“Hello,” she called out. He didn’t say anything, just stood there, one of his big hands leisurely scratching the top of Duke’s head as his gray eyes watched her. She fought the apprehension weighing the pit of her stomach as she came to stand several feet before him. “I’m walking Henry’s dogs,” she said, and was again treated with silence and his steady, unfathomable gaze. He was taller than she remembered. The top of her head barely reached his shoulder. His chest was broader. His muscles bigger. The last time she’d stood this close, he’d turned her life inside out and changed it forever. She’d thought he was a knight in shining armor, driving a slightly battered Mustang. But she’d been wrong.

He’d been forbidden to her all her life, and she’d been drawn to him like an insect to a bug light. She’d been a good girl longing to be set free, and all he’d had to do was crook his finger at her and utter four words. Four provocative words from his bad-boy lips. “Come here, wild thing,” he’d said, and her soul had responded with a resounding yes. It had been as if he’d looked deep inside her, past the facade, to the real Delaney. She’d been eighteen and horribly naive. She’d never been allowed to spread her wings, to breathe on her own, and Nick had been like pure oxygen that went straight to her head. But she’d paid for it.

“They’re not as well behaved as Clark and Clara were,” she continued, refusing to feel intimidated by his silence.

When he finally did speak, it wasn’t what she expected. “What did you do to your hair?” he asked.

She touched her fingers to the soft red curls. “I like it.”

“You look better as a blond.”

Delaney’s hand fell to her side, and she lowered her gaze to the dogs at Nick’s feet. “I didn’t ask for your opinion.”

“You should sue.”

She really did like her hair, but even if she didn’t, she couldn’t very well sue herself. “What are you doing up here?” she asked as she leaned forward and snapped the leash on Duke’s collar. “Looting?”

“No.” He rocked back on his heels. “I never plunder on the Lord’s day. You’re safe.”

She looked into his dark face. “But funerals are fair game, right?”

A frown creased his forehead. “What are you talking about?”

“That blond yesterday. You treated Henry’s funeral like a pick-up bar. That was disrespectful and gauche, Nick. Even for you.”

The frown disappeared, chased away by a licentious smile. “Jealous?”

“Don’t flatter yourself.”

“Want the details?”

She rolled her eyes. “Spare me.”

“You sure? It’s pretty juicy stuff?”

“I think I’ll live.” She pushed one side of her hair behind her ear, then reached for Dolores.

Before she touched the dog, Nick reached out and grabbed her wrist. “What happened here?” he asked and cupped the back of her hand. His palm was big and warm and callused, and he lightly brushed his thumb across the scratch on her own palm. A surprising little tingle tickled her fingertips, then swept up her arm.

“It’s nothing.” She pulled away. “I scraped it climbing over a blowdown.”

He looked into her face. “You climbed over a blowdown in those shoes?”

For the second time in less than an hour, her favorite shoes were being maligned. “There’s nothing wrong with them.”

“Not if you’re a dominatrix.” His gaze slid down her body, then slowly climbed back up. “Are you?”

“Dream on.” She reached for Dolores again, and this time successfully clipped the leash on the dog’s collar. “Whips and chains aren’t my idea of a good time.”

“That’s a shame.” He folded his arms across his chest and leaned his butt against the tire well of the Jeep. “The closest thing Truly has to an experienced dominatrix is Wendy Weston, 1990 state champion calf roper and barrel racer.”

“Can you afford two women spanking your bum?”

“You could steal me away,” he said through a grin. “You’re better looking than Wendy, and you have the right shoes.”

“Gee thanks. Too bad I’m leaving tomorrow afternoon.”

He looked a little surprised by her answer. “Short trip.”

Delaney shrugged and pulled the dogs toward her. “I never intended to stay long.” She would probably never see him again, and she let her gaze roam the sensual line of his dark face. He was too handsome for his own good, but maybe he wasn’t as bad as she remembered. He would never pass for a nice guy, but at least he hadn’t reminded her of the night she’d sat on the hood of his Mustang. It had been ten years; maybe he’d mellowed. “Good-bye, Nick,” she said and took a step backward.

He touched two fingers to his brow in a mock salute, and she turned and headed back the way she’d come, dragging the dogs along with her.

At the top of the small hill, she glanced over her shoulder one last time. Nick stood just as she’d left him beside his Jeep, arms folded across his chest, watching her. As she stepped into the shifting forest shadows, she remembered the blond he’d picked up at Henry’s funeral. Maybe he’d mellowed, but she’d bet pure testosterone, not blood, ran through his veins.

