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get the hell in here this minute,” screeched a female from inside the trailer. “And stop making a donkey’s ass of yourself.”
    Sweet Mrs. Biddle. It was always such a pleasure to hear the velvet words that rolled off her silken tongue. Like an obedient puppy, the king of the trailer park rolled out of his chaise and trudged across the yard to disappear inside his mobile home.
    Snatches of conversation wafted through the torn screen windows to Savannah—phrases like, “... flirtin’ with that hussy ... makin’ eyes at ... right in front of God and everybody ...”
    Savannah was still chuckling when she rapped on Dirk’s door. Judging by the length of time it took him to answer, she knew Mr. Biddle had been right—Dirk hadn’t been up and about yet.
    â€œSleeping in, huh?” she said, as he opened the door and glared down at her, wearing an undershirt, boxers, mussed hair, and a scowl.
    â€œTrying to,” he replied. “Did you bring food?”
    She held out a brown paper lunch bag, half-expecting him to loll his tongue, roll his eyes, and wag his tail. Dirk was a sucker for sweets ... or food of any kind, for that matter.
    â€œWhat is it?” he asked, opening the door and reaching for the bag.
    â€œIt meets two of your basic food group requirements: edible and free,” Savannah replied as she pushed her way past him and into the trailer.
    He peeked inside the bag and lit up instantly. “Donuts!”
    â€œMore specifically, apple fritters and French crullers. I was hoping you’d share,” she added, watching him eagerly dig in.
    His smile drooped. “But there’s only four.”
    With a sigh, Savannah walked to his kitchen sink, shoved some dirty dishes aside, and began to make coffee in his old percolator pot. He removed a pair of jeans from a doorknob and slipped them on.
    â€œNow, you don’t have to go gettin’ dressed up for me, sugar,” she said, setting the pot on the two-burner stove and turning up the flame. “It’s not like I haven’t seen it all before.”
    He bristled. “You haven’t seen it all.”
    â€œThat’s true. But not because you haven’t offered to show it to me.” She squirted some detergent into a couple of mugs.
    He grunted, his mouth full of fritter. “Humph ... that was a long time ago. I’ve done given up on trying to get you into the sack.”
    â€œIt wasn’t a good idea, and you know it. So don’t pout.”
    â€œIt wasn’t a good idea when we was partners on the force. But since you’re not a cop no more, what’s your excuse now?”
    Savannah glanced around the cluttered trailer at the piles of unpaid bills on TV trays that served as end tables, the dirty laundry overflowing from a plastic milk crate in the corner, the kitchen cupboard littered with dishes and crumpled fast-food bags.
    Then there was Dirk himself. Chewing his fritter with his mouth open. Slouching in his frayed T-shirt and jeans that been washed in hot, hot water too many times and had shrunk to at least three inches above his bare ankles. He was in desperate need of a pedicure ... even if it was done with gardening shears.
    She loved Dirk. He was a dear, sweet, gruff, teddy bear of a guy who had been her closest friend for years now.
    But she didn’t want to see it all.
    â€œYou’re just too much man for little ol’ me,” she said with an exaggerated Southern lilt and a down-in-Dixie grin that deepened her dimples. “If I were to take you on, you’d spoil me for all the other men to come.”
    He nodded his head solemnly, continuing to chew. “That’s true,” he said. “I would. Good point.”
    As she joined him on the sofa with two clean mugs full of fresh coffee in hand, she decided to jump right in her proverbial, verbal mud puddle with both feet. No matter how much sugar and caffeine he had