Portland sighed. “Sugar, you’ve done some crazy things in your life, but arranging a sensible marriage probably wins the jackpot. When do you two plan on getting this business deal notarized?”

“If you’re not going to take it seriously,” I said stiffly, “we might as well go on back to the courthouse.”

“Oh, no, you don’t. You invited me to lunch.” She waved to the waitress. “Mary? We’re ready to order now.”

When Mary had taken our orders and gone away, Portland said, “You’re really going to do this?”

I nodded solemnly. “I’m really going to do it. We haven’t set an exact date yet, but probably over the Christmas holidays.”

Portland laughed and patted the little bulge beneath the jacket of her dark red suit. “My due date’s the twenty-eighth. I’ll come as the goddess of fertility.”

“You don’t get out of it that easily, girlfriend. You’re gonna be my matron of honor. If I could wear bright pink satin for you, you can wear red velvet trimmed in white fur for me.”

Her glee turned to horror. “I’m coming as Santa Claus?”

CHAPTER 13

DWIGHT BRYANT
MONDAY MORNING

As Dwight Bryant headed his squad car toward the carnival grounds, he caught a glimpse of Deborah’s car in the parking lot across from the courthouse and in his rearview mirror, he saw her get out and lock the door. Any other day, he might have circled the courthouse and intercepted her with a teasing remark or the offer of a cup of coffee if she had time, but not today. Not after last night. He had loved her and wanted her for so damn long that the wanting had become a permanent ache in his heart, like a limp from a badly mended broken leg or a torn muscle that wouldn’t heal, something you learned to live with but that could still leave you gasping with pain at unexpected moments. And now that ache was finally, cautiously, lifting.

He still couldn’t believe that she’d actually said yes.

And hadn’t changed her mind even after he made love to her.

Twice.

So until they both got used to the idea, he told himself, better not risk messing it up or making a fool of himself in broad daylight. Stick to business.

Marriage to Jonna had taught him to compartmentalize his feelings, a useful trick these last few years as he watched Deborah with other men—the willpower it had taken to keep his mouth shut and his hands off when she confided in him while watching some old World War II Van Johnson movie, or that time she wept on his chest after Herman had been poisoned, or any other time when she would touch him with casual, sisterly affection. If she’d ever suspected the intensity of his feelings for her, he knew she’d shy away. Every instinct warned him to keep it light, act as if nothing had really changed between them, compartmentalize.