Duke and Dolores tugged at their leashes and Delaney tightened her grasp. She thought about Henry and about Nick and wondered once again if Henry had included his son in his will. She wondered if they’d ever tried to reconcile, and she wondered what Henry had bequeathed her. For a few brief moments, she let herself imagine a gift of money. She let herself imagine what she could do with a chunk of cash. First, she’d pay off her car, then she’d buy a pair of shoes from some place like Bergdorf Goodman. She’d never owned an eight-hundred-dollar pair of shoes, but she wanted to.

And if Henry had left her a huge chunk a cash?

She’d open her own salon. Without a doubt. A modern salon with lots of mirrors, and marble, and stainless steel. She’d dreamed of her own business for quite a while now, but two things stood in her way. One, she hadn’t found a city where she wanted live for more than a couple of years. And two, she didn’t have the capital or the collateral to get the capital.

Delaney stopped in front of the fallen tree she’d climbed over earlier. When Duke and Dolores began to crawl beneath, she pulled on their leashes and took the long way around. Her wedgies teetered on rocks, and her toes were covered with dirt. As she trudged through a crop of buckbrush, she thought of bug bites and blood-sucking ticks. A shiver ran up her spine, and she pushed aside the thought of contracting Rocky Mountain spotted fever and replaced it with designing the perfect upscale salon in her head. She’d start out with five chairs, and stylists would lease space from her for a change. Since she didn’t like to give manicures and hated pedicures, she’d hire someone else to do it. She’d stick to what she loved: cutting hair, schmoozing, and serving her customers lattes. She’d start out charging her customers seventy-five dollars for a cut and blow-dry. A bargain for her services, and once she had a steady client base, she’d raise her prices on them gradually.

God bless America and a free market system where everyone had the right to charge whatever she wanted. That thought brought her full circle to Henry and his will. As much as she liked to dream about her own salon, she seriously doubted he’d left her money. Probably her gift was something he would know she didn’t want.

As Delaney carefully picked her way across Huckleberry Creek, the two dogs jumped in and splashed her with icy water. Henry had probably left her a gag gift. Something to torture her for a long time. Something like two unruly Weimaraners.


Downtown Truly boasted two grocery stores, three restaurants, four bars, and one recently installed traffic light. The Valley View Drive-In had been closed for five years due to lack of business, and one of only two beauty salons, Gloria’s: A Cut Above, had closed the month before due to Gloria’s unexpected demise. The three-hundred-pound woman had suffered a massive heart attack while giving Mrs. Hillard a shampoo and set. Poor Mrs. Hillard still had nightmares.

The old courthouse was located next to the police station and forestry service building. Three churches competed for souls, Mormon, Catholic, and born-again Christian. The new hospital had been built next to the combination elementary and middle school, but the most celebrated establishment in town, Mort’s Bar, was in the older section of Truly, on Main between Value Hardware and the Panda Restaurant.

Mort’s was more than a place to get tanked. It was an institution, famous for its cold Coors and array of antlers. Deer, elk, antelope, and moose decorated the wall above the bar, their magnificent racks adorned with bright panties. Bikinis. Briefs. Thongs. All colors, all signed and dated by the donor drunk. A few years back, the owner had nailed a jack-o-lope head next to the moose, but no respectable woman, drunk or sober, wanted her panties hanging from something as goofy-looking as a jack-o-lope. The head had been quickly moved to the back room to hang above the pinball machine.

Delaney had never been in Mort’s. She’d been too young ten years ago. Now as she sipped margaritas in a booth toward the back, she wondered at the attraction. Except for the wall above the bar, Mort’s was like a hundred other bars in a hundred other small towns. The lights were dim, the jukebox was constant, and the smell of tobacco and beer permeated everything. The dress was casual, and Delaney felt perfectly at home in a pair of jeans and a Mossimo T-shirt.

“Did you ever donate your undies?” she asked Lisa, who sat across the blue vinyl booth. Within minutes of meeting her old friend, the two had fallen into easy conversation, as if they’d never been apart.

“Not that I recall,” she answered, her green eyes alight with humor. Lisa’s easy smile and laughter had been what had drawn the two together in the fourth grade. Lisa had been carefree, her brunette hair always in a scraggly ponytail. Delaney had been uptight, her blond hair perfectly curled. Lisa had been a free spirit. Delaney had been a spirit longing to be free. They’d loved the same music and movies, and they’d loved to argue like sisters for hours. The two had balanced each other out.