"And if Iremember correctly, Mark told you to be our 'waitress.' Not our waiterStevie, our waitress." Yes, I remember," I said quietly. "He called m... your waitress." I remember one of those nights in particular," she said, teasing mewith her voice. "Do you remember the one I'm thinking about Stevie?" Um, I'm, I'm not sure," I stammered."Oh, really? Not sure?" No, Ma'am," I answered, lying in the hope my complete humiliationmight be avoided and yet so sexually excited and turned on by. Ahhhh... ! The lyrics of that sweet old country ballad from the 1930's came drifting back on Memory's Tide as I started to write this story ... hence the title.June Richardson wrapped her arm protectively around her daughter's shoulders. They stood watching a lone rider riding away from the wagon train. A few minutes later, he was just a small speck on the distant purple horizon."Mommie, do you think he'll ever come back?" I don't know, Honey," her mother replied honestly."Will we ever see him. More

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