Forever...Again

New York’s crowded streets with their racing pedestrians and noisy cabs seemed a world away, and Lily was glad for it. She’d needed this change. This chance to step off the treadmill and enjoy her life a little. The work at the clinic was challenging enough to keep her happy—while giving her time to explore the new world she found herself in.

She’d only been in rural Kentucky a few months, but already it felt like home. Here, no one cared if she wanted to walk barefoot down Main Street. There were no reporters ready to snap a picture of Lillith Cunningham being anything less than dignified. And, there was enough of a buffer zone between her and her family that Lily felt free, for the first time in her life.

Two or three pickup trucks dotted the parking lot, alongside a couple of minivans and a station wagon that looked to be on its last legs. Sunlight speared from the sky and glanced off the asphalt until heat waves shimmered in the air.

“Like walking with a wet electric blanket wrapped around you,” Lily muttered as she slipped out of her suit jacket and stepped out of her heels. The parking lot felt red hot against the soles of her feet and still it was more comfortable than walking another step on three-inch heels.

For all the problems crowding in on the clinic, Lily didn’t for a moment regret moving here. Binghamton, Kentucky, was as far removed from New York City as the moon was from the sun. Everything was different here. Even she was different.

All right, maybe not so different. But at least here, Lily thought, her differences fit right in. Growing up in an “old money” family, she’d been the black sheep almost from the moment of her birth. Born in the family limousine on the way to the hospital, Lily had never lived down her “undignified” entrance into the world. In fact, she’d pretty much done all she could to live up to it.

In high school she’d dyed her hair purple, worn her skirts too short and dated all the “wrong” boys. She drove too fast, listened to what her parents called “appalling” music and took part in protest marches. By the time she left home for college, Lily could have sworn she could actually hear the stately old Boston family home breathe a sigh of relief. Heaven knew, her parents had.

At college things were different. At UCLA she’d discovered a whole new world. In California life was more relaxed, less rigid. There were fewer rules, and no one thought of wearing anything more formal than a pair of clean jeans. Lily had found a place where she fit in. She’d thrived on the distance from her caring, but stiffly formal family. She’d even fallen in love.

“But then,” she muttered as she hit the button on her keychain that would unlock her car, “nothing’s perfect.”

Her marriage hadn’t started out badly. Everything had been fine. Until the day a doctor told Lily she couldn’t have children. And just like that, it was over. Jack was packed and gone within the week—the divorce was final six months later.

Lily opened her car door and tossed her purse across to the passenger seat. Tilting her face up, she looked at the cloud-scattered sky and blew out a breath. The past didn’t matter anymore. Whatever paths she’d taken in her life, they’d eventually led her here. And that was all that mattered.

Sliding into her car, she jammed the key home, turned it and instantly flipped up the volume on her radio. An oldie but goodie came pouring out of the speakers and as Lily put the car in reverse, she started singing along.

She turned left out of the lot and headed toward downtown. In no rush to hurry home, she decided the heat of the day called for a reprieve. Driving to South Junction Burgers, she kept singing as she imagined getting her hands on one of the burger joint’s famous milkshakes.

The air-conditioning hit her like a slap, and Lily almost reeled with the impact. The diner felt like heaven. Only a handful of customers were inside, and Lily smiled at them as she headed back to her favorite…and luckily empty booth.

She slid onto the worn Naugahyde and didn’t even bother picking up one of the menus tucked between the sugar and the salt and pepper shakers. What would be the point? South Junction wasn’t fine cuisine. People came here for one reason.

“Hey, Ms. Cunningham.”

Lily smiled up at her waitress. “Hi, Vickie.”

Vickie Hastings had a mountain of blond hair, pulled up on top of her head and then lacquered into complete submission. Her blue eyes were lined heavily with black eyeliner, and her mascara had been layered on so thickly, she looked as if two caterpillars were taking naps on her eyelids. She snapped her gum and wore her short uniform dress way too tight, across breasts she seemed inordinately proud of, but she had a nice smile and was always friendly.

“The usual?” Vickie asked, pulling her pad and pen from her apron pocket.

Lily laughed. Good God. She was a regular at a diner. Her mother would be hysterical. And that cheered Lily a little. “You bet. Only tonight, make the milkshake strawberry for a change.”

