the line.
“I’m going to calm her down before we go any further with this. She has high blood pressure and I don’t
want her getting worked up any more than she already is. She’s spent all these years trying to find you. A
few hours won’t make any difference.”
“You sure she’s all right?”
“Yes and now that’s she’s found you again, she’ll be better yet.”
“She knows where I am. She knows what I am,” Julian said and shame shuddered through him. “The
detective she sent…”
“That doesn’t matter to her. She just wants to see her son,” Bradford said.
After Julian hung up, promising to call back in the next day, he paced the confines of his office, thrusting
his hand repeatedly through his hair. He had forgotten all about Silkie Trevor’s visit and when the knock
came at his door, he flung it open, his face showing signs of fury at the interruption.
Silkie stepped back from the murderous look on Julian St. John’s face. He was glaring at her, his breath
coming in ragged gasps.
“I’m s-sorry,” she stammered. “I’ve obviously come at the wrong time.”
“No,” he said and reached for her, dragging her into his office and slamming the door behind her.
Unnerved by the animosity coming off this man in waves she could feel, Silkie started around him. “I’ll
come back later.”
He blocked her exit. “You wanted to ask me to send Sean to you,” he said and his eyes flared.
Silkie opened her mouth to deny it but her body wouldn’t allow her to. She merely nodded.
“What fantasy?” he snapped.
She blinked. “Excuse me?”
He threw out his hand with a negligent gesture. “To have a helper assigned to you, you need a fantasy.”
At a loss for words, completely stymied by the statement, she shrugged helplessly. “I don’t—”
“Pirate? Medieval knight? Indian warrior? Construction worker?” he rattled off. “You name it, lady, and
Sean will be it!”
The choices made her flinch. She shook her head, unable to think of Sean in those terms. Yes, he was
dangerous like a pirate. Yes, he was courtly as a knight. Yes, he was as powerful as an Indian warrior
would be and he was muscular as a construction worker but…
“A cowboy,” Julian grated, his teeth clenched. “You like cowboys?”
“Ah, yes, but—”
“Then go back to your room and I’ll send him to you later this evening.”
“Well, I don’t know, I—”
He didn’t allow her to finish. He took her arm and showed her to the door, opening it for her and
practically shoving her into the corridor. “He’ll be there,” he snarled. “He needs you as much as you need
him!”
With that, he shut the door in her face.
Chapter Eight
He was dressed like a cowboy who had just ridden into town looking for trouble. The black cotton
shirt—slightly soiled with what looked like trail dust—was open halfway down his tanned chest. The
black leather gun belt slung low over his lean hips and tied to one muscular thigh held a lethal-looking
Colt Peacemaker with a pearl handle. Around his neck was a black bandana tied in a careless knot at the
side of his throat. Black leather gloves, dusty black boots with slightly tarnished spurs, a black Stetson
with a silver concho headband, completed the picture of a gunslinger on the prowl. Over his shoulder
was draped a pair of worn leather saddlebags.
“Evening, ma’am,” he said in a thick Irish brogue as he touched the tip of his left index finger to his hat in
greeting.
Silkie swallowed and clutched the silken robe she wore closer to her throat. His deep voice sent shivers
down her spine. The tone was just above a seductive whisper and had surprised her before she
remembered Julian St. John telling her the only way a helper could talk to a guest was during a fantasy.
Hearing Sean speak sent flutters through her lower belly. Her eyes drank him in like a woman dying of
thirst before whom a tall, cold glass of water had been placed.
Gone
“I’m going to calm her down before we go any further with this. She has high blood pressure and I don’t
want her getting worked up any more than she already is. She’s spent all these years trying to find you. A
few hours won’t make any difference.”
“You sure she’s all right?”
“Yes and now that’s she’s found you again, she’ll be better yet.”
“She knows where I am. She knows what I am,” Julian said and shame shuddered through him. “The
detective she sent…”
“That doesn’t matter to her. She just wants to see her son,” Bradford said.
After Julian hung up, promising to call back in the next day, he paced the confines of his office, thrusting
his hand repeatedly through his hair. He had forgotten all about Silkie Trevor’s visit and when the knock
came at his door, he flung it open, his face showing signs of fury at the interruption.
Silkie stepped back from the murderous look on Julian St. John’s face. He was glaring at her, his breath
coming in ragged gasps.
“I’m s-sorry,” she stammered. “I’ve obviously come at the wrong time.”
“No,” he said and reached for her, dragging her into his office and slamming the door behind her.
Unnerved by the animosity coming off this man in waves she could feel, Silkie started around him. “I’ll
come back later.”
He blocked her exit. “You wanted to ask me to send Sean to you,” he said and his eyes flared.
Silkie opened her mouth to deny it but her body wouldn’t allow her to. She merely nodded.
“What fantasy?” he snapped.
She blinked. “Excuse me?”
He threw out his hand with a negligent gesture. “To have a helper assigned to you, you need a fantasy.”
At a loss for words, completely stymied by the statement, she shrugged helplessly. “I don’t—”
“Pirate? Medieval knight? Indian warrior? Construction worker?” he rattled off. “You name it, lady, and
Sean will be it!”
The choices made her flinch. She shook her head, unable to think of Sean in those terms. Yes, he was
dangerous like a pirate. Yes, he was courtly as a knight. Yes, he was as powerful as an Indian warrior
would be and he was muscular as a construction worker but…
“A cowboy,” Julian grated, his teeth clenched. “You like cowboys?”
“Ah, yes, but—”
“Then go back to your room and I’ll send him to you later this evening.”
“Well, I don’t know, I—”
He didn’t allow her to finish. He took her arm and showed her to the door, opening it for her and
practically shoving her into the corridor. “He’ll be there,” he snarled. “He needs you as much as you need
him!”
With that, he shut the door in her face.
Chapter Eight
He was dressed like a cowboy who had just ridden into town looking for trouble. The black cotton
shirt—slightly soiled with what looked like trail dust—was open halfway down his tanned chest. The
black leather gun belt slung low over his lean hips and tied to one muscular thigh held a lethal-looking
Colt Peacemaker with a pearl handle. Around his neck was a black bandana tied in a careless knot at the
side of his throat. Black leather gloves, dusty black boots with slightly tarnished spurs, a black Stetson
with a silver concho headband, completed the picture of a gunslinger on the prowl. Over his shoulder
was draped a pair of worn leather saddlebags.
“Evening, ma’am,” he said in a thick Irish brogue as he touched the tip of his left index finger to his hat in
greeting.
Silkie swallowed and clutched the silken robe she wore closer to her throat. His deep voice sent shivers
down her spine. The tone was just above a seductive whisper and had surprised her before she
remembered Julian St. John telling her the only way a helper could talk to a guest was during a fantasy.
Hearing Sean speak sent flutters through her lower belly. Her eyes drank him in like a woman dying of
thirst before whom a tall, cold glass of water had been placed.
Gone
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