“I’ve got to get on the road, Ruby,” she said,, hastily finishing her breakfast. “Don’t look for me until late this afternoon.

“Good luck with your business, dear. And please drive carefully. The freeways are treacherous.”

“I’ll be careful.” She kissed Ruby’s cheek and left the house by way of the back door.

The detached garage, located on one side of thebackyard, had been an addition to the original house. Rana was glad to see that Trent ‘s sports car was parked behind Ruby’s, so it wouldn’t be necessary for her to ask him to move it. She hung the skirt on the hook in the backseat of her compact and climbed behind the steering wheel.

At first she thought nothing of the chugging, choking sound of the car’s motor. It was always reluctant to start. But after several unsuccessful attempts to pump the engine to life, she began cursing it. The garage was airless and stifling, even this early in the day. She tried again, becoming more frustrated every second. She wasn’t on a tight schedule, but she had to get to Houston today.

“Damn!” she cried, banging her fist on the steering wheel. Barry would have a fit if she failed to deliver the skirt today.

She retraced her steps to the back door. “Ruby,” she called out, “is there bus service between Galveston and Houston?” She entered the kitchen to find Trent munching on a piece of crisp bacon. Ruby was holding an ice pack to her head as she sipped coffee.

The landlady put down the ice pack. “I thought you’d gone, dear.”

Resolutely Rana kept her eyes away from Trent, who was dressed in a sport shirt and slacks. There was a lightweight sport jacket draped over the back of his chair. “My car won’t start. I’ll have to take a bus to Houston. Where can I catch one?”

“I’m going to Houston today. I’ll drive you,” Trent said.

“What a dear boy,” Ruby said, smiling fondly at her nephew. “Sit down, Rana, and have another cup of coffee.”

“But,” Rana protested, wetting her lips, “I really need to go alone.”

She couldn’t take Trent into Barry’s store with her. Barry might blurt out something that would give her away. All night she had toyed with the idea of having Morey accept that contract. If she went back to work, she would avoid the heartache of getting more deeply involved with Trent. But if she made that decision, she wanted simply to disappear. She never wanted him to know she wasn’t the plain Miss Ana Ramsey he thought her to be. If he ever found out about her other life, he would be furious with her for deceiving him.

“I’m probably going miles out of your way,” she said discouragingly.

“Where do you need to go?”

“The Galleria.”

“Fine,” he said, with a “that’s settled” nod of his head. “I’ve got to see a doctor about my shoulder. His office is near there. Are you ready?” he asked, standing up.

“Really, I can’t trouble you,” she said quickly, desperately.

“Look,” he said, pulling his coat off the chair with an irritated yank, “I’ve got to go anyway. It would be crazy for you to try to get around Houston in a damn bus. Now, do you want to ride with me or not?”

No, she didn’t want to. But realistically, she didn’t have much ‘choice. Lowering her head, she mumbled, “Thank you, yes, I’ll ride with you.”

They said their good-byes to Ruby, who repeated her instructions to drive carefully. In Trent ’s sports car, Rana folded the skirt in her lap.

“Sorry about that,” he said, glancing down. “There’s no place to hang it.”

“It will be all right.”

That was the extent of their conversation until they were halfway to Houston. Then she ventured to ask, “How is your shoulder?”

“Why didn’t you run with me this morning?”

“I didn’t have time. I was getting ready for my trip to Houston.”

“And you couldn’t bother to tell me that?”

“I must have been in the shower when you came by. I didn’t hear your knock.”

“I didn’t hear the shower running, either.”

“Are you in the habit of listening at my door?”

“Are you in the habit of lying?”

They lapsed into another turbulent silence, interrupted only by Trent ’s muttered curses at the sluggish Houston traffic.

After several minutes Rana became ashamed of both of them for behaving in such a snippish, juvenile way. “How is your shoulder?” she asked again.

“I don’t understand you, Ana,” he shouted, as though he’d been sitting there fuming, waiting for the right moment to vent his anger, just as he waited for opportunities to whip his car around motorists driving too slowly to suit him. “You were justified in being mad at me when I kept coming on to you. So, all right, you slapped my hand and I admitted that I deserved it. I thought we were going to be friends, but you never lighten up. I never know where I stand with you. You’re stiff and unbending and uptight. It’s no surprise to me that your husband split and that you don’t have any friends.”

He guided the sleek car into one of the lanes leading to the massive shopping complex. “You can let me out here,” Rana said tightly, her lips barely moving. She already had a grip on the door handle.

He braked the car to a screeching halt at the curb, and she got out after speaking a terse “Thanks.”

“A couple of hours?” he asked.

“Fine,” she said, and slammed the door behind her.

Barry didn’t improve her mood. There were a few shoppers in the store, but they were being helped by his effusive sales staff. The moment he saw Rana come in, he grabbed her arm and hurried her to the rear of the store and into his office. Unlike the immaculate and serene shop, which was decorated in soothing pastels, his office was cluttered and cramped and reeked of acrid tobacco smoke. He faced her, folding his arms in a gesture of disapproval.

“My Lord, if anything, you’ve gotten worse.”

“Don’t start in on me, Barry,” she said, hanging Mrs. Rutherford’s skirt on a hook and collapsing into the only available chair. “I’ve already had a helluva morning.”

“You look positively wretched.”

“Thanks. That’s the point. I wish to remain anonymous, something you make almost impossible by displaying a poster of that underwear ad in your lingerie section. How could you, Barry?”

“Because it sells panties, dear heart. Dozens of them. Believe me,” he said, sliding appraising eyes over her with obvious distaste, “no one will recognize you. In fact, I shall do my best to keep you hidden. If my customers saw their idol, Ana R., they’d throw up their hands and scream. They may envision you as an eccentric artist, an image I’ve intentionally promoted, but they wouldn’t want to know you’re a ragpicker.”

“Do you have a diet soda?”

“Yes,” he said, opening a small refrigerator tucked under a sagging shelf, “but don’t get too comfy. We have loads of business to discuss. By the way, the skirt is fab.” He had lifted the plastic bag and inspected it. “Mrs. Rutherford will be absolutely giddy.”

An hour and a half later, Rana stood up to leave, with a new idea to consider and a hefty check and four orders in her purse. “Luckily I have a supply of silks and cottons I got on my last visit to that warehouse,” she told him. “Be sure to have your seamstress send me a list of the customers’ measurements next week. The ones she personally takes, not the ones they submit themselves. Ladies tend to fudge in their own favor.”

Barry took hanks of Rana’s hair in each of his hands and pulled it back away from her face, holding it there as he studied her. “Ahh, just a glimpse of the old Rana. Why not let me send you down to Neiman’s salon and have your hair and makeup done? Then I’ll deck you out in that new Ungaro collection. Or I have a white silk jersey Kamali that’s perfectly Rana. Do some floor modeling for me today, and my sales will soar. It would be good for both of us.”

She shook her head, and he released her hair, regretfully watching it fall back to cover her classic cheekbones. “No, Barry.”