Vickie chuckled. “I don’t know. Living dangerously. If you don’t have a chocolate shake on Thursday nights, the world might stop spinning.”

“Let’s risk it.”

“You got it.” Vickie filled out the order pad, but didn’t move away.

“Is something wrong?”

“Well.” The waitress threw a glance over her shoulder at the long counter behind her and the open pass-through to the kitchen where her boss was cooking. When she was assured no one was paying attention to her, she turned back to Lily and said, “Now that you mention it…”

The air-conditioning had done its job. Lily felt refreshed enough to handle whatever it was that had Vickie worrying her bottom lip. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m uh—” she leaned in a little closer and lowered her voice “—pregnant.”

Lily blinked. This kind of news wasn’t usually delivered with all the stealth of a CIA man making a hand-off to his partner. “Congratulations?” she asked, unsure if Vickie was wanting to celebrate or commiserate.

“Thanks.” A brief smile curved Vickie’s mouth and then disappeared again a moment later. “Billy’n me’re real happy about it. But the thing is,” she leaned in even closer, and soon, Lily thought, the two of them would be nose to nose. “I was wondering. You work at the clinic.”

“Yes…” A flicker of irritation started at the base of Lily’s spine, and she told herself to fight it. She didn’t know what Vickie was going to say so there was no point in getting angry or defensive.

Yet.

“I wanted to ask you if going in there is really safe.”

There it was.

That tiny flicker of irritation became a flame and quickly jumped to an inferno as it climbed her spine, jittered her nerves and settled, unfortunately for Vickie, in Lily’s mouth.

“For heaven’s sake, Vickie!” Lily leaned back, but kept her gaze locked eyeball to eyeball with the younger woman. “You’ve known Mari Bingham all your life. And you can ask me something like that?”

Vickie’s expression tightened, and a flash of what might have been shame darted across her eyes, but it was gone again in an instant, so it was hard to be sure. “I’m just askin’,” she said, defending her right to badmouth an old friend. “There’s been talk.”

“There certainly has,” Lily snapped, then belatedly remembered to keep her voice down. She shot a quick look around the diner, then focused her gaze on Vickie again. “And its being spread by people too foolish or too ignorant to know any better.”

“Now, Ms. Cunningham…” Insulted, she straightened up.

“Oh no, you don’t,” Lily said, grabbing Vickie’s hand as the woman started backing off. “You asked me a question and you’re not leaving until you’ve had your answer.”

But Vickie was obviously regretting saying anything. Her gaze darted around the room, and even Lily could see that Danny, the cook and owner, was watching them from the kitchen. It didn’t stop her.

“Now, you listen to me, Vickie.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Mari Bingham is the most dedicated, caring, loving person I’ve ever known. She works harder than anyone I’ve ever seen and she’s devoted herself to making sure you and every other woman in Merlyn County get the kind of care you deserve.”

“Yes.” Anxious now, Vickie was willing to agree to anything as she tried to pull her hand free of Lily’s grasp. She didn’t succeed.

“Any problems that are going on have nothing to do with Mari or her clinic and you should be ashamed of yourself for even thinking that they do.”

“Ms. Cunningham…”

But Lily’s temper was up and there was just no stopping her. Her voice dropped a notch, but none of the fury left it. “Do you really believe for one instant that Mari Bingham is dealing drugs?”

Vickie sucked in a breath, clearly horrified. “Course not, but—”

“No buts. Do you trust Mari? Do you know her?”

“Yes—”

“Then don’t you think you’ve answered your own question, Vickie?”

“I guess so, but still there’s—”

Lily’s eyes narrowed and Vickie shut up fast, keeping whatever she’d been about to say to herself. Just as well, Lily thought. It would do no good to browbeat the populace of Binghamton one at a time. For heaven’s sake, if they didn’t believe in one of their own, how on earth could she, an outsider, convince them? And Lily had no illusions about her status. She could live in Binghamton for the next fifty years and she’d always be considered an outsider.

Taking a deep breath, she blew it out again quickly, then forced a smile she didn’t feel and released her grip on Vickie’s wrist. “I’m sorry,” she said, giving the waitress’s hand a belated pat. “I shouldn’t have lost my temper.”

“It’s okay,” Vickie admitted. “My Bill, he’s always saying I’m enough to drive a saint right out of Heaven.”

