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paranoid.

Instead, she squatted in front of Kristin's knees so she could look up into her face.

"Honey?" she asked softly. "Are you sure you're all right?"

Kristin took Molly's face in her hands and pressed a kiss to her forehead, inhaling the

scent of the apple shampoo and getting a quick flash of her...dream? Hallucination? What

the hell had happened to her out there? Shaking off her own confusion for the time being,

she answered quietly, trying to keep her voice light despite the fact that her lower lip was

cluttering nonstop. "I'm freezing is what I am." She reached for the dry clothes. "Wil you help me get dressed?"

DARBY

D

arby had hoped the mindless channel surfing would help her ignore the fullness of her

head, but it was actually serving the opposite purpose, especially after Kristin's return. On her back on the couch, she continued to toggle buttons on the remote, absently watching

the TV picture flit from news to sitcom to animation to infomercial. She supposed no one

would be surprised to see her demonstrating the simple, typical behavior of anybody her

age, focused on the nearest electronic device and paying no attention whatsoever to the

outside world.

Inside, however, was a different story, for Darby Cooper was anything but a simple and

typical woman. Much as she wanted to be able to say that the various events of the day

hadn't affected her, they had. Big time. She tried to focus on The Simpsons, but her

restless mind refused to cooperate. There were too many other subjects to think about.

The chewing-out she'd gotten from Aunt Jo featured prominently. She knew she should

just move past it, that Aunt Jo had only been trying to set her straight, so to speak, but

she could still feel the painful embarrassment of knowing the others had seen her hauled

out of the room by the scruff of her neck like a misbehaving puppy. Thank God Kristin had

already gone by that point. Darby didn't think she could bear knowing her nemesis had seen

her treated like a child.

Nemesis? Is that what I think she is?

The thought sent a bit of a frightened chill through her. If Kristin was Darby's nemesis,

that would mean that Darby actually thought she stood a chance of winning Molly's

affections. After the display she'd

just witnessed upon Kristin's return, she knew that was never going to happen.

She replayed the moment in her mind, despite having no desire to do so. Kristin banging

into the house looking like a frightened animal— and yet somehow still stunning, at least to

Darby's critical eye. How the hell is that possible? The last thing in the world she wanted

to admit to was Kristin's good looks, but there they were, glaringly apparent even as Kristin stood in front of her, dripping wet and wild-eyed.

Her soaked, clinging clothing only accentuated a great body, and the matted state of her

hair did nothing but prove that she was, in fact, a real blonde with no dark roots and

several different shades of gold sparkling in the firelight. The cold had given her cheeks a

rosy red glow, which advertised how creamy and smooth her skin really was. The alarmed

and confused darting of her eyes only forced onlookers to notice what a gorgeous shade of

blue they were. If Darby had wanted the pleasure of ripping her apart for her physical

shortcomings as well as her emotional ones, she was way out of luck.

When Molly ran to her, Darby's stomach churned. Don't go to her. Come tome. It was a

silly command, given telepathically in some childish hope that it might be heard. But the

concern and tenderness in Molly's incredible green eyes had nearly crushed Darby with its

intensity.. .an intensity that was directed at somebody other than her.

Come on, Cooper. Did you really think she'd just throw away her seven-year relationship

with a VP, her home, and her financial support to hop into a ten-year-old rattletrap car

with the manager of a Blockbuster? Seriously?

But deep down, she knew there was part of her that had hoped, that had wanted, that

thought maybe, just maybe, she did stand a chance.

And what was that about? Where the hell did this desire for more than a quick, juicy fuck

come from? It was as if something had changed overnight, which was out of the question

because people didn't change overnight. They didn't change at all, especially people like

her. Once a lothario, always a lothario. She wasn't cut out for relationships, for

commitment. She'd known that fact for years, since her very first, and only, girlfriend. Oh,

she had no shortage of women. She was a pro at the pick-up, at the take-home, at the

brush-off the morning after.

Always drive. Always go to her place, never yours. Always leave before daybreak.

Those were the three rules she lived by. It kept her free and easy, without clinginess,

without unwanted attachment or responsibility. It was the way she lived and she'd always

been very happy. She was the envy of many a woman stuck in the boring routine of a

relationship, picking out paint, staying home on weekends to do yard work, and visiting the

in-laws. Those women wished they had the carefree, easy life that Darby did, and Darby

didn't envy what they had at all. Not even a little bit.

Until Molly.

Damn her.

Damn her and her piercing green eyes and her intoxicating laugh and her invigorating scent

and her sexy mouth. Darby's mind took her back to the other side of the garage, back to

the early morning and the snow and the intensity of pressing into Molly's body. The

sensation of physically pushing her up against the shingled wood, of holding her a willing

prisoner, was almost tangible. Darby could feel her own muscles twitch at the memory and

at the fantasies she'd harbored since that moment, of all the things she wanted to do to

that hot, tight little body. The visions ran the gamut from the simple tameness of making

slow, passionate love to Molly to the erotic polar opposite of tying her to the bed and

teasing her for hours on end.

That image was nearly her undoing and she squeezed her eyes shut tightly, wishing for

nothing more than to have the ability to scrub it clean from her mind, to make it disappear

like wiping fingerprints from a windowpane. She tossed on the couch and settled on her

side, heaving an annoyed breath as The Simpsons blended into Entertainment Tonight.

"Damn tabloid news," she muttered, thumbing the channel button, wishing she had a similar remote for her whirling thoughts.

Part of her was irritated at the rest of the group for going about their day as usual. Can't

anybody see that I'm in turmoil here and don't know how to pull myself out? She wanted to

scream at them, to plead for help because she really was feeling lost and alone and

confused. Somewhere in the deep recesses of her brain, she knew there was a good chance

she was falling in love with Molly. She clenched her teeth at the thought. God, Julie was

going to have a field day with this. Why couldn't she have had these feelings for Rebecca?

