"I told you the tour was over," he said from behind her.

"You're being a total jerk! I have a lot of happy memories of this room, and I want to see it again."

"I'm so touched I'm getting tears in my eyes," he drawled. "Come on. You can help me get dressed." He shut the door before she could see inside and began steering her toward his bedroom.

"Don't bother. I'll walk home."

"Now who's being a jerk?"

It pained her to admit he was right, but it was frustrating to get so close and not be able to see the rest of the house. He closed the bedroom door after they were inside and headed into the walk-in closet.

She spotted the key lying on the bedside table where he'd left it, quickly slipped it into her pocket, then leaned against the bedpost. "Can I at least take a peek in my old room?"

He reappeared buttoning a denim shirt. "No. My sister-in-law uses it for her office when she stays here, and I don't think she'd appreciate you mucking around there."

"Who said anything about mucking around? I just want a peek."

"You can't have it." He picked up a pair of sweat socks from the floor and pushed his feet into them. As he put on his shoes, she glanced toward the far side of the room where the bathroom lay that linked this room with her old one.

"How often do your brother and sister-in-law show up here?"

He stood. "Not too often. Neither of them like the house very much."

"Why'd they buy it?"

"Privacy. They lived here for three months right after they were married, but they haven't spent much time here since. Cal was finishing out his contract with the Chicago Stars."

"What are they doing now?"

"He's started med school at UNC, and she's teaching there. One of these days, they'll renovate." He stood. "So why didn't you and G. Dwayne sleep in the same room?"

"He snored."

"Cut the bullshit, Rachel. Do you think you could do that? Do you think you could cut through the bullshit long enough for us to have an honest conversation, or have you been lying so long you've forgotten how to tell the truth?"

"I happen to be a very honest person!"

"Bull."

"We didn't sleep in the same room because he didn't want to be tempted."

"Tempted to do what?"

"What do you think?"

"You were his wife."

"His virgin bride."

"You've got a kid, Rachel."

"It's a miracle, considering…"

"I thought G. Dwayne was supposed to be a hound. Are you telling me he didn't like sex?"

"He loved sex. With hookers. His wife was supposed to stay pure."

"That's nuts."

"Yeah, well, so was Dwayne."

He chuckled just when she could have used a little sympathy.

"Come on, Bonner. I can't believe you're so mean you won't let me see Edward's nursery."

"Life's a bitch." He jerked his head toward the door. "Let's go."

It was useless to argue, especially since she had the key back and could return when she was certain the house was empty. She followed him into the garage, which held a long, dark-blue Mercedes and Gabe's dusty old black pickup.

She nodded toward the Mercedes. "Your brother's?"

"Mine."

"Jeez, you really are rich, aren't you?"

He grunted and climbed into the pickup. Moments later, they were heading down the drive through the praying-hands gates.

It was nearly two o'clock in the morning, the highway was deserted, and she was exhausted. She leaned her head against the seat and gave into a few precious moments of self-pity. She was no farther along now than she'd been when she'd first seen the magazine photo. She still had no idea if the chest was in the house, but at least she had her key back. How long would it be before Gabe realized she'd taken it?

"Damn!"

She lunged forward as he slammed on the brakes.

Blocking the narrow road that wound up Heartache Mountain to Annie's cottage, a glowing, geometric shape loomed nearly six feet tall. The sight was so unexpected and so obscene that her mind wouldn't immediately accept what it was. But the numbness didn't last forever, and her mind was finally forced to identify what it saw.

The smoldering remains of a wooden cross.

9

An icy prickle slid down Rachel's spine. She whispered, "They've burned a cross to scare me away."

Gabe threw open the door of the truck and leaped out. In the glare of the headlights, Rachel watched him kick the cross down in a shower of sparks. Weak-kneed, she got out. Her hands felt clammy as she watched him take a shovel from the back of the truck and break apart the smoldering remains.

"I like it better when they welcome you to the neighborhood with a chocolate cake," she said faintly.

"This isn't anything to joke about." He began scooping up the charred pieces and moving them to the side of the road.

She bit down on her bottom lip. "I've got to joke, Bonner. The alternative doesn't bear thinking about."

His hands stilled on the shovel, and his expression was deeply troubled. When he spoke, his voice was soft and dark as the night that lay just outside the headlights. "How do you do it, Rachel? How do you keep going?"

