Eight

Gaylynn had been rushing around all afternoon, trying to prepare for this novel occasion. Little had gone right. She’d planned a special meal, but her first attempt at preparing it had gotten sidetracked when Blue had stolen a chicken leg off the table.

Unfortunately, the rest of the chicken—which Gaylynn had been trying to fry—had practically gone up in flames when she’d somehow gotten too much flour into the hot skillet. It had been all she could do to prevent the fire from spreading before she’d smothered it with a lid. As it was, she’d burned two kitchen towels to a crisp. There was no saving the chicken.

In all the commotion, it was only natural that Gaylynn forgot all about the pie that was in the oven. By the time she realized where the rest of the smoke was coming from, it, too, was a goner.

By then the cabin had smelled as badly as if it had gone up in smoke instead of the hapless meal. Gaylynn had thrown open all the windows and hastily waved her large sketch pad in the hope of creating a breeze. As luck would have it, the stiff wind of yesterday had completely disappeared.

Frantic now because she had nothing else to cook for dinner, and she’d promised Hunter fried chicken, Gaylynn had called the Lonesome Cafe and Hazel’s Hash House to see if they had take-out fried chicken. The former was closed on Sundays and the latter only served chicken on weeknights. But Ma Battle always did up a batch of fried chicken on Sundays they’d told her.

A call to Ma Battle had confirmed that. Desperate, Gaylynn had offered to buy the dinner, but Ma Battle had insisted on donating it “to the cause” as she put it.

Her hair still in rag curlers—because there hadn’t been time to mess with a curling iron, and besides, she’d left it back in Chicago—Gaylynn had hopped into her trusty red car. only to have it stall on her twice on the way down the hill.

Then she’d had to wait at the one-way cement bridge while some idiot tried to fish off it. Recognizing “the idiot” as Boone Twitty, she impatiently beeped her horn to hurry him along. With a grin and a wave, Boone just kept right on reeling in the fish he’d caught.

She’d finally made it to Ma Battle’s and even managed to load all the goodies for dinner without spilling anything.

“You might try waving the platter of fried chicken in the air a few times to make the place smell like you’ve been cooking up a storm,” the older woman suggested with a twinkle in her eyes.

“It already smells like I’ve been cooking up—a firestorm,” Gaylynn replied in exasperation.

“And mess up the kitchen a mite to make it look like you slaved in it all day.”

“Trust me, the kitchen is already messed up,” Gaylynn declared. “I’m just lucky it didn’t burn to a crisp the way my dinner did.”

“Now don’t you worry none, that happened to me on more than one occasion when I was young,” Ma Battle said. “You just do what I did, smile sweetly and rub a little chicken grease behind one ear. Here’s the last of it,” she said, handing over a bowl of mashed potatoes. “I wrapped everything in aluminum foil to keep it hot for you.”

“But what are you going to eat?”

“Now don’t you worry about me none. I aim on eating the rest of the ham I made last night.”

“Thanks,” Gaylynn said, giving the woman a grateful hug. “You’re a real sweetie to help me out this way. You’re sure I can’t pay for it. ?”

“Nonsense. You and Hunter have a nice time.”

Gaylynn made it home by six-forty five. The dinner was safely covered on the counter; the cats were sacked out on the bed, their little and not-so-little tummies filled with a can of tuna fish.

Now it was time for Gaylynn to replace her work clothes with a very special outfit. The button-front jacquard dress was the essence of romance, or so the salesclerk had told her when Gaylynn had bought it last year. The tea-rose color suited her, while the cap sleeves and full, ankle-sweeping skirt made her feel elegant and confident.

Actually, she had no idea how the dress had ended up in her suitcase. It wasn’t something she’d planned on bringing, but somehow it had shown up in the tumble of casual clothes she’d tossed into her bag. Maybe it was destiny. Or even a bit of Rom magic. Whatever, the dress was perfect for what she had in mind for this evening. Seduction!

She’d barely tugged the dress over her head when she heard a knock at the front door. Oh, no, Hunter was early!

“I’ll be right there,” she called out. “Hold on a minute.”

Gaylynn had done her makeup before leaving for Ma Battle’s, thank goodness, but she still had those darned rag curlers wrapped up in her hair. Working at the speed of light, she undid them, letting her hair fall into curly disarray. Yanking up her long skirt, she dashed into the bathroom to check her appearance. It would have to do, she decided while hastily brushing her hair as best she could. The natural look was in, right?

