HONKY-TONK COWBOY

By Barri Bryan

© copyright by Billie and Herb Houston, Oct. 2000
Cover Art by Eliza Black
New Concepts Publishing
Lake Park, GA. 31636
www.newconceptspublishing.com

Chapter One

Headlines emblazoned across the front page of The Daily Clarion struck Sarah Scott with the force of a bullet fired at close range. JOHN MARKUM RELEASED FROM HUNTSVILLE PRISON. The paper slid from her fingers and fell to the floor.

"John's out of prison?" A cold shiver traveled down her spine, and lodged in the pit of her stomach. "I should have been notified. After I begged the parole board not to let him go." Her frightened gaze turned toward the young woman who was slumped in a chair across from her. "They didn't listen to a word I said."

Karen Hamilton frowned. "You didn't know John was being released? It's been on the news all day. Where have you been?"

Sarah swallowed over the tightness in her throat. "I worked at the library today." Her head felt light, her palms were sweaty. "What am I going to do?"

Lines of worry creased Karen's high, smooth brow. "There's nothing you can do."

That was true. With a nod of her head, Sarah agreed. "You're right."Bitter experience had taught her the futility of railing against injury and injustice. Her voice dropped to a resigned whisper. "A mad man is being loosed on society, and there's nothing I can do about it."

"Look on the positive side," Karen sat up and took a deep breath."John's spent five years in prison. He's undergone psychiatric evaluation and treatment. He's being released for good behavior. Maybe he's changed."

John Markum would never change. Sarah knew that; she suspected her friend did too. "John is, and will always be, a mad, disruptive force. He destroys everything he touches."

"Then you should stay out of his way."

"God knows I'm going to try." Sarah huddled in an overstuffed chair looking small and vulnerable. Her head dropped causing her honey-colored hair to fall like a curtain across her face, hiding the fear that dyed her amethyst eyes to a deep shade of indigo. Suddenly her chin lifted. "I'm stronger now, and wiser. He won't destroy my life again."

"Try to forget about John," Karen pleaded. "Let's talk about something more pleasant. Reid should be home soon, and we'll have dinner. I cooked your favorite, chicken-fried steak." She paused before adding, a little too casually, "By the way, his brother Blake will be with him."

Sarah closed her eyes and groaned. It wasn't enough that John Markum was out of prison, now her best friend was playing matchmaker. "Why did you invite someone else? You know how I feel about meeting strangers."

Karen twisted in her chair and looked uncomfortable. "I wouldn't do that to you. I didn't know Reid's brother was coming when I invited you for dinner."

Karen Hamilton was Sarah's oldest and dearest friend. She wanted to believe her. "So all of this is just a happy coincidence?"

"Coincidence? Yes. Happy? No. Believe me, I didn't plan this."

Karen's denial held a ring of truth. "Was it Reid's idea?" Sarah didn't know Karen's new husband all that well.

"I don't think so." Karen's fingers dug into the chair arm. "I suspect Blake invited himself, although Reid would never admit that to me."

Guilt moved in to replace Sarah's doubt. She had been so engrossed in her own problems, that she'd failed to recognize Karen's obvious distress. "Are you having in-law trouble so soon? I thought you liked Reid's family."

"I do. Reid's parents are wonderful. But Blake? Oh hell, Sarah when you meet the man you'll understand."

It wasn't like Karen to speak in such derogatory terms about someone who was virtually a member of her family. "Understand what? What's wrong with Reid's brother?"

"Nothing." Karen lifted her hands, then let them fall to her lap."Everything."

Sarah inclined her head to on side. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"He doesn't like me. He thinks Reid's marrying me was a mistake." Karen frowned. "I wouldn't wish him on my worst enemy. He's bad news." Her frown deepened as she shook her finger in Sarah's direction. "I want you to stay away from him."

"Karen, I can take care of myself."

"Since when?" Karen asked sarcastically.

Sarah laughed. "After all these years, you're still running interference for me. I think it all began with Jimmy Collins."

Karen's mouth curved in a reminiscent smile. "Even when you were six years old, you couldn't handle aggressive males, and Jimmy Collins got what he deserved."

Jimmy Collins had been a first-grade ruffian intent on making Sarah's first day at school miserable. He was clutching her arm, and aiming his pursed lips toward her face, when a much larger and more assertive Karen stepped in. A kick to the shins, and a slap across the head had sent Jimmy running for cover.

"Would you have believed then that Jimmy Collins, grade-school Romeo, would grow up to be James Jacob Collins, millionaire entrepreneur?" Mischief lurked in Sarah's smile. "Maybe I should have let him kiss me."

"Good Lord, Sarah, you've never had any sense where men were concerned." Shadows were collecting in the corners of the neat little living room. Karen moved gracefully across the floor and flicked the light switch by the door. "Maybe that's the answer. Maybe I should give Blake a kick on the shin, and a slap on the head, and send him packing."

Sarah's eyes rounded in surprise. "I believe you're serious."

"I am." Karen dropped any effort to conceal her dislike for her brother-in-law. "There's something about that man that makes me want to pat him on the back with a knife in my hand."

Sarah thought, as she watched the pained expression on Karen's face, that Blake Hamilton had no right to make his new sister-in-law so unhappy.

"Reid adores him." Karen blew a blast of air through her mouth. "A hold-over, I suppose, from the hero worship he developed when he was a teenager, and Blake was a star bronc rider on the rodeo circuit."

"What does Blake do now?" Sarah asked, finding herself being caught up in the mystique of Reid's older brother.

"As little as possible. When he could no longer straddle a horse, he came home and bought a honky-tonk."

"A what?" Sarah giggled.

"All right, then, a night club. For all his faults, Reid adores him . . . " Karen's voice died on the end of a sigh.

"You not only dislike him, you resent the influence he has over Reid." Sarah found that thought vaguely disturbing.

"That's because Blake's a bad influence," a subdued Karen admitted.

"Does Blake have a wife or children?"

"No children. He had a wife once. She divorced him years ago. Reid says Blake was devastated. I suspect he got what he deserved."

"Maybe that explains his attitude now," Sarah suggested, feeling a little troubled by Karen's lack of objectivity.

"Don't feel sorry for that womanizing rascal. He wasn't a paragon of virtue before his wife found someone else, and he certainly hasn't been since!"

Sarah knew how easy it was to misjudge others because of circumstances. "Give the man a chance, Karen. I've learned from experience it's not wise to judge a person by what's happened in the past."

"There is no comparison between you and Blake," Karen argued with a wave of her hand. "You're just a girl who got caught in an unfortunate situation."

Sarah looked around Karen's comfortable living room and thought how little her friend knew of the seamier side of life. "I'm not a girl, I'm a thirty-two-year old woman. I'm also a felon and an ex-convict."

"Surely you don't blame yourself for what happened?" Karen raised shocked eyebrows. "None of it was your fault."

Sarah didn't want to argue about her guilt, or lack of it. "I'm guilty of crimes that the state can't punish me for."

"So you keep on punishing yourself." Karen shook her head sadly from side to side. "You were the victim, not the perpetrator."

Sarah had believed that once. She knew now it wasn't true. Four years in prison had stripped her of all her innocence and most of her illusions. "I can't pass the blame for my own mistakes on to someone else, but just the same I love you for believing in me, and for defending me."

"Someone may need to defend you, literally, against John Markum now that he's out of prison."

The mention of John Markum sent a tremor of fear through Sarah. "I thought we agreed not to talk about John."

"We did. I'm sorry I mentioned him." Karen glanced at the clock. "Reid should be here by now."

Karen might believe Sarah was a victim. Sarah doubted that anyone else did. Most of the people in the little town of Summerville referred to her as that Scott woman, or notorious Sarah Scott. "Sometimes I wonder about the wisdom of coming back here to live. Summerville is such a small town."

"With such a long memory." Karen jumped to her feet as a car, followed by a pickup, pulled into the driveway. "That's Reid and his brother. Get the door, Sarah. I have to see about dinner." Karen hurried toward the kitchen.

"Karen," Sarah called after her friend's retreating figure, "come back here, now."

Karen stuck her head around the side of the dining room door, and made a wry face. "You said you could take care of yourself."

Squaring her shoulders, Sarah pulled the front door open. Reid stood on the other side. With him was a tall, dark man wearing jeans and a plaid shirt. Stepping back, she explained, "Karen's in the kitchen."

Reid responded with a booming, "Hello, Sarah!" He preceded his brother into the room. "Something smells delicious."

His brother was not nearly so cheerful. A most reluctant Blake Hamilton followed Reid inside. He acknowledged his introduction to Sarah with a cursory, "Howdy, ma'am."

He knows who I am, Sarah thought. The cool greeting came as no surprise. "Good evening." Sarah let her eyes slide over the man who stood in the doorway, hat in his hand, looking uncomfortable and ill-at-ease. He was tall, with the muscular build of an athlete. The incredible blue of his deep-set eyes contrasted strangely with the jet black of his curly hair. Sarah nodded in his direction. "I'm happy to meet you." She was lying through her teeth. Nothing made her more unhappy than having to meet a so-called eligible male.

Despite Karen's remarkable culinary efforts, dinner was a miserable experience. Talk was sporadic and stilted. Karen, who was obviously irritated by her brother-in-law's presence, spoke only to Sarah and Reid, ignoring Blake completely.

Reid, clearly embarrassed by Karen's attempt to exclude his brother, overcompensated by trying, repeatedly, to draw Blake into the conversation.

Blake seemed completely indifferent to Karen's snub. He spoke only when his brother asked him a direct question, giving one of three answers each time he responded: "Yeah," "Nope," or "Beats me." His considered apathy only added to the tension that sparked through the room like an exposed electric wire.

By the time dinner was over, Sarah felt as if she had been trampled by a herd of longhorns. Over coffee and desert she made her bid for freedom. "I hate to end such an enjoyable evening, but I'm scheduled to work at the library tomorrow. I really must go."

"Where's your car?" Reid seemed relieved to see the evening drawing to a close. "I didn't see it in the driveway."

"I came here from the library, by way of the gym," Sarah explained. "I walked." She held up her gym bag for Reid to see. "I have to go."

"It's dark out," Reid protested. "You can't go wandering around town at this hour."

Karen disagreed, as she had with everything Reid had said all evening."Oh, come on, Reid. This is Summerville. Nothing ever happens here."

"I'll take you home," Reid insisted, then paused. "Or better yet, Blake can drive you home. It's on his way."

It wasn't, and Reid knew as much. He was using Sarah's leaving as an excuse to get rid of Blake too. She struggled to hide her annoyance. "I prefer to walk."

Ignoring her protest, Reid turned to his brother. "Blake will you take our guest home?"

Sarah sent Karen a look that pleaded for help. "I'm quite capable of finding my way home."

Karen did a complete about-face. "It's not the distance. John could be out there somewhere."

"He wouldn't come here, to Summerville." Sarah protested, as she realized at last, that Reid and Karen were agreeing on something. They both wanted Blake to go and take Sarah with him.

For the first time during the long evening, Blake spoke of his own volition. "We could argue about this all night, but I have to get back to San Antonio. Get your bag, Ms. Scott, and let's go." Walking out the door, he left Sarah to grab her gym bag, and follow after him.

As Sarah got into Blake's pickup and fastened her seat belt, he asked, with a touch of insolence, "You do live in Summerville, don't you?"

"Yes." Sarah was still trying to recover from being so unceremoniously ejected from her best friend's home.

"Tell me where." Blake put his key in the ignition.

"Across from the Baptist Church."

"That's on Oaks Street isn't it?" The motor coughed then purred to life. Over the sound of shifting gears, Sarah answered, "Yes."

Blake backed from the drive, turned his pickup south and drove toward the church.

She was stuck in an uncomfortable situation. She may as well make the best of it. Sarah looked around Blake's cluttered truck. He certainly wouldn't win any prize for neatness. His dash was littered with an array of useless items: Papers, envelopes, a flashlight, a pair of sunshades. An empty beer can lay on the floor under her feet. Two lengths of rope, one long, one short, hung over the gun rack that ran across the back glass. "Karen tells me you were once a rodeo star."

"That's right." Blake gripped the steering wheel and stared straight ahead.

"Is that why you carry ropes around in your truck?" she asked, hoping to elicit some kind of response.

"They're not ropes, one's a lasso, the other's a tying string." His abrupt reply should have silenced her, it didn't.

"But that's for calf roping."

His tone moved from bored to belligerent. "So?"

Sarah shrugged off his short reply. "So Reid said you were a saddle bronc rider."

"I was." Lights from a passing car flashed across Blake's granite profile. She could read nothing from his set expression.

An uneasy silence replaced Sarah's feeble attempts at conversation. She thought, as she stared at a passing car, that she had never before been so effectively ignored. Still, Blake's contempt was no more than she expected. After all, she was Sarah Scott, ex-convict.

As they neared the church, Blake questioned in a bored tone, "Which house?"

Sarah pointed toward a bungalow nestled far back from the road in a grove of oak trees. "That one."

Blake wheeled into the driveway, and jammed his foot into the brake, bringing the truck to a screeching halt.

"Be careful." Sarah put her hands against the dash to steady herself.

With a sigh, Blake turned to face her. "Good night, Ms. Scott."

So much for chivalry, Sarah thought, as she opened the pickup door. Blake was not about to escort her to her house. Obviously, he didn't want to be seen with her. She let her eyes scan him from head to toe."Good-bye, Mr. Hamilton." Then got out of the truck, and slammed the door, hard! As she turned, a tug at her skirt made her realize it was caught in the door of the truck. She stepped back and lost her balance as her heel caught on a tree root. The skirt parted company with the closed door with force enough to send her sprawling on the ground in an undignified heap. When she tried to rise, a sharp pain shot though her ankle.

Blake got out, came around his pickup and stood looking down at her. As she struggled to rise to her feet, he asked, "Do you need help, Ms. Scott?"

"I twisted my ankle." Raising one arm, Sarah ordered, "Give me your hand. I can't get up."

Instead, he reached down, and with one fluid motion, scooped her into his arms, and began to carry her toward the house. He was holding her too close to him. She felt the steady beat of the life force that flowed through him; sensed the masculine strength that emanated from his muscular body. Her heart gave an uneasy lurch. "Put me down."

His grip tightened. "Will you be still? I don't want to drop you."

"I don't like being manhandled, Mr. Hamilton."

"I don't like being ordered around, Ms. Scott. Not even by a pretty little blonde with purple eyes." He carried her up the steps and onto the porch. "Where's your key?"

"Put me down." His overpowering strength was smothering her. "The key's in the mailbox. I can manage on my own from here."

Blake stood Sarah on her feet. "That's no place to leave your key." He found the key, unlocked the door, then hauled Sarah back into his arms, and pushed the door open with his foot. "It's stupid to lock a door, then leave the key in the mailbox."

Immediately, Sarah's defenses went up. No one, but no one called her stupid and got away with it. "I didn't ask for your opinion."

"It's not an opinion, it's a fact." Blake dumped Sarah on the couch. "You should take your key with you when you leave."

If she told him she felt safer if her door key wasn't on her person, he would only ask more questions. It was none of his business anyway. "I don't need you to tell me what to do." After years of self recrimination, Sarah was still struggling to find her self respect and rebuild her self-image. She was not going to let some boorish cowboy denigrate it. "I don't need anyone for any reason."

"You needed me to help you get into the house." Using his thumb, Blake pushed his hat to the back of his head. "You're kind of cute when you're mad." A seductive, lopsided smile pulled at the corners of his mouth. He was making light of every word she'd spoken. "I believe you were leaving. Close the door on your way out."

Blake's eyes drifted around the room. "Do you live here alone?"

"That's none of your business!"

A smirk replaced his smile. "Can you make it to bed by yourself?"

Cold fury caused the skin on the back of Sarah's neck to crawl. Did he think because of her past he could come into her home and make improper advances? "Will you please leave?"

The smirk faded. He took a step backward. "I was only trying to be helpful." Turning on his heel, he strode out the front door, closing it behind him as he went.

"Helpful?" Sarah fumed, "That kind of help, I don't need." She tried to stand. A stabbing pain shot up her leg. The insistent ringing of the telephone made her lean back on the couch and reach for the receiver. "Yes?"

Karen's worried voice sounded across the wire. "Sarah, honey, I owe you an apology. Reid says I should apologize to Blake too. Is he there?"

"No, he just left."

"Then I'll catch him another time." Karen's relief sounded in her long sigh. "I'm sorry for the way I behaved tonight, and I'm sorry that Reid was so adamant about having Blake take you home."

Sarah's concern was more for Karen and Reid than for herself. "Are things all right between you and Reid? All through dinner, you both seemed so angry."

"I was angry with Blake, and I took it out on you and Reid. I'm sorry. I could have killed Blake tonight, for being so obviously bored by our company."

"He recognized me, Karen. That made him cautious."

"Cautious, my Aunt Minnie. He was inconsiderate and tactless."

"You didn't give him much of an opportunity to be friendly." Sarah attempted to soothe her old friend. "He's not that bad, Karen."

Her words seemed to have the opposite effect. "You like him?"

What could Sarah say? "I don't know him all that well."

"Stay away from that man, Sarah. Blake attracts women like stale beer attracts flies. And considering your track record, I'm beginning to have second thoughts about letting him take you home."

Sarah smiled into the telephone. "Don't worry, Karen. I don't intend to become involved with your brother-in-law." Or any other man, she thought. She had learned her lesson well.

"I'm glad to hear that." Karen carefully changed the subject. "Now I can get on to more important matters. The Committee of Seven is meeting at my house a week from Saturday. I'm having a backyard barbecue. I need your help with the menu and the shopping, and a dozen other things. Can you have lunch with me tomorrow?"

"I'd love to." Sarah suspected her friend wanted to make sure she stayed busy. "Tell me where, and when . . . " Sarah looked around her living room. "Karen, I left my gym bag in Blake's pickup and it has the book Paul gave me on our wedding day in it. What's his telephone number?"

"Why were you carrying that expensive book around in a gym bag?"

"It was on display at the library along with some other rare books."

Karen seemed reluctant to give Sarah Blake's number. "I could call him for you."

"Karen, for heaven's sake, will you give me the number? I want my book back, and as soon as possible."

Reluctantly, Karen agreed. "Oh, all right, but it's against my better judgment."

Sarah hung up and called Blake's number immediately. She left a message on his answering machine, telling him that her bag in his pickup, and asking him to call her.

When three days passed without any response, Sarah decided he wasn't going to answer. She would probably have to enlist Karen's help to get her book back. Maybe Karen was right about her brother-in-law. How could he be so careless about another person's property?

Early Sunday morning, Sarah answered an insistent knock on her door, and saw Blake, standing on the other side of the screen. Her gym bag was in his hand; a big smile wreathed his face. "Hello, Ms. Scott. Remember me?"

Ignoring the man and his greeting, Sarah opened the screen and grabbed her bag. "My bag! I thought I'd lost it. Is my book still in here?" She closed the door, leaving Blake standing outside.

Without an invitation, he stepped through the door, and closed it behind him. "Mind if I come in?"

Sarah unzipped the bag, and reached for her book. "Oh thank God! I thought I'd lost it!" Tears sprang to her eyes as she let the bag fall to the floor and hugged the book to her chest.

"The bag was in the seat of my truck." Blake explained. "I was coming to Summerville anyway, so I thought I'd bring it to you."

"I was so afraid I'd lost it." Sarah caressed the book with loving fingers. Through a rainbow of tears, she read: Sonnets of Elizabeth Barrett Browning, then opened the book to the inscription on the fly leaf. The bold cursive script looked back at her: To the ends of Being and ideal Grace - with my lost saints, my darling, Paul.

A deep voice intruded. "Who's Paul?"

"There is no Paul." Sarah ran her hands along the ends of the slim volume. "Paul was my husband. He's . . . dead." A purple flame blazed through her tears. "You read my inscription! You had no right!"

Blake was anything but repentant. "I opened the book," One shoulder rose then fell in an indifferent shrug. "and there it was, so I read it. It didn't make a lot of sense."

That was understandable. He'd probably never read a love poem in his entire life. "Why did you open the bag?"

His face softened. "I like your lavender bra and panties."

"I called you, you knew how important and expensive this book was." Gradually, outrage and anger gave way to grudging relief. "You could have had the courtesy to return my call. Why didn't you?"

An aggravating little grin tugged at one side if his mouth. "I thought you left the bag in my truck so you'd have an excuse to call me."

She didn't know which was more repulsive, his honesty or his ego. "And what made you change your mind?"

"You didn't call again." He sounded almost disappointed.

Sarah was set to give this egotistical cowboy the tongue lashing of his life. Second thoughts caused her to reconsider. He was Karen's brother-in-law, and Karen was her dearest friend. It would be best if she made some kind of peace with him. She tamped down her anger. "You

drove a long way to return my bag. I'm grateful. Would you like a cup of coffee before you go?"

"Coffee sounds great." He followed her into the small, immaculately clean kitchen.

Placing two cups on the counter, Sarah poured coffee as she asked, "Sugar? Cream?"

"Black." Leaning back in his chair, Blake let his eyes slide the length of Sarah's small figure. "You're a very unusual looking woman."

Sarah set the steaming cups on the table. His abrupt compliment caught her off guard. "Unusual?"

His smile was sweet and guileless. "Your hair's the color of ripe wheat, and those purple eyes. I never knew anyone with purple eyes before."

What a line, Sarah thought. She sat across from him, poured cream into her coffee, and stirred it slowly. Should she tell him that he was wasting his time? Wisdom dictated diplomacy. Laying her spoon on the table, she met his frankly appraising gaze. "I have never thought of

myself as unusual."

"Oh, but you are and I apologize for reading your book. It was a thoughtless thing to do."

A pained expression moved across Sarah's face. Did he expect her to sanction his high-handed actions? "Yes, it was."

Completely poised, and seemingly not the least offended by her sharp retort, Blake took a sip of coffee, then set his cup in the saucer. "Has your husband been dead long?"

Over the lump in her throat, Sarah replied, "Five years." Could it be that this man didn't know about her past? "My husband was Doctor Paul William Scott."

Realization leaped into his eyes. "The physics professor who tried to sell his research findings to a foreign government?" He took another quick sip of coffee. "You're that Sarah Scott?"

Dropping her head, Sarah traced the tablecloth's pattern with the handle of her spoon. "You didn't know?"

"I didn't have an inkling."

Raising her head, she met his stiletto stare. "The evening you brought me home from Karen's? I thought you knew who I was, and that's why you made improper advances."

"Made improper advances?" He seemed genuinely surprised by her curt accusation. "I wasn't making advances of any kind. I was trying to help you."

"You really didn't know who I was?" Sarah took a quick sip of coffee to ease the catch in her throat.

"I had no idea you were Paul Scott's wife."

"I'm nobody's wife." Sarah pushed her cup back. "I'm Paul Scott's widow."

With a touch of irony, Blake asked, "Didn't you spend some time in jail?"

"I served four years in prison for my alleged crimes." How many times had she seen that look of accusation on a stranger's face? It always left her feeling hurt and defensive.

"Alleged?" Blake's brows met together in a frown. "Are you telling me you weren't guilty?"

"No." An old, familiar pain moved in around Sarah's heart. She had long ago learned the futility of trying to convince anyone of her innocence. "You can believe anything you want to believe. I don't care anymore."

Blake's eyes narrowed. "Wasn't Doctor Scott involved in some kind of germ warfare project?"

Even as she spoke, Sarah wondered why she bothered. "The proper term is genetic weapons research."

"And he tried to sell that information to a foreign government?" Suddenly, Blake's face was grim.

"Paul had no idea that the man he had hired to help him with his research had ties to a foreign power."

Blake had the good grace to look uncomfortable, but his curiosity overrode his discretion. "This other man, your accomplice, what was his name?"

"John Markum." Sarah gritted her teeth at the sound of her own words.

Blake nodded, "John Markum told a different story."

"He lied." Blake hadn't believed anything she had told him. She wasn't surprised. Neither had the jury that convicted her. "John is an obsessive liar, among other things."

Blake lifted his cup in a little salute. "Sure." He swallowed the last of his coffee, then pushed his chair back from the table, and stared down at his watch. "I have to go."

Sarah followed him to the door. "Good bye, and thank you for returning my bag."

She watched as he got into his pickup, and drove away. He had judged and convicted her all over again.

Sarah picked up her book. Regret brought pain, then tears. Those tears fell on the slim volume she held in her hands as the scissors of her memory sheared away the years, and she was back in that old heartache again. Wiping the tears from the book, she whispered, "Oh, Paul, I want to believe that you've forgiven me." A shiver shook through her slim frame. "If I could only forgive myself."

Chapter Two

Sarah put the grocery bag on the picnic table and sat in a patio chair."Karen, You really should have given me a list. I hope I remembered everything."

Sun shining through the oak trees cast swaying shadows across the yard. Karen peered into the brown bag. "Did you get paper plates and paper cups?"

"Yes."

"What about crushed ice for the ice chests?"

The sound of Sarah's fingers snapping cracked the still summer air. "I knew I'd forget something."

"Never mind, we can go for that later."

Sarah leaned back in her chair and watched as Karen took items from the bag and put them on the table. "How did you get to be a member of the Committee of Seven? That prestigious group is supposedly made up of Summerville's most civic-minded citizens."

Karen giggled as she folded the paper bag, and laid it in a chair. "Are you implying that I'm not a civic-minded citizen?"

The shadow of a smile tugged at Sarah's lips. "I do wonder how you came to be on a committee with the bank president's wife, the mayor's wife, and the richest man in South Texas."

"Miles Weston suggested my name to his wife when Henry Jones moved away last spring. As prestigious as it sounds, being on this committee is no picnic." Karen giggled again. "No pun intended."

"Then why don't you resign?"

A sudden breeze stirred across the patio. Karen reached to retrieve the bag that had blown from the chair. "Miles is my boss. I don't want to offend him. He thinks serving on the committee is an honor."

"In a way it is," Sarah argued.

"I suppose so." Karen tossed the bag into a trash can. "But being on a committee chaired by Tiffany Weston is not my idea of fun and games. And I also have to work with Suzie Boswell and Clay Daniels. Suzie never lets anyone forget that she's the mayor's wife. Clay's conservative views are in direct conflict with Tiffany's avant-garde ideas." She dropped into a chair and shook her head. "Douglas tries to control the committee through Suzie. Add to that Clay's outdated notions, and Tiffany's hair-brained schemes, and you can understand why I'm sometimes beside myself with frustration."

Sarah jumped to Clay's defense. "Clay is a kind generous man. If it weren't for him, I wouldn't be working now as a volunteer at the library. He may be a little old fashioned, but I've never known him to be disagreeable."

Karen rolled her eyes heavenward. "Clay is a shrewd business man and an arch conservative. He's putty in your hands, Sarah because he's crazy about you. Don't you know that?"

Sarah suspected as much, but she didn't want to admit it. "Clay and I are friends, that's all."

"But Clay would like to be more than just your friend." Karen stood and put her hands on her hips. "Clay Daniels is the most eligible bachelor in South Texas, and he adores you. Why don't you give him some encouragement, Sarah?"

"Because I respect him too much to lead him on." Sarah began to carry chairs across the patio. "How many people are coming to your picnic?" she asked, glad for a reason to change the subject.

Karen counted on her fingers. "About fifteen."

Sarah thought of Karen's food-laden kitchen table. "And you have enough food for thirty people."

"Better safe than sorry," Karen declared. "We're going to discuss the annual banquet. That may take hours."

Reid's sudden appearance, carrying four six packs of beer and accompanied by his brother, Blake, brought the conversation to an abrupt halt.

"This is an unexpected pleasure." Karen bristled, as Blake followed Reid onto the patio.

"Blake decided to drive out for a visit," Reid said, obviously upset by Karen's reaction to Blake's unexpected appearance.

"So I see." Karen hurried past the two men, and sped toward the house. "Come along, Reid. You can help me make the potato salad."

Reid dumped the beer into the nearest chair and called after his wife, "Karen, wait."

"Maybe you should do as she says," Blake advised, as he folded his tall frame into a patio chair. "She looks like she might be the least bit angry." He pushed his hat back, and smiled. "You wouldn't want that, now would you?"

Ignoring Blake's taunting remark, Reid hurried toward the back door. "Don't leave," he called over his shoulder. "I want to talk to you, but I have to help Karen first." He moved across the patio, and toward the house.

Sarah rearranged plates and cups on the picnic table, as she stole a sidelong glance in Blake's direction. The keenness of his gaze made her turn her face away. "Karen is really a very nice person," she asserted, thinking that Blake couldn't have chosen a worse time to make an unexpected call. "You really should make an effort to get to know her a little better."

"Maybe you should take your own advise." Blake's voice scraped like sandpaper across Sarah's nerve ends. "If you got to know me a little better you might find that I'm a very nice person."

Disturbed that he had turned her own words against her, Sarah pivoted to stare up at the tall oaks that grew along the fence row of Karen's back yard. "I'm talking about you and Karen."

She could hear the smile in his voice. "And I'm talking about you and me." Putting his feet in the chair across from him, he let his appreciative eyes slide over Sarah's jeans-clad figure. "Why don't you give us both a break, and come down off your high horse? You and I have both been around long enough to know the score."

She turned to face him. The frankly admiring look in his eyes made her pulses flutter. Taking a deep breath, she clamped down on that unexpected emotion. "I don't care about the score. I don't even want to play the game."

Blake shrugged. "You'll come around eventually. I can wait."

Sarah's head snapped back. This egotistical cowboy was coming on to her. Did he think she had designs on him? She could soon disabuse him of that foolish notion. "Mr. Hamilton -"

"Hello," a voice called from across the patio as Karen and Reid reappeared with Douglas and Suzie Boswell in tow.

Douglas leered at Sarah, making her blood boil. Douglas had been trying to coax her into bed with him since the week after her return to Summerville. "Hi Sarah." Making an exaggerated bow over Sarah's hand, he kissed her finger tips.

Sarah pulled her hand away. Blake's blue eyes boring into her, coupled with Suzie's angry, "Really, Douglas," was too much. "I have work to do in the kitchen." Sarah bolted for the back door.

Once inside, she gripped the sides of the sink and stared out the window. The kitchen provided refuge, but there was no escape. Would men always think she was an easy mark? Would women always believe she was capable of stepping over the line with any man who showed an interest?

"Sarah, my dear." A voice behind her made Sarah turn.

"Clay?" She smiled. "I didn't hear you come in."

"You were too engrossed in your own thoughts." He came to stand beside her. "Problems?"

"Nothing I shouldn't be used to by now." Sarah walked toward the living room. "And nothing I can't handle."

"Another unkind remark?" Taking Sarah's hand, Clay led her to the couch. "Sit down and tell me what happened."

Clay was not a tall man, but he towered head and shoulders over Sarah. With one arm around her waist, he urged, "Tell me what happened. Maybe talking about it will help."

Sarah dropped onto the couch, and drew a deep breath. She couldn't tell Clay that Douglas Boswell had been harassing her for months, and over the past few weeks, that harassment had turned bitter and vindictive. "It's not worth telling."

Clay sat down beside her, and put his arm around the back of the couch. "Relax, my dear."

The temptation was too great. Sarah put her head on his shoulder, and relaxed in the warmth of his embrace.

Clay brushed a wisp of hair from her forehead as he made soothing sounds deep in his throat. "I suspect you're not as tough as you appear. You need someone to take care of you."

"I feel much better now." Sarah didn't want Clay to read encouragement into her need for his friendship. She tried to move away.

"Stay." Clay pulled her back into his arms. "You must learn to ignore the snide remarks of unfeeling people."

"Clay, you're a dear." And he was. Clay Daniels conjured up pictures in Sarah's mind of southern gentlemen wearing white suits, and broad brimmed hats, as they leisurely sipped mint juleps.

From the kitchen door, a rough voice boomed. "Karen needs your help, Sarah. She asked me to find you."

Sarah looked over Clay's shoulder and into the eyes of Blake Hamilton. She was astonished at the mocking resentment she saw there. "Thank you."

Karen greeted Sarah with an undignified grunt. "Where have you been?"

"Inside, with Clay . . . " Sarah began.

"I need your help."

"What do you want me to do?" Sarah spread her hands in a helpless little gesture.

"Kill my brother-in-law." An acid tone crept into Karen's lowered voice. "Before he succeeds in turning this picnic into a disaster."

"Karen!" Sarah looked around to see if anyone else had heard Karen's outburst.

"Get him away from my boss," Karen whispered her exasperation. "He is hell bent on arguing with every thing Miles says."

"I'll try." Sarah wondered if Blake was behaving so abominably just to annoy Karen. She would like to have told him to go home, and not to come back again without an invitation. Instead, she came to stand beside Miles Weston as he argued with Blake about the merits of cross breeding dairy cattle. "Blake, I need your help."

Miles raised one eyebrow, as Blake remarked caustically, "You need me? What for?"

Sarah spoke the first words that came into her head. "I forgot to get crushed ice for the ice chests. Will you drive me to the convenience store?" It was a lame excuse, but it was the best she could manage on such short notice.

"Can't you drive yourself?"

By now Miles had wandered away. Sarah breathed a sigh of relief. "I suppose I could." She wanted to keep Blake away from Miles, as long as possible. "But I hate to put dripping bags of ice in my car."

"Maybe your gentleman friend will drive you."

"Are you referring to Clay?" At least now, Blake was talking to Sarah, not arguing with Miles.

"I'm referring to the man you were making out with on the couch," Blake answered.

He was trying to make her angry. "The man's name is Clay Daniels. He's a member of the committee." Sarah forced herself to hold onto her temper. "He needs to be here. And he doesn't have a pickup."

"So I noticed." Blake lifted his hat, and brushed his fingers through his hair. "He's driving a Cadillac Coupe de Ville."

There seemed no point in asking again. Sarah began to walk away. Blake caught up to her as she was unlatching the front gate. "I'll drive you. Let's go."

Once inside his pickup, Blake glanced toward Sarah. "Will your boyfriend mind you leaving with me?"

"Boyfriend?" Was he trying to annoy her? "I haven't heard the word boyfriend since I was in high school." She placed her hand over her mouth to stifle what she hoped would pass for a bored yawn.

"Should I have asked if Clay Daniels will mind you leaving with me?" Blake changed lanes of traffic, and made a sharp right turn. "He's a very conservative man. I don't think he'll approve of me making off with his woman."

"You said you didn't know Mr. Daniels." Remembering the look on Blake's face the morning he had learned who she was, Sarah decided it would be a waste of her breath to try to explain the situation. "And I doubt that he would consider you a threat."

"I said I hadn't been introduced to Mr. Daniels. Everybody in Texas knows him by sight." He grinned, a silly lopsided smile that made him seem at once knowing and vulnerable. "You seem to know him very well."

"Clay and I are friends." Sarah stared out the pickup window at the passing traffic. "We work together."

Blake stopped for a red light. "I saw what good friends you are, and I understand. A man as rich and socially prominent as Clay Daniels doesn't come along every day of the week." His head swivelled to glare at her. On a burst of sudden, uncontrollable anger, he hissed, "Women like you irritate the hell out of me."

The fact that she had finally pierced that tight armor he wore, elated Sarah. "Women like me?" she questioned, too sweetly. "What have I done that could possibly irritate a strong, forceful he-man like you?"

Blake shifted gears, and the pickup lurched forward. "Forget it." He seemed to be struggling to gain control. "I was way out of line."

Did he think he could insult her, then calmly say forget it, and she would let the incident pass? "I don't want to forget it. I want you to apologize for that tasteless remark."

Braking his pickup in front of the convenience store, Blake let his eyes move from the top of Sarah's head to the tip of her custom made boots. "Don't try to be forceful, Sarah. It's not your style."

Sarah would have liked to slam out of the pickup, and walk away. Her goal was to keep Blake away from Karen's picnic as long as possible. Smiling, she scoffed, "What could you possibly know about style?"

He smiled back at her, that silly lopsided grin that now succeeded in infuriating her. Sarah struggled to keep the anger out of her voice. "What's so funny?"

"You are. Give it up. Style is just another word for technique. Your technique needs improving. A woman with your looks and experience doesn't have to get tough with a man to get what she wants." He reached across the short space that separated them and ran his forefinger across her lips.

It was such a tiny little contact, but little electric shocks danced along Sarah's face as his finger brushed her skin. Her reaction was so strong that any reply she might have made, vanished in the heat of her confusion. Pulling back, she slapped at his hand. "Don't touch me!"

"You shouldn't go around throwing out challenges, if you don't want me to call your bluff." His smile was smug. "You came here for ice, remember?"

His touch terrified her. The feel of his finger grazing her lips was like a jolt of electricity. With one hand over her mouth, she looked at him wide eyed, and shocked. "Yes, I . . . " Sarah walked away from the pickup, trying to salvage some shred of her dignity and recapture herself control.

She lingered in the store as long as she dared. When she returned, fifteen minutes later, followed by a store employee pushing a grocery cart holding several bags of crushed ice, Blake put his head out the window and asked, "Do you need any help?"

"No. Thank you." Sarah stood by as the young man put the bags in the back of the pickup. As he pushed the cart toward the store, she got in beside Blake, and fastened her seat belt. "I was a little longer than I thought I'd be."

"You were deliberately killing time. While you were wandering around inside a cool store, I've been sitting out here in a hot pickup." Pushing his hat back, Blake wiped perspiration from his forehead. "Did Karen put you up to this?" He turned the key in the ignition, and revved

the engine.

He was too near the truth for comfort. "You are one suspicious man. Why would Karen do something like that?"

"Because she knows that I know the score." Blake looked over his shoulder, as he backed his pickup onto the street. "Unfortunately, my brother doesn't. That makes me a little overprotective of him."

"That's the most absurd thing I ever heard," Sarah said with acid disdain. "Just what do you think you're protecting Reid from?"

"From the pitfalls of marriage," Blake sneered, "I would assume that from personal experience you would know how dangerous it is for a man to cede too much power to a woman-" A sardonic smile touched the hard lines around his mouth.

Sarah bristled. "My personal life is none of your business. How dare you assume anything about me?"

"Oh, please, Sarah. You've done an excellent job of spreading the sordid details of your life over every newspaper and tabloid in Texas. It would be difficult for me not to know about your personal life." He spoke the barbed words with ruthless ease.

He was voicing public opinion, and he had every reason to believe what he said was true. She was being foolish, but Sarah felt a need to explain. "What you read in the tabloids was a far cry from what actually happened. I made a mistake, and I . . ."

"And you what?" Blake wheeled his pickup into Karen's drive, and hit the brakes with a vengeance.

"And I am still paying for it." Sarah's chin lifted. She didn't owe Blake Hamilton an explanation, not about anything.

"We all pay for our mistakes, one way or another, we all pay." Blake pulled his keys from the ignition. "See if you can find someone to unload my pickup."

Why had she even bothered trying to explain? "We can carry some of the bags as we go in." Sarah got out of the pickup, slammed the door, then lifted one wet bag from the back of the truck, and walked toward the house.

Blake hefted a bag of ice under each arm, and followed.

As they came up the walk, Douglas Boswell appeared in the doorway. "Let me help you, honey." He shot Blake a contemptuous look.

Sarah dumped the bag into Douglas's arms. "There are several more bags in the back of Blake's pickup. Will you see that they're unloaded?"

Douglas seemed to sag under the light load of ice. "Sure thing, Sarah."

The meal was eaten with gusto and amid heated controversy. Clay was the choice of five of the Committee of Seven to receive the prestigious Citizen of The Year award to be given at the upcoming banquet. Clay refused to cast a vote, and Suzie Boswell, at the behest of her interfering husband, cast the one dissenting ballot.

Tiffany Weston was furious. "It is not imperative that we have consensus from the Committee," She flung a wrathful look toward Douglas, "but it would be so much better if we could."

Looking from Douglas to Tiffany, Suzie stammered, "I don't know, Tiffany. Douglas thinks - "

"Douglas isn't a member of this committee." Tiffany's voice snapped with unconcealed hostility.

Sarah slipped through the side gate and walked toward Karen's front porch. The setting sun was splaying the western sky with fingers of iridescent pink and flaming gold.

Sitting on the steps of the porch, Sarah tossed pebbles toward the picket fence. She smiled each time a pebble struck a picket. Pulling her knees under her chin, she wrapped her arms around her legs and gazed into space. Day's end always stirred old memories. "The moving finger has written, and moved on," she reminded herself. "Neither piety nor tears . . ."

"Talking to yourself?" Sarah looked up to see Douglas Boswell standing directly in front

of her.

"Remembering." She stiffened with anxiety. She didn't want to be alone with Douglas.

"I could help you forget, Sarah, If you'd give me half a chance." Douglas came down beside her with startling speed.

"You're a married man, Douglas," Sarah scooted to the end of the steps.

Douglas followed, grabbed her in a tight embrace, and buried his face in her hair. "An unhappily married man. Suzie doesn't understand me."

"That's the oldest line in the world." Very carefully, Sarah pushed back. Fragments of half-forgotten memories crowded into her mind. It would not be wise to openly defy him.

"Come on, little girl. I have what a lonely widow lady like you needs." Douglas's hands were hot on her back.

His unwelcome embrace focused and intensified those terrifying memories. Sudden panic impelled Sarah toward a desperate bid for freedom. "No!" her voice rose."Let me go!" She shoved her hands into Douglas's chest.

He tightened his hold.

A deep voice sounded from the end of the porch. "The lady says no, Boswell. Let her go."

Douglas stopped his unwelcome advances and stood to face the owner of that deep voice.

"Your wife's looking for you." Blake jerked a thumb over his shoulder.

Douglas turned on his heel, and scooted toward the back yard.

Standing, Sarah pushed her shirt tail into her jeans. She could imagine what kind of spin Blake would put on what he had just witnessed. "Thank you," She murmured stiffly, then shoved her shaking hands into the pockets of her jeans.

"What are you doing out here?" Blake asked, as his brow wrinkled into a frown.

"Remembering." Sarah's hands fell to her sides.

"I missed you." Blake studied her pale face. "So did Boswell, it seems."

"Do you think I invited Douglas's advances?"

"Does it matter what I think?" He turned to go.

For some reason she couldn't explain, it did. She called after him,"Yes, very much."

He stopped and turned. "No. I don't think you encouraged Boswell."

"Thank you, again." Sarah dropped her eyes. She wasn't sure what she was thanking him for. "Goodbye, Blake."

Blake waved his hand. "So long, Sarah." He got in his pickup and sped away.

Sarah watched until the pickup disappeared around a bend in the road before she moved toward the back yard, and the still arguing Committee of Seven.

Chapter Three

The banquet honoring the citizen of the year was the social event of the summer season in Summerville. Always highly advertised and widely touted, it promised to be more spectacular this year than ever before.

The Committee of Seven, after several heated and intense arguments, announced the Citizen-of-The-Year Award would be presented to Clay Daniels for his tireless personal efforts and his sizeable monetary contributions to the building and maintaining of Summerville's City Library.

Holding up a long, very elegant green gown for Sarah's inspection, Karen asked, "How do you like my new dress?"

Sarah sat cross-legged on Karen's living room carpet, counting banquet tickets. "Hold on a minute. I'm counting."

"How many tickets do we have left?" Karen carefully draped her dress over a chair.

"Not many," Sarah looked up. "And some of them are promised."

"Do you want to ride to the banquet with Reid and me?" Karen perched on the arm of the chair. "We'd be glad to come by for you."

"I'm going with Clay." Sarah laid the box of tickets aside, as her incredibly long lashes fell to cover her eyes.

"You finally agreed to go out with Clay?" Karen struck her forehead with the heel of her hand. "That will start tongues wagging all over Summerville."

That was exactly what Sarah feared would happen. "I know, but all the same, I've decided it's time I got on with my life."

"I suppose Clay was as surprised as I am." Karen pushed her dress aside and sat down in the chair. "He's asked you out a dozen times in the last few months, and you've always said no."

"I hope I'm not doing the wrong thing by accepting now." Sarah had refused go out with Clay because she didn't want to spoil their friendship. If being seen with the notorious Sarah Scott threatened to mar Clay's impeccable public image, he might began to feel differently about her. "I've warned him what to expect."

"Who would dare insult the scion of the Daniels dynasty?" Karen's eyes widened. "No one in Summerville would chance offending Clay, and you know it."

A hesitant note crept into Sarah's voice. "I have another problem . . ."

"John?" Karen asked apprehensively. "Are you still afraid he'll start stalking you again?"

"That's always a possibility." Sarah's fingers dug into the soft pile of the carpet. "I don't dare let down my guard."

"He doesn't even know where you are." Karen made a nervous little gesture with her hands as she tagged her question with a breathy, "Does he?"

"I don't know. But reporters from San Antonio will be at the banquet." An old dread was threatening to pull Sarah into its undertow. "Sarah Scott in the company of Clay Daniels. Can you imagine what kind of tabloid headlines that would make?"

Leaning forward in her chair, Karen asked, "Have you explained all this to Clay?"

"I told him some, not all." Sarah sighed. "I told him John had been released from prison." She picked up the box of tickets, and fumbled through its contents. "Should I count the remaining tickets?"

"You should put that box down, and tell me what you told Clay." Karen's voice held genuine concern. "Does he know how John once stalked you for months on end?"

Sarah hid her fear behind a pensive frown. "If I told Clay that, he'd ask all sorts of questions." Clay respected her, held her in high esteem. He was one of the few people who did. "Questions I don't care to answer." She couldn't chance destroying that regard by telling him sordid details from her past. Neither did she want to explain to Karen the selfish reason for her silence. "I don't want to talk about John."

"Then we won't." Karen's smile was meant to be reassuring. "I don't think you have to worry. John is no fool. He wouldn't dare began harassing you again."

You don't know him, Sarah thought. You don't have an inkling of what he's capable of doing. Aloud, she asked, "Did you buy shoes to go with your dress?"

"Not yet." Karen extended her hand in Sarah's direction. "Let me have four more tickets. I want two for Reid's parents and two for his brother."

"You're buying banquet tickets for Blake?" Sarah's hand halted in midair. "You don't even like the man."

"Reid's father is buying the tickets. I could hardly tell him that I would just as soon his older son didn't put in an appearance. I can only hope that Blake's too busy doing whatever he does to show up."

"So you are still at odds with Reid's brother?" Sarah put the tickets in Karen's upturned palm.

"Yes, and it's not apt to get any better. He's a trouble maker. He enjoys creating discord between Reid and me." Karen laid the tickets beside her new dress.

Sarah had to agree. "I hate to think that's so, but after seeing him in action the day of the picnic, I have to believe it."

"He thinks," Karen put her hands on her hips and turned her head to one side, "and this is a quote, that I, 'have too much influence over Reid'."

"Did he say that to Reid?" Sarah thought that was an unkind assessment, at best.

"He said that to me!" Karen's eyes rounded in indignation.

"The best way to fend off unkind remarks is to ignore them." Sarah stood and dusted her hands across the back of her jeans. "It works for me most of the time."

With a shrug, Karen said, "Enough of that unpleasant subject, also. Tell me what you're going to wear to the dance."

"My mauve formal." Sarah put the box of tickets on the coffee table.

"No new dress for your date with Clay?"

"Clay likes me in purple. He says it matches my eyes. My mauve formal will do fine."

One week later, clad in that svelte creation, Sarah braced herself, as she entered the banquet hall on Clay's arm, and well she should have. Every eye in the hall turned toward the handsome couple, as they stepped through the wide entrance way.

From a table near the front of the long room, Karen waved and motioned.

Nodding, Clay waved back, then began to thread his way through the crowd. "This way." Seemingly oblivious to the stares and whispers that greeted them along the way, he led Sarah to the table, and helped her into a chair. Then, with a polite nod, excused himself. "I'm expected on the speakers' dias." Dropping a kiss on Sarah's cheek, he promised, "I'll be back soon."

Sarah settled in her chair and scanned the faces around the table. Blake Hamilton had made it to the banquet after all. By his side sat a lovely dark-haired young woman. The elder Hamiltons were the ones who were conspicuous by their absence.

Introductions were made. The woman's name was Linda Webster. If she recognized Sarah, she gave no sign. "Hi." She smiled in Sarah's direction.

With a sigh of relief, Sarah smiled back, "Hello."

Linda was seated next to Tiffany Weston who barely nodded in Sara's direction. Miles Weston sat on the other side of his wife. He favored Sarah with a cool and brief, "Hi." Douglas and Suzie Boswell made up the remainder of the group. Doug-as ignored Sarah completely. Suzie's unkind comment was lost in the chill that hung like a malediction in the tense atmosphere.

She had certainly put a damper on the party. Leaning near Karen, Sarah whispered, "I should sit somewhere else."

Karen didn't bother to lower her voice. "It's not you."

Surprised, Sarah leaned back and asked, "Then what's the problem?"

Karen scowled. "That's what I'm trying to find out."

Drawing a deep breath, Tiffany gritted through clenched teeth, "The problem is, our mayor is an idiot!"

Immediately on guard, Karen cried, "What has Douglas done now?"

Tiffany laid her finger across her lips. "Please, not so loud."

With infuriating smugness, Douglas declared, "I didn't select the keynote speaker for the banquet, the City Council did."

"You damn well sanctioned their choice!" Tiffany's voice rose, then fell as she noticed couples at the adjoining tables beginning to stare.

Miles laid his hand on his wife's arm. "Tiffany, please, let it be. This is not the place for a scene."

Tiffany snatched her arm away, and lowered her voice. "Don't you, 'Tiffany, please', me. Douglas did this to embarrass The Committee." Leaning across the table, she wagged her finger in Douglas's face. "You bastard. You know Markum's history and how obsessed he is with that -" She shot Sarah a disparaging look. "Woman!"

"Tiffany, please." Miles caught his wife's arm. "Don't borrow trouble. Markum has paid his debt to society. He taught adult education classes while he was in prison and has become quite an authority on adult illiteracy, and ways to fight it. Why don't we give the man the

benefit of a doubt?"

"Borrowing trouble am I?" Tiffany asked, as a smug I-told-you-so look contorted her pretty face. "Markum is looking daggers this way. What happens if he decides to come down here and start his hell raising all over again?"

Miles calm was slowly replaced by uncertainty as he stared toward the speakers' dais. "Do you think there's some danger?"

Sarah couldn't bring herself to follow Miles's troubled gaze. A rope of fear was uncoiling in the pit of her stomach, and climbing slowly upward. Douglas Boswell had found a way to avenge himself on her for her refusal to sleep with him. She should have known, after what happened the day of Karen's picnic, that he would retaliate. "I can't stay here," she whispered through dry lips.

Karen paled as she rounded on Douglas with a vengeance. "You invited John Markum here?"

Tiffany snorted, "The illustrious mayor of Summerville asked him to be the keynote speaker."

Douglas ran his finger around his stiff shirt collar. "John Markum has a lot to say about the importance of literacy in relation to crime prevention. His appearance was supposed to be a surprise, but Suzie here," he nodded toward his wife, "blabbed to Tiffany."

Suzie furrowed her brow. "I'm sorry, Douglas. It just slipped out."

