Rachel spun around, her eyes zeroing in on her father's glass-walled office. He was sitting behind his desk, watching her with a disapproving look on his face. Had he seen Tommy Lee? A disquieting memory came back to her at that moment. She'd heard it said that when Tommy Lee graduated from college and returned to Russellville to set up his business, he had come to the bank to apply for a small-business loan, and her father had personally seen to it that Tommy Lee's application was turned down. Odd that the recollection had come back after all these years.

Her father watched her like an eagle as she turned toward the teller's window to make her daily deposit. She felt his eyes auguring into her shoulderblades and became angry that he should still have a modicum of control over her where Tommy Lee was concerned.

But when her business was completed, she squared her shoulders, put on a false bright smile, and clicked into his glass office, seeking to confirm their Friday night date so she wouldn't feel tempted to take Tommy Lee up on his invitation after all.

"Hi, Daddy. Are we still on for Friday night?"

"Of course. Just as usual."

But Friday night sounded more lackluster than ever. Stepping back onto the sidewalk to make her return walk to Panache, Rachel glanced immediately to the red-brick building half a block away. But Tommy Lee had not come back. His car was parked out front, though, and she had the disturbing feeling he was watching her through the window.

The following day Rachel was folding some silk scarves at the jewelry display case when she absently glanced up to see the tail end of a white Cadillac cruising by at a sloth's speed. Her heart seemed to slam into her throat and she snapped a glance at Verda. But Verda was busy with a customer and hadn't noticed.

Tommy Lee Gentry, don't you dare!

If only he drove some mundane mid-size car in everybody's blue! But everyone in town could count the times he cruised past in that Cadillac. And if he started making a habit of it, what would she do?

Before two days were up she understood… he'd started to make a habit of it. How many times had she glanced up to see the car easing along the street at far less than the thirty-mile-an- hour speed limit? Adolescent tactics! Yet each time she saw it her heart fluttered and she felt hot and weak.

On Friday when she stepped out of the bank with the empty pouch in her hand, she again came up short. There he was, on her side of the street, visiting casually with three other businessmen as if they'd just happened to meet on the sidewalk. The quartet broke up just as Rachel stepped abreast of them. Tommy Lee turned and fell into step beside her quite naturally.

"Well, hello, Mrs. Hollis."

"Hello, Tommy Lee."

"You're looking exceptionally pretty today."

She walked a little faster and kept her voice low. "Tommy Lee, what on earth are you trying to prove, waiting to ambush me on the street? And who do you think you're fooling, calling me Mrs. Hollis when everyone in town knows we grew up on Cotako Street side by side!"

He grinned down charmingly. "Sorry, then. Hello, Rachel, you're looking exceptionally pretty today."

Good Lord, how long had it been since she'd blushed? But it was impossible to be unaffected by his nearness, his compliments. "Tommy Lee, stop it! And stop driving past my store at five miles an hour ten times a day!"

"Today I only drove past six times. Can I see you sometime this weekend?"

"No, I have plans."

"I don't believe you, Rachel. And if you don't want me to grab your elbow and drag you to a stop you'd better do it yourself and act as if you're giving me a civil time-of-day." They were directly across the street from his office now, and Rachel obediently halted, then lifted her flustered eyes to his. "Who are you going to see tonight?" Tommy Lee demanded, standing before her with both hands in his trouser pockets, shirtsleeves rolled to mid-forearm and tie loosened over an open top button. Looking up at him gave her that strange familiar feeling in the pit of her stomach, just like years ago when he'd stop her this way in the halls at school. It struck her that he was handsomer than either Owen or Marshall, though the thought appeared out of nowhere to rankle her.

"My daddy. He's taking me to dinner in Florence."

"Oh." He scowled, glanced toward the bank and thrust his lips out in a peculiarly attractive fashion.

"Yes. Oh. I can hardly tell him I'm sorry but I'm breaking our date to go out with Tommy Lee Gentry, can I?"

"What about tomorrow? The water's up enough that we could go out on the boat."

It sounded absolutely wonderful. "Tomorrow I'm working. I gave Verda the day off."

"Sunday, then."

