By Diana Palmer
Rawhide and Lace
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Additional resources for Rawhide and Lace
I only meant he never showed his feelings, and she wore hers on her sleeve. I don't know how they were in bed. " The blush deepened. " she muttered. "And I thought I was old-fashioned," he said. He took a draw from his cigarette and sighed heavily as he stared at the three graves. "I'm the last one, now," he mused. "Funny, I thought Bruce would outlive me by twenty years. " she asked, lifting her eyes. "You work yourself to death trying to make a living, and then you die. In between, you worry about floods, droughts, taxes and capital outlay.
He wasn't used to women crying. He wasn't used to women, period. He didn't know how to handle this situation. She straightened. "I'm embarrassing you," she murmured. html He'd forgotten how honest she was; she never pulled her punches. Just like himself. His broad shoulders rose and fell. "I'm not used to women," he told her. She searched his eyes. " he asked quietly. " she persisted. He reached for another cigarette and lit it. "What a hell of a question," he said shortly. "Never mind, don't answer me; I don't care," she shot back.
But he missed what he'd lost even more: he missed the life he could have had with Erin. Christmas was only a month away, and he was tormented by images of how he might have been celebrating it if Bruce hadn't poisoned his mind. It seemed such a short time ago that Erin had come running toward him, laughing, her black hair like silk around an elfin face. And he'd melted inside just at the sight of her, gone breathless like a boy with his first real date. It still felt like that, despite her scars, her limp.
Rawhide and Lace by Diana Palmer