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clothes but the garments of the very real Thorn. |
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He'd saved her from that Indian, but he'd had an ulterior motivethe health of his business. A motive that might not apply in her next predicament. |
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She, of all people, knew what it was to rely on someone undependable. To expend emotions on such a person. |
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To want him to care, to come through when it really mattered. |
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She'd grown up with that futile longing. But her father had disappointed her over and over. Each time, he would seduce her gullible mother with talk of yet another fine, new job. Move the family to another exotic locale. For a while, they would live together. Mariah would bask in her father's presence, acting as perfectly as she could, hoping to win his love. But the good times never lasted. He lost every job. Blamed everyone but himself. Abandoned his family, leaving them lonely and penniless until the next impractical opportunity arose. |
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Her mother had died the last time he left. Mariah had used the opportunity to leave him. She had seen him rarely since. |
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She had experimented with caring for someone again just once as an adult. Her fiancé had also proven unreliable. |
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She would never make that mistake again. |
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Still, Mariah had a sense of regret when she'd hung the last of Thorn's shirts on a limb. This small, tenuous contact with him had ended. |
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''Idiot," she told herself aloud. As long as she remained here, there would always be more laundry to do. |
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And she was an utter fool if she let herself think that touching his clothing brought her closer to that remote, uncaring man. |
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That evening there were no guests, so Thorn, René and she sat and dined peacefully, as though members of a family. |
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Not that Mariah felt like part of Thorn's family. Not when he sat there so quietly, making no conversation but glowering when he deigned to look at her at all. |
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Did he resent her presence or the fact that he'd had to save her from that Indian? |
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