Carolina Moon

taking her a nice chicken casserole. Help keep her strength up. Lord, it will be trying for her.”
    Despite her pious sigh, there was a lively fascination dancing inside her. Tory’s own mother shot dead by her own father. Why, it was just like something out of the tabloid papers, or out of Hollywood. And since she’d dragged Dwight out of the house hardly an hour after the news hit, she’d likely be the first to get a look at Tory.
    Not that she wasn’t sympathetic to Tory. Naturally she was. Hadn’t she taken that casserole her mother had made for her to heat up after the baby came and brought it along? Food was for death, everyone knew that.
    “She’s not going to feel up to company,” Dwight insisted.
    “We’re not company. Why, I went to school with Tory. The both of us have known her since we were children. I couldn’t bear the idea of her being alone at such a time.” Or of someone else getting there first. “Besides all that, Dwight Frazier, you’re mayor. It’s your duty to call on the bereaved. Goodness, watch these bumps, honey. I have to pee again.”
    “I don’t want you getting too excited or upset.” He reached over to pat her hand. “No going into labor out here, Lissy.”
    “Don’t you worry.” But it pleased her that he did. “I’ve got three weeks left, at least. Goodness, how do I look?” Anxious, she flipped down the vanity mirror. “I must look a fright, rushing out the way I did. A big, fat frightful cow.”
    “You’re beautiful. Still the prettiest girl in Progress. And all mine.”
    “Oh, Dwight.” She flushed rosily and fluffed her hair. “You’re so sweet. I just feel so fat and ugly these days. And Tory’s so slim.”
    “Skin and bones. My woman’s got curves.” He reached over to rub her breast and made her squeal.
    “Stop that.” Giggling, she gave his hand a swat. “Shame on you. Now look, we’re almost there and you’ve got me all flustered.” She snuck her hand between his legs. “Got yourself flustered, too. Remember how we used to park out this way when we were young and foolish?”
    “And I talked you into the backseat of my daddy’s car.”
    “Didn’t take much talking. I was just crazy about you. The first time we made love it was out here. It was so dark, so sexy. Dwight.” She walked her fingers up his leg. “After the baby comes, and I get my figure back, let’s have Mama come over and baby-sit. You and I’ll drive on out here and see if you can still talk me into the backseat.”
    He blew out a breath. “Keep talking like that, Lissy, and I’m not going to be able to get out of this car without embarrassing myself.”
    “Slow down a little. I want to put some lipstick on anyway.” She dug a tube out of her purse.
    “Mama said she’d keep Luke overnight. We should go by and see Boots and J.R. after we leave Tory’s. I guess they’ll have the funeral up around Florence. We’ll have to go, of course, represent the town, and so on. I don’t have any black maternity dresses. I suppose I’ll have to make do with the navy, even though it has that pretty white collar. People’ll understand, don’t you think, if I wear navy blue? And we’ll have to send flowers.”
    She chattered until they turned into the lane. Dwight was no longer aroused, but he was getting a vague headache.
    Fifteen minutes, he promised himself. He’d give Lissy fifteen minutes to fuss over Tory, then he was taking her home and making her put her feet up. That way, he could get himself a beer, kick back, and watch whatever was on ESPN.
    Nobody in Progress was going to do any grieving over Sarabeth Bodeen except her immediate family. He didn’t see why a death so far removed from him, and his town, need occupy more than the minimum amount of his time, personal or official.
    He’d pay his duty calls, then forget it.
    “I don’t know why anybody would want to live way out here without a single soul for company,” Lissy said, as Dwight hauled her out of the car. “Then again, Tory always was an odd one. Rare as a two-headed duck, my mama would say. Then again …” She trailed off and gave Cade’s car a significant look. “I guess she doesn’t lack for company after all. I swear, I can’t see those two together, Dwight, not for a New York minute. They can’t have a thing in common, and as far as I can see, Tory’s not the kind to keep a man very warm, if you know what I mean. She’s good-looking enough if you like that type, but she’s