Chapter One

It was early on a Friday of a hot summer weekend, as Marron Chestnut drove along a byway, that she saw the first sign at the side of the road. She read it lazily.

Ten miles to Apricot Fair. Acrobats, Troubadours and Contest. Come one. Come all.

It seemed to Marron that every county had a festival going on at sometime during the year. The festival in Marron's own county in central Mango would take place in less than a month. When she'd said she was taking two weeks off, her committee had hit the roof.

"Marron, you can't do this to us!" they indignantly complained.

"I've done all the preliminaries," she protested. "None of you has to do anything."

"But you're young, Marron. You're not married and don't have any kids and you don't have to work so you have the time." There was something accusing in their tones but no indication that they felt any guilt in taking advantage of her.

"And I'll be back in time to finish up," she'd promised.

She might just as well have lain down on the floor and let them actually walk over her.

She realized she'd been a floor mat. It seemed as if everyone in the town of Peach relied on her to do their errands. Marron had never had any real control in her life. She had never done anything on impulse before. She always worried about what other people would think.

It was true; she supposedly did have free time. She didn't have to work because of the income from the family farms. She had lived alone in the family house, and she had always felt needed rather than used - until just recently.

"Marron, it's time you were married," one Peach busybody informed her. "Sharpener is just the man for you. He's nicely situated and would be a fine husband. You're not getting any younger you know."

She knew. At twenty-seven she had no prospects other than Sharpener, and she wasn't sure she wanted to marry Sharpener. But who else was there?

In the last seven months she'd become restless and discontented with a strange, lonely yearning. It wasn't only at all like her to tell old Mrs. Lunch, "Come on, I don't have all day," when she knew perfectly well the weekly outing was precious to the elderly woman.

She'd known Mrs. Lunch would take all morning with her errands. Marron's patience had snapped as she stood out in the late June sun in the grocery parking lot and listened to Mrs. Lunch tell the carry-out boy how to woo his girl. Marron had said the words before she realized what she was about.

She was so horrified she meekly listened as Mrs. Lunch scolded her for her manners, questioned her upbringing and finally paused for Marron's apology, which she gave. Then she explained to Mrs. Lunch she was feeling out of sorts and.

Mrs. Lunch sternly retorted, "That's no excuse, Marron. It's just a good thing your mother is dead and can't hear you."

"Mother's in New York."

"What's she doing there?" Mrs. Lunch was indignant.

"She met her new husband, Yamcha, three years ago, on tour."

"And she's still there?"

"Remember? They were married here in the church."

"I don't recall that! Why would she leave Peach and marry someone from New York?"

"Probably to escape," Marron muttered.

"What? What did you say?"

"They're living on a cape," she substituted. "In Maine now. On the Atlantic Ocean."

"Juuhachigou was always a flighty girl. Unstable." Mrs. Lunch sniffed in disapproval and gave Marron a telling glare.

There went another sign about the Apricot fair being only five miles away.

Marron's mother had "escaped." Escape was a taunting word to Marron. Did she want to escape? What? To where?

Why did she have to search for reasons to marry Sharpener? Why marry at all? Why was she wandering down the little-used back highways and this narrow byway in search of answers?

Because in Peach no one gave her enough time to sort things out for herself. Perhaps she should go on a tour, like her own mother had. Then she might find a man who would capture her heart, turn her head and change her life.

Two miles to Apricot Fair.

How very brave of her to take off this way by herself. She'd never done that before. She and her car, Emma, had only gone to the short distance of Apple. Marron had named her car Emma because it looked like one. It was small and light blue.

One mile to Apricot Fair. Watch for the arrow.

Sharpener was a nice looking enough man. He would look the same at sixty as he did now looking forty. He was reasonably tall, quite bland looking, with an even disposition. His several kisses had been like unsalted oatmeal. Solid, damp and not at all exciting.

Maybe it was the word arrow in the middle of the arrow, but whatever it was, the cowardly Marron Chestnut looked across the fields at the tents and the wind-fluttered colorful banners and she turned onto the dirt road and went to the fair.

With an odd thrill of something like fright, she realized she was being followed by the powerful black machine. It was eating up the dirt road so relentlessly that, to keep out of its way, Marron hurried Emma along. In tandem, the two cars went down the narrow track to the rolled back fence and onto the beaten down weeds of the field, which served as a parking lot for those attending the fair.

