“Love?”

“Well…yeah.” She was looking into his eyes, and Jimmy Joe could see that she was thinking about how close she’d come to being in that same condition herself, and feeling the wonder and awe of her own miracle all over again. It was something he had no trouble understanding, since it was his miracle, too.

She gave her head a shake, pulling herself away from her own scary thoughts. “What I think is, something happened to Charly when she was young, and that’s why she ran away. I think she must have gotten hurt somehow. I don’t mean just some broken love affair-I mean really hurt, you know? So badly that I don’t think she’s ever gotten over it. I think she’s just made up her mind she’s not ever going to let herself get hurt again.”

“Minds can be unmade,” Jimmy Joe reminded her, dipping his head until his lips found the sweet, fragrant softness of her neck.

“Mmm…never happen…” Her words grew slurred; she moved her head slowly back and forth. “Charly’s pretty stubborn.”

Jimmy Joe chuckled. He could feel her begin to tremble as he laid her gently back against the cushion of his arm and whispered against her lips, “Never underestimate the power of a Starr.”


“Breakfast first,” said Troy as he backed the Cherokee out of the Mourning Springs Motel parking lot. “And a gallon of coffee. Then the car.” It wasn’t the first time he’d said it; Charly had been all for going out and chasing down her rental car first thing, and it was taking some doing to dissuade her. He couldn’t blame her for wanting to get her suitcases back, but he also knew what blood sugar could do to a body when it bottomed out.

“Jeez…” She gave in with poor grace, muttering and swearing, and with conditions of her own. “All right, here’s a Burger King-we can go through the drive-through.”

“You kiddin’?” Troy glanced in the rearview mirror at Bubba, who he knew was going to be panting and drooling all down the back of the middle seat at the mere mention of Burger King. “That fast-food stuff’ll kill you, don’t you know that? Naw, what we need is some real food.”

Her snort was ripe with sarcasm. “By which, being Southern, I imagine you mean grits.”

He smiled good-naturedly but didn’t say anything for a second or two, not being exactly sure which she was feeling sarcastic about-the South, or the grits. Then, squinting into the morning sun, he said, “Okay, then, you bein” Southern-”

“Ex!”

He could have told her there was no such thing, that it was almost a scientifically proved fact that you could take the girl out of the South, but no way in hell you could ever take the South out of the girl. But the mood she was in, he thought maybe he’d best make that point some other time. So he nodded and conceded, “Ex-Southern. So what do you eat with your eggs, California? Quiche?”

“Hash browns,” she snapped, and threw him a bitter look, like a disappointed child. “Preferably those little greasy stuck-together patties they give you at fast-food places.” He laughed. She studied him for a while, then said, “No smoking, no fast food-so, I suppose you’re some kind of a health nut, too.”

“Too?”

“Mirabella.” She sat back with a resigned sigh. “She’s always getting after me about my eating habits.”

And that was something that just about boggled Troy’s mind. He kept trying to imagine those two headstrong, feisty women-the Mirabella he knew and the Charly he’d just met-being best friends. He decided such a volatile combination would have to be either highly entertaining or highly hazardous to a person’s health. Either that, or there were facets to both women he hadn’t discovered yet. The more he thought about it, the more he decided he’d like to. Especially after last night.

“Way I see it,” he drawled, “you only get one body. I try not to abuse mine, is all.”

He could feel her studying him again. It gave him a pleasurable little tingle to think she might be wondering about some of his undiscovered facets. He thought to himself, Darlin’, if you’ll show me yours, I’ll show you mine…

After a moment she said, “So, is it true? You’re a SEAL?”

“Used to be.” He glanced over at her, but she had turned her head and was staring out the window, gazing at the buildings they were just passing.

“Mourning Spring High School,” he said, reading the letters on the sign at the base of the flagpole as it flashed by. “That where you went to school?”

“For a while.” Her voice seemed faraway, and had that hollowness he’d heard before. “Never graduated.”

“Never graduated?” He frowned, thinking she probably hadn’t meant it just that way. “How come?”

“Moved.” Her voice had a new, bright edge, an artificial lightness. She turned her head toward him again, giving her hair a little flip that made him think of his own high-school days, of bands playing Queen’s “We Are the Champions” and cheerleaders flirting.

