Dear Diary,


It’s almost morning. So much has happened, but I don’t want to write about it. I just can’t right now. Maybe tomorrow. Right now I can’t even see straight, let alone think.


Thought for the Day: If you ask me, thinking is highly overrated.

Troy woke up in a state he could only think of as confused well-being. He couldn’t figure out how he could have behaved so badly and feel so good about it.

Here he was in a sleazy Alabama motel room, listening to the shower running in the bathroom and a woman banging around in there and dropping things, a woman he barely knew but had driven all the way from Georgia yesterday to bail out of jail and wound up spending what was probably one of-if not the most- incredible nights he’d ever spent in the company of a woman in his life. If that wasn’t reprehensible conduct, he didn’t know what was.

He just wished he could stop grinning whenever he thought about it.

About then Bubba, who’d been sitting at attention over by the door, happened to notice he was awake and came ambling over to give him a good-morning lick. And since Bubba hadn’t exactly been raised to be a house dog, Troy figured the first order of the day was going to be to take him out for a walk.

He was pulling on his pants when he heard the water shut off, and a moment later the bathroom door opened and there stood Charly with a little bitty towel knotted around her waist. She was holding another towel across her breasts and squeezing water from the ends of her hair with the end of it. Water droplets spangled her shoulders and arms and the fronts of her thighs. He hadn’t really had a chance to notice last night, but now he saw that her legs were long and looked as if she either walked a lot or worked out regularly. It was a sight to put a hitch in his breathing.

“Oh, good,” she snapped, “you’re up. I was startin’ to worry about that dog of yours. I was going to take him for a walk myself, but I thought the shock of seeing a naked woman running down the road with a bear on a leash might be too much for this town to handle.” Her voice was scratchy and sardonic. He found it stimulating as burlap on his auditory nerves.

He walked toward her, grinning and thinking about how good it was going to feel to kiss her, all fresh and wet from the shower. But the look she gave him made him change his mind about that. He could read all sorts of things in her eyes, most of which added up to one thing: the Charly Phelps who had woken up in his bed this morning was prepared to deny any and all knowledge of the wanton stranger who’d taken over her body last night. Which didn’t really surprise him. If he’d given it much thought, he probably would have expected it.

She dipped her head toward his bag, which was sitting on the dresser. “I don’t suppose you might have something in there that I could put on?”

He scooped up the bag, opened it and held it out to her. “Help yourself. How ’bout boxers and a T-shirt?”

“It’s a start.” She peered warily into the bag as if she thought it might have an unpleasant surprise hidden in it, then took it from him and backed up into the bathroom and shut the door.

Troy stood there and looked at the place where she’d been for a minute or two, then huffed out a breath. “Well, okay. You’re welcome, darlin’.” He pivoted, clapped his hands and said briskly, “Hey, ol’ Bubba, whaddaya say you and me go take us a little walk?”

Okay, he wasn’t surprised. But he couldn’t help feeling a little disappointed.


In the bathroom Charly propped Troy’s overnight bag on the sink and peered over it at the faceless blur in the steamed-up mirror. She reached toward the glass with the towel she’d been holding across her breasts…then slowly withdrew her hand without wiping away the fog. The prospect of looking herself in the eye didn’t hold much appeal this morning.

Selfish… irresponsible. She heard the words again, in her father’s cold, unfeeling voice, along with another word she’d last heard more than twenty years ago. Shameless

It was true. She was all of those things, and more.

A cold, hard knot took shape in her chest, and a cold, hard voice whispered in her ear things she’d tried for twenty years not to hear. Selfish, irresponsible…shameless. You don’t deserve…

A pair of eyes took shape in the mirror’s foggy blur-not her own ambiguous hazel, but darker ones, blue, with heavy lashes and laugh creases-kind, compassionate eyes. Nice eyes. Beautiful eyes. Troy’s eyes. When they’d looked into hers, she hadn’t felt shameless, or selfish, or undeserving. She’d felt beautiful, sexy, desired.

And I used him.

She closed her eyes on the vision and rocked herself slowly, dizzy with shame and remorse. It was true. Like some use drugs or alcohol, she’d used Troy, as something to dull her own pain, to help her forget, to get her through the night. Jack Daniel’s would have been a better choice-at least she’d only have a hangover to worry about this morning. But-oh. God, this was a person. A human being, and a pretty decent one, as far as she could tell. What was she going to do about him now? How was she ever going to get them back onto a casual footing?

