"I didn't miss a second. Warriors went down 78 to 60."

Hmm. Interesting. She hadn't returned to the stands. He knew because he'd looked for her. He'd even been tempted to explore the lobby but with Tara at his side he couldn't. "Tough loss but the season's young."

She was standing with the upper cabinet open, her back to him, taking down cups and a container of powdered creamer. "How was your date?"

So she'd seen them. "A bust."

Lana head jerked toward him. "Really? She's so pretty."

"Can't argue that. Pretty, pleasant, good conversationalist."

By now, the coffee scented the room and warmed the end of his cold nose. Lana poured two cups. He reached around her and took one, brushing against her left arm. She looked up, met his gaze and went right on stirring creamer into her coffee. They were a whisper apart. In fact, he could feel the rise and fall of her breathing, detect the faint scent of mint on her breath and his heart seemed to swell in his chest.

"So what's the problem?" she asked.

Davis swallowed.

She wasn't you.

That's when the realization hit him. Jenny was right. He felt more than neighborly toward Lana Ross. In fact, if he didn't step away right now, he might kiss her. From the distant expression on her face, it was the last thing in the world she had on her mind.

He stepped back, taking his mug. "I don't think I'm ready."

She gave him a long, thoughtful look. "I understand."

Then, coffee in hand, she snapped off the light above the sink and headed back into the living room.

Lana settled at one end of the couch and curled her feet under her. Davis took the other end, cradling his coffee in both hands. He was comfortable here with Lana, in ways he hadn't been with Tara Brewster.

"Is she the first girl you've dated?" Lana asked, her husky voice sliding over his skin, warmer than the coffee.

He nodded. "Since Cheryl died, yes. Tara works for my brother-in-law."

"Jenny thought the two of you would be a perfect match."

Davis blinked, surprised that she'd known. "She told you?"

A momentary pause and then, "She might have mentioned something about it at church."

Jenny was talking to Lana about him? About his date? Why? As much as she disapproved of Lana why would his sister confide in her about anything? He had an idea and he didn't much like it.

"My sister doesn't run my life."

"That's good to know."

"Did she say something...?" He stopped. How did he ask if Jenny had insulted her without insinuating she had reason?

"I know Jenny doesn't like me, Davis. Don't worry about it. It's not as if you're interested in me."

But what if he was?

"It must be hard for you." She sipped the strong brew and watched him over the cup rim. "I mean, dating again after being settled and married."

"Really hard. Awkward. I loved my wife."

"She was a lucky woman."

"We had a good life."

"What happened? Or does it bother you to talk about her?"

"Not anymore. In fact, I wish people would talk about her more. My family is afraid of upsetting me or the kids."

"Paige has told me a lot about her."

"She has?" He'd had no idea his daughter was discussing something this important with the neighbor.

"She seemed to need that outlet. I hope you don't mind."

Did he? "I'm surprised. That's all."

"When I listen to Paige, to her wonderful common sense, her values, even her ideas about life and God, I know that Cheryl was a wonderful woman and a great mom."

Her compliment heartened him. "She was."

"Tell me about her."

Easy as that, she drew him out, listened, wanted to know, and he wanted to tell her. Everything.

"We met in college in Fayetteville in our freshmen year, first semester. Bam!" He whacked his chest with his fist. "Love at first sight. Married at Christmas, dropped out of school and came home to Whisper Falls. I went to work with Dad, using the skills he'd taught me since I was small. We never looked back. Cheryl worked at the bank until Nathan was born. By then, my business was going strong and she wanted to stay home with the kids. Really, that's all she ever wanted. Me, the kids, our life together as a family." He smiled, remembering the dark-haired woman who'd filled his life with love.

"I'm sorry. Really sorry for all you've lost." She unwound her legs from beneath her and shifted toward him. "Bad things shouldn't happen to such good people."

