Dream's End by Diana Palmer Page A

hotheaded little mule,” he began slowly, the whip in his voice was so sharp that it cut. “You empty-headed, idiotic, stupid little fool! You could have been killed in there, you damned lunatic!” He was warming up now, and what followed was louder, rougher, and laced with language like nothing she’d ever heard him use before. Her face had gone red and tears were rolling down her cheeks before he finally stopped to take a breath.
    â€œBoss,” Docious interrupted hesitantly, “we need to get you to the saw-bones and have him patch you up before you bleed to death.”
    â€œWhat the hell do I need with a doctor?” Curry wanted to know, flashing his blazing glance in the tall cowboy’s direction. “Get me the hell in the house and call Jake in off the fence line. He can patch me up.”
    â€œCurry, he’s good at patching up animals, but…”
    â€œDon’t tell me what he is, Docious, I know damned well what he is, just get him, will you?” Curry growled. He glared up at Eleanor, whose face was white as paste. “Let Eleanor take over riding fence,” he added sarcastically. “Since she’s decided she’s one of the hands!”
    That was the last straw. She turned with a sob and ran for her horse, tears streaming down her cheeks. She rode away without a backward glance.

Eight
    E leanor stayed in her room for the rest of the day, refusing Bessie’s offer to bring her supper up, doggedly refusing to even ask about Curry even though she was aching to be reassured that he was all right.
    Night came, and she turned on the small lamp by her bed, taking up her seat in the armchair by the window to stare blankly out of it with eyes that burned from too many tears.
    She heard the door open, and one quick glance showed her that it was Curry. She bit her lip, feeling the tears come again, warm and wet and salty, trickling into the corners of her mouth.
    Curry came and knelt in front of her. His shirt was open down the front, and she could see the stark white bandage against the bronzed flesh of his rib cage, his chest with its mat of dark, curling hair. His hands went to her waist and he held her gently, looking straight into her misty eyes, his own gaze dark and quiet with what might have been pain.
    â€œYou scared the hell out of me, little girl, do you know that?” he asked softly. “I died twice watching you in the ring with that bull, knowing that any minute the horns could catch you, the way they caught me. You sweet, crazy little fool, what if he’d gored you in the stomach? You might never be able to bear children, did you even think about that?”
    She bit her lip, shaking her head softly.“I…I thought he was going…to kill you,” she said simply, and her tear-filled eyes met his, shimmering like spring leaves in the rain.
    â€œHoney,” he whispered softly, “what the hell good would it do me to live if your life was the price I had to pay?”
    A tear worked its way down her flushed cheek. His hands went to her cheeks, drawing her forward, and his lips sipped away the tear, following it back to her closed eyelids, his tongue gently brushing the long, wet lashes in a silent intimacy that throbbed with emotion.
    â€œCurry?” she whispered unsteadily, her hands going involuntarily to his broad shoulders.
    His breath came hard and heavy. “What?” he whispered in a voice that wasn’t quite steady as his mouth began to explore, to touch and lift and taste the contours of her face.
    â€œAre…you hurt bad?” she asked.
    â€œI’ll have a scar out of it,” he murmured absently.
    â€œYou…you bled so much,” she whispered. Her fingers dug into his hard shoulders as the lazy, brief caresses began to work on her like a narcotic.
    â€œIt wasn’t any more than a cut and a bad bruise,” he murmured. He looked into her misty eyes, searching them in a