Fall from Grace by L. R. Wright Page B

don’t know how I ever let myself get mixed up with such a total jerk.” She stomped off down the hall, her bare feet banging on the hardwood floor.
    He sat down in the living room again, and waited. Patiently, for once.
    And finally she emerged from the bedroom, wearing a red dress with her hair all soft and curly, looking like some kind of a flower. This was a big relief to Warren. It meant they were still going out for dinner.
    He wished he hadn’t said anything to her. But he knew that if he hadn’t, it would have eaten away at him.
    â€œYou look real good,” he said, in apology, and took hold of her hands. He’d planned to kiss her, but she turned her head away.
    â€œCome on,” she said. “I’m hungry.” She swished past him and out the door and he followed, locking the door after him, hurrying to catch up with her.
    When they were in the van, driving, Wanda said, “It’s your sister you ought to be keeping an eye on.” She gave her hair a shake. “Not me.”
    Warren damn near drove off the road.
    â€œI don’t know anything,” Wanda said quickly. “Not for sure.”
    Warren was shaking his head disbelievingly.
    â€œBut I heard he went out to her place the other day.”
    â€œHe wouldn’t,” Warren protested. “He wouldn’t get mixed up with Annabelle. She’s a married woman, for Pete’s sake.”
    â€œOh don’t be stupid, Warren. He doesn’t care if she’s married or not.” She looked out the side window. “Bobby’ll do whatever he wants.”
    â€œYeah, but Annabelle…”
    He felt Wanda’s gaze on his cheek, and felt himself flushing.

Chapter 13
    L ATE SATURDAY MORNING Annabelle went to the Super-Valu store for groceries, and she saw Bobby in the lineup next to hers.
    She ignored him. But her body didn’t. She felt fluid, as though she’d been turned into a mountain stream, clear and savory. As she moved groceries from her basket onto the countertop she knew that this was how dancers moved their arms, leading with the elbows and the wrists, making intricate, alluring patterns in the air.
    He hadn’t seen her yet.
    When he did see her he was reaching to put a can of soup on the counter and because he was looking at Annabelle he missed, and the soup fell and hit his foot. He leapt backward and exclaimed in pain, and Annabelle laughed.
    They went out of the store and into the parking lot together, she trundling her shopping cart in front of her, he carrying a paper bag of groceries he said were for a camping trip.
    â€œThis is my truck,” she said when they reached it, and turned to face him. The sun was very bright. She started lifting bags out of the shopping cart. Bobby put a hand on her arm.
    â€œWait,” he said. “I’ll do it.”
    She looked at his hand, very brown against her bare arm. Her whole body was extremely warm, because it was, again, such a hot day. Where his hand rested, her skin was at first cool, then even warmer than the rest of her. He was wearing denim cut-offs and a dark blue tank top.
    â€œOkay,” she said. She stepped back, easing her arm out from under the touch of his hand, and gestured at the shopping cart. “Go ahead,” she said.
    When he’d loaded her bags into the back of the truck she said, “Well, thank you,” but he stood between her and the driver’s door.
    â€œHow about a coffee, Annabelle?”
    She shaded her eyes with her hand, looking up at him.
    â€œChrist, Annabelle,” he said after a minute. “We’re old friends, remember?” He leaned close to her. “I thought you might write to me,” he said sadly. “But you never did.”
    â€œOh don’t you give me any of that tripe, Bobby Ransome,” said Annabelle. “You were a married man. At least at first. Old friend or no old friend, I don’t correspond with other people’s