Mat chose to cross West Virginia into Ohio on Route 50, a divided highway, but not an interstate, so Nealy knew he was still worried that the police might be looking for the girls. As lunchtime approached, the sky clouded over and it began to rain, forcing Nealy to abandon her plans for a picnic. They ate hamburgers instead as they drove through the wet, picturesque hills of southeastern Ohio, home of eight presidents, although Warren Harding had done such an abysmal job, Nealy didn’t know why any state would want to claim him.

Button remained relatively content just gazing at her beloved, but Lucy kept demanding that they stop at every strip mall, convenience store, and roadside rest area. Mat generally ignored her, which only made her more demanding. Nealy was beginning to suspect that Lucy didn’t want to get to Iowa, and that worried her.

She forced Mat to stop at a highway K mart and emerged with a couple of handheld games, as well as some books and magazines to distract the teenager.

“The Hobbit?” Lucy tossed it aside seconds after Nealy handed it to her. “That’s a kid’s book.”

“I’m sorry, honey,” Nealy replied with fake sympathy, “but Ulysses was out of stock.”

Since Lucy had no idea what Nealy was talking about, she could only shoot her a dirty look. A few minutes later, she flopped down on the double bed in the back with the offending book, and Nealy didn’t hear another word from her for the rest of the afternoon. With Button sound asleep in her car seat and the teenager occupied in the rear, Nealy leaned back to enjoy the scenery.

“I’m real sorry you missed your picnic,” Mat said.

“You’re not sorry at all.” She smiled. “And the weather looks like it’s clearing, so we can have a dinner picnic.”

“I can’t wait.”

“You’re so cynical about everything. Why is that?”

“It goes with my job.”

“I didn’t know cynicism was an occupational hazard for steelworkers.”

His eyes flickered oddly. “It comes and goes.” And then he smiled. “I enjoyed last night.”

She suddenly felt as awkward as a teenager. “I didn’t. You were completely out of line with that pillow.”

“You’ve got to admit you’re happier not wearing it.”

“You also leaped to all kinds of erroneous conclusions about my marriage. Not only that, you’re—”

A great kisser?”

She repressed a smile. “You’re all right, I suppose.”

He sighed. “I guess our styles just don’t match.”

“That’s true.”

“I like big, aggressive, man-sized kisses . . . the kind that make your toes curl. You, on the other hand, like wimpy, girly kisses that wouldn’t curl a hair ribbon.”

“Girly kisses?”

“Yeah, the kind of kisses little girls give to uncles who smoke cigars.”

“Trust me. I would never kiss an uncle the way I kissed you last night!”

“Prissy kisses.”