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  “I had a dog when I was a kid, too.” Mae’s smile faded as she straightened. “I found him on my way home from school. He was all skinny and hungry, and I brought him home, and June fed him, and we gave him a bath. He was beautiful, and we named him George.”

  “What kind was he?”

  “All kinds. My kind. But George wasn’t a pure breed, so when Armand got home, he took him to the pound.”

  “What?” Mitch tightened his hold on her. “That son of a bitch.”

  “I was hysterical,” Mae went on, still playing with Bob’s ears as she leaned against Mitch. “And Armand refused to go back and get George. So June called Uncle Gio because I wouldn’t stop crying, and Uncle Gio said, ‘Tell her I will fix it,’ and June did, and I still cried myself to sleep. And the next day, June took me to Uncle Gio’s, and George was there, and Uncle Gio promised me he’d always be there, and after that, I went to dinner every Sunday and played with George.” Mae looked up at him, her eyes bright. “And that is why I do not believe that my Uncle Gio has ever hurt anybody, and why I still go to dinner every Sunday even though George died twelve years ago, and why I hated my Uncle Armand, and why I’m not sorry that he’s dead.”

  Mitch pulled her out of her chair and into his lap, holding her close, his cheek against her hair, while she buried her face in his shoulder. “It’s going to be all right,” he said.

  “I know,” Mae said on a muffled sob. “I know. I’m just so tired.”

  “And maybe I was wrong about Gio,” Mitch went on, closing his eyes again as he held her. “But your cousin Carlo is still for the birds.”

  She laughed into his shoulder then, and he relaxed into relief, but she was still tense when he finally left her.

  He really hated leaving her.

  Six

  “This is so nice,” Stormy told Mae the next day. She gazed in delight around the sedate lunchtime crush at the Levee. “I always feel so rich here.” She was wearing a navy blue dress that was shirred across the shoulders and that made her look demure and sexy and refined and breathtakingly beautiful. Mae was wearing another of her flowered sundresses, this one pink, knowing it didn’t really matter what she wore, anyway; she was invisible as long as she was sitting next to Stormy. “Don’t you feel rich here?” Stormy asked her.

  “No. This place always reminds me of how poor I am.” Mae scanned the menu tiredly. “I’ll have a small salad,” she told the hovering waiter.

  “Lobster.” Stormy beamed at him. “I love lobster.”

  The waiter beamed back and left them, and Mae did some quick calculations to see how badly lunch was going to maim her financially.

  “Armand didn’t bring me here much.” Stormy’s smile faded, and her eyes brightened with incipient tears. “He liked it to be just us at home.”

  He liked it cheap, Mae amended silently, but all she said was, “That must have been nice.”

  “I like this better.” Stormy looked around and began smiling again. “Dalton brought me here three times this week.”

  “So you’re seeing Dalton,” Mae said, trying to goose the conversation away from Armand and tears. “How nice.”

  Stormy leaned forward a little. “You don’t mind, do you?”

  “Mind what? That you’re seeing Dalton?” Mae laughed. “Good heavens, no. Feel free.”

  “Well, he is your ex-husband,” Stormy offered. “I thought maybe…”

  “Take him with my blessings,” Mae said firmly. “Dalton is definitely out of my life.”

  Stormy put her chin in her hand and surveyed Mae. “What about Mitch?”

  “What about Mitch?” Mae echoed, suddenly not finding the conversation as amusing.

  “Are you dating him?”

  “No.” Mae picked up a breadstick and crunched into it. “I’m employing him,” she said when she’d swallowed. “That’s it.”

  “Because I think he’s really sexy.” Stormy let her eyes roam the room again. “I don’t know why. He’s not very handsome. Dalton is handsome.”

  “Date them both and split the difference.” Mae tried to keep the annoyance out of her voice. It was a good thing that Stormy was interested in Mitch since it was inevitable that Mitch in turn would be interested in Stormy. It meant that she wouldn’t have to worry about all of the problems that might develop if she gave in to her baser instincts and made a pass at him. He didn’t seem too thrilled with her yesterday, a little voice inside her offered, but she squelched it. If Stormy turned those big blue eyes on him, Mitch would fall. Any man would. Especially a man who needed to lay pipeline and open the West. “He’s all yours,” she told Stormy and crunched into her breadstick again.

  “Well, I don’t know. I’m seeing a couple of other guys, too. I just met one yesterday—” Stormy stopped as the waiter served their salads. “Thank you.”

  The waiter stopped, stunned by her smile.

  Mitch wasn’t going to have a chance. Mae sighed and stabbed her salad.

  “None of them are like Armand, though,” Stormy said when the waiter was gone, and Mae resisted the urge to point out that this was a definite plus. “They keep asking me what I want to do. Armand just told me. That was nice. Sort of.”

  Mae chewed faster to keep from blurting out her opinion.

  “I mean, that’s how I knew he loved me.” Stormy poked at her salad listlessly. “He took care of me. You know? Isn’t that what every woman wants?”

  “No.” Mae put down her fork. “Didn’t you ever want to make the decisions?”

  “No.” Stormy blinked at her. “Not very much. It was like Armand said, his way, everything was a surprise. It was like Christmas, only everyday.”

  “But what if you didn’t want to do what Armand wanted to?” Mae persisted. “What if you wanted to do something else?”

  Stormy’s eyes shifted away from hers. “Why would I want to do something else? Like Armand said, that’s what love is, having somebody take care of you. Armand knew what was best.” She put down her fork and fumbled inside her purse to pull out a small jeweled box. “I liked it that way,” she said defiantly. She popped a tiny white pill in her mouth. “It was best.”

  “Not for me.” Mae thought of her car and a thousand other things Armand had overruled her on for her own good. “For me, love is a partnership. Making decisions together.”

  “That’s dumb.” Stormy dropped the box back into her purse and went back to her salad. “If a guy will take care of you, let him.”

  “And then what happens when he’s gone?” Mae stopped with her fork in midair. “What happens when he leaves you high and dry?”

  “Armand didn’t leave me.” There was an edge to Stormy’s voice. “Armand died.”

  “Armand married Barbara Ross.”

  Stormy flushed and looked more beautiful than ever. “He wasn’t leaving me. He bought me my own place and gave me money so I’d feel secure, but he wasn’t leaving me. He loved me.”

  Mae bit back the impulse to say, “He married another woman, how is that love?” and said instead, “So what are you going to do now?”

  Stormy cocked her head, looking about as thoughtful as she ever got. “Well, there’s Dalton. He’s fun and rich, and he wants to take me on vacation, but he’s no Armand. And then I met this new guy yesterday, and he’s sweet and rich. And then there’s Mitch.”

  “Mitch is broke,” Mae put in and then kicked herself.

  “I know, but he’s…” Stormy furrowed her brow. “He’s safe. You know? He makes me feel good.”

  “Then go for it.” Mae stabbed her salad again. “Money isn’t everything.”

  “Oh, I wouldn’t give up the money. I’d have to see Dalton or somebody else, too.”

  Mae put down her fork. “You’d two-time Mitch?”

  Stormy blinked at her. “Do you think he’d care?”

  Mae thought of Mitch and his “everybody lies” outlook on life. “No. I think he’d expect it.” She felt sorry for him suddenly, spending the rest of his life with