May

THE DAY STARTED WITH A FUNERAL.

By five o'clock, Miranda Wright had endured as much neighborly nosiness, listened to as many insinuations and waded through all the close-minded arguments she could stomach. With a slam of the door and a twist of the key, she abandoned her Wright for Mayor campaign office, skipped town without speaking to a single prospective voter and took the long way home. With luck, a breezy ride through the wide-open Texas countryside would restore her peace of mind.

Since the meandering back road she traveled led pretty much nowhere except to her farm, she was surprised to come over a rise and find a black truck parked on the shoulder at the bottom of the slope. Engine trouble, maybe. And no cell phone would work in the deep trough between the two hills.

Despite her mood, Miranda did the neighborly thing and stopped a few yards behind the tailgate of the black Ford 250. No flat tires evident, no smoking engine. Just the driver, sitting motionless at the wheel. Sick? Disabled? Dangerous?

Wishing she could replace her navy funeral suit and high- heeled shoes with jeans, boots and a rifle, she stepped up to the driver's window. "Everything okay?"

Then she saw who she was dealing with. "If it isn't Ms. Mayor-to-be," Jud Ritter said, giving her his one-sided smile. "How's it going?" He took a swig from a half-empty whiskey bottle. An identical bottle lay on the passenger seat. Empty.

"Hey, Jud." The man had attended his mother's funeral this morning. He had a right to drown his sorrows, but not behind the wheel. "What are you doing out here in the wilderness? You should be at home with your dad and Ethan."

He barked a laugh. "Not likely, Ms. Mayor-to-be. "Don't bother coming back," was the phrase, as I remember it. "You don't belong here.'" He helped himself to another drink, then held out the bottle. "Want some?"

"Sure." Miranda took it, stepped back and poured out a golden stream of whiskey. The sharp tang of liquor rose from the pavement. As she handed him the empty bottle, Jud stared at her, eyes narrowed, lips pressed into a straight line.

Finally, he shrugged. "That'll teach me to be polite." Groaning, he stretched an arm down into the foot well on the passenger side. "Good thing I know my limits." He sat up again with a third bottle in his hand and proceeded to break the seal.

That was so like him — Homestead's most infamous bad boy, a law unto himself, always finding a new way to flout the rules and make somebody mad. The citizens had heaved a collective sigh of relief when he'd left town after high school.

Miranda opened the truck door. "Come on, Jud. Get out. You can't drive under the influence of two quarts of whiskey."

"I know that," he said, stepping down to the road. He staggered a little, then caught his balance. "I'm an officer of the Austin police department. I wouldn't drive drunk, even in this redneck refuge."

She gritted her teeth against the insult. "You can't just park here until you're sober, either. Who knows what could happen?" Why she even cared was a question Miranda couldn't answer. She and Jud had squabbled and snapped and sniped at each other the entire twelve years they'd been in school together. The most humiliating moments of her adolescence had Jud Ritter's name attached.

"Nothing's gonna happen." He looked at her, his brown gaze as guileless as a little boy's. "I'm not bothering anybody as long as I'm parked on public property. I'll spend the night under the stars, like a good cowboy should. Come morning, I'll take my hangover and head back to Austin."

Leaving the driver's door open, he sauntered to the back of his truck, let down the tailgate and hitched himself up to sit on the edge. Miranda reached into the cab and took the keys out of the ignition, guaranteeing he wouldn't be going anywhere till she decided he could. She'd give them back in the morning when he'd be suffering, but sober.

"Have a seat," Jud said. "It'll be a nice sunset in just a little while."

Maybe if she humored him, he'd agree to let her drive him to Homestead's only motel to sleep off the booze. Or she could take him home, dump him on the bed in the guest room. Her mom wouldn't mind — she'd always had a soft spot in her heart for handsome, arrogant, uncontrollable Jud Ritter.

Still regretting the absence of comfortable clothes, Miranda shrugged out of her suit jacket and stowed it — along with Jud's keys — in her truck.

"Aw, don't go away," Jud called. "We could have our own class reunion."

"We didn't graduate together," she said, walking toward him. "I got held back twice, remember?"

"Oh, yeah. Well, we're both graduates." He toasted her with the bottle. "To dear old Homestead High." Another swig. "So I hear you're going to save the town single- handed. Like the Lone Ranger."

