Afterward she swore sometimes he looked right through her. He worried more about his uncle Shelbyâs business than he ever did about her. If the accident hadnât happened, he probably wouldnât have noticed she was gone for at least a week or two. Randi closed her eyes wishing she could write the kind of sadness that settled in between them into a song. But singers donât sing about love dying by inches or how it feels when there is nothing to feel anymore. None of the sad country songs she knew could ever make her hurt as badly as watching Jimmy slowly stop caring. She hadnât lost him in an oil fire. Sheâd lost him a fraction at a timeâ¦the day he stopped calling her name when he entered their trailerâ¦the first morning he forgot to kiss her goodbyeâ¦the night he rolled away even though he knew she wanted to make love. She hadnât known how to say goodbye then. She wasnât sure she knew how to say goodbye now. Maybe she should have had a farewell song ready the day she married. Then, every time something cut off a piece of her heart she could have turned up the volume a notch. Eventually, he would have heard it and then her leaving wouldnât be a surprise. The only thing she could think to do now was to stick with the plan sheâd come up with less then twenty-four hours ago. She felt like sheâd wasted most of her life trying to figure out what to do. She had been leaving him,heading to Nashville to give herself a chance at a dream sheâd had all her life. She would just pretend Jimmy was back here waiting for her. That he still cared. It shouldnât be much of a stretch really, sheâd been pretending someone cared about her most of her life. Pretending was easier than believing. Believing could get her hurt, but pretending could go on forever. But now that she had finally decided on a direction, she would cut and run. âItâs time to face the champ!â Frankie yelled from the end of the bar as he raised his fist and tapped the set of boxing gloves hanging above his head. A young cowhand a few stools down leaned toward Randi. Long past drunk, he smelled of smoke. âWhatâs he talking about, maâam?â Randi smiled, wondering how many times sheâd explained Frankieâs last call. âItâs time to face the champ. When anyone says that to a fighter, you can bet it is your last round for the night.â The drunk nodded as if he understood. Randi lifted her purse along with his hat off the empty stool between them. âCome on, cowboy. Iâll walk you to your pickup.â âHowâd you know what I drove?â he said as she turned him toward the door. âLucky guess.â Parking lot of County Memorial Hospital 2:15 a.m. âCan you drive home, Meredith?â Sheriff Farrington knelt beside the open Mustang door as he helped Meredith Allen into her car. She worked summers and holidays at the county clerkâs office just down the hall from his office, but she couldnever remember him using her name. Funny, when you are a schoolteacher in a small town everyone calls you by your last name. First students, then their parents. Even the other teachers in the building referred to one another as Misses or Misters. Slowly, the town knows you that way. Meredith knew what people thought of her. When she had been in school, she had been a âgood girl,â the type boys remembered to open doors for. She figured she would grow into middle age and become a âfine woman.â Then her hair would turn from auburn to light blue and she would take her place up front in church with all the other widows and become âa sweet old dear.â Only now she was already a widow, and not one hair of her curly mass had turned gray. Something had gone wrong with the order of things. âIâll be fine, Sheriff. Thanks for sitting with me.â She took a long breath and leaned back against