That made her smile. “I guess another test will be seeing if we both remember how it’s done.”

  “I’ve got that part. It starts like this.”

  Mouths meeting, tongues sliding, hands gliding.

  “I’m going to miss summer,” he murmured. “When you stop wearing dresses like this.”

  He eased the zipper down, and when the dress fell at her feet, lifted her out of the pool of it. And stood, hands on her hips, looking at her.

  “I’ve seen you in sunlight, imagined you in moonlight. Imagined you like this. I can say you’re beautiful, but it’s not enough.”

  “It’s more than enough for me.”

  She drew his shirt up, off. Then pressed a hand to his chest. “And here you are. Your heart’s under my hand.”

  She took his hand, pressed it to hers. “And mine’s under yours.”

  So easy, she thought again, so natural when they moved together again. Skin to skin, heart to heart. Her hands didn’t hesitate as she unbuttoned his jeans, because she’d never been more sure of anything than being with him.

  They lay on the bed, turned to each other. When their eyes met, held, she saw everything she wanted in his.

  Slowly, as if every moment begged to be savored, they moved together.

  He hadn’t looked for her. No, he’d stopped looking for anyone like her. But she’d slipped into his life, and she’d brought him what he’d needed. She filled a space he’d kept empty, deliberately empty.

  And given him the one thing missing in his life. A woman to want and take, and trust.

  He ran his hands down her arms, long, graceful arms he’d seen wielding a sword like a warrior. He saw her eyes, so deep and blue in the moonlight, look into his as if she knew him as no one else did.

  When he kissed her, she gave back with so much warmth it filled, she filled, all those empty places.

  Her scent aroused him; it clouded his mind until he thought of nothing but her. When her heartbeat quickened under his hand, when her breath caught on a sigh, he let himself take more.

  His mouth, his hands took her on a slow climb up, and up, held her trembling at the peak before the breathless fall.

  She arched to him, her fingers clutched in his hair to bring his mouth down to hers again.

  He touched her in so many ways, body, heart, mind, she opened it all to him without a qualm. Her hands explored him, smooth skin over sharp planes, long limbs and lean muscles.

  The little scar on his left hip from a broken chain-link fence he’d crawled under as a boy of eight. As her fingers brushed over it, she thought of the boy he’d been, the man he’d become.

  His fingertips, calloused from guitar strings, thrilled her as they skimmed over her.

  As his need merged with hers, she arched again, a welcome. And met his eyes as they joined.

  She rose with him, fell with him, beat by slow beat.

  She held him in those eyes, held him with her as they took each other in the moonlight with the faint summer breeze cooling heated skin.

  He watched her go over the edge again, and surrendering, followed.

  Blissfully limp, she lay under him.

  Her world had changed, and would never be quite the same again. She knew love, the truth and power of it. She knew how it felt when it lived inside her.

  Whatever happened, she’d have that.

  When he turned his head, pressed his lips to the side of her neck, she thought love was like finally bursting into bloom after a long winter’s wait.

  After bracing on his elbows, he looked down at her. Once again, he brushed his lips lightly over hers. “Stay.”

  “Oh, but—”

  “He’s four, Thea. Well, almost five, but still. We’ll just say you were tired, so you slept over.”

  “I was tired?”

  “You’re going to be.” He kissed her brow, her cheeks, her lips. “Eventually.”

  “He’ll be all right with that?”

  Wrapped around her, he rolled over, reversed their positions.

  “Let’s find out.”

  * * *

  The squeal shot Thea out of silky dreams. Heart pounding, she’d nearly launched herself out of bed when laughter followed the squeal.

  Beside her, eyes still closed, Ty muttered, “Brace yourself. Here it comes.”

  Rushing footsteps followed the laughter before Bray pushed open the door. Dog and boy rushed in.

  “Daddy! Time to wake up! Bunk’s here! Bunk was in my room. Here’s Bunk.”

  Bray, hair as wild as the joy in his eyes, climbed onto the bed in his Spider-Man boxers. “Hi,” he said to Thea, and bounced his way between her and his father. “That’s Daddy’s shirt.”

