t was ten-thirty that night when Gray and Dr. Bogarde left the hospital in Baton Rouge. Gray’s eyes burned with fatigue, and he was numb from the emotional roller coaster he’d been on all day long. Monica had finally been stabilized and undergone surgery, and was sleeping peacefully, under sedation. She had gone into cardiac arrest soon after arriving at the hospital, but the emergency room team had gotten her heartbeat back almost immediately. She had been given four units of blood prior to surgery, and another two units in surgery. The doctor who had done the repair work thought there was no permanent damage in her right wrist, but she had severed a couple of tendons in her left wrist and might not regain full mobility there.

All that mattered to Gray was that she was going to live. She had awakened briefly when she was transferred from recovery to the private room he’d gotten for her, and had groggily murmured, "I’m sorry, Gray," when she had seen him. He didn’t know if she’d meant she was sorry she’d tried to kill herself, sorry that she hadn’t succeeded, or sorry that she had caused him so much worry. He chose to believe she meant the first possibility, because he couldn’t handle the thought that she might try again.

"I’ll drive," Dr. Bogarde said, reaching up to slap him on the shoulder. "You look like hell."

"I feel like hell," Gray rumbled. "I need a cup of coffee." He was just as glad to let Doc drive. His brain felt like a wasteland; it probably wouldn’t be safe for him to do the driving, and it was the doc’s car. His knees would still be sticking up under his chin, but at least he’d have room to breathe.

"I can manage that. There’s a McDonald’s a few blocks from here."

Gray folded and inserted himself, and thanked God that the Chrysler had a padded dashboard. If it hadn’t, his shins would have been black and blue.

Fifteen minutes later, with a large polystyrene cup of coffee gently steaming in his hand, he watched the streetlights of Baton Rouge slide past. Some of the happiest years of his life had been spent here, at LSU. He had prowled all over this city, a wild, energetic, perpetually homy kid on the hunt for action, and there was plenty of it. No one knew how to have more fun than a Cajun, and Baton Rouge was full of coon-asses. His four years here had been a ball.

It hadn’t been that long ago that he’d come home for good, only a couple of months, but it felt like a lifetime. This nightmarish, unending day had forever sealed away that high-spirited kid, leaving a definite line of demarcation between the two parts of his life. Gray had been growing up gradually, like most people, but today the full weight of adult responsibility had been dumped on his shoulders. They were broad enough to carry the load, so he’d braced himself and done what had to be done. If the man who emerged from the wreckage was grimmer and more ruthless than he’d been when he’d gotten out of bed that morning – well, if that was the price of survival, he’d gladly pay it.

More problems awaited him at home. Under these circumstances, most mothers would have had to be pried from their child’s bedside with a crowbar, but not Noelle. He hadn’t even been able to get her to the telephone. He’d talked instead to Oriane, who told him that Miss Noelle had locked herself in her bedroom and wouldn’t come out. At his instruction, Oriane had relayed the information that Monica would be all right, shouting it through the locked door. At least he had no fears that Noelle would try the same stunt Monica had pulled. He knew his mother too well; she was too self-centered to harm herself.

Despite the coffee, he dozed on the way home, and woke only when Dr. Bogarde stopped the car at the rear of the clinic. He’d left the top down on the Corvette, having more important things on his mind, so dew had collected on the seats. He’d have a wet ass on the drive home, and he was almost grateful. Maybe it would keep him awake.

"Will you be able to sleep tonight?" Dr. Bogarde asked. "I can give you something if you think you’ll need it."

Gray gave a short bark of laughter. "My problem will be staying awake until I get home." "In that case, maybe you’d better sleep here at the clinic." "Thanks, Doc, but if the hospital needs me, they’ll call me at home."

"All right. Be careful, then."

"I will." Gray swung his leg over the door of the ‘Vette and slid into the seat. Yep. A definite wet ass. The cool moisture made him shiver.

He left the top down, letting the air slap him in the face. The night smells were clear and sweet, fresher than when heated by the sun. As he left Prescott behind, the rural darkness closed in around him, soothing and protective.

One oasis of light disturbed the darkness, though. Jimmy Jo’s, the local roadhouse, was still booming. The gravel parking lot was crowded with cars and pickup trucks, the neon sign blinked in endless welcome, and the walls were thudding with the force of the music. As Gray neared, the black Corvette slicing through the night, a battered pickup shot out of the parking lot into his path, tires screeching as they grabbed for traction.