"Sunday I'm going to church. You remember church, don't you, Tommy Lee? That big red-brick building down there on the corner where you used to go?" It was as close to snide as Rachel had ever come as she pointed to the First Baptist, several blocks away. But the more she was exposed to him, the harder she had to fight to remind herself that he wasn't exactly parlor fare anymore.

"Sunday afternoon?"

She sighed heavily and looked slightly crestfallen. "I'm sorry, Tommy Lee. I can't see you. Please don't ask me again."

Their eyes locked for several electric seconds; then Rachel resolutely turned and continued down the street.

That night over supper she was distracted and forlorn. Everett and Marshall carried on a dull conversation about how investment institutions were slowly usurping the bank's role as chief money holder for many private individuals. While Everett expounded on the droll subject, Rachel tried to keep her mind off Tommy Lee, but he slipped into her thoughts time and again. I could have been with him at this very moment. She wondered what his house was like, and if he'd invited someone else to go boating and, if so, who she was. She recalled the sun sparkling off the dark hair on his arms below his rolled-up sleeves, and the inviting shadow cast on his throat by the loosened collar and tie. She imagined another woman enjoying his company and shivered with a sudden inexplicable wave of jealousy.

Later that evening when Marshall saw her home he seemed worried about her.

"You seem rather blue tonight, Rachel," he noted as they stood in the entry, preparatory to his leaving.

"Blue?" She tried to put on a gay expression, but failed. "No, just tired. It's been a long week."

There came into Marshall's eyes a look she'd never seen there before, and as he took her gently into his arms she sensed a difference in the pressure of his hands on her back.

No, not Marshall, she thought in a panic.

But as he leaned back to look into her face, she saw a flicker of emotion that went beyond fraternal care. "You've been doing great. Pushing ahead, getting on with life. I'm very proud of you, you know." He touched her cheek and she wanted to shrink back, wary of allowing him to think for a moment that she wanted any kind of relationship with him other than the one she had. He bent his head to touch his lips to her cheek. She was already searching for the proper words to fend him off when he straightened, gave her arms a platonic squeeze, and said good night.

For some reason the experience with Marshall made her wonder how she would have reacted had it been Tommy Lee who'd given her such ardent glances and pulled her into his arms that way.

Dangerous thought! She promised herself she'd stop dwelling on Tommy Lee this way, and the next time she saw him, she'd walk straight on by with nothing more than a polite hello.

But the next time she saw him she couldn't walk away. It was the following Friday at four-thirty. Verda was running the vacuum cleaner over the carpet prior to closing, and Rachel was seated at her desk, putting away the empty bank pouch.

The door opened, Rachel looked up and froze.

He was dressed in an open-collared black sport shirt topped by a gray sports coat a shade lighter than his trousers. His hair was tousled by the wind, and as he closed the door his eyes were already seeking her out.

Her stomach went fluttery and she felt fifteen again. This time I'll end up saying yes.

The vacuum cleaner wheezed into silence and Verda greeted him. "Well, howdy, Tommy Lee. Now, what in the world are you doing in a place like this?"

He carefully avoided glancing Rachel's way and sauntered farther into the store with a charming smile for Verda. "I need to buy a present for someone."

"Well, now, I'm sure as eternity not going to ask who it's for. I might not like the answer."

He laughed and looked down at the rectangular glass showcase in the center of the store, studying the accessories arranged there, fingering silk scarves, poring over a basket of earrings. Rachel sat watching him, her pulse hammering out a warning in her throat, but he scarcely gave her a glance. Momentarily, Verda spoke up again. "Y'all just take your time looking while I finish up this floor. If there's anything you like, maybe Rachel can help you."

He looked up as if only now realizing Rachel was there. "Oh, hello, Mrs. Hollis. Never been in your store before." He glanced around, drummed four fingertips on top of the glass cabinet. "It's very nice. Classy." His eyes returned to her and he flashed a quick smile. "Smells good, too."

It smelled of Rachel. It was no particular scent and all scents lingering together in a potent mixture that spoke of things delicate and feminine. Her eyes dropped to the desktop and she busied herself writing something, sitting at a chair almost as delicate as she, her legs crossed and the hem of a melon-colored skirt riding just above the knee. In the cleft of her white embroidered collar lay a collection of chunky coral and brown beads.