“Okay,” I whispered.

He rolled closer and gathered me into his arms. “It’ll all work out, shug. You’ll see. It’ll be fine.”

His hand was gentle as he smoothed my hair away from my face, and his soothing words reminded me of someone trying to reassure a nervous filly that the saddle wouldn’t hurt at all. Amused and comforted, I eventually quit nickering and took the carrot he offered on his open hand.

After a second test of compatibility (we needed to be absolutely certain, didn’t we?), Dwight and I put our clothes back on and sat at my kitchen table to talk until after midnight.

Over coffee and some of Maidie’s oatmeal cookies, we agreed that he’d move in with me after the wedding and we’d think about adding on to my small house in the spring.

We also agreed he’d tell his mother and I’d tell Daddy; then he’d drive up to Virginia to tell Cal himself. Until then, to guard against any rumors reaching the boy first, no siblings and no friends.

“Just Portland,” I emended. We’ve always told each other everything and I knew I wouldn’t be able to keep her from guessing that something serious was on my mind.

“That means Avery, too, you know.”

I nodded. “It always has, but he’s never talked out of turn that I know of.” I looked at Dwight suspiciously. “Has he?”

“Well, maybe to me once or twice,” he admitted sheepishly. “When he and Portland were worried about you out there messing in stuff that could get you hurt.”

“So that’s how you found out,” I said, remembering a couple of those times when I’d have sworn there was no way he could know what I was up to. “Okay, Portland and Avery and nobody else till you tell Cal.”

“You gonna want a big church wedding?”

“Not really. You?”

“Hell, no. I say we go stand in front of a magistrate. How about Gwen Utley next week sometime?”

“Be serious, Dwight. There’s a lot of middle ground between a big church wedding and a magistrate’s court. Part of this is PR—show the voters I’m becoming a respectable married woman, remember? That means pictures in the newspaper and some sort of church ceremony. And you know how hurt the boys would be if we didn’t invite them to come. Or their wives if we didn’t let them do the reception.”

Dwight laughed and leaned back in the wooden chair till he was extended his full length. “In other words, the usual big, sprawly Knott family celebration with two pigs on the cookers and half the county invited?”

“It’ll probably be too cold for a pig-picking,” I murmured, sneaking a discreet glance at the fit of his jeans. My body still pinged and tingled like an overheated engine cooling down.