The Mountaineer was located on a quiet dead-end street between a children's boutique and a gift shop, both of which were dark for the night. Across the street was a small, wooded park with some picnic tables and play equipment. Ethan apparently decided the park was the closest escape because he turned her toward the street, and, with a none-too-gentle grip, led her there.

On nice days, local businesspeople ate their lunches on the picnic tables that were scattered underneath the trees. Using the light of the street lamp to keep from stumbling, Ethan led her to the most secluded of the tables.

"Sit down."

She didn't appreciate his bossy manner, so instead of sitting on the bench where he indicated, she stepped up on it and sat on the tabletop. He had no intention of relinquishing his authority by sitting below her, so he took a place at her side.

His legs were longer than hers, and they bent at a sharper angle. As she glanced over at him, she thought she saw him looking down her top, but when she heard the stuffy note in his voice as he spoke, she decided she'd been wrong.

"I'm your pastor, and the fact that a single woman in my congregation is carrying around a condom is very much my business."

Why was he acting like this? Ethan always respected people's choices, even if he didn't agree with them, and she'd heard his youth-group lectures on sexual responsibility. He vehemently preached abstinence, but he was also blunt about birth control and AIDS prevention.

"Every single woman in your congregation who's sexually active had better be carrying some of these around," she observed.

"What do you mean, sexually active? Who are you-I mean-But-How-"

Ethan Bonner, known for his sexual straight talk, was sputtering. He finally gathered himself together. "I didn't know there was a man in your life."

The last of her fuzzy pink cloud evaporated, and a sort of desperate boldness took its place. What, after all, did she have to lose? "How would you? You don't know anything about my life."

He seemed genuinely shocked. "We've known each other since elementary school. You're one of my oldest friends."

"Is that the way you see me?"

"Of course."

"You're right, I'm your friend." She swallowed, mustering her courage. "But you're not mine, Ethan. Friends know things about each other, but you don't know anything about me."

"What do you mean? I know lots about you."

"Like what?"

"I know your parents, the house where you grew up. I know that you broke your arm two years ago. I know lots of things."

"A hundred people know things. But they don't know me. Who I am."

"You're a decent, hardworking Christian woman, that's who."

"It was no use. She had tried to talk honestly to him," but he wouldn't hear. She began to stand on the bench. "I have to go."

"No!" He drew her back down. In the process, her breast brushed the side of his arm. He drew back as if he'd touched radioactive waste.

"Look, I'm-I'm not trying to offend you. Your sex life is your business, not mine, but, as your pastor, I'm here to advise you."

She hardly ever got angry, but that sparked her temper. "I'm not asking for advice, Ethan, because I've already made up my mind! That condom is in my purse because I'm making changes in my life, and I want to be ready for them."

"Sex before marriage is a sin." He didn't sound at all like himself. He shifted uneasily next to her, as if he realized he was being unbearably pompous. Once again, his gaze seemed to linger on her breasts. He looked away.

She spoke forcefully. "I believe it's a sin, too. But I also believe there's a hierarchy of sins. Don't try to tell me that murder and sexual molestation don't rank a lot higher on the list than a thirty-year-old unmarried woman finally deciding she's had enough of being a virgin."

She waited for him to express some surprise at her untouched state, but he didn't, and her spirits sank even lower as she realized he assumed she was a virgin.

"With whom do you intend to have it?"

"I don't know yet, but I'm looking. He obviously has to be unmarried and intelligent. And sensitive." She emphasized the last word, so that he'd understand this was a quality he'd never possess in a thousand years.

He bristled like a porcupine. "I can't believe you're ready to throw away a lifetime of propriety for a few carnal thrills."

, He was sounding stuffier by the minute. "What's propriety gotten me? I have nothing that's important to me. No husband, no children. I don't even have a job I like."

"You don't like your job?" He sounded both hurt and mystified.

"No, Ethan. I don't like it."

"Why didn't you ever say anything?"

"Because I've been a wimp. It was safer for me to be depressed about my life than make changes."

"Then why did you stay all these years?"