Another knock on the door. “I’m coming,” she said.

As she passed by the Rom box, Gaylynn paused to open it and remove the medallion from inside. Feeling the need of a little courage, she pinned it on her dress for good luck before taking a deep breath and opening the door.

Hunter stared at her. Instead of looking at her with that customary gleam of humor in his eyes—which often made her wonder if he was laughing at her or trying to seduce her—his expression was one of astonished wonder.

Her heart sank. Had she gotten too dressed up for the occasion? Was she making a total idiot of herself? Were her intentions written all over her face as boldly as the lipstick she’d had to reapply four times before she’d gotten it on right?

Well, too bad if Hunter was astonished, she decided. She wasn’t about to back out now. Not after all the trouble she’d gone to!

Taking him by the arm, she tugged him inside—just in case he got any ideas of taking off. “You’re early.”

“You’re gorgeous,” Hunter said huskily, his mountain drawl even more apparent than usual.

Instead of being flustered by his compliment, Gaylynn gained courage from it. “Thank you,” she replied.

“Something smells good,” he added.

“The fried chicken?” she suggested hopefully.

“No, this smells more like.” He paused to sniff.

Don’t let him say burnt embers or charcoal, she prayed.

“Peaches,” he stated triumphantly.

“It might be the pie.” Ma Battle had added a peach pie along with the dinner.

Stepping closer, he murmured, “No, it’s your hair.”

Gaylynn had almost forgotten the peach shampoo and shower gel she’d used earlier. Apparently, it worked better on Hunter than Ma Battle’s suggestion of a little chicken grease might have, she noted with silent humor.

Seeing Gaylynn’s secret smile, Hunter was hardpressed not to yank her into his arms and kiss her senseless. She looked all peaches and cream in that dress. Her skin was slightly flushed, her lipstick glossy and wet—making him long to see if she tasted as goodas she looked.

But she was already bustling away toward the kitchen. “Dinner is ready now, if you’re ready to eat?” she asked.

“I’m ready,” Hunter muttered hoarsely.

She got the impression he wasn’t talking about eating. Good! Judging by his initial reaction to her appearance, step one in her seduction plan had worked. She’d made an impression, or at least the dress had. She’d deliberately left half the buttons on the dress’s full skirt undone, allowing her to flash a great deal of leg as she sauntered back and forth from the kitchen to place Ma Battle’s excellently prepared meal on the table.

“Is that everything we’ll need?” she asked, trying to remember if she’d forgotten anything.

Draping a paper napkin over his lap, as much to hide his reaction to Gaylynn’s shapely thighs as for etiquette’s sake, Hunter tried not to stare at her partially undone dress.

Should he mention the fact that half the buttons were unfastened? Was that his fault, because he’d surprised her by showing up a bit early? If so, he wasn’t about to point it out. She might take it into her head to button up those buttons, and frankly, he was enjoying the view much too much to have her do that at this point.

“Would you prefer a thigh or a breast?” she asked.

His eyes went from Gaylynn’s shapely legs to her equally shapely chest. The dress’s sweetheart neckline gave him a partial view of the shadowy valley between her breasts. His nostrils flared at the scent of peaches drifting from the warmth of her skin.

“Thigh or breast?” she repeated.

“Both look great,” he replied, his gaze remaining fixed on her body and not the food she was offering. “Downright mouthwatering, in fact.”

“I’m so glad you think so,” she said with a smile before bending over to slide two pieces of chicken on his plate—one breast and one thigh.

The possibility that she’d purposely left those buttons undone was definitely starting to occur to him. Was this her way of showing her appreciation for the way he’d supposedly helped her? Gaylynn had never been one to let a debt go unpaid.

“How’s your chicken?” she asked him.

He had to sample a bite before replying. “Fine. Great!”

“I’m glad you like it.”

“Tastes remarkably like Ma Battle’s fried chicken,” he said appreciatively. “And she makes the best fried chicken in the state.”

“Does she?” Feeling as if she was getting into slippery ground, she changed the subject. “So how was work today?”

“Fine. We had a little excitement last night, but then that’s to be expected on a Saturday night.”

Her heart sank. “What happened?”

“There was a call about a disturbance, a bunch of guys had a little too much to drink. They were in the middle of the street, shouting and arguing. Most of them dispersed when I showed up and told them to go on home, but one guy was being a real pain in the butt. The disturbance was in front of his house, so basically all he’d done was go stand in his front yard and keep yelling. I told him to go inside or I’d arrest him.”

