The first two hours of Sam’s shift was like a mini crime wave, in the nastiest wet weather they’d had in a while. He worked swings—2:00 p.m. till ten, and he’d already helped recover a stolen car, stopped a fight in the Target parking lot and booked a man who’d been knocking his wife around. Sometimes he thought that rain made people do things.

As he drove through Breckenridge, he looked up at the mountains. Snow. A soft fresh blanket. It made him think about Sarah. The last really good snowfall had been two weeks ago at Christmas. The memory of that night made his pulse race a little. It had been perfect.

For reasons primarily nostalgic, he had taken Sarah to the inn on Lander’s Pass where the snow had cooperated beautifully by falling in thick white drifts, closing the pass. Sarah had made an excuse to her family that she was going to the house of a fellow artist in Reno for a Christmas evening open house and would stay the night there. So Sam brought champagne and gave her a beautiful gold bracelet, which was the only thing she wore as she pushed him back on the bed and, leaning over him, said, “And now it’s time for your present….”

It had only been a little over a month they’d been intimate, but in his mind it seemed as though he’d been born in her arms. It was as if they had a long, long history when in fact it was all new. And he loved that she was getting bolder with him—a little aggressive from time to time. When she made some lusty move on him, it would cause him to laugh in loud, surprised delight and let her have whatever she wanted.

He looked at his watch—almost five. The winter sun would be setting soon. He pulled into the grocery to get a drink and some flowers for Sarah. He was standing at the checkout with bottled water and a bouquet wrapped in cellophane. Peeling a few dollars out of his clip, he glanced up into the security mirror. Aw, Jesus, he thought. There were a couple of teenage boys loitering near the liquor department. They were fidgety and goosey; they were about to commit a smash-and-grab for a six-pack.

Sam said to the cashier, “Keep this here, I’ll be right back.”

The boys had obviously entered the store ahead of Sam. Had they seen the squad car out front, they would’ve crossed this particular store off their list. He went around a store display of canned goods, staying out of sight. He circled around to the back of the liquor aisle, coming up behind them. His timing was perfect. Just as one of the boys grabbed a six-pack, he grabbed the collar of the other. Boy number one dropped the six-pack and fled the store while he shook boy number two as he would a bad puppy.

“What’re you doing, boy?” he demanded. He turned the kid around and came face-to-face with the startled expression of Jason Wilson. “Oh, brother,” he said.

“Hey, please. I didn’t do anything,” Jason pleaded.

“I’m not buying that,” Sam said.

The store manager was upon them at once. “What’s going on?” he asked.

“Just a close call,” Sam said. “There’s your beer. The thief got away and his accomplice here is going to come with me.”

“Aw, Sam,” Jason whined. “Come on, man…”

“I’m gonna let go of your shirt, Jason, and if you run I’ll be waiting at your house for you when you get home. I’m not chasing you in this rain, but I will get you. You copy?”

“Yeah,” he said in total disgust. “Yeah, I copy!”

Sam kept a hand on Jason’s elbow as he went to the cashier to retrieve his water and flowers. Then he took the boy to the car, but he put him in the passenger seat rather than the back. The flowers he threw in the back. “So,” he said to Jason, “gonna have a little after-school party?”

“We just wanted a beer,” Jason sulked.

“Drink a lot of beer, do you?”

“No! We don’t!”

“I have a choice here,” Sam said. “I could just take you to the station for petty theft. Or I could take you home.”

“I think I’d rather go to jail,” he said. “It’s going to be prison one way or another.”

“Let me ask you something, Jason. Why didn’t you boys just pilfer a little beer from the icebox at home? Why’d you decide to steal some from a store? Which, by the way, is a misdemeanor.”

“Because Stan’s old man doesn’t drink beer, and my mom drinks so little, she’d know if some was missing.”

“There you go,” he said. He put the squad car in gear. “Where is Mama today? The store? Home?”

“Can I just go to my grandpa’s?” he asked.

“Nope.”

Jason sighed and got smaller in the seat. “She’s at the old house she’s fixing up.”

“Address?”

“I don’t know.”

Sam gave him a little swat in the arm.

“Jefferson Avenue. Fourteen something.”

That old house, he thought. He keyed his radio. “Control, DP-thirty-five, I’m out at fourteen-fifty Jefferson Avenue, returning a juvenile to his mother.”

“DP-thirty-five, copy.”