"I had a lot of questions, let me tell you. Questions that have no answers. That's the way this life is. If I believe God is in charge of the big things-and I do-I have to trust Him even in this."

"I admire that."

"Don't. I didn't get there overnight, but the bit about time being the great healer is true. Time and a couple of growing kids who needed me to be Daddy, not a grieving ball of mush lying across the bed." He huffed softly at the apt description, surprised he was telling her this.

"What happened? An accident?"

"No, but almost as sudden and every bit as unexpected. Sometimes I think if we'd done things differently, if I'd acted sooner, maybe she would still be here."

"You feel guilty?"

"Not guilty exactly." He shrugged, admitting the existence of that tiny niggle. "Maybe a little. Cheryl didn't like going to doctors. Of any kind. Once she had a toothache for a week before I could convince her to see a dentist. So when she got sick with what she considered the flu, we thought she'd be okay in a few days. She took over-the-counter medicines, stayed in bed. At her insistence I left the kids with Jenny, so they wouldn't get sick, too. But she didn't get better."

"She died of the flu?"

He shook his head, remembering the terrible moment when he'd known something much worse than flu infected his wife. "That last day, I'd taken off work at noon to come home. She scolded me, told me to stop worrying, and get back to work. It was the last time we ever spoke. When I arrived home that evening, she was unconscious." He drew in a ragged breath. "I couldn't wake her up."

"Oh, Davis, I can't imagine. You must have been scared out of your mind."

"I was." He dragged a hand down his face. "I carried her to the car and drove like a madman to the clinic. Dr. Ron took one look at her and called Creed Carter to fly her to a hospital in Little Rock. She died en route. Cardiac arrest."

"But she was so young."

"She had some kind of heart defect we didn't even know about. Probably had it all her life."

The terror and shock followed by an ice-cold numbness came back to Davis. He'd been zombielike for a while, with no emotions.

Lana set her mug on a scarred end table and scooted closer to him. "How awful."

"It was." He'd gone through the motions of life, of death, of a funeral. He'd accepted the flowers and sympathies, the fried chicken and prayers, feeling the love and compassion of a small town. The real grief struck later after everyone had gone back to their normal lives, but his life would never be the same again. "I know it's foolish to dwell on, but I can't help wondering now and then. What if I'd insisted she see a doctor, if I'd acted sooner when she didn't get better?"

Her hand closed over his. "God is in charge of things, even the big picture, right?" She gave his words back to him.

"Wise woman." Before he could think better of it, he put his arm around her and pulled her next to him. He knew he shouldn't have. It was a bad idea considering the late hour and the fact that they were completely alone without the worry of a kid interruption. Add the emotion of discussing Cheryl, the dinner date that had made him feel more awkward than anything and the nearness of this particular woman. Touching her might not be a smart move.

She laid her head on his shoulder and sighed. His pulse kicked up. This was nice, actually. Harmless and nice. Sitting together on the couch with the fireplace snapping and the old house creaking around them was a pleasant end to the evening. They were simply neighbors having a conversation.

Then why did he have this overpowering desire to kiss her?

He was going to kiss her.

Lana's heart thudded wildly against her rib cage, a captive bird begging to be released.

Davis's fingertips, calloused and rough from work, brushed her hair away from her cheek. The rough tenderness sent a shiver through her body. She wanted to reciprocate, to stroke his strong, clean-shaven jaw, to snuggle closer.

They were alone. Sydney was asleep. The fireplace lulled with its golden glow and warm, crackling flame. No one would know the nicest guy in Whisper Falls had kissed the town's bad girl.

Was the man completely out of his mind? Was she?

Reluctantly, she broke contact and scooted away, thrusting about in her head for something to say. Automatically, she went to the one thing that had always been her answer, her solace, her conversation when she had no words. She went to the fireside, picked up the guitar and strummed a quiet chord.

She dared a glance at Davis. He'd sat forward on the sofa, leaning toward her, puzzled.

