The other threats-about the newspaper and the sheriff, the hint about informing the grandfather-simply reinforced the bluff. He knew that Clayton was searching for the disk because he believed Thibault could use it against him. It was either because of his job or because of his family, and a few hours researching the illustrious family history in the library on Sunday afternoon had been enough to convince Thibault that it was probably a bit of both.

But the problem with bluffs was that they worked until they didn't. How long would it be until Clayton called it? A few more weeks? A month? More than that? And what would Clayton do! Who could tell? Right now, Clayton thought Thibault had the upper hand, and Thibault had no doubt that was only enraging Clayton even further. In time, the anger would get the better of him and Clayton would react, to either him, Elizabeth, or Ben. When Thibault didn't follow through in the aftermath and produce the disk, Clayton would be free to act as he pleased.

Thibault still wasn't sure what to do about that. He couldn't imagine leaving Elizabeth… or Ben and Nana, for that matter. The longer he stayed in Hampton, the more it felt to him like this was the place he belonged, and that meant he had to not only watch out for Clayton, but avoid the man as much as possible. He supposed his hope was that after enough time, Clayton would simply accept the matter and let it rest. Unlikely, he knew, but for now, it was all he had.

"You look distracted again," Elizabeth said, opening the screen door behind him.

Thibault shook his head. "Just tired from the week. I thought the heat was hard, but at least I could dodge some of that- There's no avoiding the rain."

She took a seat beside him on the porch swing. "You don't like being drenched?"

"Let's just say it's not the same as being on vacation."

"Well, I'm sorry."

"It's okay. And I'm not complaining. I really don't mind it most of the time, and it's better me getting wet than Nana. And tomorrow's Friday, right?"

She smiled. "Tonight I'm driving you home. No arguments this time."

"Okay," he said.

Elizabeth peeked in the window before turning her attention to Thibault again. "You weren't lying when you said you could play the piano, right?"

"I can play."

"When was the last time you played?"

He shrugged, thinking about it. "Two or three years ago."

"In Iraq?"

He nodded. "One of my commanding officers was having a birthday. He loved Willie Smith, who was one of the great jazz pianists of the 1940s and 1950s. When word got out that I knew how to play, I got roped into doing a performance."

"In Iraq," she said again, not hiding her disbelief.

"Even marines need a break."

She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "I take it you can read music."

"Of course," he said. "Why? Do you want me to teach Ben?" She didn't seem to hear him. "How about church? Do you ever go?" For the first time, he looked at her.

"I'm getting the sense there's more to this conversation than simply the two of us getting to know each other better."

"When I was inside, I heard Nana talking on the phone. You know how much Nana loves the choir, right? And that she just started to sing solos again?"

He considered his response, suspicious of where this was going and not bothering to hide it. "Yes."

"Her solo this Sunday is even longer. She's so excited about it."

"Aren't you?"

"Kind of." She sighed, a pained expression on her face. "It turns out that Abigail fell yesterday and broke her wrist. That's what Nana has been talking about on the phone."

"Who's Abigail?"

"The pianist with the church. She accompanies the choir every Sunday." Elizabeth started to move the swing back and forth, staring out into the storm. "Anyway, Nana said she'd find someone to fill in. In fact, she promised."

"Oh?" he said.

"She also said that she already had someone in mind."

"I see."

Elizabeth shrugged. "I just thought you'd want to know. I'm pretty sure Nana will want to talk to you in a few minutes, but I didn't want her to blindside you. I figured it would be better if I did it."

"I appreciate that."

For a long moment, Thibault said nothing. In the silence, Elizabeth put a hand on his knee. "What do you think?"

"I'm getting the sense I don't really have a choice."

"Of course you have a choice. Nana won't force you to do it."

"Even though she promised?"

"She'd probably understand. Eventually." She placed a hand over her heart. "Once her broken heart healed, I'm sure she'd even forgive you."

"Ah," he said.

"And most likely it wouldn't make her health any worse, either. What with the stroke and all and the disappointment she'd feel. I'm sure she wouldn't end up bedridden or anything."

Thibault cracked a smile. "Don't you think you're overdoing it?"