“Hey, I bet you were a jock-football player, right? Hell, I’ll bet you were the quarterback.”

“Shows how wrong you are.” Troy grinned, still riding on those memories, allowing himself to strut a little. “Wide receiver. All-conference, junior and senior year-voted best hands in the state.”

“That I can believe.”

He thought she probably hadn’t meant to say it like that, with her voice going husky and a catch in her breathing. But suddenly there was silence, except for Bubba’s panting, which sounded too much like heavy breathing and didn’t help matters. And if she hadn’t meant to say it like that, she sure knew right away that she had. She put her head back against the seat and whispered under her breath-most likely swear words, if he knew her. And he thought he was beginning to, a little.

At first he thought the best thing would be to ignore it. But the silence kept getting thicker and heavier, and his mind, looking for ways to fill the vacuum, kept wanting to give him reminders of the very things he was trying to forget. He found himself growing light-headed.

So he finally said, “Hey, look-it happened. It’s not like it’s gonna go away if we don’t talk about it.”

Her body jerked slightly, and she turned her head to give him an angry glare. “I hope you don’t think I do-”

He held up a hand and stopped her right there, then shook his head and growled, “I can’t believe you’d even say that.”

“Well, I wouldn’t blame you if you did think it,” she countered in an edgy voice. There was a pause, and then she gave a tight, high laugh. “I mean, God, I wish I could say it was because I’d had too much to drink. But I don’t think one light beer would do it, do you?”

“You had too much of somethin’,” Troy muttered, narrowing his eyes and staring straight ahead through the windshield. Like trouble, stress and heartache, maybe.

And the worst of it, as far as he was concerned, was that he still didn’t know why, or what in the hell it was all about. He wished to God he had it in him to just come right out and ask, but he kept telling himself it was her business, not his.

He let out a breath through his nose, calling on all his patience and self-control. “And I…took advantage of the situation. That’s not something I’m proud of. But on the other hand I don’t feel particularly inclined to apologize for it, either. Unless you feel like I ought to.” He looked over at her, issuing the challenge. “You want me to?”

“What?”

“Apologize.”

“No!” She threw him a furious look, then put her head back against the headrest and finished it on a soft exhalation. “Of course not. It wasn’t your fault.”

“Yeah, well, it wasn’t yours, either.”

“Okay,” she snarled, “so it wasn’t anybody’s fault It just happened.”

“Yeah, it did. And you want to tell me why we’re sitting here tryin’ to attach fault to something that felt so damn good?”

They were just coming into the town square, on a Saturday morning as bright and blue and sunshiny as an Alabama June day knows how to be. Out there in the park, people were going about their business, kids playing ball, old folks sitting in the sun. And inside the Cherokee where they were sitting the atmosphere was as charged and sultry as it had been in the night with the lightning flickering and the thunder growling and one hell of a storm coming on.

Some of the growling was coming from Troy’s stomach, and it wasn’t all from hunger-at least, not the bacon-an’-eggs kind. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Charly shake her head, then look down at her hands, which were all knotted up in her lap. But she couldn’t find anything more to say, and neither could he.

Troy found a shady parking place on the square across from Kelly’s and pulled into it. While he was rolling down windows and explaining the program to Bubba, and trying to get him to understand that all that howling and carrying on wasn’t going to change things one bit, Charly sat and stared through the windshield at the sign that said Kelly’s Kitchen.

She told herself she was behaving like a child. More accurately like the emotionally racked teenager she’d once been. It was time she remembered that that girl, Charlene Elizabeth, didn’t exist anymore. It was time she remembered who she was now-C. E. Phelps, Attorney-At-Law, according to the brass letters on the door of her plush-carpeted offices on the twentieth floor of a downtown L.A. high-rise. And time she started demonstrating some of the character that had gotten her to that place.

She knew that the first thing she was going to have to do was come to some kind of understanding with Troy. And that in order to do that, she was going to have to level with him-at least up to a point. She owed him that much. Okay. She knew it was the right thing to do, and she’d made up her mind to do it. She just hadn’t realized how hard it would be to work up the courage and self-control to make it possible.