This was the U.S., where older women never fell in love with younger men, unless they were fools, jet-setters, or harlots… and she felt that she hardly fitted into any of the three categories.

Yet, from the very beginning, from the first day Cal had taken the caretaker's job on Jamey's estate, the galvanic sensations had passed between them. He'd stopped her as she was carrying boxes into their bungalow and smiled.

"I'm Jamey Halo," he'd said. He had grinned lopsidedly, his dark hair long and waved. His eyes were an azure-blue and filled with tiny hazel flecks that began to swirl excitedly as he spoke. "Can I carry that?"

"Thank you, no," she'd replied, dropping her own gaze from his probing stare, sensing the slight flush to her face; then, Nadine had come with a smaller box and Susan had welcomed the interruption.

But it had never changed. She had only to look into his desire-filled, handsome young face to feel her own unwanted, sensual passion rising, and it seemed that he'd managed to come to the bungalow always when Cal was elsewhere. He had even made over Nadine, who, at thirteen was the flowering equivalent of most girls three years her senior, and this, she felt certain, he did only to impress the mother. Still, nothing had come of it… simply because the mother had refused to let it. Cal was her husband and she belonged to him, regardless of his lack of affection. Her oriental upbringing would never permit infidelity; she would give her life for her husband, and she would die defending her loyalty to the vows she had taken.

Again, Susan heard a light stir behind the screen, waited silently, and was pleased at the sound of an even, deep breathing once more. Her darling was going to need all the rest she could get, with what was before her. Beauty contests were more strenuous than the average girl believed, both mentally and physically, but there was nothing that would add to necessary confidence more than a few beauty contest credits to an aspiring young actress, even if one was only Miss Parksburg.