He chuckled.

"And we argue all the time about what I'm going to cook for meals and how I'm going to cook it. You have to understand, I'm the world's worst cook to begin with."

"You don't like it?"

"Nuh-uh!" she said with great passion. "At home I have a housekeeper who does it for me or if I'm at the studio a caterer brings food in. Anytime I have to cook for myself it's chicken breast and salads. Who cooks at your house?"

"All three of us."

The reminder of Faith dropped between them like a mudslide. They rode awhile without talking, thinking about how their conversations always seemed to roll around to Faith.

Finally Tess said, "Could I ask you something?"

"About what?"

"You and Faith."

"No."

"But I-"

"No."

She shot him a sour glance, but he wouldn't look at her. She gripped the steering wheel tighter and decided she could be as stubborn as he. Well, all right then, be that way. But I really don't have to ask, do I, Kenny? Because we both know that you sleep with her.

Neither of them said anything further till he ordered, "Turn here."

They swung into a rutted driveway lidded by an aisle of trees that led to a cluster of buildings. One metal pole barn was larger than all the rest.

"Where are we?"

"At Dexter Hickey's. Pull up next to that fence." She did, and killed the engine. They got out and sauntered toward a chest-high wooden fence that appeared back-lit in the moonlight. Inside the paddock a half dozen horses stood close together. Roused from sleep, some lifted their heads while others slept on. Out of the cluster one dark shape separated and moved lazily, head hanging, hooves plopping softly on the battered earth as he approached them.

Kenny waited, his arms crossed on the fence, till the horse arrived and blew softly at his elbow. The white blaze on his face showed clearly against its darker hide. Kenny laid a hand between the horse's eyes and said, "This is Rowdy."

"Hi, Rowdy," she said quietly, waiting, letting the horse take her scent. He reached out his enormous head and put his whiskery nose to her hand. "You smell good," Tess said.

He didn't of course. He smelled like the paddock, fecund and equine, but it pleased Kenny that Tess was one of those who found horse scent friendly. Rowdy let her scratch his nose.

"How long has Casey had him?"

"Since she was thirteen. But she talked about having him since she was about five."

Rowdy's nose was velvet beneath her hand. She thought he'd probably fallen asleep again, for he stood motionless, breathing evenly in heavy warm gusts against her palm.

Tess asked, "Are you trying to make me feel bad for taking her away?"

"Maybe."

"Are you always this honest?"

"I try to be."

There was enough celestial light for each to see the other's eyes. On the fence rail their elbows nearly touched. Inside the pole barn another horse whickered. Behind them the engine ticked as it cooled. Above them the half-moon kept him from biting her neck.

Out of the blue she said something he never expected, said it sincerely, so that one more barrier crumbled. "I can see, Kenny, that you're a very good dad."

He'd been right earlier; the moon made people do crazy things, be it full or half. But much as he wanted to kiss her, it wouldn't be wise. There was his relationship with Faith to consider, and the temporary nature of Tess's stay here, and her fame and its demands, maybe even the risk that she might think her celebrity and wealth were the reasons he was coming on to her. Hell, who knew? Maybe they were. On second thought he didn't think so. This attraction went a long way back, clear back to the stinging memories of groping for Tess McPhail on a school bus on a choir trip, all those years ago, and being laughed at for it. Kissing her would be the height of folly, but he kept standing there thinking about it.

The moon might have had its way if Rowdy hadn't whickered then and shaken his big head, startling them.

They drew back from the fence, and Tess said, "Do I have your permission to ask Casey, then?"

He expelled an uncertain breath before answering, "Yes."

And they returned to the car like two sensible people.

CHAPTER TEN

They drove home through the piquant spring night realizing it would be most prudent if for the remainder of her time here they'd limit their encounters to waving hello across the alley. She considered saying so, then switched on the radio so they need not speak at all.

Halfway back to town one of her own songs came on. It was "Cattin'."

He reached over and turned the volume up.

She reached over and turned it down.

"What did you do that for?" he said.

