The Best Way to Lose Read Free Page A

uncouthness. “Try to convince her to eat something. She hasn’t had anything all day. She’s barely been out of this room except once to see Elliot and pray in the chapel. She’s putting on a brave front, but I know she’s scared sick like the rest of us.”
    “We’re all very worried about him,” Trace agreed and finally let his gaze stray to the window where his father’s wife stood. Yellow sunlight poured through the window, showering the tall, ebony-haired woman with its golden hues.
    “Paul and I will let Pilar know we’re leaving.”
    Either his arrival or the Austins’ departure seemed to signal the exodus of the rest. Trace stood to one side and observed the comforting hugs and warm kisses each bestowed on his father’s wife, along with encouraging words of hope.
    The room became oddly silent when only the two of them remained to occupy it. Trace removed his much-worn captain’s hat and combed his fingers through his black hair, rumpling the flatness left by the hat. Then he held the cap in both hands to keep them busy so they wouldn’t get other ideas about holding something else.
    “Hello, Pilar.” It was a bland greeting, too contained and too reserved.
    Pilar held the directness of those gray eyes for a few seconds while he wandered leisurely across the room to the window. A sudden resentment flared at the sight of such healthy male vigor, so strong and rugged. The sweaty male smell of him merely seemed to emphasize his virility. It made no sense, but she hated him for standing there when his father was lying in a hospital bed, stuck full of tubes and wires and needles. That anger was back, impotent and frustrating.
    “Hello, Trace.” Always she searched for some resemblance to Elliot and found none. Elliot was handsome and urbane while there was something earthy about his son.
    She walked past him, twisting her fingers together in distressed agitation. With her friends she’d had little desire for conversation. She had even less with Trace Santee, who was virtually a stranger to her. But he was Elliot’s son. Out of consideration for him, she felt a sense of duty to go through the motions.
    “I don’t know how much you were told about what happened and the extent of…” Pilar faltered, her poise breaking for the first time at the task of verbally expressing the very situation she so violently resented.
    “There’s no need to fill me in on the details,” Trace inserted into the involuntary pause.
    He could hear the strain in her voice. When she turned to face him again, he observed the tension around her mouth and eyes. He also noticed the absence of swollen, puffy eyelids and the redness from tears. Whatever she was feeling, it was locked up inside. There was a slow traveling of his gaze over her face to take in its smoldering beauty, the classic cheekbones and warm red lips.
    There was so much fire there, so much passion. Trace swung away before wayward urges took hold of him. The first time he’d met her, it had been at the wedding. At the time he’d joked that he was sure she’d understand if he didn’t call her “Mother.” Only it hadn’t been a joke. With each passing year the humor had faded until it was no longersome thing to laugh about. Nagged by guilt over the feelings the sight of his father’s wife aroused in him, Trace had kept his distance and channeled all that restless energy into other pursuits.
    A vinyl-covered chair was in front of him and Trace lowered himself into it, stretching out his long legs and hooking his hat over the end of the armrest. It wasn’t easy to keep his eyes off her. His glance traveled up the shapely calf of her leg to the hem of the smoky blue skirt, then made a quick run to her face.
    “I thought you’d want to know what happened.” There was something half angry about the curtness of her statement that seemed to challenge him for his lack of concern.
    “Digger Jones gave me a ride to the hospital. He got the lowdown from Cassie