Karen vaulted to her feet. "Even if what you say is true, Douglas, that's not why you asked John Markum to speak here tonight. If you think you can justify such a malicious act, Tiffany is right, you are an idiot." She scanned the large hall. "I have to help Sarah get out of here."

Reid half rose. Karen pushed him back down into his chair. "One of us should stay here. I'll take Sarah to . . ."

Reid tried to shrug Karen's hand away. "I'm not about to let you and Sarah leave here without me."

"We can slip out the back way." Karen's fingers dug into Reid's shoulder.

"And have John Markum follow you?" Reid's eyes darted around the table, and came to rest on the set face of his older brother. "Blake, will you take Sarah home?"

"Not home," Karen interjected. "Take her to San Antonio. She can check into a hotel. I'll pick her up tomorrow."

A disapproving frown pulled Blake's heavy brows together. "She came with Mr. Daniels, maybe she should leave with him."

Karen was adamant. "Is everybody here crazy? If we call Clay back down here, John will follow him, and I hate to think what the consequences could be."

Reid leaned across the table, a note of desperation in his voice. "Please, Blake."

Turning to the woman beside him, Blake raised a questioning eyebrow. "Linda?"

Linda shrugged her shoulders. "Go ahead, this seems to be an emergency. I'm sure someone here will see that I get home."

Tiffany gave Douglas a withering glance, "I will be happy to take you home, Miss Webster." then favored Blake with one of her rare smiles."The Committee would be eternally grateful to you, Mr. Hamilton, for coming to its rescue."

Karen's agitated voice cut into the conversation. "Will the lot of you shut up?" She sat back down. "People are staring. Blake, get Sarah out of here or I will."

Sarah stood and pushed her chair back. "All this fuss is unnecessary. I don't need an escort. I can call a cab to take me home."

"Not on your life!" Karen inserted fiercely. "Home is the last place you should go."

"Will somebody do something?" Tiffany ground out, "Before there's a scene right here at my banquet."

Standing, Blake pushed his chair under the table and nodded in Sarah's direction, "Let's go."

He would have been hard pressed to say no, Sarah thought, as she followed him to the back entrance of the hall, out the emergency exit and toward his pickup.

Blake unlocked his truck and slid into the driver's seat, then leaning across opened the other door. "Get in."

Sarah lifted her skirt, and climbed into the pickup. She glanced over her shoulder to make sure they hadn't been followed, then huddled in the far corner of the seat. "Let's get out of here."

Blake put his key into the ignition. "Fasten your seat belt." The truck's engine sputtered to life. "Where to?"

Sarah's entire body tightened as she drew a deep breath. "Take me home. I can drive myself to some safe place."

"You're in no condition to drive yourself anywhere. And I promised my brother I'd take you to a San Antonio." Gears clashed as Blake made a donut turn and sped from the parking lot. "Will you please fasten your seat belt?"

Karen had been the one to insist that Sarah go to San Antonio.

Remembering Blake's statement about Karen having too much influence over Reid, Sarah tactfully refrained from calling his attention to his mistake. Over the click of her seat belt, she said, "I'm sorry I took you away from the banquet."

Blake swung the pickup onto the interstate. Turning briefly, he smiled at her. "Don't be. It promised to be a very boring evening."

There seemed to be no polite answer to that statement. Sarah lapsed into morose silence. An involuntary shudder shook her. John had been within striking distance again! She closed her eyes against a fear that numbed her heart and threatened her sanity.

Blake drove swiftly, but carefully. They sped along for several miles in without speaking. As they neared the city limits of San Antonio, he broke the strained silence by asking, "Where to, lady?" His fingers moved restlessly around the steering wheel, as his eyes once again, cut in Sarah's direction. "Down town? Up town? Across town?"

Lost to everything but her present trauma, Sarah was as oblivious to his voice as she was to the other sights and sounds around her.

"Sarah?" Blake's questioned softly. "Are you all right?"

Sarah was struggling with sense-rending emotions. As she tried to pull her thoughts back from the brink of terror, Her mind moved from fear, to become a total blank.

"Speak up woman." Blake barked. "Where do you want to go?"

His sharp command cracked the air and brought Sarah back from the confides of a black void. She blinked. "I'm sorry, what did you say?"

"I asked where you wanted to go." He pulled his eyes from the road long enough to scan her pinched face. "Are you sure you're all right?"

"I will be." Sarah dragged her thoughts back to the present. "You can take me downtown to the Marriot Hotel. But first I need a tooth-brush." She glanced down at her tight formal. "I could use a robe and slippers, but I suppose that's too much to ask."

"I'll find a place to shop before I take you to the hotel."

Sarah wanted to believe she detected a note of softness in that deep voice. She studied the grave profile of the man beside her. There was nothing soft about his appearance. His face was a composite of hard lines and straight angles. Yet, he was making an effort to be considerate. Maybe she'd been assessing him too harshly. She thought, with a touch of irony, that it wouldn't be the first time she'd misjudged a man.

He seemed to have read her thoughts. "Give me a break. I can be a nice guy, sometimes." Slowing his pickup, he exited the freeway and drove onto an access road, then confounded her completely by saying, "You can't run forever, you know."

How many times had she slammed up against that same brick wall of truth? "I know."

"Do you want to talk about what happened?"

What she had thought was compassion had been no more than morbid curiosity. Turning her head, Sarah compressed her lips and stared out the window.

After a long moment of silence, one side of Blake's mouth turned up in a caustic half-smile. "Taming fear is like riding a bucking bronco." Turning off the access road, he pulled onto a crowded street. "You win if you can hang on long enough."

Sarah scorched him with a hostile gaze. Everything with this man was concrete and physical. She turned her eyes to the road in front of them.

The lights of the city loomed before them, glittering against the backdrop of an ebony sky. Blake drove down Military Drive until he found an all-night convenience store. Pulling into the parking lot, he stopped his pickup and folded his arms across his chest. "I'll wait."

Sarah opened the door and got out of the truck. As her feet touched the pavement, a million pin pricks of pain stabbed the back of her eyes and danced through the top of her head. The pain sharpened and became more intense as she sank slowly into the arms of oblivion.

Just as slowly, just as painfully, the fog that had enveloped her brain began to lift. From far away someone was calling her name. "Sarah! Sarah! Can you hear me?" With consciousness came remembrance. Opening her eyes, she grimaced. "What happened?"

She was seated, once more, in Blake's truck, with him standing beside the open pickup door looking concerned, or was it frightened? "You fainted. But you're all right now, aren't you?" He sounded anything but sure.

"I'm all right," Tiny pin pricks of pain still punctured her scalp and ran down the back of her neck. Feeling vulnerable and more than a little foolish, she leaned her head against the back of the seat and confessed, sheepishly, "I haven't eaten today."

Blake shook his head in disapproval, then closed the door. "I'll go to the store for you. What do you want?"

Raising her head, Sarah rubbed the back of her neck with her hand. "A tooth-brush, and a robe, and some slippers." As he turned to go, she called after him. "Thank you."

"Forget it. "

Blake returned several minutes later, carrying a small paper bag. "One tooth-brush. It's the best I could do." Without another word, he heaved his body into his truck, and sped from the parking lot.

By now weariness pulled at every muscle in Sarah's body.

Once again, Blake made a sharp turn, this time off Military Drive and onto the tree-lined street of a quiet residential neighborhood.

Sitting up, Sarah looked around. "This isn't the way to the Marriott."

"I'm taking you to my house."

"That's not necessary." Even though she protested, his unexpected gesture of kindness touched her deeply. "And it would be an imposition."

Blake's eyes never left the road. "Don't argue. It's settled." The words, for all their bluntness, carried a note of comfort and assurance.

Sarah made a token protest. "I can manage by myself."

"Sure you can." He frowned. "You're in no condition to be alone." Pulling his pickup into the drive way of a modest three bedroom house, Blake stopped the engine, and set the brake. "This is my castle."

Once inside, Sarah sat in a kitchen chair, and drew a tremendous sigh of relief. At least temporarily, she was out of harm's way.

"I'll be right back." Blake disappeared down the hall, and returned a few minutes later, carrying a faded and battered terry cloth robe. Handing it to Sarah, he pointed toward a door at the end of the hall. "The bathroom's that way. While you change, I'll see about scrounging up

some food."

Twenty minutes later, Sarah reappeared at the kitchen door. "Something smells delicious." She had showered, and shampooed her hair, but she couldn't wash away those sordid old memories.

"It's my specialty, cheese omelet." Blake was studying her with an appraising frown.

"I like omeletes and I love cheese." Pulling the belt of the outsized robe more securely around her, Sarah asked, "You did mean for me to wear this?"

"Sure. why?" He stood, holding a spatula in his hand, with his mouth slightly open.

"You're staring."

Blake's mouth snapped shut. He pointed the spatula toward to the kitchen table. "The omelete's ready, and I made coffee. Sit down."

Sarah sat, put her elbows on the table, and let her eyes scan the modern kitchen. It was plain almost austere, with none of the amenities that make a house a home. Dirty dishes were stacked in the sink. The trash basket was full to overflowing. One cabinet door swung open. "Have

you lived here long?"

"Not long. I'm just a sloppy housekeeper. Running my club takes most of my time." Blake set a plate of food before her. "Eat."

Sarah savored the omelette to the last bite, then pushed her plate back, stretched, and yawned.

Blake was still staring at her with the oddest expression on his face. "Would you like to go to bed now?"

The implications of his words hit Sarah before they were out of his mouth. Sitting up, she clutched the neck of her oversized robe. "I beg your pardon!"

Blake looked more amused than embarrassed. "I mean I can show you to the spare bedroom." Laughter lit the blue of his eyes, pulled at the corners of his mouth. "That's all I meant, relax, if you can."

That was the problem, she couldn't relax. Sarah doubted that she would sleep this night. "I'm still a little up tight. I need some time to unwind."

Blake shrugged. "Suit yourself."

She could also use some time alone. "May I sit in the living room?"

Blake was stacking more dishes in the sink. With a wave of his hand, he invited, "Sit anywhere you'd like."

If she had thought she would escape him by leaving the room, she was mistaken. Blake was close on her heels as she hurried from the kitchen to the living room.

"You don't have to stay with me." Sarah pushed aside an untidy stack of magazines and newspapers, and sat on the couch. "I don't mind being alone."

Blake leaned against the door frame and gazed at her. "You're still a bundle of nerves. Get over it. John Markum is miles away. You're safe now."

So long as John Markum walked on this earth, Sarah would not be safe. "This is not your problem. Go to bed and leave me alone"

Coming across the room, Blake eased into a chair across from her. "How long have you had all this fear and confusion locked up inside you?"

"I don't want to talk about it." Just like every one else, he wanted to pry into all the disagreeable details of her past. Did he think because he had shown her a little kindness, that he had the right to ask personal questions? Her nostrils flared. "I don't discuss my private

life with strangers."

His sympathy converted to ironic amusement. "You are one touchy female. I don't give a damn about your personal life. I thought it might help if you talked about your unreasonable fear of John Markum."

Sarah was set to protest. Second thoughts made her reconsider. To some degree, she supposed, all fear was unreasonable. "I don't think you'd understand."

A residue of amusement glittered in the blue of his eyes. "I'm reasonably bright. Try me."

"Because," she said, hoping to shock him into silence, "in many ways you're like John."

"Why you. . ." Some strange emotion flitted across his face, then as quickly as it appeared, he subdued it. "You don't even know me."

"But I know about you. For years you were a bronc rider. That's a violent sport."

"And one that also requires an amazing amount of self discipline."

"That only means you've learned to control your savage nature. John hasn't."

His voice softened to a whisper. "What makes you think I'm always in control?"

The look in his eyes, the grave expression on his face sent a shiver down Sarah's backbone. She licked her lips. "Aren't you?"

Brushing at the thin line of perspiration that beaded his upper lip, Blake let his eyes scan her face, then slide to her breasts. "Not always."

It was not the answer she had expected. To cover her confusion Sarah said, with a hint of irony, "Maybe you're human after all."

His eyes met hers, and held them in a hard stare. "As human as John Markum? Five years in prison and he's still out of control where you're concerned."

Her brow wrinkled in disbelief. "Is that what you think? You couldn't be more wrong. John's not out of control, he's obsessed."

As if wearied by the continued bandying of words, Blake asked almost contemptuously, "Why don't you get a restraining order against the man and be done with it?"

Sarah shook her head. "A legal paper would make no difference to John. He's a law unto himself. He abducted me once, I live in fear that he will do it again."

"You say he abducted you." Blake raised a skeptical eyebrow. "He says you went willingly."

A month ago he didn't even know who she was. Now he was authority on what had happened between her and John? "Who have you been talking to?"

Blake lifted one shoulder in an indifferent shrug. "I went to the library, and read some old newspaper accounts. You could have pressed charges then, and you didn't. Why?"

He was asking personal questions again, prying where he had no business. "Press charges?" Her voice snapped with hostility. "I was in jail. So was John. What would have been the point of pressing charges?"

Blake seemed genuinely surprised by her angry response. "I didn't intend to upset you. I'm sorry I asked."

She moved uncomfortably under his compassionate stare. His sympathy was more unwelcome than his prying questions. "You should be. Butt out, cowboy."

"I was only trying to help."

"Don't." That, Sarah reasoned, should put an end to this painful conversation. She shifted and tucked one leg under her. "Good night, Blake."

Chapter Four

Blake laced his fingers behind his head, and leaned back in his chair. Obviously, he had no intention of leaving her alone. "Is this the way you treat your friends?"

"I don't have any friends." The pain of that confession made Sarah wince. "Except Karen."

"What about Clay Daniels?"

Clay! She had forgotten all about him. She had run off without even thinking to warn him of the potential danger he could be facing. She should never have gone out with Clay in the first place, but he had been so insistent. Not until she heard Blake's mocking laughter did Sarah realize she had spoken her thoughts aloud.

"He just swept you off your feet, huh?" The ridicule in his voice cut like a knife.

His laugher, his crude jesting told her that she had been right when she had thought him more curious than compassionate. Sudden unwanted tears filled her eyes and crowded into the back of her throat. Catching her trembling lower lip between her teeth, she mumbled, "It's not like

that, I'm not like that."

Blake rubbed his chin with his thumb and forefinger. "You can drop the act. I'm not impressed, and I'm not fooled. I know about passionate, sex-hungry little women. I was married to one once."

A scornful little laugh broke through her tears. She was neither hungry nor passionate. She was not even sure she qualified as a woman anymore. Sex to her, was vastly overrated. Making love with Paul had never given her more than a mild sense of plea-sure. Her experience with John had left her traumatized, and she suspected, frigid. Burying her head in her hands, she began to weep uncontrollably. "Go away! Go away and leave me alone."

Unclasping his hands, Blake ran them through the sides of his hair and swore under his breath as with speed and agility he moved to sit beside her on the couch. "Go ahead and have a good cry." With awkward tenderness, one of his rough hands stroked the softness of her hair.

"Get it out of your system."

After several struggling moments, Sarah dropped her hands and raised her face. "I'm usually not such a big baby." Swallowing a latent sob, she struggled to gain some control. "I apologize."

Blake drew her into the circle of his embrace. "Go ahead, be a baby."

His touch was so soft, so gentle that she had no thought of pulling away. Sighing, she looped her arms around his neck and smiled up into his face. "I feel much better now. Thank you."

His expression darkened and altered. "You're welcome." Reaching behind his neck, he unfastened her hands and laid them in her lap. "Anytime."

His grip on her hands tightened. His touch was like an electric shock sending little sparks of fire dancing up her fingertips and into her arms. When she tried to pull away, he held on. "I don't want to let you go."

Sarah shocked herself by asking, "What do you want?"

"Ah, Sarah. What a question. Don't you know?"

"No." She whispered, intrigued by the sound of his rough caressing words, "Tell me."

I want to drag you to the nearest bed, and make love to you, until you scream for joy and beg for mercy."

She pushed down a little flutter of desire. "Don't be crude. I don't scream." His coarse, erotic words should have frightened her into instant retreat. Instead she felt an urge to reach out and smooth away the lines of doubt that creased his forehead. "And I don't think you could make me beg for anything."

"I could prove you wrong." Raising one eyebrow, Blake smiled seductively. "Although it might take awhile."

She could feel the magnetism between them, hot and moving, alive with promise. Sarah struggled to keep her tone light. "I can believe that. "What she couldn't believe was her reaction to his blunt proposition. Paul had been a magician with words, spinning phrases of beauty and delight, stringing words, like beads, into sentences that sparkled with melodic beauty. Nothing he had ever uttered, had shaped fantasies such as were now shadowing her mind. "And I'm in no hurry."

"So that's the way you like it, slow and sweet." Blake's sandpaper voice brushed against her raw nerve ends.

Sarah touched her mouth with a shaking hand. A tingle jolted through her, as she remembered how Blake's fingers had felt brushing across her lips the day of Karen's picnic. Then she recalled how insulting he had been, and how judgmental. In the nick of time, common sense kicked in. Was she out of her mind carrying on this way with a rough cowboy she hardly knew? "On second thought, maybe I should go.-" The air throbbed with tension. "to a hotel."

"I know a better place." Blake whispered, as he pulled her nearer.

She shouldn't have asked, but she did. "Where?"

"You're going to heaven, and I'm taking you there." Pulling her into his arms, he smothered her with mind-drugging kisses. "It's going to be sheer paradise." The evidence of his desire pushed against her leg. She stiffened. "Come on, Baby," he pleaded, "Don't make me beg."

Dazed, Sarah shook her head. The world was moving too fast, spinning out of control.

Holding her in his arms, Blake began to speak, not soft words of love, or whispered sweet promises. His blunt utterances were terse and erotic. They scorched through her like little tongues of liquid flame, burning away reality. She listened as one possessed, as he spun his magic spell. Finally, on the end of a ragged sigh, he breathed, "Sarah, Baby, God how you move me."

Dazed, bewildered, Sarah whispered, "Blake, I don't think . . ."

He silenced her by bringing his mouth down on her parted lips in a soft, seductive kiss. "Don't think, Baby, feel." He pushed his groin into her pelvic area. "Feel what you do to me. Feel what I have for you." Another kiss invaded her mouth with savage sweetness.

To her shuddering shame, she went up like wildfire, clinging to him desperately, starving for his rough touch, his crass words singing through her mind like the lyrics of a love song.

It was Blake who broke the embrace to insist, "Like a match to dry grass. I knew it would be. All heat and fire and passion."

Through the heated haze of desire, Sarah made one last, desperate attempt to control this strange new emotion that at once both frightened and exhilarated her. "I don't want to do this."

His mouth scorched her cheek. "Oh, yes, you do. I saw that 'want to' look, in your pretty purple eyes the moment I stepped through Reid's front door. You stood there so damn cool and collected, but you didn't fool me, then, and you don't fool me now." His breath was hot on her cheek.

A spark of desire ignited inside Sarah's stomach, sending flames of yearning licking their way into her legs, her arms, shooting down into her toes and her fingers. "Blake? I. . . don't want this."

He laughed, a low guttural sound that came from deep in his throat. "Then tell me to stop."

Try as she might, she couldn't bring herself to say the words that would halt his sweet, sensual assault. She was helpless to stop him, and he knew it. "I should tell you. . ."

"We can talk later. Shut up, and let me make love to you." He parted her lips with his tongue, and plundered the depths of her mouth.

She melted into his hard body, still protesting, "This is. . .insane."

"Lust is always a little crazy." He pushed against her, letting her feel his hardness. "I want inside you, Sarah. I want it like I never wanted anything in my life before."

Desire was sweeping away any lingering remnant of self control. "We have to stop - now." Even as Sarah spoke, she knew that stopping was no longer an option.

Once more laughter rumbled deep in Blake's chest. "It's a little late to play hard to get." The air exploded with sensuality. "We couldn't stop if we wanted to, and we don't."

Reality faded on an overwhelming surge of passion. There was no world except his mouth on hers, his possessing hands slowly sliding her robe from her shoulders. "I never felt. . . I thought . . ." She clung to him, lost to everything but the wild enchantment of the moment.

The robe dropped in folds around her feet. His lips touched her neck, her shoulders, then followed his hands to her full breasts, and her hard pouting nipples. He knelt before her, and blazed a fire with his mouth down the curve of her hips, and across her stomach with its muscles contracting and quivering in anticipation.

Just when she thought the exquisite torture might be more than she could endure, he stood and laughed, a deep crow of triumph. "Slow down, Baby. Something this good needs to last as long as possible." Moving his mouth over her cheek, he let his tongue slide to her neck, and onto the deep cleft between her breasts.

An earthquake of passion shook through her. The musky smell of him, the salty taste of his skin, was pleasure not unlike pain. She returned his kisses, slowly at first, then with a growing intensity that sent shudders spinning down her spine. Her racing, roaming heart beat like a muffled drum in her head, her chest, her throat. Slipping her fingers beneath his shirt, she caressed his chest, his back, then moved to run demanding hands along his partially exposed buttocks.

He helped her remove his pants his boots, his shorts, his shirt . . .

His savagely sweet lovemaking sparked a wild response. The primitive, song in her heart was beating a rhapsody under his guidance. Her body was a firebrand in his arms.

He kissed her neck, her throat, her breasts, then brought his lips down on hers in a kiss that was as once achingly urgent and delicately lingering. Sweet, sharp, tickling sensations shot from under her tongue to tease her mouth and her throat with slow madness.

Pulling her down beside him on the carpet, he let his hands trace the contours of her full breast. The nipples stood out like firm little buds. He lowered his mouth, and licked greedily.

Never before had she known such intense pleasure. Arching her body toward him, Sarah shivered in his arms as moans of delight escaped her throat.

Moving his hands to her inner thighs, he rubbed gently. She cried out in vulnerable pleasure as the heat inside her became a forceful, driving fire that threatened to explode. He entered her on a burst of raw masculine power.

She lifted her hips to meet his thrusts. The gyrations that began so easily, became deeper, fiercer. They were caught in a frenzy that extended beyond reason, stretched past sanity, and erupted into passionate madness. He claimed her with a savagery that signaled complete abandon. She answered his tempestuous demands with an echoing surrender, as wave after wave of rapture ripped through her.

Bodies twisting and contorting, their bliss intermingling, they soared to the heights of ecstasy, then descended in a warm blush of afterglow. They lay on the carpet, perspiration gluing their bodies together.

A honeyed peace stole over Sarah. The cataclysmic climax had left her spent and drained.

Blake brushed her cheek with his lips. "My God, on the carpet. Do you know what you've done to this old cowboy?"

She reached to touch the face of the man beside her. It had happened! In the arms of a stranger she had experienced bliss she had not dreamed existed. All the fears she had lived with for five long years, had fallen away, releasing her body to soar to the supreme heights of rapture.

As Sarah relaxed, and sanity began to return, shame threatened to cast out her feeling of complete well-being. She tried to move away.

Blake's arms tightened around her. She couldn't force herself to pull away. "Let me go."

A low rumbling laugh heaved his chest as he stood and scooped her into his arms. "Not until we've had enough." He strode toward the bed-room. "This will be a night to remember." Through the long nocturnal hours, he kept that passionate promise.

Sarah awakened slowly. The warmth of the body lying beside her triggered a delicious thrill that tickled her throat and teased her loins. She opened her eyes to see a face hovering over her.

Blake touched her lips with his finger tips. "Good morning."

She tangled her fingers in the hair on his chest. "I didn't dream last night? You're here?"

"Where the hell would I go?" He teased in that sandpaper voice that sent chills down her spine. "I know a good thing when I find it."

Sarah didn't know how to respond. What could she say to this stranger who had made passionate love to her, over and over again, all through the night? And she had responded to him with a sensual abandon that even now, made her blush with shame. After a brief silence, she ventured, "I have to call Karen. I don't want her to worry. Does she know where you live?"

Blake breathed into her hair. "Call her later."

Sarah's mind disengaged, as desire, wild and sweet, bloomed and burgeoned. She forgot Karen. She forgot every-thing except the screaming demands of her body. "Oh, yes." She was sinking into a dark, erotic pool of bliss. It was a willing, joyous submersion.

Much later, Sarah sat up in bed, and reached for the telephone. "I'll have to call the bank. Karen goes in at nine." She cringed at the thought of having to face Karen.

"I'll take you home. Tell Karen not to bother." Blake yawned and stretched. The muscles in his back and forearms rippled under his dark skin.

Sarah put the telephone down. "I don't want Karen to know. . . I don't think . . . "

"You don't want Karen to know you spent the night with me?" Blake's back was to her, but she could hear the smugness in his voice. He was pleased that Karen would be annoyed.

How could she have been so wanton, so stupid? "Bluntly stated, yes."

He looked over his shoulder. "Why not?"

"Because Karen is not too fond of you. She wouldn't understand." Sarah wasn't sure she understood.

Blake reached for a pair of jeans. "Not fond of me," He hooted. "Karen hates my guts. Did she warn you about me?"

What egotism. "Why would you think that?" Karen had warned her. Hind-sight told Sarah that she should have listened. Even now, in the quiet of a bed-room, feeling sated and satisfied, she could smell impending conflict, feel its brassy foretaste coat her tongue.

"I see right through Karen." Blake pushed his arms into the sleeve of a clean shirt. "I can read her like a book." The muscles of his shoulders rippled under the thin material.

"Karen is my best friend." Sarah pulled her wrinkled formal over her head. "I don't think you and I can discuss her without disagreeing."

Blake stood and buttoned his jeans. "God knows I don't have the energy or the inclination to disagree with anybody this morning."

"I'll tell Karen I have a way home." Sarah began to dial the bank's number.

"Karen was offering you advice, it seems," Blake commented wryly, as Sarah hung up the telephone. "Did she ask you where you stayed last night?"

"She did not." Why should she feel so defensive? "And I value Karen's advice."

"But you don't always take it?" She heard, rather than saw his smirk.

Sarah slipped her feet into her high heels. "Maybe I should have, this time." She reached for her wrap. "I'm ready to go."

The drive from San Antonio was charged with tension that grew by leaps and bounds as Blake's pickup neared Summerville. Sarah chanced a glance in his direction. He looked as uncomfortable as she felt. Dear God, she had spent the night with this man. The thought shamed her to the core of her being. Turning her head, she stared out the window, trying to think of some tactful way to send this wild cowboy packing, and at the same time spare his ego and salvage some of her self-respect.

By the time Blake stopped his pickup in her drive way, Sarah was as taut as a bow string. She extended her hand. "Thank you, for everything."

He took her hand and held it loosely. "Is that all I get, a formal, cold, thank you?" Then gave it a little yank and pulled her into his arms. "I'd like a proper goodbye kiss."

She knew she should offer at least some token resistance. She didn't. Closing her eyes, she melted into his embrace. His lips covered hers in a long, lingering, sweetly seductive kiss. When he lifted his head, he sighed, "This could get to be addictive."

Dropping her face, she rested her cheek in the hollow of his throat. Desire sparked between her legs and in her stomach. Fighting those debilitating emotions, Sarah moved back and ran her fingers through her hair. "I don't want you to get the wrong idea." Where did she stand with him? What did he want from her? "I'm not usually so. . ." Her words trailed away on the end of a hissing sigh.

Chuckling, he raise an eyebrow. "Easy?" His lips brushed the side of her face. "Neither am I." He took her in his arms again. "We both know this is too good to last. It's also too good to waste. When can we get together again?" His grip tightened, his arms like steel bands, riveted her to him.

"You're hurting me." A blade of fear sliced through her longing. "And you're frightening me."

His touch gentled, then he pushed her from him. "I got a little carried away. I'm sorry. You do that to me."

Sarah suddenly became acutely aware of where she was. Her eyes swept around the neighborhood. Children played in the yard across the street. Two women were sitting on the porch next door. Much more of this and they would be staring and gossiping. "Would you like to come inside? We could talk."

"If I came in, we wouldn't talk, Baby." He rubbed his rough knuckles along the side of her face, and stretched his mouth into a humorless smile. "I'd like to make love to you all day long, but I have a business to run. We can get it on later. Just tell me where and when."

Those blunt words chilled her to quivering silence. He was a stranger, a man she hardly knew, and he had the power to reduce her to a shaking mass of speechless surrender. "This has all happened so suddenly." She had to escape from the disturbing fascination of his presence. "I need a little more time."

"So you're going to play hard to get?" His finger touched her cheek in a feathery caress. "I'm an old hand at this game. Those kind of tactic won't work with me."

She knew exactly what he meant, but she feigned ignorance, hoping against hope that he would rescind his statement. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

His brow furrowed in impatience. "I think you do." All traces of tenderness had disappeared. "Promises and commitments are not my style. No strings, no guarantees. Do you want to set a time for us to get it on again or do we call the whole thing off?"

"I don't want to 'get it on' with you," His insulting suggestion fanned the flames of her smoldering anger. "not now, not ever!"

He gave his head an arrogant toss. "Baby, you are one bundle of contradictions. You say no, then look at me with that come-hither expression in those pretty purple eyes. That would have most men jumping through hoops, but it won't work with me."

Anger stiffened her spine as shame fanned color across her cheeks. It didn't dampen the desire that stirred deep inside her. "Take you insults and get out of here!" She had thought she was immune to this kind of mind-boggling passion. Obviously, she had been wrong.

"You should take that as a complement." His eyes, tender once more, and glowing with a blue flame, bored into her face. "Look at me."

She obeyed instantly, and without question.

"You're shaking like a leaf. I could take you here and now, in the cab of my pickup, in broad daylight, and you wouldn't lift a finger to stop me. In a matter of minutes you'd be begging me for it."

That crude truth struck Sarah like a physical blow. "This is goodbye, Blake."

His hand caressed the back of her neck, as his voice dropped to a mere whisper. "Are you sure this is the way you want it?"

She closed her eyes to escape his scorching gaze. It wasn't the way she wanted it. It was the way it had to be. Color stained her cheeks a dull red. "I'm sure."

He released her slowly. "I hate to hear that." The delicate kiss he dropped on her cheek scorched the already burning surface of her skin. "It seems like such a waste. So long, Sarah. It was nice while it lasted."

She jumped from the pickup without so much as a goodbye, and aimed her stubborn feet toward her front door. Her hands were still shaking as she reached into the mailbox, then pushed the key into the lock. Her legs were still trembling when she stepped through the door. Once inside, Sarah leaned against the wall, and whispered into the hushed silence. "Dear God, what have I done?"

The sudden ringing of the telephone galvanized her into action. She grabbed for the receiver. "Hello"

"Sarah, is that you?" A cultured masculine voice inquired.

"Clay?" Of course, it was Clay. She would know that soft southern drawl anywhere.

"Sarah, my dear, I've been trying to call you for over an hour."

"Clay? It's so good of you to be concerned." Catching her breath, Sarah hurried to explain, "I'm sorry I had to leave the banquet so suddenly last night. I hope you understand."

"Karen explained everything." Clay answered. "I was worried about you. I would have come to you last night, but Karen didn't know where you were."

Thank God for that! "I didn't call Karen until this morning."

"Are you all right, my dear?" His concern touched her, deeply.

"Oh, yes," Sarah assured him, "I'm fine."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, Clay, I'm sure." As sure as she could be of anything at this point.

"That's good news." A pause, then, "Sarah, would you consider going out with me tonight? I want to make up for last night. We could go to some quiet out-of-the-way place. I don't want you to be harassed."

Remembering the passion that she had so recently shared with Blake, Sarah thought she should refuse. "I really don't know if I should . .."

"Please, Sarah." Clay's voice held an underlying note of tenderness.

Sarah's misgivings melted. Blake had told her it was over. She owed him nothing. He wanted nothing from her but sex anyway. "If you insist Clay."

"Do you have some special place you'd like to go?" Clay's voice brimmed with elation. "Some place out of Summerville, where we could enjoy dinner, and maybe dance later?"

Clay was such a gentleman. He was also a rich, handsome, highly eligible bachelor. She was fortunate to have his friendship. "You choose the place, Clay."

"I know you like country and western dancing. There's a nice country night club out on Highway Sixteen, near Poteet. Would you like to go there? They have a band. We could dance. It's out of Summerville, but not too far away."

Sarah dismissed the last faint nudge of conscience. "I'd love that, Clay."

"I'll pick you up at seven."

"I'll be ready," Sarah promised, "and Clay, thanks for calling."

"You're welcome. Good-bye, Sarah."

Sarah stood for a long time, staring at the receiver in her hand. The temptation to call Blake, to hear that rough, growling voice again was overwhelming. An unwanted tear slid down her cheek. She dangled the instrument, then dropped it into its cradle, and turned away. Arguing emotions tortured her. She knew her past made her suspect, but how she wished Blake could have thought of her as something more than an easy lay. "Why should he?" she asked her-self. "That's exactly what you were." Another tear coursed down her cheek, and spilled onto the bodice of her mauve formal. "After all these years of going to any extreme to avoid any kind of sexual encounter, I find I'm a pushover."

Until last night, Sarah had believed that she was incapable of sexual ecstasy such as she had heard about, and read of, all her adult life. The man she had loved, the man who had been her husband, had never stirred in her more than a mild sense of pleasure. After a time, she had come to accept her inability to feel great passion.

Then John had come along, with his beguiling lies, and his treacherous intentions. What she would not, could not give, he had taken with force and cruelty. Scenes from those terrible encounters with John, distilled in her mind until terror made her shudder. Then, like a falling curtain, Her memory recoiled, refusing to pursue the subject further. She drew a shaky breath. "Stop it, or you'll go mad."

Even prison was a pleasant thought compared to remembering those dark days with John. During those four terrible years behind bars, every day had been a struggle to keep her sanity and her virtue. She came away from prison knowing she was certainly not homosexual. It was only then that she had been able to call her affliction by its true name. Sarah Scott was frigid. That admission had left her feeling less than a woman.

Perhaps some good had come from this encounter with Blake. At least now she knew she was most assuredly not frigid. She put her hands to her burning cheeks. The opposite seemed to be true. This crass, arrogant cowboy had touched her with masterful skill and a aching tenderness, and her body had come alive. He had carried her to the dizzying heights of ecstasy. It had happened, not once, but over and over again, throughout the night, then again in the morning. He had given her a taste of paradise. "Why did it have to be this man?" Squaring her shoulders, Sarah took a deep breath. "It's in the past now. I'll put it out of my mind." Turning, she walked away from the telephone. "I've survived worse. This too, will pass."

Sarah dressed for her evening out with care. She chose a white lace-trimmed blouse and a circular denim skirt that added a seductive sway to her hips when she walked. She would concentrate on Clay tonight. He had so much to offer. A persistent little voice inside her head taunted, "Can he give you the kind of physical pleasure that makes your body pulse with ecstasy?" She ran her hands over her arms, and felt goose bumps there.

Sarah was waiting when Clay arrived. His regard showed in his warm glance. "You are a vision of loveliness, my dear."

It was the kind of compliment any woman should welcome. Why, then, did she long for the crude, caressing words of a rowdy cowboy instead? "Thank you, Clay."

Once inside Clay's Cadillac, he instructed, "Lean back and relax." He reached for the tape deck in his car. "Would you like to hear some music?"

"That would be nice." Sarah rested her head on the plush upholstery, and breathed a sigh of relief. Music would make conversation unnecessary.

The ride proved to be an enjoyable interlude. Sarah was pleasantly surprised when the tape gave forth with the silvery tones of George Strait. She knew Clay's taste in music ran to Mozart and Bach.

"Surprised?" Clay glanced briefly in her direction.

"Very pleasantly," Sarah admitted with a smile.

"I'm glad. I bought that tape for you."

It seemed such a little gesture, but it told Sarah, more than any words he could have spoken, the extent of his feelings for her.

"Sleep if you'd like," he told her. "It's only a short drive."

Sarah closed her eyes, and didn't open them until they had driven past the city limit sign on the outskirts of Poteet.

Chapter Five

Fifteen minutes later, Clay parked his car on the gravel parking lot in front of a long rambling, L-shaped building. Across the top of the structure, a huge silver spur flashed in all its neon glory. The music of a western band floated out into the night air. "This place came highly recommended." Clay came around to open Sarah's door. "I hope you like it."

They held hands as they walked across the parking lot. Then Clay opened the door, and stepped back for Sarah to enter.

A waiter with a handlebar mustache, and a toothy smile greeted them. "Good evening, Mr. Daniels, and welcome. Your table is ready." He opened the foyer door, and held it, waiting for Sarah and Clay to enter.

"Do you come here often?" Sarah looked around the darkened club, as the foyer door closed behind them.

"I've never been here before." Clay followed Sarah into the large, low-ceiling room.

Sarah protested, "But the waiter knows you."

"I would hazard a guess that half the population of Texas knows me by sight." Clay removed his hat, and hung it on an empty peg by the foyer door. "It's not by choice, but I'm a very public figure."

The club was dark and smoke-filled. Sarah's eyes adjusted slowly to see that tables covered with checkered cloths had been scattered around the sides of hardwood dance arena. A massive, ornate bar replete with mirrors and boasting a brass rail covered one wall. Across from the bar, a raised dais served as a band stand.

They were welcomed by a pretty girl wearing a short black skirt and high-heeled boots. Over the noise of the band and babble of many voices, she called, "This way," then motioned for them to follow her as she led them to a table for two in a secluded corner.

On a little intake of breath, Sarah declared, "This place is fabulous."

Clay held her chair. "The food is reported to be fantastic." He nodded toward the double doors beside the bandstand. "There's an outside dance pavilion through those doors."

A waiter appeared, equipped with poised pencil, a note pad and menus. "Good evening, Mr. Daniels. My name is Mike. I'll be your waiter for the evening."

As Clay conversed seriously with the waiter, Sarah scanned the room and its occupants. "I like this place, Clay."

The waiter took their order, then hurried away. As he disappeared through the swinging kitchen doors, Clay turned his attention back to Sarah. "I thought you would. It was once a stagecoach stop. I have been told that the owner went to great lengths to restore and expand the original structure." He reached for her hand. "I'm glad you like it."

They sat, holding hands and listening to the band until the waiter returned balancing a tray of food over his head.

"Didn't I tell you?" Clay gestured toward the platters of steak, baked potatoes, pinto beans and green salad that the waiter sat before them. In the center of the table was a basket filled with tiny loaves of steaming brown bread.

"The ambiance is perfect." Sarah watched as the band played Cotton-Eyed Joe, and dancers scooted around the floor on booted feet, joyfully shouting obscenities.

"It's incondite, but not offensively so." Clay took a sip of beer, then sat his glass on the table, where it made a wet circle on the checkered cloth.

You don't belong here, Sarah thought, as she digested Clay's pompous remark along with her hearty meal. You should be in a ballroom with crystal chandeliers, drinking wine, and dancing to orchestra music, not in a gaudy honky tonk, drinking beer and listening to obscene shouts and the raucous music of a loud five-piece band. A sudden surge of tenderness caught her. Clay had done all this to please her, but he didn't want her to know that. She was profoundly moved.

She turned her head, afraid he would read her thoughts. As her eyed fell on the table near the band stand, her heart jumped into her throat, and beat like the fluttering wings of a caged bird. Blake Hamilton sat at that table. Sitting beside him, and smiling into the blue of his eyes, was Linda Webster. A sensation dangerously near jealously seared Sarah. Strangling on her own emotions, she reached for a glass of water.

Clay dropped his fork and put his napkin on the table. "The food is highly seasoned. I hope it's not too spicy for you."

Sarah took a quick sip of water. "No. It's perfect." Words Karen had said to Sarah the day she met Blake, burst with incendiary velocity, into her head. He came home and bought a honky tonk. It couldn't be! It couldn't! With sinking surety, she knew it was. Some ugly twist of fate had brought her face to face with the one man in the world she wanted most to avoid. Given a choice Sarah would have faced John Markum and all his madness rather than confront Blake Hamilton and his scathing sarcasm. With courage born of sheer determination, she smiled, and began to cut her steak into small pieces.

Clay settled in his chair, looking relieved, as he placed his napkin back across his lap.

They finished the meal in amiable silence.

As a steel guitar began to moan the first strains of a slow love song, Clay pushed his chair back. "Would you care to dance?"

"I'd love to." Sarah followed him onto the dance floor, and when he opened his arms, stepped gracefully into his embrace.

Clay danced with more precision than feeling. As Sarah relaxed in the circle of his arms, she found it easy to follow his measured movements. After several swings around the floor, Sarah dared to look over Clay's shoulder, toward Blake. Their eyes collided.

The blue fire that smoldered there condemned, threatened, devoured her. She looked away.

Clay loosened his tight embrace. He was perceptive enough to know that something was amiss. "The floor is much too crowded. Shall we sit down?"

"It's very warm in here." Sarah pressed her icy hands to her burning cheeks.

"Would you like a drink?" Clay asked as he helped Sarah to her chair.

"No. I . . . thank you." The words came out in faltering syllables. She had to escape and the sooner the better.

Her dread climbed toward panic when she looked up to sees Blake and Linda moving through the crowd of dancers, toward the tiny corner table. Escape was impossible now. She would have to brazen it out.

The advancing couple was very near before Blake spoke. "Sarah, imagine seeing you here." The hurt in his eyes made her want to cry. He had no right to look at her that way. She meant nothing to him. He meant nothing to her.

Sarah answered with a calm that surprised her. "Hello, Mr. Hamilton." Turning to Clay, she laid her hand on his arm. "Clay, you remember Blake Hamilton, Karen's brother-in-law?" She met Blake's hard gaze, determined to out stare him.

"Oh, yes, Reid's brother." Clay extended his hand. "Aren't you the ex-bronc rider?"

"That's me." Blake shook Clay's hand. He held Sarah's eyes with his hypnotic scrutiny as the hurt buried there glazed to disdain. "Linda, you remember Clay Daniels? And you couldn't forget the . . . " Blake stopped, his voice dropped to a rasp. "Sarah Scott."

Sarah blinked and looked away. She had thought he was going to say, the notorious Sarah Scott. When she looked back, he was smiling. That smile told her, that was what he wanted her to think. "Please, Blake," she whispered, before turning to greet Linda. "So nice to see you again, Miss Webster."

"I would ask you to join us," Clay lifted one arm in an apologetic gesture. "But as you can see, this is a table for two."

"No problem." Blake snapped his fingers, pointed to two waiters, and then to an unoccupied table nearby. As the waiters pushed the tables together, Blake drawled, "Get a couple of chairs, boys."

"Sure thing, boss." One waiter scurried to bring two chairs.

Blake held one chair for Linda to sit in. "When you own the joint, service is swift and sure." He slouched in the remaining chair.

"I didn't realize this was your establishment." Clay's fingers locked around his beer glass.

"Now you know. The joint belongs to me." Blake's condemning eyes never left Sarah's face, as he signaled for a waiter. "Beer is on the house."

The waiter deposited four long necks on the table, and scooted away.

Blake's lean fingers wrapped around one frosty bottle, as he leaned back in his chair and let his insolent gaze linger on Sarah's tense face.

With a lift of her chin, she met his exacting gaze.- He was trying to intimidate her with his cold words and hostile scrutiny.- She didn't intend to let him get away with it. "You have a nice club, Mr. Hamilton."

"You can call me Blake, Sarah." Blake's eyes moved boldly from her face to her breasts. "I think we know each other that well. Don't you?"

One of Sarah's eyebrows came down to pin a frown in place. "No. I don't, mister Hamilton."

"Where is your gratitude?" Linda intruded, uninvited into the conversation. "This is the man," She pointed a finger in Blake's direction, "who, less than two days ago, rescued you from your old . . . ." Linda's voice faltered, then rallied. "From the guy you said held you prisoner once."

Blake grinned that lopsided grin. "Shucks, ma'am, t'wern't nothing."

Linda leaned toward Sarah. "It was so something! I was still in high school when that guy took off with you. I remember reading in the newspaper all the things you said he did to you. You should have killed the bastard. That's what I would have done!"

Clay cleared his throat as he turned a shade of dull red.

Blake still wore that lopsided grin. "You're embarrassing Mr. Daniels, Linda."

"I'm sorry Mr. Daniels." Linda offered a halfhearted apology. "But I would. I'd shoot any man who hauled me off at gun point and kept me prisoner for three days."

Clay took a quick sip of beer. "Please, Miss Webster."

Unabashed, Linda asked, point blank, "Did he really do all those terrible things you said he did?"

Blake's deep voice interrupted with a terse, "Leave it, Linda."

Sarah's pain-filled eyes focused on Clay. He was looking more uncomfortable by the minute.

"Sarah, my dear, it's all right. Try not to think about it." Clay placed his hand over Sarah's wrist.

At that moment Sarah's concern was for Clay. Over the years she had become accustomed to prying personal questions. She doubted that Clay had ever been subjected to such intense individual scrutiny before. Now the poor man was caught in a most embarrassing situation, and there was nothing in his vast repertoire of socially appropriate behaviors to dictate a correct response. She wanted to tell him there was no Emily Post answer to his dilemma, instead she offered him a sweet, intimate smile.

None of what was passing between Clay and Sarah escaped Blake. His villainous scowl and his whispered, "God damn," told Sarah that he had misread her smile, her look. So let him think what he wants to think, she decided.

Heedless of the intricate glance that passed between Blake and Sarah, Clay reprimanded Linda, ever so gently. "Miss Webster, I am sure it was unintentional, but you have upset Mrs. Scott. Please, can't we talk about something more pleasant?"

Blake's voice was a whiplash of mockery. "Why don't you spend some time teaching Linda the finer points of proper etiquette, Mr. Daniels? I want to dance with Sarah. You don't mind, do you?"

Once again at a loss for what to say, or do, Clay stammered, "I-I have no objections. You should ask Sarah."

"Sarah?" Standing, Blake extended his hand. The look in his eyes dared her to refuse.

Her fingers touched the roughness of his palm. An electric shock shot up her arm.

His hand closed over hers. She winced. Even in the pain there was pleasure.

He pulled her so near him that she could scarcely breathe. His conduct was despicable, and she was in no mood to sanction such outrageous behavior. "You're holding me too close."

He tightened his grip, and smiled down at her, mockery glittering in his eyes. "Did you think I'd be jealous of Daniels? I don't care a rat's ass that you're here with another man."

Sarah shoved against his chest. "And I don't care that you're here with another woman."

The muscles in his arms were cords of steel. "If you're talking about Linda, I'm not with her, she works here."

-"Doing what?" Sarah gasped for breath. "You're hurting me."

"She's a bartender." The human vise loosened. "Don't try messing with my mind, Sarah. I won't stand for it." He moved one hand to the base of her skull, and let his fingers caress the back of her neck. "And don't come out here dragging a loop, expecting me to step into it. I'm nobody's fool."

His analogy was clear enough to make her stare up at him with renewed anger. "That's arguable. Right now you're behaving like a stupid, egotistical oaf!"

"But I'm not," he sneered with haughty insolence, "too stupid to see right through your little scheme."

Did he think she had brought Clay here to make him jealous? He really was an arrogant, conceited bastard. "I don't care that you don't care. It's over between us."

"We both know that's a lie. What we feel can't be denied. It may fizzle later like a misfired rocket, but for now we are hot."

Sarah's soft, "You are despicable," sent Blake's hand climbing back up her spine. "So you want to fight down an dirty? That's all right with me." His touch burned through the fabric of her shirt. "Admit it, your little trick backfired."

"I won't admit anything, and I find your accusations and your touch repulsive."

"Do you? That's not what your body's telling me." The muscle in his jaw tightened as his voice dropped to a raspy, seductive whisper. "It's saying, I want you near me, with me, inside me."

"You're embarrassing me," Sarah whispered.

"I'm embarrassing Sarah Scott? That's one for the books." Softly, gently, he bent and kissed her slightly parted lips, then raised his head. "When can we get it on again?"

A flame of shame mixed with Sarah's impotent anger. How dare he make improper advances on a public dance floor? Overlaying all that rage and mortification was a delicious wave of unwelcome desire. "Don't you have any sense of decency?"

"Not an ounce." His hands, sensuous and demanding, moved up and down her back. "Do you want me to show you how indecent I can be?"

She gasped for breath. "Blake, stop it, Now!"

His twining fingers caught in her hair. "Honey, I'm just beginning. You know me, hot and horny." His lips brushed the side of her face. "Don't tell me you've forgotten how we rolled around on the carpet until we exploded? I can't get it out of my mind." He swung her through the

double doors and onto the deserted outside pavilion. "I find myself wanting to do it again, and again, and again"

A cool night breeze touched her burning cheeks. Overhead, a million stars winked down at them. As the muted strains of music died away, Sarah hissed, "How dare you behave in such a contemptible manner?" Desire flamed through her icy rage.

"Don't tell me I'm shocking you." The lines around his mouth hardened. "You want this as badly as I do, Sarah. Don't put me through the trouble of proving it." His lips nibbled at her ear, then moved along her jaw line. Erotic bursts of pleasure shivered through her throat, and down

her back.

He was punishing her for coming here with Clay. "Do you intend to torment me until I make some silly admission?"

"Such sweet torment, but you're getting warm." She could feel his hot breath on her neck. "I like it better when you're hot."

That lopsided grin tugged at her heart, even though she knew he was using it to bully her unmercifully. "What do you want me to say?"

"Nothing big or important, just tell the truth."

"You want me to admit that I had an ulterior motive when I brought Clay here tonight?"

He scoffed, "Did you?"

"No. And I didn't bring him, he brought me."

"Sure he did." The glitter of challenge chased itself across his face and disappeared in the mocking blue of his eyes. His mouth swooped down over hers in a brief, scorching kiss. When he lifted his head, he asked, "Did you think I'd be too stupid to catch on to what you're doing?"

He was set on retribution, and he wasn't going to stop tormenting her until she said the words he wanted to hear. "So you want the truth? Here it is: "The truth is, I think you are incredibly stupid."

His look was one of grim amusement. "Is that an answer?"

"Stop it, Blake," She was pleading now. "Do the decent thing, and let me go inside."

"You can leave anytime." He dropped his arms. "Go on, walk away, if you can."

To her wretched dismay, she found she couldn't, not like this, with Blake angry and thinking she had plotted to deceive him. "I don't want this to end on a sour note. I'd like us to part friends."

"So you want to add me to your rather limited list of friends?" He drew her back into his arms, as his anger seemed to subside. "Tell me friend, if you can't stand the heat, why the hell did you drag Daniels out here to my kitchen?"

"I didn't know this was your club. Neither did Clay."

"A likely story." His lips brushed her hair. "Why do you insist on tormenting me?"

"What do you think you're doing to me?" You rip me apart, Sarah. God, how you move me!"

Her head rested against his chest. "It would never work, Blake, it would never last."

He breathed into her hair, "I don't expect it to last. I've told you before, I don't even want it to last. But I need to be around until I've saturated myself with having you; until I'm so sated with your luscious little body that you don't turn me inside out every time you look at me."

"I won't let you treat me like some sickness that you will eventually recover from."

"You won't be able to stop me." His lips found hers, and hung there in a tender, lingering kiss.

She melted into his embrace, answering his possessive demands with total surrender. The kiss lengthened, and stretched into a passionate demand for fulfillment.

He pulled his lips from her yielding mouth, raised his head heavenward, and groaned. It was a sound that began deep in his -psyche, and threaded itself through a labyrinth of pain before it escaped through his mouth. "Sarah, Baby."

