Once More, At Midnight. Wendy Warren

her entire body into the effort to catch up, Lilah ran smack into a barrier at the end of the aisle.

      “Oof!” She grabbed him to steady herself.

      Big, steel-vise hands gripped her shoulders as she rebounded off the chest of a man who stood a good six inches taller than her own five foot eight. Beautifully cut from exquisite material, the suit she clutched to keep herself upright was as out of place in a North Dakota minimart as the Hope diamond in a box of Cracker Jack. Catching a whiff of expensive cologne, Lilah looked up, a hasty apology ready on her lips.

      It died the moment she saw his face.

       No. Way.

      Winter-gray eyes scanned her without betraying a flicker of the surprise he must have felt. Recognition, but not pleasure, lent a curve to his lips.

      “Leaving so soon?”

      The timbre of his voice had remained the same, though his diction emerged more crisply than she recalled.

      Gus Hoffman.

      It had been a dozen years since they’d stood face-to-face. Lilah had been only seventeen then, but Gus had no trouble placing her; it showed in his gaze, in the crystal sharpness that made his eyes look like quartz. And judging by his stone-cold expression, he remembered all the less-than-fond details of their farewell.

      When Lilah remained frozen, Gus calmly released her shoulders and removed her hands from his jacket. Save for the sardonic quirk, his face was an implacable mask that made her feel cold despite the wicked heat. He’d always been good at that—shutting out anyone he didn’t trust.

      Twelve years earlier she had wondered if she would ever see Gus Hoffman again and had decided, No. Not a chance in this lifetime. Gus had been forced out of Kalamoose against his will, but he had always hated it here. When he’d left, the bitterness had run so deep she’d been sure he would disappear for good.

      Now, standing in front of him over a decade later, Lilah felt as if a herd of elephants was stampeding through her chest. She almost forgot why she’d been racing up the aisle until she realized Bree had run out to the car. She knew she had to follow and was about to say so when Gus informed her in a tone so supercilious she was sure he’d practiced it, “I don’t encourage running through the aisles of my store.”

      A fresh shock wave rolled through her. “Your store?”

      Gus’s only response was a raised golden-brown eyebrow. “I don’t encourage running,” he repeated calmly, “and I don’t tolerate stealing.”

      It took a moment to realize he had just accused her of theft. It took another moment to remember that she had a squashed Carmello bar in her right fist.

      Standing before a Gus Hoffman who looked like the cover of GQ magazine was odd enough; hearing him sound like a high school principal accusing her of misconduct was positively surreal. Years ago, he’d been the boy from the extreme wrong side of the tracks. His family had been the butt of unkind jokes and whispered accusations. His own attitude had done little to transform community opinion, and there’d been a time when only her family had given him a break. Yet here he was, suggesting she was a thief. She had never committed a crime; he could hardly say the same. Though she owed him an apology that was a dozen years old, she felt her temper rise.

      “I don’t condone stealing, either,” she said as evenly as she could manage. “I never have.” Her not-so-subtle emphasis on I was a conscious jab, and the thunderous lowering of his eyebrows told her he got the point.

      When her gaze shifted to the glass door behind him, he turned and nodded to his cashier. “Get the girl.”

      Apprehension made Lilah’s skin clammy. “No! We’re in a hurry.” Unimpressed, Gus gestured to his employee, who headed outside to get Bree. Lilah felt her chest squeeze. Not five minutes back in town and she was already courting calamity.

      Calling on all her acting skills, Lilah effected the breezy mocking tone that used to come naturally. “What is this? An episode of NYPD Blue? ‘Get the girl,” ’ she mimicked. “Jeez, Gus, you’re making a big deal out of nothing. I know this situation looks a little funny, but you of all people ought to understand mistaken impressions. Bree was running to the car to get her money, because I said I wouldn’t buy any more sugar,” she fibbed. She raised her hands. “That’s it. No biggie.”

      The glass door opened, and Bree entered, steered by Gus’s employee. The eleven-year-old looked belligerent but worried and frightened, too, when she made eye contact with Lilah, as if she feared her guardian had ratted her out.

      Lilah felt the stirrings of real compassion, along with a rumble of nerves that made her queasy. Bree’s sandy blond hair was mussed from the car ride, her clothes were wrinkled and spotted with food stains and she looked plain miserable. Anyone taking note of her would be sure to have questions for Lilah, beginning with “What are you doing with a kid?”

      The last thing Lilah wanted to do right now was answer questions about Bree. Or about what she’d done with her life the past twelve years. The second to last thing she wanted to do was let Gus Hoffman intimidate her in front of Bree.

      With the single goal of getting back in her car and on the road uppermost in her mind, Lilah raised the broken, not to mention sweaty, candy bar in her hand. “You know, I think I will buy this. There are so many studies now about the benefits of chocolate, who am I to argue with scientific evidence?”

      She looked over Gus’s shoulder, to where Sabrina was standing very still. “Never mind about raiding your piggy bank, honey. Auntie Lilah will buy the snacks.”

      From the corner of her eye, she watched Gus’s expression subtly register the term auntie. Reaching toward a rack, she snagged a large bag of baked potato chips and forced herself to casually study the ingredients. “Hmm. Low in fat and full of potassium. We’ll take these, too.” She smiled. “Come on, Bree.”

      The moment she stepped past Gus, she shot Bree a look that said, Do not screw with me now.

      Willing at last to follow Lilah’s lead, the child nodded.

      Commanding herself to stand tall, to walk as if she’d spent the past four days shopping in Neiman Marcus rather than riding in a sweltering car while she panicked about the complicated quagmire her life had become, Lilah headed to the cash register.

      It had long been her habit to bolster her self-confidence by tending to every detail of her appearance. Now she was acutely aware that her makeup had melted in the heat, her khaki shorts and sleeveless white top were wrinkled from the long drive and she hadn’t had a manicure in months and months.

      She recalled the first time she’d met Gus. Only ten, she’d already started dressing to mimic the current month’s cover of Seventeen magazine. Gus, on the other hand, had looked like he worked on a farm and hadn’t changed his clothes in a week. Streaked with dirt and smelling like sheep, he’d covered his dirty body with ripped pants and a T-shirt that was stained, too large and nearly worn through in spots.

      How times had changed.

      There were so many things she could have asked him: How’ve you been? How did the boy I knew turn into the man standing before me? Have you ever considered forgiving me?

      She kept quiet, feeling his gaze spear her back as she placed the food on the counter then fished loose change from the bottom of her purse. She expected the clerk to resume her place, but instead Gus strode to the register, rang up the candy bar and chips and took the money she set down. He dropped her purchases and the receipt into a paper bag and handed them to her. He never took his eyes off her, and he never smiled. The stern angles of his face and sculpted jaw betrayed the Lakota half of his heritage. Clear gray eyes and hair the color of maple sugar, both bequeathed by his German ancestors, might have softened his looks, if not for the stark mistrust in his expression.

      Lilah was beyond careful when she took the bag. She didn’t want to so much as