That was one question she couldn't answer honestly. He probably knew anyway that she'd stayed because she was in love with him. "Fear of change. But I'm not afraid any longer."

"Rachel is responsible for this, isn't she?"

"Why do you dislike her so much?"

"Because she's taking advantage of Gabe."

Kristy didn't believe that at all, but Ethan was in no frame of mind to listen to reason. "You're right. Rachel is responsible because she's given me courage. I've never met a woman I admire more. She's living her life on the edge of catastrophe, but she never complains, and she works harder than anyone I know."

"Gabe's made it easy for her. He's given her a job and a car. He lets her stay in Annie's cottage and pays for Edward's day care."

"That's confidential. And Rachel has given Gabe a hundred times what he's given her. It's as if he's come alive since she's been here. He even laughs sometimes."

"His grieving has run its course, that's all. It has nothing to do with her. Nothing!"

Arguing about this with him was hopeless. For some reason, he was determined to be blind and stubborn when it came to Rachel.

His mouth set in a stubborn line. "I'd appreciate it if you'd at least give me the courtesy of two weeks' notice instead of leaving me in the lurch."

He had a point. Quitting like that hadn't been right, no matter what he'd done. She thought about how difficult it would be seeing him every day for the next two weeks. Still, she'd been doing it for eight years. What difference would another two weeks make? And it would be nice to have a paycheck while she looked for a new job. "All right. But only if you keep your nose out of my private life. And my wardrobe."

"I didn't mean to hurt your feelings, Kristy. It was the shock of seeing you look so different."

She rose from the table. "I'm chilly. I'm going back inside now."

"I wish you wouldn't do that."

"Forget the two weeks' notice."

"All right. Sorry. Go on in. You can sit with Gabe and me."

"No. I want to dance."

"I'll dance with you."

"That'll be a big treat." Obviously he thought the only way he could save her from sin was to force himself to dance with her.

"Why are you being so difficult?"

"Because I like it!" Her heart pounded. She was never rude, but she couldn't seem to help it, and the words kept rushing out. "Because I'm tired of twisting my own life in ten directions just to make things easier for other people."

"You mean easier for me."

"I don't want to talk any more."

She brushed past him and headed for the Mountaineer, even though all she wanted now was to go home and be alone.

As Ethan watched her disappear, guilt swamped him even as he told himself he had nothing to feel guilty for. "You have a wonderful life!" he called after her. "You have the respect of everyone in the community!"

"Well now, isn't that something cozy to cuddle up with on a cold winter night." As she shot the words back over her shoulder, she stepped into a pool of light from the street lamp. It defined her figure in a way that made his palms sweat.

The entire world had gone crazy, he decided. Right before his eyes, Kristy Brown had turned into a babe. As the light washed over her, her dark hair seemed to have fireflies dancing in it. She wasn't beautiful; her features were too ordinary for that. Although they were pretty, they were hardly exceptional. Instead, she was… sexy.

It bothered him to think of Kristy as sexy. There was something unnatural about it, like throwing lascivious glances at a sister. But ever since Tuesday morning he'd been thinking about those breasts.

Pig, Oprah said. There's a lot more to Kristy Brown than big breasts.

I know that! he shot back. It was the whole package: the small waist and rounded hips, the slender legs, that flighty hairstyle, and a new vulnerability-maybe that was the sexiest thing of all. Kristy no longer seemed so supremely competent, but like an ordinary person who had the same insecurities as everyone else.

He shoved his hands in the pockets of his jeans and tried to figure out why he was so upset by the changes in her. Because he was losing a darned good secretary, that was why.

Wrong, Oprah said. You are so wrong.

All right! There was too much truth in what Kristy had said tonight. He did regard her as one of his oldest friends, but until now, he hadn't realized how selfish that friendship had been.

She was right. Everything had been one-sided. He knew the events of her life, but nothing more. He didn't know how she spent her spare time, what made her happy, what made her sad. He tried to recall what she liked to eat, but all he could remember was the way she made sure there was always a supply of spicy brown mustard in the church refrigerator for his sandwiches.