The quiver in her voice betrayed her. "I'm not your baby." What began as a reprimand: "Take me back inside, now." fell to a question: "What makes you think you're so irresistible?" And ended in an impassioned cry: "Leave me alone."

Before he could answer, the strains of a steel guitar announced the beginning of another song. Sarah pulled herself from Blake's embrace, and hurried through the double doors. Once inside, she leaned against the wall before beginning the short walk to her table. It seemed a journey of a thousand miles.

Halfway across the floor, Blake caught up to her, escorted her to her table, and held her chair for her. "Thank you for the dance." He could have been speaking to a complete stranger.

"Of course," Sarah dared not let her eyes meet his.

Blake nodded in Linda's direction. "Let's go."

"Why?" Linda had been engaged in animated conversation with Clay.

Blake leveled a long, hard stare in her direction. He didn't say a word, he didn't have to. Linda stood to her feet. "It was a pleasure seeing you again, Mr. Daniels."

As they walked away, Clay stared after the retreating figures. "Mr. Hamilton, Mr. Blake Hamilton, I mean, is a rude, arrogant, individual, not at all like his brother."

So many thoughts crowded into Sarah's head. Should she add to the list egotistical, uncouth, unfeeling? "I know."

The evening that had promised entertainment and forgetfulness, became a way to mark time until she could escape. Would Blake return to harass her again? She must be a masochist. She half-hoped he would.

"That's the third time you've looked at your watch in the last thirty minutes, Clay observed later. "I know you work at the library tomorrow. Would you like to go home?"

Sarah sighed her answer. "Yes," then added, "You are very thoughtful."

"I enjoyed the evening." Clay's Cadillac was eating the miles between Poteet and Summerville.- Sarah watched the dark countryside race by. "Maybe I should say I enjoyed most of the evening. Blake has all the finesse of a steam roller, and I know Linda embarrassed you."

"Did she offend you?" Clay asked.

"Linda is little more than a child. I don't think she meant any real harm. She's just thoughtless and curious."

"Good heavens, Sarah," Clay was adamant. "How can you find excuses for Linda? She was rude and intrusive."

Sarah had never before known Clay to be so unforgiving. For no reason she could explain, she came to Linda's defense. "Linda is a very impressionable young lady, and she's not . . . Linda's not . . ."

"Not too bright," Clay extrapolated. "And she is certainly no lady."

"I'm not sure what the qualifications for lady are." Sarah answered, on a sigh.

Clay hesitated, then drew a deep breath. "You are a lady, Sarah. You were gracious and kind to Linda, and to Mr. Hamilton, and neither of them was polite to you. It's refreshing to see someone who behaves as you do under adverse circumstances."

Sarah had never known anyone who personified the word gentleman more than Clay did, and he had just said he considered her a lady. Unexpected tears stung the back of her eyes. "That's quite a compliment. I've been called many things over the past few years, but lady is not one of them."

"You are not only a lady, you are a courageous lady." Clay made a sudden right turn. "Life has not been kind to you, has it?"

"Isn't adversity supposed to make us stronger?" If Clay only knew that less than twenty-four hours ago she had been in Blake Hamilton's bed, letting him make passionate love to her, his thought that she was a lady would have been banished forever.

"It is," Clay agreed, "but so often that's not the case."

"I wouldn't know." Sarah lapsed into deliberate silence.

"I would like to see you again, Sarah." Clay pushed the words from his mouth as he pulled his car into her driveway.

Sarah slipped her coat around her shoulders, then surprised herself by saying, "I'd like that, too. Call me tomorrow, Clay." She shouldn't lead Clay on. She didn't feel anything more than friendship for him, and she never would. But right now, a friend was exactly what she needed.

With his hand resting on her shoulder, Clay walked Sarah to her door.

"Thank you for a lovely evening." Sarah extended her arm, half fearing he would demand more than a handshake.

Ignoring Sarah's hand, Clay dropped a soft kiss on her cheek, then scampered in the direction of his car, calling over his shoulder as he went, "Good night."

Sarah was still smiling when she stepped into her living room and reached for the light switch. Clay had behaved like a smitten teenager.

A rough hand covered hers. Panic erupted in her stomach. The fear she had lived with for months, sprang to life. John! She felt herself sliding into blackness.

Strong arms reached to catch her. "Hello Sarah. Welcome home."

"Blake!" Indignation replaced the avalanche of fear that was sliding through her. "What are you doing here?"

"You came to my place. I'm returning your call." His lips sought hers in a sweet, tenderly possessive kiss.

For one blind moment, she surrendered, too confused and surprised to resist. As reason surfaced, she struggled to push him from her. "Are you mad?" Her heart was beating double time and her breath came in little gasps.

"Aren't you happy to see me?" He leaned against the door frame. "Why don't you tell me to leave?"

She turned her face, trying to escape the mockery she saw in his eyes. Her shoulders sagged. Try as she might, she couldn't bring herself to say the words that would send him away. "No. That's not necessary. Come into the living room. I'll make you a drink."

"I don't want a drink, and I don't want to sit down." He swore under his breath, letting go with lewd, terse imprecations that caused the hair on the back of her neck to rise. "You know what I want. Just like I know what you want. I need you, Sarah."

She was appalled that his crude words set her heart singing. "No one could ever accuse you of being romantic."

"Romance has nothing to do with what we feel." He pulled her into his arms and trailed, feather light kisses across her forehead and down her cheek. "I want to make love to you all through a long night." He brought his lips down on hers again in a kiss that bruised her mouth, and seared her frayed nerves.

Sarah's breasts tightened as her body clenched in response. A primitive strain struck its first note deep inside her. His musky scent was overpowering. The taste of his tongue in her mouth sent ripples of pleasure darting through her throat. A symphony rose to a crescendo. She pressed nearer, forgetting everything but the pleasure he could give her.

The hard evidence of his need shoved against her. "See how stiff and crazy you make me?" Some small remnant of self preservation surfaced. She willed her tense body to relax. "You don't have the same effect on me."

"Sweet little liar." He rubbed his body against hers.

The friction sparked a fiery response that knotted in the pit of her stomach, and spread leaping tentacles of flame into her entire being. She savored his seducing mouth, yielded to his seeking hands, lost herself in the sheer rapture of his raw passion.

His lips were a torment against the hollow of her throat. Then, suddenly, he dropped his hands and stepped back. "I'll go, if that's what you want. Just say the word."

That cold pronouncement washed like ice water across her passion-addled brain. Reaching behind her, she hit the light switch. Brightness flooded the room. "No." She couldn't let him go. "I want you to stay." Neither could she tolerate any longer his arrogant attitude. "But your overbearing behavior has to go. We need to lay down some ground rules."

He slid his fingers across her face, then let them rest on the pulse that beat furiously at the base of her throat. "Ground rules? Don't make me laugh. You don't play by the rules. You proved that tonight." He stared directly into her face. "Do I go or do I stay?"

She was consumed by the naked passion in his eyes. Sagging against the door jamb, she let her hands fall to her sides. "You can stay."

A slow smile replaced his look of sober resolve. He pulled her to him. Her face pressed against his chest. "You make me crazy, Sarah. Crazy with desire and longing."

Her last defenses fell as raw, urgent need consumed her every sense. She whispered, "Take me, now."

Scooping her into his arms, Blake moved instinctively toward the bedroom. A gentle kick opened the door. "I promise you, Baby, this will be another night to remember."

Chapter Six

Over and over the thought came, crowding everything else from Sarah's mind. He's here, in my arms, and he wants me. Nothing else matters.

Standing her on her feet, Blake began to unbutton her blouse, as again and again he whispered her name.

Pulling his shirt open, Sarah splayed her hands across his chest. The hardness of his muscles set the blood pounding in her veins. She put her head very near his chest, and let the tip of her tongue circle his nipples, first one then the other. His body tightened like a clenched fist.

He locked his hands in her hair, as he kissed her ear lobes, her temples, her throat.

Never before had she felt so vibrant, so vitally alive. "Make love to me," she whispered on an aching throb of shameless desire.

With amazing speed and dexterity, he undressed her, then shed his own clothes.

Transfixed, Sarah watched his every movement, her hungry eyes drinking in each tiny action of his hard, muscular body.

He laid her on the bed, and eased himself down beside her. His touch was tissue-paper soft. His caressing fingers brought a moan of delight.

She moved her hands along his thighs and buttocks. His muscles rippled like steel under silk. The male smell of him was driving her wild. Her throat constricted. "I want you to . . ."

He caught her trembling mouth with his seeking lips. "I know, I will." His sensitive fingers grazed along her nerve ends, arousing and heightening each of her senses. The feel of his skin pressing against hers, the taste of his mouth on her body, the sound of his frayed breath, converged to accentuated her craving for him. She closed her eyes as a kaleidoscope of exquisite sensations showered across her brain.

All those sensations con-verged and moved to the core of her being as Blake positioned himself over her, and entered her body with smooth, gliding movements. A wild, singing joy seared through her veins. Gasping, she clung to him, as the movements became stronger and deeper. The constant rhythm, the mounting pressure, drove her nearer and nearer to sublime release. As the forceful driving heat inside her centered in the pit of her stomach, she arched her body upward, and cried out.

The majestic moment arrived! The kaleidoscope inside her head exploded. Fireworks burst through her body. She jerked and trembled, as the weight of Blake's body pressed down on hers. The colors rose and fanned out in waves of unspeakable bliss.

Blake's rhythm broke, sending Sarah hurling, gyrating, upward into space. It was like transcending existence. Everything but this moment ceased to be. She soared to a climax that transported her to heights of exalted rapture.

For sweet tender moments after that glorious explosion, Blake's body weighted her into the mattress, his pounding heart thudding furiously, his breath coming in short, heaving gasps. After what seemed to be a sweet moment of eternity, he rolled over, and pulled her with him. Kissing the corners of her mouth, he wiped his fingers through the moisture there, then convulsed in an aftermath of pleasure.

Lying in his arms, completely sated, completely at peace Sarah thought this must be what it was like to wake in paradise. With shaking fingers, she reached to caress his face. "Blake?" Could that far away, ethereal voice be hers? A feeling of overwhelming tenderness welled up inside her.

He moved away from her. "Didn't I promise you another night to remember?"

She pressed her fingers to his lips. "Yes, and it was, it is. Nothing this wonderful ever happened to me before. Hold me. I want to feel your arms around me. I need your touch."

He pulled her into a loose embrace. "Hush. Go to sleep."

She drifted midway between slumber and dreams, remembering the sweet splendor they had shared, until dreams faded to quiet repose.

Sarah awakened suddenly, reality bursting into her consciousness with jarring clarity. She turned and stared at the sleeping man beside her. How vulnerable he seemed when sleep stripped from him the harsh mask he wore. She gave herself a mental shake. How foolish she would be to nurture tender feelings for Blake Hamilton. Her lust for him was enough to make her life a living hell. Slipping from bed, she reached for her robe.

"Don't be an idiot," she told herself, as she tied her belt around her middle. "Get this man out of your life while you still can." A chill ran the length of her spine, as the truth hit her with startling force. The last thing she wanted was Blake Hamilton out of her life. Tiptoeing out of the bedroom, she walked down the hall, toward the kitchen.

Twenty minutes later Blake appeared in the doorway, wearing nothing but a towel that he had knotted around his middle. Running his hand through his hair, he smiled, shyly. "Hi."

Sarah's heart lurched. "Good morning."

That shy smile seemed to be tattooed to his mouth. He rubbed his hands against the sides of the towel, and moved toward the table. "Yeah."

"Sit down, I've made breakfast."

Blake obeyed, placing his elbows on the table, and putting his chin in his hands.

Why was she so nervous? She watched the coffee gurgle into a cup. "Coffee, black, right?"

"Black, yes." He accepted the cup she handed him, and holding it with both hands, stared down into it. "About last night, I'm sorry." Taking a sip of coffee, he grimaced. "You must have heated this twice."

"What?" She asked, puzzled by his words.

"Just a weak attempt at humor. The coffee's hot." He took another swallow. "But good."

Sarah wiped her hands on a towel and sat down. How out of character it was for him to apologize for anything. What, she wondered, was he apologizing for? Turning her head to one side, she frowned. "Sorry about what?"

"Sorry - That should be enough." He took another quick sip of coffee. "Why do you want to split hairs?"

She voiced her worst fear. "Are you sorry you made love to me?"

That wicked lopsided grin tugged at his mouth. "Never that." He sipped more coffee. "Sorry I came into your house and scared you. The key was in the mailbox. I didn't break and enter."

"Apology accepted." She had not thought the word apology to be in his vocabulary. His repentant words gave rise to the hope she could explain about her coming with Clay to The Silver Spur. "I owe you an apology too. I didn't know you owned The Silver Spur when I came there last night with Clay."

Blake stared into his coffee cup, turning it around in his hands, as he spoke. "Apology accepted."

"I'd like to explain -" The jarring ring of the door bell cut Sarah's sentence short.

Blake jerked his head toward the door. "You have a caller."

The thought that Karen might be on the other side made Sarah open the door a fraction and peek through the crack. A young man wearing a cap that announced he was employed by the local florist, handed her a long white box. "Morning Ma'am. Flowers for Sarah Scott."

Her relief was replaced by curiosity as Sarah opened the door and took the box. Returning to the kitchen, she laid the it on the table, and lifted the lid. Nestled inside were one dozen long stemmed red roses. A card rested among the fragrant blossoms.

Blake's brow wrinkled. He put his fork beside his half-empty plate. "Who sent the flowers?"

"I don't know." Sarah picked up an embossed card and turned it over. The inscription read: As always, being with you was like being in heaven. Thank you for a lovely evening. Yours forever, Clay. "They're from Clay. What a thoughtful gesture."

Blake's expression was grim. "You were about to explain about you and Daniels. Go ahead. I'm listening."

Sarah laid the card beside the box, then sat in a chair and hitched it near the table. "Clay is a friend, nothing more. Last night was the first time I've gone out with him. I wanted to make up for what happened at the banquet." It was important that Blake understand that she hadn't deliberately set out to hurt or trick him. "I hope you can believe that."

Without bothering to ask permission, Blake picked up the card and read it. "A man you hardly know sends you red roses and an intimate message the morning after and you say he's just a friend?"

"I didn't say I hardly knew him," Sarah snapped defensively. "I do know him. I work with him at the library." Her heart began to beat a little faster. "Don't you believe me?"

Blake very carefully laid the card back on the table. "I can't think of any reason why I should."

He had wounded her, as surely as if he'd plunged a knife into her mid section, and twisted it. "You think I'm a liar?"

Blake seemed mesmerized by what he saw in the bottom of his cup. "I know what you are, and I accept it."

"And just what am I?" His bland words caught and hung like barbs in her heart. "I don't understand. Maybe you'd better explain that remark."

Blake was still staring into his coffee cup. "This is not your first rodeo."

"Will you put that cup down, and tell me what you're implying?" It was his studied indifference more than his cryptic words that sparked anger inside her.

"This is not your first time out of the chute." He carefully set his cup in his saucer and pushed them to one side. "You've been around the arena several times before."

"I think you are speaking in rodeo terms." God! She sounded so stilted and formal. "I still don't understand."

"It's not important. Let it go."

"No. I won't let it go. You shot off your mouth, now explain."

Pushing back his chair, Blake crossed his legs. The towel he was wearing gaped open, revealing a muscular leg and thigh. "When You brought Daniels to my place last night you knew exactly what you were doing-"

She vaulted to her feet, in a frantic effort to escape the torture of his caustic words. She could not believe that, after a night of tender passion such as they had just shared, he would think her capable of such deceit. Sudden insight told her that he wasn't being cruel, he was being honest. Last night to Blake was no more than a roll in the hay with an available female. It took all her control to keep her voice even. "And what was I doing?"

"Trying to keep me in line." He spoke with unaffected casualness. "It worked. I came running, didn't I?"

Sarah walked to the stove, using the time she bought to gain some equilibrium. When she could steady her voice, she asked, "Do you think I was using Clay?"

"Maybe." He shrugged one bare muscular shoulder. "On second thought, maybe you're using me to trap Daniels. He would be quite a catch."

A violence born of sheer blinding fury surfaced, hastily, viciously. -Sarah picked up a cup from the counter and hurled it across the room. "You bastard! Get out of here!"

Blake ducked. The cup missed his head by inches and shattered on the floor behind him. He swore vehemently. "Damn you!" Jumping to his feet, he glared at her. "You're right. I should get the hell out of here." Picking his way through the shattered remains of the cup, he walked toward the bedroom.

Sarah struggled to bring her monumental anger under control. She had not thought herself capable of such violent rage. After a considerable effort, she gained some control, the anger subsided, leaving regret and incredible pain. Her tear-filled eyes followed Blake as he disappeared down the hall toward the bedroom. She clamped down on the urge to pursue him, to beg him to forgive her, to try again, to make him understand. After all the hurtful things he'd said, she couldn't believe she still wanted him, but she did.

Bowing her head, she hung onto the sides of the counter. It would be a useless endeavor. He wouldn't listen, and she would only succeed in humiliating herself even more. Blake was convinced she was scheming and promiscuous. Not without reason. She had started this affair with two strikes against her. She had been branded as an adulteress and a felon, strike one. Each time he touched her, desire consumed her. Strike two. Now he believed she was using him to trap a rich husband. Strike three. She was out.

The peal of the telephone interrupted her despondent train of thought. Rushing to the living room, Sarah reached the insistent instrument before the third ring sounded. "Hello."

"Sarah?" Clay's voice invaded her ear.

"Yes," She didn't want to talk to Clay, not now.

"Clay here. Did you receive the roses?"

"I did. They're lovely, Clay. Thank you."

The voice on the other end of the wire became hesitant. "Sarah?" a pause.

"Yes, Clay?" Sarah shifted the telephone to her other ear and sat down.

"I hope I wasn't being presumptuous, sending red roses."

"You weren't," Sarah assured him.

He breathed a sigh of what had to be relief. "I was worried. I would never want to offend you. I don't want to rush you either, but . . . I know you aren't scheduled to work at the library today. I was thinking . . . May I take you to lunch?"

"I. . ." She didn't want to go. "don't think. . ." Neither did she want to spend a long day shut up in the house alone. "That would be lovely, Clay."

From the corner of her eyes she caught sight of Blake, fully clothed, his hat in his hand, striding toward her. "Clay, can I call you back later?"

Blake came just inside the room and stopped. One side of his mouth turn up in sardonic smirk. "Still up to your same old tricks?" He raised a wicked eyebrow. "Don't push me too far, Sarah."

Sarah put her hand over the telephone, wondering as she did so if Clay had heard Blake's comments. Lifting her hand, she whispered, "I have to go now, call me later." Hanging up the phone, she faced the man across from her. Outrage mixed with her incredible hurt. It was a volatile concoction. She felt a sudden searing desire to return some of the hurt she was feeling. "You're the one who said, no rules. Remember?"

Coming across the room, he pulled her to her feet and dragged her into his arms. One hand slid under her chin, pulling her face up, forcing her to look into his eyes. "And I meant it, but I won't be played for a fool either. If you want me around, get rid of Daniels."

She clenched her jaw. "Are you telling me I have to make a choice between you and Clay?" This man was unbelievable!

"That's the way it is. Make up your mind."

"It's never wise to go around throwing out ultimatums." She tried to twist from his embrace.

His arms tightened around her. "What do you say?" He was trampling her self-esteem, and walking on her heart. Pride brought her head up. "If I have to choose," She met his steady gaze with her own unflinching stare. "it's Clay."

His jaw tightened. He swallowed deeply, then slowly released her. "He has his work cut out for him, trying to ride herd on a high-stepping filly like you." Stopping at the door, he turned as his eyes raked over her in a scurrilous stare. "If you change your mind, you can call."

She should be insulted, outraged. All she felt was a terrible ache around her heart. "I won't do that, Blake. When you walk out that door, it's over."

He rested his hand on the door knob, "Then this is goodbye." He pushed his hat down on his head. "See you around, Sarah."

She stood in the center of the living room, and heard his footsteps echo across the porch. The tapping of his boots grew fainter. The sound of his feet walking away, melted into the quiet of early morning. She listened until the last reverberation died away. Only then did she sink to the floor and bury her head in her arms as great, gulping sobs racked her body. Rocking back and forth, she lost herself in her own misery.

The incessant ringing of the telephone finally caused her to stop her sobbing and pick up the receiver. It was Clay again. "Sarah?"

"This is Sarah."

"I was becoming concerned. You did say call back?"

"Yes, I did."

"You sound strange." There was a little pause. He expected her to say something. There was nothing to say. A cowardly silence was the best she could offer.

"Sarah? Are you there?"

Sarah wiped her eyes and cleared her throat. "I'm here."

"I have some good news concerning our most recent library project. We are among the finalists for a sizable grant from The Nash-Glover Foundation. I need your help in beating out our competition. You are having lunch with me today?"

"I don't know. . ."

"Please, Sarah. You can help me plan my strategy. I have one or two excellent ideas I'd like you to hear."

The library committee had been waiting for months for a reply from the Nash-Glover Foundation. "Are you sure you want me? Don't you think Tiffany should be the one helping you with this?"

Clay chuckled. "I want to get the grant, not scare our prospective benefactors off with some wild scheme or hair-brained idea."

She didn't want to go, but she couldn't refuse. Clay had worked long and hard on this project. If he needed her assistance, after all he had done for her, helping him now was the least she could do. "Where shall I meet you?"

"I'll pick you up." His voice was distant. He sensed there was something amiss. He was a dear man. She needed his friendship. Thanks to the unwanted interference of Blake Hamilton, that may no longer a possibility. "Would twelve-thirty be suitable?"

"Twelve-thirty is fine." With a heavy heart, Sarah hung up the phone.

A subdued Clay arrived at precisely twelve-thirty. He took Sarah to an expensive restaurant in San Antonio for lunch.

After ordering an elaborate meal, Clay announced, "The Foundation is sending two people from Philadelphia to discuss the grant." He reached across the table and touched her fingertips. "Are you in pain?"

"No." At least not the kind that can be cured, or even medicated. "Whom are they sending?"

Clay's face was animated. "A man named Joshiah Lambert. His wife is coming with him. Her name is Tasha. They're VIP's in the foundation. I thought I might reserve a suite at the Marriott Hotel for them. I was hoping you would go with me and meet them there. We can take them on a tour of San Antonio's historical sights before we begin to talk about the grant."

Sarah pushed her food around on her plate. "That sounds like a very good idea."

Clay's voice brimmed with enthusiasm. "I think we have many things to recommend us for the money, our literacy campaign, the basic education classes we hold at the library." Pausing, he smiled, looking very much like an excited child. "I was hoping you would give a presentation about the many projects the library conducts for children; like our story hour and the contests and campaigns we sponsor in conjunction with the public schools to encourage students to read good literature."

Sarah nodded as Clay droned on and on. Looking at him, she thought, he was everything a woman could wish for in a man - gentle, considerate, caring. He would make such a wonderful husband. "Why can't he be you?"

Clay heard the pain in the whisper, he didn't hear the words. "What did you say?"

"I was thinking what a wonderful person you are, kind, considerate - " The smile on Sarah's lips never reached her eyes.

Clay blushed. He was the only man she had ever known who could do that. "You must know how I feel about you." He manacled her wrist with his fingers. "I think you are involved with someone else. There was a man with you when I called this morning." His ruddy coloring bleached to a pasty white. "You should have told me about him."

She pulled her hand away. How could she explain to someone else some-thing she didn't understand herself? The answer was, she couldn't. "I've only known him a short while . . ." Her voice trailed away on the breach of a tiny sigh.

Clay cut to the heart of the matter. "Are you in love with him?"

Sarah searched his sad, condemning eyes, then said with all honesty, "No."

"The man is Blake Hamilton, isn't it? Am I correct in assuming you two are," Clay cleared his throat, and blushed again, "involved?"

How could she answer that? She refused to lie, and she could not bring herself to admit the truth. Dropping her head, Sarah swallowed over the lump in her throat.

Clay patted her hand. "I see."

Shame rose, blood red, to blotch her burning cheeks. He didn't see at all, and he never would, not even if she explained until doomsday. It was beyond his comprehension that two people would indulge in depraved lust without an ounce of love or respect on either side. "It's not something I'm proud of, I'm sorry."

Clay's silence was deafening.

"I am so ashamed, and sorry. Clay . . ."

The expression in Clay's eyes spoke volumes. But he was as silent as death.

"Do you want me to go?" She couldn't bear to hurt another human being the way she was hurting him. She couldn't let this happen. She would not cling to Clay because she was too weak to end the relationship. She had to tell him goodbye.

"No." His mutilated smile ripped her to shreds. "We have business to discuss."

If he really needed her, she owed him this much. "Tell me more about the grant, and Joshiah and Tasha Lambert." When the library grant was secure, she would tell Clay she couldn't see him again.

A voice drifted through her haze of thoughts. "So, what do you think?"

Sarah had no idea what he had said. "Whatever you think."

Sarah returned home feeling empty and spent. Curling up in a chair by the window, she stared out at the last rays of a setting sun, and tried to put her confused thoughts in order. She was too old to be suffering the first pangs of a sexual awakening. That experience belonged to the very young - those dewy-eyed teenagers who still had the myths of happy-ever-after and love-for-a-lifetime to sustain them. She was too experienced and too wise to entertain such foolish illusions. That insight coupled with the knowledge that she had fallen prey to so sordid an emotion as physical lust, left her feeling less than the woman she had always thought herself to be. "I'll get over him, in time," she told herself aloud. The statement rang like sounding brass in her own ears.

As the days limped by, one after another, in slow, monotonous succession, she could almost believe her own lie. It was not too difficult to lose herself in the projects and chores that faced her. When she ran out of anything to do, she invented something.

The lengthy, agonizing nights, however, proved to be her nemesis. She slept fitfully, and in spurts. The long hours between cat naps, she woke to remember, to yearn, and to burn. Always before after crisis or catastrophe, Sara had reached for and found a quiet determination to persevere. Now, the absence of that strength, threatened to undermine the very foundation of her self-esteem. Stubborn unyielding pride was her only ally. She steadfastly refused to call Blake or try to see him.

Four long and exhausting days later, Sarah lay on the couch and stared up at the ceiling, then closed her eyes in a vain effort to catch the elusive sleep she needed. She couldn't sleep, she couldn't even think anymore. Her weary mind began to move backward in time. Four days translated into ninety-six hours. How many minutes? She wondered. Self-loathing clogged her throat. "I'm addicted. A deadly narcotic would be less debilitating."

She napped fitfully, only to awaken, frightened of she knew not what. Pulling herself into a sitting position, Sarah asked aloud, "Why fight it?" Her index finger slowly dialed Blake's number. The mechanical voice of his answering machine was a song in her listening ear. "Blake,

this is Sarah. Please call me."

Two hours later, she was still waiting for the telephone to ring, and chanting to an inanimate instrument, "Ring, please ring."

The jangle of the door bell brought Sarah to her feet. She looked through the peep sight on the door, and her heart sank. Karen stood on the other side, her finger jammed into the door bell, one foot beating a staccato on the porch floor. A reluctant Sarah cracked the door.

"Will you open up, for heaven's sake?" Karen gave the doorbell one last angry jab.

Sarah lifted the latch and opened the door.

Karen pushed her way into the room and demanded on a caught breath, "Sarah, how could you?"

Sarah shut the door and leaned against it. Guilt made her shrink from Karen's stabbing gaze. Only one thing could send Karen into such a tizzy. She knew about Blake. Sarah met her friend's disillusioned stare. "Who told you?"

Karen perched on the edge of the couch. "You slept with Blake! How could you? How could I? What must I have been thinking, to let you get in a mile of that man?"

"Don't blame yourself, Karen. It's not your fault."

"Not my fault?" Karen was adamant. "I introduced you to him. I asked him to take you home. I sent you to San Antonio with him. I did all this knowing that you are a naive, silly little fool, and Blake is a fourteen-karat heel."

"It's not what you think. Please, give me a chance to explain - "

Karen interrupted with a moan. "Oh, no! I don't want to hear this! Don't tell me you have some notion of trying to tame that wild honky-tonk cowboy." When Sarah didn't answer, she demanded, "Is that what you think?"

"No. Not even I am that big a fool. " Sarah gnawed her lower lip. "I know it won't last. But I can't help myself. It's lust. I see him, and I burn. He touches me and I go up in flames."

Karen's mouth fell open as she stood to her feet. "But I thought . . . You said . . ."

"That I was frigid?" Karen was the only person Sarah had ever confided her shameful secret to. "Not with Blake."

"Oh, God!" Karen's face contorted. "Don't you know you are headed for heartbreak - again?. Why must you always get involved with men who are such no-good SOB's?"

"What about Paul?" Sarah whispered. Remembering Paul brought, even now, a touch of guilt.

On a sigh, Karen agreed. "That's true, Paul was a fine man. But you didn't choose him, he chose you, and it was for all the wrong reasons."

Only intense anger and deep concern would have caused Karen to reveal her knowledge of such a deep and hidden truth. Sarah didn't dare pursue the subject of Paul any farther. "Blake is not your problem."

Karen sat on the couch arm and swung one leg. "What must you have been thinking, letting that woman-chasing bastard talk you into his bed?"

"Who told you?" Sarah asked again, this time more forcefully. When Karen refused answer, she pressed, "Was it Reid?"

With a shrug, Karen relented. "Yes, Blake was asking Reid about your . . about the . . -. Oh, hell!" Karen exploded. "Blake was giving Reid the third degree about, what he chose to call, your shocking past."

"My past is shocking. We both know that. Why should Blake's asking Reid about it upset you?"

Karen jumped to her feet and snorted her indignation. "Ha! Blake Hamilton was asking about your past? What about his past, and his present?"

"I never thought to ask about either his present or his past," Sarah admitted with a sigh.

Karen threw both hands in the air. "The man is a hope-less scoundrel." Her voice dropped. "Get out, Sarah. Send him packing. He's selfish, nasty-tempered, and unscrupulous."

"And at times unfeeling and blunt," Sarah inserted. "I know all those things. I know, and I still can't help myself." Her shoulders sagged. "I don't know what to do."

"I'm telling you what to do!" Karen was shouting again. "Get out!"

"How long have you known?" Why should she feel so betrayed?

"Since this morning. Reid seems to think his no-good brother was within his rights to ask my husband intimate questions about my best friend." Karen's eyes filled with tears. "We quarreled, Sarah, for the first time. Reid thinks I'm judging his brother too harshly. He says I should butt out, and leave the two of you alone."

Sarah couldn't let her affair with Blake do anymore damage than it already had. Karen's first marriage had been a disaster. It had taken years for her to get over her heartbreak, and to love again. Speaking with a callousness she didn't feel, she forced herself to say, "Reid's right. I don't want or need your well-meaning, but unwelcome advice."

An offended Karen took a step in Sarah's direction. "You're my dearest friend. I only want what's best for you."

"I can manage my own life, thank you." Sarah's heart was heavy with grief. "Go home, and take care of your husband and your own business." She was hurting Karen, hurting her, and alienating her. Better that than to have Karen and Reid quarrel over her sordid little affair with Blake.

Karen groaned. "That man has you bewitched. You and I have been best friends since we were six years old." She wiped at a wayward tear. "I came here because I was concerned about you, but if you don't want my advice, I'll go."

Sarah followed Karen to the door. "I'll call you soon."

"Don't bother." Karen snapped, then added as she opened her car door. "You are such a fool." She raced her motor furiously before she sped away.

Over the sound of spinning tires and flying gravel, came the welcome sound of a telephone ringing. Sarah raced toward the clanging instrument.

Chapter Seven

Sarah fitted the telephone to her ear, and exhaled. "Hello."

The deep voice on the other end asked, "You wanted me?"

Sarah wound the cord around her fingers. "Blake! It's good to hear your voice. I've missed you." A strangle caught in her throat. "How have you been?"

"I'm surviving, and you?" He sounded a million miles away. "Why did you call? What do you want?"

She could hardly tell him what she really wanted was to see him, to touch him, to have him inside her. "I wanted to invite you to dinner tonight. I have something to tell you."

His rough, growling voice was already doing strange things to her pulse rate.-"I don't think I can make it tonight, sorry." Each word he spoke was a sharp, striking dart of pain.

Sarah drew in a tortured breath. "That's quite all right. Maybe we can get together some other time." Shame and self loathing mingled to make her misery complete. "Good-bye, Blake."

"Hey, wait a minute." He called hastily, "Don't hang up on me. Tell me why you want to see me."

He wanted her to say she had changed her mind about Clay. She couldn't bring herself to do that. "It's not important. I don't want to keep you. I know you must be busy."

"That's just it. I'm not busy. I am on standby."

Suspicion that this was a hastily conceived excuse made Sarah ask sharply, "Standby for what?"

"I came home early from the club. I need to be available, in case something comes up there and someone needs to find me." His voice deepened, became seductive. "Why don't you drive in tonight, and visit me? We can talk here as well as there."

Sarah knew she should refuse. She couldn't find the willpower to do so. "It's late. That's a long drive."

"Please, Sarah. I'll make you glad you did. I'm waiting for you, Baby." He hung up before she could reply.

Sarah stood for several minutes staring at the buzzing receiver, before she dropped it into its resting place, ran to her bedroom and began to throw garments into her gym bag. "This is madness, sheer madness," she told herself as she hurried to her car. She made the drive from Summerville to San Antonio in less than a half hour.

As she stopped her car in Blake's drive-way, once more, doubt pushed through her resolve. "This is a fool's game," she whispered into the darkness, "and I'm the fool." She should run in the opposite direction, as fast and as far as she could travel. Instead she took her keys from the ignition, gripped her gym bag, and stepped from her car.

Blake opened the door before she could press the door-bell. He pulled her into his arms as he kicked the door shut with his foot. "I've missed you. Four days is a long time." She could almost believe he felt some affection for her.

That belief faded in the wake of his next words. "I expected you to call sooner, Baby." He released her, and reached for her bag. "I'm surprised you held out so long." He smiled seductively, then winked.

He hadn't told her anything she hadn't said to herself, over and over again, where Blake was concerned, she was a pushover. Why then, should she feel so injured when he put his finger so squarely on the galling truth? "Don't call me baby."

One of Blake's dark eyebrows climbed toward his hairline. "Touchy, aren't you?"

"I am not touchy, but Baby is a term of endearment." He should save it for someone he cared for; she wasn't sure he even liked her very well.

"That's what I mean it to be." The kindling desire in his eyes sent shivers down her spine. "When I'm holding you in my arms and you coo and whimper, when I'm inside you and you moan and shudder, your sound like a baby, and you feel like one too, all soft and warm and cuddly."

An answering spark of desire blazed beneath Sarah's sudden surge of useless anger. Closing her eyes against the anguish that rose inside her, she asked wearily, "Why did you tell Reid that we'd slept together? You know how Karen feels about me seeing you. If you were so concerned about my past, you could have talked to me. I would have answered any question you wanted to ask."

"I have a question now." Blake tossed the gym bag on the nearest chair. "Does your coming here mean Clay Daniels is out of the picture?"

She told him the truth. "I work with Clay, but I'm no longer seeing him socially." Then added, "And you haven't answered my question. Why did you tell Reid you and I had slept together?"

Blake frowned. "So you're not seeing Daniels socially?" He laughed, contemptuously. "How delicately put." His frown converted to a smile. "Karen is on my case again. What did she tell you this time?"

"She said you asked Reid about my past. Karen and Reid quarreled over you and me and our . . . affair."

Genuine amusement broadened his smile, sparked in his eyes. "So that's what we are having, an affair. I could have sworn what we're having is an argument." He shrugged. "Forget it. They'll kiss and make up."

"Don't you understand?" How could one man be so desirable and at the same time so impossible? "Karen and Reid had their first quarrel, and it's your fault. Lowering her head, she amended her accusation, "Our fault."

Blake was still smiling that aggravating, devastating, lopsided smile. "Maybe you're right. I should have known Reid would spill his guts to his wife. She has him wrapped around her little finger. One tough look from Karen, and Reid becomes a spineless wonder."

"Reid is your brother. Don't you have any respect for anyone? Reid loves Karen!" Why was she defending Reid to his own brother? "I didn't come here to argue with you."

He pulled her down on the couch beside him, and trailed one finger along the side of her face. "I know why you came. I want the same thing." Grasping her hands in his, he let his lips flutter over the pulses that beat rapidly at her wrists.

This time Sarah didn't bother fighting the warm sensation of pleasure that invaded her body. "Oh, Blake, I missed you so much. Hold me, kiss me."

He moved his lips to the smooth column of her arched throat. "Here?" then dropped his mouth to the soft spot where her neck joined her shoulder. "Here?"

She surrendered to the sensual pleasure of his expert love making. "Yes, yes, please . . ."

His voice, hoarse and sensuous, sent a shiver of desire through her. "I need you, Baby. I need you now!"

Pulling his shirt open, she let her caressing hands feather across his chest, and move down his muscular back. He shuddered. His reaction gave her an odd sense of power. Fantasy cost nothing. He didn't love her, but she could pretend, and she did. It was a silly sham, a foolish flight of fancy, but she cherished the moment.

They undressed each other, taking their time, tasting hungrily, kissing passionately. Made bold by desire, Sarah teased her tongue into Blake's mouth, and swept recklessly into each crevice.

Blake began an erotic exploration. His mouth followed his hand across Sarah's breasts, and down her smooth middle, then slipped to lower regions.

Her questing fingers strolled across his muscular stomach, then dared explore more titillating parts of his anatomy.

Blake was making wondrous incursions, his mouth tasted Sarah's breasts, licking, sucking, sending her into a frenzy of delirious euphoria.

A wish to give as much enjoyment as she was receiving, made Sarah reckless in seeking and finding new avenues to pleasure. Wild and daring, she relinquished any claim to her body as her own, and surrendered to his sensuous offensive, as all restraints fell away. Wanton delight released the desire that had lain dormant for so many years, liberating a passion that shook her to the core of her being. Dropping the restraints that had held her captive for so long, she made love fervently, tempestuously, ecstatically.

What had begun as tender love-making, erupted into a tumultuous explosion. Blake entered Sarah's body on a hard, demanding thrust. His control a thing of the past, lost in the maddening demands of her desire. The incredible chemistry between them ignited the very air with detonating intensity.

Sarah's abandon was complete. Sheathing Blake, she arched her body upward, in a frantic effort to consume him, to take him into her, and never let him go.

The shattering climax came suddenly, leaving them suspended in a cloud of ecstasy that obliterated, for a few achingly beautiful seconds, all else except the bliss of the moment.

Afterward, they lay in each others arms, unaware that, in the frenzy of their lovemaking, they had moved from the couch to the floor.

Blake brushed his hand through his tousled hair. "It seems we are on the carpet again, darling." How easily the word darling slipped from his mouth.

Sarah didn't answer, she couldn't. Shattering emotions surged through her, robbing her of any coherent response.

Blake rested his elbow on the floor, and put his head in his hand. "Did I once criticize your technique? I take it all back. You are a woman of extraordinary abilities."

Sarah took a deep breath. If someone had stabbed her in the heart, the pain she felt would have been no less real. Did Blake believed her response had been due to some learned technique she had acquired from making love to other men?

Once again, she was forced to face the cruel truth. That was exactly what he thought. The magnificent interlude they had just shared, was, for him, just another sexual encounter. Her brief fantasy shattered into fragments of misery. "I'm glad you were pleased." There was a cutting edge to her voice.

"You seem upset." Blake stood to his feet, and stretched, then yawned. "Did I say something wrong?"

He hadn't, not really. He had only spoken the truth, and she wasn't angry, she was hurt. That thought only increased her pain. "There's nothing wrong with being honest." Sitting on the edge of the couch, she folded her arms over her bare breasts.

Blake sat down beside her, put his arm around her shoulders, and laid his face against hers. "Was it good for you?"

By now Sarah had gained some control. Pushing his hand away, she reached for her shirt. "You know it was."

Laughing, he pulled her into his arms. "Then why do I get this crazy feeling that you're mad as hell at me?"

Sarah said through clenched teeth, "I am not mad."

"I think you are." Tilting her chin, he looked into her eyes. "Don't pretend, Sarah, something's wrong, tell me what it is."

That was exactly what she had been doing, pretending. Sarah buttoned her shirt and reached for her jeans. "I have to go now. I work at the library tomorrow."

"Call in sick, or take tomorrow off and stay here with me tonight." He smiled that seductive, heartbreaking smile. "You won't be sorry."

"I'm not gainfully employed at the library." She had assumed he knew that. "One of the requirements for my early release from prison was that I do several months of public service work. I was assigned to the library. When I'd completed those months, I asked the library board to let me stay on as a volunteer, and, despite my criminal past, they graciously agreed."

He stood and stared down at her, stark naked, magnificently handsome as a look of dawning realization lit the blue of his eyes. "You don't have to explain to me about your past. If I hurt you by asking Reid about it, I'm sorry."

"It's not that." The hopelessness of this entire situation hit Sarah with brutal force.

"Then what is it? Tell me what the hell I did do that was so wrong, and I'll apologize."

"What could you possibly have to apologize for? For lusting after a woman who repels you?" She brushed her hands across her face, then snapped her jeans.

"You don't repel me, Sarah. God! How can you think that?" He sounded almost desperate. "Will you explain to me what the hell I did that has you so pissed off?" His voice dropped, became pleading. "Baby, give me a chance."

If she let him, he would lure her back into that same old cycle of lust and regret. "There is nothing to explain. Goodbye Blake." Sarah picked up her bag, and hurried toward the door.

"Come back here, Sarah!"

"No! Not this time, not ever again."

Ignoring the fact that he was completely nude, Blake followed her onto the porch. "You are one touchy female. I apologize. I don't know what the hell for, but I'm sorry."

No amount of apologizing would change the way he felt about her. "I don't ever want to see you again."

As she ran to her car, Blake shouted, "Call me, Sarah." That old note of arrogant self assurance rang in her ears.

Driving home was not easy. The road snaked sinuously through a blur of tears. "It's over," Sarah told herself."I won't call him again, and I know he'll never call me. His macho pride wouldn't let him, even if he wanted to." Wiping a tear with one hand, she comforted herself with her own words. "It could never have lasted, anyway. It's better to have it over now before we hurt each other even more."

After sleeping fitfully through the night, Sarah woke to greet a ragged dawn, and to relive in her mind, the events of the night before. Where, she wondered, had it all gone so wrong? The answer was, it was never right. Lust was not enough to hold a relationship together. Without mutual respect and some common ground for under-standing, even a cheap, shoddy little affair was doomed.

With an effort, She pushed her memories to the back of her mind, and concentrated on the library project. Clay had assigned her a mammoth undertaking that would keep her occupied during the dreary days that stretched ahead. She was to research, compose and then present to Josiah and Natasha Lambert a brief history of the library's growth and progress through the ears.

One good thing had come from the misery of pushing Blake from her life. She could see Karen again. Later in the morning she called her old friend. "I'm not going to see Blake again."

Karen didn't sound at all convinced. "Why not?"

"We had a fight. It's over. Have lunch with me and we can talk."

"I don't want to talk about Blake Hamilton." Karen asserted, then added, "but I would love to have lunch with you. Meet me at Tony's Diner at one o'clock. And be on time. I only have thirty minutes for lunch."

Three hours later Karen slipped into a chair across from Sarah, unfolded her napkin, and demanded to know, "Are you all right?"

Glancing at the colorful menu, Sarah assured her old friend, "I'm going to be fine."

A waiter appeared and took Karen's pizza order, then waited patiently for Sarah to decided between soup and salad. When he was out of earshot, Karen leaned across the table. "Is this affair with Blake really over?" A worried frown pulled her eyebrows together.

"It's over." Sarah answered bluntly. "That's all I'm going to tell you."

The waiter reappeared and set the food on the table, then hurried away. "So you still refuse to confide in me?" Karen sounded hurt and confused.

Sarah stabbed at a lettuce leaf. "I can't tell you things about Blake, then ask you not to tell Reid. Don't you understand? I don't want my affair with Blake to cause trouble between you and your husband."

"Is that why you told me to butt out?" Karen laid her fork beside her plate and stared at Sarah as understanding dawned.

"You know it is. You're my dearest friend but I can't discuss what happened. I can tell you it's over." For the first time since she was six years old, Sarah couldn't confide in Karen. A dull ache slipped in around her heart. "Please try to understand."

Karen used her napkin to daub her eyes. "I should have guessed. Of course, I understand. Let's talk about something more pleasant."

Sarah told Karen about the library grant project she was working on with Clay. "I'm thankful to have something to keep me occupied." At least, during the day, she thought.

Karen began to tell Sarah about the surprise birthday party she was planning for Reid. "This time," she vowed, "it will be a surprise."

"Haven't you tried to surprise him before? Doesn't he always find out?"

"This time the party will be at Reid's parents' ranch," Karen rolled her last slice of pizza into a ball and stuck it into her mouth. "and he will be surprised."

Giggling, Sarah said she hoped so.

"It's so good to hear you laugh again." Karen glanced at her watch. "I have to go. I'll call you in a day or so. You can help me with the plans for Reid's party." After she had delivered a lecture telling Sarah to stick to her guns, and not let Blake talk her into changing her mind, Karen said goodbye.

Sarah ordered a second cup of coffee and drank it slowly. She stared out the window at two tiny birds building a nest in the eaves of the restaurant roof. Such stupid little creatures. Didn't they know the futility of believing in tomorrow? But then, they had no past to remind them that promises were made to be broken. Old memories surfaced to torment her. How long she sat, lost in bitter reflections, she didn't know. After a third cup of coffee, she tossed her napkin on the table, and walked toward the door.

Chapter Eight

Sarah sat before her dressing table, putting the finishing touches on her makeup, and rehearsing, for the hundredth time, her presentation speech to Joshiah and Tasha Lambert. A sudden weariness took her. Resting her head on the back of her chair, she drew a long breath as from nowhere came an overpowering urge to call Blake. Reaching for the telephone was automatic. She laid her hand on the receiver, then yanked it back. What must she be thinking? To surrender now would be as fatal as placing a gun to her head and pulling the trigger. That jarring analogy was enough to bring her to her feet. She took a backward step, then turned to go.

The treacherous telephone rang suddenly and persistently. Sarah lifted the receiver as hope flowered inside her. "Hello."

Loud and clear Karen questioned, "Sarah?"

"Of course it's me." Sarah snapped.

"Are you nervous about your presentation?" Karen asked, then advised. "Relax, you'll do a marvelous job."

That was easy for Karen to say. "I'm on pins and needles," Sarah complained. "Remind me never to do something like this again." She was taking her frustrations on Karen. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to snap at you."

Karen's voice was reassuring. "You will make a great presentation. Where can I reach you in San Antonio? I may need to contact you later."

Sarah flipped through the pad beside her telephone. "I can give you the number of the hotel. The Lamberts are in suite. . ."

"Wait," Karen sounded unusually ruffled. "I have to find something to write on."

"Will you just tell me what you want?" Sarah glanced at the clock on her nightstand. "I'm supposed to meet Clay in the lobby of the Marriott in less than two hours and I'm not even dressed yet."

"If you're in such a hurry, leave the hotel number and the suite number on Call Forwarding. I'll call back later and get in touch. I want you to run an errand for me." Karen sounded as nervous as Sarah felt. "I'm having a watch engraved for Reid for his birthday. If it's ready before you leave San Antonio, I want you to pick it up. Will you?"

"You know I will." In her concern over her presentation, Sarah had forgotten to get Reid a gift. She could do that while she was in San Antonio. "I have some shopping to do anyway."

"I have to run," Karen said. "I have a million things to do between now and tonight, and, Sarah, Reid isn't even suspicious." She hung up without waiting for an answer.

The meeting with Joshiah and Tasha Lambert went well. After a tour of the Missions, and a visit to the Spanish Governor's Palace, the foursome returned to the hotel suite, and Clay ordered lunch.

Over the elaborate feast, Joshiah Lambert, a young, and extremely handsome man, explained that money from the grant could be spent only for books. "We grant no money for improvement or expansion of facilities." He glanced over the proposal Clay had submitted to him.

"You have plans to expand your building during the coming year. I must be assured that the money granted by the Nash-Glover Foundation is not used for that project."

Clay let out a long sigh of relief. "You can be sure. We have a building fund that will cover the cost of expansion. We sponsor several fund raising events each year."

"That is basically what I must ascertain before the grant is finalized," Joshiah replied as he closed the folder and laid it aside.

"Then we have the grant?" Clay asked, elation inflating his words.

"You do!" Joshiah declared. "And congratulations."

Clay popped the cork on an expensive bottle of champagne. "This calls for a toast." He poured the bubbling liquid into glasses.

A bang on the door interrupted the toast Josiah was proposing. With a puzzled look, and a shrug, he nodded toward Clay. "Will you get the door?"

Clay walked around the screen that hid Joshiah and Tasha from view. With his glass of champagne in one hand, he opened the door with the other.

Sarah turned to see Blake standing on the other side. In a gravelly voice, made hoarse by tension, he growled, "I'm looking for Sarah Scott," Then he paled under his dark skin. "Sorry, my mistake."

Sarah's breath was trapped in her lungs. Confusion scrambled her senses. What was Blake doing here?

"I should have known." Turning on the heel of his boot, Blake strode swiftly away, calling over his shoulder as he went, "Sorry for the intrusion."

Careless of its contents, Sarah slammed her glass on the table, and bolted for the hall. "Blake, come back! I can explain."

Seconds later she watched helplessly, as elevator doors closed inches from his grim face. Her heart fell like a dead weight in the pit of her stomach. If, indeed there had ever been hope of mending the breach between them, it was gone now.

Sarah made her way back down the hallway, where three puzzled people stood staring at her. "I'm sorry." She swallowed over the lump in her throat. "This was all a misunderstanding."

Tasha Lambert dismissed the incident with a knowing smile. "I believe we have unfinished business inside."

How she got through the next two hours, Sarah never knew. She smiled, answered question, carried on polite conversation, all the while, trying to imagine how Blake had known where she was, and why he had come here. Added to those questions was the knowledge that he would never try to contact her again. Wasn't that what she wanted? Yes. No. Her mind was in total chaos.

As the last good-byes were being said, the telephone rang. Joshiah answered, spoke a quiet, "Yes," then handed the instrument to Sarah.

Holding the receiver as if it might attack her, Sarah breathed a hesitant, "Hi."

Karen's voice, loud and clear, sounded from the other end of the wire. "Sarah, is that you?"

Sarah breathed a tremendous sigh of relief. "Of course, it's me."

Karen asked, "Is something wrong?"

"No." Sarah lied. "Everything went well."

Perceptive Karen was not so easily fooled. "I can always tell when you're lying to me, but we can talk about that later. The jeweler just called. Reid's watch is ready."

"Where is it? " Sarah reached for the pad and pencil that lay on the table.

"At the little shop in the mall on Loop 410 and Fredricksburg Road. They don't close until five, so you have plenty of time to get there. Bye."

"Wait a minute, Karen. Does the shop have a name?"