Elizabeth's eyes sparkled with mischief. "Maybe. But the question is, will you do it?"

"I suppose."

"Good. And you know you're going to have to practice tomorrow."

"Okay."

"It might be a long rehearsal. Friday rehearsals are always long. They really love their music, you know."

"Great," he said, and sighed.

"Look at it this way: You won't have to work in the rain all day."

"Great," he said again.

She kissed him on the cheek. "You're a good man. I'll be si-fcndy cheering for you in the pews." Thanks."

"Oh, and when Nana comes out, don't let her know I told you."

"I won't."

"And try to be more excited. Honored, even. Like you couldn't imagine that you'd ever be offered such a wonderful opportunity."

"I can't just say yes?"

"No. Nana will want you to be thrilled. Like I said, it means a lot to her."

"Ah," he said again. He took her hand in his. "You do realize you simply could have asked me. I didn't need the whole guilt-inducing story."

"I know," she said. "But it was a lot more fun to ask the other way."

As if on cue, Nana stepped outside. She flashed a quick smile at both of them before wandering to the railing and turning toward him.

"Do you ever play the piano anymore?" Nana asked. It was all Thibault could do not to laugh.

Thibault met with the music director the following afternoon, and despite her initial dismay at his jeans, T-shirt, and long hair, it didn't take long for her to realize that Thibault not only could play, but was obviously an accomplished musician. Once he'd warmed up, he made very few errors, though it helped that the chosen musical pieces weren't terribly challenging. After rehearsal, when the pastor showed up, he was walked through the service so he'd know exactly what to expect.

Nana, meanwhile, alternately beamed at Thibault and chattered away with her friends, explaining that Thibault worked at the kennel and was spending time with Beth. Thibault could feel the gazes of the women sweep over him with more than a little Interest and, for the most part, approval.

On their way out the door, Nana looped her arm through his. "You were better than a duck on a stick," she said.

"Thanks," he said, mystified.

"Are you up for a little drive?"

"Where?"

"Wilmington. If we go now, I think I can have you back in time to take Beth to dinner. I'll watch Ben."

"What am I going to buy?"

"A sport jacket and chinos. A dressier shirt. I don't mind you in jeans, but if you're going to play the piano at the service on Sunday, you're going to need to dress up."

"Ah," he said, recognizing at once that he had no choice in the matter.

That evening, while dining at Cantina, the only Mexican restaurant downtown, Elizabeth stared over her margarita at Thibault.

"You know you're in like Flynn now," she said.

"With Nana?"

"She couldn't stop talking about how good you were, and how polite you were to her friends, and how respectful you sounded when the pastor showed up."

"You make it sound like she expected me to be a troglodyte."

She laughed. "Maybe she did. I heard you were covered in mud before you went."

"I showered and changed."

"I know. She told me that, too."

"What didn't she tell you?"

"That the other women in the choir were swooning."

"She said that?"

"No. She didn't have to, but I could see it in her face. They were. It's not every day a young and handsome stranger comes into their church and dazzles them on the piano. How could they not swoon?"

"I think you're probably overstating things."

"I think," she said, dabbing her finger on the rim of her glass and tasting the salt, "that you still have a lot to learn about living in a small southern town. This is big news. Abigail has played for fifteen years."

"I'm not going to take her spot. This is temporary."

"Even better. It'll give people a chance to pick sides. They'll talk about it for years."

"This is what people do here?"

"Absolutely," she said. "And by the way, there's no faster way to get accepted around here."

"I don't need to be accepted by anyone but you."

"Always the sweet talker." She smiled. "Okay, how about this? It'll drive Keith crazy."

"Why?"

"Because he's a member of the church. In fact, Ben will be with him when he sees you. It'll kill him to see how much everyone appreciates the way you pitched in to help."

"I'm not sure I want him any angrier. I'm already worried about what he's going to do."

"He can't do anything. I know what he's been up to."

"I wouldn't be so sure," Thibault cautioned.

"Why do you say that?"

Thibault noted the crowded tables surrounding them. She seemed to read his mind and slid out from her side of the booth to sit beside him. "You know something you're not telling me," she whispered. "What is it?"