“And then what happened?”

“He went inside, only to open the downstairs window, lean out and begin shouting obscenities again. Bragged about how he was safe because he was inside his house and no one could do anything about it. He was raising all kinds of Cain, waking all the neighbors up. Finally I’d had it.”

“What did you do?”

“Walked up to the guy, grabbed him by his shirtfront and dragged him out through the open window. ‘Appears to me you’re outside now,’ I told him, before arresting him.”

“Isn’t that illegal or something?”

“No, it’s happens once a month with this guy. It’s like a ritual we go through. It’s Bobby Ray’s idea of entertainment.”

Not knowing what to say, Gaylynn just smiled and fingered the medallion she wore. Her actions drew his attention once again to the sweetheart neckline of her dress. Touching the medallion lessened her uneasiness and increased her sassiness. Discreetly throwing back her shoulders, she leaned forward and huskily asked, “So, would you care for another breast?”

Hunter wondered what she’d do if he just reached out and caressed her breast. before cursing himself as a mannerless fool. She hadn’t fingered that strange pin she was wearing on purpose, had she? To get his attention? She was just being polite. Wasn’t she?

There was a certain gleam in her eye that made him wonder.

After dinner, she served coffee and slices of peach pie on the coffee table in front of the couch. She’d put a blue-and-white gingham cover over the piece of furniture, which made it look downright cozy. Despite that, there was no denying the fact that the center cushion was dented, rolling Hunter and Gaylynn toward each other. But for once she was glad of the couch’s strange idiosyncracies.

With every minute that passed, Gaylynn felt more and more confident about her decision to seduce Hunter. He was the man she’d been saving herself for all these years. In light of the embrace they’d shared in front of the library the other day, and his reaction to her tonight, she decided there was a darn good chance that he was attracted to her, as well.

Brushing her shoulder against his as she leaned forward to replace her coffee cup on the table, she was delighted to feel the heat of his body and the slight quickening of his breath.

She was getting to him! Hallelujah!

The distant sound of thunder reverberating across the mountains echoed the pounding of her heart.

“Do you still love thunderstorms like you did as a kid?” he asked her.

She nodded. “My father used to tell me that thunder was the sound of God snoring.”

Hunter just nodded, distracted as he was by the sight of her daintily licking a bit of peach syrup from her upper lip. She’d missed a spot. His self-discipline, which had been stretched to the limit all night, suddenly snapped.

Unable to resist a second longer, he reached out to wipe his index finger across the delicate curve of her lip. A moment later his mouth replaced his finger as he tenderly, yet fiercely, claimed her as his. The kiss was part possession, part pure passion.

Gaylynn welcomed his demands and returned them in equal measure. All the reasons why she shouldn’t be doing this were far outweighed by all the reasons why she should. This felt so right, perfect, meant-to-be.

The anticipation was building as the distant thunder rolled closer. Closer, too, rolled his fingers—over the curve of her breasts until he brushed his thumb across one rosy crest. She arched her back in excitement. Before she knew what had happened, with one smooth move he had her laid out on the couch.

Now they were pressed together from shoulder to thigh. The hunger continued to build and with it the need to be closer still. His tie was dispatched with first. The buttons on her dress came next. His prowling fingers then focused their attention on the front fastener of her lacy bra. Her gasp of undisguised pleasure coincided with the first brush of his fingertips against her now bare breasts. He caressed her gently, almost reverently at first.

Without further urging, her nipples hardened for him. Her response seemed to fascinate him, for he focused his attention on their rosy nubs, lowering his head to tease her with the wet tip of his tongue, before closing his lips around her. The sweet suction was nearly her undoing.

Imbedding her fingers in his thick hair, she pressed him to her. Ribbons of hot desire uncurled deep within her womb.

Something sharp dug into her back, so sharp there was no ignoring it. “Ouch!” she exclaimed.

Hunter immediately pulled her upright. “What’s wrong?”

Looking over her shoulder, she yanked at the offending item with one hand, while trying to hold her clothing in place with the other. “It’s a stupid pin. I guess it must have been left over from when I redid the couch cushion.” She felt like an idiot. “Nothing like having a pin burst your bubble, huh?” she muttered, her hair falling over her face and shielding her expression from his view.

