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fees when the purses aren't supplemented like here in
Wayback. You try to better your own score, increase your
standing. It's a way, I guess, to measure yourself against the
rest of the world. And if you measure up, you can take home
some serious money. Does that make sense?"
She nodded but her smile had tightened. Maybe it was
time to change the subject.
"So you're going to be a teacher and your mom's a
teacher. What about your dad?" She hadn't said a thing about
her father. The house didn't seem like a man's home. Flowers
on everything, pale shades of pinks and greens. Even the
kitchen looked like a garden with its floral wall paper and
green lattice print curtains. No sign of a male presence
anywhere, except a photo on the fireplace mantle in the living
room he hadn't had a chance to inspect. Maybe her parents
were divorced. Having divorced parents could make a person
wary of men. He added two pennies to the pile.
She worried her lower lip and stared hard at her cards. "He
passed away nine years ago." Her voice was steady, no
inflection from emotion.
"I'm sorry." He was. More than she could guess. "I lost my
own around that time."
She peered at him over the top of the cards, those blue
eyes curious. "Really? How?"
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by Anne Carrole
He shrugged. Time had made it easier to talk about at
least. "Got kicked in the head helping shoe a horse."
"He was a wrangler, too?" With a clang she tossed a penny
onto the heap.
He should have raised higher. "I'm following in his
footsteps." He laid down his cards, a straight. No need to
explain yet what he did or didn't do. Best if she thought he
was just a rodeo cowboy. There'd be no expectations of
anything more if she thought he was the type to drift.
"My sympathies, Clay. I know how tough it must have
been." She laid down three of a kind, kings.
He scooped up the pitiful pile of pennies and added them
to his small one. "How did you lose your father?"
"Lung cancer." Her tone was flat but she bit on her lip as if
she was afraid it would run away.
"Sorry. That must have been tough."
She nodded and shuffled the deck. The cards ended up
askew, and she fiddled to right them. They both were silent
as she dealt. She obviously was wrestling with some
unresolved pain. He knew about that. Watching the play of
emotions on her face as she struggled to hide it, he felt
strangely protective of her. She seemed fragile, as if all that
bluster of hers was masking some deeper vulnerability.
He picked up his cards. Nothing. "You always think you'll
have time. My father and I butted heads a lot. I wasn't
exactly an easy teenager. I still miss him. Every day." He
rarely talked about his father with anyone.
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by Anne Carrole
She lay down the hand and fixed her gaze on the back of
the cards. "I know. I wasn't easy either. Actually, I was pretty
angry at him for dying, for leaving us for good."
Yup. He sure could relate. "Me too."
Her gaze found him. Those beautiful lake blue eyes of hers
could mesmerize Rasputin. His heart did a two-step.
"Really?"
"Oh yeah. Big time angry. Took me years to realize it
wasn't his fault. I blamed him for always having to be in the
center of things, you know. If he'd just left the shoeing to the
blacksmith. Seems stupid when I say it out loud." He put in
two pennies to open.
She shook her head. "I know. I think I've hung onto my
grievance for too long. I'm not even sure any of it was
justified. I think I was wrong about him all this time. And I
can never tell him." Her eyes glistened, as if they were
holding back tears.
He understood about finality, too. He'd gone through the
same guilt after the anger had subsided. But apparently she
hadn't been able to put it to rest yet. In fact, she looked like
she could still use comforting.
"I'm pretty sure your father knows. You ever talk to your
father?"
Her eyebrows shot up in question. "No, he's..."
Clay smiled. He should have expected the reaction. "I
know. But I talk to my father just about every day over
something. I'll be moseying along and find myself with a
problem I'm sure he faced and I'll just ask for his help." Clay
shrugged hoping he was hiding his unease in talking about
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by Anne Carrole
this. "Damn if the answer doesn't come to me." He shook his
head feeling a little stupid for his confession and looked at her
from under his brow. "Sound strange?"
"Actually, I've heard my mother doing just that when she
thinks no one's around." She sent him a small smile. "I think
maybe I should try it."
He gave a half-nod. "No guarantees, but if nothing else, I
think it will make you feel better." Now she probably thought
he was a complete idiot. "How about we go in there and just
listen to Kenny Wayne?" He couldn't keep looking and not
touching. And, while he'd every intention of keeping his word
about being a Texas gentleman, he had a special brand of
comfort in mind.
"Okay," she whispered the word.
Maybe now he'd get a chance.
* * * *
"I told you I'd be a gentleman, and, despite what it will
cost me, I'll keep my word." Clay had a big old smile on his
face as he patted the cushion of the sofa where he sat. Kenny
Wayne was singing about giving a girl everything. She didn't
doubt this cowboy could.
She fiddled with the sound control of the MP3 player on
the end table. Every fiber of her being screamed for her to sit
next to him. If he'd just keep it to kissing. Heck, who was she
kidding? If she'd just keep it to kissing.
She'd no doubt he'd keep his word about being a
gentleman. But if she asked him, he wouldn't be breaking it.
Why had she thought she could entertain him alone in her
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by Anne Carrole
house and not find him in her bed in the morning? That lazy
smile of his said he bet she couldn't. What the hell.
Within a second of her sitting down, he wrapped a muscled
arm around her shoulder and tugged her closer. She could
feel the heat from his body as her bare thigh made contact
with his denim-covered one. She stared at warm eyes and a
slanted grin and her insides went liquid like some blender had
been switched on at full speed.
"Now being a gentleman..." His husky voice rolled over her
like a soothing lullaby. "...I'll ask first if I can kiss you. Just
kiss you, honey. That's all." His wine-laced breath blew hot on
her skin, the last sentences half-whispered in her ear.
In an involuntary movement, her head nodded in
agreement. Oh God, what if he asked permission for
everything? And she granted it? She doubted she had the
willpower to act differently. From the moment he'd stood at
her door she'd wanted to kiss him and more. Having spent
the evening with him, want had turned to need.
His hand caressed her cheek, leaving a rough trail of heat
as he traced her jaw line. Her puréed insides began to quiver.
"I'm going to take it slow, darling," he drawled in her ear.
He shifted so she was staring right into shining eyes
beckoning her to trust him. But he wanted her for only one [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]