Dune took the time. He leaned back against the blue pipe railing and listened. He was interested in what the mayor had to say.

"Dog-eared Pages, the used book store around the corner from Molly's diner, is going out of business," James began. "Clinton Cates wants to retire. I'd prefer the shop didn't stand empty long. I want to try something new. Barefoot William deserves its own museum. I'd like to offer Sophie the position of curator. She knows more about us than we know about ourselves. She'd be perfect for the job."

The idea appealed to Dune, yet there was a catch. "She's a Saunders."

"Not a problem for me or anyone else," his uncle assured him. "Everyone on the boardwalk likes her. Your sister married Sophie's brother Trace. In a roundabout way, that makes her family."

Dune nodded. This could be her dream job. He felt a surge of excitement for her.

The mayor glanced at his watch. "I need to get back to the office," he said, straightening his tie. "Run the idea by Sophie and see if she's interested. If so, have her stop by my office and we'll talk further."

His uncle departed and Dune went after Sophie. He planned to save his conversation about the mayor's proposal for later that evening. It was more important that he deliver her survival kit.

Her forty-minute tour had stretched to ninety minutes. He located her near the pier. The crowd swelled despite the heat. Sophie suffocated at its center.

Dune made his way over to her. People frowned, but let him pass. They didn't want to lose their places. Sophie wasn't nearly as wilted as he'd expected. Her blouse was slightly wrinkled and her face was flushed. She fanned herself with the floppy brim of her hat.

He opened the take-out container and passed her a bottle of water. She was grateful. He then slipped the kit under her seat.

"How are you holding up?" he asked.

She took a long sip of water before answering him. "I'm ready to head back to the rickshaw hut," she said. "I hope Shaye won't be angry." Her concern for her job was evident on her face. "I got carried away and went over the allotted time."

Dune glanced around. No one had moved. All eyes were on Sophie. "You have an appreciative audience."

She smiled. "I'm having fun."

"Are you sore?"

She rubbed her thigh. "A little." She didn't complain further. She poured a few drops of water onto her palm and blotted her face. The droplets immediately dried. "I'd better go," she told him.

She cut the front wheel sharply and made a U-turn. Fortunately, she didn't run over anyone. Dune fell in with the crowd, keeping to the rear. He wanted to hear what Sophie had to say as much as anyone.

Along the way, he learned that William's younger brother had established the first local newspaper in town. The Sun was printed once a week and was a one-page news sheet. William's eldest son was instrumental in the construction and extension of the First Southern Railroad. The one-rail line brought a slow stream of commerce to town. William's youngest daughter ran a bakery out of her home kitchen. She baked the best apple pies in the county.

He also discovered that his great-great-grandfather had had polio and his great-aunt had died of scarlet fever. They had no town doctor for many years. The local women applied stitches and used home remedies to treat the common cold and pneumonia.

The crowd grew bigger and Dune fell farther behind. He came across Mac outside the T-shirt shop and stopped to talk to his partner. Mac held a large soda and two corn dogs.

Something was definitely wrong, Dune thought. Mac had a cast-iron stomach and went through food as if life was an eating contest. Yet at that moment, both drink and dog went untouched. They had one hour before volleyball practice. Dune hoped he wasn't sick.

"You standing or stalking?" he asked Mac.

Mac pointed to a fissure in the foundation. "I'm holding up the wall."

"Three Shirts isn't falling down," Dune informed him. "The crack's been there for fifty years."

"I'm here in case it caves in."

Dune narrowed his gaze. "That's an interesting way to spend your morning. Is Jen aware of your Herculean strength?"

"She looked out the door and scowled at me," Mac said. "A few minutes later that boy Randy delivered a glass of warm tap water." Mac liked his drinks packed with ice.

Dune shook his head and smiled.

"What are you smiling about?" Mac demanded.

"The fact that we've stood here for five minutes and you haven't made one comment on women's waxing." Beautiful women strolled the boardwalk. Most wore tiny bikinis. They flashed a lot of smiles and skin.

Mac cut his glance to the next three sunbathers coming their way. "Brazilian, bikini, bikini," he said half-heartedly.

"Nice jersey, Ace-hole," one of the two bikini babes said to Mac as she passed.

Mac nodded. "It's one of my favorites."

"Mine, too," Dune stated, eyeing the familiar jersey. Mac often raided his closet when they were on tour or vacation. He'd paid a sizeable amount for the vintage 1925 Packers football jersey. He should've framed and preserved the shirt, but he enjoyed wearing it when Mac didn't confiscate it.

Mac rolled his shoulders. "I ran out of clothes."

"Ever hear of a washing machine?"

"I put out my laundry, but Frank has yet to run a load."

"You're his guest," Dune reminded him. "Be considerate of my grandfather."

"I'm family," Mac said. "Frank calls me 'son.' "

"Son of a bitch when you're out of earshot."

