"I couldn't say." Because it was the literal truth, the pounding in his head increased.

"You'd think the man would want to see his son now and again, wouldn't you? They've been here close on four months now. You'd think he'd want to come around and visit a fine-looking boy like that."

"You'd think," Jared said, careful now.

"'Course, some men just don't give two hoots, much less a holler, about their children. Like Joe Dolin." Her cheerfully homely face puckered up on the name. "I'm happy as I can be you're handling Cas-sie's divorce and making it smooth for her. Mostly they're not smooth—I know when my sister's second boy got his, the feathers flew. I'd wager Savannah Morningstar's divorce was a rough go."

Oh, no, you don't, he thought. He wasn't going to give her any fuel by saying there'd never been a divorce, since there'd never been a marriage. "She hasn't mentioned it."

"You used to be more curious, Jared." Before he could snarl at her, she beamed a smile at him. "And just look at you now, a lawyer carrying a briefcase. I've come up to watch you in court a time or two."

His anger with her deflated. "Yes, I know." He'd seen her there, in her large flowered dress and sensible shoes. Like his own personal cheering section.

"Better'n watching Perry Mason, that's what I told Mr. Metz. That Jared MacKade's better'n Perry Mason. Your folks would be right proud of you. And here we thought the lot of you would never be on the right side of the law." She found that so funny, she almost doubled over with laughter. "Lord, you were bad, boy. Don't think I don't know who blackened my Pete's eye after the spring dance in high school."

The memory was very sweet. "He tried to muscle in on my girl."

"Sharilyn got around in those days. It was Sharilyn in high school, wasn't it?"

"Briefly."

"Anyway, she got around, and so did you, as I recall. Girls always fluttering around you and your brothers. Young Bryan's mother must be right pleased to have hooked herself a MacKade, and I got to say, the three of you look real nice together. I got a feeling your mama would've taken to that girl."

"Yeah." Jared felt a clutching in the stomach. What would his mama have said about a woman like Savannah?

He thought about it on the way home, and it added weight to his headache. If his mother were alive, how would he explain Savannah? Unwed mother, erotic dancer, carnival worker, calf roper, street artist.

Pick one, he thought, and rubbed at his temple.

The problem was, he could imagine it all, could see her in each stage of her evolution. And it was too easy to see how each layer was part of the whole that was the woman who was waiting for him.

He was tempted to stop off at Rafe's, or go straight to the farm. Just to prove he could. That Bryan's mama didn't have her hooks in him. But he turned up her lane, because it seemed that anything less would be cowardly.

No MacKade was a coward.

She was playing the music at full volume again. Usually it amused him, the way she would crank up that old stereo and blast rock out over the hills. Now he sat in the car, rubbing his aching head.

He walked to the porch, his heavy briefcase weighing him down. Though the screen door he could see her back in the kitchen, washing dishes, singing along with the stereo in a lusty, throaty voice that would sizzle a man's blood. Her hips were grinding to the beat.

She sure knew how to move, he thought, jealousy and temper slashing through him at the same time the first flash of lightning blazed in the west.

Before he could stop himself, he'd slammed the door behind him. Like a pistol shot, it boomed over the music. She swung around, her loose hair following the flow of her movement.

"You want to turn that damn thing down?" he shouted.

"Sure." Hips still rotating, she sauntered over and flipped it off. "Sorry, didn't hear you drive up."

"You wouldn't have heard a freight train drive up."

She only lifted a brow at the edge in his voice and wiped her damp hands on tight jeans. "Rough day?"

He stalked over, dropped his briefcase on the table where the daisies he'd brought her a few days before still smiled sunnily. "Is that how you danced for money?"

The blow was so quick, so sudden and sharp, she couldn't even gasp. It shivered through her once, viciously, before she gathered herself and rolled over the pain. "No. I wouldn't have made much, if that's all I'd put into it." She walked to the refrigerator for a beer she didn't want, because if there was something in her hands they might not shake. "Want one?"

"No. Didn't it bother you, being stared at, drooled over?"

"Not especially." She look a slow, deliberate swallow of beer.

"So you enjoyed it." He was prodding, very much as he would prod a witness who'd been sworn in. "Enjoyed the dancing, the staring, the drooling."