“I wouldn’t say that. Things are definitely still all pumped up,” he assured her with a naughty grin. “Feel.” Gently taking her hand in his, he pressed it against his arousal.

“Hunter, make love to me,” she whispered as he kissed her again.

He paused, leaning far enough away to gaze into her eyes. “Are you sure that’s what you want? This isn’t just gratitude or something…”

“Why should I feel grateful to you?” she huskily demanded in between seductive kisses along the stubborn line of his jaw. “All you’ve done is get me all hot and bothered and then not done anything about it.”

With that, he tugged her off the couch and up into his arms.

Shrieking in surprise, she put her arms around his neck. Her dress was still open, her bra undone, leaving her breasts bare as she rubbed against his chest.

“Is that more romantic for you?” he asked. This time his smile was downright wolfish as he carried her into the bedroom.

The storm had sent the cats scampering from her bed to the dark safety of the closet, where they’d hid the last time there had been a storm like this.

Actually, there had never been a storm like this—the one raging inside of Gaylynn was unparalleled, proving to her that Hunter was the only man for her, the one she’d been waiting for all her life.

As he set her in the middle of the bed, Gaylynn remembered the package of latex condoms sitting bold-as-brass on the bedside table. Brett had sent them by overnight priority mail along with a note:

Your brother would probably shoot me if he knew I was sending these to you, but Lonesome Gap sounds small and I didn’t think you’d want to shop there for these. Remember, if you need to talk, I’m right at the other end of the phone.

Bessie probably would have had a heart attack had she known what was in the priority package she’d handed Gaylynn the day before.

As it was, Gaylynn was the one having a heart attack as Hunter stroked the palm of his hand from her shoulder to her navel. Her clothes, aside from her panties, were now gone—how had that happened? All that remained was the warmth of his skin against hers. She loved the feel of his hands on her. There was nothing like it, no words to explain it. Delicious. Better than anything she’d ever experienced before.

She wondered if touching him would feel as good. It did. She relished the freedom to explore, feeling as if she’d unlocked a treasure chest of wonders. The long indention of his spine, the curve of his shoulder, the contour of every muscle, the hard resilience of his flesh beneath her hands—all these filled her with awe. And raw excitement.

His shirt and slacks had gone the way of her dress, melting away, like the mists that flowed across the mountains. Thunder boomed overhead and lightning flashed through the white priscilla curtains she’d made to cover the window.

The lights in the living room went out, plunging the cabin into total darkness aside from the frequent flashes of lightning, but Gaylynn barely noticed because now nothing separated them. He trailed his hand over her hip, down her thigh, back up again before dipping into her. Just a butterfly-light probing to start. Seeing and feeling her pleasure, he increased his teasing seduction. One finger, then two, rubbing, pressing, sliding—driving her wild with yearning.

“Do you know the real danger in a storm like this?” he whispered in her ear, taking the time to nibble on her earlobe in between every third word.

“No, what?”

“Live wires.” He moved against her, showing her exactly what he meant.

“Really?” She took him in her hand, stroking his throbbing hardness with her loving fingers.

“Very live wires,” he growled, reaching over to grab the box of condoms.

The moment he was sheathed, she murmured, “I know where you can plug that in.” She reached for him and guided him to the moist entrance aching for him. “Right here.yes. oh!”

Their eyes met as his body merged with hers. He came into her with one powerful thrust, too late realizing the virginal barrier there.

She flinched at the brief moment of burning discomfort.

Hunter froze, his entire body rigid.

She could see the stunned disbelief on his face.

“Don’t stop now,” she whispered, lifting her hips when he would have withdrawn.

He would have asked questions but his mind wasn’t functioning. Her tightness surrounding him had shortcircuited his brain, leaving him on the brink of prematurely climaxing.

Drawing forth every ounce of willpower, he slowly moved within her, watching her face for any further sign of discomfort. Instead, he saw dawning realization, anticipation, increasing pleasure.

Using every ounce of skill and care at his command, Hunter tried to make it good for her. He lasted as long as he could. Unable to hold out any longer, he reached down to where they were joined, seeking the sensitive nub hidden in her nest of curls. Brushing it with his thumb, he watched and felt her reach her climax. The flush of color on her face, the wide-eyed look of passion, her dainty breathless scream gave him a thrilling sense of fulfillment even before he reached his own matching satisfaction.

“Shh, you’ll wake him up.”

After all that had happened the night before, Hunter couldn’t believe he’d fallen asleep.

