It had been much too late in the morning to go for a jog by the time she had rolled out of bed and pulled her running shoes on, but here she was, running through her neighborhood and the stultifying East Texas heat like the Yankee lunatic that she was.

At least she had a house cooled by a working air conditioner waiting for her on her return. That is, if she could make it home alive. A wave of dizzyness overcame her, and she leaned against an enormous live oak conveniently located on her route until it passed, cursing herself for her stupidity. But after the dream that had torn her from her sleep earlier, the only thing she could think to do was run it off, 110 degrees humiditiy or not.

Cam's father, true to his word, had fixed her air conditioner the previous afternoon while she obediently sat through one of the few mediocre Hollywood films that made it to the twin multiplex on the edge of town. By the time she got back he was gone and the house was in the process of cooling down so that by nightfall she felt human again, no longer twisting and turning in her bed to find the last bit of coolness hiding in her sheets or beneath her pillow. As a result she had quickly nodded off and slept right through the next morning, until that dream that she had forced herself to wake up from.

She groaned aloud at the sudden memory of it and dropped to a crouch at the base of the tree, its thick roots snaking out around her before plunging down into the strip of dirt between road and houses. It hadn't rained in weeks, so the soil was a light and dusty parched color; those roots, she idly observed, would have to go deep to find what they needed. Again an image from her dream throbbed into her consciousness, and she clasped her hands to her face and shook her head as though to clear it all away. The sound of a passing car came and went, and then another, but still she did not look up, even though she realized how odd and possibly alarming she must appear.

"Miss Park?"

She snapped her head up in shock. It couldn't be—it was.

"Cam? What are you doing here?" Her student—former student—sat behind the driving wheel of a pickup, smiling at her in surprise.

"Me? How about you Miss Park, what are you doing here? Are you okay?"

She quickly scrambled to her feet and tried to smile in a carefree, casual way that would communicate just how terrific she was doing.

"Yes of course, I just needed a break from my jog. This heat—" She stopped herself from ranting about Texas weather; no matter who they were or which part of the state they came from, she had quickly learned that Texans got testy and defensive when anyone talked less than admiringly the place and its many—quirks.

Cam leaned over and pushed open the passenger side door.

"Let me give you a ride back to your place then," he said, the impish grin that had first greeted her replaced by a frown. "I was heading there anyway to pick up some tools my dad forgot out back your place."

She said nothing in reply, however, and only stood staring at the open door like a simpleton, as though it was a riddle that needed solving.

"Come on Miss Park, you don't look too hot right now, let me get you home," Cam urged softly, as though trying to coax a frightened animal into a pen. A pen for slaughter, her mind added.

"I won't do anything bad, I promise," he continued. "I'm sorry about last time, I am."

Her stomach lurched at this. She had assumed there existed a mutual agreement between them to pretend that nothing had happened that day in her kitchen. Suddenly she remembered that she was the actual adult here, not him.

"Cam, no, please don't apologize," she said, looking him in the eyes at last. She forced herself to walk up to the truck and climb up into its front seat. "That was my fault. It was wrong of me to let it happen, and I am sorry."

She busied herself with yanking at the recalcitrant seatbelt and buckling herself in, hopeful that the conversation was over. Cam put the truck into gear and began driving toward her house. They sat in silence, Cam steering with his left hand while his right arm and hand draped across the back of her seat, coming uncomfortably close to her neck. When she inhaled she could smell his scent, a mix of sweat and sunlight and the sweet desire of—

She jabbed at the radio and a blast of loud country music scattered the tension building between them.

"Oh God, not that one again," she grimaced, and reached to turn the dial. There was one local station that everyone everywhere listened to, and it reliably played the same dozen country pop ballads, almost all of which made her skin crawl in irritation.

Cam intercepted her hand and touched the dial protectively.

"Hey there Miss Park, don't you turn that song off," he grinned. "That was our prom song, don't you remember?"

"Our prom song?" she repeated, confused by what he meant. "I—Oh! Yes of course, the senior class' prom song!"

She blushed as she realized her gaffe, but Cam didn't seem to notice.

"What's the matter Miss Park, you don't like country music?" He was nodding his head to the beat, a cloying, insincere song of doublecross and heartbreak. Why in God's name had that been their prom song?

"Cam, this song is ridiculous," she said, rolling her eyes. "It makes me want to immediately go cheat on the guy, just because he is so annoying and whiny."

He shook his head slowly at her in mock disbelief.