"You don't have to turn it up just because it's me."

"I turned it up because I like it." He cranked the volume again and one of his knees started wobbling in time to the music.

She gave him an arch glance. "It's immoral, you know."

"What is?"

"That song."

He burst out laughing-a long, loud, lusty laugh with nothing held back. After he got done she ended up telling him all about the letter she'd gotten from the irate listener who called the words "filthy," about the preposterous demands her fans sometimes made on her, and the frustration of becoming so famous that people think they own a piece of you and can tell you how to conduct your business. She also confessed her guilt for having these feelings because her fans were her lifeblood, and without them she'd be nowhere.

"I suspect what you're feeling is probably universal among the very famous,"' he said. "Don't worry about it so much. Fans are like any other people, some are nice and some aren't. Some are reasonable and some aren't. It's the same in any business."

They reached town so fast she couldn't believe it, talking all the way. When they pulled up in the alley she shut off the engine but neither of them moved. It was suddenly very quiet without the radio.

"The trouble is, Kenny, you're too easy to talk to."

"That's trouble?"

"You know what I mean. I don't remember you being this easy to talk to when we were in high school."

"Same here. I remember you being a stuck-up snob."

She considered awhile. "Maybe we're both getting over some misconceptions."

They could look at each other now for great lengths of time while silence fell between them and underscored their changing altitudes toward each other and their marked reluctance to part. But both of their houses had lights on, and this lingering was getting them nowhere. He glanced at her house. She glanced at his. She was supposed to give Tricia a ride home, and he ought to go in and give Faith a goodnight call, which he usually did on the evenings he didn't see her.

"Looks like Casey's still up," she noted.

"And your mother, too."

"Tricia, too. She's taking care of Momma."

"You have to take her home?"

"Yes… and I'd better get going. It's a school night."

"Well…" he said, reaching for his door handle, looking back at her. "Thanks for the ride."

"Anytime."

They smiled at each other in the semidark while the half-moon shone in the back window and the shadows of the trees patterned the garage roofs. There was no further reason to linger. They got out of the car, slammed the doors and stood in the warm night on either side of the Z.

"Good night," he said over the car roof.

"Good night."

It took a while before either of them moved. He finally turned and walked across the alley slowly, and she watched him become a black cutout against his distant porch light.

"Hey, Kenny?" she called, wishing to detain him awhile longer. He turned, stopped. She could tell he really didn't want to go in the house yet. "I really did enjoy talking with you tonight."

"I enjoyed it, too."

"Especially the stuff about my dad. Thanks for that."

"No need to thank me. He was a part of my childhood, too."

"In Nashville all my friends are music related. Seems like all we talk about is music. But back here it's… well, it's good to reminisce a little."

"Yes, well…" He thought of how much she'd changed in these few short days at home, and how much his opinion of her had changed as well. He wondered what her reaction would be if he simply walked back to her side of the alley and kissed her. But it struck him afresh who she was, and who he was, and that he was on his way inside to call Faith and say good night.

"Good night again," he called, doing the right thing. "See you Sunday."

"Yeah, see you Sunday."

After Tess had taken Tricia home and prepared for bed she turned out the light and stood for a few minutes at the window overlooking the backyard. Across the alley one upstairs light was on in the bedroom that used to be his when he was a child. Did he still use that room? Or was it Casey's now? What was the point of wondering? Yet she did, even after she got into bed and lay in the dark going over this evening and how very, very enjoyable it had been. Singing with him, driving with him, petting the horse with him, talking about the old days. It was true what she'd told him when he was walking back to his house, every friend she had now was somehow connected to the music industry. None of them had known her as a child, none could share recollections of her past, yet Kenny even remembered her father. How precious his story had been and how very connected it made her feel, as if this place would always be here for her, with its living family as well as its dead. This then was nostalgia making its impact, and in her lucid moments she realized it was temporary and would fade as soon as she returned to Nashville. But in her less guarded moments, it-and Kenny Kronek, too-made her question where she belonged.