Lacy Read Free Page A

He
lifted his square chin and stared at her with unblinking, unforgiving eyes, the
very picture of a Texas cattleman with his weather-beaten face and unyielding
pride and blatant arrogance.
    She closed the door and moved forward. He didn't
frighten her. He never had, really, although he towered over her like a lean,
taciturn giant. He'd hardly smiled in the years she'd lived under his roof. She
wondered if he ever had as a boy. She loved him. But love was something he
didn't need. Love. And Lacy. He could do very well without either, and he'd
proven it over the past eight lonely months.
    "Hello, Cole," she said softly.
    He lifted the smoking cigarette to thin, firm
lips that held a faintly mocking smile. "Hello, yourself, kiddo. You look
prosperous enough," he mused, his eyes narrow on her short dark hair in
its bob, her face with its outrageously dark lip rouge, her blue eyes quiet and
abnormally bright as she stood before him, very trendy in her soft gray dress
that clung to her slender figure and displayed her long, elegant legs with
scandalous efficiency.
    She didn't avoid his stare. Her eyes wandered
over his face like loving hands, seeing the new lines, the rough edges. He was
twenty-eight now, but he'd aged in these months they'd been apart. The war had
aged him. Marriage hadn't seemed to help.
    "I'm doing very well, thanks," she
said, trying to keep her voice light. It was hard to handle this meeting, with
the memory of her abrupt departure—and the reason for it—still between them. He
seemed unperturbed by it, but her knees felt weak. "What brings you to San Antonio in the middle of the night?"
    "I've been trying to sell cattle. Winter's
coming on. Feed's getting hard to come by." He studied her blatantly, but
there was no feeling in his dark eyes. There was nothing at all.
    She moved closer, inhaling the masculine smell
of him, the scents of tobacco and leather that had become so familiar. She
touched his sleeve gently, loving the warmth of him under it, only to have him
jerk away from her and walk back toward the fireplace.
    Her hand felt odd, extended like that. She
pulled it back to her side with a wistful, bitter little smile. He still didn't
like her to touch him, after all this time. He never had. He took, but he never
gave. Lacy wasn't sure that he knew how to give.
    "How is your mother?" she asked.
    "She's fine."
    "And Katy and Bennett?"
    "My sister and brother are fine, too."
    She studied his long, lean back, watching him
stare at his likeness above the mantel. She'd had it painted soon after she'd
left Spanish Flats, and it was his mirror image. Dark, brooding, with eyes that
followed her everywhere she went. He was wearing work clothes in the portrait,
with a red bandanna at his throat and a white Stetson atop his dark, straight
hair. She loved the portrait. She loved the man.
    "What's that in aid of?" he asked
insolently, gesturing up at it. He turned, pinning her with his dark gaze.
"For show? To let everyone know
what a devoted little wife you are?"
    She smiled sadly. "Are we going to have
that argument again? I'm not suited to the ranch. You've been telling me that
since the day I stepped on the place for the first time. I'm—how did you put
it?—too genteel." That was a lie. She was well suited, and she loved it.
Her eyes glared at him. "But we both know why I left Spanish Flats,
Cole."
    His eyes flashed, and a dark stain of color
washed over his high cheekbones. He averted his eyes.
    Oh, damn, Lacy thought miserably. My tongue will
be the death of me. She laced her hands together. "Anyway, you never knew
I was around," she said stiffly. "Your day-to-day indifference
finally chased me away."
    "What did you expect me to do?" he
asked curtly. "Sit around and worship you? My ranch is in trouble,
teetering on a precipice in this damned slow agricultural market. I'm too busy
trying to support my family to dance attendance on a bored society girl."
He stared at her with cold, dark eyes. "That lounge