Maybe Thomas Wolfe, some ancient author, had said you can’t go home again but Delaney could and did. Nothing was the same for her when she returned to the small Missouri town where she had been born and raised. She had always thought when—because it had never been if—she came home, it would be in triumph. She would be famous and rich, and everyone, especially Guthrie Travis, would be impressed. Instead, she returned to teach creative writing at the community college she had refused to attend after high school and she hadn’t spoken with Guthrie in years. Although she still had the promise ring, she didn’t wear it on her finger. Instead, it was on a long chain hidden beneath her clothes. She didn’t try to contact him when she came to town. Instead, she rented a small house, got her bearings, and settled down before the semester started. Delaney planned to be content and she was, right up till the day she ran into Guthrie at the smallest grocery in town.

            She walked out, purchases in hand, and almost ran into Guthrie. Delaney stumbled and would have fallen if he hadn’t caught her. His arms steadied her. “Excuse me,” he said in the voice she remembered so well. “My fault.”

            Delaney stared at him and he glanced down, then drew a sharp breath.

            “Guthrie, it’s mine,” she said. “I wasn’t paying attention.”

            He paled. “Delaney, I didn’t know you were back.”

            There were so many things she wanted to say but if they were going to stick to trite and polite, she could do that too. “I’ve been here for almost a month,” she told him. “I’m going to teach writing.”

            Guthrie quirked an eyebrow. “At the high school?”

            “College, starting Monday,” Delaney said. “Where do you work?”

            If she had guessed, she would have figured he worked at a local factory or maybe taught ag at the high school. Maybe he was a farmer or rancher.

            “I’m a highway patrol officer,” Guthrie told her. “I’ve only been back in this district for eleven months.”

            Delaney didn’t know what to say.

“It was good to see you,” she said and tried to move past him. Talking seemed awkward and uncomfortable.

            “Good?” he asked and let go of her. “That’s all you got to say after all these years, Delaney? I’d hope to shout that we can do better than that.”

            So did she but she refused to admit it. “I don’t know what to say.”

            “I do,” he said and before she could walk away, Guthrie kissed her. His mouth tasted sweet and he smelled the same, a rich masculine scent that was part cologne and part just Guthrie. His hands were firm as they pulled her close and she gave back the kiss.

            “Excuse me.” An elderly woman stood there, hands on hips, wanting to enter the store. From the sour expression on her face, she didn’t approve of public canoodling.

            “I’m sorry,” Guthrie said. He stepped around Delaney to hold the door open for the woman and once she’d entered the store, he turned back to her. “I’d like to talk to you, Delaney.”

            Talk? He’d just kissed her breathless and now he wanted to talk. “I don’t know, Guthrie.”

            His lips curved into a slight grin but his eyes—those rich, dark-chocolate eyes—met hers, serious and intense. “Please?”

            Her heart did some skips and flips, then she nodded. “All right, but not here.”