"The other day, before that business with Bonny, did you say that you and Dwayne worked in the fields?"

"We've been known to."

"And you once mentioned that Dwayne had a degree he didn't use. But you didn't say if you had one."

"Can't say I actually graduated. I never could get the hang of sliding through school like Dwayne did. I studied some business management and accounting, though." He smiled easily. "Didn't take much thought to figure out it's more comfortable behind a desk than sweating in a cotton field. Want me to dig up my college yearbook?"

She only hissed out a breath. "I can't believe I actually came over here to protect you."

"Protect me?" He slid an arm around her shoulders so he could sniff at her hair. "Sugar, that's awful sweet of you. God, you smell good. Better than cherry pie cooling on the windowsill."

"It's soap," she said between her teeth. "Just soap."

"It makes me crazy." He began to nuzzle her neck. "Dead crazy. 'Specially this spot right here."

She shivered as he nipped under her jaw. "I came here to talk to you, Tucker, not to… oh." Her words trailed off as he began doing sneaky, seductive things behind her ear.

"You go ahead and talk," he invited her. "I don't mind a bit."

"If you'd just stop that."

Okay. He switched from her ear back to her neck. "Go ahead."

As her better judgment began to dim, she tilted her head back to give him more access. "Matthew Burns came by." She felt his lips pause, his muscles tense, then gradually, gradually, relax again.

"I can't say as that surprises me. He's had his eye on you. A blind man on a galloping horse could see that."

"It had nothing to do with… It wasn't personal." The hell with her fuzzy brain, Caroline decided, and turned her lips to meet Tucker's. She let out a quiet sigh as he pleasured them both with slow, nibbling kisses. "He was warning me off you."

"Hmmm. Much to my frustration, you haven't been on me yet."

"No, he was talking about the case. The murder." A light flashed on in her brain and she jolted back. "The murder," she repeated, then stared down open-mouthed at her gaping blouse. "What are you doing?"

He had to take a steadying breath. "I was just working on getting your clothes off. Seems I've been working on that for some time now." He sat back again, studying her. "And it looks like it's going to get put off again."

She fumbled her buttons back into place. "I'll let you know when I want to be undressed."

"Caroline, you were letting me know just fine. Until you started thinking again." To douse some of the fire, he got up to fix a drink. "Want one?" He gestured with the decanter.

"No."

"Well, I do." He poured two fingers of whiskey.

She lifted her chin. "You can be just as annoyed as you like, but-"

"Annoyed?" His eyes flashed to hers before he lifted the glass. "Sugar, that's a mighty mild word for what you work in me. I've never had a woman stir my juices with less effort than you."

"I came here to warn you, not to stir anything."

"My point exactly." He finished off his drink, thought about having another, and opted for half a cigarette instead. "Who's Luis?"

Her mouth opened and closed twice before she managed to speak. "I beg your pardon?"

"No, you don't. You just don't want to answer me. Susie mentioned that there was somebody named Luis you were pissed at." He scowled down at the stub he was smoking. "Hell of a stupid name."

"Tucker's so much more dignified."

He relaxed enough to grin. "Depends on where you're standing, I expect. Who is he, Caro?"

"Somebody I'm pissed at," she said lightly. "Now, if you'd like to hear what I've come to-"

"Did he hurt you?"

Her eyes locked with his. In them she saw patience, compassion, and, unexpectedly, a quiet, steady strength. "Yes."

"I'd like to promise I wouldn't, but I don't guess I can do that."

Something shifted inside her. A door she'd thought she'd locked tight was creeping open. "I don't want promises," she said almost desperately.

"I've never been one for giving them. Dangerous things, promises." He frowned down at his cigarette, then crushed it out. "But I do care about you. I guess you could say I'm about neck-deep in caring about you."

"I think-I'm not ready…" She rose and wished she had something to do with her hands. "I care about you, too, Tucker. And that's where it has to stop. I came here because I care about you, and I wanted you to know that Matthew Burns is looking for a way to prove you killed Edda Lou Hatinger."

"He's going to have to look pretty hard." Still watching her, Tucker slipped his hands in his pockets. "I didn't kill Edda Lou, Caroline."

"I know that. I might not understand you, but I know that. Matthew's looking for the connection between Arnette, Francie, and Edda Lou, and you're the front runner. He also dropped some hints about Toby, and that concerns me. I know these are the nineties, but it's still rural Mississippi, and racial tensions…" She shrugged.

"Most people around here have a lot of respect for Toby and Winnie. There aren't that many around like the Hatingers or the Bonny boys."

"But there are some. I don't want to see anything happen to Toby or his family." She took a step forward. "More, I don't want to see anything happen to you."

"Then I'll have to see to it that you don't." He reached out to lift her chin, his eyes sharp and steady. "You've got a headache." Gently he rubbed at the faint line of stress between her brows. "I don't like to think I had a part in bringing that on."

"It's not you." As always, she felt a trace of embarrassment at the weakness she associated with pain. "It's the situation. Not you."

"Then we're not going to think about the situation. We're going to go sit out on the porch and watch for that sunset." He pressed a kiss to her forehead. "And you don't even have to neck with me. Unless you want to."

That made her smile, which was what he'd intended. "What about your work?"

"Honey." He slipped an arm around her waist to lead her out. "There's one sure thing about work. It doesn't go anywhere."

So they sat on the porch, talking idly of the weather, of Marvella's wedding, of young Jim's progress on the violin. And while the sun drifted lower in the sky, bleeding red over the horizon, while the frisky puppy tried to convince the aging Buster to play, while the Statler Brothers gave way to the Oak Ridge Boys, neither of them noticed the quick wink of light glazing off the lens of a pair of dented binoculars.

Austin held them to his eyes in taut hands. He watched, his mouth moving silently in fervent and deadly prayer, his mind twisting deeper into madness, and two Police Specials shoved in the waistband of his Sunday trousers.

When Cy reached the culvert the next morning, his father was waiting. He grabbed the boy by the shirt while he peered out at the white morning light.

"You didn't tell anybody? I'll know if you lie."

"No, Daddy." It was the same question, the same answer each morning. "I swear I didn't. I brought you some chicken, and a sausage biscuit."

Austin snatched the paper sack. "You bring the rest?"

"Yes sir." Cy handed over the plastic container of water, hoping his father would be content with that. Knowing he wouldn't.

Austin unscrewed the top and took three long swallows before swiping his hand across his mouth. "The rest."

Cy's hands shook. His throat was too full of fear to allow any words through. He unbuckled the leather holder from his belt and held out the hunting knife.

"Daddy, there's police still out by the house, but they got rid of the roadblocks on Route One. You could get clean over to Arkansas if you wanted."

"Anxious to see me gone, boy?" Lips peeled back in a grin, Austin unsheathed the knife. It caught the funnel of light and shone.