He’d fully intended to talk to Gaylynn last night after they’d made love, but somehow, while trying to think of the right thing to say to her, he’d closed his eyes for a few minutes. The next thing he knew, it was morning.

Granted, he hadn’t gotten much sleep lately, what with the extra hours he’d been putting in at work, but still.

“Don’t jump on him,” Hunter heard Gaylynn caution.

A second later eight pounds of Siamese cat landed on top of him. Since he was lying on his back, Cleo came dangerously close to emasculating him as she dug in her claws through the top sheet in some feline show of revenge.

He jackknifed to an upright position, which did dislodge the cat but not before she used him as a launching pad, all twenty of her claws out.

“You scared her,” Gaylynn chastised him as Cleo went shooting past her into the living room.

“Yeah, well, the feeling was mutual,” he growled.

Mutual feeling. Was that what they’d shared last night? she wondered. She knew she loved him. But his feelings for her were still something of a mystery to her. Had it just been physical desire on his part?

“We need to talk,” he muttered, watching her with brooding eyes.

“Okay,” she said agreeably, sitting on the edge of the bed while she nibbled on a piece of rye bread toast slathered with apple butter.

He started by saying, “Why didn’t you tell me. Why haven’t you ever. ?”

“Celibacy is in, haven’t you heard?” she replied, shooting him a bold grin.

“I’m serious.”

“So am I. Believe me, there are a lot more of us virgins around these days.”

“Well, there’s one less virgin around today.”

“Yeah,” she agreed, munching on another bite of toast. “Are you hungry?”

Looking at her made him hungry all right, but not for food.

When he didn’t answer her question, she sighed and said, “Look, my birthday is only a month away. Maybe I just decided that I didn’t want to be a thirtyyear-old virgin.”

Hunter was not amused. “I don’t believe you. You’re not the kind of woman to share something like this with a man you don’t. love.”

The look on his face was not that of a man in love, a man who planned on spending the rest of his life with her, a man bent on marriage. The look on his face was that of a man with regrets. He said, “If I’d known you were a. that is, that you hadn’t…”

“The word is virgin,” she supplied in exasperation.

“Where do you think this. relationship…is going?” he abruptly demanded.

“Where do you think it’s going?” she countered.

“No place,” he replied. “I mean, you’ll be going back to Chicago soon and I’ll be staying here.”

“Right,” she said, even though it felt wrong. Very wrong. She and Hunter were meant to be together. But she couldn’t hit the man over the head with her declaration of love and make him return her feelings. But she could make sure he had no regrets about what they’d shared last night. And she’d do or say whatever it took to make sure that their lovemaking was not a one-time occurrence. “Look, let’s not complicate this any more than necessary, okay? No pressure. We’ll just enjoy each other’s company while we can.”

“Enjoy how?” he asked, wanting further clarification. “Like we did last night?”

She nodded, refusing to look away from the direct challenge in his eyes. “What do you say? Deal?” She held out her hand.

To her relief, he shook it. “Deal.”

But even as Hunter agreed, his inner feelings remained in a turmoil. He knew he felt more than just passion for Gaylynn, but was it love? Who could tell?

And then there was the undeniable fact that he was hardly a prize for a woman like Gaylynn—the smartest woman he’d ever known, someone who’d traveled around the world. His ex-wife had barely graduated from high school and she’d never left the city of Chicago until he’d brought her down to Lonesome Gap, a godforsaken flea-bitten hellhole, as she’d called it on her better days.

Granted, Gaylynn seemed to get a kick out of his little hometown; she thought it was quaint. For now. But that would eventually wear off, it always did with newcomers. They ended up moving someplace not so far off the beaten path, a town that was up-and-coming rather than one struggling to stay alive.

He could see that Gaylynn was rapidly recovering from the attack that had sent her fleeing to the sanctuary of these mountains. He’d been right when he’d thought that her condition of uncertainty and fear was only a temporary one, a natural reaction to the trauma she’d gone through. But already her inherent courage was returning. He could see it increasing every day. Hell, the fact that she’d taken it upon herself to seduce him was proof of that.

Not that he needed much seducing; he’d been fighting his feelings for her for some time now. Even so, Hunter was still sure that nothing would stop her from returning to her old life in Chicago. She’d just said so herself. He’d asked if she would be going back to her old life, and she’d said yes.