"I've heard that, too."

Dune glanced at his watch. "Jen or the gym?" he asked.

Mac considered his options. "Jenna hates my guts and won't speak to me. I can work off my frustration at practice."

Dune turned serious. He seldom poked his nose into Mac's personal business, but Jen was family. "Are you into my cousin?"

"Who wants to know?"

"I'm asking, you're answering."

"True confession?" Mac asked.

"Be honest with me. I don't want to see her hurt."

"She's the one being shitty to me," Mac said.

"You bring out the worst in people."

"I'm a freakin' nice guy," he defended. "I want-"

"Someone you can't have," Dune said flatly. He went on to remind Mac, "We're leaving town shortly. My family is close. We look out for each other. Don't do something so stupid you get banned from our community."

"What do you consider stupid?"

"Don't mess with Jenna's mind."

"What if she screws with me?"

"You'd deserve it."

Mac said a bad word.

Dune motioned to him. "Enough said. Let's walk."

Mac had finished one corn dog and half his soda by the time they reached the Tahoe. He dumped the remainder of the food in a trash receptacle; then Dune drove them to the high school gym. He knew the coaches well and had reserved the facility for two hours.

Dune shouldered an athletic bag inside. He'd brought them each a change of clothes. Dressed in gray tank tops and athletic shorts, they took to the indoor court. He'd have preferred to practice on the beach, but they'd draw a crowd there. He didn't want media publicizing his injury. He slipped on his brace.

They each took a side to practice their serves. Dune soon realized that Mac's mind wasn't on the court. Ace-hole was in his own world. His serves were unfocused, his placement sloppy. Dune needed to jar his ass back to reality.

Dune strained his wrist, but he got his message across. He aimed an overhand slam at Mac's head. Strong and accurate, it served his purpose.

"What the fuck?" Mac jumped, ducked, and was forced to chase the ball down. "I'm your partner, for Christ's sake. You nearly took off an ear. I don't want to be the Vincent van Gogh of volleyball."

"Concentrate," Dune shouted over the net. "We need to be ready for Huntington."

Mac narrowed his eyes and set his jaw. His return serve blew Dune away, landing beyond his reach.

"Nice," Dune admired.

"How's your wrist?" Mac asked. "Am I going to have to carry you in two weeks?"

Dune hoped not, but he was afraid Mac might. "Be ready for anything."

"I've got your back."

They went through a series of two-man drills. Hot and sweaty, they called it quits at the end of ninety minutes. Dune bought them each an apple juice from the vending machine. He tossed Mac a towel from his athletic bag. They sat on the bleachers and cooled off.

"I may be leaving town earlier than I planned," Dune confided in Mac. "My orthopedist called. He has a treatment for my tendonitis he wants to try, one that could strengthen my wrist."

"Solid," said Mac. "What's the procedure?"

Dune rubbed the towel across the back of his neck. "I get shots of platelet-rich plasma created by my own blood injected in the ruptured tendons."

Mac winced. "How long does it take to work?"

Dune rolled his wrist. "I'm a speed healer. I should see results within a day."

"Yeah?" Mac asked, curious.

"I should have more flexibility in my wrist and less inflammation," Dune said. "I'll stay on for observation and additional therapy. If all goes well, I'll be in top shape for the tournament."

Mac exhaled slowly. "You'd no longer face retirement. We could continue on the tour."

"That would be the best scenario."

They both knew the worst, but neither wanted to go there.

"What about Ghost?" Mac asked.

"He'll stay with my grandfather until I return. Frank could use the company."

"I'll take him for walks and give him snacks."

"No pepperoni, potato chips, or peanut butter. Otherwise-"

"He farts," Mac finished for him.

Dune cut Mac a look. "No more tricks, either. You taught him how to play dead. He lay like roadkill on our last walk. I had to carry him home. I also don't like the fact he can twist doorknobs with his mouth. He occasionally sneaks in and sleeps on the floor in Frank's bedroom. My grandfather trips over him in the morning. I don't want Frank hurt."

"No more tricks," Mac promised.

Dune knew he lied.

Mac nudged him with an elbow. "Does Sophie know about your injections?"

"Not yet, but I plan to tell her before I leave." He rubbed his brow. "She'll feel worse than I will if the treatment doesn't work."

"She cares for you."

"She's cute when she blushes."

Mac grinned one of his more annoying grins.

Dune's neck heated. "What now?" he asked.

"You're crazy about her. C'mon, admit it."

He kept his feelings to himself.

"She's going to miss you," said Mac.

"She won't even know I'm gone." Dune then told Mac about his chat with the mayor. "Sophie knows the town better than anyone. I'm sure she'll accept the challenge."

"There'll be no more adventures." Mac sounded disappointed. "I truly thought she'd make a great mime."

"I'm relieved she's out of harm's way," Dune admitted.