High Noon Page 0,127

"How about some salient details?"

"Maybe some other time. The thing is, I don't know if I can manage what's going on in here." She pressed a hand to her heart. "I don't know if I have the tools or the room or-"

"Why? You're-"

"Wait." Phoebe turned her hand palm out now. "You're married, and happily by every sign. You have a pretty little girl and an ugly dog.

You have a big family, dual careers that complement each other and exceptional taste in shoes."

"I do." Loo pursed her lips at the stacked-heel, copper-toned sandals. "The shoes are the kicker."

"I'm divorced with a career that pulls me in conflicting directions constantly, and a family I love, but that does the same. My foundation is shaky at best, and what I've built on it takes a lot of time and effort to tend. It's never been just me for a lot of reasons. It can never be just me."

"You're thinking Duncan can't handle the complications of your life?"

"I'm not sure he'd want to, or why he would. Right now, he's infatuated and intrigued. And the sex, like the shoes, is quite the kicker. But

I'm a lot to deal with on a daily basis. And there are things I can't change or adjust. I'm just not in a position to."

Loo sucked through her straw, considered. "Do you always analyze everything into tiny pieces, and pick out the harder points?"

"Yes. Occupational hazard, I guess. Tough fit, I'd think, for a man who appears to take in the big picture quickly and find the shiny nuggets. I keep trying to... I'd say talk myself down from all this. Step back from the ledge, Phoebe. Your life's good enough, full enough as it is, so accept that. Take that last step, there's no coming back from it, not without a world of hurt."

"Love as suicide?"

"Maybe it is. Or it's walking out with your hands up in surrender, to take the consequences."

"Or it's coming out free, instead of staying a hostage."

"That's a point. I know what I'm doing, have to know what I'm doing just about all the time. It's annoying, and damn disconcerting, not to know what I'm doing with him."

"Can't tell you. But I think it'd be fun finding out."

Fun was exhausting. Carly gave in to it and sprawled sleeping in the back of Duncan's car on the way home.

"In case she's too zonked to thank you, I can tell you she had a big, bright, red-letter day."

"Me, too."

"I noticed. Boys and toys. She's got a whopping crush on you."

"It's mutual."

"I noticed that, too. Duncan, I have one favor to ask, and I hope you'll understand why I need to."

"Sure. You had too many hot dogs and want me to stop for Pepto."

"I had one hot dog, and I have Turns at home. Duncan, seriously. I'm saying-asking, really-that if things between us take a slide, or we get pissed off and each decide the other is the spawn of Satan, if you'll ease away from Carly. Give her time to adjust. This is a crappy thing to bring up after you've given us such a good day, but-"

"You've got-what's his name?-Ralph stuck in your head."

"Roy," she corrected. "And, yes, that's part of it. I can't think of anyone less like him than you are."

I m

"If that's true, you should already know it's a favor you don't have to ask. I know what it's like to be shut out and shut down."

"You do." She touched a hand to his arm. "I'm a worrying, overprotective mother."

"She's lucky to have one." He aimed a look at her. "Even if you turn out to be the spawn of Satan."

She wiggled her tired toes as he turned toward the house. "How about coming in, having a cool glass of wine in the courtyard?"

"Exactly what I had in mind."

A week later, Phoebe sat in Duncan's garden. Carly was having a sleepover at her new second best friend Livvy's house, which meant her mama could have the adult version of a sleepover.

They'd had a swim, and made love. They'd had dinner, and made love. Now it was nearly midnight-and it didn't matter!-with her sitting out in a lush garden smelling night-blooming jasmine, a glass of wine in her hand. She wore a flimsy excuse for a robe she'd paid entirely too much money for.

But if a woman couldn't splurge for such an occasion, when could she?

The night hummed, the breeze just balmy enough to cut back the heat while a fat old moon sailed