Gaylynn watched the shadows flickering in Hunter’s deep-set green eyes and wished she could do something to erase them. She didn’t want him feeling badly about what had happened. She’d had her eyes wide open when she’d started out last night. She hadn’t been naive enough to think that after they made love he’d fall to his knees and propose to her. She wasn’t even sure she wanted him to. This was all so new and fresh, she didn’t want to risk losing the happiness she had by examining it too closely.

Her fingers curled around his, reminding him that he was still holding on to her hand after their handshake of a minute ago. He couldn’t resist tugging her back down on top of him and kissing the apple butter from her lips.

When she was lying beside him, he murmured, “You have the most incredible eyes.”

“They’re just brown.”

He shook his head in disagreement. “Dark, liquid eyes are incredibly sexy, don’t you know that?”

“I’m rather partial to green eyes myself,” she admitted. She was so close to him that she could see the way his eyelashes cast shadows on his skin.

“How partial?” he asked, a devilish light entered his eyes.

“Why don’t you let me show you.”

“Where do you want me to put this one?” Boone asked Gaylynn as he carried yet another box of books into the library building. First, he’d had to step over Bo Regard, who’d taken to hanging out—or visiting, as the locals called it—on the threshold of the library.

“Let me just open the lid and see what we’ve got here.” Gaylynn replied.

“These are from the Rues’ basement,” Boone added, as if that might give her a hint of where, the books should go.

“Ah, these are the fiction hardcovers. Set the box down over near Stella there and she can unpack them and put therm on the shelf.”

Boone looked more than happy to comply with Gaylynn’s request.

“I ain’t seen anyone move that fast since Floyd was chased up a tree by a bear at the age of ten. Floyd was ten, not the bear,” Ma Battle felt the need to clarify. She was helping Gaylynn organize all the boxes of books that had been delivered so far, as well as make the important decision of where to place the card catalog. “Makes a body wonder if Stella Rue being such an attractive girl didn’t hurry Boone along some.”

Seeing the star-struck look on the young man’s face, Gaylynn couldn’t help wondering the same thing. Stella Rue had come in near the tail end of the clean-up operation on the Saturday before and had volunteered to help out where she could. She was a soft-spoken girl, with lots of freckles and a gentle manner. Gaylynn had liked her right away. So had Boone.

“No good can come of it,” Ma Battle said.

“Why’s that?” Gaylynn asked.

“Because Boone’s mama was a Montgomery, that’s why.”

“But his last name is Twitty.”

“Because his daddy was a Twitty. But his mama was a Montgomery.”

“Surely you don’t approve of this ongoing feud, do you?” Gaylynn asked the older woman.

“I try not to take sides,” she replied. “And you’d be best to do the same. Neither family is known for their quiet nature.”

“What are they known for?”

“For their great moonshine. But that was in the old days. Making fine whiskey was a fine art in those times,” she noted fondly, “but now it’s a lost art.”

“Why is that?”

“There are easier jobs to be had these days. I’m not saying moonshining has completely died out—there may be an odd one here or there—but the appreciation of moonshining for the quality of the product itself is a thing of the past.”

“You sound. as if you’re speaking with some authority.”

“I should. My granddaddy was one of the best moonshiners in the state. He used to bide the cases of moonshine in the load of corn he’d haul to the city. Truth was, there was lots more moonshine than ears of corn in his truck. Prohibition was in force at the time, making the demand for good whiskey real high.”

“Did he ever get caught?”

“No. But getting caught is what started the feud be. tween the Rues and the Montgomeries.”

“So I heard,” Gaylynn said. “But that was so long ago. Boone doesn’t seem to be holding on to any ill feeling toward Stella even though she is a Rue.”

“Boone’s thinking with his heart instead of his head. Bessie and Floyd would have a fit if they knew which way the wind was blowing.”

As the week progressed, the “wind” blew more and more in the direction of Boone and Stella being in the painful throes of young love.

Gaylynn knew because she recognized all the signs, being in the midst of them herself. Not that Hunter had ever looked at her with such a gaze of star-struck awe, although he’d come pretty close that night she’d sprayed a can of whipped cream all over his body and proceeded to lick it off. Yes, he had indeed appeared to be awed. So was she—by the power of her love for Hunter, which grew every moment of every day.

Even now, on a Saturday afternoon, surrounded by half a dozen kids, she still had a hard time keeping her mind off Hunter. The man was downright addictive!