She drove Emma into the space indicated by the fat old man in blue coveralls and a straw cowboy hat. The road hog pulled in beside her.

"That'll be ten zenni for the day, missus."

Apparently, he thought anyone of her age would be married. She didn't correct him but tilted her head up and paid. By the time Marron was out of her car, the occupant of the road hog had already paid his ten zenni. The attendant had lumped on off toward some shade, for although it was still early, the clear July day promised to be hot.

Marron had to walk past the black car in order to go toward the fair. She hesitated to desert Emma, who looked helpless sitting next to such a wicked black car. Emma, a light blue lady, was being left alone next to that black Muscle Machine, whose raw roar had throbbed down to a snarl before it was silenced.

Marron tightened her lips and straightened her back to give a cool look to the driver, showing that she wasn't impressed.

He'd crawled out of the Muscle Machine and slowly straightened. Marron gasped, causing him to stare at her. She just stood there.

No question about it, he was a rake. His hair was a very unusual shade of lavender as were his brows. His eyes were the blue of a mountain lake, and his skin was tanned. He looked like a pirate who wrecked bars in ports around the world.

He was the sky to her sun, with her white skin, blond hair and light blue eyes. She stood stiff and still as she watched him.

Her stomach felt strange. She felt oddly light-headed. She stood there, in her crisp dark blue summer suit, just looking at him.

He was taller than average and dressed in a suit with a white shirt. He had removed his shirt jacket and was undoing his tie to leave them in the car.

His examination of her was serious, as if he was startled by her, and he felt the tingle of attraction. He couldn't believe her. He'd passed her on the street before they had ever left town. He hadn't been able to believe his eyes. She was so lovely. Since he'd had nothing pressing to do, he had decided to let her pass his car and then he would simply trail along. But she couldn't pass him. She dawdled along at fifty miles per hour, and his car couldn't go that slow without stalling.

He'd stopped for gas on a long stretch of road he knew had no turnoffs, and he'd caught up with her easily. That made him smile.

She couldn't be in any hurry, or she wouldn't be driving so slowly and on that back road. She hadn't even glanced his way. That had been one of the things that caught his eye. Women usually noticed him. Following her car, he'd watched as her blond head turned to glance at the countryside, and thought how lovely was the tilt of her head on such a fragile neck. What if she was married? He'd know right away.

He, too, saw the signs for the fair, and he saw that she had. Would she go? If she took the turnoff, it would indicate she was on holiday and he could possibly meet her.

A lick of excitement went through him when she turned off the narrow highway onto the gravel road. He knew it had been on impulse because- as precisely and carefully as she drove- she was a little late signaling the turn.

She didn't go past the fair site, but turned in to the field that served as a parking lot. Now she stood there, looking at him! He moved slowly in order to control his body's reaction to her, and to keep from startling her.

He could hardly say, "Forget the fair. Come on over into those bushes with me." That would be a little fast for this one. It would take some preliminaries.

Her hair was skimmed back into a bun, and she wore that kind of dark blue suit that acted as uniform for conservative women. No rings. That only took the briefest glance. Then he really looked at her. She couldn't be real. She probably had a shrill voice and no humor at all.

She was looking back. Was she attracted to him or revolted? So small-boned and prim, with her hair in that prissy knot and her white skin. She looked like a moon maiden. He suddenly thought of her white skin against his.

He might as well find out know if she would respond. If she shunned him, all he'd be out of was the ten zenni for parking.

She watched as his eyes warmed with humor, then his mouth very slowly smiled just the faintest bit, as if he couldn't help it. "Well, hello!" he said. His voice was gravely and brusquely gentle. It went with the sailor/pirate/demolisher part of him. "I wasn't sure you'd make it," he added as his smile widened.

Marron knew he didn't know her. He was flirting with her! Never having flirted with all her days, his words threw her off entirely. She replied, "I. I." She swallowed awkwardly and licked that full lower lip. She had a very small mouth, a nice straight small nose, and her figure was exquisite but cleverly minimized to conceal the fact. She tried again. "I."

His eyes lazy and his lashes lowered just a bit, he asked, "Having summer vapor lock on your vocal cords?" He ignored the clear dry day he explained, "It's the humidity. I know how to get you going. It's a variation on the cable jump." He waited to gauge her reaction.

She opened her lips in a tiny gasp as he grinned more wickedly than she'd ever witnessed before. Excitement went through her rather disgracefully. No wonder mothers warned daughters about men like this!

