"Maybe you should."Clete released his gentle grip on her arm and walked into the dim back office, and Desirée, spellbound to his riddle, and on...tenterhooks for knowing what all this had to do with Mark, followed him in, fighting to control the rhythm of her breathing. The wide desk was strewn with papers and a television was playing a soap opera. His pistol hung on a hook with his hat, with a small iron weight with a thong strung through it. Clete folded his arms and half-sat on the. Downstairs, we usually wear something in case someone comes to the door or wanders through the back yard. Of course, 'something' has never meant much. Mom often goes around in just a tee-shirt that barely covers her bottom. You can see everything when she bends over.Mom and Dad are writers. They write technical books about all sorts of things. Their office is a small house in the back yard, where they have their computers and where they go every day to work. While we were little, we'd hang out. More

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