Gray stomped the brake pedal, bringing the ‘Vette to a sliding halt. The truck skidded sideways, almost overturned, then righted itself. His headlights caught the faces of the occupants, roaring with laughter as the one on the passenger side, waving a bottle of beer in his hand, leaned out and shouted something at Gray.

Gray froze. He couldn’t understand what had been shouted, but that didn’t matter. What mattered was that the occupants were Russ and Nicky Devlin, and that they were headed in the same direction he’d been going, toward Rouillard land.

The bastards hadn’t left. They were still on his property.

The rage built slowly. It was cold, but it was powerful. Oddly detached, he felt it come, starting at his feet and working up, as if transmuting the very cells of his body. It reached his abdomen and tightened the muscles, then filled his chest before spreading upward to explode in his brain. It was almost a relief, banishing the fatigue and mental fog, leaving his thought processes cool and precise even as all systems kicked into overdrive.

He turned the Corvette around and headed back toward Prescott. Sheriff Deese wouldn’t like being woken up this time of night, but Gray was a Rouillard, and the sheriff would do as he asked. Hell, he’d even enjoy it. Getting rid of the Devlins would cut the crime rate of the parish in half.

Faith hadn’t been able to relax all day. She had been almost sick with a sense of disaster and loss, unable to eat. Scottie, sensing her mood, had been whiny and fearful, continually clutching at her legs and getting in her way as she mechanically tried to do her chores.

After Gray had left that morning, Faith had numbly started packing, but Amos had slapped her on the side of the head and yelled at her not to be stupid. Renee might’ve gone off for a couple of days, but she’d be back, and old man Rouillard wouldn’t let that young son of a bitch run them out of their home.

Even in her misery, Faith wondered why Pa called Guy an old man, when he was a year younger than Pa.

After a while, Amos had gotten into his truck and gone in search of a drink. As soon as he was out of sight, Jodie darted into the bedroom and began going through Renee’s closet.

Faith followed her sister, and watched in bewilderment as she began tossing garments onto the bed. "What are you doing?"

"Mama won’t need these anymore," Jodie blithely replied. "Guy will buy her all new stuff. Why do you think she didn’t carry this with her? I can sure use it, though. She never would let me borrow any of her clothes." This last was said with a tinge of bitterness. She held up a tight yellow dress with sequins around the neckline. It had been oddly striking on Renee, with her dark red hair, but clashed horribly with Jodie’s carroty locks. "I had a hot date with Lane Foster last week and wanted to wear this, but she wouldn’t let me," she said resentfully. "I had to wear my old blue dress, and he’d seen it before."

"Don’t take Mama’s clothes," Faith protested, her eyes filling with tears.

Jodie gave her an exasperated look. "Why not? She won’t be needin’ them."

"Pa said she’ll come back."

Jodie hooted with laughter. "Pa don’t know his ass from a hole in the ground. Gray was right. Why on earth would she come back? Nan, even if Guy chickens out and goes running home to that ice cube he’s married to, Mama will get enough from him to keep herself real pretty for a long time."

"Then we’ll have to leave," Faith said, and a salty tear trickled down her cheek to puddle at the corner of her mouth. "We should be packing."

Jodie patted her on the shoulder. "Baby sister, you’re too innocent for your own good. Gray was mad as hell, but like as not, he won’t do anything. He was just shootin’ off his mouth. I think I’ll go see him, and maybe get the same kind of arrangement his pa had with Mama." She licked her lips, and a hungry look came over her face. "I’ve always wanted to find out if what he has in his britches is as big as I’ve heard it is."

Faith jerked away, jealousy slicing through her misery. Jodie didn’t have the sense to see that a snowball would have a better chance at surviving a Fourth of July picnic on the equator than she had of attracting Gray, but oh, how Faith envied her the gumption to try. She tried to imagine how powerful it would feel, to have the self-confidence to walk up to a man and be certain he found her attractive. Even when Gray turned Jodie down, it wouldn’t put a dent in her ego, because there were too many other boys and men panting after her. It would just make Gray more of a challenge to her.

But Faith had seen the cold contempt in his eyes that morning when he had surveyed the shack and its inhabitants, and shame had shriveled her soul. She had wanted to say, "I’m not like that," wanted him to look at her with admiration. But she was like that, as far as he was concerned, because she lived in this squalor.

