Exposure by Susan Andersen

for two housewives, the steaming stream of coffee cut off mid-stream as all three stared with open mouths at their local sheriff. Two farmers over at the counter lowered their forks and also gawked.
    Emma felt as if she'd just been slugged in the stomach. She'd already sort of figured out that she might have overreacted last night. From things he'd said at the time, which she had thought about once she'd cooled down, she had come to realize he'd obviously had experiences in his life that were entirely beyond her realm of comprehension. And so, perhaps he had reason, or at least something of an excuse, for being so suspicious of her motives. She'd therefore already been predisposed to give him the benefit of the doubt when next she saw him. They might never be the best of friends, she'd decided, but they could at least be civil to one another.
    She hadn't envisioned anything like this, though, and seeing him laughing and dancing with her daughter just about nailed her to her seat.
    "Oh, no, Gracie honey," Nadine was saying, her fingers all aflutter, "you've got it all wrong. My Elvis is named for the King, honey. The King is Elvis Presley, not Elvis Donnelly, see? And he's the King of Rock and Roll, not—"
    "Oh, give it a rest, Mom," Elvis said. "She's three years old, for Christ's sake. She doesn't give a rip."
    Gracie beamed up at him. "I'm fwee, you know."
    He smiled down at her tenderly. "Yeah, sweetheart, I do know that. You're a real big girl."
    Emma watched them helplessly. Oh God, Oh God, what was she going to do? She could not fall in love. Her life was already too crazy as it was.

Chapter 6
    "I've located her, boss."
    Hackett's announcement caused Grant to set his scotch and water down on the armrest of his leather chair and sit up straight, both feet hitting the floor. "Give me the layout," he commanded. Tapping his ring in an impatient tattoo against the chunky crystal highball glass still in his grip, he listened intently to his man relate the details of Emma and Gracie's life in Port Flannery.
    Except for the chime of the ring against the rim of his glass, there was an instant of silence when Hackett's recitation came to an end. The man on the other end of the line cleared his throat, and Grant said in brusque warning, "I'm thinking."
    "Yes, sir."
    Grant sat silently for a few more moments. Then he leaned back in his chair and reached out a foot to hook the ottoman, which he had shoved away at the other man's announcement. He took a sip of his drink then set the glass down on the end table. "All right," he said, "to begin with, this is what I have in mind." He talked at length. "What do you think?" he finally said. "Is it possible?"
    "It'll depend on two factors," Hackett replied. "Let me look into them."
    "You do that. Then get right back to me."
    Gracie was in an agony of impatience. Clutching her little American Flag in one hand and her mother's hand in the other, she danced in place at the curb, leaning out every two seconds to look up the street. "Stawt now, Maman?"
    "Any minute, angel pie." They could hear the high-school band tuning up somewhere around the bend and Gracie fidgeted harder. The adults around them responded to Emma's wry expression with commiserating smiles.
    The sidewalks that lined the waterfront and wound their way up the hill to the square were filling rapidly. Emma hadn't realized so many people lived on Flannery Island, but it seemed that not only was the community more vastly populated than she'd imagined, the entire population was gathered today in front of Mackey's General Store right along with her and Gracie.
    She'd tried to talk Gracie into watching the annual Port Flannery Fourth of July parade from their room window, as the square directly below was where it all culminated, but Gracie had seen the gathering crowd; knew she looked good in her little navy sailor dress, white lace tights, and red patent leather Mary Janes; and campaigned vigorously to join the throng. As her