"Kurt's Jewelry Store. I've called. They're expecting you. All you have to do is show them some identification. I really have to run." Karen's voice was replaced with a dull hum.

After Karen's call, Sarah no longer wondered how Blake had known she was at the Marriott. He had called her house, and Call Forwarding had transferred his call. Driving to the mall, Sarah pondered over what she should do now. Nothing, she concluded. Blake must believe she was in the suite alone with Clay. There was no way she could convince him that he was mistaken. The entire incident was best forgotten.

The mall was crowded. Sarah threaded her way through the press of humanity. She took time to buy Reid a very conservative navy blue tie before stopping at the jeweler's to pick up his watch Clutching Reid's watch in one hand and her gift for him in the other, she stepped onto the escalator. On the ascending ramp, going up as she was coming down, Sarah saw him, and her blood froze in her veins. She would know that arrogant stance, that unconsciously evil leer anywhere! John Markum!

With a fear fueled by remembered atrocities, Sarah took to her heels, pushing her way down the crowded escalator as if the hounds of hell pursued her. She was outside the mall and sprinting toward the parking lot before she found the courage to look back.

Like some evil Cheshire cat, John had vanished, but his diabolic leer hung in Sarah's memory. Not until she was miles down Highway 35, did she began to shed her scale of fear. Once inside her house, she locked and bolted her door.

Still shaking and afraid, she sat in a chair and shivered, trying to blot out those terrifying old memories, and finding she couldn't.

A half-hour later, Karen found Sarah huddled there and demanded an explanation. "You look like death warmed over. I knew something was wrong. What happened?"

Sarah couldn't tell Karen about Blake's sudden appearance at the Marriott. "I saw John in the mall when I went for Reid's watch." She hadn't lied, she had just omitted some facts.

"Oh, Sarah, how terrible!" Karen's fingers tightened around the box Sarah had handed her. "Did he see you?"

"No." Sarah closed her eyes, and saw John's leering face again. "Thank God."

"It was one of those rare incidents that could happen one time in a million." Karen's voice lacked conviction. Tentatively, she asked, "Are you going to be able to put it from your mind."

If she hoped to keep her sanity, that's what she must do. "Yes, of course." Sarah opened her eyes. "I refuse to let John make my life a living hell again."

Trying to divert Sarah's attention, Karen opened the box and lifted the watch from it's cotton batting bed. "Look, Sarah, isn't it beautiful? The inscription on the back says: 'Love Always, Karen'."

Sarah had to agree, the watch was beautiful. "I know Reid will love it."

Karen studied the expression on Sarah's face. "You can't fool me Sarah, I've known you too long. Something else is upsetting you. Didn't your meeting with the Lamberts go well?"

"We got the grant. Clay seemed to know all the right things to say."

"How did your presentation go?"

"Surprisingly, it went very well."

"Then why the long face?" Karen was still watching Sarah with guarded interest. "I know we agreed not to talk about Blake, but are you having second thoughts about not seeing him again?"

"No," Sarah answered emphatically. "No second thoughts."

Appeased for the moment, Karen shifted her attention to other matters. "Good, now let me give you directions to the Hamilton Ranch. The party starts at eight o'clock. I'd offer you a ride, but I'm going out early. Do you know where Post Road is?"

Sarah held up her hand. "Whoa, I'm not going to the party. Blake is sure to be there. I don't want to see him," she lied, thinking how desperately she longed for even a glimpse of him.

"I doubt that he'll come," Karen admitted sheepishly. "I didn't invite him."

"Karen!" Sarah couldn't believe her ears. "Blake is Reid's brother. Won't Reid be disappointed if he isn't there?"

"I don't think so." Karen drew her brows together. "Blake and Reid had an argument. Blake said some rotten things about me. Reid was furious."

"I caused that argument." Sarah's face fell. "I took Blake to task for asking Reid about my past. Blake said some uncomplimentary things about you then. I should have . . -. She stopped, and bit down on her bottom lip. "I'm sorry this happened." Sarah wanted to tell Karen about Blake's unannounced visit to the Marriott. She didn't dare. "I don't think I should come to Reid's party."

"Oh, for heaven's sake." Karen was adamant. "Are you going to let some man dictate every move you make for the rest of your life? First it was John, now it's Blake. If Blake decides to crash the party, so what?"

"That's not my only reason for not going."

Hands on her hips, Karen demanded, "Then why?"

"The Hamiltons may not welcome the notorious Sarah Scott into their home." Sarah felt an old familiar twinge of shame. "I'm an ex-convict."

Karen's voice was comforting. "Will you stop that nonsense? You were innocent of any crime."

"No. I wasn't, and even if I had been, that doesn't change the fact that I'm an ex-convict," Sarah argued.

"You've paid your debt to society." Karen was resolute. "I want you there. Reid wants you there. Come on, say you'll go."

"But, what if Blake does show up?"

Karen wrapped an affectionate arm around Sarah's shoulder. "We agreed not to discuss that unpleasant subject, remember?"

"I do want to come . . ."

"Then don't argue. I'll see you tonight." Karen was preparing to made a hasty departure. "I still have to wrap Reid's gift, and do about a dozen other things. I have to go."

Sarah watched as Karen drove away in a cloud of dust. She should have declined Karen's invitation. Why hadn't she? "Maybe I shouldn't go after all." The battle raged, discretion and common sense arguing against folly. The chance that she might see Blake out-weighted caution. Impulsively, Sarah asked herself, "What do I have to loose?"

She had no trouble finding Post Road or the Hamilton Ranch. The tall, gray-haired woman who greeted her at the door smiled a familiar lopsided smile. "You must be Sarah Scott, Karen's friend. I'm Nora Hamilton, Reid's mother." She reached for the arm of the elderly man standing near her. "This is Jake, Reid's father."

Jake Hamilton smiled. "Welcome to the Hamilton Ranch, Miss Scott."

"It's Mrs. Scott, and I'm delighted to be here."

"Come on in," Jake invited. "Karen's in the kitchen. She's expecting you."

The sprawling old ranch house overflowed with people. Sarah found a quiet corner, and sat down to watch the passing parade of Hamilton friends and relatives. The scene gave her a sense of warmth and security. Family. How wonderful it must feel to be a part of this happy and boisterous clan. From across the room, Karen waved, then disappeared through the front door.

Eventually Sarah wandered out onto the front porch. The crowd around her seemed oblivious to her presence. Anonymity, she decided, was better than being stared at and called that woman, but how cold it left her, how isolated and alone.

Finding her way to a bench in the corner of the yard, she sat down to watch as groups of friends and relatives gathered in clusters, talking and joking with each other.

Then her eyes wandered toward a group of children playing tag near the front gate. Children! She had long ago accepted the fact that she would never have a child of her own. She couldn't brand an innocent child with the stigma she carried. A wave of infinite sadness washed over her. She quickly looked from the children and toward the gate.

The sight that greeted her there, made her heart jump into her throat and beat like a muffled drum. Swaggering across the yard, tall, dark, incredibly handsome, was the man who had turned her world upside down. "Blake." The word hung in her throat. Beside him, holding onto his arm, smiling up into his face, was Linda Webster.

Sarah squeezed her eyes shut, and took a deep breath. Nausea churned in her stomach. She turned her head and swallowed. Control came slowly. When she opened her eyes, Linda was nowhere in sight, and Blake was making rapid strides in her direction. He came to stand directly in front of her. "You have a nerve coming here!"

"Hello, Blake." Sarah laced her shaking fingers together, and stared up at him. The sight of him sent a silken thread of joy weaving through the rough fabric of her tension.

Like fire on water, a blue flame burned in the depths of his cold eyes. "Why did you?"

"I was invited to Reid's party." She stood, then questioned scornfully, "Were you?"

Blake flinched. "I don't need an invitation from Karen to come here. "One of his hands closed around Sarah's upper arm. "I belong here. This is my home." His words struck her heart like glancing blows from an open hand. The implication was, that Sarah didn't belong, and she never would.

Her eyes moved to Blake's hand on her arm.-"Let me go, and I'll leave."

Ignoring her request, Blake sneered, "A suite at the Marriott and champagne at noon? You lied to me, Sarah."

Humiliation stained Sarah's cheeks a dull red. "You're jumping to conclusions, but you're right about one thing, You belong here. I don't."

From across the yard, a ferocious Karen was descending on them. "What is going on here?" Karen shouted. People around them began to stare. Dropping her voice to a hissing whisper, she demanded, "Blake, what the hell is wrong with you? Let Sarah go!"

"She is going." He didn't release his hold. "This is hardly Ms. Scott's type of social gathering. She prefers champagne and a suite at the Marriott to a beer party in the back yard."

Karen's expression moved from angry to puzzled. "What the hell are you talking about?" She turned her baffled stare toward Sarah. "Do you know what he's talking about?"

Before Sarah could answer, Blake sneered, "Ask Sarah where she was today."

Karen moaned deep in her throat. "I know where Sarah was today. She was at the Marriott Hotel in San Antonio with Clay and two representatives from the Nash-Glover Foundation, making the final pitch for a grant for the Summerville City Library." Karen slapped viciously at Blake's hand. "Get away from her." One last tug freed Sarah's arm.

Rubbing her arm, Sarah trotted along beside Karen. "You showed up just in time." Gasping for breath, she began to run. "Slow down, Karen."

Karen slowed her pace as she expelled a long, disgusted breath. "God, I'm sorry Sarah. I didn't think Blake would have the gall to come here tonight. He wasn't invited."

Sarah was sick with shame and humiliation. "I'm going home. I never should have come here."

Karen dug her boot heels into the soft earth. "No, Sarah, don't. Don't give Blake the satisfaction of knowing he drove you away."

"This is his home," Sarah argued, "and he is Reid's brother."

Karen's gaze narrowed. "Why was Blake asking where you were today?"

"Something happened. It's not important." If she tried to explain here, she'd spoil Reid's party for sure. "We can talk about it another time."

Karen inhaled another angry breath. "We're going to talk about it right now. Either you tell me or I collar Blake and make him tell me"

What choice did she have? Reluctantly, Sarah began to speak. "Blake must have called my house, and Call Forwarding routed his call to the hotel." She pulled Karen down on the old wooden bench. "He came there, and saw just enough to make him think I was alone in a suite drinking champagne with Clay." Her voice hung on a catch of pain. "He left before I could explain."

"Explain?" Karen exploded, then lowered her voice, as she cast furtive glances at the staring faces around her. "Explain what? You owe Blake no explanation. He should explain why he was following you around, and butting into something that is absolutely none of his business!"

"I didn't say anything because I don't want to cause trouble between you and Reid." Sarah stood, and wiped her sweaty palms on the sides of her jeans. "Do you know how embarrassing this is? I'm going home, before everybody here realizes who I am."

Towering fully half a foot above Sarah, Karen glared down at her. "You can't run the rest of your life. If you leave now, you'll never forgive yourself, and I'll never forgive you either."

Sarah sagged back down onto the bench, and heaved a ragged sigh. "It seems I'm letting another man destroy my life. Now I'm quarreling with my best friend."

"And Blake's not worth quarreling over." Immediately contrite, Karen patted Sarah's shoulder. "Go on home if that's what you want to do, and I'm sorry I yelled at you. Now I have to find Blake and set him straight about a few things."

"No, Karen, please don't." Sarah could think of nothing worse than Karen and Blake quarreling at Reid's birthday party because of her. "I can't be the cause of more trouble between you and Reid."

"This doesn't concern Reid, and it doesn't concern you." Karen's eyes shot sparks of green fire. "This is between Blake and me." With grim determination, she turned and marched in Blake's direction.

If she stayed, she would only aggravate an already volatile situation. Sarah went back into the house, found Nora Hamilton and made her excuses for leaving early. "Thank you for a lovely evening."

Nora protested, "The evening isn't over yet. Reid hasn't opened his gifts; we haven't cut the cake. Are you sure you can't stay?"

"I'm sure." Sarah was kind, but firm. By the time she finally made her escape out the front door and headed toward her car, the sun had disappeared in the west behind a band of glowing clouds. She forced herself to walk, not run the short distance to her car. As she inserted the key in the door, a large hand rested gently on her shoulder. "Sarah, you can't go, not like this."

She didn't have to turn to know who stood behind her. In the warm evening air, she shivered. "You should go back inside. The party's just begun."

"I don't feel much like a party." Blake's voice was low and husky. "Karen cornered me the moment you left and let go with both barrels."

Tears stood in Sarah's eyes making it difficult for her to put her key in the car door. "Karen's been running interference for me since we were six years old. Sometimes she gets a little over zealous. I hope she wasn't too rough on you."

"She told me, among other things, that I am an egotistical, chauvinistic bastard." Blake's hand tightened. "It's not important. You're my concern now. Get in; I'll drive you home."

Sarah stiffened. "You came here with someone else. Go back to her. I can manage alone."

Pulling her against him, Blake laid his chin on her head. "I can't let you go, not like this."

Sarah tried to pull away. "You don't have any choice." Gripping the handle of her car door, she fought the sullen enchantment that he wove so well. "Let me go, Blake."

Ignoring her command, he turned her around to face him. "I know I've said and done some pretty rotten things over the past few days." Pulling her into the circle of his arms, he whispered, "I want to make amends." His lips brushed her hair. "I need you, Sarah."

No doubt he did, but not in the way she wanted him to need her. Her mind was so reluctant, and her body was so willing. There was no battle, hardly a contest before she went limp in his arms.

He must have felt her surrender. Reaching around her, he opened the car door, and helped her inside. "Scoot over. I'll drive." Sliding under the wheel, he said, over the slam of the door, "You and I have some serious talking to do."

"I don't want to talk to you." Sarah could feel her life spinning out of control again.

"Then you can listen." Blake pulled the car out of the drive, and turned onto the gravel road.

Sarah studied his handsome profile. as she rested her head on the back of the seat. "Karen is right. You are chauvinistic and egotistical. What makes you think I want to hear anything you have to say?"

Her barbed words didn't dent his thick hide. "Where can we go to talk?"

"Blake, I told you. . ."

"I'm not going away until you hear what I have to say. Do we go to your place or mine?"

"Does it matter?" She was too emotionally drained to argue with him, about anything.

Smiling triumphantly, Blake shifted the car into high gear. "Not to me." They careened down the road. "I don't care where I go." Braking the car at a crossroads, he turned toward her long enough to tilt his mouth into that lopsided, little-boy grin. It was calculated to melt her heart. It did. "All I want is to be alone with you."

His voice had such a ring of sincerity. This was a side of him she hadn't seen before. Was he manipulating her? Probably. She was beginning to understanding why women found him so irresistible. Experience argued that she should toss him out of her car, and speed away in a cloud of dust. Looking from his face to the speedometer, she cautioned, "Slow down, Blake."

Blake sped around a slow moving pickup. "I'm trying, but it's not easy, and I'm not talking about how fast I'm driving. This thing between you and me happened too fast, Sarah. We're lovers, but we're still strangers."

Sarah's eyes moved, like magnets back to his hand-some profile. What he said was true. The attraction between them was so strong, and had sprung to life so suddenly, that it had obliterated everything else, even common sense. "Just because we spent a couple of nights together doesn't mean we're lovers." How complex he was and how difficult. How little she knew about the man who hid behind that rough exterior. "I'm not sure we can even be friends."

"Whatever there is between us, it's not going away." Blake pulled onto Highway Thirty Five and adjusted the rear view mirror. "I'd like to set things right, but I don't know where to start."

"We can start," Tension tightened in Sarah's chest causing her to draw an uneasy breath "by you telling me why you came to the Marriott today."

They topped a hill. The lights of San Antonio gleamed distant and bright, across the far horizon. "I called your house, and the call was transferred to a suite at the Marriott. I let the phone ring a dozen times, no one answered." Blake took his eyes from the road long enough to glance in Sarah's direction. "I got worried." He looked back to the road.

Sarah had assumed curiosity had brought him there. Quickly, she hastened to explain, "Clay and I must have been showing Joshiah and Tasha Lambert some of the historical sights of San Antonio when you called." Her brow wrinkled. "Why would you be worried?"

"I remembered that the night of the banquet, you asked me to take you to the Marriott. I thought John Markum might be stalking you again and you'd gone there to hide." His smile was derisive. "I came to rescue you."

"And instead you found me with Clay."

He nodded grimly. "Yeah."

Her heart ached. She had misjudged him completely. "Do you want me to explain why I was there?"

"Karen already has." Blake gripped the steering wheel with both hands. "She told me all about your library project, and why you were in a swanky hotel suite with Clay."

Sarah's voice rose in surprise. "And you believed her?"

"Sure I did. Why wouldn't I?"

She could think of two very good reasons. "You don't like Karen, and you don't trust her. Why would you believe anything she told you?"

Blake glanced in the rear view mirror before changing lanes. "I believed her because everything she told me, she knew I could check, if I wanted to, and contrary to what you may think, I do like Karen."

"Then why are you so determined to cause trouble between her and Reid?"

"I'm not trying to cause trouble." Blake's words were clipped, terse. "I'm trying to protect my brother."

"Protect Reid?" Sarah asked incredulously. "From what?"

"Not what, who - Karen."

Sarah studied his set profile searching for some sign of humor. There was none. "Reid's a grown man. Don't you think he can take care of himself?"

Blake slapped the steering wheel with his hand, "No. I don't. Karen has already walked out on one man. Who says she won't do the same thing again?"

"Karen had good reason to walk out on that man." Sarah tried to push down the anger that churned inside her. "Karen's first husband was. . ." She bit her tongue. She couldn't reveal details about Karen's miserable first marriage without betraying what her friend had told her in strictest confidence. "Karen loves Reid. For her this marriage is forever."

Tilting his head back, Blake laughed cynically-. "-That's what Reid thinks too. But then, this is his first marriage. He hasn't learned how temporary forever can be - yet."

Was this the man who only moments ago had been talking about setting things right and starting over? She had been foolish enough to believe he was talking in terms of a permanent commitment. It was time she faced the truth: With Blake, everything was temporary, even forever. "You can't live your brother's life for him."

"Maybe I shouldn't even try. God knows I've made a big enough mess of my own." A deep shade of red stained his neck and crawled along his high cheek bones, mute evidence of the emotional toll that admission had exacted from him. Then he smiled and pushed his hat back with his thumb. "So what do you say? Will you hang around long enough for us to give it another try?"

She wanted to ask how long 'long enough' was. She didn't dare. Keep it light, she told herself, don't ask for more than he can give and end up with nothing. "I think I could manage that."

By now they were nearing the city limits of San Antonio. Blake pulled off the freeway. In a voice heavy with passion, he whispered. "I can't wait to be alone with you."

Icy fingers marched up Sarah's spine. "I want to be with you too."

Wheeling the car into his driveway, Blake hit the brakes, bringing the vehicle to a sudden stop. "You move me, Sarah, like no one else ever has."

Desire was smothering her. "I need you too. So much, so much."

He unfastened the catch of her seat belt. "I've been miserable without you." His fingers brushed across her breasts. "I can't eat, I can't sleep. I can't even think." Pulling her to him, he kissed the trembling length of her quivering mouth. "Do you know what you do to me?"

She knew what he did to her. The cold wash of doubt subsided. Sparks flew, and kindled a fire that burned hot and out of control. She forgot everything except the ecstasy his touch promised. "Kiss me, Blake, please, kiss me. Hold me, and make me . . ."

"Let's get out of here." Blake bolted from the car, and sped to open her door. Scooping her into his arms, he held her close. "Not another word, Baby. When you moan your desire in that pleading little voice, I forget everything except how much I want you."

Laying her head against his chest, she closed her eyes and her heart to any yesterday and all tomorrows.

Chapter Nine

Blake carried Sarah into the house, and laid her gently on his bed. "Can you forgive me? God knows, I didn't mean what I said to you at the ranch."

Sarah nodded. At that moment she would have forgiven him anything. "It doesn't matter." But it did, and he would never know how much.

They came together in an inferno of desire. Mutual need sweeping away every restraint. Clothing was hurriedly tossed aside. Body pressing against body, they gave way to the hunger that devoured them. Passion, primitive and consuming was sated by lovemaking that was at once sweetly savage and delicately ruthless. The cataclysmic climax ripped through them, like a wild whirlwind, leaving in its wake, peace, and a shattered calm.

Afterward Sarah lay gratified, savoring the hushed tranquillity. Reality wafted through the exhilaration, bringing with it, an unwanted and unsettling sense of regret. She had surrendered again, to this overwhelming passion.

Blake was still holding her, kissing the side of her mouth, and caressing her cheek with gentle fingers. "I think every time, it can't get any better, but it always does. Tell me you're as blown away as I am."

Sarah yawned. Was he asking for assurance? She stroked his arm. "You were magnificent, you were. . ." Her words faded as sleep overtook her.

How long she slept, Sarah didn't know. With persistent obstinacy, a ringing telephone molested her slumber. She felt for the sound, picking up the receiver as she reached for the lamp on the night stand. In a sleep-drugged voice she mumbled, "Hello."

"Hi yourself." The soft, feminine voice that whispered into her half awakened mind caused Sarah to bolt upright in the bed, hold the telephone from her, and stare into the receiver before putting it back to her ear. "Who is this?" The voice demanded. Then after a pause, "No, don't tell me. I know Blake is there. Let me talk . . ."

Blake reached across the bed, snatched the receiver from Sarah's hand, and pressed it to his ear. "Who is this?"

The digital clock on the night stand flashed two-thirty. Sarah laid down, and pulled the covers up to her neck.

Pushing Sarah's legs back, Blake sat beside her and spoke into the telephone. "Oh, it's you." Then after a pause, "I see." Another pause. "No, I'm not. It's okay. You can drive it to work tomorrow." Catching Sarah's eye, he gave her a sly wink.

Sarah pulled the covers over her head. Revulsion and jealously mixed inside her. It was a potent combination. "We can talk about that tomorrow." Blake spoke in soothing, silky tones. "Honey, don't worry about it. You did the right thing. I'll see you tomorrow." Dropping the receiver into its cradle, he unplugged the telephone, switched off the lamp, then stretched out on the bed. "You won't be disturbed again."

Sarah uncovered her face. "That was Linda Webster, wasn't it?"

"Go to sleep, Baby. This doesn't concern you."

Sarah reached across him and gave the lamp switch a twist, flooding the room with soft light. "I am not your baby. Why was she calling you at this hour?"

"Yes, you are. She wanted to tell me she borrowed my pickup after I left the party."

In her anger, Sarah forgot she wore nothing at all. Dropping the sheet, she hissed. "That's not borrowing, it's stealing." She couldn't believe Blake would be so nonchalant about someone taking his pickup without his permission. "And you aren't angry?"

That lopsided smile made her heart lurch. "She needed a way home. You are beautiful, did you know that?"

Slowly, the truth dawned. "Did you bring Linda to the party?" He had! Of course he had, then he had dumped her.

"She rode with me from work. Forget about Linda." Blake dragged her into his arms. The heat from his body wrapped around her like a blanket. "I have. When I hold you like this, I forget any other woman exists."

Sarah pushed back. "Doesn't Linda have a car of her own?"

Blake pressed her face to his chest and let his hand rest on her head. "Sure she does." Tilting her chin upward, he kissed her passionately.

"What do you think you're doing?" Sarah had thought passion so recently and thoroughly sated, would be assuaged. The wild desire that leapt into her loins as Blake moved his mouth along the arch of her throat, and kissed the deep cleft between her breasts, proved how wrong she was. Her angry words died on her lips, and her arms wound around his neck. Her last sane thought, before she succumbed to his seducing lovemaking was, I'm lost, hopelessly, completely, irrevocably lost.

That feeling of being lost beyond recall, coupled with a sense of having no control over her life, returned the moment she was out of Blake's presence. Two days later, in the bright sunlight of a late Sunday morning, Sarah sat at her kitchen table, poured cream into her coffee, and watched shafts of sunbeams stream through an open window. Nothing between them had really changed. "I won't see him again." Even as she made that solemn vow, Sarah knew the words she spoke were as empty as her aching heart. Slowly, painfully, she forced herself to face an irrevocable truth. She was hopelessly in love with Blake, and so obsessed with him, so addicted to his lovemaking, that leaving him was impossible.

Moments later Karen appeared on Sarah's doorstep, furious with her old friend for having left Reid's party in Blake's company. She was scarcely through the door when she demanded, "How could you go anywhere with that man after the way he's treated you?"

This was not going to be a pleasant encounter. Sarah exhaled a resigned breath before she asked, "Would you like a cup of coffee?"

"I would like," Karen snapped angrily, "an answer."

Sarah extended one hand. "Sit down, Karen, and I'll try to explain."

Karen dropped into the nearest chair. "This had better be good."

"Blake apologized." Sarah sucked in her breath and leaned against the wall. "He wants to start over and make things right between us."

"Maybe first he'd better make things right between him and Linda." Karen jeered. "He brought her to the party, then left her, and took off with you. She was embarrassed, and Mom Hamilton was upset."

Sarah perched on the arm of the couch. So along with everything else, she had succeeded in alienating Blake's mother. "I didn't know when I left with Blake that he'd brought Linda to the party." That was not the entire truth. Sarah had been so surprised and elated by Blake's sudden about face, she hadn't given Linda a second thought.

"Blake damn well knew!" Karen's arms reached upward, signaling complete revulsion. "The man is hopeless. Linda had no idea where he had gone. She was looking everywhere for him. Some of the children told her they saw him leave with you."

Sarah didn't know which was more aggravating, Blake's lack of sensitivity or Karen's intrusiveness. "If you'd like, I'll apologize to Mrs. Hamilton, but only for going to her home without first telling her who I am. I refuse to tell Linda I'm sorry Blake dumped her to go with me, because I'm not."

A look of compassion replaced Karen's angry glare. "Honey, this is not about what you've done, it's about what Blake's done. Nobody expects you to apologize for anything." Karen shook her head and drew he lips into a disapproving line. "Blake is the one who needs to apologize to his mother, to Linda, and to you."

Sarah was caught between the opposing forces of love and loyalty. After a brief, silent struggle, love prevailed. "Maybe you should apologize to Blake for doing what you've accused him of butting in where you have no business."

Hurt crowded into the green of Karen's eyes. "Sarah! How could you make such an accusation?"

"Very easily. In your eyes, everything Blake does is wrong. You have no objectivity where he's concerned."

Karen slumped in a chair. "The man has you bewitched, Sarah. Break away from him, now before it's too late."

"It's already too late." The reluctant confession was wrung from her. "I'm in love with him. Don't tell me what a fool I am, or how this will end, or that he doesn't love me. I know all those things." Shrugging, she whispered, "He's my fate, my destiny, my kismet."

"Stop the dramatics." Karen shook her finger in Sarah's direction. "It's not love you feel, it's lust, pure and simple. That's never fatal." She smiled knowingly. "The truth is, it wears thin in a very short while."

"It began as lust," Sarah admitted on a note of shame. "It's gone far beyond that now. I love Blake Hamilton, with every fiber of my being, and I always will."

Karen's bantering assurance was replaced by grave speculation. "Sarah this could destroy you. What will you do when it's over?"

"I have no idea. I've never let myself think that far." Sarah's teeth worried her bottom lip. "I don't want this to destroy our friendship, Karen, and it will if we don't stop arguing, now."

"You're right. From now on, the subject of Blake Hamilton is off limits." Karen lifted her hands and waved them in front of her, "I don't want to lose my oldest and dearest friend," then tactfully changed the subject. "Tell me more about the new library grant."

"It's coming along," Sarah answered, relieved that Karen had decided to be agreeable for a change. "Clay says the first grant check should be here next month."

Sarah and Karen, by tacit agreement, didn't discuss Sarah's affair with Blake again. But the open, intimate closeness they had shared for so many years, was diminished. That knowledge only added to Sarah's feelings of loss and frustration.

Over the next few weeks, Sarah realized more and more that even though Blake had promised a new beginning, that new beginning had yet to materialize. As time passed, her focus narrowed and sharpened, accentuating the futility of the situation. She and Blake had no common interests. He loved sports; she found them alternately violent and boring. She loved music; he was tone deaf. He didn't care for the only two friends she had, and he carefully kept her separated from, not only his friends, but his business acquaintances and his family as well. They seldom went out. When they did, it was to some secluded, out-of-the-way place. There were still times they were uncomfortable in each others presence. She knew he didn't trust her. She wasn't sure she trusted him. Sometimes she wondered if he was ashamed of her because of her past.

All that bound them together was a searing, overpowering sexual attraction. That was no foundation on which to build a solid relationship. When the fire of Blake's passion burned itself out, and Sarah knew eventually it would, he would be gone, and she would be left to pick up the pieces of her life - again.

It seemed ironic that even though the affair itself hadn't changed, being involved with Blake had changed Sarah's life completely; indeed it had altered every phase of her existence. She was so focused on him, that everything else, her few friends, her volunteer work, even day-to-day pleasures such as working out at the gym, watching old movies on TV, or curling up with a good mystery novel, faded into the background and became lackluster. More and more it was evident that the longer she stayed with Blake, the more wrenching the break would be when it did come. Despite all this knowledge and insight, she hung on with a tenacity that, in saner moments, sent a glacial shiver of fear sliding down her backbone.

Sundays were always long and often lonely. As this one drew slowly to a close, Sarah sat, looking out her living room window, watching night wrap its cloak of darkness around twilight, and thinking that for all the slow passing of time, her life was speeding too fast down a dead-end street. The ringing telephone interrupted her morose thoughts. She lifted the receiver.

"Hello Baby. It's me."

By now, she recognized every inflection of that deep, resonant voice. The seductive tone that crept into his bald words sent desire coursing through her veins. She held the telephone to her ear and shivered, loving the feeling, hating herself for letting a voice on the telephone reduce her to a mass of helpless desire. "I can't get away tonight. My manager is sick. Meet me at the club, I have a couch in my office, or we can always make it on the floor."

"You want me to come to your club?" He had never asked her there before. "Are you sure?"

"I'm very sure. I need you, now."

"Blake, you sound . . ."

"Horny? That's what I am. That's what you do to me."

By now his crude utterances shouldn't shock her; they did. She shouldn't be repulsed by the conditioned way her body responded; she was. None of this stopped a budding, bittersweet desire from unfolding inside her, like an iniquitous flower. She licked her lips. "I'll be there in an hour."

As she let the receiver fall from her hand, a gust of shame wilted that tender blossom. The fragile feeling faded. Desire warred against self-respect. Once again, desire won. Her traitorous body paid no heed to the warnings that filtered through her mind. Grabbing her gym bag, Sarah raced for the door.

Why couldn't she break away from this man? By now she knew the pattern their love-making would follow. It would be as it had always been before. Blake called, she ran to him. There followed a bout of tempestuous lovemaking. After that came the inevitable feelings of disgust and shame. She got into her car, and started the engine.

Try as she might, Sarah couldn't ignore those unwelcome feelings. In her heart-of-hearts, she knew why. Blake's casual, throw-away attitude tore her apart, but his lovemaking was so seductively sweet, she couldn't resist him. It was like falling asleep in paradise and waking up in torment.

Sarah pushed down on the accelerator, slipped a tape into the deck in her car, and turned the volume high. A woman's wailing words telling of her lover's wild and wicked ways, made her reach for the off button. She didn't need reminding of what it was like to be in love with a man who was as untamed as a wild mustang, and as unpredictable as a Texas tornado. She drove swiftly, willing herself not to think about where she was going, who she was running to meet, or what she would do once she was there.

An hour later, her boots made crunching noises on the gravel of the parking lot of The Silver Spur. Pushing through the front door, she stood in the foyer, squinting, as her eyes adjusted to the dim light. A burly bouncer standing just inside the door smiled at her. "Ms. Scott?"

"Yes." Sarah lifted her hand to shade her eyes.

"Mr. Hamilton is waiting for you." The bouncer motioned with his hand. "This way, ma'am."

Sarah fell in step with him as he hurried toward a side entrance. The man took her arm. "Mr. Hamilton said to bring you to his office. I'd better hold on to you. This ain't no place for a pretty unescorted female."

Sarah had to agree. The smoky room was the scene of loud music, raucous shouts, and complete bedlam. "Thank you."

They skirted the dance floor, then turned into a long passageway that led to a door marked 'Private'.

A rough, "Yeah" sounded in response the man's heavy-handed knock on the door.

"Ms. Scott is here, sir."

As the door opened, Sarah's eyes flew to Blake's face. Would seeing him always have this effect on her - the feathery chill across her skin, the dry mouth, that sinking feeling of helpless desire? He smiled. Her knees turned to water and the marrow in her bones melted.

He opened his arms. "Come here, Baby."

She moved, with quick grace, into his embrace. As his lips covered hers, she heard the click of a discreetly closing door.

His tone was light, bantering, "What took you so long?"

Pulling herself from his embrace, Sarah walked across the room. Was she reading all the wrong meanings into his trivial remark? She tried to ignore it, and would have, but his arrogant smile was the last straw. "I shouldn't have come at all." Her eyes measured the distance to the door.

Moving swiftly, Blake used his bulk to block her way. His smile had taken on an taunting challenge. Scanning her small, defiant figure, he invited, "Try it."

For no reason she could explain, his jesting challenge cut like a knife across her heart. "You can't keep me here; not if I want to go."

He was smiling that lop-sided smile. "I think I can. You can't resist me, Baby."

"Stop it, Blake." She turned from him. "I'm in no mood for your crude attempts at humor."

Puzzled, he asked, "What have I done this time?" A few quick strides brought him to stand directly behind her. He pulled her around to face him. "What's wrong now?"

How could he be so near, and yet so far away? Everything was wrong. For him she was a pleasant interlude, a passing fancy. He was her world, her now and forever. He was content to share with her a fleeting affair, a few stolen moments in his office between taking care of more pressing demands. She wanted his heart, his love, a commitment for time and eternity. She shook her head. "You've done nothing but be yourself."

Resting his chin on the top of her head, he pulled her against him, letting her feel his hardness. "Feel what you do to me." His mouth moved to her ear. The heat of his breath, the sound of his coarse, erotic whispers, seared through her veins. "I'm going to make sweet love to you, Baby." His fingers found the top button of her shirt.

Like warm wax held to a flame, her body melted into his as her hips gyrated in a titillating, inviting gesture that begged for his touch.

He let his hands move over her body, watching with a triumphant grin, as she swayed sensually. His pleasure seemed to be heightened by her ardent response. "Undress me, Baby, lay me down and love me."

Her hands were a fever on his body, her mouth a fire brand. He shivered, seeming to revel in her unhinged passion that was leading to an uninhibited exploration.

Then he laid her down on the long leather couch, and crawled atop her writhing body. Sliding inside her, he seemed, by some iron will, to hold onto his control. In a taunting voice, he gasped, "Tell me what you want, Baby."

Her answer was a low moan, and a sensuous pitch toward him. "Now," she demanded, "Now!"

His body stiffened into a steel rod. A blue glaze filmed his eyes. Moaning into her mouth, he thrust savagely into her body, control, sanity, reason - gone. The world swirled, spun, then exploded around them.

Their syncopated movements became a wild frenzy, like the reckless rhythm of a raging storm, sweeping everything before it, and leaving in its path calm and devastation. Culmination pushed them over the edge of bliss and into the oblivion of ecstasy.

Sarah floated back to reality, delighting in the sensation of completion. She could feel the weight of Blake's sated body, hear his heart thundering as it beat against her breast.

After a few minutes, Blake sat up, swung his feet to the floor and stared into the distance. He sat for several moment staring into space, seemingly lost in his own thoughts. His silence dropped an invisible barrier between them.

Sarah closed her eyes. She knew what he was feeling. She shared those remorseful emotions. "Blake?"

"Yeah." Turning, he smiled at her as his blunt-tipped fingers moved along the contours of her face, and traced the shape of her lips. His face was inches from hers, wearing an expression she couldn't define. The sweet agony of her love for him made her long to tell him she adored him, that life without him was a bleak charade. It was the surest way she knew to lose him. She turned her face away.

Catching her chin, he forced her to meet his gaze. Gently, he covered her trembling lips with his mouth. "Sarah, Sarah, always new, always a surprise. What will I ever do with you?" His knuckles grazed her cheek.

"Feed me." She had never been more vulnerable. She needed to erect some emotional barriers. "I haven't eaten since breakfast."

Blake laughed. "Get dressed. I'll order dinner. What would you like?" He reached for his shirt.

She searched around for her scattered clothing. Would he take her to the dining room or have their meal sent to his office? "I'd like steak and a little loaf of brown bread like I had the night I came here with Clay."

Blake's hand halted in midair. "What made you think of Clay Daniels?"

Would she ever understand his shifting and mercurial moods? She picked up her bra. "I wasn't thinking of Clay. Don't be absurd." The sound that strained from her throat, missed by a mile, being the intended laugh, and skirted dangerously near a jeer. "Do I get my brown bread?"

"Don't put me off, Sarah." He rammed one arm into his shirt. "Answer my question. It's not very flattering to have you mention another man so soon after I've made love to you."

She struggled to fasten her bra. "It was a slip of the tongue." She wondered, as she pulled on her panties, how he could be so arrogant and at the same time so vulnerable.

Blake slipped his other arm into his shirt. "A Freudian slip?" With his hands behind him, he walked to the window and stared out at the neon sign that flashed into the night.

Sarah pulled on her jeans, and yanked up the zipper. "Forget dinner." The buttons on her shirt were past her doing. "I"m going home."

Spinning around, Blake took giant strides across the space that separated them. "No. Don't." Using his thumbs, he wiped the residue of a tear from her face. "I'll order dinner right away." He slipped the buttons on her blouse into the slots. "I don't want you to go, not yet."

Sarah smiled through her tears. "If I stay," she asked flippantly, seeking to lighten the moment, "do I get my brown bread?"

He smiled back. "And your steak."

"Do you promise?"

"Word of honor. Have I ever lied to you?"

"No." That was a part of the problem, he hadn't, not ever. Blake had never been anything but painfully honest. "Then I'll stay."

After what seemed to be a brief inward struggle, Blake ventured, "If you'll try not to be so sensitive, I'll try to be a little more careful about what I say." That lopsided grin creased his face.

Maybe she was being overly sensitive. "It's a deal."

"And no more talk about leaving."

For once, Sarah spoke the unvarnished truth. "We'd be better off apart."

"You can't walk away from me." There was no malice in his declaration, just an honest assessment of the situation.

Half in jest, she asked, "What makes you so sure?"

"You can't resist me." His fingers, trailed feather light along the sides of her face. He was still smiling that lopsided smile. "Let's have dinner." Her shrug broadened his smile. "I'll tell Charlie to make you that steak." He kissed her, then sobered suddenly. "I can't resist you either." Taking her arm, he started for the door, then stopped, took a comb from his pocket, and handed it to her. "Try to tame that blonde mane. You look like you've been doing what you've been doing." Caressing her lips with his fingers, he added, "There's not much we can do about that just-loved look."

They shared the table beside the bandstand, and a meal especially prepared for them. "Best table in the house," Blake said as he held Sarah's hand and smiled into her eyes.

He had set about to be charming, and he knew so well just how to do it, telling Sarah funny, ribald jokes, giving her his undivided attention, making her feel cherished and appreciated.

Everything was wonderful, too wonderful to last. The man who came from across the room and approached their table was vaguely familiar. As he came nearer, he tipped his ten-gallon hat. "Ms. Scott, how nice to see you again."

"I'm sorry." Sarah searched through her memory to find a name to match the face. "I don't believe I know you."

"How quickly they forget. I'm Carter Trent, a reporter for the San Antonio Torch. I covered your trial five years ago. Without waiting for an invitation, Carter Trent pulled out a chair, and sat down. "I called you several times after your release from prison, asking for an interview. You always refused."

"I don't give interviews, to anyone." Sarah made introductions. "Mr. Trent, this is Blake Hamilton. He's the owner of The Silver Spur."

Carter nodded toward Blake. Blake glowered at Carter.

Carter scooted his chair nearer to Sarah. "Ms. Scott, may I buy you a drink?"

"No, thank you." Sarah replied primly.

"Would you care to dance? I'm sure Mr. Hamilton wouldn't mind if I borrowed you for one swing around the hardwood floor."

Above the din of music and voices, came Blake's acid response. "Mr. Hamilton would mind."

"I beg your pardon." Carter Trent didn't take kindly to opposition. "Maybe I misunderstood - --?"

"Nope, you heard right. I said I would mind. Sarah's with me. I don't want her to dance with you."

Carter leaned back in his chair, and pushed his hat to the back of his head. "Mr. Hamilton, you do know I write a daily column for the San Antonio Torch? Do you have any idea how many people read The Torch?" The statement, for all its blandness, was a threat. "A man who owns a night club like this one should recognize the power of the press."

A lesser man would have been intimidated. Blake was not. Carter had only succeeded in loosening his terrible temper.

Reaching across the little space between them, Sarah patted Carter's hand, in a vain effort to placate him. "Mr. Hamilton meant no offense."

Why had she even dared hope Blake would let the incident pass? Blake drawled, "Like hell. Mr. Hamilton meant to be damned offensive. Good night, Mr. Trent."

Carter stood to his feet. "The pen is mightier than the sword, Mr. Hamilton. You should remember that."

Blake's voice was as deadly as a rattler's bite. "Get out of here, Trent, before I forget you're a guest in my club and throw you out."

The hint of a tremor slipped into Carter's voice. "Are you threatening me?"

Blake leveled a stabbing stare in Carter's direction. "Good night, Mr. Trent. I don't want to see you here again."

Carter Trent was no fool. He knew when to retreat. "Nice to have seen you again, Ms. Scott. I'll call you soon. Maybe I can persuade you to change your mind about an interview." He spun on the heel of his boot and hurried across the room.

Blake's hostile gaze followed Carter's retreating figure until he had seated himself at his table. Then yanking Sarah to her feet, he pulled her after him and began to take long strides toward his office. "It's not safe to have you out here."

Sarah was more than happy to leave. Encounters like this stirred a host of unpleasant memories, and left her feeling cheap and unclean.

Once inside the office, Blake pointed his finger in Sarah's face, "Stay here. I don't want to have to punch out some newspaper reporter in my own club." He ran his hands through his hair. "Why didn't you tell him to get lost?"

She had been through this kind of thing so many times before. "It would have only made matters worse."

He glared at her. "You didn't have to be so damned charming."

How desperately she wanted to make him understand. Dropping down on the couch, she looked imploringly into his eyes. "The only defense is no defense. If I'm nice and calm, they go away, eventually."

"And you certainly were nice." His voice dropped. "Would you have danced with him?"

"Stop it!" Sarah jumped from the couch, "Stop it! I can't take any more." She lunged for the door.

Blake grabbed her and pulled her into his arms. "Does this happen every time you go out in public?" He held her in a bear hug.

"Not as often as it once did." She buried her face in his chest.

"I wanted to kill him." The deadly calm of his declaration chilled her. "How do you cope with that kind of abuse?"

She had never thought of being accosted by reporters in public places as abuse. She supposed, in a way, that's exactly what it was. "I've learned to accept it. What else can I do?"

Blake's anger disappeared, to be replaced by a gentle concern. "I have to go back outside. Do you want to stay for a while? I can come back later, and we can go to my place."

His tenderness upset her. She didn't want his pity. "I think I'll go home."

He nodded his agreement. "I'll call you tomorrow."

"I'll be waiting."

Driving home, Sarah began to relax. It was then the full impact of the night's events hit her. Carter Trent's sudden appearance had barely skirted being a disaster. One more word from him, and Blake would have thrown him, bodily, out of The Silver Spur. She shuddered to think what the repercussions of that impulsive act would have been.

How emotionally spent and physically weary she was! How she longed for the comfort of a long conversation with Karen. Always before when problems confronted her, Karen was her rock and her consolation. But she couldn't discuss Blake with Karen.

She comforted herself then with the though that no amount discussion could change one unalterable fact. She had to end her affair with Blake, and she had to do it now before she did irreparable harm to Blake's business, maybe even his life.

Pulling into her driveway, Sarah stopped her car, and folded her arms across the wheel. It must be very late. Every house in the neighborhood was dark. A lone street lamp spilled light out into the empty street and cast eerie shadows across the darkened lawns. With a resigned sigh, she took her keys from the ignition, and opened her car door.

Sleeping fitfully through the night, she was awakened by the insistent ringing of the telephone. Glancing at the tiny clock on her night stand, she wondered where the morning had gone. Eleven-thirty, almost noon. She yawned as she lifted the receiver. "Yes?"

"Baby, it's me. Can you come to me?"

She sat up in bed. All her resolve from the night before fading in the warmth of his honeyed words. "Where are you?"

"I'm home." That voice intrigued, bewitched, her. "I have something for you."

"Blake, are you- ?"

"I'm waiting. I need you!"

"I'll be there in half an hour!" Jumping from the bed, she reached for her gym bag.

Chapter Ten

Summer sizzled, then faded. Fall appeared with its Indian Summer days and cool crisp nights. Those months, for Sarah, passed in an ambivalent haze. Each time Blake called, she ran to him, despising, as she went the way her own uncontrollable passion ruled her life, and made her slave to a man whose lovemaking was so seductively addictive, she couldn't break away from him.

She was amazed that they could be so in tune with each others physical needs, and remain so far apart in every other way. Over and over she resolved never to see him again. Then he would woo her with sweet words and the promise of joyous sexual fulfillment, and she surrendered only to have the same old heart-breaking cycle began again.

Then suddenly, and without any warning, Blake didn't call. A day, two days, then a weekend passed. Bewildered and confused, Sarah rang his house and left a message. "Blake, this is Sarah. It's been four days since I've heard from you. I'm concerned. Please call me."

After six days, the messages became frantic. "Blake, please call me! What have I done? Let me talk to you!"

Late in the afternoon of the seventh day of silence, Sarah could stand no more. When she found herself, once again talking to Blake's answering machine, she hung up, and called The Silver Spur.

A cool male voice told her Mr. Hamilton was not available to take calls. Would she care to leave a number? Mr. Hamilton would return the call at a later time.

Sarah made herself face what she had suspected for days; Blake was purposely avoiding her. "Forget it." She slammed the telephone down, hard, then sat for several minutes, staring into space, feeling numb and betrayed. Through a haze of pain, words Blake had spoken night of Reid's party came back to her, Nothing lasts forever. Was this extended silence his way of telling her the affair was over? She had to know, and there was only one way to find out, that was to confront Blake. Had she stopped to think, she would have known this was not a wise thing to do, but she was past making logical decisions. Driven by an avenging force that was stronger than her fear of rejection, Sarah acted swiftly, impetuously, and she would realize later, foolishly. Grabbing her car keys from the night stand, she raced for the door.

Ten minutes later she was speeding down the highway, pushing down misgivings and refusing to think about what she would find once she got to The Silver Spur. She had known from the beginning that there was no way the affair could last. But Blake had no right to dump her without so much as a "Good-bye, it's over."

Twenty minutes after that she pulled into an empty slot in The Silver Spur's parking lot and drew a deep breath, as misgivings did battle with righteous wrath. Maybe she should go home, and wait. Blake might call tomorrow, or the next day. No! He had no right to treat her with such blatant disregard. Before caution could intervene, she jumped from her car and walked toward the neon sign that flashed 'entrance.'

A cowboy, with a bottle in his hand, and too many drinks under his belt, appeared from nowhere and fell in step with her. "Are you looking for company, lady?"

"Drop dead," Sarah was too angry to consider the possible consequences of such a rash statement.

To her surprise, the cowboy turned, and walked on unsteady legs, into the shadows, mumbling under his breath as he went.

Sarah pushed through the double doors, and was greeted by the burly bouncer who had, many times, walked her to Blake's office. "Is Mr. Hamilton expecting you, Ms. Scott?"

"No!" Sarah didn't break her stride. "Get out of my way!"

"Yes ma'am." The two-hundred-twenty-five pound bouncer stepped aside.

Sarah bumped the foyer door and shoved her way into the smoke-filled bar room. Once inside, her eyes leveled on the table beside the band stand. As she had expected, Blake was seated at the table, his feet up, his chair tilted back. What she had not envisioned was Linda Webster, seated next to him, smiling up into his eyes.

Jealously added fuel to her already spiraling anger. "How could he?" She spoke her wrath aloud as she pushed her way through the crowd of dancers.

Linda glanced over Blake's shoulder, and saw Sarah bearing down upon them. She sat upright, and pointed.

Blake's feet fell to the floor with a thud, as he gazed in open-mouthed surprise toward Sarah's tiny, advancing figure.

By now, Sarah's wrath had cooled to an icy fury. She came to stand before the table, small and defiant, her hands clenched into fists and held by her sides. "Mr. Hamilton, step into your office. I wish to speak with you in private."

Blake let his wary eyes slide the length of her taut figure. "No woman gives me orders, Sarah! You know that."

Onlookers from nearby tables began to stare. Sarah was too hurt and too angry to care. "You owe me an explanation!"

"For what?" Blake took Linda's hand in his. "You were saying, Honey?"

Sudden weariness crept into the marrow of Sarah's bones. Her defiance evaporated like smoke in the wind. She was making a fool of herself. What must she have been thinking? Where was her pride, her self respect? She couldn't tame this wild honky-tonk cowboy, not in a million years. Too late, she saw what a stupid mistake she had made. Unwilling, even now, to admit defeat, she raised her chin. "I have something to say to you, Mr. Hamilton. And you might prefer to hear it in someplace a little less public."

Blake's head snapped up. A blue flame glowed in the depths of his eyes. "What you have to say, you can say here." He swept his hand around in an all encompassing gesture. "We're among friends."

Sarah could find no words to verbalize her torment. She gulped, and swallowed deeply.

With a shrug, Blake turned his attention back to Linda. "I guess Ms. Scott has nothing to say after all."

Sarah squared her shoulders. "Oh, yes, I do. Good-bye, Blake." She spun around on the heel of her boot and propelled herself headlong toward the front door, not daring to look back. Once outside, she broke into a run. Gravel flew around her feet as she raced across the parking lot.

Spinning her car tires on the gravel, she made her hasty getaway. She drove recklessly through the dark night, careening around corners, and speeding down dark streets. Home was not the place she wanted to be.

When she had first been released from prison, she had often driven through the long, endless hours of the night, seeking to release the emotions she could neither deny nor subdue. It had been a long while since she had felt so defeated, so alone, that endless driving seemed the only way to escape.

Turning onto Highway 16, she pushed her foot down on the accelerator, and sped toward San Antonio. The city beside the river never failed to fascinate her. Driving through the King William area, she slowed to admire the stately old houses that lined the wide streets. By now weariness had begun to tug at her like a net.

She circled through the heart of the city, passing the architectural nightmare that was the court house, then maneuvered down Saint Mary's Street, past the library.

The city never slept. In the wee hours of the morning, pedestrians walked the narrow, winding streets of La Villita.

Before her, The Tower of The Americas rose like a giant mushroom stretching toward an obsidian sky. One last swing past the Alamo, and her tour was complete.

A weariness that sank into her very bones was compounded by an ache between her shoulders and a throb inside her head. Exhaustion would soon overtake her. Sarah welcomed the draining weariness. She wanted to be so near collapse by the time she reached home that she would be too tired to think or to feel. Steering past Market Square, she turned left onto Highway 35.