Humming happily, Jodie took Renee’s gaudy rainbow of clothes into the back room, to try them on and put darts in the bodice, because Renee’s breasts were larger.

Barely choking back sobs, Faith grabbed Scottie by the hand and took him outside to play. She sat on a stump with her face buried in her hands while he pushed his little cars around in the dirt. Normally he would be happy doing that all day, but after about an hour he came over to her and curled up by her legs, and was soon asleep. She smoothed his hair, terrified by the faint blue tinge of his lips.

She rocked back and forth on the stump, her eyes stark with misery as she stared at nothing. Mama was gone, and Scottie was dying. There was no telling how much longer he could last, but she didn’t think it would be more than a year. As bad as things had been, at least there had been a kind of security, because things were the same day after day and she knew what to expect. Now everything had come apart, and she was terrified. She had learned how to get along, how to manage Pa and the boys, but nothing was going according to plan now and she was helpless. She hated the feeling, hated it with a ferocity that made her stomach knot.

Damn Mama, she thought rebelliously. And damn Guy Rouillard. All they had thought about was themselves, not their families, nor about the turmoil they would leave behind.

She hadn’t felt like a child in a long time. Responsibility had been pushed onto her frail shoulders at an early age, giving her eyes a solemn maturity that jarred with her youth, but now she acutely felt her lack of years. She was too young to do anything. She couldn’t take Scottie and leave, because she was too young to work and support them. She was too young even to live by herself, according to law. She was helpless, her life controlled totally by the whim of the adults around her.

She couldn’t even run away, because she couldn’t leave Scottie. No one else would look after him, and he was almost as helpless as an infant. She had to stay.

So she sat on the stump as the afternoon hours slid away, too miserable to go inside and do any of her regular chores. She felt as if she were on a guillotine, waiting for the blade to fall, and as evening approached the tension grew and stretched until every nerve ending felt raw and exposed, until she felt like screaming to shatter the waiting stillness. Scottie had awakened from his nap and played close by her legs, as if afraid to get too far from her.

But evening came, and the blade didn’t fall. Scottie was hungry, pulling at her, wanting to go in. Reluctantly Faith got up from the stump and took him inside just as Russ and Nicky left to go about their nightly carousing. Jodie dressed in the yellow dress she had coveted, and left too.

Maybe Jodie was right, Faith thought. Maybe Gray had just been blowing off steam, and hadn’t meant what he’d said. Maybe Guy had gotten in touch with his family sometime during the day, and somehow defused the situation. He could have changed his mind about leaving, and denied having Renee with him. Anything was possible.

No matter what, though, she didn’t expect Renee to come back. And without Renee, even if Guy did return to his family, there wouldn’t be any reason for him to let them stay on in the shack. It wasn’t much, but it was a roof over their heads, and it was free. No, it was no use hoping; she had to use her common sense. One way or another, maybe not right away but pretty soon, they were going to have to leave. If she knew Pa, though, he wouldn’t make a move to get out until he was forced. He would milk every free hour he could from the Rouillards.

She fed Scottie and bathed him, then put him to bed. For the second night in a row she had blessed privacy, and she hurried to take her own bath and put on her nightgown. But when she pulled out her precious book, she couldn’t concentrate enough to read. The scene that morning with Gray continually replayed itself in her mind, like film on a mental tape that just kept running. Every time she thought of that look of contempt in his eyes, pain expanded in her chest until she could barely breathe. She rolled over and buried her face in her pillow, fighting the hot tears. She loved him so, and he despised her, because she was a Devlin.

She dozed, exhausted by the restless night before and the trauma of the day. Always a light sleeper, as alert as a cat, she awakened and mentally checked the roll every time a member of the family came home. Pa came home first. He was drunk, of course, having gotten such an early start on the process, but for once he didn’t bellow for a supper that he wouldn’t eat anyway. Faith listened to his progress as he stumbled and lurched toward his bedroom. Moments later came the familiar, labored snoring.

Jodie came home about eleven, sullen and pouting. Her evening must not have gone as she had planned, Faith thought, but she lay quietly on her cot and didn’t ask. Jodie took off the yellow dress, wadded it up, and threw it into a corner. Then she flounced onto her own cot and turned her back.

