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after all these years there was still magic in his kiss. His lips had held an intoxicating warmth, a faint edge of hunger that had excited her.
    Although she’d halted it before it had gotten too deep, too breathtaking, there had been a part of her that had wanted to pull him back into her house, take him to her bed and make love with him. But the rational part of her knew that would be inviting heartache back into her life.
    As she turned down the tree-lined, narrow country road that would eventually lead to her mother’s farmhouse, she couldn’t help but admire the play of the evening sunshine through the trees.
    It wouldn’t be long and the leaves would begin to turn red and gold and fall to the ground. Portia loved autumn, but it was always in that time of the year when she thought of the babies she wanted— not babies who belonged to somebody else that she watched during the day, but rather babies that were from her heart, a twenty-four-hour part of her life. The fall always reminded her that another year was about to pass and she still wasn’t pregnant.
    “You have to find a husband before you can have babies,” she said aloud. Although she knew some women chose to be single moms, that wasn’t a choice she wanted to make.
    As the daughter of divorced parents and as someone who hadn’t had a relationship with her father since he’d walked out on them, she wanted her children to have something different, something more.
    Her mother sat in a rocking chair on the front porch. The swing where Caleb and Portia had spent so many nights of their high school years had been taken down years ago.
    As Portia pulled up in front of the house and parked, her mother stood. Doris Perez would be an attractive woman if bitterness hadn’t etched frown lines into her face.
    “Hi, Mom,” Portia said as she got out of the car.
    “About time you got here. I imagine the salad is soggy by now.”
    “I’m sure it will be fine. I told you I’d get here around six-thirty.” Portia joined her mother on the porch and gave her a quick hug.
    “Come on in and let’s eat,” Doris said. “When your father was here we always ate at five o’clock sharp. I’m not used to eating this late.”
    It was the same litany every time Portia had dinner with her mother. She swallowed a sigh as she followed Doris into the cheerless kitchen, where the table was already set.
    As Portia slid into the chair where she’d sat every night for meals while growing up, Doris opened the oven door and took out a homemade chicken potpie.
    “How’s work?” Portia asked once they were both seated at the table and eating.
    Doris scowled. “I never thought I’d have to work. If your father hadn’t left I would be spending my days having lunch with friends and puttering around the house instead of selling cosmetics to snotty teenagers at the local five-and-dime.”
    “You only work four days a week. That still leaves you three days to putter around and have lunch with friends,” Portia countered.
    Doris didn’t reply, but Portia knew the truth: her mother had chased off all her friends long ago with her negativity.
    “Did you hear about them finding Brittany Grayson’s car in the Miller barn?” Portia asked.
    “I heard.” Doris shook her head. “Terrible thing. You know that poor girl is probably dead.”
    Portia’s heart constricted as she thought of Caleb grieving for his sister. “I hope not.”
    “Have you heard any more on the break-in at your place?”
    “I spoke to Caleb this morning about it. He mentioned that Dale Stemple just got out of prison. Remember him? I turned him and his wife in for child abuse.”
    Doris nodded. “A nasty piece of work, that man was. I always thought he probably beat up on Rita, too. She acted like she was half-scared to move or talk whenever I saw her.”
    “Of course we have no idea if Dale is even back in town or not,” Portia replied.
    “I’m sure Caleb has other things on his mind with his