  “He … let me borrow it.”

  “Okay. Bunk was sleeping in my room.” Climbing onto Ty’s back, he bounced some more, and patted Ty’s head. “Time to wake up!”

  “Got it.”

  “You slept in Daddy’s bed.”

  “Yes, I—”

  “Bunk slept on the floor in my room. I’m gonna play trucks with Bunk.”

  “Good idea,” Ty said. “Go do that.”

  “Okay.” After climbing off the bed, he raced off again with Bunk following.

  “I guess he’s all right with it.”

  “Thea, he woke up with a dog in his room. He’d’ve been all right if I’d had five women in bed with me.”

  “Really?”

  Ty opened one green eye. “As an example not drawn from experience. Although, this one time on tour? I think it was Chicago—”

  “Let’s just table that while all your bones remain intact, and I ask if you have a spare toothbrush.”

  “Got spare brush heads for the electric deal.” He sat up, and with his hair as wild as his boy’s, scrubbed his hands over his face. “God. Coffee.”

  He waved vaguely at the door, then rolled out of bed. She got up more cautiously as he walked out, then checked to make sure the borrowed T-shirt covered all it needed to cover.

  He stepped back in the doorway. “Bathroom. Toothbrush, fresh brush head, toothpaste. Coffee.”

  “Okay, thanks.”

  Then he smiled. “You look good.” And walked away.

  While Bray crashed trucks in the room across the hall, she went into the bathroom. A stool stood in front of the little vanity where two toothbrushes and toothpaste sat.

  The smaller one had Spider-Man shooting out a web. She picked up Ty’s, and got an instant flash of him with Bray on the stool beside him, brushing their teeth.

  Though she admitted she wanted to linger in that flash, she blocked it out. Intrusive, she reminded herself.

  She looked at herself in the mirror. Good was subjective, she thought, and wished she had a hairbrush.

  Bray pushed open the door. “I gotta pee,” he announced as she stood with a mouthful of toothpaste.

  And proceeded to do so.

  He flushed, then turned to study her. “Daddy says you gotta wash your hands after.”

  Nodding, she managed to rinse out her mouth and ease aside so he could climb onto the stool. He batted at the water.

  “How about some of this?” She pumped liquid soap onto his hands.

  “That’s Daddy’s toothbrush.”

  “He let me borrow it, since I don’t have mine.”

  “I got Spider-Man.”

  “Do you want to use it?”

  “Okay.”

  Since she was there, she supervised the procedure, the messy procedure, and made him laugh when she used a washcloth to rub the foam off his face.

  “How about breakfast?”

  “Is it Saturday?”

  “No, it’s Thursday.”

  “Aw. I can have Froot Loops on Saturday.”

  “I could make pancakes.”

  His dimple flashed on with his smile. “I like pancakes. You pour syrup on pancakes.”

  “Then I’ll go get dressed and make pancakes.”

  “I’ll tell Daddy!”

  She put on her dress, and out of habit, made the bed. Smoothing the sheets brought on images of what she and Ty had done on them.

  Not intrusive, she decided, and plumped the pillows. A memory that belonged to her.

  Downstairs she found father and son, both still in their boxers, in the kitchen.

  “I let the dog out. He seemed to appreciate it. Don’t know how you take your coffee. I heard a rumor about pancakes. I have this.”

  He held up a box mix. Thea spared it one pitying look, then opened the fridge.

  She found one lonely egg, a nearly empty carton of milk, half a stick of butter. And closed the fridge.

  “I’ve got an idea. Why don’t we have breakfast at my house? You could help me feed the chickens, Bray. And Bunk’s gonna want his breakfast, too.”

  “Okay!” Bray headed for the door.

  “Maybe you could put some pants on first. Is that all right with you?” she asked Ty.

  “If it includes pancakes, I’m for it. Let’s get dressed, pal. I’ve got a grocery list,” he added as he went out of the kitchen.

