She nodded, then remembered she was on the phone. "Yes, you're right. We've a lot to talk about. I'll let you know."

"Cassandra?"

"Yes?"

"You don't sound like you anymore. I hardly recognize you."

Her fingers strummed the charms at her neck, her soul oddly comforted by their presence. "Yeah, I hardly recognize myself anymore." She sniffed, hoping he didn't hear it. "I've got to go. We'll talk soon." She hung up the phone, then stared at it for a long time, her blood pumping heavily in her brain. When she looked up, she spied two familiar hats through the sidelights of the door, and she ran to open it before the Sedgewick twins had a chance to ring the doorbell.

Their orange lipstick matched the plastic flowers on their hats and the antiquated Corningware casserole dishes in their gloved hands. Thelma spoke first. "We hear that Harriet is back, so we brought some food. We stopped by their house first but figured they were probably still here. It's backbone and dumplings and macaroni mousse ring."

Selma patted Cassie on the arm before marching past her with what appeared to be the mousse ring. "We don't want you or Lucinda or Joe having to worry one single minute about anything else but taking care of Harriet. Let us do the rest. The garden club has already set up a list of ladies to bring fresh flowers to her house, and the Daughters of the Confederacy have already got a meal schedule started." She turned an orange smile on Cassie. "We got to go first, since we're president of both associations."

Seeing Harriet asleep on the sofa, the ladies, with their practical navy pumps, tiptoed past her and into the kitchen.

Feeling strangely defeated and utterly useless, Cassie climbed the stairs slowly, ignoring the reproving glare from Great-great-great-grandfather Madison.

Twenty-Three.

Cassie grabbed the top of the plastic garbage bag and hoisted it on top of the already full trash can outside the back door. She caught sight of her college-freshman picture staring out at her through the thin sheet of plastic, the mousy hair and goofy grin preserved forever. With two fists, she smashed the bag into the can and closed it.

Harriet and Joe had been back for almost two weeks. Even though Cassie played her role as dutiful sister by watching the children or running errands, she had avoided any more serious discussions with her sister. She hadn't seen Sam at all, through a mutual avoidance. She wanted to apologize for insinuating he had failed Harriet somehow as her doctor, but his words about her acting like a spoiled child and being angry with Harriet for complicating her life still stung. Worse, she recognized the truth in them and wasn't yet ready to admit that to anybody.

As she pulled open the screen door to go back inside, the distinct sound of somebody humming nipped past her ears. It was so faint that at first she thought she was imagining it until she heard it again. Lucinda had been staying at Harriet's, so Cassie knew she was alone. Gently, she closed the door, careful not to make a sound.

She crept to the side of the house and stuck her head out. An old tire swing, strung to a low branch of a towering oak, moved back and forth, the young girl who sat snug inside of it oblivious to her audience.

"Maddie?"

The girl stopped the swing abruptly, making the rope vibrate wildly. "Hey, Aunt Cassie."

Cassie walked toward her niece, her hands behind her back. "Aren't you supposed to be in school?"

Maddie gripped the sides of the tire swing and hung backward, her light brown hair falling behind her and touching the tips of the dried grass. "I didn't feel like it."

"Um-hm." Cassie leaned against the tree trunk and regarded her niece carefully. "Does it have anything to do with that trick you played on Lucy Spafford?"

Maddie sat up, her face flushed red from being upside down. An impish grin lit her face. "Heck, no. It's actually made me pretty popular." She tilted her head as one bare toe propelled the swing in a wobbly fashion. "How do your floors look, by the way?"

"Very nice, thank you. The upstairs needs doing, too, so just be aware that I'm looking for the first opportunity to get that done."

With a little snort, Maddie began twisting the swing, making the rope bunch on the tree branch. "How come you didn't tell my parents?"

Cassie reached up and plucked a leaf from a limb. "Because I didn't want to see you get in trouble. And because I don't think your parents need to be worrying about something like that right now."

Maddie lifted her foot, allowing the swing to twist her around in tight circles. With her head dangling and her hair over her face, she said, "Thanks."

"So, why aren't you in school?"

She answered with a shrug.

