"I'll enroll him in scowling lessons first thing tomorrow."

"I'm just saying… That rabbit he carries around all the time, for example. He's five years old. The other kids are probably making fun of him."

"He says he keeps it in his cubby when he's at school."

"Still. He's too old."

"Didn't Jamie have anything like that?"

His entire body stiffened, and she knew she had trod on forbidden ground. He could talk about his wife, but not his son.

"Not when he was five."

"Well, I'm sorry Edward's not macho enough for you, but the last few years have taken some of the spunk out of him. It didn't help that he spent a month in the hospital this spring."

"What was wrong with him?"

"Pneumonia." She traced a line of rickrack that edged the pocket of her dress. The depression that had been hanging over her ever since she'd realized the Bible wasn't ready to give up its secrets settled in deeper. "It took him forever to recover. At one point, I wasn't sure he'd make it. It was awful."

"I'm sorry."

The discussion of Edward had opened a gap between them. She knew Gabe wanted to close it as much as she did when he spoke. "Let's go to bed, Rachel."

She gazed into his eyes, and it didn't enter her mind to say no. He held out his hand and led her into the house.

Moonlight streamed over the old bed, touching the soft worn sheets with silver and gilding Rachel's hair as Gabe lay over her naked body. His need for her frightened him. He was a man of silence and solitude. These past few years had taught him that it was best for him to be alone, but she was changing that. She was pushing him toward something he didn't want to examine.

She twisted beneath him, legs spread, pressing herself against him. Her lovemaking was so unrestrained that he couldn't always control himself. Sometimes, he was afraid he'd hurt her.

Now he drew her arms above his head and manacled her wrists. He knew the feeling of helplessness would drive her wild, and, almost immediately, she began to moan.

Restraining her left him with only one hand to use. One hand to cup her breasts, one thumb to rub across the swollen tips. He substituted his mouth and moved his hand between her legs.

She was wet for him, slippery with desire. He caressed her, loving the woman's feel of her beneath his touch. How could he have forgotten this? How could he have let his pain destroy so much that was good?

Her short, breathy moans were loosening the limits of his control. She started to struggle against his restraint, but she wasn't putting anything into it, so he didn't let her go. Instead, he slid his finger inside her.

She gave a low, strangled scream.

He couldn't endure that sweet writhing any longer. He positioned himself, then entered in a deep, strong thrust.

"Yes," she gasped.

He covered her open mouth with his own. Their teeth scraped; their tongues mated. He took each of her wrists in one of his hands and drove into her, their arms extended.

She tilted her hips, then wrapped her legs around him. Moments later, she fell apart.

Nothing existed but this shuddering woman and the moonlight and the sweet-scented summer air blowing over their bodies from the open window. He found the forgetfulness he needed.

Afterward, he didn't want to move off her. The sheet tangled around their hips. He pressed his mouth against her neck, shut his eyes…

A small bundle of fury leaped on his back.

"Get off my mommy! Get off her!"

Something hard hit him on the head.

Little fists pounded at him, and fingernails scratched his neck. The room echoed with frantic cries. "Stop it! Stop it!"

Rachel had gone rigid beneath him. "Edward!"

Something much sturdier than five-year-old fists began to bang against the back of his head in hard, rhythmic whacks. Tears and panic clogged the child's voice. "You're hurting her! Stop hurting her!"

Gabe tried to deflect the blows, but his range of motion was limited. The boy was straddling his hips, and, if he rolled over, he'd reveal Rachel's nudity. How had he gotten in the room? He was certain Rachel had locked the door.

"Edward, don't!" Rachel grabbed for the sheet.

Gabe caught a small, flailing elbow. "I'm not hurting her, Edward."

A monumental blow, much harder than the rest, landed on the side of his head. "My name's not-"

"Chip!" Gabe gasped.

"I'll kill you!" the boy sobbed, then clobbered him again.

"Stop that right this minute, Edward Stone! Do you hear me!" Rachel had steel in her voice.

The boy slowly grew still.

She softened her tone. "Gabe isn't hurting me, Edward."

"Then what's he doing?"

For the first time since they'd met, Rachel seemed to be at a loss for words.