She was puzzled, too. Puzzled by the sweet yearning to be something that she wasn't for his sake.

"You must wonder," she started, perching on the brick hearth, knees crossed to balance the instrument.

The caged bird beat harder, fluttering up to her throat. What would he think if she told him? Would he walk away and never return? And if he did, wouldn't that be the best thing for him and his beautiful little kids?

She searched his face, her chin high and cool as if she didn't know she'd rejected him. He watched her, eyes a stormy color.

"I wonder about a lot of things."

Lana thought she understood. He wondered why she'd hustled away, a woman like her with nothing left to lose. Certainly no reputation that mattered. He could stay here in her house all night and no one would be surprised that she'd allowed it. There might be a titter of conversation and Davis's reputation would be smirched but not hers. It was too late for her.

"That's not what I meant," she said.

He cocked his head, sandy brown eyebrows dipping to a V. "I think I'm lost."

So am I.

"At the ball game. I refused to sing tonight even though I've sung that song dozens of times." Her fingers found the strings and strummed again, restless, needing the comfort music could bring. "Do you want to know why?"

He shook his head. "I admit I was curious, but you have a right not to sing if you don't want to. It's your voice, your God-given talent. You can share it or not. Your choice."

"But you think I'm being selfish?" She could see the hint of accusation in his eyes, hear it in the slightly tense comments.

His gaze slid away from hers. "They shouldn't have pounced on you without asking first."

"What did they say?" She pressed, a glutton for punishment, wanting him to say something cruel so she wouldn't like him so much. The basketball crowd had complained. She was sure of it. This town disliked her and tonight she'd added to their long list of reasons. "Go on. I'm tough. You have to grow thick skin in the music business." Though she'd learned most of her toughness in Whisper Falls.

"Forget tonight. Like I said, your voice, your choice."

"I don't think I'm too good to sing in Whisper Falls, Davis, if that's what you think. And it's not about money. I've sung for nothing a lot more often than I've sung for pay." The whisper of a song pushed up in her throat. She let it loose, humming.

He rose from the sofa and came toward her. Her stomach fluttered. She fought down the quiver of emotion, one part of her wanting him closer, the other willing him to keep his distance.

"So, if singing tonight wasn't about money or prestige, what was the problem?" He stood too close, one hand on the brick surrounding the fireplace, his scent mixing with the wood smoke. He'd carried the night in with him and she could smell the stars and moon. Man and moon, a heady combination.

"Some things happened in Nashville. I lost my..." Telling him about the fear was easy. But what about the rest?

"Voice?"

"In a manner of speaking. I lost my confidence." Truth was, her confidence had been artificial, taken from a gin glass. But she couldn't tell him that.

"No way. Even your humming sounds incredible to me." He tugged at his pant leg and settled next to her on the hearth. "Rough honey. Isn't that what the Music City News said about your voice?"

She recalled the wild thrill of reading her name in the prestigious publication. "You saw that?"

His eyes twinkled into hers. "Everyone in Whisper Falls saw it. We thought you were on your way to the top. Small-town girl making it big."

Such a good man. Such a sweet, all-American face. Good to the soul.

"All I made was a mess," she admitted, the words tumbling out before she could stop them. But that was as much as she dared say. She couldn't bear for him to know the rest, the debauchery, the nights spent too drunk to remember. Before he could press for details, she said, "Somewhere along the way, I developed a powerful case of stage fright. I can't get in front of an audience anymore."

"Stage fright?" He blinked, head tilted as if he couldn't quite take in her admission. "That's why you wouldn't sing tonight? You were afraid?"

"More than afraid, Davis. Terrified. Panicked. I can't really even describe how bad it is." She found the strings again, this time finger-picking a soft tune she'd composed. "I get so scared I think I'm going to die. I can't breathe. My heart races out of my chest."

"Did you see a doctor?"

"Doctors cost money, and they can't cure what ails me."