Letting the shredded leaf drift from her hand, Cassie said, "Is it because of your mother? Are you trying to punish her?"

Maddie kept her head down, her hair a confessional curtain. "Maybe."

Cassie slid down the trunk to a sitting position at its base. "I wish you'd talk to me, Maddie. I might be able to help you. I know what it's like to be the oldest child and to have a mother who's dying."

There was a long pause, but Cassie waited patiently for her niece to speak. Maddie kicked a stone with her toe. "Yeah, but at least your mother didn't choose to die. My mother doesn't love me enough to want to fight." Her voice broke, but her hair still obscured her face.

Cassie's heart clenched in her chest. "Oh, no, Maddie. I used to think that, too, but that's not it at all. I wish I could tell you how much your mother loves you." She looked up toward the lower branches, fighting the stinging in her eyes. "Your mother has had to make the most difficult decision of a lifetime. Neither you nor I can know what she's going through, and I hope we never do. But she's made this decision without thinking of herself. It's not a matter of her life or the baby's. It's a few stolen months or an entire lifetime. Can you understand that? And that takes more courage than I know I've got in my whole body."

She grabbed a dead leaf nestled among the roots of the ancient tree and let it rest on her open palm. She said a brief prayer of thanks for her newfound wisdom and let its grace settle deep inside her. With renewed fervor, she faced Maddie. "You need to go to your mother. Talk to her." She reached out and touched the young girl's knee. "There will be times, later in your life, when you will wish you had. Do it now so there will be no regrets."

A sob came from the girl on the swing, and Cassie rose, her need to comfort making her heart ache, not just for Maddie but for the lost girl she herself had once been. Maddie reached out for her, and Cassie met her halfway, clutching her tightly and letting Maddie's head fall on her shoulder. Her hand cradled Maddie's head, and she felt as if an unseen hand cradled hers, too. She was a girl of eight again, and through her own hurt and anger, she felt her mother's love.

"You'll never be alone, Maddie. As long as I'm alive, you'll never be alone."

Maddie's body shook with sobs. "But I'm so angry-angry at Mama for dying and angry at the whole world for letting it happen. I know it's not her fault, but I can't help it. I can't help it if I think this lousy life is so unfair." She choked, and Cassie held her tightly, her own tears falling lightly on the brown head that reminded her so much of her own.

"You're damned right it's not fair. But we're not always given choices. Sometimes these awful things get plunked down in the middle of our lives and we're left to just deal with it. Some people handle it better than others, but we all find a way. You're strong, Maddie. You'll find your way. Just like I did."

Maddie looked up, her face red and streaked with tears and sweat. "You ran away."

With the pads of her thumbs, Cassie smoothed away some of the tears. "Yeah-and that wasn't the right thing to do. I think I've almost come full circle now, but it would have been a lot easier if I'd taken a more direct route."

Her niece looked at her with confusion. Cassie smiled. "What I mean to say is that running away is usually the easiest thing to do but rarely the right thing in the end."

"But you've had such a great life in New York. Would you trade that for anything?"

Cassie stilled, the answer that popped into her head too frightening to confront. "If you'd asked me that last year, I would have said no." She lowered her voice in a conspiratorial tone. "Don't tell anybody, but I think I've grown up a bit in the last few months, and my answer would definitely be different now. Sure, I've had a great life in New York, but at a very high price. My decision to run away cost me fifteen years with your mother."

Maddie sniffed loudly, then banged her fist against the side of the tire. "I'm so mad I could just spit."

The rope groaned as it slipped on the tree branch. "Go ahead and spit, Maddie, if it makes you feel better, but you do need to talk to your mother. She loves you and is worried about you. I think she could use your forgiveness-and understanding-right now."

"I don't know . . . how. It's too hard."

Cassie blinked, fighting the strange urge to laugh. Maddie was as stubborn as a rock when it came to asking for or giving forgiveness. The apple certainly didn't fall far from the Madison family tree. Cassie pushed the damp hair out of Maddie's eyes. "All we have to ask ourselves is to give it a try. Sometimes it's all we can do. And it's definitely a step in the right direction."

Maddie sighed. "So what should I do?"

