he next morning, Hope sipped coffee and stared blurry-eyed at her monitor. She scrolled through her e-mail and opened a letter from her editor, Walter. He loved the alien story and wanted more, which was perfect, since she already had an idea for an article on alien wilderness guides. At the end of the e-mail, he warned her that Myron Lambardo had contacted the paper and wanted to know where she was living. He’d obviously discovered she wasn’t living in her condo, which also meant that he’d violated the restraining order.

Hope decided to do nothing about it for now. She wasn’t worried. No way could Myron find her. He wouldn’t even think to look in the wilderness of Idaho.

She set her cup on the table and got busy. Her fingers tapped furiously for half a page, then stilled. The image of Dylan standing behind her, his hands cupping her breasts, entered into her head and stopped her cold. She tried to push aside the memory and get her mind back to work, but she couldn’t. He was there and he was staying, blocking her creative flow.

There was only one thing to do. Wait it out. She opened a small vanity case and reached for a bottle of fingernail polish remover and a bag of cotton balls. She conditioned and cut her cuticles and painted her nails mauve because she was in a mauve mood. Not really bright and cheery, but not dark, either. In between and kind of uncertain. Like her life.

While she painted, she carefully looked over the information she’d gathered on Hiram Donnelly. As far as she could tell, the old sheriff had been into dominance and submission. During the day he’d been a control freak, but at night he’d liked to be dominated. From the information she’d read, outside of what was considered normal sexual behavior, D and S wasn’t all that unusual a fetish. In fact, powerful men and women were the staple crop behind every successful dominatrix.

She also read reports and academic theories on why certain men were attracted to being dominated, but writing an article on the psychology and pathology of fetishes wasn’t what she wanted. She was much more interested in the man who’d managed to get himself elected sheriff of a conservative town for over twenty years, while secretly fantasizing about sexual deviance that finally consumed him.

When Hope’s nails were dry, she called across the street and checked up on Shelly. Paul told her Shelly was asleep but that she might be awake in a few hours, so to come over around noon. Since it was only ten Hope had hours to kill and painted her toenails, too. She thought about the aliens in her feature and the many possibilities for future stories. She thought about whether she should query magazines before she wrote her piece on Hiram Donnelly or just write it first. But mostly she thought about Dylan and what he’d said about living like a priest. She just couldn’t imagine a guy like him on the wagon.

She thought about how he looked at her, the desire in his eyes and in the rough texture of his voice that wrapped her up and warmed her all over. She’d tried to attach meaning to every smile, every word, every touch. She liked to think he cared about her a little, but she didn’t know. And the fact was, except for liking him personally and craving him physically, she didn’t know how she felt. Beyond loneliness and their undeniable attraction to one another, she couldn’t say they had anything in common. She didn’t even know if she would see him today or tomorrow or not again until next week.

Did she want more? Did he?

She thought about Dylan’s ex-wife, too. If the woman was really a waitress, she wondered why Adam couldn’t talk about what she did for a living.

Except maybe... she was a topless waitress. One of those women who worked in gentlemen’s clubs. That would explain why Dylan might not want his son mentioning his mother’s profession to anyone. Small towns could be closed-minded about that sort of thing.

At noon, Hope knocked on her neighbor’s door, and Paul showed her into the living room, where Shelly sat in a recliner wearing her blue chintz robe.

Her hair stuck up on her head like red springs and one hand was bandaged, so that just the tips of her fingers stuck out. Hopped up on painkillers and lack of sleep, Shelly was a bit rummy and feeling very sorry for herself. She didn’t want Hope’s offer of lunch, but she took one look at Hope’s fingernails and decided she’d have a manicure instead.

While Paul retreated to his bedroom for a nap, Hope ran back to her house and grabbed her vanity case. When she returned, she sat on a stool next to Shelly’s recliner and carefully conditioned and cut the cuticles on all ten fingers. While she gingerly filed the nails into perfect crescent moons, she listened to Shelly talk about last night’s drama. The house was unusually quiet and she wondered where Wally and Adam were.

“How were the little boys last night?” Shelly finally got around to asking. She set the vanity case on her lap and pawed through the rows of fingernail polish with her good hand.

“Pretty good, but they like to hit each other a lot,” Hope answered. She gently blew dust from Shelly’s fingers, then added, “And pass gas.”

