Now that he had kicked something he was feeling much better. He was even able to speak without shouting-just barely. "That isn't all I've broken. I've also broken Jason's bed. I don't fit in a twin size-"

"Have you tried the couch?"

"Ferguson's sleeping on the couch." He slapped the spare pillow into shape and turned back the sheet.

Lizabeth felt panic claw at her throat. "You're not sleeping here!"

"The hell I'm not." He rolled in beside her and gave something that was close to a growl. "I don't fit in this bed either. Every bed in this house was designed for midgets."

"I didn't hear you complaining last night."

"Last night I wasn't interested in sleeping."

"And I suppose the only thing you have on your mind tonight is sleeping?"

"You got it."

How insulting! They'd been married for less than twenty-four hours and he wanted to go to sleep. Of course, it wasn't a real marriage, but it was insulting all the same. She glared down at him. "Well, since you don't fit in this bed you might as well go somewhere else. Why don't you go kick Billy's door down and ruin his bed."

"Don't push me, Liz. I'm a man on the edge."

She gave him a long, considering look and decided to let him teeter. "Hmmm," she said, slithering down beside him.

"What's 'hmmm' supposed to mean?"

"Nothing. Just hmmmm." She shut the light off and smiled in the darkness, deciding she liked having him next to her. She liked the way his warmth cut through her nightgown. She liked listening to him breathe, liked the way he made her feel safe from whatever terrors the night might hold. Now that she had a chance to reconsider, she might even like to make love to him. " "Night," she whispered, rustling closer as she turned her back, not so Innocently snuggling her bottom into his hip.

He didn't respond. He couldn't. Not without giving himself away. He'd made a colossal mistake. He'd been hurt when she'd suggested he sleep in Jason's room. As the night wore on he'd become more and more frustrated. The bed had been the last straw, but in all honesty, if he hadn't been thrashing around in a snit, the bed would never have collapsed. Now he was next to her, and he was miserable. He'd told her he was only interested in sleeping. Yeah, he thought, and cows can fly. Every muscle in his body felt as if it were tied in knots. He was hard-everywhere. And he was supposed to sleep?

He turned toward her and put his hand to her waist, feeling the flare of her hip. She would have been pretty when she was a teenager, he decided. But as a fully grown woman she was magnificent. Her breasts were full, her nipples large and dark from nursing two children, and her lips were as soft as her breasts. He liked the way she tipped her head back and laughed deep in her throat. Honest laughter. And he liked the way she made love to him. Honest loving. His thumb stroked over the ridge of hipbone. "Lizabeth?"

She twisted in his arms until she was facing him, her breasts brushing against his bare chest, her face inches from his.

Matt feathered his lips against her forehead when he spoke. "I think our marriage hasn't gotten off to a good start."

"I've noticed that, but I don't know how to fix it. Maybe it's unfixable." Sometimes love just Isn't enough, she thought. Sometimes there were differences that couldn’t be bridged. Sometimes there were personalities that couldn't adapt. Some people simply weren't meant to be married. Maybe she was one of those people. The possibility brought a new rush of sadness, and she sought solace from it in Matt's embrace. She was tired of being sad. She had spent too many sad nights with Paul. She raised her mouth to Matt, and her lips trembled when he kissed her. Lord, how she loved him. if they had only met at another time- when the boys were grown, or before they'd been born. His kisses were gentle but persistent. His hands moved under her nightshirt and the feel of his calloused palm on her bare belly pulled her away from thought. Desire warmed her, drugged her. She gave herself up to it. needing to be part of him for a little while longer.

Lizabeth woke to the aroma of coffee brewing and the smoky smell of bacon frying. It was six A.M. and responsibility lay heavy on her. So heavy she could barely open her eyes or raise her arms. She was going to have to cut Matt out of her life, and the wound was going to be unbearably painful and impossible to heal. She'd been a fool to let things go this far. She'd had some misgivings before-silly ones about tattoos and education, but when Paul left with her kids it had triggered an anxiety attack that had raised serious, legitimate questions. When you combined the serious questions with the silly misgivings it didn't seem like the relationship had much of a chance for long-term success. She was a mother. That was the bottom line. And the mothering part of her was strong. So strong there was a tendency for it to squeeze out everything else. Perhaps because all her life she'd been Mac's daughter or Paul's wife, now she couldn't keep herself from being Jason and Billy's mother. She'd make a terrible wife. She didn't know how to divide herself up so that there was some for Billy and Jason, and some for Matt, and some for Lizabeth. Matt would be neglected, she thought. In a small corner of her mind she couldn't help compare Matt to Paul and wonder if Matt would eventually find comfort in other women. Even as she thought these things, a tear trickled down her cheek, and she wasn't sure if it was for Jason or Billy or Matt or herself.

Sirens wailed in the distance, and she absently wondered if it was the police chasing down the flasher. No, she decided, the flasher wouldn't be running around at six in the morning. Anyway, there were too many sirens. She could hear the throaty blast of air horns now. Fire trucks. And they were getting closer. She got out of bed and dragged herself to Elsie's room at the front of the house. She looked out the window and watched the trucks turn onto Gainsborough. They swung wide at the corner and headed In her direction, lights flashing. She looked down the street, hut saw no evidence of a fire. No smoke. No flames. No unusual activity. Two large trucks and a smaller rescue vehicle stopped in front of her house. She could feel the vibration of the engines deep in her chest, felt the lights pulsing against her nightshirt.

They were obviously lost. Someone's house was burning to the ground and the firemen were lost. Who cares, Lizabeth thought. She was depressed. She wasn't even sure she'd care if it were her house that was burning. That was when she smelted the smoke. That was when she noticed her eyes were smarting. That was when Matt opened the front door just below her and waved to the firemen. The lethargy Instantly lifted and was replaced with panic. "Matt! What's going on?" she shouted.

