Shay laughed in spite of herself. “That’s true. I’ll see you tomorrow, then?”

“Absolutely. My cash register and some of my yarn are supposed to be delivered.”

Shay was hanging up the telephone just as Hank dashed in, flushed from some backyard game and ready for his supper. He ate and took his bath without complaint, then settled down to watch the one hour of television allowed him on a school night.

Shay settled into the easy chair in the living room and began reading Mitch’s manuscript again. It was a great improvement over the first draft, which had been wonderful in its own right, and she again had the feeling that she was meeting Rosamond Dallas for the first time. She stopped long enough to see that Hank brushed his teeth and said his prayers, but the story of her mother’s life drew her back.

She turned the last page at three-fourteen that morning, wide awake and awed by the quiet power of Mitch’s writing. She had expected the book to need minor changes. But it was perfect as it was. Unfortunately. Revisions would have given her an excuse to work closely with Mitch again.

Stiff and sore, Shay set the manuscript carefully aside and rose from her chair. Working with Mitch would have been a foolish indulgence, considering her decision to end the relationship. No, it was better this way, she told herself—she would simply call him in the morning and tell him that she could see no problems with the book being published just as it was. Their association would then be officially ended, and Shay could go on with her life.

What kind of life was it going to be, without Mitch? The question chewed at Shay long after she’d fallen into bed. Sure, she had Hank and Alice and her business, but what was she going to do without those fevered bouts of lovemaking that always left her exhausted but strangely revitalized, too? What was she going to do without the laughter and the fights and the adventures?

Adventures. Shay sighed. That was the key word. She simply wasn’t cut out to sit at home, chewing her fingernails, while the man she loved risked his life in order to research some new journalistic feat.

Alice’s accusation came back to haunt her then, echoing in her mind. She did too love Mitch enough. She loved him, as she had maintained to Alice, too much. If she married Mitch and then he was killed, she would be devastated.

She sat up in bed with a jolt. Only in that moment did it occur to her that she would be just as devastated if he died without ever marrying her, ever touching her again. Why had she thought that separating herself from Mitch would save him?

The next morning was splashed in the singular glory of early October and Shay drove slowly up the hill to Mitch’s house. The distant sound of a hammer made her walk around back instead of ringing the doorbell.