Especially, a hard, practical inner voice reminded her, when she still needed him. There were still some things she had to have his help in order to do.

The fogged mirror was clearing. It was her own eyes that stared back at her now, bloodshot and puffy, but determined. Oh, yes, there was still something she had to do. And she was sorry-truly sorry-but she was going to have to go on using that nice, decent man for a little while longer. There was simply no one else she could turn to.

But no more of what happened last night, she told herself firmly. That was unforgivable. I won’t let that happen again.

As if in denial, a shiver coursed through her. Her nipples pouted. Her body’s secret places throbbed and tingled, mocking her.


Jimmy Joe cradled the phone and looked over at his beloved, who was standing at the window watching traffic flow by on the Atlanta Beltway far below. He could tell just by looking at her that she was ticked off. “Well, that was Mama,” he said. “She just heard from Troy.”

“So I gathered,” said Mirabella stiffly.

He walked over to her, put his arms around her from behind and pulled her back against him. “Is all that freeway traffic makin’ you homesick for L.A.?”

“Huh? Not a chance.”

“Look,” he said in a cajoling tone, rocking her, “I know you’re disappointed with Troy for runnin’ off like he did and leavin’ the nursery job half-finished-” he paused when she snorted “-but I think maybe you’re gonna forgive him when you hear what he’s doin’ instead.”

“He told your mom he was going to Alabama.”

“Yeah, but you’re never gonna guess who he’s with in Alabama.”

She turned in his arms, scowling suspiciously. “Who?”

“Your friend Charly.”

Mirabella’s mouth dropped open. “Charly! But that’s-Charly? What’s she doing here? What’s she doing in Alabama?”

Jimmy Joe didn’t even try to stop himself from grinning; it wasn’t often he got to see his beloved dumbfounded. “Mama didn’t say. What she told me was, Troy said to tell you that your friend Charly was in Alabama, and that she was havin’ some problems over there and he was gonna stay on awhile and help her out.”

“But-but what kind of trouble? And why-?”

“And that’s all she told me,” Jimmy Joe said gently but firmly. “Marybell, honey, I’m as much in the dark as you are.”

She twisted out of his arms and sat down dazedly on the bed, “Charly…and Troy? I don’t believe it.”

Jimmy Joe was still grinning. “Sort of interestin’, though, ain’t it?”

Still confounded, Mirabella said, “Mmm…” then did a double take and flashed him one of her looks. “Oh, no-no way. That’s impossible. Out of the question. Charly and Troy? Never in a million years.”

It was her most stubborn, know-everything look. He could see she was primed for a good argument, which was fine with him. Arguing with Mirabella had a stimulating effect on him.

He went and sat down on the bed beside her and said, “Come on, now. Why not? You’ve met Troy, and from everything you’ve told me about Charly, seems to me they might just hit it off pretty good.”

“Well,” said Mirabella, thoughtfully chewing her lip, “for starters, he’s Southern.”

“Well, hell-”

She shook her head. “I’m sorry, but there’s just no way in the world Charly would ever let herself get mixed up with somebody from the South. No way.”

“I know somebody else woulda said that about six months ago,” Jimmy Joe said mildly; it wasn’t in his nature to take offense.

Which was something he knew Mirabella was still getting used to. So he wasn’t surprised that she had to look into his eyes for a long measuring moment to find the reassurance she was searching for before she went on, flushed and earnest, “No, you don’t understand. Charly hates everything about the South. She grew up in Alabama, in some little tiny town-she actually ran away from home when she was sixteen. She swears she’d sooner die than ever go back.”

“The South’s not all country roads and rednecks,” Jimmy Joe argued. “You know that Troy’s seen more of the world than most people. He knows his way around.”

Mirabella was quiet for a moment. Then she let out a breath and shook her head. “It’s not just that. I mean, I love Charly-she’s a wonderful person. She’s funny and smart and has a heart of pure mush-”

“Sounds like somebody else I know.”

She laughed softly, and for a minute or two he thought she might be ready to call it quits on this particular discussion. But there was still more she wanted to say, and after too short an interlude, she gave him a gentle push and went determinedly on, “but the point is, she does a good job of keeping that fact a secret.” She paused. “Charly… protects herself. She has fun, she dates a lot of guys, but she never lets it get too serious, you know? She never lets herself care too much. Never lets herself…”