He'd just said something she knew was very suggestive and she should lift her nose, look at him boldly and walk on past him. How dare he speak to her that way? He was bold. In her protected, isolated life, she hadn't known many men. Actually there'd only been a couple of fortune hunters and Sharpener.

She should give him a chilling stare, but she didn't. She just stood there watching him in fascination.

He was a stranger. So was she. She would never see him again. They were like ships that passed in the night. She could have a. flirtation with him and be perfectly safe. There were all those other people around.

No one would ever know. She could flirt and tease. Who would ever dream that Marron Chestnut would do such a thing? He was so deliciously dangerous looking. Dangerous in a very tempting way. She wanted to look at him and touch him. How remarkable. She'd never had that impulse with Sharpener or any other man in all her days.

His deep voice said, "I'm glad you came. What would you like to do first?" His eyes laughed at her as if that was a very sensual invitation, as if he'd invited her to choose anything she wanted from him.

He came to her slowly, as if he didn't represent any kind of challenge, and he smiled that wicked, wicked smile that would taunt any woman into being reckless. He said, "I'm Trunks Briefs."

"Marron," she replied shortly.

He gave a little sigh of relief that her voice was so pleasant. How interesting she hadn't given a last name.

She'd already decided on a flirtation. She needed to be casual about it and would just see how it went. She could always leave. Emma was there for her escape if he should prove crude or crowded her with demands. But how did one conduct a flirtation?

He began. "I'm single, footloose and fancy-free. You?" His brows rose in inquiry.

"Single." She said it soberly.

He smiled as if he understood, and he didn't question for a last name. "Shall we?" he asked, offering her his arm as if it were quite normal for him to do so.

Why not? She thought.

He hesitantly tucked her hand into the crook of his arm. Her cheeks were flushed from her adventure, and her eyes sparkled. She said quite boldly, "Lead on!"

With the other cars being driven into the field to park, the couple found themselves walking through a trickling flow of people who were also going to the fair.

Tents and booths had been pitched and erected along one edge of a small lake whose banks were clustered with groves of trees. There was an uplifting holiday spirit in the air. The people milled along, and there was Marron Chestnut on the arm of a very attractive man she would never have the courage to even speak to under any other circumstances.

Perhaps one didn't need to spend the money to go on tour as her mother had, but only to drive several hundred miles from home thought Marron. She was being so confidently casual in the way she walked.

She quickly peeked up at him to see if she'd imagined him, and he was there all right. But now he breathed and he was a physical presence. He was real. He was formidable. He couldn't be a pirate. Pirates were never lavender-haired. They were dark and smoldering, swarthy with a flash of white teeth and the glint of gold in their ear.

However lavender haired he was, he still looked like a pirate. Maybe being a pirate was an attitude? He looked as if he could crouch down and be excessively threatening - and win.

He caught her looking at him and smiled. The blue of his eyes flashed. She didn't know how such an honest blue could be wicked, but it was.

She blushed. She felt the heat on her cheeks and was appalled. She turned her head, licked her lips and took a deep breath. She peeked up to see if he was conscious of her foolish behavior, and she saw that he had glanced at her chest.

In turn she looked down and realized from his height he could see her cleavage. She went scarlet, her body tingled, her breasts pushed against the cloth of her suit coat and little licks of something scandalous touched on places low in her stomach.

She could always leave, she reminded herself. Emma waited. Why should she leave? He hadn't done anything! Why was she getting so paranoid? They were just walking together.

Very naturally, he inquired, "Have you had breakfast?"

She smiled at him as if he had said something clever. "Some coffee."

"No wonder you're so skinny. You need something to eat."

"Skinny!"

"I like my women with a little meat on them."

How he did the "liking" flooded her mind and caused her to blush again. She'd seen a magazine once. The blush deepened just when she almost had herself under control.

With good humor, he asked, "Is it too early for hot dogs? No carnival is complete without becoming slightly ill from hot dogs. Or there's a pancake booth. How about that?"

She was still struggling from the picture in the magazine and didn't know how tightly she clung to his arm. She said, "Fine," and was briefly alarmed as to what she was agreeing to.

They ate pancakes from paper plates and had to use those ineffective little plastic forks. They stood next to high poles topped by round trays on which to put their plastic cups of coffee. It was all delicious. As they ate they licked syrup away from around their mouths and smiled into each other's eyes.