“Yeah, boys’ll do that.” Shelly pulled out a bottle of Hot Pants Pink and handed it to Hope. “I like this. It looks like something a hooker would wear.”

It didn’t, but Hope didn’t want to argue. “Where are Wally and Adam?”

“Dylan hired one of the Raney girls to watch them over at his house today. He thought I could use the rest.”

“That was nice of him.” Hope took out a bottle of clear polish. “I imagine he’s really tired, too,” she said as she gave Shelly’s nails a base coat.

“Nah, he probably didn’t get home too late.”

Hope knew better and concentrated on the thumb of Shelly’s bad hand.

“Or did he?”

“Did he what?”

“Get home late. Paul said the twins got to the hospital around ten-thirty. So Dylan must have pulled up to your house about an hour after that. After grabbing the boys, he probably got home around eleven-forty-five.”

He might have made it home by then, too, if he hadn’t stayed and kissed her neck and her mouth, and if he hadn’t decided he wanted to touch her stomach and pull up her shirt. Hope kept her gaze averted and said on an indifferent sigh, “That sounds about right.” She screwed on the cap of the clear polish, then shook the bottle of Hot Pants Pink.

“What happened?”

“Nothing.”

“Then why do you look like something did?”

Hope finally glanced up. “I don’t.”

“Yes, you do. This Percodan has me feeling kind of funky, but I’m not totally out of it.” Shelly’s red brows lowered on her forehead. “And besides, I saw you two jump apart when Paul and I came into the kitchen. I stabbed my hand, not my eyes. What were the two of you doing?”

“Talking.”

“Yeah, right. I think he likes you.”

Hope shrugged and painted the fingernails on Shelly’s good hand. “I think Dylan likes women— period.”

“Yeah, he does. Always has, even in grade school, but he talks to you a little bit different than he talks to anyone else.”

“How?”

“When he talks to you, he watches your mouth.”

Hope bit her lip to keep from smiling. She hadn’t noticed Dylan watching her. Well, maybe once or twice.

“So what’s up with the two of you?”

The last time Hope had spoken of her love life to a friend, her friend had used it to steal her husband. She knew that Shelly was different, and besides, nothing she could tell Shelly could come back to hurt her anyway. She didn’t love Dylan, and he didn’t love her.

“Nothing really,” she answered, which was basically the truth.

“It sure didn’t look like nothing. Did he try his cheap moves on you?”

“Moves?”

“Yeah. In the eighth grade, he used to pretend to have an itchy pit so he could hook his arm around a girl and make it look like he was just scratching himself.”

Hope laughed. “No itchy pit.”

“I should probably warn you away from Dylan.”

“Why, what’s wrong with him?”

“Nothing. He just has it in his head that he can’t get involved with a woman right now. He says he has to wait until Adam is older, but the way he looks at you... well, I haven’t seen him stare after a woman in a very long time. Not since he used to watch Kimberly Howe run the hundred.” Shelly paused to blow on her nails and carefully offered Hope her injured hand. “You’ve got to admit, he’s better-looking than most of those sissy boys you see pasted up on billboards, and it’s not every man who can look that good in a pair of jeans.”

That was true.

“Paul has a flat butt.”

Hope had noticed that, too. “If Dylan’s so great, why aren’t you married to him?”

Shelly’s nose wrinkled as if something smelly had entered the room. “Sure, looking at Dylan is like looking at a work of art, but just ‘cause you can appreciate the beauty of it doesn’t mean you want it in your living room.” She shook her head, then added, “I knew I wanted Paul Aberdeen the first time I laid eyes on him in the first grade. It took me ten years to hook him, but even if Paul were gone tomorrow, I’d never be interested in Dylan that way. We’ve known each other too long, and the way he does things drives me crazy.”

“Like what?”

“He only does laundry when everything in the house is dirty.”

Since Hope was the same way, she didn’t think there was anything unusual about it.

“He puts his boots on the coffee table, and if he and Adam have a green vegetable for dinner, it’s a miracle. Dylan thinks if you eat a banana or an apple every other week, you don’t need vegetables.”

Hope finished painting Shelly’s nails and sat back and waited for them to dry. “Adam looks healthy and happy.”

“Healthy at least.” Shelly studied her injured hand.

“He’s leaving this Friday to visit his mother. He’s always a little weird when he comes back.”

“Weird how?”