As they rode, Sam said, “You might want to go ahead and think about what you’re going to tell her. Since I’ll be right there, eavesdropping, start with the truth.”

“You’re killin’ me, man.”

“No, snookums,” he grinned, and he hoped he grinned meanly. “I’m taking you to the woman who’s gonna kill you.”

By the time they pulled up to the old house, Jason was so small in the seat next to Sam, he was all but disappearing. “Come on, pal,” Sam said. “Let’s get this over with. You’ll feel better.”

“I doubt that,” Jason said, getting out of the car.

“Look,” Sam said, “it’s not like your mom has it that easy. You might try cutting her some slack. At least keep your skinny ass out of trouble, huh?”

“What do you know about it?”

“I lost my dad when I was just a kid, younger than you. My mom did it alone. It’s hard. At least you have a dad around.”

“Yeah,” he said, hands plunged into his pockets, walking toward the house, head down. “And when she’s done killin’ me, he’s gonna start.”

“That’s comforting,” Sam said, not displeased. This was not what Sam would consider a serious crime—not compared to what he dealt with daily. But it was a golden opportunity for the parents to get control right here, right now.

Jason pushed open the front door. “Ma?” he called.

She was working in the living room but apparently hadn’t seen Sam pull up to the house. She had a ball cap on, a sweatshirt and jeans and wore heavy work gloves. In her hands she held a crowbar. Lying around the floor were pieces of baseboard that she’d pried off the wall. A fire blazed in the hearth. “Jason?” she said, confused. Sam stepped into the house behind him. “Sam?” she said, even further confused.

“Ma, I’m in a little trouble.”

“What?” she asked, shaking her head.

Sam just stood back by the door, his thumbs hooked into his gun belt. There was a part of him that wanted to laugh at this kid’s predicament, but he wasn’t about to crack a smile. He kept his expression stony, drawing his brows together.

“Hey, Mom—could you lose the crowbar? Makes me a little nervous. When I tell you what I did, you might, you know, snap.”

She took two steps closer to her son. She did not put down the crowbar. And she was wearing an expression that Sam had never seen on her face. Whoa, that was the mother-look if ever there was one. Very scary to be fifteen right now.

“Me and Stan, we were going to pinch a six-pack of beer, but Sam caught us.”

“What?” she said again. “Why would you do a stupid thing like that?”

Jason took a breath. “Because we couldn’t buy it.” He shrugged. “I swear, it was Stan’s idea.”

Now it became actually hard for Sam to keep a straight face. He looked down at his feet to regain composure. Oh, sucks to be Jason, he thought.

“Is that it?” she asked. “Where were you going to drink this beer?”

“We thought maybe Stan’s. His folks don’t get home till like after seven.”

“Oh crap,” she said. “Sam? Is he going to be charged?”

Sam shook his head. “I figured you could take it from—” Behind her, on the floor near the fireplace, he spied a rolled-up sleeping bag. It was wider than normal. He knew what it was—it was two sleeping bags zipped together. It was very doubtful that Clare was taking naps or spending the night in this old wreck of a house. He looked back at her eyes, but he knew his expression had changed. “You can take it from here,” he said. “You might want to call Stan’s parents. He got away from me.”

“You bet I will.” She looked over her shoulder, more or less confirming that she had seen what he had seen. “Jason, go wait for me in the car. I want to talk to Sam.”

Jason skulked out the door and Sam said, “I recommend you not let this slide, Clare. It’s just a dumb-shit fifteen-year-old boy stunt, not nearly as scary as some of the stuff I deal with every day. But, you don’t want this to be the beginning of a bad streak. Take a firm hand now and it might save some heartache later. Get his dad involved—let Jason know you have a united front.”

“Sam,” she said, walking toward him. “I want to tell you something.”

“You don’t have to tell me anything,” he said.

“You can give me a minute. I think it’s important. It’s important to me, anyway, that you know I never lied to you. When I went out with you, when I broke it off with you, there was no other man in my life.”

“What could it possibly matter now?” he said, knowing he sounded sarcastic.

“It matters a great deal to me. Sometime after the Homecoming game, I started dating Pete. After you and I—Well, I just want you to know I didn’t lie. That day in the park—Pete and I really were talking about Mike. His brother.”

“Why worry about it? We’ve moved on. So?”

“So? So the look on your face says that I just hurt you. Again.”