  Minutes later, they were back, dressed, hair somewhat tamed. It made her wonder how men managed it all so quickly.

  “We’ll drive up, so I can run to the store after.”

  So they piled in the car, Bunk included, for the short drive up the lane.

  “Chickens!”

  “They’ll be happy to see you. Go on and say hi, and I’ll be right there.”

  “You haven’t even had coffee,” Ty observed as they went in the front. “How do you form coherent sentences before you’ve had coffee?”

  “One of my many superpowers. I’ll get some after I feed the animals.” She picked up her egg basket, got a container out of the fridge. “Help yourself if you want more.”

  “I’m coming out.”

  He watched her scoop dog food from a bag inside a wood chest on the porch before she crossed to where Bray talked to the chickens.

  And would’ve sworn they talked right back to him.

  It made a picture, he thought when she went inside the coop. Her in that breezy summer dress, chickens swarming all around her.

  And his kid, thrilled when she let him add some sort of pellets to a trough. Which the chickens instantly attacked.

  Out of the container she took scraps—lettuce, maybe, some bread she handed to Bray to tear up and toss around.

  “Just some little treats,” she told Ty. “They like finding them.”

  “Are those egg shells in that bowl over there?”

  “Yeah, for calcium. They lose some when they lay.”

  “Isn’t that kind of … cannibalistic?”

  “Just shells, Ty, and we don’t have a rooster to make fertile eggs. Let’s see what they’ve got for us today.”

  She took Bray’s hand, led him back to the nesting boxes. Then lifted him up.

  “You have to be really careful, really gentle so you don’t break the egg when you pick it up.”

  “It’s big!”

  “That’s Zippy. She lays whoppers. Let’s hunt in this one. Sometimes they like me to play hide-and-seek.”

  They made their way through the nesting boxes.

  “Wow, we’ve got five today. You brought us good luck.”

  “One, two, three, four, five. Five eggs, Daddy!”

  “I’m going to put these in a carton. You get to take them home.”

  “Okay.” Bray hugged her legs. Then ran to tell his father the news, though Ty was two feet away.

  Thea closed the coop. “Let’s go make pancakes.”

  She let the kid help, something Ty knew from experience meant whatever you did took twice as long and made five times the mess.

  But her patience appeared to have no bottom, even when Bray took one look at the milk and said: Yuck.

  “That’s not like Daddy’s milk.”

  “It’s buttermilk.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it makes delicious pancakes.”

  She’d put bacon on some sort of paper on a cookie sheet, and stuck it in the oven. This interested him, as it seemed like less cleanup.

  By the time she poured batter onto a hot griddle, he’d had a second cup of coffee and felt human.

  And somehow she made a pancake in the unmistakable shape of a monster truck.

  “Look! It’s a monster truck!”

  “I see that.” Impressed, he lifted his eyebrows at Thea. “Another superpower?”

  “Revealed only to good friends.”

  When they sat at the table, crisp bacon, summer berries, syrup in a crock warmed in the oven, he cut Bray’s pancake truck into sections.

  “I’m eating a tire! It’s yum. Buttermilk makes delicious pancakes.”

  “You’re not kidding. Thanks for this.”

  “It’s nice to have breakfast company.”

  “If I tossed something else on the grill on Saturday, would you be interested?”

  “I would.”

  “Can Bunk sleep in my room again?”

  She smiled at the boy, looked at the father. “He’d like that. Should be a nice evening, too. We’ll get a storm late tonight.”

  “How do you know that?”

  She shrugged. “Farm girl.”

  After breakfast, she stood on the porch in that breezy summer dress, waving them off.

  In the back seat, Bray clutched a dump truck. “I wish Thea made breakfast every day.”

  Ty flicked a glance at his son in the rearview, then looked back to where Thea turned to go inside.

  “She makes good ones.”

  Chapter Twenty-three

  She dreamed of a storm, and Riggs lurked in the rush of wind. She saw his eyes in the flash of lightning, heard his voice in the crackling roll of thunder.

  And made a choice.

  She pushed aside the curtain of the storm, opened the window, and stepped into his cell.