“A little withdrawn and has a real bad case of the poor pitifuls. He thinks if his mama and daddy would just spend some time together, they could all live happily ever after.” Shelly shrugged. “I suppose that’s normal, though.”

“How long is he usually gone?”

“Two weeks; then it takes him an entire month to settle back into his routine. I’ve never met Adam’s mama, but she must be extremely indulgent with him, because when he comes back, he sleeps in too late and just lies around like a slug.”

Hope was dying to ask Shelly to tell her everything she knew about Dylan’s ex, but she didn’t want Shelly to know she was interested. Even if Hope had been able to share her feelings, it was too soon and too new to talk about the confusing tangle of emotions tugging at her whenever Dylan happened to smile her way.

Hope missed sitting around chatting with other women, talking about men and life and sex. She missed the kind of connection it took time to develop. A deep connection with someone who understood the inequalities perpetrated against females and the injustice of running into your high school sweetheart on a bad hair day. She missed discussing burning issues like health care, world peace, the shoe sale at Neiman’s, and whether or not size mattered.

She wanted that again. She wanted to talk about her confusion, her feelings, and her life. She wanted to tell Shelly why it was hard for her to talk about herself, why it was hard for her to trust a friend.

“What story are you working on for your magazine?” Shelly asked through a yawn.

The opportunity to open up passed, and Hope reached for Shelly’s good hand. “Aliens masquerading as humans in a wilderness town,” she said as she applied the second coat of polish. “They play tricks on tourists.”

Shelly’s eyes perked up. “You’re writing about Gospel?”

“A town similar to Gospel.”

“Oh, my God! Can I be an alien?”

Hope looked at her new friend, her red hair sticking up, her eyes wide and glassy, and really regretted that she couldn’t use Shelly. She would have made a good alien. “Sorry, but ever since Myron, I don’t use real people anymore.”

“Bummer.”

As Hope gently blew on the tips of Shelly’s fingers, she glanced up into her drugged gaze. Now probably wasn’t the best time to ask Shelly about the Donnellys. Not when she was high and her tongue was loosened by drugs, but maybe just a few simple questions wouldn’t hurt. If Shelly was uncomfortable about discussing her old neighbors, Hope wouldn’t press the issue. “How well did you know Minnie Donnelly?” she asked.

“Why?”

Since it was no secret and half the town knew anyway, she confessed, “I’m writing an article about what happened with Hiram.”

Shelly blinked and apprehension narrowed her gaze. “For The Weekly News of the Universe?”

“No. I’m going to send out queries to more mainstream publications.” She told Shelly about her ideas, and once she explained that she wasn’t interested in writing a salacious article about kinky sex, Shelly relaxed and opened up.

“Hiram could be a real son of a bitch, and I didn’t like him very much. Still, I’d hate to see his sex life exploited for the sake of selling magazines,” Shelly said. “There was more to his life than what he became. More than hookers and sex clubs and pornography. Ask anyone in town, and they’ll all have a different story to tell about him. They’ll also tell you that he treated everyone the same.” Shelly talked about Minnie and about how she’d been the real control freak. “Everyone thought she was a saint, but I lived across the street from her, and I know she ruled that house with an iron fist. I could hear her yelling and hollering all the time. No wonder her kids left and never came back. No wonder that after she died, Hiram felt lost without someone to beat up on him.”

Hope carefully reached for Shelly’s injured hand and applied a top coat to her nails. “You sound like you feel sorry for him.”

“Hell, no. He was too big a pervert for me to feel sorry for him. Toward the end, he was hiring girls just shy of their eighteenth birthday. I don’t feel sorry and I don’t understand, but I can look at the situation and see how it happened. Out from underneath Minnie’s thumb, he just spiraled out of control.”

“You told me several weeks ago that Hiram got careless toward the end and brought girls home. Did you ever see anything suspicious?”

“No.” Shelly lifted her bandaged hand and looked at her nails. “When are you going to write the article?”

Hope didn’t believe her but she let it drop. “I’m waiting for the FBI report. Once I look it over, I’ll figure out where to start,” she answered. But first she needed to finish the story she was getting paid to write, and in order to do that, she had to think about aliens and not a certain smooth-talking cowboy. “I’d hoped you could show me those waterfalls you and Paul told me about. I wanted to take some pictures of them for my next alien article.” Hope shrugged. “But I can wait until you’re feeling better.”