"It paid the rent. Men liked to look at my body, and I figured they could pay for it."

"And if they'd pay to look, they'd pay to—" He broke off, staggered by what had nearly come out of his mouth. He'd had no idea it was in there.

She didn't so much as flinch. This time, it wasn't unexpected. "Now that you brought it up—" her shoulders moved in a lazy, careless shrug "—I thought about it. There was a time that that was all I had to bargain with, so I thought about selling myself."

The horrified apology that was on the tip of his tongue dried up. "And did you?"

She stared at him, her eyes cool and blank. "I'm going up to say good-night to my son." Her eyes went from cool to ballistic when Jared snagged her arm. "Don't mess with me, MacKade. Stay or go, it's up to you, but don't mess with me."

She jerked free and strode quickly up the stairs.

He wanted to break something. Preferably something sharp that he could stab himself with afterward. Instead, he ripped open the box of aspirin, fought off the lid, then downed three with what was left of her beer.

Upstairs, Savannah settled Bryan in for the night. When she'd closed his door, she locked herself in the bathroom, where she could bathe her hot face over and over again with frigid water.

How stupid she'd been, she thought, berating herself. How blind, not to have seen what he was holding back. How careless, not to have built a defense against what he thought of her, underneath it all.

She would build one now, she promised herself. She would not allow herself to be hurt by the questions he asked, or the ones that were in his eyes. She would not, she swore she would not, allow him to make her feel ashamed of the answers.

She had fought too long and too hard to let anyone make her feel less than what she was.

But, though she tried, she couldn't find that place inside herself, that quiet, untroubled place where she could escape.

It seemed he could follow her there.

Methodically she dried her face and tidied the sink. All the while, she listened for the sound of his car leaving. But there was nothing but the crack of lightning, the mumble of thunder, and the mutters of old ghosts.

He was at the kitchen table when she came back down, his papers spread out. He slipped his glasses off when she hesitated, but she turned her back on him and walked outside to wait for the storm.

It came slowly from the west, and built. Like temper simmering. The wind kicked up and sent the trees waving. The roar of it—rain, wind, thunder—rolled over the hills, screamed through the woods and exploded.

There was a smell of ozone in the air. A magic smell. A violent smell. Savannah threw her head back and drew it in. When the wind lashed the rain under the shelter of the porch to slap at her face, she stayed where she was. When lightning flashed so close it seemed to singe the trees, she welcomed it.

At length, Jared put his work aside and walked out to her. She was drenched, hair dripping, shirt clinging. The air was cool, but she wasn't shivering. Finally she turned, leaned back against the post and crossed her bare feet at the ankles.

"Something else on your mind?"

He'd taken off his tie and rolled up his sleeves, but he was feeling very much like a lawyer. "The question was crudely put," he began, despising the measured tone of his own voice. "I apologize for that. But not for wanting an answer. I'm asking you if you prostituted."

"That's what's called rephrasing the question. Right, Counselor?"

"I have a right to know."

"Why?"

"Damn it, I'm sleeping with you. I'm all but living with you."

As her stomach clutched and twisted, she angled her head. "Have I charged you anything, Ace?" Her eyes flashed a warning as he stepped toward her. "Don't put your hands on me now. You've got a nerve, MacKade, waltzing in here like it all belonged to you, tossing my past up in my face like you were part of it. Well, it doesn't all belong to you, and you weren't a part of it."

He stepped closer, until he was toe-to-toe with her. The storm flashed and burned in him, around him. "Yes or no."

When she started to shove him aside, he pressed her back, grabbed her chin in his hand. She bared her teeth, and her eyes shot daggers at him.

"You think I want to know? I have to know, and I'm prepared to deal with whatever the answer is. Because I'm in love with you.'' He jerked her chin higher. "I'm in love with you, Savannah."

Her eyes filled, overflowed so quickly his fingers went numb from the shock. She reared back and shoved him with all her strength. "This is how you tell me?" she shouted. "Were you a whore, Savannah, I love you? Well, go to hell, Jared. I won't have you cheapening what I feel for you. I hate that you'd make me feel cheap when I hear it, when I tell you what I wasn't sure you wanted to hear from me. I love you so much I'd settle for anything you gave me. Even this."