“Well,” Lily said with a short laugh, “I’m no saint.”

Vickie took an uneasy step backward but shared the laugh. “And the Junction sure isn’t Heaven.”

“Too true.” Lily smoothed her hair back from her face, then calmly and coolly folded her hands together on the scarred tabletop. “So, I guess I’ll be staying. Could I have that milkshake right away, Vickie. I think I could use a little cooling off.”

“Right.” She nodded. “I mean, yes, ma’am. Coming right up.”

As the younger woman scurried back toward the counter, Lily sucked in another deep breath and told herself she was going to have to take it easy. It wouldn’t help Mari’s or the clinic’s case at all if word got around that their PR director was running around town shouting at people who disagreed with her.

Damn it.

“That was well done.”

The deep voice came from the booth directly behind her, and Lily stilled completely. Only one man she knew had a voice as deep and rumbling as that. And wouldn’t you know he’d be sitting right behind her.

Shifting on the seat, she glanced over her shoulder and met Ron Bingham’s steady gaze. Really, his eyes were more blue than green, but most of the time they were just the shade of the ocean.

Which had nothing to do with anything.

“I suppose you heard everything.”

“You’re not exactly a quiet woman, Ms. Cunningham.”

She blew out an exasperated breath. “Do you have to do that?” she demanded.

“Do what?”

“Call me Ms. Cunningham.”

One dark eyebrow lifted. “Your name, isn’t it?”

“Yes, but I’ve been here several months, now. Don’t you think you could break down and call me Lily?”

He leaned one arm on the seatback and stared at her. “Suppose I could.”

“That’s something, then.” Deciding to ignore him and the fact that no matter where she went he seemed to pop up like the proverbial bad penny, she turned around again.

“Alone, huh?”

His voice came from right behind her head, and Lily was half ready to swear she could feel his breath on the back of her neck. Why that should give her goose bumps was something she wasn’t about to explore.

“There’s that keen detecting skill again,” she quipped and glanced at the counter where Vickie was pouring a strawberry milkshake into a tall, frosted glass.

“I’m alone, too.”

“I noticed.” Lily still didn’t look at him. For pity’s sake. Couldn’t a person get a milkshake in this town without a fuss?

“Want company?”

Vickie was on her way over and Lily took just a moment to turn around. She almost bumped her nose on his. He’d leaned in so close, he was practically draped over her shoulders. “Why do you want to sit with me?” she asked, and didn’t even care if that question came out a little more bluntly than she’d planned.

“You’re alone, I’m alone.” He shrugged.

“Joe Biscone’s alone, too.” She pointed to where a huge man in a plaid shirt and faded green fishing vest sat at the end of the counter.

Ron winced. “Lily,” he said, “sometimes there’s a reason people are alone.”

Her lips twitched. She didn’t want to smile, but damn it, he made it tough. He was so stiff, so serious, but the look on his face when she suggested he go sit by the man who always smelled like the bass he continually caught off the dock behind his house had been priceless.

“Here you go, Ms. Cunningham.” Vickie slid the pale-pink strawberry shake onto the table and then scuttled out of range as if afraid Lily was gearing up for round two.

Now it was Lily’s turn to wince. “Did you see that?” she asked, and didn’t wait for an answer. “That girl’s going to go home tonight and tell Billy and her mother and her mother’s hairdresser and the hairdresser’s cousin’s sister’s aunt’s best friend that mean old Ms. Cunningham yelled at her.”

“And that’s bad?” Ron asked.

“Of course it is.” Lily turned back around and dipped her long-handled spoon into the whipped cream on top of the shake. Taking a bite, she licked her lips and then said, “Don’t you think Mari’s got enough problems lately without me adding to them?”

Ron eased out of his booth. Then, grabbing his hamburger and cup of coffee, he moved and sat down on the bench seat across from Lily. He watched her for a long minute and simply remembered everything she’d said.

When Lily first slid into the booth behind him, he’d damn near groaned. All he’d wanted when he came to the Junction was a little peace and quiet. But the moment he heard that bracelet of Lily’s jangling and crashing like the cymbals in a brass band, he’d known his hope was a lost cause.