By the time she reached the city limits of Summerville, the darkness that prevails just before dawn, spread like a blanket over the little town. Sarah pulled into her drive, and stopped her car. She was bone-tired. Maybe now, she could close her eyes, and find sleep instead of aching memories. Unfastening her seat belt, she laid her head on the steering wheel.

A shadow, deeper than the darkness that hovered in the corners of her porch, detached itself, and moved toward her. Her weariness was absorbed into dread. The amorphous blob took on the shape of a tall man as it moved nearer. Had the fear that lurked ever in the back of her mind, become a reality? The word rattled in her throat. "John?"

A hand pulled at the handle of the car door. "Where have you been?" Blake stood on the other side, glaring down at her, his eyes alight, even in the darkness, with a strange, dynamic emotion.

Sarah was so relieved that he wasn't John that for a moment she wanted to shout a welcome. A disturbing thought passed through her fatigue-soaked brain. Blake could inflict more hurt on her than John with all his abusive machinations, had ever perpetrated. Anger brought her head up. "I've been out. Will you please move?"

Blake flinched, then straightened to his full height, and pulled on the handle of the locked door. "Do you know what time it is?"

Why was he here? A primitive emotion that demanded she pay him in kind for his cavalier treatment of her lodged in the empty space around her heart. "I don't know and I don't much care. Get out of my way."

He stepped back, and let her to open the car door. "I was worried sick about you. I called Reid." His voice floated out into the stillness of the early morning. "He said they hadn't seen you since yesterday around noon."

Sarah carefully closed the car door. "Keep your voice down, the neighbors are asleep. Do you want to be arrested for disturbing the peace?"

"At this point, I don't much care." Blake said through clenched teeth. Following her to the front of the car, he pulled her around to face him, then wrapped his arms around her and held her very near. "I've been going out of my mind."

He was warm and smelled of some musky cologne. She wanted to melt in his embrace. That would be sheer folly. Yawning, she pushed against the wall of his chest and stepped back. "Were you?" She asked with cold disdain. "After a week of complete silence, isn't it a little late to come around voicing concern?"

If something had happened to you, it would have been my fault." His fingers dug into her weary shoulders. "I've been here since midnight, waiting for you to come home."

He had come because of some misplaced sense of guilt. "As you can see, I'm home again, safe and sound. You can go now."

He loosened his grip, but his hands remained glued to her shoulders. "Are you? I'm not so sure. I need reassurance - about a lot of things. Let's go inside."

"I said everything I had to say to you at the club. You want reassurance? I can give you that here and now: I hereby absolve you of any promises you've made in the past and all responsibility for me in the future. Now go."

His voice rose in pitch and volume. "Don't start again with me, Sarah. I've had a long night."

"Will you keep it down?" Sarah looked around to see if lights were going on in nearby houses. They weren't, thank God.

Blake dropped his voice to a whisper. "Unlock the front door."

At least now he wasn't disturbing the neighbors. "I'm surprised you haven't already done that. Why didn't you look in the mailbox, find the key, and go inside? That's what you did the last time."

"I did go inside." He shaped his hands into clenched fists. "I searched the place thoroughly. Then I decided to wait outside." A note of desperation had found its way into his voice. "Damn it, Sarah, there are some things we have to settle tonight."

"It's not night, it's four o'clock in the morning," she told him wearily. Her calm response thinly camouflaged the ache of heartbreak that twisted inside her.

Suddenly, and without warning, Blake lifted his head, opened his mouth, and let out an earsplitting coyote yell.

"Stop it!" Sarah tried to cover the fright his sudden outcry had triggered. "Do you want the neighbors to call the police?"

His jaw clenched. "Do you?"

"No!" An incident like that could land her right back in jail. She shuddered at that thought. Hurrying to the door, she reached into her mailbox, took out her key, and slipped it in the lock. The last thing she needed was to have her name linked with another scandal, no matter how minor.

Once inside, Sarah walked behind the couch, and locked her hands around the high back. The anger that ran rampant through her was intensified by the inability to understand why Blake was so insistent that she let him into her house. "Say what you have to say, then get out."

"May I sit down first?" He dropped down on the end of the couch. "About tonight at the club. . ." Swallowing, he paused, then began again, "It was an embarrassing moment, and you ran away before. . ."

Fiercely, she interrupted him. "I won't embarrass you again by coming to your club and making a scene." She had made a fool of herself; she fought now to salvage some of her wounded pride. "I didn't run away, I said what I came to say, then I left."

Blake groaned deep in his throat. "Whatever you did, I drove you to it." He let his head fall into his hands. In a muffled voice, he whispered, "Where have you been for the last five hours?"

"Where have you been for the last seven days?"

"Sarah, please!"

She wanted to ignore the ache she heard in his voice. She couldn't Her love for him was too strong, her passion ran too deep. The urge to punish him evaporated in the heat of that love, and floated away in the mist of her concern. "I drove all night. It's a habit I got into after I was released from prison."

He patted the couch beside him. "Sit down."

She obeyed, without question.

Lifting his head, he touched her chin with blunt finger tips that gently moved to trace the outline of her face. "God, I've missed you." In the soft lamp light, did she detect moisture in his eyes?

A mirage, she decided. "If you missed me so much, why didn't you call me all those long terrible days?"

Pulling her into his arms, he rubbed his face along the smooth expanse of her cheek. The stubble from his beard left tiny marks. "I should have." A shudder ran through his body as he hugged her fiercely. "I know that now."

She pulled back. "Why didn't you answer any of my calls?" She had to know. No amount of apologizing or agonizing could explain why he had neglected her for seven long days. "I have to know. Was it Linda?"

Surprise pulled his eyebrows together. "Linda?"

"Was Linda the reason entire week?"

He shook his head in slow negation. "No. It wasn't Linda. It was me."

"You?" she whispered, "I don't understand." When had she ever understood him?

Jumping to his feet, Blake jammed his hands into his pockets, and strode across the room, before he turned to stare long and hard in her direction. "I thought it would be better if we cooled things for a while."

"Why didn't you tell me you wanted to terminate our relationship?" She sounded like a pompous idiot. At that moment she felt like one.

"Because that's not what I want." His voice fell to a raspy whisper. "Not now, anyway."

With each word he spoke, she became a little more mystified. "What do you want, Blake?"

"I want you, Sarah." He lifted his hands, then let them fall to his sides. "I want to taste your sweetness, I want to feel how good it is to be inside you, I want to hear you cry out for me to take you. I want to feel you shudder in my arms and know I've brought you as much ecstasy as you've given me."

For all the seductive sweetness of his words, he was evading the issue. She wouldn't, she couldn't let him do that. "If you want me that badly," She asked him bluntly, "why did you turn tail and run?"

Anger flared through the cloud of misery in his eyes. "Don't think because I'm here, ready to make amends, that you can push me around."

Sarah stood her ground. "I want an answer. I want to know why you didn't call or come around for seven whole days."

His skull-and-crossbones grimace told her she was treading on dangerous ground. She refused to relent. "I'm waiting."

Dropping his head, he rubbed his hand across the back of his neck. "I don't know if I can explain. Wanting you is like a disease inside me. That goes against the grain of a man who values his freedom."

"Freedom?" She was more perplexed by each word he spoke. "You have your freedom. I've never asked you to make any kind of commitment."

"But that is what you want." he frowned and narrowed his eyes. "Isn't it?"

"She wanted his love, freely and completely given, not some false promise, offered as a way to hold on to what he considered, 'a good thing'. "No. You can relax. But I still want an answer. Why did you run?"

"I didn't run."- He moved his finger around his collar, and twisted his head to one side. "I needed a little time to think."

Sarah was tired and confused and becoming more impatient by the minute. "About what?"

"About how I was maybe getting too involved."

"Too involved?" she echoed, incredulously. Blake, who was as much a stranger to her now as he was the day she met him was talking about getting too involved? "How?" She couldn't follow his convoluted reasoning, nor unravel his tangled words.

Erupting with sudden hostility, he savagely, struck the palm of one hand with his other fist. "You know, don't you, Sarah, that you're driving me crazy?" He was speaking in riddles, but his pain was all too real.

Sudden compassion overrode her anger. "I never intended to hurt you."

"We've hurt each other." Pain was etched into every line of his grim face. "Despite all that, I don't want to," he actually managed a smile. "terminate our relationship. Do you?"

God knew she should. "Oh, Blake." But she didn't. "It's foolish for us to go on this way." And she knew why. She loved him. It was as simple as that.

"You don't want it to be over, " He spoke slowly, cautiously, "do you?."

She swallowed, as her throat constricted. "I don't know what I want anymore."

He moved slowly across the floor, "You want me, and sat down on the couch beside her. She could feel heat emanating from his body. His nearness sent a shiver of blatant desire surging through her veins.

With great tenderness and finesse, he drew her into his arms. How different this was from his usual fiery, demanding touch. "I've missed you, Sarah, I've needed you, longed to hold you this way, starved for your sweetness."

A wave of unbearable tenderness swept through her, washing away the bitterness and hurt of the past week. Winding her arms around his waist, she whispered, "Darling, Darling, I've missed you too, so much, so much." She kissed his chin. "Touch me as only you can."

From deep within his chest, a jagged groan found it's way through his lips. He pulled her so close that she found it difficult to breath, and kissed her lingeringly, fervently, possessively. "I want this, Sarah. I want it, I need it, I have to have it."

She touched his face with loving fingers. "I know. So do I."

Standing, he swept her into is arms, then carried her down the darkened hall and into her bedroom.

Deep inside Sarah, passion, dark and demanding, burgeoned and burst, climbed, and radiated through her aching body. Rejecting Blake's tender advances, she pressed him to sate the desire that raged within her. It had been too long, much too long. "Please. Please." Her voice, husky and deep, spoke the word, over and over, as she tore at his clothing, and pulled his body down on hers.

His capitulation was an unwilling one. "Sarah, Baby, take it easy." The struggle for him to hold onto some remnant of control lost itself in her wild, tempestuous demands. He entered her body on a sweet savage burst of unchained, unchecked desire.

She pulled him into her, and moved voluptuously beneath him. Passion, raging and voracious demanded to be assuaged. She needed no foreplay, no tender words, no gentle wooing. With his first strong thrust she went spinning toward fulfillment. With each succeeding plunge, she moved neared that supreme moment. In a matter of seconds her body convulsed and her breath hung in her throat. As he spilled his essence inside her, she was hurled into a rapture of ecstasy.

Slowly, serenely, she descended from those supreme heights, as a calm joy washed over her sated body. The honeyed peace that always followed the delirium of passion, soothed and calmed. She reached to touch the face of the man who had transported her to such peaks of joy. Softly, she sighed his name. "Blake?"

His satisfied grunt echoed into the darkness of the room. "Yeah?"

He sounded distant and far away. Was he having second thoughts? That old sense of remorse moved in around her feeling of completeness. "Nothing." Rolling over, she moved to the other side of the bed.

Reaching for her, Blake pulled her back into his arms and against his nude, muscular body. "Now who's running away?"

Resting her head on his shoulder, she put her arm across his bare middle, loving the feel of his muscles as they rippled and moved under his smooth skin.

Tangling his hand in her long hair, he held her in a loose embrace, not moving or speaking, tightening his hand when she stirred. "Blake?"

"Be quiet. Let me hold you."

She didn't understand his strange behavior. The truth was, she didn't understand him. Would she ever? Probably not. If he could only love her just a little, she could live with the quicksilver moods, the complex personality quirks, even the propensity to trivialize their relationship. She was wishing for the impossible. She could hold his body, but she could never hold his heart. Into the silence of a breaking dawn, she sighed her regret.

Releasing her hair, Blake stroked her back, "Your skin is like silk," then her breasts. "Where did you go tonight?"

"I went to San Antonio and drove around the city."

"Were you alone?" He forced her to look at him.

After such a tempestuous bout of passion, how could he ask such a question? "Blake, please, don't." A pleading note crept into her voice.

"I thought you might have run to Daniels for solace and comfort." Releasing her, he turned on his back and stared up at the ceiling. "Did you?"

In a lost, desolate little voice, she whispered, "I was alone."

"I shouldn't have asked, but thank you for telling me."

Laying her arm across his chest, Sarah twisted her fingers in the dark, curly hairs that grew there in abundance. "Do you believe me?"

"Yeah, sure." He didn't sound at all convinced. "Go to sleep."

Tired as she was, sleep refused to come. Sarah stared at the ceiling, and listened to Blake's smooth, heavy breathing. Was it her shameless display of wild abandon that had stirred his doubt, or was it the past she couldn't change and he couldn't forgive? Pulling the covers over her head, Sarah dropped at last, into a sound, dreamless sleep.

Chapter Eleven

November arrived on a blast of cold air that shook dead leaves from the trees and sent birds scurrying to warmer climates. By now Sarah's life had fallen into an inconsistent, yet very predictable pattern. She worked a few hours each week day at the library. She shopped and did her household chores. The long hours in between were filled with watching TV, reading, working out at the gym and waiting for Blake to call. More and more her life centered around him and his erratic timetable. It seemed that she was always at his beck and call. For someone as organized as Sarah, that wasn't an easy concession to make. She missed the order that had made her life pleasant and predictable.

She also missed Karen. She hadn't seen her old friend since the day after Reid's birthday party. So many times, she had picked up the telephone to call. Once she had even dialed the first three digits of Karen's number. Then she had hung up. Sarah had made her choice, and Karen had made hers. it was best to leave it that way.

She tried to be satisfied with things as the were, but always in the back of he mind hung the thought that the longer she let this affair with Blake go on, the more devastating it would be for her once it was over.

One Sunday morning, driving in a cold rain to Blake's home in San Antonio, she reached a decision. She would tell Blake she was not going to see him again. She would find the appropriate moment, and break the news gently, but she would tell him, and she would do it today.

Later that afternoon, she wandered around his house, browsing through books, leafing through magazines, and trying to screw up her courage. Blake sat with his eyes glued to the television, watching a football game.

As she walked past the couch, he grabbed her arm. "Sit with me and watch the game."

Sarah pulled away. "I don't like football. I can never tell who's winning."

Blake dragged her into his lap. "It's half time. You can watch the bands and the cheer leaders. And I can have the pleasure of holding you in my arms."

Sarah snuggled in his embrace. Maybe this was the moment she had been waiting for. She turned toward the TV, and froze in terror. Half-time activities had faded to a public service announcement. What she saw, stirred agonizing memories. Seated on a stool, dressed in an expensive business suit, was John Markum! The camera zeroed in on his dark smile. "I thought my career was over when I went to prison. I found it had only changed directions. The remainder of my life will be dedicated to helping others who must start over again after a long incarceration."

That silky voice, that insidious smile, transported Sarah back to days of fear and nights of terror. Hysteria pinched into every nerve in her body. She was reliving a nightmare. Shrieking like a banshee, she jumped from Blake's arms, and propelled herself toward the door, shouting as she ran, "No, No!"

Blake caught up to her before she could break through the door, and escape into the cold afternoon rain. "Sarah! His fingers wrapped around her arms like steel bands. "Get a grip." He shook her. "Now!"

An isolated portion of Sarah's brain knew the shrieks were coming from her own mouth, but resurrected panic refused to let go. She couldn't stop screaming. Fighting Blake like a tigress, she shouted, "Let me go, Let me go!"

"It's all right, Baby, it's all right." Blake tightened his grip, as he stoically accepted her flailing blows.

She struck him over and over again. "If you touch me again, I'll kill you, I swear - "

"Hang on, Baby." Blake held Sarah from him until the hysteria subsided and she collapsed in his arms, her body racked with sobs. "I thought he was coming for me again! Make him go away!"

Blake held her until the crying reduced to helpless choking whimpers. "What brought that on? You looked as if you were going to jump out of your skin." He stroked her back, as he held her near, letting her feel his strength, as if might could make right.

She clung to him. Her teeth knocking together gave her incoherent words a rumbling sound. "I thought he was coming for me again. That's the way he looked when . . ." She clamped her teeth over her bottom lip, and bit until she tasted blood.

"You're shaking like a leaf in a windstorm." Blake led her to the couch, then aimed the control toward the television. Over the dull click of the dying set, he said, "Sit down. You're scared out of your wits. Tell me what upset you so."

She was crying again, soft, gasping little sounds that shook through her frail body like tiny tremors. "It was seeing John so unexpectedly, he was inside the house, glaring at me again. Will I never be free of him?" Sobs made speech almost impossible. "I thought he was . . . He looked the way . . ."

"John?" A light dawned in Blake's troubled eyes. "John Markum? You saw him on television, and he had that effect on you? What did that bastard do to you?"

Tears streamed down her face. Words fell from her mouth in a distorted jumble. "He was cruel. He hurt me. It was a long time ago. He . . ."

"You sound like a scared kid." Blake pulled her into a warm, comforting embrace. "It must have been something terrible for you to react this way. Tell me what happened."

Sarah wiped her eyes with her hands. "I don't want to talk about it." She pulled away from him as fear coagulated in her throat.

Blake caught her and pulled her back into his arms. "I want to know what happened." His features softened. "I think you need to talk about this. It seems this is an old wound that has been festering for a long time."

Blake was the one person she couldn't talk to about John. He already thought she was cheap and promiscuous. What would he think, how would he feel if he knew . . . ? She squeezed her eyes shut. "Let it go. You don't want to know."

"I do want to know, and I want you to tell me." He released her, and she leaned her head against the back of the couch.

"Let it go. It happened a long time ago." Her bruised spirit shrank from remembering. She could not relive that horror again.

"I can't let it go."

" Please, Sarah, try." His voice was soothing, his words invited confidence. "Tell me what happened." The plea was a soft command.

"I don't know if I can." She closed her eyes against a renewed onrush of anguish. "I wouldn't know where to begin."

"The best place to begin any story is at the beginning."

She managed a wan smile. "This is more like a ghastly tale."

"Tell me, Sarah." His fingertips caressed her frightened face, as he urged softly, "What happened?"

She opened her mouth and the words came pouring out, one syllable stumbling over the other in a frantic effort to escape her troubled mind, and relieve her aching heart. "John was a graduate student at the university. As you know, Paul was a biology professor. Paul was John's advisor. John had served in the Air Force before he began college, so he was older that the average graduate student. Paul thought John was one of the most brilliant men he had ever known." Sarah struggled to keep the bitterness from her voice. "He was brilliant. He is brilliant, but he's also mad, not just angry mad, but insane, off-the-wall, demented-mad." She paused to catch her breath.

"Go on," Blake urged softly.

Sarah's speech slowed, as, over a ragged sigh, she began again. "Paul and John became friends. Paul was doing secret research for the government. He hired John as his assistant. Over the next year, John was a frequent guest in our home." After another long, painful pause, "I can't."

Blake took her in his arms. "You can, Baby. Take it easy. I'm here. Nothing is going to happen. Tell me about Paul."

Sarah struggled to smile, and failed miserably. "My life with Paul was serene and tranquil." Lacing her fingers together, she flexed her hands. "Not stodgy or dull, but safe. Then John came into the picture. He was so dashing and charismatic. I was attracted to John, and he . . . I thought he was attracted to me." Hysteria was once again, very near the surface.

"You can do it, Baby." Blake comforted. "Just take it slow and easy."

Sarah swallowed, and took another deep breath. "John had spent several years in the Middle East. He had connections there with subversives who wanted to know about Paul's research. I realize now, that from the very beginning, John used me. He knew how vulnerable I was. He began to come to the house when Paul wasn't home. He wanted us to have an affair, and heaven help me, I was tempted, but I refused. I couldn't bring myself to break my wedding vows."

Sarah struggled for control. "Paul saw what was happening between John and me. But he never guessed John was stealing his research results, and offering them to a foreign government."

Blake raised one eyebrow. "Paul never suspected John was a spy?"

"No, but he might have, if he hadn't been so concerned with what was going on between John and me."

For a brief moment, Blake seemed to waver, then curiosity prevailed over discretion. "What was going on?"

"Nothing, but John led Paul to believe there was. Paul and John quarreled one Sunday evening after dinner. Paul began to shout at John. He told John not to come to the house again when he was away. That's when John began to accost me when I was out of the house." Remembering brought a blush of shame to Sarah's face. "Once he followed me in the mall. Scottie was with me . . ."

Blake interrupted. "Who is Scottie?"

"Paul has a son by his first wife. His name is Paul Junior but everyone calls him Scottie." Unconsciously, Sarah pleated the hem of her skirt with trembling fingers. "Scottie told Paul that we had seen John in the mall. For the first time in our married life, Paul lost his temper with me. He yelled at me, and told me I was never to see John again. Then he called John on the telephone and told him to stay away from his family. After he hung up the phone, Paul accused me of seeing John behind his back. John had convinced Paul that . . ." Again, she faltered.

Blake studied her tight face, apparently in deep thought. "What did John say to Paul?"

"You can't begin to know how diabolical John can be. He convinced Paul that I had asked him to meet me at the mall. Paul believed him over me."

How many times had she told this story, and how many times had she seen that same look of disbelief on a listener's face? "Paul was twenty years older than I was. John played on Paul's fear of being too old for his young wife. I promised Paul I'd never see John again."

"But you did see him again. Why?"

Sarah couldn't stop shaking. "After that, John began to stalk me. I saw him in the oddest places, in service stations, restaurants, and even once in the beauty salon. He began to make improper advances. At first I had been attracted to John, But by now, I was beginning to be more that a little afraid of him."

"Then why didn't you tell him to leave you alone? Why didn't you tell Paul what was happening?"

Why hadn't she? Even now Sarah was reluctant to admit the wretched truth. "I wanted to make Paul jealous."

Blake lifted a puzzled eyebrow. "Why would you want to make your husband jealous?"

She had come this far. He may as well know it all. "I was Paul's second wife. He didn't feel about me the way he had felt about Ruth, his first wife. I thought if he saw me with John, he might -" She stopped and caught her breath.

Blake leaned forward. "Might what?"

Sarah hung her head. "Might decide that he loved me the way he'd loved Ruth."

Blake stared at her in disbelief. He seemed to be at a loss for words.

Sarah continued. "I didn't realize John was mad. I didn't know about his subversive activities. Things all came to a head the night Paul learned he was under investigation for selling his research to a foreign government. I had come to the university to help him with some office

work. He called John to the lab, and confronted him. John didn't even bother denying Paul's charges. Instead he told Paul that he had planned all along to steal Paul's research, and sell it for a fabulous amount of money. That must have been when Paul realized there was no way he could extricate himself from the web of lies John had so carefully spun. He told John to get out, that he was fired."

"Did John go?" Blake asked, as he hung onto Sarah's every word.

"He did. I thought, I hoped, we would never see John again. How could I have been so foolish? Two days later, John came to the house. He knew Paul would be at his laboratory. What he didn't know, what no one knew then, was that Paul had taken his own life earlier that morning. The authorities found him that afternoon when they went to his lab to arrest him."

Blake closed his eyes. "Dear God."

Sarah's throat constricted, but she pressed on. "Can you imagine how frightened I was when John came to our house, and forced his way inside? He had a gun. He took Scottie and me to a cabin in an isolated spot in the country. He locked Scottie in a closet, and took me into the bedroom." Sarah drew a long shuddering breath.

"Then what happened?"

"John raped me." The words were a bare whisper. After a few moments, she tamped down her revulsion. "Paul was always so gentle, but John . . . " The words, low and achingly pathetic, seemed ripped from her, like the pulling of a painful scab from a festering wound. "John forced me. He took me, brutally and ruthlessly. But the hurt was more than physical. He made me feel unclean and used." She drew another long breath, then sobbed, "I still have nightmares. I see John rising over me, grinning that evil grin."

Blake held her close. "I had no idea! Who else have you told this story?"

Who else indeed? Sarah had tried telling the world, and to no avail. "I told everyone, at first. I didn't know Paul was dead until the authorities found Scottie and me three days later. For the next several days, I was in a state of total shock. What I was saying wasn't very consistent, in fact, I was hardly coherent. By the time I was able to make a lucid statement, John had told his version of the story, and no one would believe what I was saying." She turned her face from Blake's pitying gaze. "Now all I want is to forget." She was scalded by shame and humiliation. "I have to forget if I hope to keep my sanity."

"I know it's painful," Blake said softly, "but there are still some things I can't understand. Why didn't anyone believe you?"

Sarah's bitter laugh echoed around the room. "All the evidence pointed to my guilt. Paul left a suicide note." Even now the words of that terrible epistle played through her head like a curse. "He said, among other things, that he forgave me for being unfaithful to him, and for helping John steal his research. After reading that letter, I broke down completely. Paul died believing I had been having an affair behind his back, and that I had conspired with John against him. That burden of guilt, added to the trauma of John's brutal abuse, was too much. I spent the next two weeks in a hospital."

"Sarah," There was a tremor in Blake's voice. "this is not the case that was presented in court."

"I know that." Once again, she was wrestling with phantoms from the past. "I know now that I should have fought harder, but I was too physically weak and mentally debilitated to care anymore. What good would it have done anyway? My own husband believed John instead of me. The authorities who arrested me thought John was telling the truth. Why should a jury of twelve strangers respond any differently?" She shrugged. "John had them all fooled."

"Wasn't there a soul who could corroborate your story?"

"No, but John had a corroborating witness, of sorts."

"How could that be possible?" Blake was looking more confounded by the moment.

The pain of remembering was eating into Sarah, like corrosive acid. "It takes some explaining. Three days after John took us to his cabin, a posse found us and took us back to Austin. John told the authorities that I had seduced him into helping me sell Paul's research to a foreign power. He said he and I were lovers, then . . ." She couldn't go on.

As Blake held her close, she could feel him whole body tremble. "Then what?"

"I begin to tell what John had done to me."

Traces of anguish, or was it painful disbelief still clouded Blake's eyes. "My poor darling."

"That's when John insisted that the District Attorney interrogate Scottie. His grandparents didn't want Scottie put on the stand, so he gave a deposition. Scottie told the District Attorney about the quarrel between Paul and me. Scottie had taken Paul's accusations of my unfaithfulness as fact, and related them as such. Scottie's deposition, along with John's lies and Paul's suicide note, convicted me. My own attorney doubted my innocence. I knew then it was useless to keep on fighting." After bitter consideration she added, "I gave up."

Blake closed his eyes, and drew a deep breath. "And all this time you've been carrying all this around inside of you?"

"I try not to think about it." Tear dimmed her eyes. "My attorney wanted me to plead guilty, and throw myself on the mercy of the court. I refused. So he halfheartedly pleaded my case."

"That's quite a story." Blake frowned as he shook his head from side to side. "Quite a story."

"It sounds like a lie, doesn't it?"

"It does seem a little difficult to believe." A lopsided grin erased Blake's frown.

Sarah had expected as much. "You did ask."

"You should have confided in someone, Karen, a counselor, someone at the prison."

"Someone in prison?" Sarah's voice rose in angry surprise. "I spent every spare minute of my time in prison finding ways to keep from being raped again! You can't even begin to imagine the shame and degradation I endured there. My life took on the aspects of an endless nightmare."

Blake rubbed his hand across his chin. "Sarah, Baby, why didn't you tell me this a long time ago? You spent four years in hell, for something you didn't do."

Sarah wiped at the tears. "I deserved to be punished. I was responsible for Paul's death."

"How could you think that?" Blake's fingers caressed her arm. "Paul took his own life."

"But I drove him to it." Reflections of old sorrows mirrored in the amethyst of her eyes. "Paul could have faced disgrace because of his alleged part in the conspiracy plot. There's an outside chance he could have proven his innocence. But he couldn't face those charges plus the thought that I had been unfaithful to him."

Swallowing hard, Blake moved his hands over Sarah's shoulders. "This is not the story that made the headlines and found its way into the tabloids."

Sarah shrugged as she turned from him. "You don't know everything."

Blake grimaced. "You don't have to tell me any more."

"I do," she said, "if I ever make you understand why my actions caused Paul to take his own life."

Blake sighed, "Do you want to tell me?"

Strangely enough, she did. "Yes. You would have to know something about my relationship with Paul to understand what happened later." She dried her tears. "I met Paul when I first came to Austin to go to the university. He was married to his first wife then. I was attending school on a scholarship. My father deserted my mother and me when I was a small child. My mother was ill, and money was short. I took a job as domestic help in Paul's home. Ruth, his wife was expecting a baby, and she was having a difficult pregnancy." Sarah paused and swallowed hard, then over a catch in her throat, went on. "Poor Paul, hiring me was his undoing." She gave her head a little shake. "Ruth was ill most of the time before Scottie was born. Paul persuaded me to move into the house with them. The long and short of it is, Ruth died when Scottie was born, and six months later, Paul asked me to marry him. He explained that there had been talk about a young woman living in his home, and it was threatening his position at the university."

"And you agreed?" Blake arched a questioning eyebrow.

"Oh, yes," Sarah reminisced, "You see, my mother had died a few months before and I was alone in the world. Paul offered me so much - security, a home, and of course, there was Scottie. I had cared for him since he was three days old. He was almost like my own child. I loved Scottie, I still do, but I'll never see him again"

"Where is Scottie now?" Blake asked.

"He lives with Ruth's parents in San Antonio." Weariness weighted Sarah's voice. "His grandparents refuse to let me see him. They think I put Scottie in a great deal of danger by taking him with me when I met secretly with John. And they didn't like the fact that I had lived under Paul's roof after Ruth's death. Maybe they think I tried to steal Paul's love from their ailing daughter." She shrugged. "Just like everyone else, they believe John's lies."

A self-condemning smile moved across Sarah's face. "If they only knew how wrong they were. Paul was still in love with Ruth when he married me, and I knew that, but I thought . . ." She stopped, unable to continue.

Blake urged, "Go on."

"I thought, eventually, he would forget Ruth. He didn't. Then five years later, John came along."

"And you felt guilty for being attracted to him?" Blake asked.

"Not at first, I just wanted to make Paul jealous." Remembering made Sarah tremble. "I encouraged John. I wanted Paul to be jealous enough to fall in love with me. I only succeeded in injuring his pride, and making him believe I was unfaithful to him. When I realized what was happening to my marriage, I tried to back away from John, but it was too late."

"What do you mean, too late?"

"Don't you understand?" Sarah wailed, "I was attracted to John, and he played on that attraction. John was insanely jealous of Paul, of his standing in the community, of the position he held at the university. John wanted everything that belonged to Paul, that included Paul's wife and his son." Standing, Sarah smoothed her dress with her hands. "Enough of my sordid life story."

Blake refused to let go. He followed her into the kitchen. "So you were attracted to a man other than your husband? That's not a cardinal sin."

Picking up dishes from the table, Sarah turned from him. "I wanted my husband to love me, and he couldn't. Because I couldn't accept that, I was responsible for setting in motion forces that sent Paul to an early grave." Sarah hurried toward the sink.

Blake raced after her, and grabbed her arm. "You can't blame yourself for what happened to Paul."

She faced him, a plate in each hand. "What he thought was my betrayal was, for Paul, the last straw." Tears spilled from her eyes. "As surely as if I had pulled the trigger that blew his brains out, I killed my husband."

Blake scowled. "Do you expect me to believe that?"

She wondered why she had ever thought she could make him understand. "No! I don't." Blake's accusation cut like a razor across her heart. "Why should you be any different from anyone else?"

"I'm not saying that I don't believe your story, I'm saying that you're not responsible for Paul's death." Blake took the plates from her hands, and set them on the cabinet, then led her back to the living room. "I should never have asked you to talk about this."

By now, Sarah was almost past feeling. "It doesn't matter. It's over now."

"I don't think it will ever be over." Easing himself down on the couch, Blake pulled her into his lap.

Sarah tried to pull away. "It has to be. I can't live with remembering."

"Sarah, you have to face what happened, and come to terms with it."

She buried her face in his neck. "I can't. All I want to do, is forget." Raising her head, she looked into his eyes. "Remember the first night you brought me here?"

He nodded. "That is one night I will never forget!"

"You accused me of having to have a man. The statement was so ludicrous I had to laugh."

His jaw tensed. "I was way out of line." He held her as a tremor ran through her body. "I didn't know."

His tenderness caused a sadness to creep in around her remorse. She didn't want his sympathy. She wanted his love.

"How long has this all been buried inside you?" Blake asked. "Does Karen know what John did to you?"

"Only what I had to tell her. There were some things I couldn't bring myself to tell anyone." Sarah felt drained, hollow, lifeless. "I thought, I still think, my salvation is in forgetting, if I can."

"Did you ever think that maybe you needed to talk about what happened?"

Sarah smiled. "You sound like Karen."

Playfully, he cuffed her on the chin. "Don't be insulting."

"It's so painful to remember. I took Paul's life, and left Scottie without parents."

Blake asked, "Have you tried to see Scottie lately? Maybe his grandparents have changed their minds."

"They still think I was John's lover, and they are deathly afraid of John. They refuse to even talk to me on the telephone. Scottie is the main reason I married Paul. I had dreams of us being a family. And in the end, I destroyed the family I wanted for him."

"You did no such thing." Blake insisted.

Sarah began to protest, "I did, yes I- "

Blake's mouth covered hers in a sweet, gentle kiss, completely devoid of passion. Lifting his head, he caressed her face with his fingers. "You've had a bad time of it, haven't you, Sarah?"

"You understand? You believe me?" Her eyes shone with adoration. "No one, except Karen, ever did before."

He turned from her, as if he couldn't bear to look into her worshipping face. "Yeah, I'm a real winner."

"I'm tired," Sarah admitted. " So very tired. Soul searching can be exhausting."

"It's time you got some rest." He lifted her into his arms, and carried her to the bedroom where he lowered her gently onto the bed, then undressed her as if she were a child. His compassion unsettled her. He was not a gentle man, and he was being gentle with her now.

Blake shed his own clothing, then lay down beside her, and pulled her in his arms. "Sleep, Sarah."

Had her sordid confession killed his passion and replaced it with pity, or worse yet, revulsion? She dared not ask.

He pulled her even nearer. "Don't look so anxious. I like holding you close to me."

Sarah was too weary to argue. Laying her head on his shoulder, she rested in his arms.

As his eyes softened with tenderness, Blake watched her, as if he were etching into his memory every detail of her face. Then he closed his eyes.

Sarah drifted into a sound, dreamless sleep.

Chapter Twelve

Sarah wrinkled her brow, and stared at the slim young woman standing on the other side of her front door. "Karen? This is a surprise."

Karen attempted a smile that turned into a grimace. "May I come in?"

Sarah held the door open. "Please do."

As she entered the room, Karen shed her coat. "I didn't know if I'd be welcome."

"You're always welcome here. You know that." Sarah shut the door.

Karen tossed her coat on the back of a chair and sat down. "I was hoping you'd say that. I've missed you, Sarah."

Sarah sat on the couch and smiled through the tears that had collected in her eyes. "I've missed you too."

"Now that we've got through that," Karen sighed and leaned back. "I'll come straight to the point. I can't stand to think of you spending Thanksgiving alone. I've come to ask you to go to Reid's parents' house with us."

Sarah was immediately on guard. "I can't believe you've let Blake talk you into this."

Karen's words were an echo of what Blake had said to Sarah the weekend before. "Sarah, I want you to come to the ranch for Thanksgiving."

Sarah shook her head. "No, I can't."

Laughing, Blake pulled her to him. "Don't look so afraid. Thanksgiving Day is a big event at the ranch. The entire Hamilton clan will be there."

"I told you, I can't." She was not a part of his family. She was an outsider, almost an interloper, and he knew that.

"Why not?" There it was again, that complete lack of understanding for her position. "Don't you like my family?"

"I don't know your family." They were lying in Blake's king-sized bed. Sitting up, Sarah reached for her robe. "I'd be out of place there."

Blake raised his shoulders, and pushed a pillow behind his head. "That's an excuse. What's the reason you don't want to go?" He watched every intricate move of her fingers as she tied the belt of her robe. "Do you have somewhere else to go that day?"

He knew she didn't. "No." Fighting her own anger stretched Sarah's patience to the limit. "Blake, be reasonable. I'm the notorious Sarah Scott. Your parents wouldn't want me in their home."

"Do you want an apology for what I said to you at Reid's party? Okay, I was out of line when I said you shouldn't have come there. I thought -" The words levitated in midair before he drew a deep breath, and went on. "It doesn't matter what I thought. I want you with me on Thanksgiving. If you won't go with me, I'll stay here with you."

Sarah sat crossed-legged on the bed, and toyed with her belt, trying to shake the thought that Blake was being deliberately difficult. "Your parents would never forgive me if I kept you from your family on Thanksgiving Day."

"I won't take no for an answer." Blake pulled Sarah toward him. "What you need is some gentle persuasion." He pulled at the end of her belt.

Sarah slapped at his hand. "Stop it. I'm not going. You can't make me change my mind."

He pushed her down on the bed. "I think I can, and even if I can't, I'm going to have one hell of a time trying." He pinned her beneath him, and brought his mouth down over hers in a sweetly enticing kiss.

She wrapped her arms around his neck, and wiggled seductively. The argument was forgotten, lost in a haze of fervent, unleashed passion.

Much later, as Sarah was putting clothes in her bag, Blake tossed a stray pair of bikini panties in her direction. "Don't forget, we have a date for Thanksgiving Day."

"No, Blake, I told you -"

He raised his hand to silence her. "Think about it before you make up your mind."

Sarah snapped her mouth shut, refusing to argue. She could think until Gabriel blew his horn, it would make no difference. Sooner or later Blake would have to accept her decision.

Karen's harsh words brought Sarah back to the present with a jolt. "I have no idea what you're talking about. My invitation has nothing to do with Blake." Leaning forward, she scrutinized Sarah's face. "Do you think I'm lying to you?"

"I think you are playing fast and loose with the truth." Sarah didn't like doubting her friend's reason for coming here. She had thought at first it was to set things straight between them. Now she was beginning to wonder. Sarah's eyes narrowed. "Blake put you up to this, didn't he?"

"Not exactly." Karen jumped to her feet.

"Blake asked Reid to ask you to ask me?" Sarah lifted her hand. "No. Don't turn away. Is that what happened?"

Karen walked across the room and with her back to Sarah, complained, "I don't understand you, Sarah." As she stared at the wall she asked, "What is the big deal about going to the Hamilton Ranch for Thanksgiving?"

Sometimes arguing with Karen was like winking in the dark. "A man does not invite his mistress to family gatherings."

"Good Lord, Sarah! You're not going as Blake's mistress."- Karen swung around to face her friend. "Will you stop calling yourself Blake's mistress?"

"Do you know a more accurate word? Whore maybe?"

"Stop it!" Karen threw her hands up, as if to shield herself from Sarah's words.

Sarah sighed. "That's the way Blake's family must see me."

"None of the Hamiltons, other than Reid, even know about you and Blake. I know for a fact," Karen declared stoutly, "that Blake has never mentioned you to any of his family."

In truth, that was the heart of the problem. The knowledge of how little she meant to Blake ached like an old wound on a rainy day.

Before Sarah could frame an answer, Karen rushed on, "You would be going as my guest. You are my dearest friend. I would have asked you to go if you didn't even know Blake."

"But I do know Blake. I sleep with Blake." Sarah couldn't bring herself to tell Karen that she couldn't bear going to the Hamilton's knowing that she was outsider, nothing more than a friend of an in-law. "Thank you, Karen, but the answer is no."

"Think about it before you decide." Karen didn't want to take no for an answer. She would have to. Long ago Sarah had made up her mind that she was not going to the Hamilton ranch again, ever.

Sarah emphasized her refusal to Karen now. "I'm not going, Karen. Forget it!"

Deciding, obviously, to give a little, Karen insisted, "You have a few days to consider. Give me an answer later."

Two days, and many thoughts later, Sarah had not changed her mind. She glanced at her watch, scooped her car keys into her hand, and started for the door. She was due at the library in ten minutes.

The ringing of the telephone stopped her in her tracks. She retraced her steps, and lifted the receiver. "Hello."

"Miss Scott?" The voice on the other end was high pitched and bold.

Sarah's first thoughts were, another crank caller, or a reporter. "This is Sarah Scott."

"I'm glad I finally reached you. This is Mrs. Hamilton."

Sarah twisted the telephone cord around nervous fingers. "You must have the wrong number."

"No, Mrs. Scott, I don't. I'm Karen's mother-in-law. Don't you remember me?"

Who, Sarah wondered, was responsible for this little surprise? Had Blake asked his mother to call her, or had Karen instigated this little double-cross? "Of course, I remember you, Mrs. Hamilton."

"Miss Scott, we, Jake and I," The voice faded, then after a moment gained momentum and continued, "would consider it an honor if you would have Thanksgiving dinner with us."

Sarah had offended Mrs. Hamilton once, "I don't know, Mrs. Hamilton." She didn't want to do that again. "I may have other plans."

"Karen tells me you have no immediate family. What other plans could you have?" Nora Hamilton would certainly win no prizes for tact or diplomacy.

"I'm not sure."

"Then you can plan to be here. We would be pleased if you would accept."

It was the push Sarah needed to justify her foolish capitulation. "Thank you, Mrs. Hamilton. I would be happy to have Thanksgiving dinner at your home. Thank you for calling."

"Dinner is at one o'clock." The voice informed Sarah. "We will be looking forward to seeing you again."

Sarah managed a strained, "Goodbye," before she hung up the phone, and raced for the door. Half way to her car, the thought hit Sarah that Karen and Blake had conspired to put her in this untenable position.

Later that afternoon Sarah accosted Karen in the parking lot of the bank. "I've been waiting for you."

"Sarah?" Surprise, or was it guilt, darted across Karen's face. "Follow me home. You can have dinner with Reid and me."

"No. What I have to say is not for Reid's ears." Sarah pulled Karen toward her car. "This won't take long."

Falling in step, Karen asked, "Did Mom Hamilton call you today?"

"You know she did." Sarah snapped. "She invited me to the ranch for Thanksgiving."

"And did you accept?" Karen asked cautiously.

"I did, but only because there seemed no graceful way to say no." Sarah leaned against her car. "Did you ask her to call and invite me there, Karen?"

"Not exactly." Karen's gaze wandered toward the horizon.

"That's not an answer." Exasperation gave Sarah's voice a ragged edge. "You either did, or you didn't."

"Let's go to the house," Karen urged.

"Just give me an honest answer, Karen."

"I asked her to call, Sarah, but Blake asked me, no Blake conned me into asking her." Karen let her gaze meet Sarah's angry stare. "He came to the house and apologized to me for the things he'd said to Reid. Reid was so pleased to be in his big brother's good graces again, and I was so happy for Reid, that we fell right into Blake's trap."

Sarah knew how persuasive Blake could be. "What did he say to you?"

"He launched into this long speech about how he envied Reid and me being able to spend Thanksgiving together, and how you'd refused to go to the ranch." Karen leaned against a parked car. "I almost felt sorry for him."

"He was manipulating you, Karen."

"Maybe not, Sarah. He sounded sincere." Reaching across the space between them, Karen squeezed Sarah's arm. "Why does Blake's wanting you to go to his parents' home upset you so?"

"I love Blake, Karen. I know this affair can't last, but I want to hold on to him as long as I can." A tear found its way down Sarah's cheek. "Going to his home, letting him see me as everyone else sees me, is sure to drive him away."

"That's nonsense. No one at the ranch will mistreat you." Karen was adamant. "You have to stop being so sensitive about your past. Reaching into her pocket, she handed Sarah a tissue. "Dry your tears and tell me you'll go."

"I accepted Mrs. Hamilton's invitation." Maybe Karen was right, maybe she was being overly sensitive. "But it's against my better judgment."

"Don't go around borrowing trouble." Karen's look was affectionately reassuring. "And don't worry."

Sarah put her key into the car door. "You let Blake talk you into putting me into an impossible situation. How can you tell me not to worry?"

"The man is hard to resist when he sets his mind to a thing."

"Don't I know? I'll see you day after tomorrow at the Hamilton Ranch."

Karen said, with as apologetic little shake of her head, "Reid and I will pick you up. You can ride out with us."

Sarah got into her car. "What time?"

"Around nine-thirty."

"I'll be ready." As ready as I can get, Sarah thought, as she drove away.

The paradoxically much-dreaded, long-awaited day arrived. An apprehensive Sarah slid from the back seat of Karen's car, and walked toward the old ranch house.

Jake and Nora Hamilton greeted her with warmth. Karen and Reid were carrying food to the kitchen, so she was left to walk from the foyer to the crowded living room alone. As she came through the door, Sarah breathed a sigh of relief. Not a single soul had taken note of her quiet entrance. A faint flicker of hope stirred. Maybe she had worried needlessly.

Far across the room, she spotted Blake, and standing beside him, her hand on his arm, was Linda Webster. A pang of jealousy ripped through Sarah. The little self-assurance she had gained from her unobserved entrance, disappeared like mist on a sunny day.

Blake saw Sarah and smiled. Lifting Linda's hand from his arm, he strode toward her, calling, as he threaded his way through a group of kinsmen. "Baby, you made it." Taking her in his arms, he brushed her cheek with a kiss. "I was afraid you'd change your mind."

Stiffening, Sarah whispered. "Don't call me that here."

That infuriating grin pulled at one side of his mouth, as he teased, "Okay Baby, but you are my baby."

"Blake, please. "Sarah pleaded.

Blake hugged her again. "Relax, you're among friends."

Relatives began to take note of the embracing couple.

"Don't joke about this." Sarah pulled herself from his arms.

Blake shrugged. "Okay. Come on, there are some people I want you to meet."

"You do?" Sarah's misgivings were replaced by a sudden elation.

Blake took her arm and led her across the room. "This way."

The morning passed pleasantly. Blake introduced Sarah to cousins, aunts, uncles, and friends. None seemed to know or care that she was that Sarah Scott.

Two extra tables had been set up in the dining room to accommodate adult guests. The children were relegated to tables in the kitchen. As she sat down to dinner, Sarah found herself flanked on the right by Blake's ancient Aunt Hester, and on the left by his dashing cousin, Grant. Blake sat at the far end of the table, beside his mother.

Grant smiled at Sarah as she sat down beside him. "How did I rate such a beautiful dinner partner?"

Sarah met his bold gaze. "Blake would say it's the luck of the draw."

Grant's interest showed in his handsome face. "This must be my lucky day."

Turning from Grant's admiring gaze, Sarah looked across the table into the dark, scurrilous eyes of Linda Webster. Her heart sank. Her attempted smile faded to a slow frown.

"Miss Scott." Linda raised one dark eyebrow. "How nice to see you again."

"Thank you, and it's Mrs. Scott." Sarah draped her napkin across her lap.

"How could I forget?" Linda's voice rose, causing those at the table to look her way. "I shouldn't refer to you as Miss. You did have a husband, once, didn't you, Mrs. Scott?"

Every eye at the table turned toward her. Sarah paled. "Yes, I did."

"What happened to him, Mrs. Scott?"

Sarah gasped, too stunned by Linda's unexpected attack to frame an answer.

From her side, Grant spoke. "There you go again, Linda, worrying about some other woman's husband instead of finding a man of your own."

Linda's gaze raked across Grant's handsome face. "Nobody asked for your opinion." There was anger, and some even darker emotion in that disdainful sweep of her eyes.

"Haven't you been able to snare a husband yet?" Grant leaned back in his chair, and smiled with easy arrogance.

Was Grant trying to defend her? He shouldn't. Sarah had learned through long and bitter experience, that the only defense against an attack such as this, was no defense at all. She shot Grant a pleading look.

From the end of the table, Blake's voice sounded. "Let it go, Grant. Linda meant no harm."

Linda looked properly chagrined. "No, of course I didn't. Forgive me, Mrs. Scott."

Grant turned his appreciative stare back to Sarah. "You're that Sarah Scott? I should have recognized you. Wait until I tell my colleagues I met you, Ms. Scott. They will be green with envy." Laying his napkin beside his plate, he extended his hand. "I'm a prosecuting attorney in San Antonio." Lifting Sarah's hand, he shook it warmly. "I followed your trial some years back with a great deal of interest. You don't know what a pleasure it is to meet you in person."

Sarah could no longer hide behind a cloak of anonymity. The best she could hope for was to discretely close the subject. "Thank you."

Grant Hamilton was not so easily silenced. "It's been awhile, but I remember my colleagues and I watching your trial on television, and debating, most heatedly, if you were guilty of the charges brought against you. The evidence was so circumstantial. I've always wanted to ask -"

An elbow in his ribs and a warning look from the middle-aged woman sitting on the other side of Grant, caused him to break off abruptly. "Maybe we can talk later."

Aunt Hester cupped her hand around her ear and shouted across the table to Blake's mother. "What were the young people saying, Nora? I had my hearing aid turned down."

"I'll explain later," Mrs. Hamilton shouted to the ancient lady.

Nodding her silver head, Aunt Hester shouted back, "Be sure you do. I'd hate to miss anything interesting just because I can't stand all this prattle."

A hollow silence followed. The silence gave way to a few discreet whispers that quickly dissipated. The meal continued without further incident.

Grant held a bowl toward Sarah with one hand, as he draped his other arm around her chair. "Try Aunt Emma's salad, it's delicious, and don't let Linda get to you. Like all predatory females, she feels threatened by a woman who is more attractive than she is."

Linda lifted her chin. "Don't be insulting, Grant-."

Sarah helped herself to Aunt Emma's salad. Hoping to change the subject, and more than a little curious, she couldn't help but ask, "What was your verdict concerning my guilt, counselor?"

Grant's arm seemed glued to the chair back. "I found it difficult to keep my mind on what was being said. I was too busy looking at you, Sarah. I can call you Sarah, can't I?" Without waiting for an answer, he went on, "My colleagues and I spent more time arguing if your eyes were truly purple, than we took trying to unravel John Markum's convoluted testimony." He leaned nearer Sarah. "By heaven, they are, a lovely shade of deep violet."

Sarah picked up her fork. "The jury listened, and believed every word John said, Mr. Hamilton."

Grant set the bowl on the table. "Call me Grant, please, Sarah. I feel we are already friends."

From the corner of her eye. Sarah caught Blake's disapproving stare. It was enough to silence her for the remainder of the meal.

After consuming turkey, dressing, a variety of salads and vegetables, not to mention huge slices of pumpkin pie topped with generous scoops of whipped cream, the greater portion of the Hamilton clan bolted from the dining room table to the den.

Grant insisted on helping Sarah from her chair. "Watching the Cowboys play football is a Thanksgiving tradition in this household." His hand moved to hold Sarah's arm. "You are even more beautiful in person than you were on television." Charming and self-assured, he smiled with disarming candor. "Come watch the football game with me."

"I don't like football." Sarah tried to pull away. By now she and Grant were alone in the dining room.

"Then we can find some quiet place to talk. I'd like to get to know you better, Sarah."

Sarah patted his arm, hoping to placate him and at the same time send him on his way. "Some other time, Grant."

Tall and foreboding, Blake loomed in the doorway. "No other time, Grant! Take your hands off Sarah!"

Grant didn't bother looking Blake's way. "Go away, Blake. Sarah and I are going to find a quiet corner, and get acquainted."

"You need to remember your manners, Sonny."

Without another word, Grant released Sarah.