He looked up at her. "HI, honey. Don't worry. Everything's okay. I just burned the bacon a little." Did she believe that?

"What are these fire trucks doing here?"

"The bacon kept smoldering. And I figured better safe than sorry." He flashed her a reassuring smile.

One of the firemen rushed past Matt. He was in full protective gear, carrying a fire extinguisher. He grinned and shook his head at Matt. "Burned the bacon a little? Man, I got a look at the back of this house when we turned the corner. You barbecued your kitchen! You're In big trouble. She's gonna kick your butt all the way around the block."

Matt grinned back at him. "So, you think she'll notice the damage?"

Lizabeth raced down the stairs, struggling to get her arms into her bathrobe as she ran. She came to an abrupt halt at the kitchen. It was black. Black soot on the walls. Black soot on the ceiling. And the stove and part of the back wall were charred. Foam dripped from counters and appliances and grimy water flooded the floor.

"Nice work," one of the firemen said to Matt. "Use your garden hose?"

"Only after it spread to the outside wall."

Everyone looked at Lizabeth. She was standing perfectly still, her arms hanging limp at her sides, her shoulders slightly slumped. The silence was as thick as the foam on the stove. Finally, she spoke. "I want almond-colored appliances," she said. "Pot-scrubber dishwasher and self-cleaning oven. Butcher-block countertops. I think I'll wallpaper the walls. I always thought a small print would look nice in here."

By ten o'clock a cleaning crew arrived, followed by the electrician, and at eleven-thirty Grimm's Appliances delivered a range, dishwasher, state-of-the-art refrigerator, and microwave. Lizabeth was glad Matt was in the construction business. She would have had to wait weeks for a new toaster to be delivered.

Matt and Ferguson sat on the front porch, eating Oreos. "Guess I'm not so handy In the kitchen," Matt said to the dog. "I Just never paid much attention to cooking before. No one ever cooked for me when I was a kid. Hey, don't worry about it. I got along okay. Look how big I grew." He took the top off an Oreo and gave it to Ferguson and kept the part with the icing for himself. "Sometimes my sister Mary Ann would cook, but it was mostly from cans or hamburgers. Nothing fancy like bacon." He separated another cookie. This time Ferguson got the good part. "I know what you're thinking. I lived in that town house for ten years, I should have learned how to cook bacon, but jeez, who would have thought the grease would catch fire like that?" He put a confiding arm around the dog. "Just between you and me, my mind was wandering. You got a girlfriend, Ferguson? Maybe you're too young. Well, let me tell you, women can be damn distracting. And wonderful," he added softly. He thoughtfully munched on an Oreo. "Lizabeth is special. You're a lucky dog to be living with Lizabeth."

Miller's Furniture truck pulled up at the curb, and Lizabeth came running to the front door. "What's that furniture truck doing here? Matt! You didn't buy furniture, did you?"

"It's a bed," Matt said, handing the bag of cookies over to Ferguson. "I couldn't spend another night in that little bitty bed you're got."

"You should have asked me."

"You would have said no."

"Exactly." Lizabeth napped her arms. "I don't want a new bed. I can't afford a new bed."

"I bought the bed."

"Matt, that's very sweet of you, but I can't let you buy me a bed. I mean a bed isn't like a bag of doughnuts. Men don't just go around giving beds to women. I didn't mind you advancing me money for the appliances, because I know my insurance will cover it. But a bed! You can't give me a bed."

Andy Miller and Zak Szlagy carried a metal bed frame and a queen-size box spring into the house.

"Stop!" Lizabeth said. "I didn't order this."

"It's already paid for, lady," Andy said. "S'cuse me. This goes upstairs?"

Lizabeth followed after them. "I haven't room for another bed. What will I do with my double?"

"Don't worry about it. We'll take care of the double. Why don't you put it in this room where the bed looks broken?"

"Fine. Do it." Her mind went racing ahead. If she didn't replace the linoleum in the kitchen she could probably cover the cost of the bed with the insurance money.

"We have to talk," Lizabeth said to Matt. "You have to go."

"Go where?"

"Go home. To your home. This isn't working. Every day I fall a little bit deeper in love with you, and every day it becomes more and more obvious that it isn't going to work."

She was in love with him! Deeper in love with him every day. He thought his heart might jump right out of his chest. Unfortunately, she was mad at him. He couldn't figure out exactly why she was mad at him, but he decided to go with it. "All I did was buy a bed."

"It's me. I can't…" Her voice broke. She took a deep breath and squared her shoulders. "I'm not ready for marriage, and I can't let myself get pushed into something just because the neighbors saw you naked."

"Okay. I can live with that. I don't want you feeling pressured into anything as important as marriage. But I'm not leaving."

"What?" He wasn't teasing or flirting or being difficult. He looked deadly serious, and Lizabeth didn't think that was a good sign.

"I'm not leaving you alone in this house until the flasher's caught."

Lizabeth stuffed her hands on her hips. "Listen, mister, this is my house, and I'm kicking you out!"

"Oh yeah? You and who else?"

"Me and nobody else. I'm doing it all by myself. I'm…" Her attention was diverted by a delivery truck from Kantweillers Department Store.

A young boy jumped from the truck and walked across the front yard. He handed Lizabeth a box and a clipboard. "Sign here, please."

"I don't get it," Lizabeth said. "Now what?" She sat down on the porch step and carefully opened the box. Inside was a slightly smaller box wrapped in white-and-silver paper, with a card taped to the top. "Omigod," she said, reading the card. "It's a wedding gift from Emma Newsome!"