Sweet Enemy Read Free

he…he was
right. I didn't feel that way with him, I couldn't…!" She drew a long, sobbing
breath.
    His fingers tightened on her slender neck. "How old was he?" he
asked gently.
    She swallowed down another sob. "Twenty-seven."
    "Experienced?"
    "Very."
    "Was he patient, Maggie?" he asked.
    She drew a soft breath, her eyes closing tightly. "He…took it
for granted that I knew…well, that I…"
    His chest rose deeply against her, and fell with a sound like
impatience. "It's just as well, Irish," he said at her ear. "Better
to find him out now than after the wedding."
    "Clint, I'm sorry I jumped…" she began.
    His cheek moved against hers, rough and warm. "Dry up, little
watering pot. I've got cattle to tend, and Emma's going to be standing on her head wondering what happened to us. Okay
now?"
    "Yes." She managed a wan smile for him. "Clint, I'm sorry about
Lida…"
    His face was shuttered, but not angry. He flicked a careless
forefinger against her nose. "Let's go home."
    He turned back to the saddle horn and coaxed the stallion into a
canter. He didn't say another word until they got to the sprawling
white frame ranch house in its nest of oaks and pecan trees. He let
her down at the white fence beside the front porch.
    Sitting astride the black stallion, he was an impressive figure,
tall in the saddle and ramrod straight. He lit a cigarette, his
eyes studying her quietly for a long moment.
    "Must you stare at me like that?" she asked uneasily, shifting
under the bold thoroughness of his scrutiny. "I feel like a heifer
on market day."
    Something cruel flashed in his pale eyes. "I'm not putting in
any bids," he replied innocently. "I'll have one of the boys fetch your luggage.
Emma'll get you something to eat. I'll explain what I need done
when I get in tonight."
    The coldness in him, so sudden and unexpected, made chills
run down her spine. For years they'd been make-believe
enemies. But this felt like the real thing. He looked at her
as if…as if he hated her!
    "I still think it might be better if I went home," she said.
    "You'll stick it out," he countered sharply. "I can't get a
replacement at this short notice, and I've got correspondence
backed up to the eaves, with a sale day coming up."
    "Orders, Mr. Raygen?" she fumed.
    A wisp of a smile touched that hard, stern face that was so much
a stranger's, emphasizing the nose that had been broken at least
twice and showed it. "Orders, Irish."
    "Will you stop calling me that? You know I hate it!"
    "By all means, hate it. Hate me, too, if it helps. I don't give
a damn, and you know that, too, don't you, little girl?" he asked
with a hellish grin.
    She whirled on her heels and stalked through the gate onto the
long white porch, with its rocking chairs and wide porch swing and
pots filled with blooming flowers.
     

     
    Two
    Emma was rolling out dough in the spacious, homey kitchen
when Maggie walked in and, unmindful of the flour up to her elbows,
she grabbed the younger woman in a bearish hug.
    Maggie laughed, smothered in the ample girth of Emma's
huge embrace, feeling really at home for the first time.
    "It's so good to have another woman here, I could jump for joy,"
Emma grinned, running one floury hand through her short, silver hair.
"Clint Raygen's been like a wild man for the past month. I'll
swear, I never thought a hussy like that Lida Palmes could affect
him in such a way. If you ask me, it's just hurt pride that's
eating him, but it doesn't make any difference to his temper."
    "So I've noticed," Maggie sighed, and sat down at the long
kitchen table where Emma was making bread. "What did she do to
him?"
    "Walked out on him without a word. Not even a day's notice." She
shrugged. "Found herself a rich Florida millionaire, they
said."
    "He couldn't have been that much richer than Clint," Maggie
remarked.
    "He wasn't," Emma smiled. "And he had twenty years on him, to
boot. Nobody understood what got into her. One day she was queening
it over me and the ranch hands, the