"Get the hell out of here," Blake ordered, "before I forget where I am, and who you are, and do something my mother would never forgive me for."

With a shrug of his shoulders, and an indifferent, "Some people." Grant walked from the room.

Turning to Sarah, Blake commanded, "Get your coat, we're leaving."

"You can't go, Blake. Your place is here with your family. It wouldn't be proper for you to leave."

"Don't preach to me about what's proper." Striding across the room, Blake grabbed Sarah's arm. "My mother knows you're leaving." He glared over his shoulder toward the den. "I said your good-byes for you. Do as I say, and do it now!"

"I have to tell Karen I'm going." Sarah moved toward the den. "Do you know where I can find her?"

"Karen knows you're going too." Blake's voice dropped. "She thinks you should go."

"Oh?" How could she argue with that? Sarah followed Blake out of the door, and toward his pickup, shoving her arms into her coat as she trotted after him, castigating herself with every step she took, for having been fool enough to come here in the first place.

The speeding pickup was far down the gravel road before Blake spoke. "Where the hell do you get off carrying on so outrageously with Grant in my parents' home?"

His disapproval caught Sarah off guard. A stab of pain shafted through her. "I was only being friendly."

"No, it was more than that. Your shameless flirting with Grant is inexcusable."

"You're saying my behavior was inexcusable? What about your friend Linda's behavior? She insulted me! Grant was kind enough to come to my defense." Anger, hot and razor sharp, shot through Sarah's veins. "You defended Linda!"

Blake maneuvered a left turn that put the pickup onto the paved road. "Linda's a dumb kid. She didn't intend to upset you."

Sarah fought to tamp down the turbulent anger that raged inside her. "Linda meant to do exactly what she did do, she wanted to tell everyone at the table that I was the notorious Sarah Scott, and she did!"

Blake pulled his eyes from the road long enough to aim a slashing look in Sarah's direction. "Linda asked a simple question, then apologized when she realized she'd overstepped the bounds of good taste. Linda is not an experienced woman of the world, she's a naive little girl."

Sarah's anger escalated and mixed with frustration. "Linda wanted to embarrass me. Your cousin Grant saw that. Obviously, you can't."

"Grant and Linda have been feuding for years. Grant jumped to your defense for two reasons, he wanted to put Linda in her place and he wanted you to feel grateful to him." Blake tossed one hand into the air, and waved it furiously. "Grant was on the make. You're experienced enough to know that. And, damn it, Sarah you were encouraging him!"

A chilling wind of despair swept away Sarah's anger, leaving in its wake apathy, and grief. "It doesn't matter."

"It doesn't matter to you that Grant was coming on to you like you were some . . . Some . . .?"

"Easy mark?" She whispered the words. "He wasn't. He was being kind, which is more than I can say for any other member of your family."

"No one in that house mistreated you, Sarah." Blake mumbled something under his breath, then added, "You are paranoid about your past!"

"Yes and no," Sarah answered. "Yes, I am paranoid about my past and no, your family didn't mistreat me. They did let me know I'm an outsider, an outsider who is a convicted felon." Never before had she felt so isolated, so disconnected.

"Grant should be horsewhipped, coming on to you that way." Blake snorted indignantly. "He's a real ladies’ man, or so he thinks, but in my own mother's house such behavior is inexcusable."

So that was it. Blake's concern was that his mother had been embarrassed. "Grant did nothing wrong."

Blake exploded. "Nothing wrong? My God, Sarah, he tried to get you alone. In the next breath he would have been asking you out."

"And if he had, so what?" Sarah retorted. "I'm a single unattached female, he's a male with no ties. Dating a woman, even a woman with a past like mine, isn't a crime."

Blake's voice dropped to a husky whisper. "Is that how you feel, Sarah, unattached?"

"I am unattached. How I feel has nothing to do with it."

"Are you trying to make me angry?"

"You're already angry." She told him matter-of-factly. "And if you're talking about you and me, Grant had no way to know that I'm your mistress."

If she had struck him a physical blow, the effect would have been no less devastating. His chest heaved in a mighty breath, as a muscle twitched erratically along his jaw line. "Don't push me, Sarah."

"Why don't we place the blame where it belongs?" Sarah questioned wearily. "Most of what happened was Linda's fault. She triggered the entire incident with her oh so innocent question about my marital status. She dislikes me." Not that Sarah could blame her for that. Linda must entertain ideas of someday becoming Mrs. Blake Hamilton. Sarah admitted, not denying the pain it caused, that she had a better than average chance of doing just that.

The members of Blake's family made no secret of their desire to see him married. Linda filled all the requirements of the kind of woman his family expected him to choose for a wife.

The agony of losing Blake hit Sarah like a kick in her stomach. She fought to keep back her tears.

"Sarah, Baby. don't be upset, and please, don't cry."

Looking at him through the distortion made by her tears, Sarah realized that she fell a little more in love with this man every day. So many little things made him dear to her; the way he smiled, and only one side of his mouth turned up. A sudden upshooting of his eyebrows when he was surprised. That silly habit of twirling his hat on his finger when he was upset or nervous. The way he kissed the hollow of her neck. How his hands felt against her skin when caressed her body. The throaty catch in his voice when he whispered his need for her. How could she ever let him go? "This is not the way to my house. Where are you taking me?"

"I'm taking you home with me. I've hurt you. God knows I don't mean to, but I always do. I want to love that hurt away."

Didn't he know that hurt would never go away? Because she could never belong in his world.

They rode in silence.

Thinking over the events of the day, Sarah remembered Aunt Hester, and smiled.

Blake pulled into his driveway and braked his pickup. "What are you smiling about?"

"I was wondering why your aunt Hester wears a hearing aid, and turns it down so she can't hear."

"Don't tell me you like Aunt Hester. She's a witch."

"I think she's sweet."

"You think Aunt Hester is sweet?" Blake's voice rose, the fell on a chuckle.

"She was sweet to me. Maybe that's because she couldn't hear the talk about who I am."

Blake unfastened the snap that held Sarah's seat belt. "You are the woman who turns me on, shakes me up, moves me." He kissed her. "Let's go inside before I forget where we are, and make love to you here and now."

Chapter Thirteen

As she undressed in Blake's bathroom, Sarah caught a glimpse of her reflection in the mirror. She wrinkled her nose the image that looked back at her. "Go away, foolish woman." Turning, she walked toward the bedroom, and the man she loved.

Blake lay stretched out on the big bed, completely nude, splendidly handsome. "Talking to yourself, Baby?"

How much she loved him. "Nothing important."

One side of his mouth turned up in that mischievous grin. "You drive me crazy." Passion kindled a blue fire in his eyes. He pulled her down on the bed and kissed the delicate hollow of her throat. "I never get enough of you."

His touch inflamed her. She arched her throat toward him, pleading for his lips to touch her in that vulnerable spot again and again. "Kiss me."

He laughed, as his hands explored secret parts of her body. "Why don't you kiss me, Baby."

Pushing his lips apart with her darting tongue, she explored the inner crevices of his mouth, reveling in the pleased, surprised catch in his throat.

"I get lost in you, Sarah."

She ran her hands along the muscular sweep of his body, feeling him become tense and rigid. "Make love to me. I need you! I want you!"

He covered her lips with his opened mouth, and kissed her with frightening fierceness, mingling his breath with hers, moaning his need as he entered her body.

Darts of pleasure shot through her with each thrust. The marvelous sensation caused her to cry his name. As she reached the peak of pleasure, the world exploded.

It was a shared consummation. They clung to each other, until the last waves of exhilarating joy ebbed away. In the wake of receding rapture, Blake cradled Sarah in the circle of his embrace. "God, you move me." Raising himself on his elbow, he stared down at her. "I look at you and all I can think of is being near you, and with you, and in you."

It was the nearest he had ever come, except in the heat of passion, to speaking words of love to her. She chose her answer carefully. "I. . ." biting back the words 'love you', she let her fingers trail down his throat. "know."

"Do you?" She could sense his sudden mood shift. Lying back down, he rolled away from her, pulling the sheet with him as he went. With his back to her, he asked with casual indifference, "What did you say to Grant that made him think he could be the next in line?"

Hurt and stunned, Sarah sat up in the bed. His opinion of her was even lower than she had thought. "I didn't say anything to Grant that he could have taken as encouragement." Instinctively, she moved away from him. "Grant is a prosecuting attorney." He wanted to talk about my trial."

Bolting upright in bed, Blake reached for the lamp, and gave the switch a vicious twist. "You are not that young or that innocent." The dim light fell across his set face and cast eerie shadows on the wall behind him. Abruptly, he demanded, "How old are you, Sarah?"

"I'm thirty-two." In the dim light she could see his ominous scowl. "Too old for a boy like Grant."

"Grant is no boy." Blake gave his pillow a brutal punch. "He's is a thirty-year-old man who has slept with half the unattached females in San Antonio. And he was coming on to you!"

She had embarrassed Blake in front of his friends and family. He was ashamed of who she was and how she had behaved with his young cousin. An explanation would be useless, but she had to try. "When Grant learned I was that Sarah Scott, he was curious, and maybe a little surprised to see me in his aunt's home."

"You don't know anything at all about Grant," Blake charged angrily. "He wasn't curious or surprised, he was intrigued. He saw what he thought was easy conquest and he went for it." Running his through his tousled hair, he added, "You don't really know anything about me, either." His jaw tensed, his mouth tightened. "Do you know how old I am, Sarah?"

She had never thought to ask. "I don't know." Defiantly, she tossed her hair back from her face. "Since I've never bothered to inquire, what makes you think I care?"

"Do you care, Sarah? I wonder about that a little more every day, for the record, in four months, I'll be forty-years-old. I'm a worn out, has-been, ex-bronc rider. I've lived hard, always on the cutting edge; I've loved hard, women were always easy-come, easy-go with me. Being a member of the Hamilton clan is all that saves me from being a bum."

She didn't care how he'd lived, she didn't care who he was, she did care that he'd known so many women. Jealously congealed in her throat. "Shut up, damn you. I don't want to hear about your

women!"

"You need to know me for what I am, Sarah." Grabbing her wrists, he brought his face near hers. "And accept it. I couldn't change, even if I tried."

"Neither could I." Sarah broke his grip. "You don't know me either." Words he had spoken earlier still hung in her mind. He thought she was an easy conquest. Why shouldn't he? For him, she was. Sitting on the side of the bed, she reached for her clothes. "Get dressed. I want you to take me home." Maybe this was the time to make that last wrenching break. "I don't think we should see each other again."

"I'm not asking you to change, Sarah." He pulled her down beside him, and buried his head in the softness of her bare breasts. "I don't want you to change. I like you just the way you are. I need you like I need air to breathe and water to drink and food to keep me alive; that's why I get a little crazy sometimes."

The intensity of his outburst was a fresh wound in her heart. A muffled whimper escaped from deep in her throat.

"There is something savage about the way you make me feel." He paused on a quiver of emotion. "It's wild and untamed, like a mustang that can't be broken."

She stroked his unruly curls. Her resolve to go fading again in the intensity of her love for him. "Don't you know I need you just as badly?" If only she understood his quicksilver moods, his volatile and shifting emotions.

Lifting his face, he smiled, as he regained control. Kissing the cleft between her breasts, he begged, "Forgive me, Sarah, and don't go. I don't think I can get through the night if you," He smiled that devastating lopsided smile. "decide to terminate our relationship."

She could not, Sarah told herself, feel passion shake the innermost part of her being, so soon after a shattering climax had left her spent and drained. She pushed at him, fighting the desire that swelled inside her. "Oh, Blake . . ., Ah . . ."

His tongue, wet and cold, slid down her stomach. "God, how I need you."

"Blake." She moaned his name.

He moved his mouth to the golden tangle between her legs. "Tell me what you want, Baby."

"I want you to love me . . . " Her voice was a dissonant moan.

He ran his fingers around her taut nipples, bringing her to a fever pitch of passion. "Tell me you want me as much as I want you."

She melted into his embrace. "I want you."

His practiced hands slid down her inner thighs. "Tell me what you want me to do." His voice was heavy with passion. "Tell me, Sarah. I need to hear those words."

"I want you to love me!"

He dropped his hands, and moved back. "Say it again."

The gruffness in his voice brought her back to reality. Shame threatened to cast out passion. "Why should I?"

He pulled her back into his embrace and kissed her. His tongue entered her mouth, twisting, demanding, teasing, mating. He caught her lower lip in his teeth. "Because after what happened today, I need to hear it."

His fingers circled the taut tips of her swollen breasts. Her body screamed surrender. "I need you." Her mind deserted her as she slid helplessly into the depths of passion.

Her need for him was a fiery tide of longing, sweeping any other thought aside, reducing her to a whimpering, bundle of tortured desire. Her voice caught in her throat. "I want you!"

"Then show me!"

She threw herself into his arms and shoved him down on the bed with all the force in her small body. "I want you to make love to me!"

Through the haze of surging passion, she heard his triumphant laughter. "Bastard!" She bit ferociously into his shoulder as he rolled her over, and shoved her legs apart with his knee.

Much later, Sarah stared, dry-eyed, at the ceiling, cursing the weakness that caused her to surrender so wantonly, despising the passion that brought her such ecstasy. "Blake?"

"Yeah?" The voice was husky, mellow, sated.

"I didn't mean what I said about not wanting to see you again."

"Apologies, Sarah?"

She sat up. "Do I owe you an apology?"

He reached for her. "No. You don't. I'm the one who should apologize. I was angry with Grant, and I took it out on you."

"Maybe you should apologize to Grant." Sarah stifled a yawn. "He was not totally at fault." She wanted to tell him, once more, that Linda's nasty little remark had triggered the entire incident. She didn't.

"It wasn't just Grant." Blake conceded. "Two or three of my male relatives and one of Reid's friends made some nasty remarks."

Sarah was suddenly wide awake. "I should never have gone to your parents' home. I tried to tell you. I tried to tell Karen, but neither of you would listen." She searched Blake's eyes. "Did you tell your mom and dad that I'm an ex-convict?"

He held her so near that the stiff hairs on his chest pushed into her face. "No, but I will. I promise you, Baby, the next time you go there, things will be different."

Looping her arms around his neck, she pressed her body to his. She didn't say it, but soon enough he would know, there would be no next time.

The days wore away. November faded into December. The nights grew cold, the days were shorter. One cool morning, as Sarah was closing her front door, Karen stopped her car in the driveway. "Do you have time to talk? May I come in?"

"I'm due at the library in ten minutes." Sarah opened the door, then stood back and waited for Karen to come inside. A nagging little premonition told her that this wasn't just a casual visit. "Why are you here at this hour in the morning? Shouldn't you be at the bank?"

Karen sank, uninvited onto the couch. "This won't take long, and it's important."

"I have a few minutes." Sarah perched the edge of a chair.

Karen took a deep breath, then stated: "Blake invited Reid and me to his club last night for a family dinner. Mom and Dad Hamilton were there also, and Linda."

Sarah held onto the arms of her chair. "Why would Blake invite Linda to a family dinner?" The old familiar pang of jealously shot through her. "She's not related to the Hamiltons."

Karen's eyes narrowed. "You're jealous of Linda, aren't you?"

Stiffening, Sarah answered, much too quickly, "Of course not." She then proved what a liar she was by asking, "Do you know why Blake invited Linda?"

"I don't know why Blake does anything he does, but that's beside the point."

Not to me, Sarah thought, as she sat patiently waiting for Karen to explain her visit. "What do you want to tell me, Karen?"

Karen bit her lip. "Nothing . . . A few things, yes." She jumped to her feet and pushed her hands together in a helpless little gesture. "I honestly don't know that I have anything that important to tell." Pausing, she hastened to add, "Except that, all in all, it was a very strange evening."

"That's not what you came here to say." Sarah hadn't seen Karen this upset in a long time. "Sit down, and tell me what you came to tell me."

Karen eased back down onto the couch. "Your Blake Hamilton is one obstinate, tyrannical, and at the same time, persuasive man."

"He's not my Blake, but tell me, please, what happened."

"The food was delicious, the surroundings impeccable. We had a leisurely dinner, then over dessert, Blake announced to all present that his mother was to invite you to the ranch on Christmas Day. He then proceeded to tell us all that we would help him see to it that everyone treated you with dignity and respect, or that we, and in turn they, would answer to him."

Sarah gasped, on a quick intake of breath, "Oh, no!" Was Blake trying to destroying any hope she ever had of winning his family over?

"Oh, that's not all." Karen's mouth pulled into a thin line. "He then told me to tell everyone the truth about your past. I was astounded! I told him that I would do no such thing. I said you were my friend, and I was not about to discuss your private affairs with others."

Sarah moaned, "Oh, God, no."

Karen shot to her feet again. "Wait until you hear the rest! Blake then asked Reid if he would be kind enough to do something to make his stubborn wife more cooperative!"

Slapping one hand over her mouth, Sarah gasped, "No!"

Karen sat down for the third time. "Can't you say any-thing but no?"

"No. Yes. Go on."

"I don't enjoy telling you this, Sarah, but I feel I must."

Sarah was almost afraid to ask. "There's more?"

Karen began to pace the floor. "Oh, yes." By now she had worked herself into fit of frustration. "There's definitely more."

Sarah felt as if someone had dragged a razor across her heart. "I don't think I want to hear it!"

Ignoring Sarah's anxious words, Karen continued. "Mom Hamilton was not happy about me asking her to invite you to the ranch Thanksgiving without telling her who you were, and she told me so."

Sarah pressed her hands to her heated cheeks. "I'm sorry, Karen. Was she angry with you?"

"I don't think angry is the word. She was disappointed. She explained that what happened was mild, compared to what could have happened."

Sarah didn't want to know, but she had to ask. "What happened? What did happen, and when?"

"I didn't want you to know," Karen stopped her pacing. "but I think, now, I have to tell you."

"Sit down, Karen. You're jumping up and down like a jack-in-the-box." With a sense of impending disaster, Sarah folded her hands, and waited.

Karen perched on the edge of the couch. "After Linda's little outburst, and Grant's obvious bedazzlement with you, it didn't take long for every one in the house to put two and two together, and to recognize you as that Sarah Scott." Karen hesitated. "I know this isn't pleasant, Sarah, but you have to know."

A cold numbness began in Sarah's chest, and ran into her arms and legs. "Go on."

"After Blake left with you, Luke Jonas made some remark about how he hoped Blake was man enough to handle 'that notorious Scott woman', and if he couldn't, Luke would be glad to offer his assistance."

Sarah felt heat stealing into her face. "Oh, God!"

"Grant jumped to your defense. He said he had seen your court trial on television, and that you were more 'sinned against than sinning'. Everyone began to take sides, and the argument would have erupted into a brawl if Reid and Dad Hamilton hadn't stepped in and restored order."

A wave of remorse mixed with Sarah's humiliation. "I'm so ashamed."

"That's not all," Karen's eyes softened in sympathy. "Aunt Edna, Grant's mother, then proceeded to take Mom Hamilton to task for inviting 'a woman like that' into her home."

"What happened then?" Sarah was helpless to halt her embarrassment. By now her cheeks flamed crimson.

"Nothing much," Karen concluded. "Aunt Edna left in a huff. Grant called his mother a prude, and announced he was going back to San Antonio. Luke Jonas commented that this was the most interesting Thanksgiving dinner he'd attended in a long time. Through it all, Great Aunt Hester kept trying to adjust her hearing aid, and shouting for someone to tell her what was happening. Things settled down after awhile, and we watched the football game. After the game, everyone left, except Reid and me, and of course, Linda."

Sarah tried to control the tremor that ran through her body. "What do you mean, 'of course Linda'?"

Karen's expression was tight with strain. "I didn't come here to talk about Linda Webster."

Sarah persisted. "I need to know."

"The Hamiltons consider Linda a part of their family. She's the daughter of a woman who was Mom Hamilton's childhood friend. That friend passed away when Linda was very young. A few year later her father married again and the Hamiltons took Linda under their wing permanently." With a tiny shake of her head, Karen asked facetiously, "Is there anything else you'd like to know about Linda or can I get on with what I came here to tell you?"

Sarah couldn't believe her own audacity as she inquired, "Does Mrs. Hamilton want Blake to marry Linda?"

Karen paused to give that questions some thought. "I think most of the Hamilton clan, Mom Hamilton included, would like to see Blake married, period. They think he might change his wicked ways if he settled down with a good wife."

A good wife. That definitely wasn't Sarah Scott. Fighting tears, Sarah asked, "What was the outcome of last night's dinner?"

"Mom Hamilton told Blake that she didn't think it was a good idea to ask you to the ranch for another family gathering. She suggested he bring you out to dinner some Sunday when only the immediate family was present."

"And . . .?" Sarah literally held her breath.

"And Blake said if you weren't welcome at Christmas time, he wouldn't be there either. Mom Hamilton said that was his choice to make." Karen shook her head from side to side. "Blake and his mother are very much alike. She's the only person I know who can stand up to him. Things were pretty much at an impasse between them when Reid and I left."

"What am I going to do, Karen?"

"Oh, Sarah, honey, I don't know." Karen offered Sarah a tissue. "Wipe your eyes."

Sarah daubed at her tears. "Why didn't Blake leave well enough alone?"

With a piercing glance, Karen asked, "Is Blake in love with you, Sarah?"

Sarah wiped at a last wayward tear. "No. He isn't. He hates my past. He doesn't trust me. The attraction is purely physical."

"Could you be wrong? He acted suspiciously like a man who was head-over-heels the other night. Reid noticed it, and called it to my attention. He says it's not like Blake to be so protective and possessive of anyone."

"You're wrong, Karen. Blake doesn't love me."

"Then why is he so insistent that his family accept you?"

I can't think of any reason except that Blake wants to be in control of every situation, and he has a domineering streak a yard wide." Sarah was surprised at her own cold assessment of the man she loved. "He has ways of making others bend their will to his." She closed her eyes, remembering. "Believe me, I know."

"His hold over you frightens you, doesn't it, Sarah?"

"Oh, yes, and what scares me even more is, I truly love him and he feels no such emotion for me." Swallowing her tears, Sarah forced a smile. "The attraction he feels for me will wear itself out in time."

"And despite all that, you love him?"

"If I could change how I feel, I would," Sarah confessed. "What will I do now? I can't come between Blake and his family. He would hate me for that, and so would they."

Sarah realized, quite suddenly, and with a shocking jolt, how tenuous her hold on Blake was. His intense physical need was all that bound him to her, and she knew how quickly that could sate itself and dissipate.

Karen glanced at her watch, "I have to go back to work," and began to inch toward the door. "I hope I haven't done the wrong thing, telling you this . . . " Stopping, she suppressed a sigh. "I debated with myself, long and hard. I finally decided, I had no choice, you had to know."

"You did the right thing, Karen. You're a good friend. I just wish I knew what to do now."

As Karen drove away, Sarah glanced at her watch. She should have been at library ten minutes ago. She ran toward her car.

When Sarah entered the library, the librarian, a prim little woman with a sweet smile and silvery hair, motioned to her. As Sarah approached the desk, she, leaned across the counter, pointed toward the conference room, and whispered. "The library's executive board is in session. Mr. Daniels left word that as soon as you arrived, you should join them."

Sarah doubted this could be good news. The library executive board consisted of Clay, Tiffany Weston, and Suzie Boswell. Hurrying down the hall, she rapped on the closed door.

Clay called from the other side, "Come in."

Sarah turned the knob and entered slowly. Clay, Tiffany, and Suzie were seated at one end of a long conference table. Sarah pushed down her apprehension. "You wanted to see me?"

Her appearance brought a brought a smile to Clay's lips. Patting the chair beside him, he said, "Yes, we do. Come in and sit down."

Sarah obeyed, slipping into the chair beside Clay and giving him a puzzled look.

A scowl of disapproval distorted Tiffany Weston's pretty face. She didn't bother acknowledging Sarah's appearance. Arching an eyebrow in Clay's direction, she asked, "May I continue now?"

Clay nodded. "Please do."

Tiffany looked down at the paper before her and proceeded to read through a lengthy report about books she had recently purchased.

Sarah caught Clay's eye. Her lips formed the word, "Sorry."

Clay put his hand over Sarah's wrist, and gave it a squeeze. How grateful she was for his fingers against her skin. She needed the comforting touch of another human being right now.

Tiffany completed her report and nodded toward Suzie who began to give a lengthy account of- ticket sales to the Christmas Day Benefit Buffet to be held at the Community Center. As Suzie rattled on and on, an idea began to form in Sarah's mind. If she went to the benefit buffet, she would have a perfect excuse for not going to the Hamilton Ranch. She was so lost in her own thoughts that she didn't hear Clay until he had called her name the second time. "Sarah?"

Sarah shifted in her chair. "Yes?"

Clay was still holding her hand. "We have some good news for you. Because of the many the hours you've contributed to the library as a volunteer, and in view of the wonderful work you've done, the board has decided to ask you to take over the Saturday morning children's story hour. That is, if you'll accept the job."

Sarah let out a little croak of joy. "I'd love to. When do I start?" She glanced at the two women across from her. Neither Tiffany nor Suzie was looking too happy about this turn of events.

Clay seemed oblivious to the tension that sparked through the air. "We'd like you to begin the first Saturday after the New year." He looked from Tiffany to Suzie. "We are in accord on this decision, aren't we, ladies?"

Much to Sarah's surprise both Tiffany and Suzie nodded in agreement.

With a chuckle, Clay said, "Then the meeting's adjourned."

Suzie mumbled something under her breath. Tiffany looked daggers in Clay's direction, then with a toss of her head, stood and pushed her chair under the table. "If you'll excuse me, I have work to do."

As Suzie stood and followed Tiffany toward the back of the room, Sarah pulled her hand from Clay's grasp and began to rise. "I want one of those banquet tickets."

Clay pulled her back down into her chair. "I have some additional tickets. I always buy several extras, to help the cause. Allow me to give you two of them." He put one hand into the inside pocket of his coat, and drew out a long beautifully tooled leather wallet.

"I couldn't, really."

"We could call it an early Christmas gift." Grasping Sarah's wrist with his free hand, he added, "Please."

Shrugging her shoulders, Sarah extended her hand. "Thank you. But I only need one ticket. I'll be going alone."

Clay opened his wallet. "What about Mr. Hamilton?"

"What about him?" The mention of Blake made Sarah's brow wrinkled.

Clay held the tickets between his thumb and forefinger, "Won't he be coming with you?"

"No." Sarah was emphatic. "Blake has a previous engagement."

Clay asked, a little hopefully, "Are you and Hamilton having problems?"

Sarah took one of the tickets, being careful not to touch Clay's hand. "It's not Blake, actually, it's his family."

Clay slid the other ticket back into his wallet, then put the wallet in his pocket. "Do you want to talk about it?"

She did, even though she knew she really shouldn't. "I can't burden you with my problems." Sarah tucked her ticket into her pocket.

"Why not?" Clay asked.

"Because . . ." Sarah faltered, searching for a kind way to say what must be said. She lowered her voice. "Because I know how you feel about me, and I can't return those feelings."

Clay caught her hand once again, and squeezed it. "So we finally come to the moment of truth. Are you going to force me into a declaration of love for you here, now, in the library conference room, in the presence of Tiffany and Suzie?"

Sarah glanced toward the back of the room. Neither Tiffany nor Suzie seemed to be paying any heed to them, but she knew they were listening, straining to hear as much as they could. "No. Of course not. That's not what I want from you anyway."

"What do you want from me, Sarah?"

The look of pained resignation in Clay's eyes, tore at Sarah's heart. For his sake, as much as for her own, she refused to lie to him. "Friendship. I value your friend-ship and your understanding. What do you want from me, Clay?"

The saddest expression she had ever seen moved across his face and settled in the depths of his eyes. "Anything I can get. I'll settle for friendship, for now."

"For now?" Sarah asked, her tone guarded.

"We both know this thing with Hamilton can't last. I'll still be around when it's over." His fingers shackled her wrist. "Until then, don't take your friendship, and that hope from me, Sarah."

It would be the kindest thing to do. "I think it would be better if -"

"Please, Sarah. I need what you can offer me, and I think you need me too."

Soothing her conscience with the thought that she had been completely honest with Clay, Sarah smiled her surrender. "I do need a friend."

"And I am more than happy to be that friend. Now tell me, what's the problem?"

"I don't want Blake to have to choose between me and his family."

"Compassion lit his eyes as Clay pushed a stray lock of hair from Sarah's forehead. "I see, and how can I help?"

"You have helped, just by being here, and being my friend." Once more she looked toward the two women at the back of the room. "And for sticking your neck out by appointing me coordinator of the Saturday Morning Children's Story Time Project. There may be repercussions, you know. Some of the parents may object."

"I'll handle it, don't worry."

"I won't let you down," Sarah promised, "And I'm grateful for this opportunity."

Clay raised an eyebrow. "Are you?" He held her eyes in a steady gaze. "Then prove it by going with me to the benefit Christmas Day. I won't pressure you, and I won't expect anything more than to be your friend."

He was pressuring her, and it was so unlike him to take an unfair advantage. He must want this very badly. "Thank you, Clay, I'd be honored to go to the benefit with you."

Clay let out a long sigh of relief. "I was afraid you were going to say no." Then he stood and offered Sarah his arm. "Let me take you to lunch."

The censuring stares of Tiffany and Suzie followed them as Clay escorted Sarah toward the door. "You're letting yourself in for being the subject of the latest gossip," Sarah told him, as they neared the entranceway. "Clay Daniels taking the notorious Sarah Scott to lunch is one sure way to set tongues wagging."

Clay glanced over his shoulder. "Suzie will say nothing. She can't afford to; I can make or break her husband in the next city election, and she knows it."

"But Tiffany -"

"I am chairman of the board of directors that governs the bank that employs Tiffany's husband." For a moment a flash of sheer ruthlessness blazed in Clay's eyes. "She knows better than to cross me."

Suddenly Sarah knew why she had been allowed to work all these months as a volunteer at the library and why she was now going to be granted the opportunity to prove herself further by coordinating the Children's Story Hour Project. She owed Clay so much. Hooking her hand through his arm, she smiled at the staring women. Let them talk, she told herself. She didn't care. But she did care, more than she dared admit.

"Would you like to drive to San Antonio?" Clay asked. "We can cruise through the city, and see the display of Christmas lights."

"That sounds lovely."

Suzie's, "Well, I never," still sounded in Sarah's ears, as she and Clay walked toward his waiting car.

Chapter Fourteen

Sitting cross-legged on the bed, Sarah looked at the handsome man who lay, stretched out and relaxed, across from her. She had thought throughout the weekend that Blake would say something about Christmas Day, or mention his recent dinner party. He did neither. Finally, when she could bear it no longer, she said, "Karen came to see me last week."

Blake laced his fingers behind his head and yawned. "So Karen is prying into your affairs again?"

"No, into yours. She told me about your dinner party." Watching, Sarah tried to interpret his guarded expression. He was not going to make this easy for her. "She told me what happened."

Blake closed his eyes. "And?"

Sarah pushed down her frustration. "And I think we should talk about this."

Blake opened his eyes and scanned her from head to toe with a look of cautious vigilance before asking, "Why?"

Sarah asked the obvious. "Are you trying to avoid the subject?"

"Why should I?" Blake's disinterested tone was for all it's blandness, a warning. It said, back off, you're trespassing.

They couldn't leave this matter unresolved. She had to make him realize that. "I don't want to come between you and your family." Her real fear was that his family was coming between her and Blake.

"My family thinks I'm a renegade." Blake shrugged. "They always expect the worse from me."

She bit her tongue to keep from asking him if this time, she was that 'worst.' "They also expect you to be home for Christmas. Blake, we have to resolve this dilemma." Her helplessness was making her edgy and irritable. "I can't be the cause of trouble between you and your family."

"You're not."

"I am," Sarah argued. "Karen told me your mother doesn't want me at the ranch on Christmas Day."

"Mom will come around, sooner or later." Blake unlaced his fingers and folded his arms across his chest.

Impatience sharpened Sarah's reply. "I don't want her to come around. What happened Thanksgiving Day was just short of disastrous." When Blake opened his mouth to interrupt, Sarah held up her hand. "I know all about it. Karen told me. I shouldn't have gone there."

Blake beckoned with his index finger. "Don't worry about going there, come here."

Sarah shrank back. She could read the seductive intent in his eyes, see the signs of desire on his face. "No, Blake, please. We have to resolve this."

"If I can get you under me, everything will be resolved." He smiled that beguiling lopsided smile. "I can get you to agree to anything if I can get inside you."

His coarse words sent a shock of desire spinning through her senses. Her response to his vulgar utterances always stunned and appalled her. She flinched, realizing what he said was true. "Don't, please." A tingling sensation began in the pit of her stomach.

He laughed, "We both know you don't mean that."

Jumping from the bed, Sarah ran across the room, then pushed her hands over her ears. "We have to talk this through."

"There's nothing to talk through." How self-assured he sounded. "I want you, Baby," he announced, as if that settled the matter.

Sarah swung to face him. "Not this time, not until I make you listen to reason."

"Sarah." The voice was smooth as silk and whisper soft, but edged with determination. "Be nice to me, please."

"We have to talk first." Her muffled response was barely audible.

"Don't fight me, Sarah," Blake pleaded. "You know what we can do to each other." He stretched out on the bed, and smiled. "God, you make me horny."

Seeing him there, so self-assured, so positive he could make her dance to his tune, sent a tremor of anger through Sarah's intense ache of desire. "Not until we settle this matter once and for all."

Blake sat up. The muscles in his shoulders rippled as he moved. "You're like a fever inside me."

She began to shake, that same uncontrollable shaking she felt each time he made love to her. "No! Not now, not yet."

He stood to his feet, resplendent in his masculine need. "Baby, I can't wait."

She wavered between determination and desire. Raising her head, she pleaded. "I have a plan, a solution. Will you listen?"

"Sarah, Baby, all I can hear is my body crying out to make love to you" His lips shaped into the arrogant, assured smile of a man who knows how appealing he really is.

She didn't move a muscle, she didn't dare, for fear of falling completely under his spell. "We can work this out." They had to. She was so afraid of losing him, and she knew that putting him at odds with his family, was one sure way to do just that. Slowly, she lifted one hand. "Don't come any nearer."

He walked slowly toward her. "You can't resist me, Baby. We both know that. You melt when I touch you."

Moved by some impulse of self preservation, Sarah searched for some way to escape. Her hands went up to cover her face. "I won't, not until you listen to me."

With long, slow strides he covered the distance between them, until he stood directly in front of her. "I won't make another move until you ask me to come nearer."

That primitive spark inside her burst into flames that threatened to consume her entire body. She swayed toward him. "Blake, please."

"Please what, Baby? Do you want me to touch you?"

He was right, she couldn't resist him. Raising her head, she touched her lips to the male nipples of his breast, first one, then the other. She was lost in a passion that blotted out all reason, all pride, the last vestige of common sense.

A tremendous shudder shook through his body as he grasped the front of her gown. With one wrenching pull, he tore the flimsy garment from her body. "Sarah, Sarah, I have to."

She pressed against him as his arms surrounded her, and pulled her pulsating body into his hardness.

Limp as a rag doll, she surrendered to a surge of raw passion, as the feral look in his eyes struck a responsive chord deep inside her being. Desire raced out of control. She arched toward him, and bit into the soft tissue along the side of his neck. "Love me."

"Sarah, oh God, Sarah!" He brought his mouth down over hers in a ravaging kiss that plundered her mouth, and demolished her sanity. Twining his hands through her hair, he caught her to him in a torment of yearning. "Don't stop!" His words were lost in a surge of blazing hunger. He pushed her onto the bed, and thrust himself into her.

All restraints fell away. He was branding her, claiming her as his possession. His love making was exquisitely savage, all control long since swept aside by an obsession that could only be alleviated by his dominion, and her surrender.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, a tiny, nagging voice told Sarah that she should be infuriated by his delicately brutal strokes that reduced her to a quivering, whimpering mass of yearning. Her body refused to listen. Every fiber of her being responded with a fervor, that even as she surrendered, horrified her. She sheathed him, pulling him inside her with a frenzy that met and matched his accelerating strokes. Sanity, pride, reason, all deserted her in the wake of the increasing desire to find release from the maddening pressure that began deep in the pit of her stomach, and clawed its way into her entire body, pulling, demanding, screaming for release. His name was ripped from her lips, in an agonizing cry.

The zenith of passion severed her mind from her body as a shattering, splintering climax ripped like a twisting tornado through her. She traveled over the edge of erotic reality and into annihilating bliss, her joy increased by the knowledge that the man who brought her such ecstasy, had traveled with her to that secret, hidden, joyous place. Sanity returned slowly, Sarah climbed from the pit of euphoria, to sated reality.

Blake's body pressed down on hers. His breath came in short, quick gasps. Minutes ticked by before he breathed normally. A shudder passed through him as he pulled himself from her, and turned away. "You will be the death of me, Sarah." It was not what she had wanted to hear from him after such an intense encounter.

Love for him filled her heart with tenderness. She longed to tell him how much she loved him. Fear stayed her tongue. He neither wanted nor needed such a declaration.

Dropping his mouth over a developing bruise near the side of one breast, he murmured, "I hurt you."

Her fingers wiped the blood that seeped from the teeth marks on his neck. "I hurt you too."

"Hurt me?" He gave a low, sardonic chuckle. "You rip me to pieces and scatter my parts to the four winds, but I keep coming back for more."

"You devastate me too," she whispered.

"So you say. Tell me, who won this battle?" He was suddenly hostile, almost resentful.

"I didn't know we were fighting. I thought we were making love."

Blake laughed, his hostility evaporating. "So we were, but let me warn you, you wanton woman, you can't seduce me into letting you have your way."

She relaxed against his warm body. "My way about what?"

He kissed the tip of her nose. "About anything. So don't get the idea that you can manipulate me because I can't control my need for you. Behave now. I feel like I've been rode hard and put away wet. I need some sleep."

She sighed and closed her eyes. Nothing was settled between them. Once again the passion that obscured all else, had wiped away resolve and defeated reason. Sleep weighted Sarah's eyes. She would have to find some way to make Blake listen to her. It would definitely have to be someplace besides the bedroom.

The last few days before Christmas were some of the most difficult of Sarah's life. If only she could talk to Karen. She didn't dare.

Karen sensed Sarah's sadness. She dragged her into San Antonio to Christmas shop. "It will raise your sagging spirits." Karen laughed when Sarah protested that she was being hijacked.

Sarah followed Karen through store after store in the crowded mall. After a long morning of pushing through throngs of people, and trying to keep Karen in her sights, Sarah stopped beside a display of little bronze statues in an out of the way corner of a huge department store. Her eyes fell on the figure of a rearing stallion. On an impulse she asked the clerk to take it from the display case.

Holding the statue in her hands, Sarah let her fingers slide over the cool bronze of the animal's flowing mane. Some sensitive sculptor had captured forever the untamed strength and violent intensity of a wild mustang. Yet, in the untamed strength there was control, and in the violent intensity, a calm tranquillity. Such a study in uncompromising contrasts. "I'll take it," Sarah told the clerk.

"Whatever for?" Karen had appeared from nowhere. Her outraged voice sounded over Sarah's shoulder. Karen's practical nature and frugal up-bringing forbade her buying anything but the most practical of gifts.

"I think it's beautiful," Sarah argued.

"Who would want it?" Karen questioned.

"I bought it for Blake. It reminds me of him."

"You should look for a jackass."

"Karen!" Sarah admonished. "What a thing to say." She paid the clerk and dropped the package into her shopping bag.

"It would be more fitting," Karen dragged Sarah toward the lunch counter.

Karen would never have knowingly abetted Sarah's affair with Blake, but she unwittingly provided Sarah with the perfect setting for accosting Blake about her Christmas Day dilemma. Karen gave a Christmas Eve party. "Reid and I want to start some traditions of our own. We have decided to begin with a Christmas Eve party."

Sarah thought how wonderful it would be to plan a future with the man you loved. A twinge of guilt followed her unwanted jealously. Karen deserved any happiness she had. "That sounds wonderful, Karen."

Sarah arrived at Karen's house on Christmas Eve evening just as Karen was hanging a sprig of mistletoe over the entrance way. After ushering Sarah through the door, Karen stepped back to admire her handiwork. "Perfect, and the last touch."

Sarah agreed, "The house is beautiful."

Karen glanced at the clock on the mantle. "Take care of any early guests for me, Sarah. I want to wrap a few last minute gifts."

Time was running out. Tomorrow was Christmas Day. Sarah rehearsed in her mind, what she must say to Blake to make him understand. Her thoughts drifted away.

"Hey Sarah," Reid called from the kitchen, "Get the door!"

Sarah jumped to her feet. "Coming." She raced to answer the demanding ring.

As the evening wore on, Sarah's patience and planning paid off. Midway through the party, Blake decided to shed his sweater. She followed him to the bedroom. "I have to talk to you."

He spread his hands, and smiled wickedly. "Here? Now?"

"There are some things we must discuss."

Blake grinned that infuriating lopsided grin. "If you can't wait, Baby, here I am, ready and willing."

"I said talk." Fear of saying the wrong thing made her words come out pompous and stilted.

Blake dropped onto the bed. The pile of coats and sweaters fell down behind his back. Leaning on them, he grunted, "Say it."

"I can't see you tomorrow." Her sweaty palms slid down the sides of her designer jeans.

He asked with dry sarcasm, "Why not?

He knew why not. Stiffly, she replied, "I have a previous engagement." He intended to fight her every inch of the way. "Don't make this more difficult."

"What's difficult about telling me why you're tired of our arrangement? If you want out, all you have to do is say so. After that little episode with Grant, I began to suspect as much."

"Grant?" Surprise stopped her breath in her throat. "What does he have to do with this?"

"Why don't you tell me? Are you going out with Grant?" Blake asked insolently. "He's already called and said he can't make it to the ranch Christmas Day."

Sarah was appalled that he would think such a thing. "I haven't seen Grant since Thanksgiving. I'm going to a library benefit."

"And what am I supposed to do? Sit home and twiddle my thumbs?" His sarcasm chilled her.

Sarah pulled a ragged breath through her dry throat. "I hope you will spend the day with your family."

She suspected that his tranquil exterior covered an escalating fury. "I'm not invited to the benefit?" Blake's icy calm was more distressing than the outburst of temper she had expected.

"Will you give me a chance to explain?" The air in the room throbbed with tension.

"I'm listening."

"Clay gave me the ticket." She paused, as a helix of fear wove its way up her backbone. "I'm going with him, but it's not because I want to be with another man."

"So it's Clay instead of Grant, or maybe it's both." Blake's calm coldness had escalated to hot fury. "What the hell are you trying to pull?"

"Nothing." She took a step backward. "Clay is for protection. He has money and political clout. If I go with him to the benefit, the gossips will leave me alone."

Blake scanned her face with fury in his eyes. "Clay can protect you from the world and I can't protect you from my own family, is that what you're telling me?"

He was twisting her words. "No! The situations are different, the circumstances, too."

"I don't suppose you could explain what you're talking about to a dense old bronc rider?"

She had to make him see her position. "Clay is a friend. You are my lover. Clay is escorting me to a social function. You want me, your mistress, to go to the home of your parents, to be accepted into your family circle."

"Don't call yourself my mistress ever again!" Blake's anger ignited and flared. "God, can't you think of a decent way to describe our relationship?"

"To your family our relationship isn't decent. That's the problem." Sarah struggled to keep her voice even. "You can't take a woman with a past like mine into a family like yours as your mistress - yes, Blake, mistress - and expect them to accept her." She tasted the salty tang of

blood as she bit her bottom lip trying to stop the quiver in her voice.

"It would be different if we were married. Is that what you're telling me?"

"Of course, it would be different if we were married." Her misery was a wound that bled inwardly. "Your friends and family consider the state of matrimony to be respectable, even sacred. I am a personal affront to every woman in that house, and a challenge to every man." Sarah slumped against the door jamb. The events of the past few weeks were threatening to overwhelm her.

"Ah, Baby, you really slipped up on my blind side." A long, keen whistle punctuated Blake's words. "All this time, and I never caught on to what you were up to."

Confusion clouded Sarah's mind. "I don't understand." What was he accusing her of now?

"This old cowboy has been thrown a few times before, but he's never been taken for a ride like this." If she had not known him so well, she would have thought he was amused. That bantering tone disguised an icy fury. "You never give up, do you?"

"I don't know what you mean."

"I mean, I won't be pushed into marriage. I thought you understood after that little incident with Grant that this kind of deceit wouldn't work."

A scarlet blush slithered up Sarah's neck and licked like a flame along her cheek-bones. "What are you implying?"

"I wasn't sure then. I am now." Blake stood slowly to his feet. "You used Grant to try to get to me. All that talk about being an unattached female and Grant having a right to come onto you the way he did."

"Do you think I am capable of such deceit?" Sarah asked, on a caught breath.

Blake ignored her question. "Do you want me to marry you so I can take you home to Mamma without the family objecting?"

The full impact of what he was saying hit Sarah like a fist in the chest. "Do you think I planned all this?" The madness of sudden anger grabbed her. "Can you honestly believe I am that devious?"

"I am a little slow, but I finally caught on." His caustic words cut like a knife.

Pain threatened to suffocate her. "I ask a question. I want an answer. Do you think I've been plotting to trick you into marriage?"

"That is what you want, isn't it?"

Did he think she had no pride, no self respect? "I wouldn't marry you if you got down on your knees and begged!"

He flinched under the impact of her words. "That's not apt to happen, even though I think that is what you want from me."

After all these months of intimacy and honesty, he still thought of her as a conniving little slut. Why tell the truth when a lie would save what was left of her pride? "I want nothing from you, ever again!" A wave of misery washed over her. "Goodbye, Blake." Sarah ran from the room, and staggered blindly down the hall.

"Sarah, come back. Wait!"

Dry eyed and calm, Sarah made her way into the living room. She felt no emotion, only a bone-chilling numbness. The pain, the agony, the heart-break, would come later. Now shock and disbelief cushioned the stark reality of having suffered a shattering blow.

"I have to leave now Karen," Sarah told her friend, as she edged toward the front door.

"Are you ill, Sarah? You look like death warmed over. What happened?" Karen's gaze hardened. "It's Blake again, isn't it?"

"Blake and I quarreled. I'll tell you about it later." Sarah's words nudged at each other in their hurry to be said. "I know you will be at the Hamilton Ranch tomorrow. Call me the day after."

"Where will you be tomorrow?" Karen's brow creased in a worried frown. "I won't hear to you being at home alone on Christmas Day."

"I'm going to a benefit with Clay."

"Is that what you and Blake quarreled about?" Karen's frown gave birth to a scowl.

"No, we quarreled about something else." Sarah's eyes searched the room - no sign of Blake. "I'm leaving."

"I could kill that honky-tonk cowboy bastard!"

"It wasn't all his fault," Sarah began.

"Don't defend him!" Karen hissed, "He's treated you like dirt."

Sarah looked over Karen's shoulder to see Blake striding toward her. "Call me." She ran bare-armed out into the cold night air, realizing too late, that her coat was still in the bedroom.

Bounding out the front door, Blake called to her. "Sarah, wait!"

A reflex stronger than her sense of self-protection, caused Sarah to turn.

Blake tossed her coat in her direction. "You forgot this."

The coat fell at her feet. She stooped to retrieve it. When she stood again, Blake was standing in front of her, his face a gloomy blur in the moonlight. "Sarah, damn it, you pushed me too far."

"You're off the hook now, Blake." She moved to step around him. "Get out of my way."

He stepped with her. "I can't blame you for trying."

"But you blame me for much more." This was the moment Sarah had dreaded since Blake first came charging into her life, that instant when he would walk away without a backward glance. "Your opinion of me will never change, will it?"

Ignoring her question, he pointed to the garment she clutched to her chest. "Put your coat on, you're going to catch a cold."

His ambivalence was the final blow! How could he show such concern for her physical well being and not care at all if he broke her heart? "Your concern is touching, but I don't need it." She hung her coat over her arm. "Excuse me. I have to go." The anesthetic of trauma was wearing away, leaving her raw and aching.

Blake shrugged. "Maybe it's better this way."

Resignation weighted her words. "It is. It would never have worked." A sad array of conflicting emotions flowed through her as she realized that on some subconscious level she had hoped he would care enough to ask her to marry him. A sudden, sorrowful insight penetrated her heart. She had to let him go. "My bag is at your house. You can give it to Karen." She couldn't hold on any longer. The odds were too great, the stakes too high. "Can we part friends?"

He thought a while before answering. "Do you want to be my friend, Sarah?"

"I'd like to be, yes." Her voice floated out into the frosty night air.

"I think I can manage that. Maybe someday I can forgive you for trying to deceive me."

What had she expected? She wasn't sure. Certainly not his quiet acceptance and calm acquiescence. "Then this is goodbye." Shifting her coat to her other arm, Sarah extended her right hand. "Good luck, Blake, and Merry Christmas."

Her small hand was lost in his. "So long, Sarah. See you around."

She had always known this time would come, that faltering moment when Blake's desire would turn to ashes, and he would calmly walk away. She couldn't bring herself to say goodbye. "I have to go now."

"Drive carefully. The streets are icy."

From the doorway, Karen called, "Sarah, Sarah Scott!"

"I'm here, Karen."

Trotting, on slim-heeled boots, Karen stopped when she discerned a second figure in the moonlit darkness. Hands on her hips, she called out, "Are you all right, Sarah?"

She would never be all right again. "I'm fine."

Sarah dropped Blake's hand, and hurried toward her car. As she sped away, fragments of a conversation floated out into the chilling air.

"Is that you Blake? Reid's looking for you. He wants you to help him carry more logs for the fire."

"I'm on my way."

Chapter Fifteen

Sarah couldn't bear to go home to an empty house on Christmas Eve. Instead, she drove through the long hours of the night, this time speeding down back roads, cruising up country lanes, trying to ease the first cruel pangs of heartbreak.

After a dark night of agonized soul searching, Sarah made herself face the truth. Her lovely interlude with Blake was over. Now she must find some way to put the pieces of her life back together. She refused to lie to herself. She would always love Blake. For the remainder of her life the lingering thought of what might have been would haunt her. The affair was over. The memories remained. She would get past the pain and she would always treasure the memories.

The first ribbons of sunrise were unrolling across the Eastern sky, as Sarah pulled her car into the driveway and slumped over the steering wheel. From the corner of her eye, she spotted her next-door neighbor, James Errands, parting his bedroom curtains, peeking through the window. More fodder for the gossip mill. She was too bone-weary and emotionally spent to care. Waving her hand in his direction, Sarah called out, "Merry Christmas." James dropped the curtains, and disappeared from view.

Stepping from her car, Sarah moved toward the empty house. Christmas Day was dawning, bright and cold and clear. Frost covered the still-green lawn. A wintry breeze blew around her legs and penetrated through her light coat. A much more chilling wind swept across her barren heart. Taking the key from her mailbox, she unlocked the door.

From the corner of her living room, a tiny silver Christmas tree mocked her. Why had she bothered? She remembered, suddenly, that she hadn't wrapped Blake's Christmas gift. Holding the tiny mustang in her hands, she was hit anew, with the feeling of overwhelming loss.

