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bouquets of expensive roses or jewelry full of diamond chips. After graduation, men who sought her favors gave her cars and rings with colored gems, usually emeralds. She had no idea why such a small, cheap toy made her feel as warm and happy as when her father had given her similar items in her childhood. She blinked her eyes a few times to hold back some sentimental tears.
    “Now, don’t cry. There’s plenty more where that came from. Take your pick if you don’t like the tiger but it reminds me of you.”
    “No, I love the tiger. My contacts are bothering me.” Renee tucked the little beast deep into her satchel.
    Clint swung the truck and trailer out of the driveway and went down the hill, passing through the brick pillars with the rust-red iron horse heads on top that marked the entry to Red Horse Acres.
    “Swanky place,” Clint remarked. His family owned an estate so big and venerable you couldn’t see any neighboring houses. “Maybe you should see an eye doctor when we get back.”
    “I don’t really need them. They are for effect.”
    “Effect. You mean you don’t really have green eyes? So what color are they?”
    “None of your business, Clinton O. Beck. Do you want to tell me what the O in your name stands for?”
    “No, ma’am. The only way you will find that out is when the preacher says it on my weddin’ day.”
    “I’ll bet Snuffy knows. I could ask him.”
    “Yep, he knows, all right, but he won’t tell because I know his real name. It’s a standoff, you see.”
    Clint parked his battered rig in front of Plato’s Liquor and Groceries where he’d attempted to buy a fine wine a few nights ago. At least, the gas wasn’t overpriced considering the small size of the town. He got out and swiped a credit card, careful not to use his American Express platinum, at a relatively new pump. The front of the store looked to be a hundred years old with its gray and sagging cypress boards, but its protruding back was a long metal building stuffed with all the needs for a small community. He thought he’d seen some homemade bread in there on his last trip, and he did need to stock up on fresh items.
    “Want to come in and shop with me?” he asked Renee.
    “It’s what I do second best.”
    She slid down from the truck seat and climbed up on the old porch. A couple of bentwood chairs sat on either side of an antique cracker barrel with a checker game set on its top. This was Ja’nae Plato’s doing, preserving the rustic charm of Rainbow, Louisiana. Her Unc Knobby, who owned the place, wanted to tear down the old entry, Renee knew, and put up a neon sign and some aluminum siding that would never need painting. Not that any of the Platos had painted the store before, but Ja’nae, a force in the community, prevailed. Beyond the front door, the grocery was just another warehouse-like building with florescent lighting and long rows of coolers and canned goods. Renee and Clint went down a small ramp and got a grocery basket to wheel around.
    Clint headed for the dairy aisle and loaded a half-gallon of skimmed milk, a jug of orange juice, and two dozen eggs. He recognized the cheese assortment from Renee’s refrigerator and tossed in a bag of the chunks, then headed over to produce. Bananas were a must. He filled filmy plastic bags with some other fairly fresh and firm fruit, including a pineapple that could ripen on the way, and picked over the home-grown tomatoes, choosing a few red ripe and half a dozen partly green, to go with the bags of salad he threw in the cart. In the cereal aisle, he selected a box of shredded wheat and Cheerios. For cold cuts, he settled on the 96% fat free ham and smoked turkey. And, what the heck, some lean bacon. Crisp bacon was one of those simple pleasures in life he didn’t often allow himself with keeping an eye on his cholesterol.
    Renee showed little interest in his choices until they got to the gourmet section, more of Ja’nae’s work, near the registers. She