And couldn't think of a single word to say.

They stared at each other with a breathless hush of appreciation, standing as still as the long shadows across the yard, feeling the awesome tug of nostalgia and the even greater one of reality. She had caught him smoothing his tie again, and his hand remained half hidden inside the suit jacket at waist level, unmoving now. At closer range she saw things she'd only glimpsed on the church steps. The puff of skin was gone from above his tight, crisp collar. The jowls had disappeared, leaving the skin about his jaws looking healthy and resilient. His eyes seemed clearer, the pockets of loose flesh gone from beneath them. And his coloring had changed from drinker's pink to runner's bronze.

After what seemed like aeons, he finally dropped his hand to his side and breathed "Hi."

"Hi," she managed, though the word seemed to stick in her throat and came out in a queer falsetto. Her eyes swept him from shoulders to toes and she blurted out, "You look wonderful!" Then she felt herself blush.

With a lift of his chin he laughed, and the sound relieved some of the tension. "Thank you, but I think you stole my line. You look"-his appreciative gaze scanned her, missing nothing-"absolutely perfect. Prettier than when you were sixteen."

"Well…" She flapped her hands stupidly and stepped back. "Come in. I'll get my purse." Rachel Hollis, act your age! You're gawking and blushing like an adolescent in the throes of hormone change!

He watched her walk away-slim hips moving with scarcely a sway, narrow shoulders bare beneath delicate spaghetti straps that emphasized her fragility. Her shoes were very high heeled and backless and made a soft lapping sound against her heels as she went. Her muted blue floral-print dress was elasticized at the waist and just above her breasts, and there appeared to be nothing beneath it except her body. Tommy Lee's bones seemed to turn to jelly as he watched her bare shoulders disappear. She was, plainly and simply, the most desirable woman he'd ever known. How ever would he make it through the evening without touching her?

In no time at all she was back, holding a tiny white purse, a shawl caught in the crook of a wrist. Several feet before him she stopped, glanced up uncertainly, and gave a fluttery half-smile, then dropped her eyes to study the clasp of her purse as she toyed with it. "After being married all these years I'm afraid I'm out of practice in the art of dating. I feel inept and awkward."

He studied her for a moment, then a grin lifted one corner of his lips. "Awkward? You, Rachel?" He chuckled and moved toward the entry. "You haven't been awkward since you lost your baby fat at… let's see, when was it? About thirteen?" He cocked his head as he opened the door. "Fourteen?"

She swept past him with mock imperiousness, scolding, "Thomas Gentry, I never had baby fat!"

He couldn't resist slipping a hand to her waist as they moved toward the car. "Oh, yes, you did. I've got pictures to prove it."

"What pictures?" His hand sent shivers along her arms and raised the fine hairs of her spine, as did the sight of his car, freshly washed and waxed for the occasion. As he leaned forward to open the car door for her, she caught the scent of sandalwood and spice in his after-shave.

"I've got pictures of us as far back as when we used to go bathing together in a plastic pool. Remind me to show 'em to you sometime."

She knew which pictures he referred to and felt uncharacteristically ruffled and shy at the thought of the snapshots of their two plump, naked baby bodies side by side. But the subject was cut off as he slammed the door and rounded the hood of the car. She watched him pause to light a cigarette before getting in beside her, bringing the sharply pleasant tang of freshly lit tobacco with him.

The interior of the car was immaculate, and the man at its wheel the essence of companionability as they drove out to his place without once exceeding the speed limit. When they approached the spot where he'd flung out his plastic glass the last time she was riding with him, she leaned forward to peer around him at the woods and ditch. Then she gave him an impish grin.

"Mmm… not tossing your glasses out into the weeds anymore?"

He only swung his eyes her way, gave a lazy smile, then carefully tamped out his cigarette, dropped the butt into the ashtray, and closed it. She noted each improvement in manners with an uplift of the heart.

"Do you know, you're the first man who ever gave me a bag of beer cans?"

"And you're the first woman who ever chewed me out and gave me a lecture on demon rum." They smiled at each other, remembering that night.