“Ask Dylan to take you. He knows where they are, but ask before Friday, because he always takes time off when Adam is away.” Shelly settled back into her chair. “He stays up at the Double T, helping out his mama and brother-in-law. If you don’t ask him before he leaves, chances are you won’t see him for a couple of weeks.”

Two weeks. For two weeks she wouldn’t have to worry about seeing Dylan or think about the slow touch of his hands or his hungry mouth on hers. Two weeks would give her the time she needed to clear her mind and concentrate on her work. Which was the reason she’d come to Gospel in the first place. Now that her career was finally back on track, she needed to focus and push ahead. But suddenly work wasn’t enough and two weeks sounded like a very long time.

Wednesday night, Dylan folded the last of Adam’s laundry and packed it in his suitcase. Adam stared at him through his huge green eyes, his mouth a straight line of apprehension. About this time every year, Adam’s excitement waned and gave way to anxiety.

“You aren’t going to cry this year, are you?” Dylan asked his son.

“No. I’m bigger now.”

“Good, ‘cause you make your mom feel real bad when you do that.” Every year Adam promised not to cry, and every year he held out until it was time to let go of Dylan’s hand. “Tomorrow, after your haircut, we need to go to Hansen’s Emporium and buy you new skivvies,” he said and set the suitcase on top of the dresser.

“And a new snorkel, too. I accidentally broke mine.”

Dylan ordered Adam’s dog off the bed before he tucked his son between his sheets. He didn’t know why the snorkel was suddenly important, but Adam probably had his reasons. “Put it on your list.” He brushed the soft hair from Adam’s brow and asked, “Did you find your mama a special rock yet?”

“Yep, it’s white.”

Dylan bent and kissed Adam’s smooth forehead. “Dream good dreams.”

“Dad?” Dylan knew what Adam would ask by the tone of his voice. He asked every year. “Come with me this time.”

“You know I can’t. Who’s going to stay here and take care of your dog?”

“She can come with us. You, me, Mom, and Mandy. It’ll be fun.”

Dylan moved to the bedroom door and turned off the light. “No, Adam,” he said and watched his son turn on his side, turning his back on him.

Dylan hated July. Absolutely hated it. He hated coming home and not stepping over the toys he’d told Adam to put away. He hated the quiet of his house and the emptiness of Adam’s room. He hated eating dinner alone.

Several floorboards creaked as Dylan walked down the short hall and into his dark bedroom. Through the slats of open blinds, moonlight spilled across the end of his bed and dresser and climbed up the wall. Slices of light slashed across his chest as he pulled his shirt over his head. He tossed it toward an old wing chair and missed. Tomorrow he would take Adam to buy new underwear; the day after, he’d drive him to the airport in Sun Valley and watch him board a private plane with Julie. He’d watch her take him away.

He hated that most of all. He hated the parting glance Adam always threw over his shoulder, one last plea in his watery eyes as if Dylan had the power to grant what he wanted most.

But he couldn’t, and staying a few days or the whole two weeks wouldn’t give Adam what he really wanted. A mom and dad who lived together. A mother who was more like the woman he watched on television every week than the woman he met once a year. An angel who cared for him like she cared for the homeless, or elderly, or the orphans she’d saved last week. A mother he could talk about to his friends.

Dylan sat on the end of his bed and pulled off his boots. Neither he nor Julie had intended to keep Adam separate from her life for so long. They’d never intended to make her a subject he couldn’t share. They’d never intended to keep him a secret no one knew about. It had just happened, and now they didn’t know what to do about it.

Adam had been only two when Julie had landed the starring role on Heaven on Earth. Dylan and Adam had already been living in Gospel, far from the spotlight Julie craved. With her beautiful face, translucent skin, and shrewd press releases, the public had instantly fallen in love with her. In a matter of months, her life had risen from struggling nobody actress to heavenly angel. Suddenly she was a frequent guest on mainstream talk shows and a paragon of Christian programming. Everyone believed the angel was beautiful inside and out. America wanted a symbol of good, and they found it in Juliette Bancroft.

Those first few summers she’d spent with Adam, she’d taken him to her father’s small ranch because she’d needed a break from her life, a place where she could focus on him. The home where she’d been raised provided that for her, as well as a nice setting for Adam to get to know the few relatives who still lived in the area.