“Teacher, which story are you gonna read us?” one of the children asked, tugging on the skirt of her lilac dress. The cotton knit was easy to clean and one she’d worn often to school back in Chicago. It made for a nice change from all the jeans and T-shirts she’d been wearing lately.

“I was just trying to decide which one to read first,” she replied. Resting on Gaylynn’s lap was something old and something new. The something new was a book Hunter had given her; the something old was a book of Gypsy folk tales that her parents had read to her when she’d been growing up.

Gaylynn had asked her mom to send it down to her. She vividly remembered how her mother had faithfully kept to the lines of the storybook, while her father had always elaborated and made up his own version of the story as he went along.

Looking at the table of contents, Gaylynn recognized so many of her childhood favorites—”The Bottle of Brains” being one of them. But for this first session she read them “The Golden Pear” about a sick king and his four sons and a magical Gypsy who told them to search for the golden pear that would cure him.

The tale was a big hit. She followed that folk story with a Cherokee one—”Why the Possum’s Tail Is Bare”—from a book donated by Hunter, who had read the story to her the night before. Her attention wandered momentarily as she dreamily recalled how, after Hunter finished reading, they’d started “making out,” as he’d put it, in front of the fireplace at his cabin.

“Aren’t you gonna read?” one of the children asked her with another tug on her skirt.

“Right.” And so she started reading the story, which talked about the dangers of vanity. “In days almost forgotten, the Possum had a beautiful, bushy tail that he was so proud of he would comb it every morning and brag about it. So much so that The Rabbit, who had no tail since the Bear pulled it out, became very jealous. He made up his mind to play a trick on Possum.”

The story was short, just the right length for the group of six-year-olds’ attention span. They were all laughing by the time she’d finished up by saying, “And afterward Possum was so surprised and ashamed that he could not say a word. Instead, he rolled over helpless on the ground and grinned as Possum does to this day when surprised.”

After Gaylynn had checked out a book to each child, she put the records in the wooden box that had been in use since the library’s opening days. She’d already typed up eighteen library cards on the old Remington typewriter that was an antique and was missing the letter Z Luckily, no one had a Z in their name so she’d managed.

There was no money to buy new books, but the collection, especially the children’s books, seemed like a solid one. She added the idea of writing out a grant application to her increasing mental list of things to do.

Once the children were gone, Gaylynn was alone in the building—aside from Boone and Stella, who were totally engrossed in each other. Ma Battle had said she’d stop by later to talk about the possibility of holding a literacy class at the library. Gaylynn could talk to her then about applying for private foundation or government grant money to keep the library going.

When Gaylynn reached over for her childhood storybook, a piece of paper fluttered to the floor. Apparently, it had been stuck in the back of the book.

Picking it up, she read it. “Fear impoverishes, while the acceptance of sorrow can enrich.”

The powerful words hit home. It was a Rom saying—she didn’t know how she knew that, but she did. And it was certainly one that applied to her. When she’d fled from Chicago, she’d been emotionally impoverished by her fear.

The simple beauty and steadfast presence of the mountains had replenished her soul. Along with that had come gradual peace of mind, and a sad acceptance of Duane’s death without the horrible weight of guilt and responsibility Gaylynn had felt before.

“Fear impoverishes,” she whispered, tracing the words with her fingertips. How had this piece of paper gotten into the book?

Her fingers strayed from the paper to the ribboned medallion she’d taken to wearing every day. Her smile went from reflective to appreciative as she remembered gaining courage from the medallion to seduce Hunter. In the end, it had been unclear who had been the seducer and who seducee—instead, it had been a mutual expression of passion.

On Gaylynn’s part, it had also been an expression of love.

Her gaze strayed over to Boone and Stella, who were shelving books in the nonfiction section. Actually, there was more whispering than working going on.

“Boone Twitty, you get your sorry self out here!” Gaylynn heard Floyd shout so loudly that even Bo Regard, who was lying across the threshold, jerked and paid attention. In fact, the bloodhound hightailed it into the library and hid under a reading table!

Getting up, Gaylynn went to see what all the commotion was about. She didn’t have to wait long. Floyd came barreling into the building. Or at least he tried to. So did another man, younger but equally as broad in the beam as Floyd. The result being that both men bounced off the doorframe and had to start again. They ended up bursting into the room like a cork pulled from a bottle.

“Uh-oh, trouble’s a’brewin’,” Gaylynn murmured like a native.