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but, somehow, Lutecia avoided thinking of him in that respect. It was too dangerous to remember how those hard arms had felt in an embrace, how that firm, chiseled mouth…
    He turned suddenly and caught her curious stare. It was as though those piercing dark eyes could see the thoughts in her mind. One dark eyebrow went up as his gaze dropped relentlessly to the soft curve of her mouth and lingered there until her cheeksflushed red, and she jerked her face toward the window.
    Soft laughter merged with the sounds of the engine. She closed her eyes against it.
    It only seemed like minutes before the sprawling town square of Ashton came into view below, like an oasis of civilization surrounded by miles and miles of farmland.
    Tish smiled unconsciously, gazing down on the growing metropolis that had sprung from the major economic base of agriculture. Ashton was an old city with its roots in the Confederacy and its veneer of progress spread thin over prejudices that ran deep.
    Like all southern cities, it had that sultry atmosphere of leisure and courtesy that endeared it to the natives while annoying the hell out of impatient northern tourists. The surrounding countryside was an artist’s vision of green perfection, from gently thrusting hillside to groves of pecan and oak trees nestled between new industry and old architecture.
    Churches lined the wide, heavily traveled streets. They were predominately Baptist and rabidly outspoken every time the liquorreferendum was revived. Republicans were rumored to live in the community, but the Democrats beat them so bloody at the polls that most of them were reluctant to admit their political affiliation. Troublemakers were dealt with quickly and efficiently, and not always by law enforcement personnel. In fact, Sheriff Blakely—who had been sheriff for so long few locals could remember when he wasn’t—had been known to run the State Patrol and FBI agents out of his jurisdiction when they interfered with his authority. Creek County had a formidable reputation for taking care of its own, in spite of state government.
    Tish smiled, lost in her musings. With all its faults and vices, this was home country—Georgia. The beginning and end of her world, whether she wanted it that way or not. In this pocket of the largest state east of the Mississippi River, she could trace her ancestry back almost a hundred and fifty years—generations of farmers…
    The word was enough to turn her thoughts black. Farming. Her father, that horrible inhuman scream…
    â€œNo!” The word broke from her involuntarily.
    â€œWhat is it, baby?” Russell asked quickly, glancing at her with concern.
    She drew a sharp breath, banishing the memory again. “Nothing. Nothing at all.” She leaned back against the seat and let her eyelids fall.
    Â 
    He set the plane down in a perfect three-point landing on the private airstrip at Currie Hall, and her heart began to race wildly as she caught a glimpse of the house, far in the distance, half-hidden in the green curtain of towering oaks and pecan trees.
    Beyond the airstrip, the fields were covered with green growth that had to be peanuts or soybeans, she knew by their proximity to the ground. But they weren’t the dark green they should have been, and she looked up at Russell with a question in her eyes.
    â€œDrought,” he said, answering it as he answered most of her unasked questions, as if he could sometimes read her mind. “It’s been a long hot spell, and I’ve had to replant most of the corn. To make matters worse,the armyworms came this month. We’re going to take a hell of a licking financially before I straighten this mess out. It’s causing problems with the cattle too,” he added, shutting down the engine with a sharp jerk of his lean fingers. “We won’t have enough silage for the winter, and that means more money for feed this year. It’s the same over most of the