She wrapped the statue, then scrawled on the card: To the man I love. When the bow was set in place, she laid the package under the tree. He would never see it, but she wanted it there through the holidays. Later, she would unwrap it and set it on a shelf, along with her other souvenirs of a lost love. Karen was right, Sarah thought with poignant sadness it was a frivolous, useless gift.

Too weary to even undress, Sarah stretched out on the couch, and dropped into a troubled sleep. Sometime later, the ringing of the telephone jarred her back to consciousness.

Karen's voice shouted across the wire. "Sarah, where have you been?"

Sarah sat up and rubbed her eyes. "I drove all night."

"Thank God you're all right." Karen's relief sounded in her voice. "I was about to call the police. I was afraid John had come looking for you again."

"God forbid!" Even now, that thought caused fear to feather across Sarah's skin.

"I've been calling your house since eleven-thirty last night. Can you imagine how worried I've been? I knew you weren't with Blake. The next thing I thought of was John." Anger was replacing the relief in Karen's voice.

"How did you know I wasn't with Blake?" Sarah ran her hand through her tousled hair, and tried to collect her scattered thoughts.

"My brother-in-law is here."

"He's there?" Surprise caused Sarah's voice to rise, then fall. "At your house?"

"It was terrible." Karen wailed into the telephone. "Blake ruined my party. After you left, he got falling-down drunk, and downright mean. He shouted at me for meddling in his affairs, then he insulted Reid by telling him that he was a fool for letting a woman lead him around by the nose. He proposed a toast to every man who had ever let a woman make a fool of him. It was terrible, Sarah. He finally passed out on the living room floor. Reid put him to bed in the spare bedroom." Karen was crying. "I could kill him. He destroyed my first Christmas Eve party."

In all the years Sarah had known Karen, she could count on her fingers the times Karen had broken down and cried. "Don't be too angry with Blake, Karen. This is my fault. I hurt him."

Karen snorted into the telephone. "You hurt him? What has he done to you? And he's not hurt, he's mad."

Sarah swallowed over the knot in her throat. "He thinks I tried to trick him into marrying me."

"The conceited oaf!" Karen shouted into the telephone. "What woman in her right mind would want him?"

"I want him," Sarah admitted, sadly. "I love him, but I'm not going to see him again." Somehow saying those words made them sound so final.

Karen's disgust singed the wire. "You've said that a dozen times before, Sarah. I don't believe you."

"I thought about it all night. I can't see him again. I can't . . . " Sarah choked on a suppressed sob. "I can't go on being his whore."

"Sarah, surely he doesn't think of you like that."

"He told me as much last night. I can't go on being no more than a convenience for him, Karen."

"Maybe you're right," Karen conceded, on a sigh. "If you need me, call me. I'll be at the Hamilton Ranch all day."

"I'll be all right Karen." Sarah assured her friend. "All I need now is time." She had to believe that, for time was all she had now.

After a quick shower, Sarah slipped into a robe. She tried to console herself with the thought that she had survived heart-break and misery before. There was no solace in that knowledge. Sarah pulled a brush through her mane of tangled hair, then skillfully applied makeup to cover the ravages of too little sleep and too many tears. Clay would be arriving soon. She didn't want to keep him waiting.

As she scanned her closet for something to wear, a flame red dress caught her eye. It had hung in her closet for a long time. She'd bought it on impulse, then decided that it was far too flamboyant to wear, with it's skimpy bodice and short, tight skirt. Suddenly, defiantly, she pulled the garment from the rack, and slipped it over her head. Holding her breath, she gave the zipper a yank and winced as its coldness feathered up her back. Turning, she stared at her reflection in the mirror. The tiny bodice exposed a wide expanse of creamy white breasts. The short skirt hugged her curvaceous hips like a second skin. Did she dare? "Why not?" she asked herself. "I have the name." She sat on the bed and pushed her shapely legs into a pair of sheer panty hose. "Why not the game?" She slipped her feet into her spike-heeled black patent pumps.

Clay's eyebrows climbed inches when Sarah met him at the door. "Sarah, my dear, you are positively breath-taking."

"Thank, you, Clay." Sarah twirled and curtsied, finding comfort in Clay's honest admiration.

She could tell that Clay's sense of propriety was warring against his southern chivalry. Hesitantly, he asked, "Does that lovely little dress have a jacket?"

Smiling at his embarrassment, Sarah picked up the tiny bolero and swung it around on one finger, then slipped into the skimpy thing. "I'm ready to go."

The Community Center swarmed with people. Eyes turned as Sarah entered on Clay's arm. She pasted a smile on her lips, and hung onto him. He was her shield against wagging tongues and cutting innuendoes. Clay was far too important a person-age to attack verbally, even when he dared escort the notorious Sarah Scott to a major social function.

"There's a band in the ballroom." Clay steered Sarah toward the buffet table. "We can dance later."

As Sarah caught a glimpse of the food laden table, it occurred to her that she hadn't eaten in over twenty-four hours. "The food looks delicious. I haven't eaten since yesterday."

Clay scolded, "You need someone to look after you."

"You sound like Karen." Sarah lifted a slice of turkey onto her plate. "Always fussing over me." Secretly, she was pleased by Clay's concern.

Clay laid his hand on Sarah's shoulder. "Sarah, my dear, don't look now, but Blake Hamilton just came through the front door with Linda Webster hanging on his arm."

A hurt too sad for telling knotted inside Sarah's stomach. She balanced her plate in one hand and a glass of wine in the other. "Why don't we sit at that table near the wall?"

They were scarcely seated, when Blake, with Linda holding on to him, began to thread through the crowd. He was on a collision course with their table.

Sarah sat down in the chair Clay held for her, fighting the agony that rose inside her. "I'm sorry, Clay. I had no idea Blake would come here."

Clay shrugged. "This is a public gathering. Mr. Hamilton has a perfect right to be here. We did sell tickets. Relax, my dear."

Sarah watched as Blake and Linda bore down on them. The urge to run was overwhelming. Instead she unfolded her napkin, and laid it across her lap.

Without even bothering to offer a greeting of any kind, Blake asked, "Do you mind if we share your table?" He pulled a chair out for Linda. "It looks like you have a capacity crowd."

"Not really," Clay intoned caustically. "There are a few vacant tables near the south wall."

His rebuke was wasted on Blake. "They'll fill up soon. It's early yet." He motioned to Linda. "Sit here, Baby."

Sarah had thought there was no way she could hurt more. How wrong she had been! An incredible stab of anguish pierced through her. How could Blake call any other woman baby? Very easily, she decided. The words seemed to trip off his tongue with remarkable ease.

Blake kissed Linda's cheek. "I'll get you a plate."

In the fleeting second it took him to brush his lips against Linda's face, that faint spark of hope inside Sarah's breast, flickered and turned to ashes.

Half rising, Linda protested, "I can get my own food."

"I can get it for you. I know what you like." Blake pushed Linda back into her chair. "I know what you like, and I know the way you like it."

Linda had the decency to blush. "Blake, really." Her eyes darted in the direction of Sarah and Clay.

Watching him make his way toward the food table, Sarah realized that Blake had set about to punish her. As if he hadn't already put her through hell. She aimed a vacant smile in Linda's direction. "I've never seen you at a library benefit before."

"I've never been to a benefit before." Linda glanced around the room. "Blake told me this would be some party. I don't know how he knew, he's never been to a library benefit before either. We decided to come after a friend gave him two tickets."

"A friend of Blake's gave him tickets?" Clay asked the question as if he doubted Blake had a friend.

Smiling as Blake put a plate in front of her, Linda explained, "Yes, a Mrs. Suzie Boswell."

"That figures," Sarah murmured.

Blake sat down between Linda and Sarah, and attacked his food with unbridled enthusiasm.

Sarah stuck her fork in her food, and sipped her wine. She wanted to bolt and run, but she knew she couldn't do that. "The benefit seems to be a success."

Clay nodded his agreement. "The proceeds will be placed in our building fund. Thanks to our recent grant, we have ample money for books."

Sarah marveled that she could sit making casual conversation, as she slowly died inside. "Will you be able to begin ESL classes after the first of the year?" A shaky smile wobbled across her face.

"The plans are being completed now." Clay laid his hand over Sarah's cold fingers.

As if a magnet pulled them, Sarah's eyes turned toward Blake. His flinty features revealed nothing. What must he be thinking? His eyes met hers, fire burning in the depths of blue ice. She could have been searching the eyes of a stranger. Quickly, she turned away.

Linda asked, "What's an ESL class?"

In unison, Sarah and Clay replied, "English as a second language," then burst into simultaneous laughter.

Linda let out a little, "Oh."

Blake paused between bites. "It all sounds very fascinating and worthwhile." The words were pleasant enough, the tone was caustic.

Why should his belittling remark cut so deeply? Sarah knew why, she loved him. She hated him, but that didn't stop her from loving him. "Illiteracy is not a matter to be taken lightly. ESL classes are one way of addressing the problem." She was beginning to sound like a pompous idiot again.

"I have nothing but praise for your noble efforts." Blake stopped shoveling food into his mouth, and stared directly into her eyes. "It should keep people off the streets and out of jail."

Sarah's spine stiffened as her despair warred against its own infirmity. "If it can do that, its well worth the effort." The quiver in her voice betrayed the heartbreak she so wanted to hide.

After a moment of electric silence, Clay stood to his feet and extended his hand in Sarah's direction. "Shall we go to the ballroom, my dear?"

"Yes." Sarah latched onto Clay's fingers. "Excuse us."

"Thank you." Sarah whispered as they walked away.

Clay put his arm around Sarah's waist. "Relax, my dear. And pay no heed to Mr. Hamilton. Scorned lovers can be most vindictive."

"How did you know?" She hadn't mentioned her break-up with Blake to Clay.

"What else would make him behave in such a despicable manner?" Clay's smile was completely without humor. "Don't you know the man is in love with you, Sarah?"

He was wrong, but Sarah was too relieved to have escaped the torture of having to watch Blake with Linda, to offer even a token argument.

"Let's dance," Clay steered Sarah toward the ball-room.

Smiles and wishes for a Merry Christmas greeted them along the way. Whispers and stares followed them. Seemingly oblivious to the minor commotion they were creating, Clay led Sarah onto the dance floor, and began to sway in perfect time to the syncopated beat of the orchestra.

Half way through the dance, a voice from the intercom blasted the air, calling Clay to the telephone. "I'll be back," Clay explained, as he led Sarah off the floor. "But it will be awhile. This is a business call. I've been expecting for sometime. It's important."

Sarah thought that it must be if it forced some hapless soul to call Clay Daniels on Christmas Day. She nodded. "I'll be here." She found a chair in the corner, and sat down to wait.

"Nice dress." She would know that voice anywhere. "A little skimpy, a little loud, but nice. You should be horse whipped for wearing it in public." Blake dropped into the chair beside her.

Sarah slipped the tiny jacket from her shoulders, and laid it across her lap. The low cut bodice strained against her breasts. "Hello Blake."

Blake folded his arms across his chest. "Nice tits." He moved one arm to the back of her chair. "Want to dance?"

She slipped back into her jacket. "Not with you."

"Scared?" He let his arm drop to her shoulder.

She was. "Certainly not!" Lifting his hand from her shoulder, she laid it on the chair back.

This was the kind of war Blake waged best, the battle of crude words and lewd, suggestive insinuations. He let his hand fall back to her shoulder, then bent to whisper in her ear, "You're shaking." His mouth brushed across her cheek.

His crude words and suggestive gesture, coupled with the thought that less than an hour ago, he had been kissing the cheek of Linda Webster, left her feeling desolate and sick with despair. In a voice rubbed raw with pain, she whispered, "Don't touch me again, ever."

His reply could have been dragged across sandpaper. "It was just a friendly kiss. You did say we could be friends, didn't you, Sarah?"

Sarah blinked to force back hot tears. "Why are you here? " She wanted him to leave before the hold she had on her emotions, was swept away by her intense need for him.

Blake stretched his legs out in front of him, and studied the toes of his boots. "I came to apologize. That remark I made about jail was completely uncalled for."

Sarah slumped down in her chair. "Apology accepted." For one scandalous moment she had the overwhelming urge to tell him to forget Linda, to beg him to take her to the nearest bedroom, and make passionate love to her. She needed to lose herself in the magic of his loving making. She caught her lower lip between her teeth. "Good-bye, Blake."

"Are you sure that you don't want to dance?" One shoulder shrugged, "Just once more for old-times sake?"

Sarah stared at the dancers swaying across the floor. Tears in her eyes reduced them to swinging blurs of color and motion. "I don't think so."

Blake stood slowly to his feet, and put his hands in his pockets. "Don't you think you owe me an apology, too?"

She turned to face him, wounded as only Blake could wound her. Smarting from his unexpected attack, she asked through clenched teeth, "Whatever for?"

He shrugged again. "For trying to trick me into marrying you, for playing me for a fool."

Her anger vanished as quickly as it had appeared, leaving her feeling hollow and wasted inside. Sarah slumped in her chair. "I am sorry, Blake, Sorry for so many things." She was suddenly overwhelmed by the tormenting thought that he was as miserable as she was. "Most of all, I'm sorry for you."

His jaw tightened and his eyes narrowed, then without another word, he turned and walked away. She watched him swagger across the floor. Meeting Linda as she emerged from the powder room. He took her into his arms, and swung her around the dance floor.

Sarah looked away, wounded beyond measure that Blake would treat her with such casual indifference. "Damn him." She wiped a tear from her eye.

"Sarah?" Clay slipped into the chair Blake had vacated. "Has someone been harassing you? You look positively grim."

Sarah did her best to smile. "No." How kind he was, how understanding, how dear. And she was treating him abominably. "I feel like dancing. Shall we?"

Standing, Clay opened his arms, and Sarah moved into the circle of his warm embrace.

Much later, as he was driving her home, Clay broached the subject of New Year's Eve. "I'd like to take you out, Sarah."

Once again, she was tempted to take the line of least resistance. "I don't know, Clay."

He drew a deep breath. "There is something I must say, and now." The lights from the dash revealed his set expression. Exhaling, he lifted his chin. "Sarah, you must know how I feel about. Now that Hamilton is out of the picture"

Sarah broke in quickly, "Don't, please." She couldn't let this go on any longer. Clay was in love with her. The thought hit her that she had been doing to Clay exactly what Blake was doing to her. She was using him because he filled a need in her life. She searched for some kind way to say what must be said. "I can't see you again, Clay."

Stopping his car in Sarah's driveway, Clay gripped the steering wheel with tense fingers. A vein in his neck throbbed erratically. "Sarah, don't do this to me. I have never been able to say this to you, not properly at least . . . but you must know that . . . I am very much in love with you."

How could she have let the situation come to this? Wasn't it enough that she had made a shambles of her own life? Must she destroy this fine, decent man too? "Clay, dear Clay, all I can ever offer you is friendship." Why should the truth be so difficult to speak? "In my own way I do love you, but I'm not in love with you, and I never can be."

"Please, Sarah." His voice was husky and pleading.

Sarah held up her hand. "No, let me say what I must." She drew a long breath, and expelled it slowly. "You must find someone else. You are such a fine person. If you continue to see me, you will be asking for nothing but heartbreak."

"Give me a chance. That's all I ask, just a chance. I don't think I could ever care for someone else, not the way I care for you."

It broke her heart to see this proud man reduced to begging. "Yes, you can!"

"I won't be the same," Clay declared passionately.

"It may not be the same, but who knows? It may be better." Sarah's eyes filled with tears. "You must give yourself the opportunity to meet someone else."

The sob in Clay's voice crushed her. "I'm willing to wait. Maybe someday, you will feel differently."

"No." Sarah declared emphatically. "My heart is in bondage to someone else, and it always will be."

Clay dropped his hands from the steering wheel. "Blake Hamilton?"

"Yes." That admission brought a throbbing quiver of pain.

"Are you going to marry him?"

"No."

"Sarah, I'm begging you, please . . ."

It was the hardest thing she had ever done. "Please, Clay, let it go."

"Will you continue to serve as a volunteer at the library?" Clay asked on the end of a half-sob. He cleared his throat, then added, "We need you."

"Of course." Sarah swallowed her tears. "I can do that."

"Then I will see you there on occasion-."

"Yes," Sarah agreed, "you will." She stepped from Clay's car, and hurried toward her porch, sorrow dogging her every footstep.

Two days later, Sarah felt a sense of deja vu, as she argued with Karen about New Year's Eve. "I don't want to go out with another man. I don't think I could ever care for someone else."

"Yes, you can," Karen argued, "and you will, if you give yourself half a chance."

Sarah refused to discuss going out with a bank executive who had asked Karen to arrange for him to meet Sarah. "It wouldn't be the same."

"I hope it will be better," Karen retorted. "Stephen Malone has been wanting to meet you ever since he saw you in the bank months ago."

Maybe Karen was right. What Sarah had told Clay about finding someone else, came back to haunt her. Maybe she should take her own advice. Sarah asked the inevitable question. "Does he know who I am?"

Karen feigned ignorance. "I don't know what you mean."

"You know exactly what I mean. Does he know that I am an ex-convict?"

"Yes, he knows. I made sure of that. I told him my-self, so there would be no questions later."

Sarah raised one eyebrow. "And?"

"And he doesn't care. He wants me to set up a blind date with you for the bank's New Year's Eve party. I told him I'd ask you."

Sarah was appalled. "Karen, how could you?"

"Very easily," Karen answered. "I want you to forget about Blake. The best way to do that is to see other men."

Sarah knew she shouldn't ask, but she had to know. "Did Blake come to the ranch Christmas Day?"

There was an instant of awkward silence before Karen said, "Honestly, Sarah - "

"A simple yes or no will do."

"Yes, he did. He stayed long enough to drag Linda off to the library benefit. I don't know how he got tickets."

"Suzie Boswell gave them to him." Lowering her head, Sarah tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. "Suzie still thinks I'm after her husband."

"Douglas Boswell is a lecher. Forget about him, and about Blake." Karen dismissed the subject with a wave of her hand. "We were talking about Stephen."

"We were talking about Blake," Sarah corrected. Then she asked, the words catching in her throat, "Did Blake bring Linda back to the ranch?" Leaning forward, she waited, as if her life depended on Karen's answer.

Karen's features hardened. "No. He didn't."

Sarah persisted, "What time did you leave the ranch?"

"It was almost ten o'clock. We -" Karen exploded in righteous indignation. "Sarah, you have to forget Blake! And you never will if all you do is sit around and mope about him chasing after another woman."

Suspicion that Blake had spent the night with Linda sent a bolt of pain ripping through Sarah. "Did Blake ask you about me?"

"Let it go, Sarah. Don't ask for more heartbreak."

Karen was right. The only thing Sarah could do, was let go. She brushed at a stray tear. "I don't want a blind date. I'll come by the bank tomorrow. You can introduce me to Stephen Malone."

"I'll arrange for the three of us to have lunch." A smile spread across Karen's face. "You'll like Steve, Sarah. He's forty-five years old. His wife passed away two years ago. He thinks you're beautiful."

Sarah listened, as Karen continued to sing Steven Malone's praises. She felt sick inside. Blake had spent Christmas night with Linda. She watched Karen's lips move, knew words were falling from her mouth. All she could hear was the sound of her world falling apart.

Chapter Sixteen

Sarah looked across the car at the handsome profile of Stephen Malone, and wondered how she could have let herself be persuaded to go out with a virtual stranger.

Stephen glanced briefly in her direction. "I'm glad I finally found the courage to ask Karen to introduce us. I've been wanting to meet you for months. The first time I saw you, I knew you were someone I'd like to know."

Sarah wouldn't have been human if she hadn't been pleased by Stephen's open admiration. She began to feel a little easier about accepting his invitation to the bank's New Year's Eve party. Stephen was precisely what Karen had said he was, a nice man. His infatuation with Sarah was patently evident. He behaved, Sarah thought, like a school boy in the throes of a first crush. She glanced down at the expensive corsage he had sent. "The orchids are lovely."

Stephen made a sharp right turn. "Do you like orchids?"

"Yes, I do, especially purple ones." Sarah pointed to her left. "You made a wrong turn, Stephen. San Antonio is the other direction."

"The party's at some western night club on the Poteet Highway." Stephen maneuvered his car into the flow of traffic. "Karen gave me directions; she said you knew the way if I got lost."

With the dawning realization that her best friend had deceived her, came a sense of barren anger. "Does the night club belong to Karen's brother-in-law?"

Steven nodded. "Yes. Karen said you had been there many times." He pulled into the heavy flow of night traffic.

Too many times, Sarah thought as she looked down at her mauve gown, and reflected, with a touch of irony, that she should have worn her red dress, minus the jacket. "You're going in the right direction." The words pushed past the constriction in her throat. "The club is just

inside the Poteet city limits, on the right."

Once inside The Silver Spur, Sarah found Karen, and grabbed her arm. "I thought you were my friend!"

"I am." A crooked tilt formed at the corner of Karen's mouth. "If you could have seen the look on Blake's face when you walked through the door with Stephen, you'd realize what a good friend I am."

"I can't believe you would do this." Sarah frowned her disapproval.

Karen looked genuinely puzzled. "Do what?"

"You're using me, and Stephen, to get even with Blake." Sarah couldn't remember when she had been so angry with Karen. "Blake doesn't care if I go out with other men."

"Then why," Karen nodded in Blake's direction. "does he look like someone just kicked him in the mid-section? He's had this coming since the night of my Christmas Eve party."

"I can't believe you would use me to avenge yourself on Blake." Sarah was surprised and hurt by Karen's casual attitude. "Was revenge that important to you?"

"It's revenge for you that I want." Karen put her arm around Sarah's shoulder, and gave her an impetuous hug. "Sarah, honey, Blake took Linda to the library benefit to hurt you. It's time he learned that two can play that little game."

"But I don't want to hurt Blake," Sarah protested.

"If he doesn't care, he won't be hurt." Karen studied the face of the man who stood at the end of the bar. "He can dish it out. Let's see if he can take it." She gave Sarah another quick hug, then released her. "Excuse me, I have to find Reid." She walked away, leaving Sarah staring after her, feeling helpless and confused.

A pulse began to throb in Sarah's temples, as twinges of pain darted around inside her head. This was going to be a long night, a very long night indeed.

As time ticked slowly by, Sarah began to relax. Blake kept his distance. Sarah sipped her drink, and tried to make small talk with those sitting near her around the long table. It was a hopeless endeavor. Closing her eyes, she felt her way back through old memories, to a time when Blake's arms were around her, his mouth was over hers, and his hands were moving over her bare body. A shiver ran down her spine. When she opened her eyes, Stephen was staring at her. She dropped her head. "Excuse me. I need to repair my makeup." Grabbing her handbag, she made a dash for the nearest exit.

Once inside the ladies room, Sarah leaned her forehead against the cool tile wall, and drew a sobbing breath, trying to gain some measure of composure.

The click of a lock caused her to stop and listen. Her heart picked up an arrhythmic beat, as the impulse to run snarled itself inside her brain. She knew Blake was standing behind her. She could feel his presence. Slowly, she turned.

He was standing with his back against the lounge door, staring at her. Pain shimmered in the blue of his eyes. "Did you do this to get even with me?"

Sarah could feel the dampness in her palms, along her spine, between her legs. "You can't come in here!"

He took a step toward her. "I am in here."

Sarah looked around her. There was not another soul in sight. "This is the ladies' room!"

"I don't see any ladies, just you." Contempt contorted his face. "Who is the city dude you're with? Did he send you the flowers?"

The anguish inside Sarah bubbled up like a geyser. "I don't owe you any explanation about anything." Her voice dropped. A cold knot was tying itself inside her stomach. "He sent the corsage. He's a friend of Karen's. His name is Stephen Malone. He's an executive at the bank."

"What happened to Clay?"

"What happened to Linda?" Sarah countered.

Blake stalked across the foyer, and pulled Sarah into his arms. His lips covered her mouth in a lingering, passionate kiss. Lifting his head, he groaned, "I can't fight it anymore, Sarah."

She went limp in his arms. "Please Blake, don't do this!" That exquisite agony of yearning caught and held her.

He grinned in triumph. "I could, and you wouldn't make a move to stop me."

Shame made Sarah hang her head. "We can't stay here. Someone will want in soon."

"I put an out-of-order sign on the door."

"Why did you do that?" Sarah's shaky self-control was threatening to desert her. She surveyed the room, set to run for safety, then reconsidered. There was no place to run.

"Because I have to talk to you, and I couldn't think of another way to get your undivided attention." Blake pushed her from him and pointed toward a tile bench near the door. "Sit down."

Sarah didn't move. "Are you insane? This is the ladies' room." Pressing her cold fingers to her temples, she shook her head in disbelief. "You can't come in here and casually sit down to talk."

Blake moved closer. She could feel the heat from his body, see the sparks of fire in his eyes, feel his anger beating at her. "Don't start, Sarah. I've had it up to here," he slashed his hand across his throat, in a swift, exasperated gesture, "with you and your cheap tricks."

His anger kindled an answering spark. "And I've had it with you and your insulting remarks!" She struck him savagely across the face, leaving the stinging print of her hand burning into his cheek.

Stunned surprise spread across his face. He lifted his arm, and rubbed his fingers across the red blotch, then let his hand fall to his side. "I had that coming."

A pitiful cry caught in Sarah's throat. Throwing her arms around his neck, she cried, "I'm sorry, my darling, I'm so sorry." Moving her fingers across the faint print her hand had left, she rubbed his cheek gently.

Blake caught her hand in his as his mouth compressed into a hard line. "Sit down, Sarah. We have to talk."

"There is nothing left to say." Sarah felt hollow inside, drained, completely spent. "I have to go." Pulling her hand from his grasp, she sat down on the bench and complained, "Stephen will wonder where I am."

"Let him." Blake let his eyes slide the length of her small body, lingering with overt yearning on the revealing swell of her breasts. "I've done some thinking since the Christmas Day dance. I've reached a decision."

With a weary sigh, Sarah brushed a stray strand of hair from her brow. "Your decisions don't concern me anymore."

"Damn it, Sarah, you're the most stubborn female I've ever known." Blake threw up his hands in exasperation. "This decision does concern you."

Ignoring his cryptic announcement, Sarah stood to her feet. "Unlock the door. I have to go."

"Don't push me too far, Sarah, I've had about all I can take for one night." Pulling one hand through his hair, Blake narrowed his eyes, and dropped his voice to a dangerous growl. "Will you, for God's sake, listen to me? This is important."

Maybe she owed him that much. "I'm listening," she murmured in a still voice.

Blake took a deep breath, then asked on a hushed little whisper, "Will you marry me?" Sitting down on the bench, he let his head fall into his hands.

Sarah's mouth fell open, then snapped shut. "What," her heart began to beat double time, "did you say?"

His head came up. "Don't expect a down-on-my-knees, hearts-and-flowers proposal. That's not my style."

The full impact of his words began to filter into her befuddled brain. "This is a proposal of marriage?"

"Yeah." Blake's mouth turned up in a caustic smile. "I'm asking you to be my wife."

It was a moment Sarah had dreamed of since she first realized how hopelessly she loved him. Her knees turned to water. She dropped down on the bench beside him and asked the first question that came into her head. "Why would you want to marry me?"

"That's what you want, isn't it?"

She was trembling inside, elated and at the same time terribly afraid. "Is that the only reason?"

"And I want you." Blake's brows drew together in an agonized expression. "If you're waiting for some declaration of undying love, forget it." Standing, he jammed his hands into his pockets. "That's the one thing I can't give you." There was a bitterness in his voice that made her want to weep. "There's no love left in me, Sarah, not for you, not for any woman."

Her nebulous fears began to take shape and acquire meaning. She could say yes and condemn them both to a marriage that would bring nothing but unhappiness, or she could say no and doom herself to a lifetime of loneliness. In a split second the decision was made. "I can't marry you, Blake."

He turned to stare at her, his eyes widening in surprise.-"Why not?" He added with more hope than conviction: "We could make it work, if we tried."

Never before had she been so tempted to throw caution to the wind and follow her foolish heart. She couldn't be that selfish. She had married Paul knowing he didn't love her, and in the end, she had destroyed him and their marriage. But she'd learned a valuable lesson. When she married again - if she married again - it will be because she was in love with a man who loved her in return. Her throat tightened as she swallowed. "I'm honored, but the answer is no." Not daring to look back, she walked toward the door, brushing at tears as she went.

"Please, Sarah, reconsider." Blake's voice was raw with emotion. "Can't you see, I'm only being honest with you? I felt I owed you that."

Sarah stopped, and stood very still. "You don't owe me anything." He didn't love her or trust her; his family disapproved of her. "Least of all a marriage proposal. I. . ." The words died in her throat.

Blake came to stand behind her, so near that she could feel his warm breath on her neck. "Sarah, Baby, we can work this out."

Much more of this and his seductive words would pull her back into that old undertow of surrender. "I have to get back to Stephen." Hurrying to the door, Sarah twisted the knob. "Unlock the door, please."

"Is that you final word?" Blake turned the key in the lock, then held onto the knob, waiting for her to answer.

It was. It had to be. If she faltered now, she would be condemning them both to a living purgatory. "Yes." Stepping into the hall, she looked back over her shoulder. "Good-bye, Blake."

As she was pushing through the swinging doors that led to the main room of the club, Sarah collided with Karen who asked anxiously, "Is everything all right? I was coming to look for you. I noticed Blake had disappeared, and I thought the worst. You look positively crushed."

A lead weight had settled in Sarah's tight chest. "I went to the ladies room."

"Stephen was beginning to wonder what happened to you." Karen hooked her hand through Sarah's arm, and together they made their way back to the table. Tiny shivers gamboled across Sarah's skin. As she sat down, she aimed a vacant smile in Steven's direction. "I was detained."

Stephen returned her smile. "Would you care to dance?"

Nodding, Sarah took his hand. Later she would not recall what she said or did for the remainder of the evening. A soothing state of shock had taken possession of her body and mind. It was a reaction that made survival possible.

Stephen chatted amiably as he drove Sarah home. "Did you enjoy the evening?"

"The food at the club is always delicious, and the dance floor is superb. "She didn't want to lie; she couldn't tell the truth. "It's a lovely place for a party."

"I think so too." Stephen cleared his throat. "I would like to see you again." His nervous voice was insistent. "I'd like to take you to dinner some night soon."

"I'll have to think about it." Sarah's thoughts wandered. Her memory was a bleeding wound. She couldn't stop the flow of painful recollections.

Stephen's voice asking, "May I call you sometime soon?" brought her back to reality. "If you'd like."

"Oh, I would, I definitely would." Stopping his car, Stephen held out his hand. "May I have your key?"

"What?" His words barely registered.

"Your house key, Sarah. I want to see you to your door."

Sarah opened the car door. "That's not necessary. I can find my own way."

"I wasn't asking for an invitation to come inside."

A lingering weariness had crept into every cell of Sarah's being. "I'm very tired, Stephen. Good night." She stepped from the car.

Stephen waited until she walked through the door and switched off the porch light, before he drove away.

Fatigue and anguish combined to sap the last ounce of reserve strength Sarah had called on to see her through the long evening. She wanted to throw herself on her bed, and sleep for hours.

As she dragged her feet toward the darkened hall, a sliver of light winked at her from under her bedroom door. That, coupled with a faint scraping sound from the living room caused her to reach for the light switch. Blake was here, in her house, again. It didn't matter. Nothing he could say or do, would change her mind.

Light flooded the room, and Sarah's blood froze in her veins. Sitting in the embrace of the couch, dressed in a pair of jeans and a bright pullover sweater, sat John Markum. "Good evening, Sarah. Happy New Year."

The light caught, and reflected from the steel-blue of the pistol he held in his hand. He stroked the gun as if were a living thing. Madness, dark and daring, danced in the brightness of his eyes. "I've been waiting for you."

Sarah swallowed the coppery taste of fear that flooded her mouth, grabbed the back of a chair, and held onto consciousness by sheer force of will. "Hello John."

"Where have you been? Who were you with?" The questions were heavy with sinister significance.

Her wrap fell to the floor as terror swept over her. "I went to a party with friends." She stooped to retrieve her wrap. "Why are you here?"

"To claim what is mine. I have Scottie with me. He's in your bedroom, packing your bag."

Panic invaded every fiber of Sarah's being. "You brought Scottie here?" Her casual tone camouflaged utter confusion. "Do his grandparents know

where he is?"

"They know he's where he belongs. Among their waning pretensions, there is no longer any presence of doubt on that subject."

These were the ravings of a madman. What had John done? "Waning pretensions?" Sarah echoed inanely. Weariness and exhaustion made clear thinking impossible. "Presence of doubt?"

"They can't pretend any longer." John fondled the barrel of his gun. "Soon the whole world will be aware." His eyelids sagged. "Everything that once belonged to Paul Scott is now mine. You, Scottie, and I are going to Mexico." His lips curled back over his teeth, as he aimed the gun at Sarah's head, and made a clicking sound with his tongue. "Surely you don't have some idea of defying me."

His words beat against her mind. "No, John." Her thoughts stumbled, one over the other, in a frantic effort to hold onto sanity. "I wouldn't think of such a thing, but shouldn't I change first? I can't go to Mexico in a formal and heels." Did she sound as frightened as she felt? God she hoped not!

John let the gun fall to his side. "Scottie is packing your clothes. You can change in the van." He patted the space beside him. "Come sit beside me, Sarah. I've missed you."

A fear too hideous to name gripped her. She dared not defy him, but try as she might, she couldn't force her feet to move. "Please, John, let me get my boots and a coat. It's cold outside."

"Come here, Sarah!"

Sarah was operating now on pure adrenaline. Her feet began to move.

She was half way across the room when the sound of Scottie's reedy voice caused her to stop. "Mr. Markum, I have the bag packed."

Sarah turned to see Scottie dragging a bag down the hallway. A sharp intake of breath hung in her throat. A deep gash cut across his upper lip. Bruises blotched one side of his neck.

Sarah's one coherent thought was, we are both doomed. "Hello, Scottie. Thank you for packing my bag."

"I remember you." Scottie shaped his mouth into a pathetic smile. "You're Sarah." He had hung her coat over his arm. "I brought your coat."

"It's good to see you. Are you all right?"

"I think so." He shuddered. The poor child was obviously petrified with fear. "Do we have to go away with Mr. Markum again?"

What could Sarah say? "For a little while." She looked toward John. "Get my boots, Scottie, please, and hurry."

Angling his frightened eyes in John's direction, Scottie questioned, "Is it all right, Mr. Markum?"

As still as death and as silent as the tomb, John could have been a stone statue.

Frantically, Sarah urged, "Go, Scottie."

Scottie scooted back down the hall. He returned moments later carrying Sarah's boots.

Breathing a deep sigh of relief, Sarah kicked off her slippers and slid her feet into the warmth of her boots. As she rose to a standing position, John jumped to his feet. "Time to go, children."

Fear froze Sarah where she stood. Try as she might, she couldn't make herself move.

John waved his weapon, and thundered, "Move! Now!"

Scottie tugged at Sarah's arm. "He wants us to get in the van. We have to do it, we have to. Please move, Sarah. We have to go."

Slowly the frightened child's words penetrated Sarah's fear-fogged mind. Clinging to Scottie`s small, cold hand, she moved like a robot, out the door, and toward the van. John had parked it under a street light across from her house.

Moonlight bathed the landscape with an eerie silver light. A fierce wind clawed through the trees with icy talons as the biting cold of a freezing norther lashed at the trio with merciless ferocity.

John opened the back of the van. Brandishing his gun, he threatened, "Inside before I- " He raised his fist above his head.

Sarah and Scottie scrambled inside.

John threw Sarah's bag in after them, then slammed the door and locked it. His feet thudded heavily on the pavement as he raced toward the front of the van.

Scottie sat on the floor and wrapped himself in a tattered blanket. His small face, pale and pinched, was a study in terror. "Be careful, Sarah. Mr. Markum's done something bad. He doesn't care anymore."

His words, his look, tore at Sarah's heart. "Did he hit you, Scottie?" Her fingers followed the trail of bruises down the child's neck.

"I'll be okay," Scottie's hands trembled as he touched Sarah's fingers. "It was terrible, Sarah, not his hitting me, his -" He stopped and shuddered.

"What did he do, Scottie?" Even as she asked, Sarah knew she didn't really want to know.

Scottie whispered, "He killed a policeman. He aimed at the officer's head, and -" His voice quivered, then faded away.

John heaved his body into the front of the van, and turned the key in the ignition, then begin to drive at breakneck speed down the tree-lined street.

Sarah sat on the hard floor of the van, pulled her coat around her mauve formal, and shivered, more from fear than from the cold. Scottie crept to her side and put his arms around her waist. "I'm' scared, really scared."

Sarah drew him into her arms, and held him close. "Hang on, Scottie. Someone will come for us soon." She brushed his hair from his brow. "Don't think about what happened; try to put it from your mind." What atrocities had this child been forced to witness this night? Fear cramped in Sarah's stomach. Her life was in the hands of a man who inhabited the fringes of madness.

The van lurched onto Highway 35, and sped south. They rode in unsettled silence as John

concentrated on maneuvering the van at breakneck speed.

Sarah held Scottie close to her and wished for words to comfort this scared, forlorn little boy. There were none. What do you say when hope is gone?

A sudden slamming of John's foot on the brake caused the van to skid out of control and swerve across the road, then come to a neck-wrenching stop.

Stepping from the van, John aimed his weapon at the line of vehicles assembled, one beside the other, across the highway in front of him."God damned roadblock!" Fire erupted from the barrel of the gun, spitting a volley of bullets into the cold of the whistling wind.

Sarah pushed Scottie down and covered his body with her own. Panic leaped inside her. Would the lawmen return John's fire? "Don't move, Scottie."

Scottie's breath came in short gasps as his eyes widened in terror. "Are we going to die Sarah?"

John hurled himself back into the van. "We have to get out of here!" He careened off the high-way and sped down a narrow dirt road, shouting curses into the night as he narrowed his eyes against the frigid darkness.

Sarah and Scottie were slung across the floor of the van, striking sharp projections, being pummeled and battered unmercifully. Sarah caught the steel leg of the driver's seat. She locked her hand around the narrow bar, and held on with all the strength she possessed. By now one of her eyes was swollen and bruised. One side of her mouth was cut and bleeding.

They sped down the dirt road. Fear, like an attending demon, rode with them, into the blackness of the freezing night. Behind them, screaming sirens lamented into the howling wind.

Without warning, the van hit a massive, unyielding object in the road. The sudden crash brought it to an abrupt, grinding halt. On impact, Sarah's head struck the bar that had been her salvation through the brief but terrifying ride. Stunned and dazed, she reached for Scottie, and pulled him to her. "Are you all right?"

The frightened little boy caught Sarah's hand in a death grip. "What happened?"

"The van hit something. We have to get out of here, fast!" By now she was numb with terror.

"We're locked in," Scottie whispered, panic shimmering in his voice.

A yank of the door and John stood glaring at them, his teeth bared, waving his gun like a wand. "Out! Get out! We have to get out of sight."

Sarah and Scottie scrambled from the van and followed after John, as he battled the howling wind to climb a gently sloping incline.

They had gone a short distance, when, winded and breathless, John signaled for them to stop.

Sarah clutched the front of her coat with one hand, and held onto Scottie's cold fingers with the other. The fierce wind blew through the thin material of her mauve formal and swirled around her legs. Stopping, she gripped Scottie's hand a little tighter, and waited for John's next order.

"Back to the van," John shouted into the wind, "We'll freeze out here."

Before she could turn, a deafening explosion rent the cold air asunder. The van had exploded like an incendiary bomb, and blasted into an inferno of blazing fury. The impact knocked them to the ground.

As Sarah lay stunned and cold on the icy ground, the toe of John's boot struck a glancing blow to her ribs. "Get up."

Struggling to her feet, She watched as leaping flames consumed the van. The howling wind whipped the blaze, sending spirals of fire into the night sky. Sarah whispered, "We could have been inside that holocaust."

The blaring of sirens coming ever nearer, gave rise to a new fear. In the face of capture, John might decided to rid himself of his hostages by the simplest, most effective method at his disposal. Should she make a bid for freedom now, while there was still some chance of escape? Sarah's ascending panic argued with an indisputable fact; if she ran now, she was sealing Scottie's doom. Putting her arms around the boy's slim shoulders, she called against the howling wind, "What do we do now, John?"

Scottie moved even nearer. "I'm scared. Sarah, and I'm cold."

Sarah pushed strands of hair from her freezing cheek as the wind whipped around her bare head and bit at her face. "Hold on, Scottie. The police are coming."

John's gaze moved from Sarah to the surrounding country side. Atop the gently rising slope, in the cold, wind-blown darkness, was the outline of a building. "This way," John waved his gun in the direction of the structure, as he charged up the slope.

Sarah held onto Scottie's hand, and followed after him. In the cold darkness she could discern an old barn setting far back in a clearing. One look at the leaning walls, and the sagging roof brought a new and different panic. Only a fool or a mad man would think of going inside.

The rundown structure was a death trap.

John shoved his gun into his pocket, and used both hands to lift the bar on the double doors. A swirling mixture of dirt and stubble gusted out at him. He stepped back, swore, then using his shoulder, pushed the door open, and shouted against the fierce wind, "Get inside."

Still grasping Scottie's hand, Sarah walked toward the door. They would freeze if they stayed outside. Would they fare better inside? Fighting bone-weary fatigue, and a sense of approaching doom, She led Scottie through the sagging doors, and into the battered old building.

Chapter Seventeen

Through the remainder of the cold night, Sarah and Scottie huddled on a bale of rotting hay, wrapped in Scottie's threadbare blanket, trying desperately, to keep from freezing.

The biting wind snapped at Sarah's face. A bone chilling cold filtered into her bones. She held Scottie to her body and hugged her love for Blake to her fearful heart. It warmed her inner being to recall his passionate embrace, to remember his warm kisses. She relived, in her memory, how it felt when he touched her, held her, made love to her. Why had she let foolish pride drive him from her? A love such as she had for Blake came along once in a lifetime. In the face of danger, and possible death, the fact that he didn't return that love, seemed almost inconsequential.

In the cold of that long, dark night, Sarah made a solemn vow to herself. If she escaped John this time, she would ask no more than to be near the man she loved, for as long as he cared to let her share some small part of his life. When it was over, she would learn to subsist on her memories.

As the first fingers of dawn reached across the eastern sky, a semicircle of vehicles began to ring the edge of the clearing that surrounded the old barn. A heavy growth of trees and tangled underbrush covered the back of the barn, making that area inaccessible.

John spent those early morning hours pacing back and forth across the small space between bales of rotting hay near the front door, shouting obscenities to Sarah and Scottie, brandishing his gun, and bellowing vulgar threats. Twice he aimed his gun through a hole in the barn door, and fired a volley of bullets in the direction of the vehicles.

Once he came very near, pointed the gun toward Sarah's head, and made a dead, clicking sound with his tongue.

She froze in terror.

Laughing, John lowered the gun to his side. "You're mine now, Sarah. Where I go, you go, 'til death do us part."

Sarah's heart went into sudden shock! She swallowed, and closed her eyes. When she dared open them again, John had moved back to the door.

Shivering, she wrapped her arms around Scottie.

Through teeth that knocked together, the little boy whispered, "I'm freezing."

Slivers of light began to squeeze around the cracks in the old barn. The wailing wind caused the walls to sway as it whistled through the decaying rafters.

From the circle of vehicles, a voice sounded through a bull horn. "John! John Markum. Come out. No one will harm you, if you come outside."

John looked through the crack in the door and swore under his breath.

The voice from the horn rocked the air with another plea that John come outside and discuss his problems.

"Fools!" John hissed. He stood with his feet spread apart, and fastened his empty stare on the rafters of the old barn.

Sarah could only speculate as to what mad scheme his twisted brain was inventing. Pushed too far, he would react with vengeful violence. He was nearing that breaking point. Dread, like a tight vise, cramped inside her chest. The breath she expelled froze in the icy air. Swirls of dust and debris blew into her face and eyes.

As she moved her gaze from John to the back of the barn, Sarah's heart jumped to her throat, and beat with paralyzing fear. Placing a cold finger over Scottie's lips, she signaled him to silence.

Blake had pulled two loose boards from the back of the barn, and was crawling through the narrow opening. Fear began to spread, like a venomous poison, through Sarah's veins. If he made one sound, one false move, he was a dead man.

Blake crouched on the ground with a lariat wound around his shoulder and a tying rope grasped between his teeth. His face was a mask of grim determination, then his eyes caught hers, and he smiled that lopsided smile she knew and loved so well.

Sarah's quivering lips twisted into the ghost of a smile. She watched with fearful fascination as Blake stood, and slowly slid the lasso from his shoulder. Seconds ticked slowly by. Panic griped her as slow time seemed to stretch into a suspenseful, agonizing eternity.

When she realized what Blake planned to do, her brain ran riot with terror. Only Blake would be brave enough, brash enough, foolish enough to attempt such a daring, do-or-die feat.

Long, anguished seconds dragged by as he inched toward the center of the barn. Sarah watched him with a mixture of hope and horror. She fought to keep from crying out! if John heard the swish of the lasso, he would riddle Blake with bullets! Creeping panic threatened to smother her. She squeezed Scottie's hand so tightly he winced.

Blake swung the lariat. Sarah's heart convulsed, and leapt into her throat.

The loop was a twirling spiral, hissing through the air like a twisting snake. It uncoiled and fell, with deadly precision, around John's waist, pinning his arms to his side. The gun fell from his hand, belching fire as it struck the hard ground. Stumbling, he fell backward, and hit the earth with a heavy thud.

Relief warmed through Sarah's veins as a breath of frozen air escaped through her icy lips.

Blake hurried forward, his hands chasing themselves down the taut rope. "Run, boy, open the door!"

Scottie jumped from the bale of hay, and made a mad dash for the barn door.

Sarah's eyes were glued to Blake, her mind a crazy mixture of surprise and happiness. He had lassoed John, as if he were no more than a little maverick calf.

John lay on his back, twisting and turning, swearing violently, struggling to rise to his feet.

Blake kicked the gun across the cold ground, then rammed the heel of his boot into John's belly. Taking his tying rope from his mouth, he secured the struggling man's hands in front of him.

Then he dragged John to his feet and sent his fist crashing into the center of the bound man's face. The blow shattered the air like a rifle blast. Drawing his bloody fist back, Blake struck another savage blow into John's mangled face. Blood erupted from his nose and mouth, spewing forth like a geyser.

As Blake drew back the third time, two men barreled through the sagging barn doors. A wiry little man sporting a sheriff's badge, shouted as he lunged to pull John from Blake's grasp, "Stop it, Hamilton! Stop! Do you want to kill him?"

Pushing himself between Blake and John, the sheriff shielded John's body with his own. "Stop, Hamilton! You're already in a heap of trouble. You can't go around taking the law into your own hands like this!"

Blake stepped back, wiped his bloody fist along the sides of his jeans, then let it fall to his side. "Get him out of my sight, Sheriff, before I kill him!"

The sheriff motioned to the man with him. "Take care of this punk, Andy."

The second man nodded as he fastened handcuffs around John's bound wrists.

Sarah's intent was to stand. Her legs refused to move.

Blake covered the distance between them in long, rapid strides, then sat down on the bale of hay and folded her into his arms. "Are you all right, Baby? Did he hurt you?"

She buried her face in his chest. His body against her cold shivering frame warmed her as nothing else could. "Thank God you came."

Blake removed his fleece-lined leather jacket and wrapped it around Sarah's shoulders.

She snuggled in its warmth, feeling the lingering heat from his body, smelling his musky, masculine scent. "I'm freezing."

The sheriff scanned the old barn's sagging walls then lifted his eyes to the swaying rafters. "We have to get out of here, pronto."

Blake scooped Sarah into his arms, and holding her close to him, followed the sheriff out of the barn, into the cold morning light.

The wind had died with the rising sun, leaving behind serenity and a hushed calm. Pale January sunlight bathed the rough countryside. Two EMS units, several television vans complete with cameras and crews, along with a crowd of spectators, were milling about just outside the circle of police cars. They were held at bay by a line of sheriff's deputies and State Police.

"Put me down. I think I can walk now," Sarah told Blake as he made his way toward the circle of cars.

He hugged her even nearer. "No way. I won't ever let you go again."

Laying her head on his shoulder, Sarah smiled even though her stiff face ached. If this was a dream, she would gladly sleep forever.

As Blake laid Sarah on a gurney, a lanky newsman pushed past the deputies and shoved a microphone under his nose. "Did you lasso John Markum, Mr. Hamilton?"

"Yeah."

"Is it true you were once best all-round cowboy for three years running?"

"Yeah."

"What happened to Markum's face?" The reporter persisted.

Blake glared at the man. "He hit my fist."

When Blake crawled into the ambulance behind Sarah and the EMS attendant, the persistent newsman followed. "What is you relationship with Mrs. Scott, Mr. Hamilton?"

"Who wants to know?"

A tall, blonde woman shoved through the crowd and elbowed past the lanky man. "Mrs. Scott, what did John Markum do to you?"

Blake shoved the intruders aside, slammed the door, then turned to the attendant. "Get us out of here."

The ambulance roared away, its siren screaming into the cold morning air.

Blake nudged the attendant out of the way, sat down beside Sarah, took her hands in his and began to rub them vigorously. "You're frozen."

"Where is Scottie?" Sarah asked anxiously.

"He's with his grandparents. They were here, waiting for him."

Sarah breathed a sigh of relief. "I was afraid John had done something terrible to them."

"He broke the grandfather's arm and knocked both grandparents around, but nothing lasting or severe." Blake touched Sarah's face. "Did Markum hit you?"

"No, my face struck the back of the seat in John's van. He didn't touch me."

Blake's jaw tightened. "I saw what was left of that van." His fingers slid along the sides of Sarah's face. "Did John molest you again?"

"No. he threatened me, but he was too busy running away to hurt me." She turned her face to kiss his fingers.

A nerve danced erratically along his jaw line. "I should have killed the son-of-a-bitch when I had the chance."

Sarah's fingers wiped a residue of blood from the angry scratches that scarred Blake's cheeks, ran along his chin and cut into his forehead. "What happened to you? You look like you tangled with a wildcat."

Pulling her hand to his lips, he kissed her palm. "The man abducted you, frightened you out of your wits, let you freeze in a drafty barn. How can you say he didn't hurt you?"

Sarah persisted. "What happened to your face?"

"I crawled through the underbrush to get to the back of the barn." Bending down, he brushed her lips with his, then straightened and sighed. "I went to your house, looking for you. I found the place swarming with police. They told me John Markum had killed an officer, assaulted Scottie's grandparents, and kidnapped Scottie just hours before he abducted you." Blake's eyes misted over. "The thought that I might have lost you forever - " He paused, his face contorting, "I went a little crazy."

"What you did was very brave. Stupid, but brave." Feeling was returning to Sarah's fingers. She moved them across Blake's wounded face. "I'm surprised the authorities let you take such a chance."

He grinned. "I didn't ask. I took one look at that barn, and I knew I had to get you out of there."

