blare from a car horn coming up the driveway interrupted
him, and she turned and started down the steps with a burst of
relief that made her slender shoulders slump. "Tell Emma
goodbye," she called over her shoulder, "and tell Janna I'll write!"
He didn't answer her, his face dark and still, his eyes riveted
to the slender form as it crawled into the cab and the door closed.
He watched her go, his eyes haunted and tortured as the cab slowly
faded to a yellow speck in the distance.
Emma came out onto the porch behind him, drying her hands on the
white apron.
"I've got breakfast," she said gently.
He didn't answer her, his eyes blank, his face drawn.
"You wanted her to go," Emma reminded him. "That's what
you told me last night."
He turned and went into the house, into his den, closing the
door behind him firmly. With a sigh, Emma went back to the kitchen,
idly wondering how she was going to explain any of this to
Janna.
Later, sitting wearily on the bus to Miami, Maggie read
Duke Masterson's letter for the third time and said a silent thank you to the big dark
man for this way out. She couldn't have borne going back to the
apartment just yet, facing Janna and the inevitable questions. The
wound was too raw, too new to be probed just now. In a few days, a
few weeks…she gazed lovingly at the ticket that promised
escape. It was a reprieve from too much hurting, too much pain.
Philip, then Clint…especially Clint. She closed her eyes against
the bitter memory. Would she ever forget how he'd humbled her;
would she ever heal from the crippling blow her pride had
suffered?
Her eyes turned to the window, to the palmettos and pines on the
horizon, the occasional home tucked away in a nest of trees.
Things were going to be awkward from now on. She wouldn't be able
to spend holidays with Janna ever again if they meant the ranch and
Clint. It would be worse when he flew into town on business
and came to see his sister. She sighed wearily. Perhaps it would be
better if she looked for a job in Atlanta and moved away from her childhood
friend. That would be painful, too. But maybe, in the long run, it
would be for the best.
She leaned her head back against the seat and closed her tired
eyes. It seemed so long since she'd slept, since she'd felt any
peace at all. Her mind was full of Clint, of the old days.
It seemed so long ago that she and Clint had sat on the porch
swing together and talked about horses. Or went for long rides in
the forest as she listened to his tales about the early days of
Florida's exploration when canoes sailed down the Suwan-nee
River on scouting trips.
He made the Sunshine State come alive for her. She could see the
proud Spanish conquistadores tramping through the underbrush
by the river. She could hear the drums of the proud, fierce
Seminoles, who were never conquered by the United States government
despite a series of three wars they fought between 1817 and 1858.
She could picture the tall sailing ships that departed
Florida's sandy coast, bound for the Indies or South America.
She sighed. Clint had liked her as a child. They'd been friends.
But now he was an enemy, and all her tears wouldn't change that.
Not after what he'd done to her. Her eyes closed with pain at the
memory. Had that really been necessary, she wondered, the
humiliation he'd caused? Why should it have upset him so, what she
said while they were out riding, about being ashamed of what
he could make her feel?
She shook her head idly. If he'd wanted to shame her, he'd
accomplished that. But what puzzled her was the look on his face
the next morning, the dark, hungry look in the green eyes that
watched her leave the ranch. Had it been guilt in his eyes-or
pain?
Her brows came together. She wondered what Janna would think
when she got there; or would Clint even tell his sister the whole story? She hadn't mentioned that she was going to
Miami. Nobody knew she had the cruise ticket. Clint and Emma had
simply assumed that she was going
him, and she turned and started down the steps with a burst of
relief that made her slender shoulders slump. "Tell Emma
goodbye," she called over her shoulder, "and tell Janna I'll write!"
He didn't answer her, his face dark and still, his eyes riveted
to the slender form as it crawled into the cab and the door closed.
He watched her go, his eyes haunted and tortured as the cab slowly
faded to a yellow speck in the distance.
Emma came out onto the porch behind him, drying her hands on the
white apron.
"I've got breakfast," she said gently.
He didn't answer her, his eyes blank, his face drawn.
"You wanted her to go," Emma reminded him. "That's what
you told me last night."
He turned and went into the house, into his den, closing the
door behind him firmly. With a sigh, Emma went back to the kitchen,
idly wondering how she was going to explain any of this to
Janna.
Later, sitting wearily on the bus to Miami, Maggie read
Duke Masterson's letter for the third time and said a silent thank you to the big dark
man for this way out. She couldn't have borne going back to the
apartment just yet, facing Janna and the inevitable questions. The
wound was too raw, too new to be probed just now. In a few days, a
few weeks…she gazed lovingly at the ticket that promised
escape. It was a reprieve from too much hurting, too much pain.
Philip, then Clint…especially Clint. She closed her eyes against
the bitter memory. Would she ever forget how he'd humbled her;
would she ever heal from the crippling blow her pride had
suffered?
Her eyes turned to the window, to the palmettos and pines on the
horizon, the occasional home tucked away in a nest of trees.
Things were going to be awkward from now on. She wouldn't be able
to spend holidays with Janna ever again if they meant the ranch and
Clint. It would be worse when he flew into town on business
and came to see his sister. She sighed wearily. Perhaps it would be
better if she looked for a job in Atlanta and moved away from her childhood
friend. That would be painful, too. But maybe, in the long run, it
would be for the best.
She leaned her head back against the seat and closed her tired
eyes. It seemed so long since she'd slept, since she'd felt any
peace at all. Her mind was full of Clint, of the old days.
It seemed so long ago that she and Clint had sat on the porch
swing together and talked about horses. Or went for long rides in
the forest as she listened to his tales about the early days of
Florida's exploration when canoes sailed down the Suwan-nee
River on scouting trips.
He made the Sunshine State come alive for her. She could see the
proud Spanish conquistadores tramping through the underbrush
by the river. She could hear the drums of the proud, fierce
Seminoles, who were never conquered by the United States government
despite a series of three wars they fought between 1817 and 1858.
She could picture the tall sailing ships that departed
Florida's sandy coast, bound for the Indies or South America.
She sighed. Clint had liked her as a child. They'd been friends.
But now he was an enemy, and all her tears wouldn't change that.
Not after what he'd done to her. Her eyes closed with pain at the
memory. Had that really been necessary, she wondered, the
humiliation he'd caused? Why should it have upset him so, what she
said while they were out riding, about being ashamed of what
he could make her feel?
She shook her head idly. If he'd wanted to shame her, he'd
accomplished that. But what puzzled her was the look on his face
the next morning, the dark, hungry look in the green eyes that
watched her leave the ranch. Had it been guilt in his eyes-or
pain?
Her brows came together. She wondered what Janna would think
when she got there; or would Clint even tell his sister the whole story? She hadn't mentioned that she was going to
Miami. Nobody knew she had the cruise ticket. Clint and Emma had
simply assumed that she was going
Similar Books
