"Vernell, is that a gun?"

Vernell dropped his arms to his sides, but it was too late. Strapped under his shoulder was a brown holster with a silver gun handle sticking out for all the world to see.

"Vernell, turn around and put your hands out where I can see them." Marshall's voice had hardened; he was all business now. Any hint of compromise had just evaporated at the sight of Vernell's pistol.

"You don't have a license to carry concealed," Marshall said. "Vernell Spivey, I am placing you under arrest." He reached into his pocket, pulled out a pair of cuffs, and slipped them onto Vernell's bony wrists.

"What are you doing?" I said. "You know Vernell. He would no more hurt you than fly to the moon! What are you doing?"

Weathers spun Vernell around and I caught a glimpse of the frightened boy that lived inside Vernell. This was too much. Granted, I was shocked to see him with a gun, but it had to be because he was scared, not because he was dangerous.

"Maggie, stay out of this, all right? It'll work out."

"Maggie, call me a lawyer, will you, honey?"

I just stood there, looking at them. The way I felt must've been written all over my face because both men stared at me with the same determined yet helpless-to-do-anything-else looks on their faces.

"I don't believe this," I said again. "Vernell, you could've made it easy. You know Marshall. You could've just talked to him. And you," I said, turning my attention to Marshall. "You don't need to treat him like a common criminal. Are you so Ml of yourself that you can't be human? Is that what policing is?"

"Maggie, I don't have time to explain this to you now," Weathers said, and started off through the bushes with my ex-husband.

"Marshall Weathers, there is no explanation, there is no excuse for this, so don't you bother ever trying to offer one!"

He didn't look back, but I could see the jaw muscle start to twitch. I wanted to hurt him. How cruel could he be to drag Vernell away like a stray dog? How could he not listen to me? Granted, Vernell was acting the fool, but to actually arrest him on a simple charge like carrying concealed without a permit?

I followed them through the bushes, steaming. Marshall's car was parked in front of mine, and closer to the barn. He'd found a spot I hadn't seen and had wedged his unmarked car right in between two pickups.

"Vernell, I'll follow you down and meet you at the station."

Both men whirled around and spoke in unison. "No!"

Vernell took the lead and said, "Maggie, just call me a good lawyer. I can take care of myself now, honey."

I stared at him and saw the determination square up in his shoulders. Vernell was turning a new leaf and I didn't need to be the tree he leaned against.

Marshall had to put his two cents' worth in behind Vernell. "And you can't drive drunk," he warned.

"I'm not drunk," I said, suddenly aware of just how sober I felt. Marshall turned away, marching Vernell up the drive.

As they rounded the corner, the side door to the barn swung open and Bess King emerged.

Marshall kept walking, oblivious to Bess, but Vernell froze, forcing Marshall to tug at his arm.

Bess stood absolutely still, her dress fluttering gently in the breeze, blowing back against her body and outlining her form. The sun hit at just the right angle, forming a halo around the crown of her hair. She stood staring at Vernell, her expression pained, as if she'd been struck. Her mouth opened, then closed, her head dropped into her hands, and her shoulders caved in and began to softly shake.

"Bess," Vernell cried out, as Weathers opened his car door.

She raised her tear-stained face and stared at him, but she still didn't move or say a word. She seemed frozen.

Weathers tucked Vernell's head and pushed him down into the car. This time he noticed Bess, staring at her, his eyes flinty and hard. Then he looked over at me.

"Maggie, catch a cab home. I'll call you later," he said.

"No, Marshall, you won't. I don't ever want to speak to you again."

I saw the words cut into him and hurt him, and still I turned away, because in that one moment I felt my heart snap right in half. Marshall Weathers was as lost to me as a summer breeze on a winter's night.

Chapter Seventeen

I cried the entire way back to my house. Kept on crying as I parked the car and walked up the back steps. I opened the back door into my bedroom and fell across my bed, still sobbing and still miserable. I lay there in the early evening darkness, my head in my pillow, crying for everything that now wasn't ever going to be.

"Does this mean you don't want dinner before you go to work? Because I was working on a pasta here that would knock your socks off."

I jerked upright. "What are you doing in my house again?"

"You know, Sparks called your machine, which I did not answer, and said he wants you at the Stallion early."

I rubbed at my eyes with the heels of my hands and stared harder. Tony Carlucci was leaning against the doorway to my bedroom, a big hulk of biker boots and black denim.

"Why can't you leave me alone?" I said. "Why are you following me around and making my life a living hell?"

"Well, the way I see it, you was crying when you got here, so I don't take credit for your atmospheric environmental mood swings. And as for a living hell, well, if I hadn't come over when I did yesterday, you'd be dead, and where you spend your eternal rest would not be up to me. So living hell I figure is better than your alternative dead hell."

I just looked at him. He was such a Yankee.

"Now," he said, "it's five fifteen. Sparks wants you at the club by seven forty-five. I don't know about you, but I couldn't jump around and sing on a full stomach, so let's eat around six." Carlucci stared at me, his eyes doing a slow, thorough appraisal. "You know. I'm thinking you might want to take a shower or something. You've got leaves in your hair and you look a real mess. Them black eyes is fading, but now you made 'em all puffy."

He didn't ask why I was crying. Instead, he ignored the fact totally, even when I hiccuped.

"Did I have any other messages?" I asked.

Tony shrugged. "I try to keep up," he said, and pulled a small square of paper from his back pocket. "Archer VanScoy from VanScoy Mobile Homes called. Sounds like a serious sleaze to me. Your sister, Darlene. She said don't worry, Sheila's fine, but she's thinking of coming in town tomorrow night. And Jack from the band called, wants to know if you're sleeping at his place tonight." Carlucci peered at me over the top of the paper. "You get around, don't you?"

"It's not like that!" I said.

"Hey," he said, holding up one hand, "it ain't none of my personal concern who you sleep with. I'm just saying, be aware. In this day and age…"

"Shut up, Carlucci. For as much as you profess to know about my life, you really don't know anything at all."

Carlucci stared at me again, his eyes dark. "Maybe you'll have to educate me, Maggie." Then he shifted up off of the doorjamb. "But not until you sort out your love life. I don't do complicated."

With that, he turned around and stepped back into the kitchen. The man had some nerve. I jumped up off the bed, grabbed my thick white terrycloth bathrobe from its hook on the wall, and stomped past him into the bathroom. He chuckled to himself as I went past.

I stood in the shower until the water started to run cool. By the time I emerged from the bathroom, I felt more like myself and less like a tearful, dependent female. Like Mama always said, "Ain't nothing like a shower to wash away self-pity."

Carlucci had his back to me as I passed him. The aroma of chicken and lemon filled my tiny kitchen, and I was suddenly hungry.