“Let it go, Clare. You made yourself clear. And I haven’t bothered you.”

“No. You haven’t.”

“You and Pete,” he said, laughing hollowly. He shook his head. “You don’t have to be psychic to have seen that one coming.”

“I didn’t,” she said. “We were like best friends in high school, Sam. When I was engaged to his brother. It somehow makes strange sense. And it’s kind of stranger that we didn’t discover each other sooner.” She tilted her head. “It has nothing to do with you.”

“Course not,” he said. “So—you found what you wanted. Good for you. I gotta go. Take it easy,” he said. He turned back to her. “Don’t take it easy on Jason.”

Sam left the house, then the neighborhood. He had some kind of an ache in the back of his throat that he couldn’t explain. They had moved on. So? If she was telling the truth, and he had no reason to think otherwise, he had found Sarah as quickly as she had found Pete.

But there was something hurtful about the days and weeks and even months he’d invested in trying to woo her, unsuccessfully, only to have her go to Pete so easily. Is it just pride? he asked himself. Ego? Because that’s stupid. After all, as reluctant as Clare had been, Sarah had molded to him like soft clay in his arms—sweet, responsive and pliant. He’d never been more comfortable. Or fulfilled. Wasn’t this better? For everyone?

Still, the ache. If not for Clare, then for the expectation that had been Clare, and had been wiped off the slate somewhat painfully. And maybe, just maybe, some concern that Sarah would tire of him.

He drove to the art store almost out of habit. When he walked in, there was a customer, so he hid the flowers behind his back and pretended to poke around, looking at things. Sarah took the customer’s money, bagged the merchandise and said goodbye. He brought the flowers out from behind his back.

“Isn’t this a sweet surprise,” she said. “I’ll get a vase.”

He followed her into the studio. While she filled the vase with water, he embraced her from behind. He nuzzled her neck, drank in the sweet smell of soap and vanilla lotion.

She put the flowers in the vase, the vase on the counter and turned in his arms. “Are you having a little coffee break?” she asked.

“I’m having a crappy day. Let me hold you.”

“Would you like me to go lock that door out front?” she asked.

“No, I just want to hold you.”

She laid her head on his chest. “What’s the matter, Sam? Is something wrong?”

“Does something have to be wrong for me to want to hold you? Just be still a minute.” He inhaled her fragrance, felt her small frame inside his arms. Sometimes he thought she was so little she might break and other times she reminded him that she was actually very strong, very powerful. Powerful enough to bring him to his knees. He kissed her neck and she put her arms around him.

He couldn’t feel her against him while he wore his vest. But what he felt inside surpassed that. The sight of those sleeping bags drifted further and further from his mind and he knew he was in the right place. Home. This was where he belonged; this woman wasn’t going anywhere. There was no ache in his throat. “Sarah,” he said against her neck. “I’m starting to have a better day already. Where will you be when I get off work?”

“Wherever you want me to be.”

When she got home, Clare called Roger and he immediately came over. When Clare let him in, she was rather surprised by the angry look on his face. Impressed, when it came down to it.

“Where is he?” he asked.

“In his room. Quaking.”

“Jason!” Roger yelled. “Get down here!”

Response was immediate. The door opened and he came down the stairs. As his father came into view, Clare noticed that Jason’s expression grew more fearful. He got a little paler.

“Family room,” Roger snapped, letting Jason go first.

Jason sat on the couch while Roger paced in front of him. Long seconds passed. Then Roger stopped pacing and bore down on Jason. “What the hell were you thinking?”

“It was stupid,” Jason said. “I told Stan it was stupid.”

“Drinking at your age is bad enough—but stealing? Jason? Stealing?”

“I said, it was stupid.”

“I just can’t believe it. Not you. I never thought you would do that.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Not as sorry as you’re going to be.” He turned to Clare, who was actually very pleased with this. “Have you called Stan’s parents?”

“Uh-huh. They went straight home.”

“Get your jacket,” Roger said.

“Aw, Dad…”

“Come on, we’re going over there.”

It was a tense meeting that lasted about an hour. Jason had never looked more miserable in his life. The adults decided that the boys were not allowed to hang out together for at least a couple of weeks. Stan, who had recently scored his driver’s license, was losing use of the car for the rest of the month. Jason, who was ready to take his test for his permit, was not going to get to do that for another month.