"Miss Park! Shame on you," he scolded her with a teasing drawl. "He wouldn't stand a chance with you, the poor guy. He'd probably even come back for more."

But before she could reply her house had pulled into view, and she hissed in anger upon recognizing her landlord's truck parked out front.

"What is he doing here?" she muttered, already feeling nauseous at the thought of having to face him.

Cam carefully parked his truck even with Melvin's and turned to look at her.

"Who is it Miss Park?" he asked, that look of concern again on his face, the one he and his dad took turns throwing her way just so she could turn to jelly inside.

"It's—it's my landlord Cam, it's okay, I just—" and then she noticed that her front door was propped open.

"That creepy piece of shit!" she cried helplessly. She had told him she would call the cops if she ever caught him going into her house again without warning. She hurriedly started to unbuckle her belt and then stopped, suddenly afraid. She wished it was Cam's dad who had found her on the side of the road. She inhaled deeply and then smiled up at the young man beside her.

"Listen Cam," but before she could finish her sentence Cam had hopped out of the truck and was pulling out something long from behind the seat.

"Cam!" she cried when she realized it was a rifle. "Cam no!"

"Don't worry Miss Park, I'm not going to hurt him," he said, stopping to wink at her before heading toward the house. "It ain't even loaded, honest."

A minute later he was exiting her house again, this time with her morbidly obese, sweating landlord at the end of his rifle. He jabbed Melvin with it repeatedly until they stopped in front of the two parked trucks.

"I'm gonna call your daddy about this right after I call the police," Melvin was shouting back over his shoulder at Cam. "This is my house and I have every right to be in it!"

"It was my daddy who told me to keep a look out for you in the first place," Cam practically growled, his tan, handsome face transfixed with a look of pure disgust. "And I am pretty sure the police will want to hear all about what you were up to in Miss Park's bedroom when I found you."

That was when Melvin finally caught sight of her sitting in Cam's truck.

"You!" he exclaimed. "You damn slant-eyed bi—" but before he could finish Cam had shoved him violently against the hood of the truck.

"Cam!" she yelped in surprise. He had Melvin by the collar now, his eyes full of anger and menace.

"Don't you ever talk to her like that again you fat fuck," he said quietly, almost too low for her to hear. "And don't you ever come here again without her permission. If I hear otherwise, I swear to God I will make sure my gun is loaded the next time I run into you. Now get the fuck out of here."

He let go of Melvin then, and the older man scampered toward his truck, a look of fear on his face. Before he drove off he rolled down his window.

"You are crazy Cam Walker, just like the rest of your damn family," he jeered. "And you can tell your daddy I ain't paying for a dime for that repair job! I didn't approve it, and she had no right to allow it!"

But if Cam heard him he didn't show it, and Melvin sped off into the early afternoon sun with a storm of expletives trailing behind him.

She suddenly exhaled loudly, realizing she had been holding her breath since around the time Cam had pulled out a gun.

"Jesus," she said. "What the hell was that?"

Cam had opened the passenger side door and offered his hand to her, as though to help her out of the truck. Instead of arguing she took it, appreciating the strong, steadying feel it gave her shaking body. She didn't know exactly why her body was shaking, although shock mixed in with more heat and humidity than any one Jersey girl could ever absorb probably had something to do with it.

Among other possible reasons.

Unfortunately, his strong hand, rough with callouses, was not enough to stop her from trembling, prompting him to wrap an arm around her shoulders.

"Pardon me Miss Park, but you don't look so well," he said.

She opened her mouth to object, then realized with horror that she was about to be sick. She quickly turned away and stumbled toward a bush, where she managed to at least partially hide her face as she vomited up the black coffee and cheese danish she had swallowed before her ill-timed run earlier.

"Oh Jesus Christ, oh for fuckssakes, oh Jesus, what the fuck," she mumbled, keeping her head down and her back toward Cam as she waited for her stomach to settle. Her face burned with embarrassment.

"Miss Park, are you okay ma'am?" he said at last.

She carefully wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and stood up, trying to smile reassuringly.

"I'm so sorry Cam, yes of course, I—" and then she started ... crying. Crying? Why the fuck was she crying now? Right after puking her guts out in front of her student—her former student—who had just violently ejected her disgusting stalker landlord from her house? The sobs heaved out of her, like a storm that had gathered in the heat for too long, and finally, the last bit of strength in her gave out, and she fell to her knees and doubled over, the world a chaotic mess of tears and heat and nausea. She felt Cam's arms again, this time wrapped around all of her, and then there was nothing.