It was an early night for everyone. The boys rolled in not long after, laughing and raising a ruckus, waking Scottie as usual. Faith didn’t get up, and soon things quieted down again.

They were all home, all except for Mama. Faith cried silently, wiping her tears with the thin sheet, and soon dozed again.

A huge crash brought her upright in the cot, confused and terrified. A bright light flashed in her eyes, blinding her, and a rough hand hauled her out of the cot. Faith screamed and tried to tear away from the painful grip on her arm, tried to dig in her heels and brace herself, but whoever it was jerked her off her feet as if she weighed no more than a child, and literally dragged her through the shack. Over her own terrified screams she could hear Scottie’s shrieks, hear Pa and the boys cussing and yelling, hear Jodie sobbing.

There was a semicircle of piercingly bright lights arranged out on the dirt yard, and Faith had a blurred impression of a lot of people, moving back and forth. The man holding her kicked open the screen door and shoved her outside. She tripped over the rickety steps and sprawled on her face in the dirt, her nightgown riding high on her legs. Rocks and grit skinned the hide from her knees and palms, and scraped a raw place on her forehead.

"Here," someone said. "Take the kid." Scottie was roughly deposited beside her. He was screaming hysterically, his round blue eyes blank and terrified. Faith scrambled to a sitting position, shoving her nightgown down over her legs, and gathered him into her arms.

Things were flying through the air, crashing and thudding all around her. She saw Amos, clinging to the doorframe as two men in brown uniforms bodily hauled him out of the house. Deputies, she thought, dazed. What were deputies doing out here, unless Pa or the boys had been caught stealing something? As she watched, one of the deputies cracked Amos’s fingers with his flashlight. Amos cried out and released the frame, and they tossed him into the yard. A chair came sailing out the door, and Faith ducked to the side. It hit the ground right where she had been, and splintered. Half crawling, with Scottie’s arms locked around her neck and dragging her down, she struggled toward the shelter of Pa’s old truck, where she huddled against the front tire.

Stunned, she stared at the nightmare scene, trying to make sense of it. Things were being tossed out windows, clothes and pots and dishes flying. The dishes were plastic, and made a huge clatter as they landed. A drawer of flatware was emptied out a window, the cheap stainless steel flashing in the lights of the patrol cars.

"Clean it out," she heard a deep voice growl. "I don’t want anything left inside."

Gray! The recognition of that beloved voice froze her, crouched there on the ground with Scottie clutched protectively to her. She found him almost immediately, his tall, powerful form standing with arms crossed over his chest, next to the sheriff.

"You ain’t got no call to do this to us!" Amos was bawling, trying to grab Gray by the arm. Gray shook him off with no more effort than if he’d been a pesky little dog. "You can’t throw us out in the middle of the night! What about my children, my poor little retarded boy? Ain’t you got no feelin’ at all, treatin’ a helpless child like that?"

"I told you to be out by nightfall, and I meant it," Gray snapped. "Gather up what you want to take with you, because in half an hour I’m setting fire to whatever is left."

"My clothes!" Jodie yelped, leaping out from between the safety of two cars. She began darting around the wreckage, grabbing up garments and discarding them when they proved to be someone else’s, draping her own over one shoulder.

Faith struggled to her feet with Scottie still clinging to her, desperation giving her strength. Their possessions were probably trash to Gray, but it was all they had. She managed to pry Scottie’s hands loose long enough for her to bend down and scoop up an armful of tangled clothes, which she tossed into the back of Amos’s truck. She didn’t know what belonged to whom, but it didn’t matter. She had to save as much as she could.

Scottie latched around her leg like a tick, determined to hang on. Hampered by him, Faith grabbed Amos’s arm and shook him. "Don’t just stand there!" she yelled urgently. "Help me get our things in the truck!"

He shoved her away, sending her sprawling. "Don’t tell me what to do, you stupid little bitch!"

She bounced up, not even feeling the extra bruises and scrapes, anesthetized by urgency. The boys were even drunker than Amos, staggering around and cussing. The deputies had finished emptying the shack now and were standing around, watching the show.

‘.’Jodie, help me!" She clutched at Jodie as her sister stormed past, crying because she couldn’t find her clothes. "Grab what you can, as fast as you can. We’ll sort it out later. Gather all the clothes, and that way you know yours wiil be there." It was the only argument she could think of to gain Jodie’s cooperation.

