If You Believe

Thats why shed run off with Stephen, because finally someone had asked, someone had said, "I love you. . . . "

She knew she should say no, should decline graciously and withdraw into the private sanctity of her room. But she didnt want to do the safe thing right now. She wanted to feel connected to the world, appreciated and cared for and cosseted.

Thats what his offer was: a chance to pretend to be something other than a frightened old spinster with a sordid past. A chance to be someone else—if only for a few moments.

She could no more deny him right now than she could cry.

"Let me get my bonnet. Wait here. " She left Mad Dog standing in the doorway and hurried into her room. She grabbed a handful of hairpins from the cracked china saucer on her dresser and re-coiled her hair as she walked back to the door.

Mad Dog stood in the doorway, waiting.

She smiled and pulled a hairpin from her teeth, ramming it into the tight coil at the base of her neck.

"Mariah?"

She eased another pin from her mouth. "Uh-huh?"

"Dont. "

She frowned and glanced up at him. "Dont what?"

He touched her wrist, curled his long, warm fingers around it, and gently pulled her hand away from her hair. "Let it be. "

She almost swallowed her hairpins. "Let it down, you mean?"

He laughed. It was a rich, rumbling sound that heated her insides and made her stomach feel fluttery. "For me. "

She tried to laugh. "Thats highly improper. "

"Of course it is. "

A small smile tugged at her mouth. She was tempted.

He smiled at her. "Come on, Marian . . . "

Her name sounded soft and feminine and pretty on his lips—all the things she wanted to be, used to be, and never would be again. All the things she wanted to pretend to be right now.

"What could it hurt?" he added.

What could it hurt? The seductive words pulled the starch from her defenses. It was a new way of looking at things. Usually her first question was how much will it hurt.

"What indeed?" she said softly. Then she smiled. Shed probably pay for it tomorrow, but today she didnt care. For once, she wanted to be herself. She tugged the pins from her hair and tucked

them in her pocket.

Mad Dog stepped toward her, his eyes fastened on hers. For a moment, she couldnt breathe. He reached out, pushed his fingers through her hair, and loosened it, fanning it out around her shoulders. "That must feel better," he breathed, stepping back.

"It does," she admitted.

"Then shall we go?"

She smiled brightly, feeling suddenly like a young girl at her first dance. She nodded and followed him from the house.

They emerged into the warm, sunlit afternoon and walked side by side down the creaking wooden steps. Together they strolled down the path. The air was fragrant with the smell of flowers and dirt and sunlight.

Marian couldnt think of a thing to say. Neither, apparently, could Mad Dog. They walked in silence, listening to the sounds of the afternoon: the whisper of the breeze, the repetitious creak of the porch swing, the chatter of the birds. It didnt seem to matter that they didnt speak. The silence was companionable, comfortable.

Marian glanced down to her right, seeing the burgundy, purple, and amber smear of her autumn flowers. Saucer-sized gold chrysanthemums waved in the slight breeze.