She hitched herself onto the tailgate beside him, then took a second to pull her skirt down as far as it would go. "Not single-handed, but I've got a plan that could bring people and opportunities back to Homestead."

"Some kind of land swap?" He was drinking steadily, and she almost wished she could join him, relax a little. Jud had always made her nervous. He'd been everything she wasn't — handsome as sin, with the physical grace of an athlete and the charisma of a politician. An encounter with Jud in the school hallway had usually left her feeling as stupid and confused as most people thought she was.

She took a deep breath. "A giveaway, actually. People must agree to build on the property, or renovate an existing building, live there for a year, and then they can sell it or continue in residence as the owner."

"Where do you get the giveaway land?"

That was the touchy part. Miranda swallowed hard. "When the K Bar C Ranch went bust, the county seized the property for back taxes."

Jud chuckled. "So that's why my dad is so pissed about you running for mayor. He merged his ranch into that K Bar C investment deal. Now he's lost the family plot, so to speak."

"I know."

"Considering the Ritters have held that land for over a hundred years..." He shook his head. "I think that's one vote you won't be getting."

"You don't mind?"

"Nah. I gave up any right to the Ritter legacy when I left home. They're right — I don't belong here. Thank God."

He didn't say anything else for quite a while. The sun dropped behind the hills around them, bringing a quick, cool twilight. Stars popped out one by one, white sparks in a purple Texas sky.

"See, I told you it would be a nice night." Jud chugged from his whiskey bottle, then let himself fall back in the truck bed. "Great for stargazing. You ever go stargazing, Ms. Mayor?"

"I live on a ranch," she said without thinking. "I see the stars all the time."

"No, I mean real stargazing." His grin was white in the near darkness. "With a guy."

She felt her cheeks flush with heat. "Not recently."

"Ever?"

"None of your business." She scooted forward on the tailgate. "I'm going home."

Strong fingers closed around her wrist. "Aw, come on." He pulled backward, but she resisted. "I'm not talking about anything besides watching the sky."

"I'll bet you say that to all the girls."

"Most of 'em," he said, and took another swig. But never to her. Miranda figured she was the only female in Homestead anywhere near his age that Jud Ritter hadn't gone out with. He'd asked once, or so she'd thought at the time. What a travesty that had turned out to be.

"Relax," Jud said, his voice now definitely slurred. "Lie back and look at the sky." He tugged on her wrist again.

Miranda flattened out on the truck bed, feeling every ridge in the liner on her back. "This isn't a very comfortable place to watch the sky."

"You get used to it. Sure you don't want a drink?"

"I have to drive home."

Jud shrugged. "Up to you." He took a noisy gulp of whiskey, then handed the half-empty bottle to her. "Do whatever you want to with that. I'm done."

She held the bottle for a while, fighting the urge to take just one swig. Her experience with liquor consisted of eggnog punch at Christmas and champagne for New Year's Eve. Plus the occasional long neck beer at a party. But she caught the rich oak aroma from Jud's breath on the air, and her mouth watered for a taste. Just one.

Finally, though, she put the bottle at her side. "Not tempting enough?" Jud rolled to face her, elbow bent and head propped on his hand. Full darkness had fallen, but they were close enough that she could see all the details of his face — the straight slant of his nose and the angle of his cheekbones, the shape of his mouth, the spark of laughter in his eyes. "What does tempt you, Ms. Mayor?"

"Pecan pie. Fast food cheeseburgers."

"Guess you don't get too much fast food out here in the sticks."

"Just Bertha's kolaches."

"She's still cooking?"

"Breakfast every day but Sunday."

"Nothing ever changes." After a silence, he said,

"Do you have weaknesses for something besides food?"

She was beginning to feel drunk herself, listening to his voice, whiskey warm. "Horses. Never met one I didn't love."

He rubbed his knuckles up and down her lower arm. "Men, Miranda. Don't you have a weakness concerning men?"

"Nary a one," she lied, as goose bumps broke out all over her body. "Haven't found a man yet I couldn't live without."

His fingers touched her cheek. "You just haven't met the right guy."

"I've met all the men I'm likely to here in Homestead."

She should sit up, get down, go home. Jud Ritter was bad news, as at least one girl in Homestead had learned the hard way. He was drunk enough to seduce Miranda, for lack of anyone better, but she wasn't drunk enough to succumb. She didn't think she could get that drunk without passing out first.

Then he kissed her.