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each slammed down his receiver.
    When Sam looked up, he found Tess leaning against the end of the desk, her face solemn. And his pulled down into deep, harsh lines.
    “Hello, Toughie.” He leaned back in the chair and stared at her, his green eyes just as vivid as she remembered, but cold. Tess was familiar with every nuance of his face but this was something new, glittering and hard. He muttered, “About time you showed up.”
    “How did you know?” She looked away from his dark face trying to cover her dismay.
    “No mystery. This is the biggest story your new husband is ever going to run. He needed good art and you’re the best. And you never could resist checking out your pictures in ink.”
    So he knew about Jack too. She raised her eyes to meet his and her mouth turned up with a sad smile as she whispered, “What do you want, Sam?”
    His mouth tightened. “I want to hold your cowardly little feet to the fire.” She stayed silent. His voice began to rise and he jabbed a finger at her. “I want to force you to screw up a little fucking courage to look me in the eye ... ”
    She held up her hands, as if he were pointing a gun at her. “OK, OK. My god, you got me. I’ll talk.” He caught his breath and the smile spread slowly from the corners of her mouth with a hint of impudence as she dropped her hands. “Still battling with your editors, no matter where you work, eh?”
    The fact that she remembered that he was always ready to fight for his work finally made his face relax a bit. “Well, editors are still stupid, even the online ones. Is eavesdropping a new skill you’ve mastered?”
    “A conversation that loud is a cry for attention,” and she laughed. She was always quick to laugh, especially at him. She didn't intimidate as easily as most people, and with a pang, Sam realized it still enticed him.
    Since she’d left, he tried not to think of her. And when the memories did come, he forced himself to picture her worn and dumpy, maybe with a snotty kid dragging at her hand. But if anything, she looked better, her face a little fuller, the drawn look of their last weeks together gone, the dimple in her chin more pronounced. Her deep blue eyes were just as clear and lively, even though at the moment, they were ringed with fatigue. He remembered that too, how those dark circles showed when she’d been up all night, either on assignment or with their bedroom romping.
    He hooked the chair next to the desk with his foot and dragged it out a few inches. “Here, you’re dead on your feet.”
    “Well, you aren’t a bit more tactful, that’s for sure.” But she sank down and sighed. For a long moment they were quiet. “Your hair is getting gray,” she said finally.
    “Now who’s blunt?”
    “Actually, it’s nice in the dark curls,” and she added, “Damn it, I was hoping you’d be bald by now.”
    Finally his mouth turned up in a faint smile. “I’m still no match for that gigantic stud you’ve hooked up with. Sweet Jesus, how tall is that Norse god?”
    She wrinkled her nose at his sarcasm. “Six-six. Used to play basketball at Iowa State.”
    Sam whistled softly and said, “You sure landed a humdinger. Is your name Tess Westphal now?”
    She shook her head. “I still use Benedict. It’s easier, professionally.”
    “Yeah, that’s what Judith always says.”
    It was immediate, the awkward silence at the mention of his wife. All those times they’d been together, he made a point of never saying her name. Now it felt like another person had slipped into the room, and Tess shut her eyes.
    Into the tense silence, Sam finally said, “Nice building.” He gave a vague incline of his head toward the main area of the newsroom. She nodded again, and he added, “Great desk,” rapping his knuckles against it. “Your old man must love working at it,” and he muttered, “Probably thinks he’s William Allen White.” She didn’t need him to explain how he knew the desk was Jack’s. Set off