Now, five years later, she took him there because she had little choice. How could she suddenly tell the world that she had a son she saw only once a year? How would that look? How would that play on the talk shows, and what about the Christian right who endorsed her show? What would that do to her heavenly image?

More important to Dylan, how would the tabloid papers treat the news that not only did Juliette Bancroft have a child she didn’t raise and rarely saw, but she hadn’t been married to her son’s father, either? What would that do to Adam? What would that do to his and Adam’s quiet life together?

Adam was seven now. Old enough to see that his life was different from that of other kids his age. Old enough to wonder why he couldn’t brag about his mother. Old enough to be hurt by the truth, but keeping it from him longer would only hurt him more. He’d have to be told soon. Adam Taber was the illegitimate son of America’s angel. Dylan just hoped Adam would understand, but he wouldn’t be told tonight. Not tomorrow, either.

Dylan pulled off his socks and threw them by his shirt. Within the slice of moonlight spilling through the window, he stripped naked and scratched his chest. Having Hope in town made him realize he needed to talk to Adam soon. Perhaps as soon as Adam returned home. He had a few weeks to figure it out. While he helped out at the Double T, he’d have time to clear his head and think about what he would say, but it wasn’t like he hadn’t already practiced his speech in his head a million times before.

He pulled back the plaid comforter and slid into his bed. The sheets were clean and cool and he stuck his hand under his head and stared up at the ceiling. He’d leave out the part about him not loving Julie the way a man should love a woman and both of them knowing it would never have lasted anyway. Adam didn’t need to know that he was the only reason they’d tried to make it work for as long as they had. All his son needed to know was that he was loved by both his parents. And he needed to be told by someone who loved him—soon.

When Dylan got off work Thursday, he took Adam to the Curl Up and Dye to get his hair cut. While buzzing the back of Adam’s neck, Dixie promised to “drop by sometime next week.” Dylan didn’t bother telling her he wouldn’t be home.

After the Curl Up and Dye, they stopped at Hansen’s Emporium to grab some underwear. Adam chose briefs with X-Men on the behind. The store was filled with a few tourists buying souvenirs, and one or two locals who’d moved inside the air-conditioned store to get out of the relentless heat.

Dylan stood in the toy aisle helping Adam choose a snorkel and ignoring everything around him—until Hope Spencer walked in. As if she reached across the store and placed her fingers under his chin, he lifted his gaze the second she strolled inside. Over a display of Magic Bubbles, he watched her move with that big-city, don’t-mess-with-me stride of hers, keeping her gaze straight ahead. She didn’t look around, and she didn’t notice him watching her as she grabbed two rolls of film and headed for a display of cow-pie candy. Using two fingers, she picked up the candy and read the ingredients.

She’d been out jogging again and her hair was up. Several fine strands fell from her ponytail and she’d pushed them behind her ears. They curled and stuck to the sides of her throat. He knew how she tasted there. Right there where her neck met her shoulder, she was soft and sweet. He knew the smooth creaminess of her skin and the weight of her breasts in his hands. He knew the curve of her behind against his groin. He couldn’t stop the hunger or the wanting any more than he could stop himself from going to her. He left Adam by the rubber spiders and superballs and walked up behind Hope.

“That’s not real cowshit,” he said and figured he probably hadn’t uttered something so impressive since the sixth grade, when he’d tried to dazzle Nancy Burk by telling her she wasn’t as ugly as her sister.

Hope put down the candy and turned to face him. A smile flirted with the corners of her lips and he felt it low in his belly. “I’d already figured that out, but it wouldn’t have surprised me if it was.”

He let his gaze rest a few irresistible moments on her mouth before he looked away, over the top of her head to a mounted salmon in the fishing section. He was afraid she could read the hunger in his eyes and know what he wanted, that he wanted to reach out and fold her against him. Maybe bury his nose in her hair. Although after Monday night, she probably had some idea.

“Are you going to the Fourth of July celebration next weekend?” she asked. “Are you entered in the toilet toss?”

“No. I’m afraid I’ll miss the excitement.” His gaze traveled across a rainbow of folded T-shirts and ended up back on Hope, on her smooth hair and shiny pony-tail. “I won’t be in town.”

She was silent for a moment and then she said, “Shelly mentioned you’d be gone for a few weeks.”

He looked into her blue eyes, saw the disappointment there, and almost gave in to his urge. He almost reached for her, right there in Hansen’s Emporium. “Yes, that’s right.”