A shudder that had nothing to do with being cold, shivered through Sarah's body. "You could have been killed. I saw you standing there, with nothing but a rope in your hand. I was frantic with fear."

"Two ropes," Blake teased. Putting his hands inside his coat pocket, he took out the little bronze statue of a rearing stallion. "And this."

Her breath caught in her throat. "Your Christmas gift. Where did you get that?"

"I found it under your tree when I went to your house last night. It had my name on it, so I took it." His eyes met hers, demanding an answer. "I read the card. It said to the man I love. Is that true, Sarah? After all I've done to you, do you, can you love me?"

"Of course, I love you, you brave, stupid honky-tonk cowboy. I was so scared that John would see you and kill you before you could toss that lariat."

"How do you think I felt when I knew that madman had abducted you? I kept remembering the things you told me he'd done to you " He pulled her into his arms, and kissed her with passionate gentleness. "There are so many things I want to tell you, things I should have said a long time ago."

"Later, Buddy," The EMS attendant interrupted. "We're at Southwest General and this lady needs medical attention."

The ambulance had backed to the emergency entrance of the hospital. Before she had time to think, Sarah was whisked into the emergency room, and later into a hospital room where she found an anxious Karen waiting for her. "I'll be here if you need me. Rest if you can."

Karen danced in and out of Sarah's view. A strong sedative made her oblivious to pain and fear. She tried to lift her eyelids. She couldn't.

"What time is it?" Sarah asked, as she opened her eyes and looked around. A pale January sun sent late rays of light shafting through the hospital windows.

Karen was standing beside her bed. "Six o'clock in the evening. You slept almost twelve hours."

Sarah sat up in bed, and looked around the room. Blake was nowhere in sight. "Have you been here all that time?"

Karen eased into the chair beside her. "No, I've been here about an hour."

An exquisite bouquet of gladiolus and lilies-of-the valley sat on the table across the room. Had Blake sent them? No. Blake wasn't the hearts and flowers type. That left only one other person. Turning her head to one side, Sarah pointed. "Did Clay send those?"

"No." Karen answered smugly, "Clay brought them."

"Is he still here?" Poor Clay, after all she had done to him, he still cared enough to come to the hospital and to bring her flowers.

"No. He's gone now." Karen searched around in the pocket of her jacket and produced a card. Smiling, she handed it to Sarah. "Clay gave this to Blake to give to you."

"Clay talked to Blake?" Sarah threw back her sheet, and sat on the side of the bed.

Karen's smile spread across her face. "More than talked to him, I would say Clay told Blake off, in spades."

That was unsettling news. Anxiously, Sarah asked, "What did Clay say?"

"He began by saying what a wonderful person you are. Then he very calmly told Blake that he was a fool."

"Did Blake lose his temper?" The anxiety Sarah had tried to push down, refused to go away.

"Strangely enough, he didn't. He just smiled that stupid one-sided smile and agreed."

Sarah's eyes scanned the card. The words, inscribed in Clay's neat, precise script, read, 'My respects to a gallant lady.'

Sarah laid the card on the table beside her bed. "Clay is such a dear. I'm sure he meant the best, but he shouldn't have called Blake a fool."

"You may be right." Karen agreed. "After seeing the pictures in the newspapers of John's face."

John! She had forgotten about John. Sarah laid back down, and pulled her covers up around her neck, "Where is John?" then held her breath, waiting for Karen to answer.

"He's in the hospital. Blake pulverized his face."

"In this hospital?" Sarah's heart began to race.

"Oh, no, Honey," Karen answered, hastily. "He's in a hospital downtown, under close guard. He will soon be locked away. He can never hurt you again."

"Not until he's out again." Sarah shuddered.

"He won't be released this time, Sarah. He killed a police officer, and battered Scottie's grandparents before he abducted Scottie, then came for you. Dozens of people have come forward since he was captured. They've all testified to John's madness. Scottie's grandparents released a lengthy statement to the press early this afternoon."

Sarah was almost afraid to ask, "What did they say?"

"They think you saved Scottie's life." Sighing, Karen added, "Some good has come from this terrifying experience. Facts have come to light that were never mentioned during your trial. Reid says you can expect a full pardon in the near future. That should vindicate you completely."

Sarah rested her head on the pillow, and stared at the ceiling. "Oh, Karen, that would be wonderful."

"It's no more than you deserve," Karen declared. "It seems John has been running rough shod over people for years."

Dismayed, Sarah asked, "Why didn't someone speak out long ago?"

"You know the answer to that, Sarah. They were afraid of what John might do if they did."

Karen stood. "Enough of that. John has terrorized you for the last time. Let's think about something pleasant, like you have a visitor. Do you feel up to company?"

"Not a reporter!" Sarah turned her face to the wall.

Karen shook her head in swift negation. "No, never. Mom Hamilton wants to see you. She and Reid's dad are in the upstairs waiting room."

"Blake's mother?" Sarah's head swiveled on her pillow as she stole a wary glance at her friend. "Why would she want to see me?"

Karen shrugged. "She didn't say."

"Does it have something to do with Blake?" Of course it had to do with Blake. That was a stupid question. Sarah's fragile facade of self-assurance began to crack.

"I'm sure it does," Karen answered. "This episode has made Blake a hero. The news is full of his roping feat. Mom and Dad saw the story on the news last night. They drove to town this morning. They've been here ever since."

"That doesn't explain why Mrs. Hamilton wants to see me." She couldn't cope with this, not now. "You talk to her, Karen. Tell her that I can't have visitors."

Sarah didn't want to see Blake's mother, period. Mrs. Hamilton probably wanted to tell the notorious Sarah Scott to stay away from her son. And Sarah didn't feel up to telling her that was the one thing she couldn't do.

"Are you sure, Sarah?" Karen's uneasy words confirmed Sarah's suspicions.

"I'm sure. "Sarah felt suddenly weary. "I'm too tired to talk to strangers."

"Then I won't try to persuade you."

Sarah stared at the ceiling for a long time after Karen had gone. She was too emotionally vulnerable to face another confrontation. She didn't need Nora Hamilton to tell her the impossibility of any lasting relationship with Blake.

"Mrs. Scott?" Sarah turned to see Nora Hamilton standing in the doorway. "Karen says you don't want to see me." She stepped inside the room, and shut the door. "I can understand that." Pausing, she waited for Sarah to speak. When no reply was forthcoming, Nora asked, "May I come in?"

What could Sarah say to that? Mrs. Hamilton was already in and behind a closed door. Sarah pointed to a chair. "Would you like to sit down?"

Mrs. Hamilton perched gingerly on the edge. "I felt I had to see you."

Sarah looked directly into the older woman's eyes. "You didn't have to come here. I understand."

"I don't think you do." There was a snap of annoyance in Nora Hamilton's voice. "I am not one to dilly-dally. I will say what I came to say, then go." She took a deep breath. "When Karen asked me to invite you to the ranch for Thanksgiving dinner, I had no idea who you were, or that you were having an affair with my son."

Mrs. Hamilton certainly didn't pull any punches. Sarah met honesty with honesty. "I tried to tell Blake it was a mistake for me to go there, but he wouldn't listen."

"When did Blake ever listen to anyone? He should have told me everything. He didn't. As a result you were hurt, and I was embarrassed."

"I doesn't matter," Sarah began.

Nora interrupted. "Oh, yes, it matters. If it didn't matter, I wouldn't be here." Stopping suddenly, she asked, "May I call you Sarah?"

Sarah didn't know what to say to that, either. She shrugged, and Nora accepted that as a yes.

"Good. Sarah, my son risked his life to rescue you. I sat with him this morning and listened to him recount some of the highlights of his affair with you." With emphasis, Nora added, "Plus some very intimate details."

Color rose in Sarah's cheeks. "He shouldn't have troubled you."

"I wasn't troubled, at least not in the sense I think you mean. Blake's my son. What concerns him, concerns me. Besides, he didn't have much choice. I asked. He could either lie, tell the truth, or tell me, his mother, to shut up. Blake is not given to lying. He knew better than to tell me to mind my own business. So he told me everything I asked." Nora's expression softened. "Including the sad, rather touching story of your much maligned past."

Since again, there seemed no answer, Sarah shrugged, smiled, and remained silent.

"My son is not an emotional man." Nora spoke with some difficulty. "I have never seen him so shaken as he was when he spoke of his fear of losing you." She paused, and swallowed. "But that's for Blake to tell you. I came to say I'm sorry for the incident that happened at the ranch on Thanksgiving, and to assure you that you are welcome there any time."

As she stood to go, a familiar, lopsided half smile slid across Nora Hamilton's face. "That son of mine is also a very arrogant man. It does my old heart good to see him brought to his knees by a woman." Genuine humor lit her eyes. "The females in the family are laughing and saying that Blake has finally met his match." Turning, she hurried toward the door.

She collided with Blake as he pushed boldly in to the room. Raising one eyebrow, Blake smiled at his mother. "Mending fences?"

Nora's sharp, "Mind your own business," didn't perturb him.

In the presence of Blake alone, Sarah was suddenly shy, and unsure. "You look tired. Has the press been harassing you?"

"A little, but that won't last. Reporters and photographers are all over the hospital and they were outside the police station when I went downtown to answer questions and make a statement to the authorities. I didn't mind."

Sarah recalled what had happened the night Carter Trent, the reporter from The Torch had showed up at The Silver Spur and asked her for an interview. "They didn't harass you? You didn't threaten them?"

"They're not a problem, but my session with the cops was a little rough. They threatened to press charges against me, but they didn't. I got off with a stern lecture and a reprimand. Then I was interrogated by my mother." Remembering made him smile. "That was even worse."

Sarah decided that Blake must be very fond of his mother. She didn't want to discuss Nora, or her recent visit. Tactfully, she changed the subject. "I should thank you for coming to my rescue again."

His answer was a slow smile, and a brief, "Yeah." Taking a slim box from his coat pocket, Blake held it up for her to see. "I brought your Christmas gift to you."

"You bought me a Christmas gift? When?"

"A long time ago. I had it with me Christmas Eve night. I never got around to giving it to you."

"Will you open it for me?" Tears gathered in Sarah's eyes.

Blake lifted the lid of the fragile box, and held up an exquisite strand of pearls. "Every lady should have a string of pearls." He dropped the necklace back into its resting place, and put the box in his pocket. "When you're out of here, you can wear them."

He sat beside her on the bed, and put his hands on either side of her face. "I have so many things to say to you, but I don't know where to start."

Neither did Sarah. "Karen says you have become quite a hero. Tell me about that."

"I don't feel like a hero." There was a strange catch in his voice.

"You should," Sarah told him lovingly, "that's what you are."

"I feel like a heel, he confessed with slow reluctance.

"You're my hero," She said, touching the scratches on his face with her fingertips. "You're the bravest man I know."

Blake grimaced, and looked away. "I did what I did, not because I was brave, but because I was scared, more scared than I had ever been in my life before."

Sarah couldn't imagine Blake being afraid of anything. "Afraid? You? Of what?"

"Of losing you, of having to live the rest of my life knowing my own stupidity had taken you from me."

"Don't blame yourself for what happened. You're not responsible for John's madness. And don't minimize your bravery. It took a lot of courage to do what you did."

He smiled, that lopsided grin that set her heart spinning. "I don't have any courage at all. If I did, I would have admitted the truth to myself a long time ago." He sobered suddenly, and took her hand in his. "From the very beginning, I knew, but I couldn't face the truth."

Her puzzled eyes searched his face. "What truth, Blake?"

"I took one look at you, standing in Karen's doorway, and just like that," his fingers snapped into the quiet of the room, "I knew." She had never known him to be so open and honest before.

Sarah turned her head, trying to hide her telltale grin. "Are you talking about love at first sight?" Would he say those three little words she so longed to hear? Would he tell her that he loved her?

Catching her face in his hands, he forced her to look at him. "Something like that, and don't laugh. You felt the same thing."

"I did, but I fought it every step of the way." A sigh escaped her lips. "I was so afraid of being hurt again."

She had not meant to hurt him now, but she had. Pain leaped into his eyes as his hands tightened around her face. "I did hurt you, and I'm sorry. Please try to understand. I was fighting my own demons. I have a past too, you know. And everything in that past had taught me not to trust a woman." He leaned back, letting his hands fall to his sides.

"Especially a woman like me?" she whispered.

"There's not another woman like you, Sarah. You are a very unique one-of-a-kind. Maybe that's why I couldn't turn and walk away, when I knew I should. Then Reid asked me to drive you to San Antonio, and I couldn't bring myself to leave you alone in some lonely hotel room, so I took you home with me. I should have known better." He shook his head slowly from side to side. "All the danger signals were there. I thought you were everything I hated in a woman, and I couldn't stop the attraction that pulled me to you. Then I was fool enough to make love to you, and I knew I had lost the battle. I should have surrendered then and there."

"Even though you knew my past was," Sarah lowered her eyes. "to say the least, unsavory?"

"That wicked, damnable past." Blake grimaced. "I thought the worst. When I learned the truth, the only thing that bothered me about your past was, I couldn't protect you from it." The lines around his mouth hardened. "The only person who could do that with any degree of success seemed to be Clay Daniels." His fingers trailed absently down the sides of her face, over her shoulders and down her bare arms. "Christmas Eve Night, when you began to tell me how he could protect you from the world, and I couldn't even keep my own family from walking all over you, I saw red. I said a lot of things I didn't mean. Again, all I can say is I'm sorry."

It was the longest speech Sarah had ever heard him make, and the most humbling. Lifting her chin, she looked directly into his eyes. "But you did protect me. You were there when I needed you most and you risked your life to save mine."

"I wouldn't have had a life anyway, if I'd lost you." Moisture glistened in his eyes. "Things will be better for you from now on. This episode with John has brought out the truth."

She didn't dare read too much meaning into his words. "You're saying I will no longer be thought of as the notorious Sarah Scott?"

"Things will change suddenly." Blake rubbed his skinned knuckles across her bruised face. "The wheels are already in motion."

"Karen says Reid believes I can expect a full pardon soon."

Suddenly, savagely, Blake pulled her into his arms and kissed her passionately, hungrily, possessively, then with what seemed to be a supreme effort, held her from him. For several seconds he stared at her, then closed his eyes, and expelled a long agonizing breath, as if he

were feeling physical pain.

Touching his jaw with caressing fingers, Sarah whispered, "Blake?"

"I won't hurt you again, Sarah, I promise." He pulled her back into his arms and wrapped her in a close embrace. "Tell me you forgive me."

"You know I forgive you." Hope mixed with her happiness. "If we could have been a little more open with each other, we would have saved ourselves a lot of heartache."

His eyes caressed her. "Trust doesn't come easily for either of us." Pulling her near, he rested his chin on the top of her head, and sighed, "The future's going to be different, I promise."

A promise of some future together was more than she had expected. It was enough, she told herself, yet she couldn't help asking, as she rubbed fingers along the scratches on his face, "Is that what you want, Blake, for us to have a future together?"

Stiffening, he pushed her from him and stared down into her face. "Don't you?"

"You know I do."

"That's all I need to know. Later, when you're out of here, we can sort through the details." He kissed the palm of her hand. "For now you need to concentrate on getting well."

A moment of tenderness and understanding such as this might never come again. Sarah protested, "We can talk now. I'm not ill."

"The doctors say differently. They tell me your suffering from shock and exposure." The buzzer sounded, signaling visitors' hours were over. Blake took Sarah into his arms, and kissed the tip of her nose. "I have to leave now. We'll have that talk later."

She watched him go, walking boldly through the door, and disappearing down the hall. He had not mentioned marriage, or any permanent commitment. Sarah sighed. If this last episode with John had taught her anything, it was to take happiness where she could find it, and hold on to it as long as she could. She would take what Blake offered, and ask no more than what he was willing to give.

Sarah had thought that after sleeping twelve hours, she would not close her eyes during the night. She did, waking the next morning to the sound of a wheel chair being pushed into her room by a nurse wearing a crisp white uniform and a bright smile. "Mrs. Scott, you're awake, I see. Mrs. Hamilton brought your clothes. Would you like some breakfast before she takes you home? She's on her way up."

Sarah wanted only one thing now, to go home. "No, thank you."

Karen appeared in the doorway. "Are you ready to go?" She sat down on the edge of the bed, unfolded a newspaper, and held it up for Sarah to see. "You made the news again, Sarah."

The headlines screamed: COWBOY RESCUES LADY LOVE! Sarah put her hands to her face, as color rose in her cheeks, Karen laughed, and laid the paper on the bed. "It's time you got some good press. Have you watched the news on TV?"

"No." Sarah yawned. "I'm afraid all I've done is sleep."

After some thought, Karen decided it was just as well, and said so.

"I'll watch when I get home," Sarah promised.

Walking beside the nurse who pushed the wheel chair, Karen warned, "There are reporters and cameras in the downstairs waiting room, all over the lobby, and outside the hospital entrance."

They were on the elevator before Sarah said, "I expected as much. I can cope." Just before the doors opened, she squeezed Karen's hand. "Thanks for being such a good friend to me."

The elevator descended, the doors slid open, and Sarah was wheeled into a long hall, around a corner, and into the hospital waiting room. As Karen had fore-warned, the place swarmed with reporters who followed Sarah, asking her a confusing array of questions. "Mrs. Scott, how do you feel?

"While John Markum held you captive, did you ever give up hope?"

"What is your relationship with Mr. Hamilton?"

Sarah smiled, and said nothing.

Quite unexpectedly, the nurse stopped the chair in the center of the lobby, set the brake, then walked away.

The crowd of reporters moved aside. Sarah scanned the room, confused by this strange turn of events, searching for Karen, who had disappeared.

Across the wide expanse of the long room, she saw him, standing very tall and straight, his hat pushed back on his head, holding a huge bouquet of red roses in his arms. Her trembling lips formed one word. "Blake?"

What he was up to now ? From the corner of her eye, she saw Mr. and Mrs. Hamilton standing near the door of the hospital's admittance office. Karen appeared from nowhere, and walked toward Reid, who had stationed himself in the hospital's entrance way.

The crowd of nurses, doctors, hospital employees, re-porters, and curious bystanders, moved to the sides of the room, as Blake walked toward her. A confusing array of emotions surged through Sarah: Joy, dismay, hope, uncertainty, and above all, a rising sense of expectation. She closed her eyes.

When she opened them, Blake was standing directly in front of her. Looking up, she saw tears in his eyes. Her heart melted. "Blake?" The word was a bare whisper.

He knelt before her, and laid the roses in her lap. Sarah was sure now, that her heart would break from sheer happiness. She spoke the only word her quivering lips seemed able to form, "Blake?"

He took her hands in his, and kissed her fingertips. "You told me once, Baby, not even if I got on my knees, and begged. I'm hoping I can change your mind. Because that's where I am, on my knees, begging, for all the world to see."

Could he possibly be saying what she thought he was saying? Was he asking her to marry him? Tears clouded her vision. Her voice deserted her. Her lips formed the words, "I love you."

"Ah, Baby, that's what I wanted to hear. Will you marry me?"

She touched the side of his face with fingers she had pulled from his tight grasp. "Yes!"

The onlookers who had watched the proposal with quiet anticipation, broke into loud applause.

Standing, Blake lifted Sarah into his arms. "You can't change your mind now, Baby. I have at least a hundred witnesses. You did say yes."

Cameras and reporters moved in to surround them. Questions flew. Sarah was oblivious to everything except the man who held her in his arms. She rested her face against his chest, and listened to the steady beating of his heart. The masculine odor of him enveloped her. She whispered into his ear, "I love you."

He kicked the waiting room door open. "Let's get out of here!"

Chapter Eighteen

Blake carried Sarah to his pickup, where he sat her gently in the seat, then kissed her tenderly before he closed the door.

"Make the most of this," she told herself," anything this wonderful, can't last."

It ended much sooner than she had expected. Before he turned the key in the ignition, Blake said almost belligerently, "Daniels was at the hospital again this morning. He was on his way up to see you. I stopped him."

She didn't want to talk about Clay, not now, but she had to ask. "How did you manage that?"

Blake steered the pickup from the parking lot. "I told him for a fool I learned fast. I said I was going to marry you and if he wanted to offer congratulations, he'd have to do it later."

Sarah breathed a quick sigh of relief. Given Blake's volatile nature, he could have done much worse. "You didn't get physical with him, did you?"

"I didn't have to. He's a reasonable man. He left."

The truth dawned, and with it came a sudden burst of elation. Blake was jealous. She shouldn't be happy about that, but she was. "Clay means nothing to me. Can you trust me enough to believe that?"

He grinned. "I'm sorry, Baby. I'm trying. Give me a little time."

Time! She had that now. She could be gracious, even magnanimous. A lifetime with the man she loved stretched before her. "You took me by surprise. I didn't think you would propose - "

"In the hospital lobby?" He completed her sentence.

"That too. Why did you?"

Blake pushed his hat back with his thumb. "I took my mom's advice."

"Your mother?"

"I told her how rotten I'd been to you. She said I'd better apologize in public, told me that I should show up with red roses. She said if someone didn't guard the exits, you might run."

"Your mother helped you plan how to propose?"

"My mother has enjoyed every minute of my torment. She thinks I'm getting exactly what I deserve."

Remembering Nora's blunt words from the night before made Sarah smile.

"She approves of your marrying the notorious Sarah Scott?"

"She more than approves, she thinks it a grand idea."

"How did you persuade her?" Sarah asked.

Blake gave a loud hoot. "You've met my mother. Do you think anyone can persuade her to agree to anything she isn't sure is right?"

Sarah didn't even have to think about that. "No."

"In two days you can stop worrying about being the notorious Sarah Scott, because you won't be Sarah Scott any longer, you'll be Mrs. Blake Hamilton."

Sarah's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "It takes three days to get a license, then there's the actual ceremony. That will take some planning."

"I applied for the license yesterday."

"Before you ask me to marry you?"

"I didn't intend to take no for an answer." Blake pulled off the access road and into the flow of freeway traffic. "Relax, I've taken care of everything. Plans for the wedding are already under way."

Sarah felt light headed, almost giddy with happiness. "Planning a wedding takes time. There are so many details, even for just a simple ceremony."

"Mom and Karen are handling the details. Mom wants us to be married at the ranch." She sensed his uneasiness. "If you'd rather we slipped away and had a very private ceremony, We will."

"Which had you rather do?"

Blake loosened his tight grip on the steering wheel. "I never got around to admitting it before, but my family is important to me. I'd like to share my happiness with them."

Sarah exhaled a long sigh of contentment. "I think a wedding at the ranch is a wonderful idea, but in two days?" she mused. "That's so much work."

"Umpteen cousins and nearly as many aunts and nieces will help stage the actual event." Blake gave her a narrow, sidelong glance. "You don't know how long that bunch of females has been trying to marry me off." Pulling off the highway, he turned onto a farm-to-market road.

Sarah looked out at the strange surroundings. "Where are you taking me?"

Blake pushed down on the accelerator. "To the ranch."

"I can't go there." Sarah needed some time to adjust to all the sudden changes in her life. She could do that better in her own home. "Not yet, anyway."

"Yes, you can," Blake said with quiet determination, "and you will. It's the only place I can be sure you're safe from reporters and prying people."

With a twinkle in her eye, Sarah asked, "And if I refuse?"

"I have ways of making you do exactly what I want you to do. Must I resort to those tactics?" The hint of determination in his voice was replaced with warm tones of love.

Sarah's pulses quickened with desire. The sensation ran like quicksilver through her veins, as his silky warning seared through her. "Not here."

"Then stop protesting," He aimed a brief, caressing glance in her direction. "and don't look at me like that. I'm driving."

They arrived to find the old ranch house deserted. Blake opened the door and stepped aside for Sarah to enter. "Mom and Dad must have decided to give us some time alone."

Once inside, Blake took Sarah's hand, and led her down a long hall, and into the bedroom where he had slept when he was a boy. "Sit down."

Sarah eased down onto the side of the bed.

Lowering his head, Blake rubbed the back of his neck with his hand, then lifted his face to stare at her. "You've been through hell these past three days. The doctors say you need time now to rest and recuperate. Am I rushing you, wanting us to be married so soon?"

"I want to marry you as soon as possible." She smiled up at him and patted the bed beside her. "Come and sit with me."

He held up one hand. "There's something else I have to get off my chest first, and I need you to give me a straight answer. I can deal with the truth, but I can't handle not knowing."

Sarah had expected him to take her in his arms. She had hoped he would declare his love for her. "I've never lied to you. I don't intend to start now."

"Where does the money you live on come from?"

"What did you say?" She thought he must be joking.

"What source of income do you have? You're not gainfully employed, yet you live well. How do you pay the bills?" -This was no joke. He stood, patiently waiting for her to respond.

Sarah was amazed that he would ask such a thing. "Why do you want to know?"

Turning his head to one side, Blake tried to smile, and failed. "I'm going to be your husband, I have a right to know."

Would he never cease to surprise her? "My mother left me a small trust fund, and there was Paul's insurance. Karen has helped me to make some solid investments."

"So financially you're secure?" A hint of insolence deepened the lines around his mouth. "And not dependent on anyone?"

Sarah thought he had taken leave of his senses. "I don't know why it's important, but yes I am financially secure, and no, I'm not dependent on anyone."

Blake sighed, apparently greatly relieved. "I was afraid. . ." He rubbed his hand across his chin. "Never mind, it's not important now."

Sarah thought it was important and she was quick to say so. If they ever hoped to put the past behind them, they had to begin to communicate, honestly and openly. "You were afraid of what?"

"Several things, none of them very complementary to you, I'm sorry to say." He looked hesitant for a moment, then blurted out: "I was afraid Clay Daniels was supporting you financially."

That statement was ludicrous. Sarah didn't know if she should laugh or cry. "And what did you think he was getting in return?"

Blake shook his head, reluctant to answer at first, then forged ahead with calm resolve. "At first I thought you were sleeping with him, even though my gut instinct told me that couldn't be true. After awhile, I didn't know what to think." Swallowing, he admitted, "I never told this before to a living soul, but my wife was sleeping with another man the last year and a half she lived with me. Can you imagine what it was like for me when I learned that for eighteen long months, she'd been going from my arms to his and I'd never once suspected?"

So Sarah wasn't the only one who had suffered because of a tragic past. "Oh, Blake, darling, why didn't you just ask me about my finances?"

"I intended to the night I came to your house after you'd been to The Silver Spur and I'd acted like such a jerk. I was going to get everything out into the open. Then I lost my nerve." He was looking more pained by the minute. "If you'd said yes, I couldn't have stayed. I decided it was better to have you and not know than it was to know and not have you."

It was a dangerous question to ask, but she had to know. "If I told you now that there had been something between Clay and me, would you still want to marry me?"

"I want to marry you, Sarah. Your past makes no difference. I thought you understood that."

If he never told her that he loved her, she knew now that he did. "There is not now, and there never was anything between Clay and me. I never took more than a banquet ticket from him. I never gave him anything more than my friendship."

It was as if the weight of the world had been lifted from his shoulders. Taking long strides across the floor, Blake stared out the window at the frozen countryside. "I need to explain why that was so hard for me to believe in the beginning."

Sadness touched Sarah's joy. "You don't have to do that. It doesn't matter anymore. If you can forgive my past, I can certainly forgive yours."

Blake's neck stiffened as he lifted his head. "It's not a question of forgiveness. I want you to understand why I did some of the things I did." He stood, his feet far apart, his back as straight as a ramrod. "Will you listen?"

"If it's that important to you, I'll listen." Sarah lowered her eyes and stared at her hands. "But nothing you can ever say will stop me from loving you."

"If I didn't believe that, I doubt I'd be so brave or so reckless." He swung to face her, "This is not easy for me, Sarah." then strode back across the room. "But I am trying." Kneeling before her, he caught her hand. "It's about Nicole, my wife."

Inside, Sarah flinched, but she managed to hold onto her outward calm. Brushing a curl from his forehead she tried to brace herself. "What about her?"

Releasing her, he stood, and rammed his hands into his pockets. "She lived with me for eighteen months after she'd given herself to another man. She let me touch her, hold her, make love to her, not because she cared about me, but because she knew it was driving her married lover insane with jealously. The day his divorce was final, she told me how much she loathed me, and walked out of my life forever. She took a part of me with her. I felt diminished, cheated, less a man than I'd thought myself to be. I swore I'd never let another woman get that close to me again. That was an easy promise to keep until you came along, then everything changed. At first, I thought what I felt for you was purely physical. After awhile, I knew that wasn't so. I found myself in one hell of a dilemma; afraid to commit, and at the same time, not wanting to let go."

So many things were falling into place. "So you decided to drive me away." If she had only known. "That's why you suddenly stopped calling or coming around."

"I thought that was the answer." He drew a tortured breath. "Then you came to the club and told me it was over." He moved to sit beside her. "I discovered I couldn't let you go. I came after you. I was going to confess everything, but you were so angry. The fear of losing you made me back off." Hesitating, he looked at her with something akin to fear in his eyes.

A tear slid down Sarah's cheek. Taking his hand in hers, she lifted it to her lips and kissed his fingertips. "Go on."

After an anxious, assessing glance, he continued. "Then I learned the truth about your past and I realized you had less reason to trust me than I had to trust you, yet you seemed to do just that. Did you? I kept asking myself, or were you using me as Nicole had, to catch another man?"

The corners of Sarah's mouth pulled down in distress. "You thought I was using you to snare Clay?"

I did, and I didn't. The uncertainty tore me apart. I began clutching at straws. In my confusion, I decided that if my family accepted you, that was a sign you could be trusted, but they didn't, and I couldn't cope. I tried to force them." Pulling his hand away, he ran his fingers through his hair and drew a long weary breath. "Then this business of Grant came up, and I panicked. You completely captivated him. He was a polished, college educated attorney who could have his pick of any woman he wanted, and it was pretty obvious, he wanted you. What made a crusty old cowboy like me think he had a ghost of a chance? Then there was that nasty business with some of my female relatives saying you shouldn't be at the ranch with 'decent' people. What some of the men said didn't help either. I didn't know what to do, where to turn."

He was on his feet again, and pacing across the room. Then with a jerk, he turned. "Christmas Eve Night when you began to tell me you were going out with Daniels, every logical thought I ever had left me. I lost it. I thought you were using me to force Daniels's hand. I knew then I had to let you go. I couldn't live through that kind of hell again."

Sarah had never seen such naked sorrow in anyone's eyes before. Her bleeding heart demanded reassurance. "You don't think that now?"

"That thought was laid to rest when I saw Daniels with you at the banquet. Even a fool like me can see that he adores you." Once again, he sat on the bed beside her. "I showed up with Linda at the Community Center Christmas Day because I wanted to hurt you."

Remembering made her shiver with pain. "You did."

Tears dimmed the blue of his eyes. "Not half as much as I hurt myself. After seeing you with Daniels, I was convinced I'd lost you forever. Then you showed up at my club New Year's Eve with another man, and I thought: If she's hooked Daniels, what the hell is she doing here with another man? I began to hope again. I thought maybe I still had a chance. I wasn't about to let you get away from me again, so I asked you to marry me. He stared at the carpet, "and you said no."

How could she ever have thought he was crude and insensitive? Beneath that rough exterior beat the heart of the most sensitive and tender-hearted man she had ever known. Sarah closed her eyes. Tears slid from beneath her eyelids. "I'm so sorry, so very sorry."

A residue of the old Blake surfaced. Gruffly, he rumbled, "I don't want your sympathy, I just need to know that you understand."

"If I have sympathy, its for myself. I've been such an idiot."

"Then you do understand?" He drew her into his arms.

She did, almost. He must have sensed her hesitation. Pushing back, he looked down into her face. "Tell me, Sarah."

Drawing an uneasy breath, Sarah pressed her face against his chest. "It's about Linda."

Blake lifted her chin with his hand. "What about her?"

"I know she's your employee. She seems to be a close friend." She closed her eyes, trying to escape his steady gaze. Is she more than that to you?"

Blake didn't bat an eye. "No. She isn't, and she never has been."

"Then why," Sarah asked, her voice trembling, "did she call you in the middle of the night, angry and hurt, and why does she hate me?"

His wicked, lopsided smile sent her heart spinning. "She thinks she has some good reasons, but they're not the reasons you think."

A little belligerently, Sarah asked, "What should I think?"

"Think about this." Blake rubbed his hand across her cheek, then dropped a kiss there. "Linda's in love with Grant."

"Your cousin Grant?" That would go a long way toward explaining so many things. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Blake's eyes began to dance with mischief. "And have you think you had no competition? I needed the leverage, not that it did me much good."

"Linda loves Grant?" Sarah's eyes widened in surprise, as relief began to ease her tension. Linda's jealously was of Grant, not Blake.

"None other," Blake answered. "Linda thinks of me like she would a big brother. Thanksgiving Day she asked me to try to make Grant jealous. I agreed. When Grant was so taken with you, she wanted to kill you. She called to tell me how completely our scheme had failed. She blamed me for you being at the ranch."

"Does Grant know how Linda feels?"

Blake sighed. "Who knows? Grant is a fool."

Sarah thought so many things. She said nothing. Instead she kissed Blake and whispered, "I love you."

With an agonized groan, he wrapped his arms around her, covered her mouth with his seeking lips, and tangled his hands in the silky length of her hair. "How I need you!"

Her response was immediate and incandescent. Passion leaped full blown and resplendent inside her. She surrendered to the tantalizing sweetness of his tender touch. A desire to hold him near her forever, ran through her body like an electric current.

There was an exquisite tenderness in his lovemaking that had never been there before. Sarah gave herself up to the exhilarating joy that accompanied his possessive invasion of her waiting body, responding to his slow, sweet rhythm by arching toward him, bidding him appease her rising need.

The electric current charged, ignited, and burst into a blazing, all consuming flame. The final joy came when he exploded inside her. The sensation radiated through her body, spreading, flowing, until a honeyed peace rolled over her.

A silken silence held them in rapt tranquillity until Sarah uttered in a hushed whisper, "I love you."

On a sated sigh, Blake answered, "I love you too."

A skyrocket of happiness burst inside Sarah. She had never thought to hear him say those words. He spoke them now with such candid simplicity. "Blake?"

"Yeah." She could hear the smile in his voice.

"Say it again."

"Say what?" He teased.

"You know what. Say it."

"You want to hear it again?" Laughter threaded through his voice.

Her's was a low purr. "Please."

He rolled over to face her. "You want me to say, I love you?"

She felt secure enough to tease him in return. "Do you?"

"Oh, yes. I do."

Raising an eyebrow, she smiled. "Are you going to say it?"

"Try to stop me. I love you." He kissed the tip of her nose. "I love you." Then dropped his mouth to cover her lips. "I love you." He held her very close and sighed, "Rest now." She fell asleep in his arms.

Sarah woke the next morning with one nagging fear to mar her happiness. She was about to face Blake's parents, and under less than ideal circumstances. Nora had said she was welcome here, but would Blake's family think of her as that woman? She gave the man who slept beside her a little shake. "Blake, are you awake?"

Rolling over, he smiled at her. "I am now."

Sarah sat up on the side of the bed. "I'm nervous about seeing your parents again."

Blake rolled out of bed, and hastily put on his shirt and pulled his jeans over his hips. Baby, you never have to be nervous again," he sat on the bed and pushed his feet into his boots, before adding, "about anything."

Sarah dressed hurriedly. "I'm afraid of what your parents will think of me." The sooner she got this over, the better she would feel. Squinting into the mirror, she pulled a brush through the tangled length of her silky hair.

Taking the brush from her, Blake hugged her to him. "Give them a chance, Baby." He smoothed her hair with his hands. "I'm wondering what you will think of them. They may take some getting used to. Are you ready?" He extended his arm.

She put her hand through his arm. "I'm ready."

The kitchen smelled of fresh brewed coffee and baking bread. Jake Hamilton sat on the far side of the round kitchen table, drinking coffee from a mug that had, Dad inscribed on one side. He rumbled, "Good morning."

Blake pulled a chair from the table, and helped Sarah sit down, then sat beside her. "Yeah."

Nora was busy at the stove. "Breakfast will be ready soon."

"Good morning," Sarah knew she sounded pompous and cold.

Sensing her discomfort, Blake reached for her hand, and held on to it.

"You don't have to hold on to Sarah, Son," Jake jeered. "She's already agreed to marry you. I heard her with my own two ears, and I saw a rerun on the ten o'clock-news last night."

Blake grinned. "I'm taking no chances."

Jake raised one bushy eyebrow. "Are you afraid she's going to jump the traces?"

This time Blake chuckled aloud. "You're enjoying this, aren't you old man?"

"Maybe that's 'cause I had to wait so long to see it come to pass." Jake gave Sarah a broad wink. "Maybe it's 'cause it puts me in mind of how it was for me when I met your mamma forty-five years ago."

Nora put a platter of bacon and eggs on the table, and sat down. "There are some boxes in the attic, Jake. After breakfast, I want you to bring them down." She began to write on a pad beside her plate. "I must call Cousin Agatha, then Cousin Matilda."

"And things ain't changed much in forty-five years." Jake pushed his plate back, "I'm going to San Antonio today." He stood. "I have an appointment to see a man about a horse."

Nora didn't bother looking up. "Sit down Jake. There's going to be a wedding here tomorrow. You're not going anywhere."

"I have business . . ." Jake began.

"I need you here," Nora announced on a note of finality. "Your business can wait."

Jake slipped back into his chair, and poured himself another cup of coffee. His bushy eyebrows met in a frown across his nose. "Is your cousin Matilda going to be here today?"

"You know she is," Nora replied. "Don't you dare insult her, and don't talk politics with her. She's coming here to help with the wedding."

"She's coming here because she wants to see for herself if Blake is really gonna get hitched." Jake swallowed a gulp of coffee. "You know I can't stand that woman! If I want to bad mouth her, I will."

"Not to her face," Nora warned, with a stern look. Then she smiled at Sarah. "Cousin Matilda knows how to put a wedding together."

Jake's frown deepened. "Your cousin Matilda don't know chicken salad from chicken doo! The woman's a damned Republican!"

Completely unruffled, Nora began, again, to write. "You be nice to her, Dad."

Sarah chanced a sidelong glance in Blake's direction. He was smiling.

Later, snuggled in Blake's embrace on the leather couch in the den, watching the leaping flames of a roaring fire, Sarah's fears began to fade. "Your parent's are very nice."

"Dad can be as cantankerous as hell, and Mom is a hard way to go, if you cross her." Blake pulled Sarah into his lap. "You're not marrying them, but I'm glad you like them."

"Karen will be here soon." Blake stared into the fire. "I have to go into the club for awhile. Mom thinks I should stay with Reid and Karen tonight. I think she's right. I won't see you again until the ceremony tomorrow."

Sarah touched his face. "Be careful! I would die if something happened to you now! I love you so much."

He grabbed her in a smothering embrace, and buried his face in her hair. "God, how I love you!" He kissed her gently at first, the almost savagely.

She submitted to the kiss with passionate tenderness. After several seconds, his mouth gentled. Raising his head, he let his arms fall away. "When I think of how near I came to losing you -"

She laced her hands through his hair, and pulled his face toward hers. "But you didn't, and you won't. I love you. Tomorrow is the first day of our life together. I'll be waiting for you."

The thought of facing Blake's female relatives alone was not a pleasant one. There seemed no way to avoid it. Long before noon the old ranch house was filled with an assortment of aunts, nieces, and cousins. Sarah tensed as she met each respective relative. It soon became evident that anything she had done prior to catching the elusive Blake Hamilton in a matrimonial trap, now faded into insignificance. By mid afternoon, she was enjoying her status of bride-to-be.

They were married the next afternoon in the living room of the old ranch house. Karen, tall and elegant in a dress of muted gold, was Sarah's matron of honor. Reid stood beside his brother, hand-some, self-assured, and unable to stop smiling.

Radiant in a flowing dress of soft lavender, Sarah twined her fingers through the string of pearls around her throat, and looked down the short aisle, toward the man she adored. Tears crowded into her eyes as she took measured steps to the strains of the wedding march.

As she came near him, Blake's eyes locked into hers. She saw there, love so blatant that it tilted her equanimity. That love would exact its price. He would be forceful, demanding, and possessive. He could give her protection, security, and most of all the passionate love she needed so desperately. Life without him would not be worth living. Lifting her head, she smiled into the blue of his eyes.

They stood before a balding, soft-spoken minister. "Do you, Sarah, take this man whose hand you now hold, to be your lawfully wedded husband?"

Sarah's heart overflowed with happiness. "I do!"

"Do you, Blake, take this woman whose hand you now hold, to be your lawfully wedded wife?"

Blake tightened his grip on Sarah's fingers. "Yeah."

The minister cleared his throat, and continued with the ceremony.

An hour later Sarah sat beside her husband in his pick-up, and stared at the wide gold band on the third finger of her left hand. She felt happiness she had never dreamed possible.

They had slipped away while the reception was in full swing. Sarah moved her eyes from her finger to the profile of the tall man beside her. "Where are we going?"

"Where would you like to go?" His hands were tense on the steering wheel.

"I want to be with you. That's all that matters."

"I'm taking you home, Mrs. Hamilton."

Blake had filled his house with flowers, and scented candles. "Remember the first time I brought you here?" He lifted Her in his arms, and carried her over the threshold. "You were so tiny and so fragile," he stood her on her feet. "and so beautiful!"

"And you were so arrogant and so handsome." She caressed his face with her fingers. "I was half in love with you before we got through the door."

Blake laughed, deep in his throat. "You were completely, hopelessly, in love with me from the first moment you saw me." He made long strides toward the bedroom. "This is my wedding night. I don't intend to make love on the floor. Although," he tossed Sarah on the bed, "there is something to be said for making it on the carpet."

Looking up at him, Sarah thought her heart would burst with love and happiness. She held out her arms. "Come here."

A blue flame leaped into his eyes. "That's my line." He threw his long body down beside her, and stretched out full length. "I'm all yours."

And he was! She loosened his tie with trembling fingers, pulled it from around his neck, and tossed it to the floor. Then she unfastened his belt, and gave it a quick yank.

He twisted to his side, and pulled her hand as she tugged at the belt.

She dropped a feathery kiss on his throat. "Be still. I'm going to undress you, and I don't need help." Moving her mouth to his ear lobe, she bit gently. "I love you madly."

He lay very still, his smile delightfully sensuous. Pulling the grippers of his shirt loose, she ran her hands across his chest, tangled her fingers in his chest hair, and massaged his nipples.

He closed his eyes, and shivered. "Don't stop, Baby. I love the way you love me."

It gave Sarah a sense of exhilarating delight to know her touch had so profound an effect on him. That he would trust her to caress him so intimately, and not feel threatened by his response, caused a singing joy to course through her veins. Slowly, leisurely, and with spellbinding pleasure, she stripped him of every stitch he wore, kissing each part of his body, as her nimble fingers disrobed him.

As his last garment fell to the floor, he began to undress her. His fingers were brands of fire as he peeled away her clothing. Closing her eyes, Sarah gave herself over to the sweet rapture of his touch. His hands stroked her body with love and reverence. Desire, dark and lovely, erupted inside her. She arched toward him, her body begging for his touch, his heated kisses, his ardent love!

As it always had been, as it always would be, a hot tide of tempestuous desire swept all restraints away. The only reality was the aching, all-consuming need that brought them together in a savage consummation and lifted them to an ecstatically exhilarating culmination.

Afterward, safe in her husband's arms, Sarah lay silent, and completely at peace. That honeyed tranquillity was threatened when Blake said, "I'm sorry, Baby."

She raised on one elbow. "Sorry?" Disbelief crept into her voice. "For what?"

"I promised myself that this time it would be different." A long breath expelled itself from deep inside his chest.

"Why would you want anything that perfect to be different?" A shadow of fear rose to cloud Sarah's joy.

Blake yanked a lock of her hair. "I promised myself this time, I'd be gentle and loving. I lost it again, Baby."

"You were gentle and loving," she touched his cheek. "You were also savage and fierce and wonderful!" She had to make him under-stand. "My sweet darling, don't you know you take me to soaring heights of passion that I never dreamed existed before you loved me? You give me everything!"

A slow smile spread across his face. "You wouldn't kid an old cowboy?"

She lay on her back and stretched sensuously. "I like seeing you lose control. That kind of wild abandon lifts me to the same heights of pleasure that you reach." She caressed his arm.

His body relaxed under her touch. "And puts me in loving bondage for a lifetime." He spoke not with malice or resentment, but on a note of unrepressed joy.

"It works both ways. I love you. I would never hurt you." How long, she wondered, would it be before he could trust completely the love she felt for him? She had a lifetime to show him how much she cared. He loved her. She would build on that foundation. Brushing her lips across his across his throat, she whispered, "Good night, my love."

His lips touched her forehead. "God, how I love you. Raising on his elbow, he stared down at her, his face soft with satisfaction. "Promise me something, Sarah."

She looked up at him, her face alight with love. "Anything."

"Promise me you'll never stop loving me. Even when I get arrogant and possessive and down right ornery."

She touched the strong contours of his jaw. "You won't"

"Yes, I will, and we both know it. Do you promise?"

She had her work cut out for her. "I promise." It was a promise she knew she would keep.

Epilogue

The old ranch house swarmed with people. Sarah sat beside her husband, and watched the handsome couple who stood before an altar banked with flowers. She could only hope that Linda and Grant would be as happy as she and Blake had been for the past year and a half.

When Blake told Sarah that Grant had proposed to Linda, Sarah could hardly believe her ears. "They had a terrible quarrel Easter Sunday." Sarah had heard most of the quarrel, as had everyone else in the Hamilton ranch house that day. "Grant left in a rage. He said he never wanted to see Linda again. What happened?"

Blake chuckled. "Remember the friend Grant brought with him to the Ranch Christmas Day?"

Sarah nodded. She thought the friend was incredibly handsome. She carefully refrained from giving voice to that frivolous opinion. "I remember."

"Colin, that's the friend's name, made no secret of his interest in Linda."

Remembering Grant's indignant anger made Sarah smile. "And Grant felt betrayed."

"Worse than betrayed," Blake laughed again. "He was jealous, as in fit-to-kill. Linda went out with Colin New Year's. Eve. Grant had the audacity to tag along, and the result was that Grant realized he was in love with Linda, and also dangerously near losing her to another man."

"So, did he propose?" Sarah asked.

Blake's eyebrows climbed upward. "Yeah, and Linda said no." He chuckled. "Sound familiar?"

Sarah dropped her chin to hide her own smile. "A little."

"The long and short of it is," Blake waved his hand around. "that she put him through a hell of a lot of misery before she agreed to marry him."

The fact that Blake could laugh at Grant's plight, and find humor in Linda's atrocious treatment of his cousin, gave Sarah hope that he felt secure in his own marriage. "Does this mean Mom Hamilton and Cousin Matilda will be planning another wedding?"

"They're already at it," Blake laughed aloud. "With Aunt Edna's help, of course."

The strains of the wedding march pulled Sarah's thoughts back to the present. With tears in her eyes, she watched the ceremony unfold.

Balancing a glass of champagne in each hand, Blake shook his head, as he extended one glass toward Sarah. "Will you stop the tears? The wedding is over."

Sarah blinked. "I can't help it. Weddings make me cry."

Blake sat down beside her, and put his arm around her shoulders. "For joy, I hope."

"Of course, for joy." Sarah sipped the champagne. "I'm happy for them."

A luminous blue flame kindled in his eyes. "I like to see you happy, which reminds me . . ." Taking her glass from her, Blake sat it beside his, on the table. "I have something to show you." He began to lead her through the maze of guests toward the back door of the ranch house.

"Where are we going?"

Once outside, Blake smiled mysteriously. "Wait and see." He held the back yard gate open for her, then took her into his arms, and kissed her. "Have I told you today how much I love you?"

Happiness, warmed by passion, welled up inside her. "Yes, but I don't mind hearing it again." Stretching on tiptoe, she kissed his chin, then asked again, "Where are we going?"

"Over there." Blake pointed to the line of trees beyond a wide clearing, then taking her hand in his, he began to hike across the open field.

"Blake, I'm wearing heels and hose." Sarah ran to stay up with his long strides.

He didn't answer.

"It's getting dark," Sarah cautioned.

"The moon is bright." Blake slowed his pace, and raised his head toward the heavens. "And beautiful too." So it was, shining radiant and luminous, hanging like a luscious slice of cantaloupe in the smoky sky.

They walked a good quarter of a mile across the rolling terrain. Finally, Sarah could stand no more. "Blake, what are you up to?"

He stopped and swept his hand around in a grandiose gesture. "What do you think?"

"About what?" Sinking down on the grassy bank, Sarah began to pull grass spears from her hose and shoes.

Blake dropped down beside her. "About this spot."

"I think it's nice." She gave a particularly stubborn grass spear a decisive yank. "Full of burrs, and thorns, and needle grass, but nice."

Blake smiled, an insidiously cryptic smile. "Bluebonnets bloom on that ridge every spring." He pointed toward the trees. "If it was daylight, you could see them now."

Sarah's eyes narrowed, as she asked again, "What are you up to?"

"Dad wants me to move to the ranch and help him run it. He says it's getting to be too much for him. What do you think?"

Sarah thought the ranch would be a perfect place for children. Blake knew how badly she wanted to have a child. She had told him. She would not broach the subject again. "I think I'd love living here." She lay back on the grass, and looked up at the moon. "What about your club?"

He grinned sheepishly. "I sold my honky-tonk last week."

"You did?" She put her arms under her head, and cut her eyes in his direction. "You are full of surprises."

Blake lay down beside her. "I'm going to build a house over on that rise. What would you think about a ranch style house with lots of windows, and maybe even a picket fence?"

"It sounds wonderful."

"Later, I'd like to build a swimming pool for the kids."

Tears stung the back of Sarah's eyes. "Kids?" She sat up. "More than one?"

He pulled her back down beside him. "I was thinking two definitely, maybe three."

On a trembling sigh, Sarah asked, "Blake, are you sure?"

"I'm sure, Baby. I was never more sure of anything."

She fought to keep the tears out of her voice. "I'm so happy."

"Are you going to cry again?"

Sarah wiped at her tears. "No."

Releasing her, Blake put his hands behind his head, and stared heavenward. "Did you ever see such a moon?"

Sarah looked toward the sky. "It's beautiful."

"Dad used to tell me there was a man in the moon."

Sarah studied the slice of celestial beauty. "Did you believe him?"

"I knew he was joking." Blake raised on his elbow and kissed her forehead. "When do we start making our family?"

"When do you want to start?" Sarah looked at him through lowered lashes.

"Now is okay."

"Now?" Surprise caused her voice to rise. "But I'm dressed -"

"Not for long." Blake pulled her under him, and holding her firmly with his knees, began to undress her.

Sarah wiggled, making a pretense at trying to escape. "Blake, what are you doing?"

"Making love to my wife."

"Here? Now?" Her arms wound around his neck.

"Why not?"

"Blake? I love you!"

"I know. I love you too! And now, we're going to let that love make a baby." And there on the rise of soft grass, as crickets crooned a love song, under the shining segment of a sugar coated moon, they did!

The End