, took out a grinder, placed it on the counter, and then went back to her bowl. She splashed in a little cream and began to whisk the eggs, probably with more force than necessary. “I trust Joey. Joey is the best guy I know.

Joey would never hurt me. Joey called you to come protect me.”

“Yeah.” But the old bastard still knows something, and he’s gonna tell me about it. Shane hit the top of the grinder, probably with more force than necessary, and it burst into action, the odor of the ground beans filling the room, competing with the treacherous smell of the sausage while he tried to imagine what his uncle might be up to. When the beans were ground, he had to go past Agnes to fill the pot with water and was careful not to brush against her. Her hair was all tangled curls and she had no makeup on and her skin was rosy with sleep, and that was messing with his concentration, plus there was the damn Italian sausage of Joey’s. He’d been in a lot of treacherous places, but Agnes’s kitchen was topping them all.