“I need to take pictures of some waterfalls Shelly told me about, and I thought maybe you could take me. But if you won’t be in town...” She shrugged. “I guess I can wait until Shelly feels up to a hike.”

“Are these pictures for the article you’re writing on the Northwest?”

She lowered her gaze to his chest. “Yes.”

He didn’t even want to think about what he would do if he ever found himself alone with her. Completely alone. Just the two of them. No, that was a lie. He did want to think about what it would be like to make love to her. He liked to think about holding her breasts in his hands, kissing her, running his tongue across her hard nipples, and shoving his face into her cleavage. He absolutely loved to think about positions, too—horizontal, vertical, upside down, sideways. He thought about burying himself between her soft thighs all the time, but that didn’t mean he would do anything about it. “Sorry I can’t help you out,” he said. He was in control of his body if not of his thoughts. Still, it was best not to let his mind travel that pleasurable path, especially in Hansen’s.

She returned her gaze to his and pushed the corners of her mouth up into a halfhearted smile. “That’s okay.”

“Maybe if I...” He shrugged. If he what? Waited until his son was out of town to skirt around and hope like hell that he got lucky? Sneak around and hope no one in town noticed their sheriff having sex with their favorite topic of gossip since Hiram Donnelly? He might have been able to figure out a way past the gossip, but there was no getting around the huge fact that Hope was a writer. He couldn’t sleep with her and all the while pray to God she didn’t find out about Adam. And if she did find out, would he read about his life in People magazine? Or worse, in the Enquirer?

He couldn’t risk it, and Hope deserved better. He took a step backward and almost stepped on Adam’s foot.

“Dad!”

He’d been so completely focused on Hope that he hadn’t even noticed his son had moved up beside him. “Sorry, buddy. You okay?”

Adam nodded. “Hi, Hope.”

Hope looked at Adam and her smile grew. “Hey, what have you got?”

“Snorkel and skivvies.”

She took the package with the mask and snorkel from him and studied it. “Looks pretty good,” she said, then gave it back. Adam handed her his underwear and she studied them also. “Who is this guy on your behind?”

“That’s Wolverine. He has really big claws and he can claw his enemies.”

“I remember. You drew a picture of him the other night. Is he a good guy?”

“Yep,” he said and took back his underwear.

“Where did you put the hummingbird I gave you?”

“We put him in the kitchen window.” He paused to scratch his elbow. “Maybe you could come over and see it sometime.”

Hope glanced at Dylan, and the thought of her in his house made his heart beat heavy in his chest.

“Maybe,” she said, then reached out and ruffled Adam’s hair. “You got your hair cut.”

“Yep,” he said without backing away. “Got it cut today.”

Beyond a very short list that included the females in his family and Shelly, Adam didn’t like women to touch or make a fuss over him. And except for that short list, this was the longest conversation Dylan had ever heard Adam have with a woman. Usually he resorted to monosyllabic grunts. He wondered how Hope had managed to pass Adam’s test. He knew she would have instantly failed if Adam suspected Dylan had any interest in her at all. And the irony of it was that out of all the women he knew, Hope interested him the most. Hell, the way she filled out her running shorts downright fascinated him, and he had to keep his gaze glued to her face to keep his eyes from wandering to the tight spandex covering her crotch. “We better get going,” he said and placed his hand on Adam’s back.

Hope moved with them to the front of the store and took her place in line in front of him at the checkout counter. As Eden Hansen rang up the purchases of a couple buying T-shirts, Dylan stared at the back of Hope’s head, recalling with perfect clarity the last time he’d stood behind her, watching her somewhat blurred reflection.

“Hey, Hope,” Adam said and tapped her arm to get her attention, “maybe when I come home, me and Wally can build another tent at your house.”

“Son, you can’t invite yourself like that.”

“It’s okay.” She looked over her shoulder at Dylan, then answered Adam. “If you guys come over again, there have to be some rules. Like no wrestling in the house.” She thought for a moment, then added, “And since you boys like to pull things, maybe you two could come over and help me pull some weeds. I’d pay you.”

“Five bucks!”

“Yep.” They moved forward in line and Hope placed two rolls of film on the counter.