  He sat on the bunk, grinning at her.

  “Been waiting for you. Foxy Loxy.”

  Had he dug that out of her brain? That long-ago nickname her father sometimes called her or Rem?

  He’d gone deeper than she’d realized.

  But it cost him. She noted the dark circles that haunted his eyes and the lines cut deep around them. Lines bracketing his mouth like a marionette’s.

  Gray threaded through his hair, and that hair was thinning.

  At thirty-three, he had the face of a man heading toward fifty who’d lived hard.

  “You don’t look so good, Ray. Not sleeping well?”

  “I sleep like a fucking baby.”

  Deliberately, she laughed. “Babies tend to wake up crying every few hours.”

  “I’m doing fine, I sleep fine. I got you here, didn’t I?”

  “Yeah, I’m here.” In control, she reminded herself. She’d stay in control.

  “I thought, why not pay Ray a visit. It’s been a while, but nothing much has changed. What’s it been now?” She wandered to the door, put her hands on it. “Fifteen years. How about that, Ray, nearly half your life’s been spent behind this.” She gave the door a quick knock. “How’s that feel?”

  “I get out. I get out plenty.”

  “It’s not the same, is it? Using the gift you corrupted to walk outside these walls, watch people go along as they please. Eating ice cream sundaes, having a drink at the neighborhood bar. Can you smell the air stirring up spring or the grass freshly mowed on a summer morning?”

  She turned back to him. “Does that give you some relief from the stench in here, that smell of isolation and despair? I don’t think it does. I think it eats at you, it eats away because you know you’ll never really exist outside these locks, these walls again.”

  “You put me here.”

  “I did. I was only twelve, and I put you here. And, Ray, that’s the biggest, shiniest personal achievement of my entire life.”

  “I’ll get out, and I’ll come for you.”

  “So you always say, but here you are.”

  He grinned again. “You, too.”

  When he lunged, she pivoted instinctively to block the knife in his hand. She felt the edge of the blade score along her shoulder, felt the shock of pain, and the impact of the door as her back struck it.

  “You’re here,” he said again. As he lifted the knife to plunge, she pulled herself out, away.

  In her bed she heard him shout:

  “You’ll die here before I do!”

  Someone yelled, “Shut the fuck up, Riggs.”

  But he laughed, and as his laughter faded, as she came back to her own room, to the mutter of thunder from the passing storm, she pressed her hand to her shoulder.

  And stared at the blood smeared on her palm.

  * * *

  Just past dawn, she sat at her grandmother’s kitchen table. She’d held back too much, she had to admit that now. As she described the encounter, Rem shoved up, paced the kitchen, stared out the back door, paced back again.

  But Lucy stayed still, stayed quiet until the end.

  “Let me see your shoulder.”

  Thea pushed up the sleeve of her T-shirt. She’d butterflied the shallow cut.

  “It’s hardly more than a scratch,” she said, “but … Have you ever heard of something like this?”

  “No. You cleaned it good?”

  “Yes, and used your ointment. It’s not deep, and—”

  “Jesus Christ, Thea!” Exploding, Rem threw up his hands. “The son of a bitch cut you. He made you bleed. He could’ve killed you.”

  “I don’t know if that’s true. I just don’t know. Grammie?”

  “This is beyond me. I don’t know how he could do this. I don’t know how he knew he could.”

  “I think I know the answer to the last part.” After staring down into her coffee, she pushed it aside. “He got into a dream I had. It happened right after Ty and Bray moved here. And, Rem, I’d appreciate it if you’d keep any smart-ass comments to yourself.”

  “I’m not feeling especially smart-ass at the moment.”

  “I dreamed about sitting on the back porch on a pretty night, and Ty sitting with me, playing the guitar. It was nice, innocent, just a pretty, harmless dream. Then Riggs walked out of the woods. He had a gun, and he shot Ty.”

  She closed her eyes for a moment. “It felt so real, all so real. And Ty … I could feel his blood on my hands, and Ty said it was my fault.”