He wore jeans as well, and an untucked pinstriped shirt, along with an expression of resignation as he glanced over at Layla. "There, there," he said, patting the sobbing Shelley's back. "There, there."

"I just bought him new tires for his truck! I'm going to go slash every one of them."

"Don't." Fox took a good hold of her before Shelley, tears streaming away in fresh rage, started to yank back. "I don't want you to do that. You don't go near his truck, and for now, honey, try to stay away from him, too. And Sami."

"That turncoat slut of a bitch."

"That's the one. Leave this to me for now, okay? You go on back to work and let me handle this. That's why you hired me, right?"

"I guess. But you skin him raw, Fox. You crack that bastard's nuts like pecans."

"I'm going to get right on that," he assured her as he led her to the door. "You just stay above it all, that's the way. I'll be in touch."

After he'd closed the door, leaned back on it, he heaved out a breath.

"Holy Mother of God."

"You should've referred that one," Alice told him.

"You can't refer off the first girl you got to second base with when she's filing for divorce. It's against the laws of God and Man. Hello, Layla, need a lawyer?"

"I hope not." He was better looking than she remembered, which just went to show the shape she'd been in the night before. Plus he didn't look anything like a lawyer. "No offense."

"None taken. Layla...It's Darnell, right?"

"Yes."

"Layla Darnell, Alice Hawbaker. Mrs. H, I'm clear for a while?"

"You are."

"Come on back, Layla." He gestured. "We don't usually put a show on this early in the day, but my old pal Shelley walked into the back room over at the diner to visit her twin sister, Sami, and found her husband-that would be Shelley's husband, Block-holding Sami's tip money."

"I'm sorry, she's filing for divorce because her husband was holding her sister's tip money?"

"It was in Sami's Victoria's Secret Miracle Bra at the time."

"Oh. Well."

"That's not privileged information as Shelley chased them both out of the back room and straight out onto Main Street-with Sami's miraculous bra in full view-with a rag mop. Want a Coke?"

"No, I really don't. I don't think I need anything to give me an edge."

Since she looked inclined to pace, he didn't offer her a chair. Instead, he leaned back against his desk. "Rough night?"

"No, the opposite. I just can't figure out what I'm doing here. I don't understand any of this, and I certainly don't understand my place in it. A couple hours ago I told myself I was going to pack and drive back to New York like a sane person. But I didn't." She turned to him. "I couldn't. And I don't understand that either."

"You're where you're supposed to be. That's the simplest answer."

"Are you afraid?"

"A lot of the time."

"I don't think I've ever been really afraid. I wonder if I'd be so damned edgy if I had something todo . An assignment, a task."

"Listen, I've got to drive to a client a few miles out of town, take her some papers."

"Oh, sorry. I'm in the way."

"No, and when I start thinking beautiful women are in my way, please notify my next of kin so they can gather to say their final good-byes before my death. I was going to suggest you ride out with me, which is something to do. And you can have chamomile tea and stale lemon snaps with Mrs. Oldinger, which is a task. She likes company, which is the real reason she had me draw up the fifteenth codicil to her will."

He kept talking, knowing that was one way to help calm someone down when she looked ready to bolt. "By the time that's done, I can swing by another client who's not far out of the way and save him a trip into town. By my way of thinking, Cal and Quinn should be just about back home by the time we're done with all that. We'll go by, see what's what."

"Can you be out of the office all that time?"

"Believe me." He grabbed his coat, his briefcase. "Mrs. H will holler me back if I'm needed here. But unless you've got something better to do, I'll have her pull out the files I need and we'll take a drive."

It was better than brooding, Layla decided. Maybe she thought it was odd for a lawyer, even a small-town lawyer to drive an old Dodge pickup with a couple of Ring Ding wrappers littering the floorboards.

"What are you doing for the second client?"

"That's Charlie Deen. Charlie got clipped by a DUI when he was driving home from work. Insurance company's trying to dance around some of the medical bills. Not going to happen."

"Divorce, wills, personal injury. So you don't specialize?"

"All law, all the time," he said and sent her a smile that was a combination of sweet and cocky. "Well, except for tax law if I can avoid it. I leave that to my sister. She's tax and business law."

"But you don't have a practice together."

"That'd be tough. Sage went to Seattle to be a lesbian."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Sorry." He boosted the gas as they passed the town limits. "Family joke. What I mean is my sister Sage is gay, and she lives in Seattle. She's an activist, and she and her partner of, hmm, I guess about eight years now run a firm they call Girl on Girl. Seriously," he added when Layla said nothing. "They specialize in tax and business law for gays."

"Your family doesn't approve?"

"Are you kidding? My parents eat it up like tofu. When Sage and Paula-that's her partner-got married. Or had their life-partner affirmation, whatever-we all went out there and celebrated like mental patients. She's happy and that's what counts. The alternate lifestyle choice is just kind of a bonus for my parents. Speaking of family, that's my little brother's place."

Layla saw a log house all but buried in the trees, with a sign near the curve of the road readingHAWKINS CREEK POTTERY .

"Your brother's a potter."

"Yeah, a good one. So's my mother when she's in the mood. Want to stop in?"

"Oh, I..."

"Better not," he decided. "Ridge'll get going and Mrs. H has called Mrs. Oldinger by now to tell her to expect us. Another time."

"Okay." Conversation, she thought. Small talk. Relative sanity. "So you have a brother and sister."