The music segued into "Desperado" and they swayed to the slower tempo. She rocked back and forth with him, and he pressed her against him. "We haven't had much time to talk, either," he said. "Anything you want to tell me?"

"Right now, I just want to feel you hold me. I think I miss that the most. Waking up at night knowing you're there. Being able to reach over and touch you."

He thought of the times he'd awakened and found her holding on to one of his fingers as she slept. Or have her foot pressed against his leg. He leaned away so he could study her face. "Tell me the truth. Have you been having flashbacks again? Nightmares?"

"A couple," she admitted. "But a little Mahjong, some chamomile tea, my relaxation exercises, and I'm fine. Honest. Never lost more than an hour's sleep."

"Which means three hours," Randy said. "No secrets. We're here for each other."

"Two episodes in three weeks is hardly worth mentioning."

"It's worth mentioning to me."

"From what I've learned at counseling, these things can go on for years. Maybe forever. I refuse to let them rule my life. You need to understand that."

He sighed and hugged her close. "I do. I just don't like to see you suffer, especially if I can't be there to help."

"Well, you can be there for the next two days. The shop is closed tomorrow, and I've got it covered all day Monday."

"Count on it."

The tempo changed as the band played "Take it to the Limit." Randy led Sarah in an easy waltz, absorbing the feel of her body against his. As the song drew to a close, he spun her in a series of pivot turns. He would have dipped her, too, but for the sudden panic in her eyes. Most of the color drained from her face, and a thin film of sweat glistened. "You all right?"

Hand over her mouth, she shook her head. Randy wrapped his arm around her waist and rushed her to a clump of bushes out of sight of the court. He held her hair out of her face as she emptied her stomach.

She looked up at him, a sheepish expression on her face, and accepted the handkerchief he offered. "Sorry," she said. "Got a little dizzy with that spin. Shouldn't have eaten the hot dogs."

Randy took her by the hand and walked her to his pickup, lifting her into the seat. He reached for his water bottle and unscrewed the cap. "Flashbacks?" He watched her take a sip. She didn't respond.

He felt like he'd been kicked in the head. God, how had he missed it? "I think maybe there's more."

"Maybe." She studied her lap.

"Why didn't you say something?"

"Why didn’t you ask?"

"Don't you go doing that answer a question with a question bit." He crooked his fingers under her chin and lifted her face so her gaze met his. "But maybe I didn't want to get my hopes up. And I trusted you to tell me. So I blocked out the clues. Or chalked them up to flashbacks."

"Clues?"

"I am a detective, you know. It's what I do.  Look at things and put two and two together."

"Two and two."

"But sometimes you're afraid of being wrong, so you ignore them. And then you get one of those right-between-the-eyes clues and everything falls into place."

"Between the eyes?"

"Would you stop repeating everything I say, dammit? Clues. The ginger tea in the mug by your bed. Three boxes of saltines in the cabinet. Ginger ale tonight instead of a beer. Coming home and the toilet seat is up. With all the grief you give me when I don't put it down, I don't know why it didn't register." He stopped to take a breath. Sarah looked at him, a solemn expression on her face.

"Go on," she said.

"And then there's the obvious one. But then, I haven't been around, haven't really been paying attention. And, since you've been off the pill, you're not regular anyway. That could have been from flashback stress, too. So, I kept my mouth shut because of your damn stubborn pride. When were you going to say something?"

"Well, Mr. Hot Shot Detective, what about the drugstore bag on the bathroom counter?" Her stone blue eyes sparkled, and he noticed the tiniest upturn at the corner of her mouth.

He realized he'd been shouting. Not because he was mad at her, but at himself. He kissed Sarah's forehead and softened his voice. "I haven't been back to the house yet today. I was late, came straight from work. What's in the bag?"

"You're the detective. You tell me."

For the first time, he admitted to himself that it might be real. His heart thumped. He grabbed her off the seat and hugged her.

"I wasn't trying to keep secrets," Sarah said. "I wanted to be sure. You seemed so disappointed the time I was four days late. I thought we should do it together."

"You think this is it?" His voice was a rough croak.

"The test isn't a hundred per cent accurate, but I'm willing to put money on it. I'd hate to feel this lousy for nothing."

"I love you, Sarah. I am so sorry I yelled. I was worried, and mad, and disappointed, and—"

"Shh. I love you, too, Randy. Now, how about you take me home and we can check this out. Together."

Randy set her back onto the seat. "On our way."

"Good. Do you think you might break the rules just this once and run with lights and sirens? I really need to pee."

He burst into laughter. "Just this once."

.....continued