The summer of 1957 was scorching. I had just turned nineteen. I worked on one of my motorcycles until mid-afternoon, then decided to take a quick ride on my 125cc Harley to cool off. I wore only a pair of moccasins and my gym shorts—no shirt, helmet, or jock strap under my thin shorts. I didn’t expect to be gone for long, so I didn’t tell Mom I was leaving. Mom and I live in a modest bungalow in a small West Texas town. D...

Robert Conners I just turned eighty-five, and I give thanks every day for the life I have lived, especially for my wife of ten years, Dahlia Matthews, called “Lia” by everyone. She’s fifteen years my junior, has just turned seventy, yet looks many years younger. She has a well-proportioned figure; her skin is smooth with only faint lines that enhance her allure—remnants of her earlier lives as a high-fashion model in the...