Tough to Tame Read Free

was so handsome, so…eligible,” she added quietly. “I guess I was flattered that a man like that would look twice at me. I’m no beauty.”
    “You are. Inside.”
    “You’re a nice brother. How about that soup?”
    He sighed. “I’ll eat it if you’ll fix it. I’m sorry. About the way I am.”
    “Like you can help it,” she muttered, and smiled. “I’ll get it started.”
    He watched her walk away, thoughtful.
    She brought in a tray and had her soup with him. There were just the two of them, all alone in the world. Their parents had died long ago, when she was ten. Kell, who’d been amazingly athletic and healthy in those days, had simply taken over and been a substitute parent to her. He’d been in the military, and they’d traveled all over the world. A good deal of her education had been completed through correspondent courses, although she’d seen a lot of the world. Now, Kell thought he was a burden, but what had she been for all those long years when he’d sacrificed his own social life to raise a heartbroken kid? She owed him a lot. She only wished she could do more for him.
    She remembered him in his uniform, an officer, so dignified and commanding. Now, he was largely confined to bed or that wheelchair. It wasn’t even a motorized one, because they couldn’t afford it. He did continue to work, in his own fashion, at crafting a novel. It was an adventure, based on some knowledge he’d acquired from his military background and a few friends who worked, he said, in covert ops.
    “How’s the book coming?” she asked.
    He laughed. “Actually I think it’s going very well. I spoke to a buddy of mine in Washington about some new political strategies and robotic warfare innovations.”
    “You know everybody.”
    He made a face at her. “I know almost everybody.” He sighed. “I’m afraid the phone bill will be out ofsight again this month. Plus I had to order some more books on Africa for the research.”
    She gave him a look of pride. “I don’t care. You accomplish so much,” she said softly. “More than a lot of people in much better shape physically.”
    “I don’t sleep as much as most people do,” he said wryly. “So I can work longer hours.”
    “You need to talk to Dr. Coltrain about something to make you sleep.”
    He sighed. “I did. He gave me a prescription.”
    “Which you didn’t get filled,” she accused. “Connie, at the pharmacy, told on you.”
    “We don’t have the money right now,” he said gently. “I’ll manage.”
    “It’s always money,” she said miserably. “I wish I was talented and smart, like you. Maybe I could get a better-paying job.”
    “You’re good at what you do,” he replied firmly. “And you love your work. Believe me, that’s a lot more important than making a big paycheck. I should know.”
    She sighed as she sipped her soup. “I guess.” She gave him a quick glance. “But it would help with the bills.”
    “My book is going to make us millions,” he told her with a grin. “It will hit the top of the New York Times bestseller list, I’ll be in demand for talk shows and we’ll be able to buy a new car.”
    “Optimist,” she accused.
    “Hey, without hope, what have we got?” He looked around with a grimace. “Unpainted walls, cracks in the paint, a car with two hundred thousand miles on it and a leaky roof.”
    “Oh, darn,” she muttered, following his eyes to the yellow spot on the ceiling. “I’ll bet another one of those stupid nails worked its way out of the tin. I wish we could have afforded a shingle roof.”
    “Well, tin is cheaper, and it looks nice.”
    She looked at him meaningfully.
    “It’s cheap, anyway,” he persisted. “Don’t you like the sound of rain on a tin roof? Just listen. It’s like music.”
    It was like a tin drum, she pointed out, but he just laughed.
    She smiled. “I guess you’re right. It’s better not to wish we had more than we do. We’ll get by, Kell,” she assured