"Go to your mother. You don't even have to say anything, and I doubt she'll notice that you're skipping school, because she'll be too excited to see you." She tugged on her arm. "Just go. Now."

Maddie squeezed herself out of the tire but continued to stand there uncertainly.

"Remember, all you have to do is try. It's a start. Everything else will fall into place."

She shook her head. "I can't. I can't! Not now-but maybe later. I promise. I'll try later." The young girl hugged Cassie, then left with a slow gait, her brown hair swaying softly behind her.

Cassie wrapped her arms around herself, feeling goose bumps bead her skin. Her own words reverberated in her head, and she felt like a hypocrite. Giving advice to others had always been easy; taking it never had been. Grabbing the swing, she threw it in a wide arc, watching it spiral into ever-tightening circles.

Without even realizing where she was headed, she followed her own feet across the lawn and down the drive. Harriet had told her that Sam had bought the old Duffy house and was in the midst of restoring it himself. He'd moved out of the second-floor apartment he'd been renting from Mrs. Cagle and had moved into his new house the same day. Neighbors said he worked like a dog on it during every spare moment.

As Cassie approached, she spotted Sam standing in the front yard, working over a sawhorse. His bare chest glistened with sweat, and she noticed he wore work boots and shorts-the first time she'd ever seen him wear anything except cowboy boots and jeans. She stood at the corner of his property for a moment, glad for the chance to observe him unnoticed. As he sawed through a piece of wood, muscles rippled in his back, and her gut tightened. Her eyes lowered, enjoying the show. When her gaze finally made it up to his head, her eyes met his, and she blushed.

George barked and made a move to run to her, but Sam held him back. He returned to his work, his back turned toward her.

She had to shout above the sawing. "I've come to apologize."

He paused. "Well, gosh, that's certainly news. Did you call the Walton Sentinel?" Without waiting for an answer, he picked up the saw and turned it on.

"Sam," she shouted again, moving closer so he could hear her.

He turned off the saw and put it down, then straightened. He lifted his eyebrows expectantly.

"I . . . I had a call from Andrew. He's offering me a partnership in the agency."

His face remained rigid. "Congratulations. When are you leaving?"

"I haven't given him an answer yet. I have until January."

He pulled a handkerchief out of his back pocket and wiped his forehead. She gave him a lopsided grin. "I see you still have one left."

"Yeah, guess so. You can mail the other ones from New York. Just make sure you wash them first." He leaned down and hoisted another two-by-four onto the sawhorse and began marking mea-surements on it.

"Sam, you're not making this easy for me."

"That's a first." He clamped a pencil in his mouth, as if to effectively shut off all conversation, and flipped on the circular saw again.

She stared at his back, bare and brown from the sun, and she suddenly realized how very much she needed to touch him. The moment her fingertips touched his bare flesh, he stiffened and took a deep breath, flicking the saw off and dropping it onto the table. She splayed both hands wide, marveling at how good he felt.

Stepping closer, she felt the heat from his body, and it made the blood jump in her veins. "I wanted to say I'm sorry, and you know that's not easy for me. I'm sorry for the way I talked to you about Harriet. You were right; I see that now. I know I need to focus on her needs right now and not what I want or think would be best." She rested her cheek on his back, feeling his intake of breath. "And . . . I need you right now. You're the only one who understands me and puts up with me, anyway. Harriet's dying, and I can't face it alone." She closed her eyes, tears teasing her eyelids. "I can't promise you what's going to happen in January, but . . ." She stopped, trying to find enough air in her lungs to continue.

His breathing came in long, deep, deliberate breaths, his muscles tense. "But what?"

She touched his back with her lips, and he sucked in a quick breath. "I . . . I need you. I need you now. And I can't imagine not always feeling this way."

She pressed her lips against the smooth skin on his back between his shoulder blades, tasting him with her tongue this time and feeling his skin ripple over his spine. "You do something to me, Sam Parker, that makes me forget all reason. Maybe I could stand to eat grits every morning for the rest of my life, or maybe I'm destined for a bagel from the corner deli. I don't know. But every time I picture a future without you in it, I feel more lost and alone than I've ever been in my life."

