Carolina Moon

liars. People just want to pick up where they left off, wherever things went wrong, and start off in a new direction without any of the baggage. Those who manage it are the lucky ones because somehow they’re able to shrug off all those pesky weights like guilt and consequences.”
    She took another drag, giving Tory a contemplative stare. “You don’t look all that lucky to me.”
    “You know what, neither do you. And that’s a surprise.”
    Faith’s mouth trembled open, then she shut it again and smiled thinly. “Oh, I travel light and travel often. You just ask anyone.”
    “Looks like we’ve landed in the same place. Why don’t we make the best of it?”
    “Long as you remember who got here first, we won’t have a problem.”
    “You’ve never let me forget it. But right now this is my house, and I’m tired.”
    “Then I’ll see you around.” She started out, trailing smoke. “You sleep tight, Tory. Oh, and if staying out here all alone gives you the willies, I’d trade that knife in for a gun.”
    She stopped, opened her purse, and lifted out a trim, pearl-handled pistol. “A woman just can’t be too careful, can she?” With a light laugh, she dropped the gun back into her bag, snapped it closed, then let the screen door slap behind her.
    Tory made herself stand in the doorway, even when the headlights blinded her. She stood there until the car reversed out of the lane, swung onto the road, and sped away.
    She locked the door, then went back in the kitchen for the flashlight, and the knife. Part of her wanted to get into the car, drive into town, and knock on her uncle’s door. But if she couldn’t spend this first night in the house, it would be that much easier to avoid the next, and the next.
    She lay with her back to the wall, her eyes on the window until the dark softened and the first birds of morning woke.
    He had been afraid. When he’d crept so quietly to the window, he’d felt what he felt so rarely. A fist of fear squeezing at his gut.
    Tory Bodeen, back where it had all started.
    She was sleeping, curled on the floor like a gypsy, and he could see the curve of her cheek, the shape of her lips in the slant of moonlight.
    Something would have to be done. He’d known that, had begun to plan for it in his quiet and steady way. But what a jolt to see her here, to remember it all so vividly just by seeing her here.
    He’d been startled when she’d woken, coming out of sleep as fast and straight as an arrow from a bow. Even in the dark he’d seen visions in her eyes. It had brought sweat to his face, to the palms of his hands. But there were plenty of shadows, plenty of shelter to slide into. Cracks in the wall.
    He’d folded himself into one of the cracks and watched Faith arrive. The bright hair gleaming in the moonlight in such an interesting contrast to Tory’s dark. Tory who seemed to absorb the light rather than reflect it.
    He’d known, of course, in that instant when they’d stood together, when their voices had mixed, where they would take him. Where he would take them.
    It would be as it had been the first time, so long ago. It would be what he’d been trying to recapture for eighteen long years.
    It would be perfect.
    She’d planned to be up early. When the knock at the front door woke her at eight, Tory wasn’t certain if she was more irritated with herself or the new visitor. Rubbing the sleep from her eyes, she stumbled out of the bedroom, blinked at the sunlight, and fumbled with the lock.
    She gave Cade one bleary stare through the screen. “Maybe I shouldn’t be paying rent if the Lavelles have decided to make this their home away from home.”
    “Sorry?”
    “Nothing.” She gave the screen one halfhearted push that wasn’t entirely an invitation, then turned away. “I need coffee.”
    “I woke you.” He stepped in to follow her into the kitchen. “Farmers tend to think everyone’s up at dawn. I—” He stopped by the open door of the bedroom, swore. “For Christ’s sake, Tory, you don’t even have a bed.”
    “I’m getting one today.”
    “Why didn’t you stay with J.R. and Boots?”
    “Because I didn’t want to.”
    “You prefer sleeping on the floor? What’s this?” He walked into the room, taking over, Tory thought, much as his sister had the night before, then came out holding the knife.
    “It’s my crochet hook. I’ve got a hell of an afghan going.” When he only stared at her, she hissed out a breath and stomped into