ecember 1973

The bells ringing in Matt Farrel's brain were overwhelmed by the increasing thunder of his heart as he buried himself full-length into Laura's eager, demanding body, driving into her as she rode him hard, her hips forcing him deeper. She was wild... close to the edge.... Bells began to clang rhythmically. Not the melodious bells from church steeples in the center of town, or the echoing bells of the fire station across the street.

"Hey, Farrell, you in there?" Bells.

He was definitely "in there." In her, close to exploding. Bells.

"Dammit, Farrell..." Bells. "Where the hell"—bells —"are you?" It seeped through his mind then: Outside by the gas pumps, someone was jumping on the hose that rang inside the service station and shouting his name.

Laura froze, a low scream in her throat. "Oh my God, there's someone out there." Too late. He couldn't stop, wouldn't stop. He hadn't wanted to start this here, but she'd insisted and enticed, and now his body wouldn't heed the threat of intrusion. Clasping her rounded buttocks, he yanked her down, drove up into her, and finished. A pulse beat of rest, and then he rolled to a sitting position, gently but hurriedly pushing her off. Laura was already tugging her skirt down and adjusting her sweater. He shoved her behind a stack of retreads and stood up just as the door opened and Owen Keenan strode into the gas station service bay, scowling and suspicious. "What the hell is goin' on in here, Matt? I been hollerin' the place down."

"I was taking a break," Matt replied, combing his hands through his dark hair which was ruffled from Laura's eager caresses. "What do you want?"

"Yer pa's drunk down at Maxine's. Sheriff's on his way. If you don't want him spending the night in the drunk tank, you better get to him first."

When Owen left, Matt picked up Laura's coat from the floor, where they'd lain on it, then dusted it off and held it while she put her arms into the sleeves. She'd had a friend drop her off there, he knew, which meant she'd need a ride. "Where did you leave your car?" he asked.

She told him and he nodded. "I'll take you to your car before I go rescue my father."

Christmas lights were strung across the intersections as Matt drove down Main Street, their colors blurring in the falling snow; at the north end of town, a red plastic wreath hung above the sign that said WELCOME TO EDMUNTON, INDIANA, POP. 38,124. From a loudspeaker provided by the Elks Club, "Silent Night" blared out its tune colliding with the notes of "Jingle Bells" pouring out of a plastic sleigh on the roof of Horton's Hardware.

The softly falling snow and Christmas lights did wonders for Edmunton, lending a Norman Rockwell aura to what was, in harsh daylight, a small town perched above a shallow valley where clusters of stacks rose from the steel mills and spewed perpetual geysers of smoke and steam into the air. Darkness cloaked all that; it hid the south end of town, where neat houses gave way to shacks and taverns and pawnshops, and then to farmland, barren in the winter.

Matt pulled his pickup truck into a dark corner of the parking lot beside Jackson's Dry Goods Store, where she'd left her car, and Laura slid next to him. "Don't forget," she said, wrapping her arms around his neck. "Pick me up tonight at seven, at the bottom of the hill, and we'll finish what we started an hour ago. And Matt, stay out of sight. Daddy saw your truck down there the last time and started asking questions."

Matt looked at her, suddenly disgusted with his sexual attraction to her. She was beautiful, rich, spoiled, and selfish, and he knew it. He'd let himself be used as her stud, let himself be conned into clandestine meetings and furtive gropings, let himself descend to lurking around at the bottom of the hill instead of going up to the front door, as her other—acceptable—dates undoubtedly did.

Other than sexual attraction, they had absolutely nothing in common. Laura Frederickson's daddy was Edmunton's richest citizen, and she was in her freshman year at an expensive eastern college. Matt worked in a steel mill during the day, moonlighted as a mechanic on weekends, and went to night school at the local branch of Indiana State University.

Leaning across her lap, he opened the truck door, his voice hard and implacable. "Either I pick you up at your front door tonight, or you'd better make other plans for the evening."

"But what will I tell Daddy when he sees your pickup in the drive?"

Coldly impervious to her stricken look, Matt said sardonically, "Tell him my limousine is in the shop for repairs."