The two girls began darting swiftly around the yard, gathering up every item they came to. Faith worked harder than she ever had in her life, her slender body bending and weaving, moving so fast that Scottie couldn’t keep up with her. He followed in her path, sobbing hoarsely, his pudgy little hands clutching at her whenever she came within reach.

Her mind was numb. She didn’t let herself think, couldn’t think. She moved automatically, cutting her hand on a broken bowl and not even noticing. One of the deputies did, though, and gruffly said, "Here, girl, you’re bleeding," and tied his handkerchief around her hand. She thanked him without knowing what she said.

She was too innocent, and too dazed, to realize how the lights of the cars shone through the thin fabric of her nightgown, silhouetting her youthful body, her slim thighs and high, graceful breasts. She bent and lifted, each change of position outlining a different part of her body, pulling the fabric tight across her breast and showing the small peak of her nipple, the next time revealing the round curve of her buttock. She was only fourteen, but in the stark, artificial light, with her long, thick hair flowing over her shoulders like dark flame, with the shadows catching the angle of her high cheekbones and darkening her eyes, her age wasn’t apparent.

What was apparent was her uncanny resemblance to Renee Devlin, a woman who had only to walk across a room to bring most men to some degree of arousal. Renee’s sensuality was sultry and vibrant, beckoning like a neon sign to male instincts. When the men looked at Faith, it wasn’t her whom they were seeing, but her mother.

Gray stood silently, watching the proceedings. The rage was still there, still cold and consuming, undiluted. Disgust filled him as the Devlins, father and sons, staggered around, cussing and making wild threats. With the sheriff and his deputies there, though, they weren’t going to do anything more than shoot off their mouths, so Gray ignored them. Amos had had a close call when he’d pushed the youngest girl down; Gray’s fists balled, but she had jumped up, apparently unhurt, and he had restrained himself.

The two girls were rushing around, valiantly trying to gather up the most necessary items. The male Devlins took out their vicious, stupid frustrations on the girls, snatching things from their arms and throwing the items to the ground, loudly proclaiming that no goddamn body was going to throw them out of their house, not to waste time picking things up because they weren’t goin’ nowhere, goddamn it. The oldest girl, Jodie, pleaded with them to help, but their drunken boasting drowned out her useless efforts.

The younger girl didn’t waste her time trying to reason with them, just moved silently back and forth, trying to bring order to chaos despite the clinging hands of the little boy. Despite himself, Gray found his gaze continually seeking her out, and himself unwillingly fascinated by the graceful, feminine outline of her body beneath that almost transparent nightgown. Her very silence drew attention to her, and when he glanced sharply around, he noticed that most of the deputies were watching her, too.

There was an odd maturity to her, and a trick of the lights gave him the strange feeling that he was looking at Renee rather than her daughter. The whore had taken his father from him, driven his mother into mental withdrawal, and nearly cost his sister her life, and here she was again, tempting men in her daughter’s flesh.

Jodie was more voluptuous, but she was noisy and cheap. Faith’s long, dark red hair swirled over the pearly sheen of her shoulders, bared by the straps of that nightgown. She looked older than he knew she was, not quite real, an incarnation of her mother drifting silently through the night, every move like a carnal dance.

Unwillingly, Gray felt his shaft stir and thicken, and he was disgusted with himself. He looked around at the deputies and saw his response mirrored in their eyes, an animal heat that they should be ashamed of having for a girl that young.

God, he was no better than his father. Give him a whiff of a Devlin woman and he was like a wild buck in rut, hard and ready. Monica had nearly died today because of Renee Devlin, and here he was watching Renee’s daughter with his cock twitching in his britches.

She walked toward him, carrying a pile of clothes. No, not toward him, but toward the truck behind him. Her green cat eyes flickered at him, the expression in them hooded and mysterious. His pulse leaped, and the look of her broke his tenuous hold on his temper. The events of the day piled up on him and he lashed out with devastating fierceness, wanting the Devlins to suffer as he had suffered.

"You’re trash," he said in a deep, harsh voice as the girl drew even with him. She halted, frozen to the spot, with the kid still clinging to her legs. She didn’t look at Gray, just stared straight ahead, and the stark, pure outline of her face enraged him even more. "Your whole family is trash. Your mother is a whore and your father is a thieving drunk. Get out of this parish and don’t ever come back."