He made a scornful noise. "That's it? Just 'good'? You're kidding! 'Good' isn't good enough, and you know it, China." His voice softened. "We were a hell of a lot more than just 'good.' We were super, incredible, tremendous, fantastic…" He ran out of superlatives. "Remember how it was for us in the beginning?''

I remembered, and even after all the years, the memory was warm enough to melt stone. I remembered lying in each other's arms at 3 a.m., bodies joined, hearts hammering, breath like sweet fire. I remembered champagne dinners at romantic restaurants, an hour or two stolen from the evening's work at the office, dawn breakfasts and lingering kisses, with roses on the table.

That was the first six weeks. After that…

After that, there wasn't as much time for dinners at ro-

mantic restaurants, and the dawn breakfasts had been replaced by a 7 a.m. cup of coffee and a wave as we headed for our cars and the day's work. He accused me of being too busy, I accused him of being preoccupied.

He lifted his hand and touched my face. "We can go back and do it again, China. Only this time, we won't let our careers kill the romance. It'll be like before, only better. Super, fantastic, out of this world. Never just plain 'good.' "

And I knew it was possible. I felt the physical attraction tugging at me, the flame of remembered passion turning my insides soft. I heard the old laughter, tasted the old wine, and knew I could hear it, taste it again, and it would be even sweeter. Tom and I had been swept by desire once, and nearly swept away. It could happen again.

But between then and now, I had met McQuaid, I had lived with him and learned that sustainable love doesn't grow out of superheated physical passion, but out of simply holding hands and holding on, day in and day out. I'd learned that "good" really is enough, not because you're settling for something less, but because "fantastic" and "incredible" burn you out emotionally, just as life in the fast lane burns you out physically. And I thought now of McQuaid and Brian and Howard Cosell and Khat and was suddenly swept by a wave of affection for our ordinary, unromantic life, with its heaps of wet towels and clutter of dirty socks, its lizards in the closet and dead toads in the refrigerator. Our undeniably ordinary, utterly unromantic, inexplicably good life.

Tom put his hand over mine. "You can't deny that you're physically attracted to me."

We were into truth tonight. "You're right," I said. "I am attracted to you, Tom. Very much."

"Aha!" He was triumphant. "Well, now that we've established that, the rest is-"

He was interrupted by the cowgirl with the coffee, and then by another cowgirl who took away the plates, and then

by a couple of his customers, who'd just unloaded a truck of Beefmaster steers at the sale barn down the road and wanted to brag to their banker about the good deal they'd wangled. By the time they'd moved on, Tom Senior was back at the table. We talked for a few minutes, then I glanced at my watch and drained my coffee cup.

"It's getting late," I said. I looked at Tom. "I'll see you at the board meeting tomorrow."

Tom Senior frowned. "The foundation board? Those meetings are closed, except on the invitation of a-''

"Sadie asked me to come," I said.

The old man's face grew red and he half-rose. "Sadie Marsh? What the hell does she want you there for?"

Tom put a hand on his father's arm. "Take it easy," he said.

"I want to know what Sadie's got up her sleeve," the old man said, his voice rising. "What's that woman up to, anyway?" He glared at Tom, his breath coming harder. "You find out, boy. It's your bidness to know what's comin' down. You can't afford to be blindsided by nobody, not even Sadie. Especially not Sadie."

"Whatever it is," Tom said firmly, "I'll take care of it." He put his hand on the old man's shoulder. ''Simmer down, Pop. You know what Doc Townsend said about getting excited."

"Screw Doc Townsend," the old man spat out. He sank back in his chair. "Son of a bitch can't pour piss out of a boot with the heel up."

Tom's laugh was unconvincing. "Anyway, I think I know what Sadie's got up her sleeve. I'll handle it"

I glanced at him. Was that the truth? Did he know about the deed restrictions? Maybe he knew about the envelope too. Or was he telling a lie designed to quiet his father?

"Well, you're gonna have your hands full," the old man muttered, subsiding. He seemed to have forgotten me. "Sadie's got ten-pound brass balls and a mouth like an Arkan-

sas hog caller. I'll come to that meeting tomorrow and settle her hash. If I don't, she'll-"

"I said I'll take care of Sadie, Dad," Tom said sharply.

"And I said I'll be there." His father's mouth was set into a stubborn line. "I'm gettin' out of your way fast as I can, boy. Don't push."

I shrugged into my coat, embarrassed by the exchange. I gave the old man my hand and a smile. "Perhaps I'll see you again before I go back to Pecan Springs, Mr. Rowan."

With an effort, Tom Senior remembered his manners. "You comin' over to our place for a nightcap?"

I shook my head. "I don't want to keep Mother Winifred's truck out too late. She might worry about it."

Tom stood up. "I'd worry, too, if I were her. That old truck is practically an antique-worth as much dead as alive. I'll walk you out to the lot and make sure it starts."

As I said good night to Tom Senior, he pressed my hand between his dry, cool ones. "You mind what I say now, China. We'll be lookin' for you back here soon as you get things wound up in Pecan Springs."

I murmured something and pulled my hand away.

"You've got to give it to Dad," Tom said, holding the door open for me. "He just won't give up. Doc Townsend has told him to turn the business over to me. If he's got any energy, he's supposed to concentrate it on stuff like the Knights of Columbus-and stay out of the bank."

I bent into the cold, clean wind, letting it wash through me. "It's tough," I said. "For both of you."

He put his arm around my shoulders. "Let's not talk about that. As I recall, when we were interrupted you were in the middle of telling me that you lust for my body."

We reached the old green Dodge. "Something like that," I said. I opened my purse, found the truck key, and put it into the door.

"Wait," he commanded. He pulled me close against him and kissed me, gently at first, then with a mounting passion

that reverberated in my bones and blood. I felt myself responding, the warmth pulsing through me.

' 'You make me feel like a kid in love for the first time, China," he whispered huskily, touching my face, my hair. He tipped my head back, his eyes fastened on mine.' 'Come home with me. Let me make love to you."

Somebody opened the door of the barbecue joint and an old Elvis song-"Love Me Tender"-floated out. Somebody else was laughing, light and high. A car door slammed, a dog barked. Above us, far away, the stars looked down, amused.

I started to speak, but he laid his finger on my mouth, silencing me. "I know. You're living with the guy, you've got commitments. But he's there and you're here. You're a free woman, China. You can do what you choose. Come home with me."

A free woman. Freedom. That was what I'd wanted, wasn't it? That was why I'd taken time off, come out here. I wanted to make new choices, open my life to new directions. The passion was pulling me to Tom. All I had to do was say yes.

"No," I said. I pulled away.

He frowned. "Don't tell me you don't want me. I just kissed you, remember? Your body said yes. So don't he. Don't make it hard on yourself. Okay?"

I wasn't lying, to myself or to him. I did want him. Standing in the parking lot under the flashing neon sign, Elvis's voice like liquid passion, it was easy to want this man, easy to say yes. It was a great deal harder to want what I already had. McQuaid and Brian, the house, the shop. Yes, even the shop, damn it.