Though she’d lived in the house outside of Morganville for only a month, Maggie understood a few basics of small-town life. Whatever she did became common knowledge almost before she’d done it. Whatever it was she did would draw a variety of opinions that would lead to a general consensus. There were a few key people whose opinion could sway that consensus. Cliff, she knew, was one of them, if he chose to bother. Stan Agee and the postmistress were others. It didn’t take her long to discover that Bog was another whose opinion was sought and carefully weighed.

The politics in Morganville might’ve been on a smaller scale than those in southern California’s music industry, but Maggie saw that they ran in the same vein. In L.A., however, she’d been second-generation royalty, while here she was an outsider. An outsider, she knew, whose notoriety could be either scorned or accepted. To date, she’d been fortunate, because most of the key people had decided to accept. Thinking of small, close-knit towns, she realized she’d taken a chance on that acceptance by living with Cliff.

Not living with, Maggie corrected as she spread adhesive on her newly stripped bathroom floor. He wasn’t living with her; he was staying with her. There was a world of difference between the two. He hadn’t moved in, bag and baggage, nor had there been any discussion about the length of his stay. It was, she decided, a bit like having a guest whom you didn’t feel obligated to entertain or impress.

Unnecessarily, and through his own choice, he’d opted to be her bodyguard. And at night, when the sun went down and the woods were quiet, her body was his. He accepted her passion, her hungers and desires. Perhaps, just perhaps, one day he might accept her emotions, which raged just as hot, and just as high. First he had to come to understand her as she was beginning to understand him. Without that, and the respect that went with it, emotions and desires would wither and die.

Maggie set the next square of tile into position, then sat back to judge the outcome. The stone-patterned ceramic was rustic and would leave her free to use an infinite range of color combinations. She wanted nothing in her home to be too restricted or regimented, just as she wanted to do most of the changes and improvements herself.

Looking at the six pieces of tile she’d installed, Maggie nodded. She was becoming quite handy these days. Though her pansies had never recovered, they were her only major failure.