On the drive back home Roger said, “Clare, do you think your dad would go along with Jason working at the store after school for a while?”

“Probably.”

“Aww, man,” came from the backseat.

“You obviously can’t be trusted to stay out of trouble after school, so I want you to go to your grandpa’s store until your mom is either done at that old house or done at the store. For at least the rest of the month. Then we’ll reevaluate.”

When they got home, Jason headed straight for the stairs. He was halfway up when Roger said, “Jason?” He turned around and looked at his dad. “Jason, I’m disappointed. I trusted you to at least never break the law. I hope you learned something from this. I hope you’re going to turn out better than that.”

“Yes, sir,” he said meekly.

Roger nodded. Jason fled.

Clare put a hand on Roger’s arm. “Thank you. You handled that very well. I couldn’t have managed as well without you.”

“Oh, you probably could have,” he said. “But I’m glad you called. I want to be in his life—in the good times and the rugged.” He took a deep breath. “I’m exhausted.”

She smiled. “How about a beer?”

Having a grounded fifteen-year-old and a boyfriend who kept his daughters almost every weekend would have had a definite negative impact on Clare’s love life, if it weren’t for Roger. God bless him, he was serious about mending his fences with Jason and wanted to spend more quality time with him, especially since the shoplifting episode.

“I just can’t stop blaming myself for that,” he said. “I was absent too long.”

Tempting as it was to let Roger wallow in guilt, she knew it was pretty likely not his fault. Jason was a good kid and had a very close and supportive family, and he’d begun to patch things up with his dad before getting in trouble. She’d had many long talks with Pete about it, and Pete was something of an expert on teenage boys. So she said, “Lighten up, Roger. Boys his age do lamebrain stuff like that. They also drive too fast, skip school and get into trouble with girls. Let’s just try to stay on top of it. He’s basically a real good kid. And with both of us paying attention, letting him know his parents aren’t going to let him get away with anything, we might be lucky.”

But she convinced Roger that he should spend a couple of evenings during the week with Jason. Having a grounded teenager at home was such a ball and chain, she was afraid to leave the house in the evenings. Afraid he might plot something, maybe slip out, get himself in trouble again. So Roger agreed to pick him up after work at around six a couple of weeknights, take him out for a bite and back to his place to do homework. Home by ten, in bed by eleven.

When that happened, Clare went to Pete’s house.

On this particular night, she had called to say she was on her way, then let herself in with her own key. She found him in his family room at the wet bar, mixing two drinks. The room was dimly lit, the fire ablaze in the hearth, and Pete was wearing only his slacks. No shoes, no shirt. She stopped as she entered the room and just filled her eyes with him. That broad chest; the nice, neat mat of hair; the flat belly and broad shoulders. She especially liked his strong forearms, big hands.

He passed her a drink. She took a sip, he took a sip, and then they tasted it on each other’s mouths. She ran her fingers through the hair at his temples. “You’re getting a little gray here,” she pointed out.

“I can’t see how it’s possible. I feel like a teenager.”

“Why aren’t you dressed? Getting a head start?”

“I took a quick shower. How much time do we have?”

“Three hours. Four.”

“I can keep you out of trouble for that long.”

He slipped an arm around her and she looked up into his eyes. “A year ago I was leaving my husband. Leaving my house. I was lonely, kind of scared and thoroughly pissed off. Now I have you, the deepest friendship I’ve ever known, not to mention the kind of love life I didn’t think existed. I really believed it was too late for me to have this in my life.”

“It’s just the beginning, Clare.”

“I’ve been meaning to tell you—when Sam brought Jason home to me after his little shoplifting adventure, he saw the sleeping bags. I don’t think Jason noticed, but Sam did.”

Pete shrugged.

“I felt like I had to explain to him—that we came together after. After I ended things with him.”

“How’d he take it?”

“He was a little snotty, but he said it didn’t matter.”

Pete surprised her by laughing. He leaned down and put a soft kiss on her lips. “It’s a good thing it was Sam you had to end it with. I don’t think I’d have gone away quietly. I don’t think I could have.”

“I’m in love with you, you know,” she told him.

“I’ve been waiting for that,” he said with a smile. “And it feels just as good hearing it as I thought it would.” He took the drink from her hand and put it, with his, back on the bar. He lifted her into his arms and said, “I love you, too. Let’s get you out of these clothes so we can make love until curfew.”