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stomach, all the way to the heart. He never saw it coming. She was still smiling when he fell down on the floor.” His eyes closed. “I never saw so much blood. She didn’t move. She stood there, holding the knife, while the life drained out of him. She never stopped smiling, not even when they took her away in the police car.”
    Millie was horrified. No wonder he wasn’t eager to get married and settle down. “What happened to her?” she asked gently.
    He drew in a long breath. “They committed her. They said she was insane.”
    Her heart jumped. “Was she?”
    He met her eyes. “I’ve never been sure, Millie,” he said gently. His expression was tormented. “She died long before they had tests that could have backed up their theories.” He shifted a little. “Our first set of foster parents told us very little, but they did mention that thepsychiatrist said it was schizophrenia. There’s a hereditary tendency toward it, I’ve read.”
    No wonder he wouldn’t reveal his background. He was ashamed. Perhaps he was afraid, too. Maybe he thought he’d go mad himself.
    She got up from the sofa and knelt down in front of him, balancing herself with a hand on one big knee. “I’ve read about mental illness. Some disease processes have a genetic tendency. That doesn’t guarantee that anybody else in the family will ever develop the same illness,” she said firmly. “You’re as sane as I am,” she added. “If you’d had mental deficiencies, believe me, they’d have shown up early. Very early.”
    He looked down at her, scowling. “You think so?” he asked.
    â€œI know so. Did you ever torture an animal for fun? Set fires in your house? Wet the bed when you were in your teens?”
    He laughed. “None of those.”
    â€œI’m no psychologist,” she told him. “But I’m a great reader. Children show signs of mental illness in childhood. Since you were in the child welfare system, I’m sure the caseworkers paid close attention to you, considering your mother’s illness. They would have put you in therapy immediately if they’d even suspected you had problems.”
    He cocked his head and laughed hollowly. “I can tell that you’ve had no contact with the system,” he saidwith a sigh. “There are people who do their best for foster kids. The woman you knew, who brought me to San Antonio and got me through high school was certainly one of the best foster parents. But I lived with one family in Atlanta who had seven foster kids. They used the money the state gave them to gamble. They went up to Cherokee every month and blew it on the slot machines, hoping to get rich. Meanwhile, the kids went without school clothes, food, attention, you name it. No caseworker ever set foot in the house. Nobody investigated when we went to school dirty. The state did finally get wise, when one of our teachers started asking questions. We were removed from that house. But, you see, there wasn’t another family willing to take me and my sister together. That’s when we got separated, just before I was fostered to the woman who adopted me and eventually brought me to Texas.”
    â€œI’m sorry,” she said.
    He drew her hands up to his mouth and kissed them. “You always did have the softest heart,” he said gently, surprising her. “I remember how you loved kids. You’d tell stories in the library during summer vacation, and they’d gather around you like flies around honey.” He laughed softly. “I loved watching your face when you told those stories. You lit up like a Christmas tree.”
    She was surprised. “When did you see me doing that?”
    â€œMany times,” he said surprisingly. The smile faded. “Ithought a lot of you. I was in a dangerous profession and a long way from wanting to settle down. But I