"Sadie asked me to come," I said.
The old man's face grew red and he half-rose. "Sadie Marsh? What the hell does she want you there for?"
Tom put a hand on his father's arm. "Take it easy," he said.
"I want to know what Sadie's got up her sleeve," the old man said, his voice rising. "What's that woman up to, anyway?" He glared at Tom, his breath coming harder. "You find out, boy. It's your bidness to know what's comin' down. You can't afford to be blindsided by nobody, not even Sadie. Especially not Sadie."
"Whatever it is," Tom said firmly, "I'll take care of it." He put his hand on the old man's shoulder. ''Simmer down, Pop. You know what Doc Townsend said about getting excited."
"Screw Doc Townsend," the old man spat out. He sank back in his chair. "Son of a bitch can't pour piss out of a boot with the heel up."
Tom's laugh was unconvincing. "Anyway, I think I know what Sadie's got up her sleeve. I'll handle it"
I glanced at him. Was that the truth? Did he know about the deed restrictions? Maybe he knew about the envelope too. Or was he telling a lie designed to quiet his father?
"Well, you're gonna have your hands full," the old man muttered, subsiding. He seemed to have forgotten me. "Sadie's got ten-pound brass balls and a mouth like an Arkan-
sas hog caller. I'll come to that meeting tomorrow and settle her hash. If I don't, she'll-"
"I said I'll take care of Sadie, Dad," Tom said sharply.
"And I said I'll be there." His father's mouth was set into a stubborn line. "I'm gettin' out of your way fast as I can, boy. Don't push."
I shrugged into my coat, embarrassed by the exchange. I gave the old man my hand and a smile. "Perhaps I'll see you again before I go back to Pecan Springs, Mr. Rowan."
With an effort, Tom Senior remembered his manners. "You comin' over to our place for a nightcap?"
I shook my head. "I don't want to keep Mother Winifred's truck out too late. She might worry about it."
Tom stood up. "I'd worry, too, if I were her. That old truck is practically an antique-worth as much dead as alive. I'll walk you out to the lot and make sure it starts."
As I said good night to Tom Senior, he pressed my hand between his dry, cool ones. "You mind what I say now, China. We'll be lookin' for you back here soon as you get things wound up in Pecan Springs."
I murmured something and pulled my hand away.
"You've got to give it to Dad," Tom said, holding the door open for me. "He just won't give up. Doc Townsend has told him to turn the business over to me. If he's got any energy, he's supposed to concentrate it on stuff like the Knights of Columbus-and stay out of the bank."
I bent into the cold, clean wind, letting it wash through me. "It's tough," I said. "For both of you."
He put his arm around my shoulders. "Let's not talk about that. As I recall, when we were interrupted you were in the middle of telling me that you lust for my body."
We reached the old green Dodge. "Something like that," I said. I opened my purse, found the truck key, and put it into the door.
"Wait," he commanded. He pulled me close against him and kissed me, gently at first, then with a mounting passion
that reverberated in my bones and blood. I felt myself responding, the warmth pulsing through me.
' 'You make me feel like a kid in love for the first time, China," he whispered huskily, touching my face, my hair. He tipped my head back, his eyes fastened on mine.' 'Come home with me. Let me make love to you."
Somebody opened the door of the barbecue joint and an old Elvis song-"Love Me Tender"-floated out. Somebody else was laughing, light and high. A car door slammed, a dog barked. Above us, far away, the stars looked down, amused.
I started to speak, but he laid his finger on my mouth, silencing me. "I know. You're living with the guy, you've got commitments. But he's there and you're here. You're a free woman, China. You can do what you choose. Come home with me."
A free woman. Freedom. That was what I'd wanted, wasn't it? That was why I'd taken time off, come out here. I wanted to make new choices, open my life to new directions. The passion was pulling me to Tom. All I had to do was say yes.
"No," I said. I pulled away.
He frowned. "Don't tell me you don't want me. I just kissed you, remember? Your body said yes. So don't he. Don't make it hard on yourself. Okay?"
I wasn't lying, to myself or to him. I did want him. Standing in the parking lot under the flashing neon sign, Elvis's voice like liquid passion, it was easy to want this man, easy to say yes. It was a great deal harder to want what I already had. McQuaid and Brian, the house, the shop. Yes, even the shop, damn it.
"Let's call it a night, shall we?" I opened the door and climbed into the truck.
He stood up straight. "Just say no, huh?" His laugh was light, but it had a bitter undertone. "Too risky? Big moral dilemma?"
"Morality doesn't have anything to do with it," I said.
"I'm just figuring out what I want." I stuck the key in the ignition.
"What you want is me," he said firmly. "Listen, China, there's no reason we can't. We're not strangers. We're both free." He spaced the words for emphasis. "You're your own woman, totally independent. You don't owe anybody anything."
He was right. I didn't owe anything to anybody. Except myself.
I had my hand on the key. "That's why it's no."
His sigh was raw, heavy. He put a hand on the open door handle. "Don't run away, China. I've never really stopped loving you. Who's to know if we please ourselves tonight?"
Are all protestations of love and lust, however heartfelt, doomed to sound like dialogue from an old movie? "I really have to go now," I said. I pulled the door shut and turned the key.
The engine turned over, coughed regretfully, and died. I pumped the gas pedal a couple of times and cranked it again.
Another cough, almost a hiccup.
The third time, it didn't even burp.
"I am not believing this," I muttered. Tom had stepped back and was watching me, hands in his coat pockets, an unreadable expression on his face. After a long, embarrassing moment, I rolled down the window. "You don't happen to have a pair of jumper cables, do you?" I asked in a small voice.
He eyed me for a moment, calculating, not in any hurry to answer. "What's it worth to you?" he asked finally.
I stared at him. Damn it, he was seriousl I picked up my purse. "I'll call the garage."
He looked at me a moment longer. And then said, explosively, "Oh, shit."
It took ten minutes to dig the cables out of his car, hook them up, and start the truck-neither of us saying more
than the necessary put this here and turn it over when I tell you. When we were finished and die truck was running again, he came around to the door.
"Listen, China, I'm sorry. I wasn't trying to bargain. I was just-"
"Thanks for the jump," I said. "I've got to go now."
His mouth quirked. "Yeah, well, at least we had Paris." He shoved his hands into his pockets. "That's something."
I raised my hand, fighting the almost irresistible temptation to say, "Here's lookin' at you, kid." I shifted into first gear and drove off.
I stopped at the first phone booth, left the truck running and hopped out, and called McQuaid. I was eager to hear his voice, feel connected again. But it was Brian who answered the phone.
"Dad's playing poker with Sheriff Blackwell," he said. "Hey, China, you done good." He sounded excited. "Real good."
I frowned. "I did good?" I asked cautiously. "What did I do?"