He turned his head and saw rumpled hair, along with red, tearstained cheeks. "I was kissing her, Ed… Chip."

A horrified expression came over the child's face. "Don't you ever do that again."

Gabe knew his weight was making it difficult for Rachel to breathe, but she spoke as soothingly as she could manage. "It's all right, Edward. I like it when Gabe kisses me."

"No, you don't!"

They clearly weren't getting anywhere, so Gabe spoke firmly. "Chip, I want you to go to the kitchen and get your mother a big glass of water. She's very thirsty."

The child gave him a mulish look.

"Please do what he says, Edward. I really need a drink of water."

The child reluctantly climbed off the bed, at the same time shooting Gabe a wordless tight-lipped warning that promised annihilation if he threatened his mother.

The moment he disappeared through the doorway, Gabe and Rachel leaped from the bed and began frantically grabbing for their clothes. Gabe yanked on his jeans. Rachel snatched up his T-shirt and jerked it over her head, then searched the floor for her panties. When she couldn't find them, she pulled on his briefs instead. It should have been funny, but all he cared about was being dressed before the boy returned.

He yanked up his zipper. "I thought you locked the door."

"No. I thought you did it."

The boy appeared in record time, running so quickly that water slopped over the sides of the blue plastic Bugs Bunny tumbler.

As Rachel moved forward to take it from him, she stumbled on something. Gabe looked down and recognized a copy of Stellaluna lying on the floor. It took him a moment to figure out why it was there, and then he realized this was what Edward had used to beat him over the head.

He'd been assaulted with a deadly book.

17

Rachel made a great play out of drinking the water. When she was done, she cupped the top of Edward's head. "Let's tuck you back in bed."

Gabe stepped forward. He knew this had to be settled before she shuffled him off. He eyed the small boy, remembering the fury of those young fists and, for a fleeting moment, he saw the child as he was and not as a shadow of someone else.

"Chip, I like your mother very much, and I'd never hurt her. I want you to remember that. If you see us touching each other again, you'll know it's because we want to touch and not because anything's wrong."

Edward gave his mother a look of disbelief. "How could you want to touch him?"

"I know it's hard for you to understand, especially since you and Gabe haven't been getting along very well, but I like being with him."

The boy regarded her mutinously. "If you got to touch somebody, you touch me!"

She smiled. "I love touching you. But I'm a grown-up woman, Edward, and sometimes I need to touch a grownup man."

"Then you can touch Pastor Ethan."

Rachel had the nerve to laugh. "I don't think so, pug. Pastor Ethan is your friend, and Gabe is mine."

"They're not brothers, no matter what he says."

"Tomorrow when you see Pastor Ethan at school, why don't you ask him about it?"

Gabe noticed that his briefs were in imminent danger of sliding off Rachel's hips. "Come on, Chip. Let's give Tweety Bird one more feeding before you go back to bed."

But Edward was too smart to be bought off that easily. "How do I know you won't start kissing her again?"

"I will kiss her," he said firmly, "but only when your mother says it's okay."

"It's not okay!" Edward stomped toward the door. "And I'm going to tell Pastor Ethan on you!"

"Terrific," Gabe muttered. "That's just what we need."

Pastor Ethan, however had troubles of his own. It was eleven o'clock in the morning, and not even half a cup of coffee remained in the pot he and Kristy shared.

It wasn't as if he didn't know how to make coffee. He made it for himself every morning at home. But this wasn't home. This was the office, and for the past eight years, Kristy had kept the pot full.

He snatched up the glass carafe, stormed past her desk, and made his way to the small kitchen just off the narthex, where he splashed water all over his new Gap polo. He stomped back into the office, pitched out the old grounds, threw some new in without counting the scoops, poured in the water, and punched the switch. There! That ought to show her!

Unfortunately, she was too busy humming an old Whitney Houston tune and tapping away at her computer to notice. He couldn't decide which was worse: the coffee, that cheerful humming, or the fact that she was wearing her old clothes to work.

Her shapeless khaki dress was driving him even crazier than the empty coffee pot. He'd seen it dozens of times before. It was roomy, comfortable, and utterly devoid of style. Where were the clothes he objected to? Those tight white jeans, the skimpy breast-hugging tops, those silly gold sandals?