Then Vickie had started in with her whispering and gossiping, and it had been all he could do to keep from turning around and chewing the girl out. But he hadn’t gotten the chance. Before he could so much as open his mouth, Lily Cunningham had run to his daughter’s defense. He’d smiled as her words had rushed out, fast and furious—and yet, even while he enjoyed it, he’d known that she was doing nothing more than sticking her finger in the dike.

Vickie wasn’t alone in her love of gossip.

And thanks to Sheriff Bryce Collins and his insistence on treating Mari as though she were a common criminal, the whole damn town could talk of nothing else. Shamed Ron to think how much he’d always liked Bryce. How much he’d hoped at one time that Bryce and Mari would settle down together.

Just as well that hadn’t happened, he told himself now. Bryce had shown his true colors. If he couldn’t believe in Mari, then he damn sure hadn’t loved her.

“Do sit down,” Lily said, one corner of her mouth tilting into a smile that seemed to come back to haunt Ron far too often lately.

Why she was getting to him was a mystery. His wife Violet, God rest her, had been dead ten years—and in all that time he’d never once given another woman a single thought. Damn it, he’d loved Violet. She’d been everything to him.

Just keep that in mind and everything will be fine, he told himself and grabbed for his coffee. Taking a quick gulp, he nearly shrieked as the red-hot liquid ate a path down his throat. But the pain at least got his mind off Lily’s smile.

“About what you said.”

“I know,” Lily interrupted, holding up one hand. “I shouldn’t have shot my mouth off—”

“Thanks.”

Her mouth snapped shut. Her big brown eyes blinked at him in surprise. “What?”

He set his coffee down with a clatter. “You think it’s easy?” His voice whispered across the table as he leaned toward her. “Walking through town, watching people watch Mari. Talking about her, whispering? Hell, these people I’ve known my whole life. And all of a sudden, it’s like they’re strangers.”

Lily reached out, grabbed his hand and gave it a quick squeeze. The warmth of her touch slashed through him with all the subtlety of a lightning bolt. He pulled his hand back.

“They’re just people,” Lily said, shaking her head as she took another bite of whipped-cream-topped milkshake. “And people, in general, love to talk about someone else’s troubles.”

“True.” He flopped back against the seat and stretched his legs out, bumping into Lily’s neatly crossed ankles and then shifting guiltily away. “But this is Binghamton. I thought—”

“That because the town was named for you, your family would be gossip free?”

“Oh, hell—’scuse me—no.” He shook his head and smiled at the thought. “If anything, growing up a Bingham around here was like growing up in a fish tank. Everybody wanted to be the one to catch you skipping school or toilet papering the principal’s house.”

“So you already know what this is,” Lily said, picking up her straw and jamming it into the frothy pink ice cream.

“Sure. Human nature. The bigger they are, the more enjoyable the fall.”

“Exactly. But why,” Lily wondered aloud as she lifted the straw out and watched ice cream slide down and then drip into the glass, “does it seem to be that someone is actually going out of their way to make Mari look guilty?”

“You see it, too, do you?” Eager to hear someone else echo his own thoughts, Ron sat up straight again and automatically reached for his coffee.

“Of course. I’m not blind. How can you drink coffee when its so blistering hot outside?”

“I’m not outside.”

“Have some shake.”

“No.”

“Try it.”

He scowled at her. “I stopped drinking milkshakes when I was eighteen.”

“Wow.” Lily’s eyes widened dramatically. “I didn’t know you could outgrow milkshakes. Gee, what else? Sunshine? Rainbows?” She lowered her gaze to his plate. “I see that cheeseburgers are ageless.”

“Oh for—”

“You should probably break it to me gently,” Lily went on, scooping up another bite of ice cream, then licking her lips with a slow, thorough motion.

Ron’s stomach tightened, but damned if he could look away. “Break what to you?”

“What else is off-limits.” She waved her spoon in the air like a maestro with a baton. “I mean, I wouldn’t want to tempt you with anything else ‘unseemly.’ Lemonade, for instance, would that be all right?”

This is what he got for forgetting that Lily was crazy. “You are the most annoying woman….”

“Thank you,” she said. “Shake?”

“Give it here.”

She slid it across the table with a victorious grin, and he avoided meeting her eyes as he dipped his spoon into the frosty glass and pulled up a sizable portion of pink ice cream. The minute he put it in his mouth, flavor exploded. Icy cold chills raced along his spine and shot back up to his brain. The taste, the smell, the feel of the ice cream melting on his tongue, unlocked memories he hadn’t dusted off in years. Summer nights. Picnics.

