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try."
    "Have you tried any reverse psychology? Tell her milk is bad and sugar's good."
    "You already told her that. I lost the battle against sugar when you dumped it all over her cereal and gave it your stamp of approval. Reverse psychology would never work on any child of ours, Ben." She sighed and tipped her head back, letting it rest briefly against his shoulder. She'd missed his strong shoulder, the warmth of his body, the spicy scent that was his alone. Some things hadn't changed. Particularly the bottom line. "We are reverse psychology, you and I."
    His low chuckle rumbled close to her ear. "You're everything I'm not, that's for sure."
    "How do I differ from thee?" She stiffened and shook her head, dismissing her moment of weakness as she drew away from him. "Let's not count the ways just now. I'll get you some bedding."
    "I'll do that myself. Later." He grabbed her arm and made her turn around and face him. "I make my own bed these days, and then I lie in it. Sometimes for hours before I can finally fall asleep."
    "That's not surprising." It was easy to steel herself against any attempt he could possibly make to gain sympathy on that particular account, if that was what he had in mind. All she had to do was look him straight in the eye and remember. And let the chill claim her body. "You used to lie a lot when you slept in my bed."
    He didn't flinch. "Our bed."
    "It's mine now. And I don't have any trouble sleeping, except..."
    "Except?"
    Except when the dreams come.
    Forget dreams, she told herself. Stick to the cold, hard facts, the unfair reality.
    "Except when Anna's had a day like this one."
    He released her, and she turned away, taking quick refuge in tangible worries. "We have to see the probation officer tomorrow. I don't know whether I should tell her about this incident." She wandered into the kitchen, and he followed, trailing the bits and pieces as she parceled them out. The new adventures of Anna Pipestone, complete with new players. "The probation officer, I mean. I hate the look that woman gives me sometimes. It's like, 'What's the matter with you? Can't you handle your own daughter?'"
    She lowered the dishwasher door, opened a cupboard, and started putting plates away.
    Poor Clara, Ben thought. She always claimed not to care what other people thought. But she did. She cared plenty. At the very least she wanted them to respect her for her ability to keep all her ducks in a row. She had never quite understood that most people didn't give a damn about the order, as long as all the ducks were the same color. And Clara, for all her fastidiousness and all her ability to organize, was genuinely, guilelessly color-blind.
    He opened the cupboard next to his shoulder and signaled for her to start handing him the glasses. "Maybe it's time this cop met Annie's father. She'll be so busy givin' me the evil eye, she won't have time to look down on you."
    "Really." She slapped the bottom of a juice glass into his palm. "Knowing you, you'll win her over before we even get through the introductions."
    "Naw, I gave that up." He held out his other hand. "I used to buy charm in a bottle. Now I'm just wingin' it through life on straight talk and hard work." With two glasses shelved, he turned, smiling, offering his hands for more. "Following your fine example, Clara."
    She refused to crack even a slight smile. "Too bad you didn't start out with that philosophy fifteen years ago."
    "Sixteen years, four months, and some odd days," he averred, and her puzzled expression was his reward. "That's how long we've known each other. Thing is, Clara, most of us don't start right out knowin' it all."
    He smiled boyishly.
    She glared and handed him two more glasses.
    He shrugged. "Besides, I'd 'a never won you over without a little of the cowboy charm that comes in that bottle."
    "Like fun." She took out the silverware basket, then swatted the dishwasher door shut.
    "Like fun is right." He could tell he was making some headway. She was