If Winter Comes Read Free Page A

him.
     
    Carla turned, purse in
hand, and made her way through the crowd to Bill Peck and Blanche.
     
    Peck’s eyes narrowed
thoughtfully on her face. “He got you,” he said immediately.
     
    “Uncanny insight, Mr.
Peck,” she replied with a wan smile. “I didn’t get the chance to plead my case.
He must be absolute hell in a courtroom.”
     
    “You’d think so if
you’d ever seen him in one,” the older reporter agreed. “I’ve seen prospective
witnesses cringe when they saw him coming. Was it rough?”
     
    She shrugged,
pretending a calm she didn’t feel. “A little skin’s missing,” she said with a
laugh.
     
    “Sorry,” he said. “That
was my hiding you took.”
     
    “The rewrite man’s,”
she corrected. “Don’t worry about it. It goes with the job, remember? That’s
what everybody tells me.”
     
    “Amen.”
     
    “Well, I’ve gritted my
teeth and made my appearance,” she added. “I’ve got my notes in my grubby
little hand, and I’m getting out of here before His Honor takes another bite
out of me. See you in the morning.”
     
    “Don’t brood on it,” he
cautioned.
     
    “I won’t.” She smiled
at the blonde. “Good night.”
     
    “Good night.” Blanche
smiled back. “Don’t sweat it, honey, we all get our lumps occasionally,
deserved or not.”
     
    “Sure,” she said.
     
    She wound her way
through the crowd to Senator White and thanked him for the invitation, then she
turned and moved quickly to the door. Just as her hand touched the doorknob, a
large, warm hand covered it, effectively stopping her, and before she turned,
she recognized the black onyx ring on the tanned, masculine hand.
     
    “Peck told me what
happened when you darted out of the room,” Bryan Moreland said quietly, and she
had to look up a long way to his face, despite her two-inch heels and her
formidable five feet, seven inches of height. So that was why Bill had looked
so unconcerned.
     
    “Did he?” she asked
wanly, meeting the darkness in his eyes with uneasiness.
     
    “I like to place blame
where it’s due,” he said in his deep, lazy voice. “Why didn’t you tell me you
weren’t responsible for that story?”
     
    Her eyes flickered down
to his burgundy tie. “You didn’t give me much of a chance, Mr. Moreland,” she
said.
     
    “Mister?” His heavy
eyebrows went up. “God, do I look that old?”
     
    “No, sir.”
     
    He sighed heavily. “Not
going to forget it, are you?” he taunted.
     
    She raised her eyes to
his with a faint grin. “Not going to apologize, are you?” she returned.
     
    Something kindled in
his dark eyes, making them velvet soft, sensuous. A hint of a smile turned up a
corner of his wide, firm mouth. She found herself blushing and hated the way
she felt: young and gauche and very much outmatched.
     
    “I haven’t had much
practice at it,” he admitted.
     
    “Always right, huh?”
she asked.
     
    “Cheeky little thing,
aren’t you?” he challenged.
     
    “Nosey,” she countered,
and he chuckled deeply.
     
    “Well, good night,” she
said, reaching again for the doorknob.
     
    “Do you have a way
home?” he asked unexpectedly.
     
    All of a sudden, she
wished with all her heart that she didn’t. She somehow felt warm and soft
inside, and she wanted to know more about the big man.
     
    “Yes,” she replied
reluctantly.
     
    “Good night, then.” He
turned and left her at the door with her sudden, nagging disappointment.
     
    She got down to the
street where her car was parked just in time to be confronted with two tall,
menacing boys. There were streetlights around the senator’s palatial home, but
it was a little-traveled street, and there wasn’t a soul in sight. Carla
started toward her car with sheer bravado, mentally cursing herself for coming
out here alone.
     
    “Ain’t she pretty,” one
of the boys called with a long whistle, his voice slurred as if he’d been
drinking.
     
    “A looker, all right,”
the