It would be a hell of a lot easier and make so much more sense. Rebecca wanted her.

Rebecca

would be ecstatic to think Darby was in love with her. She'd squeal with joy and throw

herself into Darby's arms, the giddiness oozing out of her like oil.

And then we'd be.picking out paint and staying home on the weekends to do yard work and

visiting the in-laws.

Darby closed her eyes, wanting to black the image out of her mind. And that's when she

knew it was true, that she had fallen hard for Molly. That despite her reputation and her

usual behavior and her unwillingness to settle down, this one woman had wormed her way in.

She knew because suddenly picking out paint and doing yard work and visiting the in-laws

didn't seem like they'd be so bad if she was doing those things with Molly by her side.

Son of a fucking bitch.

Darby rubbed viciously at her temple and cursed the gods or the Fates or destiny or

whatever the hell was having a good laugh at her expense right now. Of all the women she'd

been attracted to, of all the women she'd smooth-talked, of all the women she'd bedded,

for Christ's sake, the one she finally ended up having real, honest-to-God feelings for was

off-limits. She thought of her conversation with Aunt Jo earlier.

"Hike her. Molly. I...you know...like her. "

"That's too damn bad. You can like her. You just can't have her. She's a married woman

who's desperate to fix her failing relationship. If you do like her, then you need to step

back and respect her enough not to interfere."

Careful to keep her frustration disguised as laziness, Darby hauled herself off the couch

and went into the kitchen, where Aunt Amy was preparing dinner. She opened the

refrigerator and pulled out a beer.

"I'm making your favorite." Aunt Amy indicated the chicken breasts and ingredients for the breading to the chicken cutlets Darby had loved since she was a young teenager.

Darby managed a weak smile before twisting off the cap and downing half the bottle in

three long gulps.

Aunt Amy arched an eyebrow at her. "Everything okay?" she asked with knowing concern.

Darby nodded. "Peachy." She kissed Aunt Amy's temple and went back into the living room, flopping down onto the couch in much the same position she'd been in previously.

"...If you do like her, then you need to step back and respect her enough not to interfere..."

The concept of respect was a new one for Darby, but she suddenly had a crystal clear

understanding of what it meant. As much as she wanted Molly for herself, she wanted

Molly to be happy more, and despite her penchant for the disrespectful life of love-'em-

and-leave-'em, she was relieved to note that she did respect Molly enough not to interfere.

Maybe people do change.

She shrugged, took another slug of her beer, and flipped the channel.

BLACKBERRY PULP

L

ater that evening, everybody was on the first floor, stomachs stuffed with the chicken

cutlets. As always, Amy had taken great joy in preparing them by hand, using the mallet-

shaped meat tenderizer to pound them into submission. Jo had recognized her wife's

subtle manifestation of all her frustrations. What a freaking chaotic week, she thought in

amazement. When they'd come up with the brilliant idea of inviting their closest friends

over for the holidays, they certainly hadn't bargained on all this Dyke Drama—though with

seven lesbians in the same house for a week, the chances were pretty good. She felt like

she and Amy had been plopped into the middle of a soap opera.

Now, from the vantage point of her leather club chair, Jo sipped coffee laced heavily with

Bailey's Irish Cream and tried to get a fix on everyone and everything that was going on.

Kristin sat on a floor pillow in front of the fire and stared into the flames. She was finally dry and—Jo hoped—warm, bundled in a pair of black sweatpants and a thick gray hooded

sweatshirt with the insignia of the school where Molly worked emblazoned in blue across

the front. Her hair was dry and there was finally a little natural color back in her

complexion, just the slightest hint of rosiness across her cheekbones. Her face remained

fairly expressionless, yet her eyes seemed worried, tinted with confusion. Jo wanted to

talk to her, to find out what was going on in her obviously working-overtime brain, but at

the same time, she sensed Kristin needed to be alone. She seemed to be working through

some stuff in her head and, curious or not, Jo was loath to cut in on her private musings.

Across the room, stretched out on the couch, Darby had her earphones in. She listened to

her iPod while reading a graphic novel, her eyebrow piercing reflecting the firelight. Jo

seriously wondered how much reading was getting done, as her niece hadn't turned a page

in more than fifteen minutes. Every so often, Darby threw surreptitious glances in Molly's

direction but Molly's only concern was Kristin, it seemed. She sat at the dining room table

and looked up periodically from her hand of cards to check on Kristin, a mixture of wonder

and apprehension on her face.

Jo had a smidgen of sympathy for her niece, but at the same time hoped she was learning a

valuable lesson. Given the look on Darby's face when she'd said she "liked" Molly, Jo suspected it was the first time in ages—maybe ever—that Darby had felt genuine interest

in somebody.. .beyond the sexual. It was sheer dumb luck that she hadn't fallen for Sophie

or Laura—the available women. Jo heaved a sigh of frustration, aimed at life in general.

Across the dining room table from Molly sat Amy, her partner in their game of euchre.

Amy was wearing one of Jo's button-up denim shirts, and Jo found herself prey to a

sudden vision of unbuttoning it very slowly to reveal what lay beneath the fabric: creamy-

smooth, freckled skin just aching for her touch. She literally shook the image from her

head, internally chuckling over her ridiculously active libido and vowing to save those

thoughts for later.

The other two seats at the table were occupied by the other set of partners, Sophie and

Laura. Nobody had surprised Jo more this week than those two and she actually did chuckle

when she thought of them. What a turnaround. Rather than scowling at one another and

avoiding close proximity, as they had for the first two days of their stay, they now looked