She gripped her arms over her chest. Maybe it was the night and the shock of the cross burning, but the question didn't seem strange to her. "I don't think. And I don't rely on anybody but myself."

"God…" He shook his head and sighed.

"God's dead, Bonner." She gave a bitter laugh. "Haven't you figured that out yet?"

"Do you really believe that?"

Something snapped inside her. "I did everything right! I lived by the Word! I went to church twice a week, got down on my knees and prayed every morning and every evening. I cared for the sick, gave to the poor! I didn't screw over my neighbors, and all I got for my efforts was nothing."

"Maybe you have God mixed up with Santa Claus."

"Don't you preach to me! Don't you dare goddamn preach to me!"

She stood before him in the blue-white glare of the headlights with her fists knotted at her sides, and he thought he'd never seen anyone look so fierce and primitive. For a tall woman, she was almost delicate, with fragile bones and green eyes that seemed to devour her face. Her mouth was small and her lips as ripe as bruised fruit. Her tangled hair, lit from behind, formed a fiery pagan's halo around her face.

She should have appeared ridiculous. The ragged paint-smeared dress hung on her thin frame, and her big, cumbersome shoes looked obscene against such small, trim ankles. But she held herself with a ferocious dignity, and he was drawn to her by something so elemental-maybe the pain that lived in his bones-that he couldn't fight it any longer. He wanted her as he hadn't wanted anything except death since he'd lost his family.

He didn't remember moving, but the next thing he knew, she was in his arms and he felt her body beneath his palms. She was thin and frail, but not broken the way he was. He wanted to protect her and fuck her and comfort her and destroy her all at once. The chaos of his emotions coiled around his pain, deepening the agony.

She sank her fingers into the muscles of his upper arm, digging them in, hurting. He gripped her bottom and hauled her against him. He brushed his lips over hers. They were soft and sweet. He jerked his head back.

"I want you," he said.

Her head moved, and he realized she'd nodded. Her easy acquiescence infuriated him. He clasped her chin and hauled it up so that he was staring down into those tortured green eyes.

"Once again the noble Widow Snopes sacrifices herself for her child," he spat out. "Well, forget it."

She regarded him stonily as he released her. He grabbed the shovel and set to work clearing the road. He'd said he wouldn't do this to her again. After that dark night of his soul when he'd tried to destroy her, he'd promised himself he'd never touch her again.

"Maybe it wouldn't be a sacrifice."

He stopped moving. "What are you talking about?"

She shrugged. "That killer body of yours. I couldn't help but notice."

"Don't do this, Rachel. Don't keep trying to protect yourself by being a wiseass. Just say what you mean."

The bottom lip of that ripe little strawberry mouth trembled, but she was too tough to give into it. Her small breasts rose beneath the bodice of that awful dress as she took a breath. "Maybe I need to know what it's like to be with a man who isn't interested in having a saint in his. bed."

So that was it.

"I'm twenty-seven years old, and I've only been with one man. He never even gave me an orgasm. Pretty funny, huh."

He didn't feel like laughing. Instead, he felt an illogical anger. "Now you want to go exploring, is that it? I'm supposed to be the guinea pig in your sexual development?"

Her redhead's temper sparked. "You're the one who came on to me, buster!"

"Momentary insanity."

He watched her marshal her forces to attack and wasn't surprised when she came up with her most obnoxious, simpery smile. "Gee, I hope not. As long as the room is dark and you don't talk, I could pretend you're someone else. It might be fun having my personal stud."

All the anger left him as abruptly as it had come. Good for her. She was a piece of work, determined not to give an inch, and for no reason he could think of beyond the fact that he hadn't hurt her after all, his mood lifted.

He tossed the shovel in the back of the truck. Later, he'd return and remove the charred wood. "Let's go."

Russ Scudder watched the headlights move away as Gabe Bonner's truck headed toward the Glide cottage.

"He was kissing her," Donny Bragelman said, shifting at his side.

"Yeah, I saw."

Both men sat in the grove of trees, thirty yards back from the road, too far to hear what Gabe and the Widow Snopes had been discussing, but close enough to have caught a few glimpses of what they were doing when they'd stepped in front of the headlights.