"I'm probably not strong enough."

"Won't know unless you try."

She wiped her hands on her skirt. "All right." She started to draw the bandanna over her face.

"You don't have to wear that. I don't think you'll create enough dust to bother us." He handed her the

tools.

"Oh, they're heavier than I thought," she said as she moved her hands up and down, testing their weight.

He placed his finger on the stone. "Hold the chisel in your left hand and put the blunt tip right here." She

did as he said. "Now you want to have a firm grip on the chisel because you don't want it to go flying when you hit it."

She nodded.

"Relax the arm holding the hammer. You want the hammer to do the work. And never take your eyes off the chisel."

She slid her gaze to him. "Never?"

He didn't realize how close he was standing to her until she turned her head. A man could drown in the

blue pool of her eyes. He'd spent most of the night thinking about how soft and smooth her check felt.

Her lips looked even softer.

"Never," he said in a raspy voice. "You'll get distracted and start thinking about things you shouldn't."

"Like what?" she asked.

It had been a mistake to tell her not to cover her face. Her face was a perfect oval, her eyes a perfect

blue. Her lower lip was so full it gave the appearance she was pouting when she wasn't. The tip of her tongue moistened her lips, and he wondered what it would feel like to have those glistening drops touch his own lips.

"You'll wonder..."-he lowered his head slightly- "wonder if..." He brushed his lips lightly over hers.

She jerked her head back.

Clay straightened and swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat. "I'm sorry. I'll stand still if you

want to slap me."

"I don't want to slap you, but I think I need to leave."

He felt the trembling in her hands as she gave him the tools. "I don't think my carving is such a good

idea."

She untied the bandanna from around her neck and dropped it on the chair before walking out of the

shed. Clay fought against picking it up and tying it around his neck so he'd still have the scent of honeysuckle with him.

"What'd you do to make Miz Meg cry?" Josh asked.

Clay looked around the stone at the twins' concerned faces. "Wai she crying?"

"Not like she did that day when we had to comfort her, but her eyes was full of tears."

"God damn it!" Clay slapped his hand against the granite and banged his forehead against the stone. The pain bellowing in his head wasn't loud enough to drown out the pain cutting into his heart.

"What'd you do?"

"Kissed her."

"Why the heck did you do a fool thing like that?"

Clay moved his head from side to side and felt the abrasive rock chafe his skin.

"You reckon she'll come back?" Joe asked.

Clay heaved a deep sigh. "No."

"Then who's gonna make us smile?"

Clay squeezed his eyes shut. Who was going to give him a reason to anticipate the dawn?

The world encompassed her, quiet, warm, and silky. The sensual sensations gave Meg a freedom she hadn't experienced in almost five years, but the freedom was fleeting, lost the moment she broke through the moon-glistened surface of the water.

Shortly after they were married, Kirk brought her here. It was their special, private place. The pool was a circle of deep water with large boulders running along a portion of it, and land and trees gracing the remaining edges.

She had no idea where the water came from. She supposed it somehow seeped through the earth and passed through crevices in the rocks. She really didn't care. She only cared that the pool had been waiting for her tonight when she needed it She had come here hoping to bring back the feel of Kirk's lips upon hers, but the attempt was proving futile. She could only feel Clay's lips upon hers, a light tentative brushing of his mouth over hers, and yet, warmth had shot through her. She'd felt the desire to lean into him, to press herself against his body, to twine her arms around his neck, to return the kiss with a fervor that far exceeded his.

She sank into the depths of the pool. She had loosened her hair because she enjoyed the way the water seemed to turn the strands into wisps of clouds floating freely through a black sky. But even here, where the water cut off the night sounds, it couldn't cut off her memories of Clay. He haunted her thoughts, and she feared that if she slept, he'd haunt her dreams.

When her lungs felt near to bursting, she rose to the surface of the pool. The night sounds had changed. The insects had taken refuge, their silence palpable in the night. It seemed that even the water had ceased its lapping against the shore.

The mournful strains of a song whispered from a harmonica filled the night. She eased away from the center of the pool to an area where tree branches shielded her from moonbeams. She glanced toward the boulder. A lone figure sat upon the rock, his shoulders hunched, his hands near his face. Moon shadows hid the harmonica that she was certain he held, and they concealed the expression on his face. Yet the sound he created told all that needed to be known about his feelings and thoughts.

A lonesome wail, a soul crying in the night.

She wanted to yell that he wasn't alone, but the ground she walked upon was shaky. She had already

offered him far more friendship than she'd intended.

The music stopped, and she watched in amazement as he stripped out of his clothes. He stood, a myriad of shadows and moonlight dancing over his body. She only had time to notice how tall and lean he appeared before he leapt from the boulder.

She screamed.

Clay heard a woman's shrill cry rend the stillness of the night just before he plunged below the surface of

the water. If it hadn't been for that, he might have thought his foot had struck an unusually long and silky fish. As it was, he had a feeling his sole had run the length of a woman's leg.

He shot straight up to the surface, his breathing labored as he flung his hair out of his eyes. "Christ! What

are you doing here?"

Even as Meg struggled to stay afloat in the water, she tilted up her chin. "Me? What are you doing here?

This was our private sanctuary."

"Our? Did Kirk tell you about this place?"

"What if he did?"

"Damn his worthless hide. We all swore an oath we'd keep this place a secret."

"Who's we?"

"Kirk, Stick, your brothers. Hell, everyone thai was around our age."

"I don't know why you're so angry."

Clay didn't know either. Her warm, bare foot touched his, and he glided away from her. She was no

doubt wearing as much as he was... which was nothing. He thought the water around him might boil if he thought about that too long. "I'm getting out"

He swam to the bank where the shadows lay thick upon the water. "Can you see me?"

"No!"

"Good." He scrambled up the bank and headed to the boulder.

"I'm getting out as well!"

He stopped walking and wondered where she'd left her clothes. For the sake of the statue he should look over his shoulder and sec if her curves were all he thought they were. He balled his hands into fists and stormed to the boulder. Seeing those curves in his dreams was bad enough. He didn't need to see them in the flesh.

He snatched up his clothes. Damn Kirk! The man was turning out to be more of an enemy than a friend.

Clay yanked his trousers up his legs and shoved his arms into his shin. She couldn't have gotten a good look at his body, not in the darkness.

A button on his shirt went sailing through the night. He cursed and took more care with the other buttons.

He didn't need a gaping hole exposing his chest. He pulled on his socks and jerked on his boots.

He plowed his hands through his wet hair. At least he was covered from shoulder to toe. Lord, how close he'd come- "Are you decent?" Meg asked in a soft voice behind him.

He nearly jumped back into the water. "I'm dressed," he barked.

She stepped out of the shadows and sat on the ground beside the boulder. She set her shoes beside her, and he could see the faint outline of her toes peering out from beneath her skirt. She bent her head, draped her hair over her face so the thick strands pooled in her lap, and began brushing her hair.

Her ebony hair, shining in the moonlight, reminded him of silk. His fingers ached to glide through it. He'd made a mistake working with stone all his life.