Sweet times with Violet.

And just the thought of his late wife’s name was enough to remind him that he shouldn’t be sitting in the diner sharing a milkshake with Lily Cunningham. This wasn’t high school. It wasn’t a date.

He’d had his share of love, and now that part of his life was over.

Pushing the milkshake back across the table to her, he said, “Thanks. Better than I remembered.”

It was all better than he remembered. That sizzle of attraction, the hum of electricity in the air. And because he was enjoying himself, Ron felt guilty as hell.

Chapter Three

“I don’t understand,” Ron said a moment later when the awkward silence over the milkshake had passed. Maybe he shouldn’t say anything at all, but this had been bothering him for months. Every time he saw her, he wondered why she’d really come. And just how long she planned to stay.

“What?”

“What you’re doing here.”

“Eating dinner?”

“Clever. I meant here in Binghamton.”

“Well that’s blunt.”

“Yep.”

“You do that to annoy me, don’t you?” Lily asked, tilting her head to one side as she studied him. “The one-word answers, I mean.”

“Yep.” Hell, why should he be the only one irritated and annoyed? And something else, his mind whispered, but he paid no attention. If he noticed that her hair shone blond in the sunlight drifting through the plate-glass window, it was simply an observation. Right?

“That’s what I thought.” She paused, glanced up as the waitress delivered her hamburger and said, “Thank you, Vickie, it looks great.”

“Enjoy, Ms. Cunningham.”

Lily sighed. “She’s still worried that I’ll yell at her some more. Did you see how she walked backward from the table?”

He’d noticed. And he had a feeling a lot of people walked a wide path around Lily. Any woman who could go from calm and cool to red hot and blistering in a matter of seconds was one to keep an eye on. “Could be she was treating you like a queen.”

Lily laughed outright. “More likely she was afraid I’d jump at her.” She shook her head and on a disgusted sigh, added, “You’d think I’d be able to control my temper better after all these years.”

“Everyone’s got a temper.”

“Not everyone uses it.”

True. Most folks played the game of being nice while biting their tongue to keep the angry words inside. For himself, he much preferred a good flash of temper. Truth usually spilled out then, and he’d rather know exactly where he stood with a person than to have to try to guess.

He nodded at her as he watched her slather ketchup on her hamburger bun and then drizzle a river of it across still-steaming French fries. She’d never struck him as the ketchup type, Ron thought. There was more “caviar and champagne” about her than “beer and pretzels.”

“I’m better than I used to be though,” she said, piling tomato, onion, pickles and lettuce onto the open-faced burger before slapping the other half of the bun down on top of it all.

“Yeah?” Fascinated now, he watched as she tipped the hamburger over, took off the bottom half of the bun and used her knife to spread potato salad on the toasted surface.

“Oh yes.” Unaware of his scrutiny, she kept talking while she smoothed on another layer of potato salad. “When I was younger, I’d pick up anything within reach and throw it at the closest victim when I was in the middle of a temper. I can tell you, my brothers learned to duck at an early age.”

“How many?”

“How many what?” She put the other tomato on top of the potato salad and then slapped the bun back into place at the bottom of the burger.

He shook his head. The burger was so high now, he didn’t know how she’d ever be able to get a bite. “Brothers.”

“Three.”

“Uh-huh. Do you always do that?”

“What?” She held the big burger in both hands, took a huge bite, then set the burger down and, laughing, picked up her napkin and held it in front of her face while she struggled to chew.

“Pile all that stuff on your hamburger. You probably can’t even taste the meat anymore.”

She chewed, held up one hand and when she’d swallowed, she said, “Of course you can. And why bother having the fixings for a burger if you don’t use them? It’s terrific. You should try it.”

“Potato salad on a hamburger?” Ron winced. “No thanks.”

“You’ll eat it with a hamburger though?”

“Sure.”

“What’s the difference?”

“I eat ’em separately.”

“Here’s a secret, Ron,” she said, grinning now at his perplexed expression. “All the food you eat ends up together, anyway. There are no separate compartments in your stomach—you know, one for tomatoes, one for meat, one for potato salad.”