“Is this it for you, then?” Eden asked as she reached for the film. Hope didn’t answer right away, and Dylan figured she was stunned into silence by her first good look at Eden Hansen. For as long as he could remember, Eden had dyed her hair purple, worn purple eyeshadow and purple lipstick. She lived in a purple house and drove a purple Dodge Neon. Hell, she even dyed her little yap-yap dogs, too. Her twin sister, Edie, had a preference for blue. It was no wonder both were married to men who had a tendency to hit the bottle before noon.

“Yes, that’s all,” Hope finally replied.

Eden rang up the film and reached for a paper sack. “My brother-in-law is Hayden Dean. He’s the one who helped you out at the Buckhorn and ended up getting into that fight with Emmett.”

Hope unzipped her fanny pack. “I was very grateful he stepped in when he did. That was very nice of him.”

“Nice, schmice.” She waved a dismissive hand. “Hayden is a womanizer and likes to fight, no doubt about that. If my sister had the sense God gave a lemming, she’d run his butt off the nearest cliff, and that’s a fact. Everyone knows he steps out with Dixie Howe whenever she can’t find better. Dixie’s as loose as a slipknot, and if it weren’t for her talent with hair color, I’d never set foot in her salon.”

“Uh... oh, really?” Hope uttered as she handed Eden a twenty.

Dylan chuckled. If Hope was shocked by Eden now, just wait until she was stuck in the same room with her and Edie at the same time. Both women could talk until your ears bled.

“Now, I was thinking,” Eden continued after she took Hope’s money. “If you ever need anyone to die a really painful death in that book you’re writing, Hayden would be a good choice. Besides chasin‘ tail, he’s lazy, drinks like a fish, and is as ugly as the mange. Maybe you could have him get that flesh-eating disease.”

Dylan watched Hope’s ponytail sway back and forth as she shook her head. “I don’t know who told you I’m writing a book, but I’m not.”

“Iona said Melba told her you’re writing a book about Hiram Donnelly.”

“I’m writing an article, not a book.”

Eden pulled her purple lips into a disappointed frown. “Well, I guess that’s not the same, now, is it? Not as interesting, either. A whole book would be interesting.” She handed Hope her change. “Someone should write about my family. Woo wee, the stories I could tell. Did you know my family owned the first saloon in town? Ran the first brothel, too. You should come in sometime and I’ll tell you the story of my great-uncles who killed each other in a fight over a gal named Frenchy.”

“Dad?” Adam whispered. “What’s a brothel?”

“I’ll tell you later.”

“Do you know why they called her Frenchy?”

Hope shoved her money into her fanny pack and grabbed her bag. “Because she was French?” She edged toward the door at the end of the counter, past the polished agates and windup teeth.

“No. On account of her specializing in the ménage a trois.”

“Fascinating,” Hope said as she grabbed the door handle. She gave Dylan one tortured glance and bolted as if demons were on her heels.

“How are you, Sheriff?” Eden asked as he moved forward in line.

“Good,” Dylan said through his smile.

Eden shook her head. “That gal is an odd one.”

Dylan wisely made no comment and quickly paid for Adam’s briefs and his snorkel before Eden could trap him, too. On the way home, he and Adam stopped at the Cozy Corner Cafe for cheeseburgers and fries. Paris was their waitress, and although no one in town knew who Adam’s mama was, they all knew he spent the first two weeks in July with her.

When they got home, their neighbor, Hanna Turnbaugh, brought Adam a new coloring book and crayons for “the trip.” She sat in the kitchen drinking coffee with Dylan until Paris showed up carrying a big white cake with coconut frosting and candied peach slices stuck on it. Adam resorted to his usual grunts and one-shoulder shrugs until both women gave up trying to talk to him.

Neither Dylan nor Adam slept much that night, and both got up early the next morning for the drive to Sun Valley. They ate breakfast at Shorty’s and over a stack of pancakes, Adam promised he wouldn’t cry this year.

In a small airport where celebrity passengers were the norm, the sight of Juliette Bancroft didn’t so much as raise a brow. At the same gate where Demi Moore, Clint Eastwood, and the Kennedys boarded and disembarked from their chartered planes, America’s angel waited for her son. Her blond hair subdued into a French braid, Julie rose from a chair, and a smile tilted the corners of her perfect pink lips. Julie had always been gorgeous, with her flawless skin and perfect cheekbones. She was a walking Barbie doll, only better, because she was real—well, except for her breasts; she’d had those done her first season.

