Tom colored. "Come on, Dad," he muttered. "You agreed-''

"He tell you about that woman he married on the bounce, after you and him split the sheets?" Tom Senior pointed his beer bottle at me, his pale eyes narrowing. "TV star, she was, name of Janie."

On the bounce? Tom wasn't looking at me.

"Real beauty. Family with money, too. Father's got a big spread down in Bexar County." The old man scowled at Tom, shaking his head. "Shoulda hung on to Janie when you had your rope on her, boy. Shoulda had a kid or two so there'd be somebody to take over the bank after you."

"Maybe I'll sell the damn thing," Tom muttered.

Tom Senior's mouth tightened. "You do that, and I'll come back to haunt you, sure as little green apples. I'll bring your mama with me, too."

Tom snorted. "That a promise, you old buzzard?"

His father saluted him with his beer bottle. "You can bet your best bull on it, boy."

The banter was light and practiced, but Tom seemed uneasy and the old man's voice had a ragged edge. I won-

dered what kind of conflict was hidden under the camaraderie. How often did the father worry that the son would let the family bank fall into the hands of the massive multinational financial corporations that have already grabbed up so many small-town banks? How often did the son threaten to sell out and move back to the city after the father was dead?

The meal arrived, we dug into our food (mine was more than passable), and the subject of the conversation shifted.

"Tom tells me you've got a place of your own over in Pecan Springs," Tom Senior said. "You like bein' in bid-ness for yourself?"

"Most of the time." I thought of the recent Christmas rush and my feelings of being swamped under a tide of too much to do. "Sometimes it's a lot to handle." In a burst of ill-advised candor, I added, "Pecan Springs is getting too big and touristy. Sometimes I feel like finding a quieter place. Like Carr. You've got a pretty town here."

"Glad to hear you say that." Tom Senior beamed. "Yep, real glad. You own your shop?"

I nodded, and went on saying things I shouldn't have. "The building as well. Right now, I rent out half of it, but I've got to figure out what I'm going to do with-" I was about to say that I had to make a decision about the tearoom when Tom Senior interrupted.

"Well, it's easy enough to relocate. Let your tenant take over the building. Or sell. Price of property in your part of Texas has gone up like a hot-air balloon in the last few years. You'll make out like a bandit, moneywise. Movin' won't cost you much, either."

"It's a nice idea," I said, "but I really don't think-"

"Why the hell not?" the old man demanded. "You said it yourself, Carr's a real purty town."

"It certainly is, but I'm not-"

"Sure you are, girl. We need women like you here. Anytime you're ready to make your move, I'll see you get what you're lookin' for."

Tom leaned forward and put his hand on his father's arm. "Hold your fire, Dad," he said. "You promised you wouldn't-"

"Caroline!" The old man raised a hand to the cowgirl waitress. "How about a cup of coffee?" He turned to me, disregarding his son. "Carr's a fine little town, China. Sure, it's underdeveloped compared to where you are now, but that's a plus. Anybody who can tell a widget from a whang-doodle can see the potential here. You sign on with our outfit, girl. The best is yet to come."

Tom shook his head disgustedly. ' 'You sorry old son of a gun," he muttered. "Can't tell you a damn thing."

The best is yet to come. Hadn't I heard that assertion just this morning? "Sounds like you and Carl Townsend are singing the same song," I said. "He told me this morning that when the monastery is turned into a resort, everybody in the county is going to get rich."

"Carl told you that?" The muscles around the old man's eyes tightened perceptibly. "His mouth flaps at both corners. There ain't no deal yet."

' 'What do you think about the chances for change at St. T's?" I persisted. Tom Senior was the Laney Foundation Board's banker. He knew how much money there was, and what the Reverend Mother General intended to do with it. Of course, he didn't know about the deed restrictions. And he didn't know what was in that white envelope Sadie had shown me.

Or did he? The old man seemed suddenly uncomfortable. He glanced over his shoulder, shoved his chair back, and stood up. "Listen, there's Lou over there in the corner. I need to see him about the Knights of Columbus barbecue comin' up next Saturday."

Tom glanced toward the corner. "Tell Lou I'd like to work my shift early in the day, will you?"

His father nodded. "Send Caroline over to the corner with my coffee." He clapped one hand on Tom's shoulder, the other on mine. "I got a real estate broker who'll help

you find the right location for your shop, China. When you got it picked out, Tom here will see you get money to fix it up." He leaned down between us and whispered loudly. "And when you're settled in, you give Tom-boy a holler. All he needs is a good wife, and he'd be just about perfect." He squeezed my shoulder and was gone.

I stared after him wordlessly, shaking my head.

"Sorry about that, China," Tom said. He shoved his plate away. "The old man is… Well, he's got high hopes for this town."

Not just for the town. I narrowed my eyes. "Come clean. Did you give him reason to hope that we might-"

"You know better than that." He cleared his throat. "But the old man's no fool. He'd like to see me settle down, and he's always liked you-a lot more than Janie, to tell the truth. And he thinks his age gives him the right to say whatever jumps into his mind."

"Obviously," I said dryly. "But I hardly think it gives him the right to go around propositioning potential daughters-in-law."

"Look, China." Tom leaned forward and put his hand on my arm. His voice was taut, his eyes intent. ' 'You know I'm attracted to you. As much as before. No, more." His hand tightened. "Before, I was a young stud with a dozen deals in his pocket. I was easily distracted, and it was hard for me to know what I wanted. Now I know. I want you. I want us to go back where we were and start over again. Is that possible?''

I could feel the warmth of his grip through the sleeve of my flannel shirt. My heart bounced and my stomach tightened involuntarily. I pulled in my breath.

"Yes," he said quietly. "I see it is."

I took my arm back. "I don't think so," I said.

"What's holding you? Is it the guy you live with?"

McQuaid's face rose in front of me, curious and lively. What would he say if he could overhear this conversation, could feel the chaos inside me? The pause lengthened.

"Do you love him?"

Even if I'd been absolutely clear about my feelings for McQuaid, I'd feel awkward sharing them with Tom. "I'm living with him," I replied evasively. "We've lived together since last May." Only eight months-was that all? It felt like eight years.

"Well, hell, China," he said, exasperated. "People live together for all kinds of reasons. Because they enjoy sex, because two is cheaper than one, because they like the security. What kind of thing do you two have going? What does it mean to you?"

What does it mean to me? What does it mean? What are McQuaid and I to one another? Housemates who share a bed as well as board? Or something more? It's a question I've mostly managed to duck. McQuaid and I live together comfortably and companionably and with a minimum of fuss. We enjoy one another in the important ways. Maybe it isn't the stuff of romantic novels, but it works. It's been enough. Then again, confronted with the possibility of something more, was it still enough?

I looked down at my plate. I was talking more to myself than to Tom. "It's a good relationship," I said.