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his new truck in the other.
    It was a quiet evening, normal in everyway, signifying that the world had
    moved on. The occupants in cars next to him on the freeway were not aware
    he’d just lost a best friend or knew the degree of turmoil coursing through
    him. Besides the questions he had surrounding Craig’s death, Clay’s mind
    was suddenly preoccupied with thoughts of Vivian Simpson. Trying to
    block this train of thought, he focused on the details of the shooting,
    rehashing what they knew, searching for clues. After a time, he gave up
    trying to concentrate as she crept into his thoughts again and again. Giving
    his mind free reign to focus on just her, the visions that ran through his mind
    were troubling, to say the least. They crowded in on him—disturbing
    thoughts of Vi Simpson in his arms, Vi Simpson standing behind him,
    holding him close and absently running her hands over his chest. The time
    they’d spent together over the past few days had been different than any
    other time they’d spent before.
    Without a doubt, Vi was one of the strongest, most admirable women he
    knew. In this most difficult of times, she still had the strength and stamina to
    console others. For some unknown reason, he was experiencing something
    on a much deeper level that made him acknowledge that she also was a very
    beautiful woman. Soft and shapely, café mocha brown and petite, she was
    definitely not lacking in the areas that separated the girls from the women.
    He shook himself slightly in an attempt to shut down the niggling, improper
    thoughts running through his mind about Mrs. Simpson. But, they lingered.
    Innocent as it was, her touch had elicited unwanted things from his body.
    Her cool, slender hands had branded his chest with their gentleness. This
    morning, something undeniable had shifted between them, at least for him.
    The memory of her nearness earlier today in that bathroom had made him hot
    and cold all at once. What passed between them today was something he’d
    never felt before. What was it? Had she felt it too? Of course not!
    Shaking himself harder this time, Clayton finally put a mental choke hold
    on this useless line of thinking. Unsure of himself and where these feelings
    had come from, he made a decision; whatever was happening, he damn sure
    wasn’t going to act on it. It wasn’t right. Was it?
    59

    While Clayton drove the rest of the way to Vi’s house, deep in thought,
    Casey was across town feeling too nauseous to get out of bed. After a light
    dinner, she lay down for a little while, hoping to ease her suffering. Coupled
    with the fact she hadn’t heard from or seen Craig in three days, the constant
    queasiness persisted. She’d left over half a dozen messages for him. If he
    was still mad at her, she reasoned, he could have at least called back!
    Fine , she thought, let him be mad. Casey closed her eyes and turned over
    in a huff, trying to recall the last time she’d seen him. She remembered he’d
    left that morning without saying goodbye. Although she knew about the
    busy day he had planned she didn’t question why he had left so abruptly,
    because of their argument that morning. Opening her eyes, she threw back
    the covers and swore inwardly. When they argued in the past, it had never
    lasted this long. Not calling for three days or picking up his cell phone was
    juvenile. It was inexcusable, childish and thoughtless. Sitting on the edge
    of her bed pouting, it suddenly occurred to her that acting childish and
    thoughtless was so unlike Craig.
    Walking barefoot across the room, Casey got out of bed and went into the
    bathroom to take a shower. As she stepped under the warm spray of water,
    she felt the slight swell of her belly as she thoroughly soaped her body. A
    heated sensation assailed her and nestled very low in her abdomen. In her
    mind, Casey recalled the last time she and Craig were together, right here in
    this very shower. She closed her eyes as an answering throb