The Beauty, The Beast And The Baby. Dixie Browning

had time to think about such things, she had discovered somewhat to her surprise that buried under all those layers of enforced practicality, there still lurked a closet romantic who believed in charming princes and knights in shining armor.

      Which might explain why she’d gone along with the fantasy when Vic had promised her the world with a cherry on top. His magicians had worked their magic, turning her into a glamorous stranger who wore exotic clothes and mingled with exotic people who owned yachts and who thought no more of flying over to Paris than she used to think about driving down to Brunswick or over to Waycross. Before she knew it, she’d found herself dreaming again about finding-Well, hardly a prince, but at least a special someone.

      It hadn’t happened. It wasn’t going to happen. Mariah knew for a fact that there weren’t any knights or princes waiting at Grover Shatley’s Feed, Seed and Hardware. Muddy Landing didn’t even boast a mayor, much less any royalty. The closest thing to a knight was Moe Chitty, who owned the town’s only garage and had come to her rescue more than once when her car wouldn’t start.

      Blinking against the hypnotic spell of windshield wipers, Mariah shifted her position. Her legs were too long for a compact car, even with an adjustable seat—which hers no longer was. She should have taken a break before now, but the thought of jogging a few rounds at a rest stop in the pouring rain didn’t particularly appeal.

      Besides, she had too much on her mind. “Maybe I just won’t go back at all,” she said out loud, voicing a thought that had been more and more in her mind this past month. Who needed New York? who needed Palm Beach? Who needed her face on the cover of the Italian Yogue, anyway? Nobody in Muddy Landing had ever even heard of the rag, much less seen it.

      Still, it paid awfully well. According to Kaye, fashion models weren’ t limited these days to walking a runway. One of Vic’s girls had recently landed a small role in a soap opera, another had won an exclusive contract with a cosmetics firm.

      It had seemed like a good idea at first, with no one at home depending on her. Seldom a month passed that one of her three sisters didn’t call needing advice or a small loan. Financially, at least, her modeling career had been a godsend. Knowing that her family still depended on her in an emergency, she had saved every penny she could.

      The trouble was, no matter how glamorous the life of a model looked from the outside, Mariah had never really gotten used to being treated like a side of beef—being handled, draped, pushed, pulled and spokenof as if she weren’t even present by men who wore more jewelry and perfume than she ever had.

      Selling hardware was a lot simpler. Muskrat traps, salt licks, well pumps and fescue seed. It was far from lucrative, but then, living in Muddy Landing didn’t cost an arm and a leg, the way even breathing in Palm Beach or New York did.

      Besides, she told herself as she squinted through the mixture of fog and rain for a sign of a service station, Muddy Landing was home. Be it ever so humble. which it was. The glitzy life that had seemed so promising months ago had turned out to be mostly hard work, long hours, nastiness and one-upmanship.

      Marian flexed her shoulders, shifted on the rump-sprung bucket seat and glanced at the gas gauge. The needle nudged the empty mark and then bounced a zillionth of an inch. “Oh, Lordy,” she muttered, searching the flat gray horizon for a faint gleam of neon. All she needed now was to run out of gas in the middle of I-95 in a cold, driving rain, with night corning on.

      She took the first exit, but by the time she spotted the convenience store, her engine was beginning to cough. She flicked on her turn signal, praying that it still worked, and rolled off the highway onto the apron of the sm all store.

      “Whew! Made it,” she said with a sigh of relief.

      Because she’d been lucky enough not to be stranded on the highway and because she was worried about Basil and Myrtiss ’and the baby, and was still undecided about her own future, Mariah decided to treat her car to a tankful of high-test, and herself to the biggest cherry drink she could find. And maybe a bag of boiled peanuts.

      “And a rest room!” she added, shivering in the damp, chilly air. It had been warm enough when she’d set out, and she’d tossed her vinyl slicker and her white denim car coat into the back seat, then buried them under bags and boxes of cloths, books, curlers and makeup.

      The rest rooms were inside, and as she had to pay before the attendant would turn on the gas pump, she made a dash for it, chill bumps covering her skin before she even made it through the door. After freshening up, she got her drink and peanuts and made her way to the counter. There was no one in the store except for the clerk and two grungy-looking men who were studying a girlie magazine rack near the counter. Wedging her way up beside them, she said, “Ten dollars’ worth of gas, please. High-test.”

      Reluctantly the clerk turned away from the TV set. There was a basketball game under way. “That’ll be ten for the gas, two-fifty for the peanuts, and with a Giant Freeze that comes to…lemmee see…”

      Mariah plopped her purse on the counter beside her purchases, preparing to dig out her billfold. One of the two men abruptly left, letting in a blast of cold, wet air. She shivered. Just as the second man turned to follow, his elbow struck her drink, drenching her with the icy red liquid.

      Mariah gasped. Appalled, she stared down at the spreading stain on her yellow linen pants and matching tunic and gingerly plucked the sodden fabric away from her body. Oh, blast! Why hadn’t she taken the time to change into jeans? Now she was either going to have to dig out her suitcase and change clothes in the closet-size ladies’ room, or drive the rest of the way home wet, cold and sticky.

      Oh, fine. This was all she needed after rushing around all morning like a. chicken drunk on sour mash, trying to tie up two dozen loose ends.

       Get a grip, Mariah! You ’re supposed to be Fearless Leader.

      That was what her younger siblings had always called her. Ha! If they’d only known what a fake she was.

      “Hey, you!” yelled the clerk, and she glanced up in time to see the clumsy dolt who had drenched her running out the door—with her white shoulder bag under his arm!

      It took a moment for it to sink in. “Stop him! You come back here!” she screamed. She lunged for the door, flinging out her hand to try to grab the flying strap of her purse.

      Two things registered simultaneously as the door slammed shut on her fingers—the dark car that pulled up to the entrance, then sped off with a screech of rubber, and the pain that nearly brought her to her knees.

      Clutching her right hand in her left one, Mariah shouldered open the door and barged into a solid wall of flesh. A tough-looking man with a black beard and a fierce scowl caught her by the shoulders.

      “Get out of my way!” She shoved at him with both hands. Pain threatened to cripple her again.

      “Whoa,” the man growled. “What the hell’s the big hurry?”

      “Lady, you’ll never catch him now. He’s long gone,”the attendant called after her.

      Mariah ignored him. “Oh, God, he’s getting away!” She dodged to the left just as the dark stranger did. She sidestepped right at the same time he did. The man’s hands clamped down on her shoulders again, and Mariah glared at him, distractedly taking in the image of shaggy beard, battered, black leather jacket, rumpled khakis and worn Western boots. He looked unnaturally pale. “Would you please just let… me…go?” she wailed.

      “What’d you do, rob the joint?”

      The attendant stood behind her, surrounding her with his beer-and-onion breath. He squinted off into the veil of heavy rain. It was really pounding down now, dancing up off the pavement. A hundred-odd feet away, a steady stream of traffic raced by, headlights and taillights glowing fuzzily in the preternatural darkness. “Sorry, lady. They’re long gone by now.” He turned to go back inside, looking relieved that she instead of he had been the victim.

      Breathing in a crazy mixture of lilacs, diesel fuel and cherry extract, Gus stared