The car swayed through the curving woodsy drive, and when they pulled to a stop, he ordered, "Wait here," then got out with a bounding movement and appeared at her door to open it. They took the wooden ramp side by side, not touching, then he solicitously opened an ebony door to let Rachel precede him into the house. Music was playing softly, and a delicious aroma wafted through the air. He touched her elbow lightly and gestured toward the stairs leading up to the living room, calling, "Georgine?"

In the next moment Rachel was standing in the spotless room and his new maid was rounding the corner from the kitchen.

"Rachel, this is Georgine, who's been given the task of keeping me from perdition. Georgine, this is Rachel Hollis, a girl I went to school with."

Georgine tipped a small bow. "I know Mrs. Hollis… You run the dress store in town." Then she turned to Tommy Lee, informing him he'd had a call from someone named Bitsy who said she wanted him to call back. Finally, she asked, "Are you ready for your drinks now?"

"Drinks" proved to be a delicious concoction of pineapple juice and coconut cream, served in narrow stemmed glasses with fresh pineapple chunks and cherries on thin skewers. Rachel sipped hers, tasted no alcohol, and raised her eyebrows. "Mmm… delicious." She wondered if his drink was plain or spiked, but didn't ask, only glanced around the living room to find the plants had been trimmed of drying leaves, washed, and sprayed with leaf polish. The tables gleamed and the carpet hadn't one dot of lint or ash on it. Under Georgine's care the lavish room had truly come to life.

"How about taking our drinks out on the deck?" he suggested, and pulled the door open, then followed her out. The sun was hovering an hour's ride above the western rim of the lake, sending a highway of shimmering gold straight at them across the water. Overhead a pair of gulls caught the sun on their wings and squawked their tuneless call. It was warm, peaceful, and private. Rachel rested her glass on the railing, then leaned her hips against it, squinting into the bright reflection. "This place is really beautiful."

She watched him find and light a cigarette. Odd how the simple motions held a new attraction for her as he tilted his jaw, flicked a thumb on the wheel of the lighter, and scowled through the cloud of smoke. He threw his head back, exhaling, turned abruptly, and caught her watching him intently.

Immediately she looked at the lake.

"You like it?"

"Yes, very much. Who could help but like it?"

He turned his back to the view and perched a buttock on the rail, one knee riding wide and the suit jacket gaping open as he swiveled toward her. "I built it for you," he said matter-of-factly.

Her eyes flew to his, and they stared at each other for an endless moment. His new untinted glasses left the expression in his brown eyes open for study, and she saw there a grave sincerity that rocked her senses. Gone were the days when she wanted to turn away from his probing gaze. Now she wanted to immerse herself in it. He looked so different. Younger. Less worry-lined. Head-turningly handsome. She stood riveted before him while he made no move whatever to touch her, yet she felt touched in a wholly wonderful way. She became acutely conscious of his masculine pose, the tailored beige jacket having fallen aside to reveal expertly cut brown trousers stretched between his cocked hips.

At last she found her voice. "Yes I know. I recognized it the moment I walked into it."

"Did you?" His voice was gently gruff.

"It was unmistakable."

"And what did you think?"

Again she gazed out over the lake. "That I was married to Owen when you built it."

"So you were." He lifted his glass, watched her over the rim as he took a drink, then dropped the hand to his knee.

"Oh, Tommy Lee, whatever were you thinking, to do a thing like that?" Her eyes were troubled, and the corners of her mouth tipped down as she turned toward him.

He remained silent for a long time, studying the contents of his glass while swirling it distractedly, bumping it against his kneecap. Then he captured her brown eyes with his own and spoke softly. "Remember how we used to dream about it?"

"Yes, I remember. But that was… years ago."

He went on as if she hadn't spoken, glancing lazily over his left shoulder at the lake. "It's right where we always said we'd like to live." She felt his eyes move back to study her profile. "And it has all the windows you said you wanted, and all the natural wood I said I wanted." He drew deeply on the cigarette. " And the master bedroom with enormous walk-in closets made of cedar, and the view of the lake, and the fireplace for winter, and the sliding doors and deck for summer." He pointed above their heads with the tip of the cigarette. "That set of steps leads directly down from the bedroom, right to the lake for midnight swims."