Dylan had to give her credit. She’d toned down her Hollywood image and wore a simple pair of Levi’s and a summer sweater, but she still managed to look as if she’d just stepped out of a women’s magazine. “Hi, baby,” she said and held out her arms. She went down on one knee and Adam stepped within her embrace. She kissed every inch of his face and didn’t seem to notice his lack of response. “Oh, I’ve missed you soooo much. Have you missed me?”

“Yes,” Adam whispered.

Julie stood and her smile turned a bit uncertain as she looked at Dylan. “Hello, how are you?”

“Good. How was your flight?”

“Uneventful.” She let her gaze travel from his hair to the toes of his boots, then back up. “I swear you get better-looking every time I see you.”

He wasn’t flattered. Julie was one of those people who handed out compliments like a Pez dispenser. “I’m another year older every time you see me, Julie.”

She shrugged. “You look the same as the day I ran my Toyota into your unmarked car. Remember that?”

How could he possibly forget? “Of course.”

Julie flashed him her trademark smile, the one that captured America’s hearts, the one that used to make his own pulse race. “Do you have time to grab a bite to eat before you head back home?” she asked. “I thought the three of us could talk a bit before Adam and I have to go.”

Instantly suspicious, Dylan wondered what she really wanted. It wasn’t like her to want to sit around and shoot the shit with him. “Adam and I just ate. Maybe some other time.”

“We need to talk soon,” she said and reached for Adam’s hand. “Your grandpa is awfully excited to see you. We’re going to have lots of fun this year.”

Adam took a step back and leaned into Dylan’s thigh. He didn’t grab hold, but Dylan could tell that he wanted to.

“I thought you weren’t going to make a fuss this time,” he said, as if he weren’t dying inside. As if he didn’t already feel the loss with every squeeze of his heart.

“I’m not.” But Adam turned his face into Dylan’s side. “But, Dad...”

Dylan went down on one knee and took Adam’s face in his hands. Adam’s eyes were filled with water and his pale cheeks were splotched. The effort not to cry about had him hyperventilating, and Dylan was very proud of his son. “I can tell you’re really trying to be a big boy this year,” Dylan said. “And that’s all I asked, so that’s all that counts. If you want to cry, go ahead.” Adam wrapped his arms around Dylan’s neck and Dylan rubbed his back. “Son, there are just some times in a man’s life when he has to let it out. If it feels like one of those times to you, then that’s what you gotta do.” Dylan hated this; it tore at his aching heart and left him feeling battered and bloody. It clogged his throat and made the backs of his eyes sting. Adam’s silent tears soaked the collar of Dylan’s oxford cloth shirt. “I wrote down all the area codes and the phone numbers where I’ll likely be, so you can get hold of me anytime. I put the list in your suitcase. Whenever you want, you just give me a call, okay?”

Adam nodded.

“But your mom’s probably going to keep you too busy to miss me much.” He glanced up at Julie and she had that wide-eyed “What do I do now?” look he recognized. As always, leaving it up to him to know what to say and do. As much as Dylan wanted the responsibility of his son, there were times when he resented the full weight of it. When he resented her. Like now, when he had to pretend he wasn’t all torn up inside. When Julie might have stepped in and helped out a little. When she could have at least tried but she didn’t, and Dylan tried not to let his irritation show. “You’re going to have lots of fun with your mom and grandpa, and when you come back, we’ll go catch that Dolly Varden that got away from you last time, okay?”

Again Adam nodded. “Okay.”

“I’m proud of you, son.” Dylan removed Adam’s arms from around his neck and leaned back to look into his son’s face. “You about under control now?”

Adam wiped the back of his hand across his wet cheeks. “Yeah.”

“Good.” He wiped a tear from Adam’s chin. “I think that went well. You’ve behaved like a man this year,” he said as he stood and handed Adam his suitcase. “Did you remember to pack your crayons?”

“Yeah.”

“Good.” He took a step backward. “I love you, Adam.”

“I love you, too, Dad.”

Dylan gave an abbreviated wave, then turned away from the sight of Julie taking Adam’s hand and walking away.

In less than a minute Dylan was back in the parking lot, where he’d left his truck. He opened the door, climbed inside, and shoved the key into the ignition. The morning sun shone on the blue hood and his vision blurred.

It felt like one of those times. One of those times when a man just had to let it out.