into the cold, impersonal gray stone. "I've never been here.
Grandma Graham refused to bring me."
"Your grandmother isn't a very warm, giving person."
"No, she isn't, is she?"
"Did you miss having a mother when you were little?"
"Very much. Particularly when I started school and realized
that I was the only kid in my grade who didn't have
one."
"Lots of kids don't live with their mothers."
"But they know they've got one." This was a subject she
found difficult to discuss with even her closest friends and
associates. She didn't feel inclined to discuss it with Junior
Minton at all, no matter how sympathetic his smile.
She touched the bouquet he'd brought and rubbed the petal
of a red rose between her cold fingertips. In comparison, the
flower felt like warm velvet, but it was the color of blood.
"Do you bring flowers to my mother's grave often, Mr.
Minton?"
He didn't answer until she was looking at him again. "I
was at the hospital the day you were born. I saw you before
they had washed you up." His grin was open, warm, disarming.
"Don't you think that should put us on a first-name
basis?"
It was impossible to erect barriers against his smile. It
would have melted iron. "Then, call me Alex," she said,
smiling back.
His eyes moved from the crown of her head to the toes of
her shoes. "Alex. I like that."
"Do you?"
"What, like your name?"
"No, bring flowers here often."
"Oh, that. Only on holidays. Angus and I usually bring
something out on her birthday, Christmas, Easter. Reede,
too. We split the cost of having the grave tended."
"Any particular reason why?"
He gave her an odd look, then answered simply, "We all
loved Celina."
"I believe one of you killed her," she said softly.
"You believe wrong, Alex. I didn't kill her."
"What about your father? Do you think he did?"
He shook his head. "He treated Celina like a daughter.
Thought of her that way, too."
"And Reede Lambert?"
He shrugged as though no elaboration was necessary.
"Reede, well ..."
"What?"
"Reede could never have killed her."
Alex settled deeper into her fur coat. The sun had set, and
it was getting colder by the moment. When she spoke, her
breath fogged the air in front of her face. "I spent some time
in the public library this afternoon, reading back issues of
the local newspaper."
"Anything about me?"
"Oh, yes, all about your Purcell Panther football days."
As he laughed, the wind lifted his fair hair. His was a
much lighter blond than Reede's, and it was finer, better
controlled. "That must have made for some fascinating reading."
"It did. You and Reede were cocaptains of the team."
"Hell, yeah." He crooked his arm as though showing off
muscled biceps. "We thought we were invincible, real hot
snot."
"Her junior year, my mother was the homecoming queen.
There was a picture of Reede kissing her during halftime."
Studying that photograph had made Alex feel very strange.
She'd never seen it before. For some reason her grandmother
had chosen not to keep it among her many others, perhaps
because Reede Lambert's kiss had been audacious, full-fledged,
and proprietary.
Undaunted by the cheering crowd in the stadium, his arm
had been curved possessively around Celina's waist. The
pressure of the kiss had angled her head back. He looked like
a conqueror, especially in the muddy football uniform, holding
his battle-scarred helmet in his other hand.
After staring at the photograph for several minutes, she
began to feel that kiss herself.
Coming back to the present, she said, "You didn't become
friends with my mother and Reede until later on, isn't that
right?"
Junior pulled up a blade of grass and began to shred it
between his fingers. "Ninth grade. Until then, I attended a
boarding school in Dallas."
"By choice?"
"By my mother's choice. She didn't want me picking up
what she considered to be undesirable habits from the kids
of oil-field workers and cowhands, so I was packed off to
Dallas every fall.
"My schooling was a bone of contention between Mother
and Dad for years. Finally, when I was about to go into high
school, he put his foot down and said it was time I learned
there were other kinds of people besides the 'pale little
bastards'--and that's a quote--at prep school. He enrolled
me in Purcell High School that fall."
"How did your mother take it?"
"Not too well. She was definitely against it, but there
wasn't much she could do about it. Where she came from--"
"Which is?"
"Kentucky. In his prime, her old man was one of the most
successful breeders in the country. He'd bred a Triple Crown
winner."
"How did she meet your father?"
"Angus went to Kentucky to buy a mare. He brought it
and my mother back with him. She's lived here for over forty
years, but she still clings to Presley family traditions, one of
which was to send all the offspring to private school.
"Not only did Dad enroll me at Purcell, he also insisted
that I go out for the football team. The coach wasn't too keen
on the idea, but Dad bribed him by promising to buy new
uniforms for the team if he'd take me on, so . . ."
"Angus Minton makes things happen "
"You can bank on that," Junior said with a laugh. "He
never takes no for an answer, so I went out for football. I'd
never even touched one, and I nearly got the crap kicked out
of me that first day of practice. The other boys naturally
resented me."
"For being the richest kid in town?"
"It's a tough job, but somebody's got to do it," he said
with an engaging grin.' 'Anyway, when I got home that night,
I told Dad that I hated Purcell High School and football with
equal amounts of passion. I told him I preferred pale little
bastards any day of the week over bullies like Reede Lambert."
"What happened?"
"Mother cried herself sick. Dad cussed himself into a
frenzy. Then he marched me outside and threw footballs at
me till my hands bled from catching them."
"That's terrible!"
"Not really. He had my interests at heart. He knew, even
if I didn't, that out here, you've got to play, eat, drink, and
sleep football. Say," he interjected, "I'm rambling on.
Aren't you cold?"
"No."
"Sure?"
"Yes."
"Want to go?"
"No, I want you to keep rambling."
"Is this a formal interrogation?"
"Conversation," she replied, tartly enough to make him
grin.
"At least put your hands in your pockets." Taking one of
her hands in each of his, he guided them to the deep pockets
of her coat, tucked them inside, and patted them into place.
Alex resented the intimate gesture. It was presumptuous of
him and, considering the circumstances, highly inappropriate.
"I gather you made the football team," she said, deciding
to ignore his touch.
"Junior varsity, yes, but I didn't play, not in a single
game, until the very last one. It was for the district championship."
He lowered his head and smiled reflectively. "We were