If she were wiser, she would hide it away but keep it as a warning to herself that she and Parr had gone as far as they could go without tempting fate. He hadn’t been wrong when he’d muttered the words that described her to a tee. Don’t drink, don’t smoke, don’t fool around.

No. She didn’t. And hadn’t, not even as a teenager. She’d gone to an exclusive prep school away from Iminga, girls only, where they didn’t have time to gossip, let alone get in trouble. So she hadn’t known a thing about the legendary charm of either of the Weston brothers until she’d come back home after college.

Kind of a shame. If she’d known more, she might have been prepared for Parr. Bobby Joe lacked the powerful attractiveness of his mysterious older brother. But that was probably to her advantage.

Mary Beth slowed the car for an upcoming stoplight and waited for it to turn green. Absently, her fingers traced the chain. If she was honest with herself, the little gem was also a memento of those precious hours when Parr had been nice enough to rescue her and make her feel cherished and desired.

She had loved the feeling. But that was all it was. She couldn’t throw over Bobby Joe and run to Parr like a giddy schoolgirl. The wild rush of emotions he triggered in her with such ease was beyond comprehension. It wasn’t something she’d ever experienced. All that overwhelming sensation couldn’t be allowed to erase the serious commitment she’d made to his younger brother. It was natural enough to have second thoughts, she supposed, and even crave one last fling before the walk down the aisle.

Which, she reminded herself, was probably a long way off. She and Bobby Joe were still only engaged. Not married. Nonetheless, common sense demanded that she had to steel her heart against her wayward, impulsive attraction to Parr.

Apparently he’d left town early this morning. Alma hadn’t mentioned it and Mary Beth hadn’t wanted to ask his brother what Parr was up to. But Bobby Joe had offhandedly passed on a little information as he salted his scrambled eggs: Parr had put in a bid on a project near Memphis, something that was bigger than anything he’d ever done. Nothing more specific than that.

She drove on for several more blocks, then turned into another school parking lot. Jill Cameron, her high school pal who now taught second grade, had practically begged her to stop by, without saying why.

Mary Beth maneuvered into a parking spot by the wide glass doors of the low brick building. The paper cutouts the kids had made for window decorations, bright-petaled flowers that heralded spring, were still up, a little faded but cheerful.