gaze briefly to Bree. He looked at the girl then back at Lilah and his stare was assessing.
The horrible nerves that seemed never to leave her now kicked into overdrive. Run, run, run, they warned, but Lilah had never been good with exits, and sure enough she began to muck up this one.
“Well, Nettie is waiting for us, and we’re running late as it is.” She kept moving toward Bree, but the silence intimidated her. “The store looks great,” she offered in parting. “Good candy selection. And lattes—that’s what I call one-stop shopping. Best of luck.”
Slinging her purse over her shoulder, she grabbed Bree’s skinny arm and dragged her out the door.
“What’s wrong with you?” the girl mumbled as Lilah hauled her to the car.
“Buckle your seat belt.” Jamming the key in the ignition and resisting a worried glance in the rearview mirror, Lilah peeled away from the station as fast as she could.
“Are you always so mental around guys?”
Leaning as far over her knees as her seat belt would allow, Bree gaped at Lilah. “You were, like, practically a retard in there.”
“Don’t say ‘retard.” ’ Lilah glanced from her passenger to the speedometer and consciously slowed her aging vehicle. Not that the car could ever speed, but Lilah was shaking so badly she feared a strong breeze could wrest the wheel from her hands. “That’s horribly rude.”
“Okay. I can’t believe I’m going to spend my formative years with someone who acts like a dork. How am I supposed to learn anything?” Bree complained with classic adolescent drama, but for the first time in ages, she seemed almost cheerful.
If you learn anything from me at all, learn from my mistakes, Lilah wanted to say, but didn’t. Craving freedom from conversation, she put a tape of Broadway melodies in the cassette player.
Bree listened to the music for a full two seconds then asked, “Are you always so mental around guys?”
Lilah gritted her teeth. “Yes.”
“Oh.” Bree scratched at a scab on her elbow. “Me, too.” Punching the eject button on the stereo, she pulled out the Broadway tape and replaced it with Coldplay.
Lilah glanced over. At another time she would have followed the thread of this conversation, used it to establish rapport with Bree, but right now it simply wasn’t in her. Even though they were headed away from Gus, Lilah’s stomach rumbled so violently she thought she might have to stop the car.
Why hadn’t one of her sisters mentioned that Gus had returned? As the owner of a brand-new gas station, Gus must have been in town a while, and no one had said a word to her.
Wiping her brow, Lilah tried to comfort herself with the supposition that if her sisters hadn’t mentioned Gus then perhaps they didn’t remember that she had once been hot and heavy with the least-likely-to-succeed boy in all of Kalamoose county. At that thought, she felt her stomach unclench a little.
If they hadn’t mentioned Gus then clearly they didn’t suspect she’d left town in part to get away from him.
And, if her sisters had not mentioned Gus’s return—in a designer suit—then surely they had no idea that when he’d been escorted from Kalamoose twelve years ago—in handcuffs—Lilah had been at least partly responsible for the act that had sent him to prison.
Chapter Two
If a man wore a suit in the middle of summer it was either because his job compelled him to or because he trusted himself not to sweat.
Gus Hoffman could wear anything he wanted to work; he was his own boss. He wore the suit because it commanded respect, because it said that he was serious about his business and his place in the community, and because these days he didn’t sweat unless he was working out.
He had learned to use his mind to govern his body, his actions and his reactions. He’d learned the powerful art of self-control.
Lilah Owens had just shot that to hell.
Tension made Gus’s voice tight as he spoke to the young woman he’d hired to manage his store. “The daily audits look good, Crystal. I’ll stop in again tomorrow. Call if you need anything before then.”
Crystal nodded. Following his lead, she said nothing about the incident that had just occurred.
“We’ll be fine here.” Crystal was composed by nature, and she was Lakota; she read Gus well enough to know when to converse and when not to.
With a nod in return, he left the minimart. Squinting in the sun, he walked around the building to the open garage, where he’d parked his car, and raised a hand in acknowledgement to Crystal’s cousin Jim, also Lakota, who toiled over the clutch of a Ford pickup and worked the pumps.
The gas station was pulling a decent business in gas and repair work and more business would be coming Gus’s way; he was certain of it. He liked risks, but he didn’t gamble unnecessarily. He’d come back to North Dakota with plans, not only for the station, but for Kalamoose.
Twelve years ago he’d left town with his head hung low, carrying shame and frustration that had dogged him most of his life. He’d owned nothing, had dropped out of school and alienated anyone who might have helped him.
And he’d left town hating Lilah Owens the same way he’d loved her—ferociously, blindly, passionately.
Starting the engine of a Lexus SC, he put the convertible in Reverse, pulled out of the garage and jammed on a pair of hundred-and-fifty-dollar sunglasses to block the glare.
The shock on Lilah’s face when she’d realized he owned the gas station had filled him with satisfaction—and churning resentment. She hadn’t expected him to amount to crap, had she?
Gunning the car’s engine, Gus headed for the highway, toward nowhere in particular.
It had been a long while since he’d craved danger and speed; apparently Lilah still had a deleterious affect on his judgment. He wouldn’t allow himself to think about her for long.
He had learned to manage his thoughts the way he managed his businesses: by allotting time only to that which would bring success and by turning away from distractions.
Starting his mental clock, he decided to allot Lilah two minutes. That would be enough time to assess his feelings.
First, he reminded himself that seeing her again should have come as no surprise, no jolt at all. When he’d returned to Kalamoose, he had accepted as fact that she would be back to visit her sisters some day and that he might run into her. He’d looked forward to the meeting, to showing her he’d moved on—and up—without her love, without her support, without any of the things he’d once believed he needed in order to breathe.
He could live, he’d since learned, without a lot of things. And Lilah Owens was one of them.
Thirty seconds down; a minute and a half to go….
He briefly allowed himself to relive that first moment of seeing her again. She’d been wrestling with a kid who was obviously shoplifting. He could have stepped in—he’d just exited his office when the tussle began—but he’d hung back, taken the opportunity to let his revved senses calm and to study the woman he’d known he would see again one day. Without the perfectly chosen, perfectly pressed clothes she had once favored, without the makeup, without the soft teenage perfection, Lilah was still—
He swore and pressed the gas pedal.
The golden girl of Kal High was still built like every man’s fantasy. She looked tired, as if she hadn’t slept well, but she still had cat eyes—golden-green and blazing—and lips full enough to make most men eschew common sense.
Easing off the pedal when the speedometer hit eighty-five, Gus wondered about the kid. He knew nothing about children, but guessed the girl to be a young teen, or nearly so. She was tall, belligerent