Her arms reached around his torso, rubbing his ribs, but still he did-n't speak. She could feel the tightness in every single one of his mus-cles. "Please tell me that's enough-for now."

Finally, he turned around in her arms. His eyes were dark blue and brooding, but she recognized the glint of hope in them. "What about the partnership? Are you telling me you'd consider not returning to New York and your job?"

She nodded, not trusting her voice to speak.

He studied her face for a long moment, as if weighing his words. "It's enough-for now. But I won't wait forever. Even Job had his limits." He stared down at her, his gaze dropping to her lips. He glanced in the direction of the neighbors' houses. "I have a feeling that these trees have eyes. Would you like to go inside for a glass of sweet tea?"

She licked her lips, but not because she needed anything to drink. Nodding, she led the way, trying to ignore the rubbery feeling in her legs. He followed her into the small foyer, closing the door with a booted heel while simultaneously pinning her to the wall.

"You're not doing this because you have an itch, are you?"

She shook her head, her mouth dry. "No, Sam. You're the only one who seems to make things right in my world." She placed the palm of her hand against his cheek. "I can talk to you about Harriet and cry and rage and know you still love me, anyway."

He slid her hand to his lips and kissed the open palm, sending shock waves up her arm.

With a breathless whisper, she said, "And you do give me this terrible itch. . . ."

"Then let me scratch it." Slowly, he slid his hands to the waist-band of her shorts and then underneath her panties. Cupping her buttocks in his hands, he pressed her against him. "Where did you say it itched?"

He smothered her moan with a kiss as his right hand worked its way between her legs. She whimpered, and he grinned against her mouth. "Did I find the right spot?"

"Oh, yes," she managed, heat coiling like a spring deep inside her.

Suddenly, his hand stopped but didn't move away.

She opened her eyes, barely inches away from his. She stared at him, breathing heavily. Groaning, she squirmed against him. "You're driving me crazy."

His eyes were serious. "Now you know what it feels like." He kissed her deeply, then pulled away again. "It's not nice to be toyed with, is it?"

She shook her head, moving her hips to make contact with his fingers again. Instead, he opened the waistband farther and slid her shorts and panties down her legs. When they hit the ground, she kicked them out of the way, fighting for her composure. "We don't have to do anything right now if you think I'm toying with you. I might die of frustration, but I'd rather do that than for you to think my feelings for you are anything less than serious."

She read the answer in his eyes and in his mouth as he lowered his lips to hers. "I need you, Cassie Madison. You're stubborn, bullheaded, and mean to boot, but God help me, I need you." He lowered his mouth to her neck and lingered there for a long moment. "I also need to take a shower." His fingers deftly began unbuttoning her blouse.

"Call me anything you like, just please don't stop this time." She reached for his belt buckle and opened it.

"How are you at scrubbing backs?" He shifted backward to allow her better access to his fly.

"Would you like to find out?" Her voice gave out on the last word as he unhooked her bra and his mouth found her breast. Without removing his lips from her, he managed to shuck his boots and socks, sending them flying across the room.

"Sweet Jesus, Cassie, you're killing me." With a swift motion, he removed his shorts and underwear. Then, hoisting her up, her legs around his waist, he headed for the stairs. Nimbly stepping over paint cans and tools, he made it to the top floor and the master bathroom. Still holding her, he switched on the showerhead and stepped in.

He wedged her up against the tile wall, making her gasp from the coldness of it, while his fingers slid between them again, making her gasp for an entirely different reason. He caressed her, heating her skin until she bucked against him.

"Please Sam-now."

He moved between her legs, but paused. "I'm not going to make it easy for you to leave."

Water splashed from the showerhead onto his back, spraying her in the face. She clenched her eyes shut. "You already have." Pressing her forehead against his chest, she murmured again, "You already have."

A low growl came from his throat as he slid into her in one slow thrust. The water beat down on them, sliding between them, easing its way down their bare bodies. Sam began to move more quickly as she felt her core begin to melt. He pressed her harder against the shower wall and she whimpered, sucking on his shoulder as her release struck her, knocking the air out of her lungs, and Sam shouted her name, the sound of it more of a caress than anything he could do with his hands.