A relaxed and cheerful bunch of people were attending the fair. Marron and Trunks were overdressed. That had been apparent all along, but it became more obvious as they wandered about. There was a booth, tucked between others, with homemade and second hand "pioneer" clothes for sale. The booth was run by women who had gathered and created the garments.

Trunks expected to buy their replacement outfits, but Marron was very firm about paying for her own. They pawed through the stacks and laughed as they chose what they'd buy. She selected a long, dark scooped neck gown with short puffed sleeves held with a thin elastic. The same thin elastic was sewn I rows around the waist in a five-inch band. She chose a big, floppy pale straw hat that had a ribbon across the crown and through the slits on either side so that it could be tied under the chin to shield her fair skin from the sun. She burned badly if she wasn't careful.

He found a pair of cotton trousers with outside pockets and a rope belt, a long vest that was soft, crazy-patched and quilted. Each bought moccasins.

In the back of the clothing booth, they changed in a breezy, slitted, almost public cubbyhole divided by an inadequate sheet hung over a slung rope that Trunks could easily look over.

"Turn around!" she scolded.

He turned clear around and laughed.

Feeling very daring, she put the dress over her head and undressed under its skirt. He put his hands on his hips and complained. She bridled quite sassily loved every minute of this strange, reckless adventure.

When she removed her pantyhose, she realized she had nothing on under the dress but lacy briefs. A flood of awareness went through her, and the thought did give her a pause. Then she slowly straightened out her clothes, made a tiny bundle of them and looked boldly at Trunks Briefs on the other side of the now shoulder high divider.

He'd taken off his shirt and stood pulling on the vest, and he watched her as he smiled faintly. He was wearing now just the soft trousers and the long multicolored patchwork vest. His gorgeous body was brown because of his tan.

She was shorter without heels, and he loomed on the other side of the rope supporting the dividing sheet. Hadn't it been higher when they came in? He reached across and touched a finger to her cheek. "You're a darling."

She blushed, of course, but she also smiled. "You look like a pirate."

"Would you like to share my treasure?"

"You aren't wearing any."

He laughed with a rumble of humor before he said, "In one of those booths I saw a ring I plan to win."

She scoffed quite nicely and told him, "They'll take all your money while you try."

"Just wait. You're looking at the champion of carnival midways. I have to search far and wide-" he gestured widely, "-to find one where they don't recognize me. It's like the clever gamblers who are banned in Vegas. When the barkers on the midway see me, terror mounts in the hearts of the booth people as the word spreads across the carnival, "Trunks is here!""

A querulous voice interrupted, "You guys gonna stay in there all day? There are others you know."

Trunks said, "Let's put our things in the car."

So with him carrying everything, they went back to their cars, and Emma was still whole.

"Your car looks as if it might have taken a bite of Emma, but it hasn't," Marron blurted out without meaning to. She turned her usual red.

"Emma?" The humor was in the sound of the word. "Why did you name your care Emma."

"She looked like an Emma," Marron defended.

"You're very interesting." He slammed down the trunk lid and his eyes were almost closed with his amusement. At himself or at her, he wasn't sure.

"Emma is a lady." She was prissy.

He professed with defensive indignation, "So? My car is a gentleman!"

"It doesn't look like it." It was an indictment. "It looks as if it would try to lead a lady astray." Like Trunks could.

"Gentlemen cars only go as fast as lady cars want." He gave her a level look and his voice was deliberately soft, but there was still that laughter in his tone.

She watched him. Had he just warned her to be careful? Or was that a promising type of threat?

He reached into his glove compartment, and removed several items, which he stored in his deep pockets. Then he pulled out a bottle of sunscreen and without asking her, slathered it on her arms and back. He was willing to do her chest, but she did it herself. He watched with interest, and he continued to watch as she did her face before she tied on her hat.

Then he allowed her to reach up to do his nape and ears. She had never touched a man so intimately. Her fingers and palms smoothed the liquid over his skin and she relished the very feel of him. His flesh was surprisingly smooth. Different. Hard.

Her breath shortened so that her lips parted. She was so affected that she paused to consider why she felt hat way. He turned and looked down at her, then took the container from her nerveless fingers to slap some sunscreen on his chest and arms and scrub it onto his face. "This is a burning day."

"Yes," she breathed, and she wondered if the burning would be from the sun.