Desperado - Diana Palmer

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was permanent,” he said.

      It wasn’t much of an explanation, but she understood. June was a cutting tool he’d used on her heart. He wasn’t certain that she was jealous of him, but he thought she’d be hurt if he threw another woman in her face. She was. It was chilling that he knew her that well. On the other hand, he’d admitted that she could hurt him, as well. It was a milestone in their stormy relationship.

      He glanced at her as he turned down the long driveway with painted white fences on both sides.

      “Amazing, isn’t it?” he mused. “I never have to explain anything to you.”

      “That works both ways.” She turned her eyes toward the old fighting bull in the pasture on her side of the car. “Maybe it’s some sort of mental shorthand.”

      “Maybe it’s ESP,” he murmured dryly.

      “Someday we’ll have to find out if it works across oceans,” she replied smartly.

      That stung. She probably knew it. “Why do you have to leave the country?” he asked quietly.

      “I told you. I’m twenty-six. I want to do something adventurous while I can do it without leaning on a cane.”

      “Adventure isn’t what it’s cut out to be,” he told her.

      “Davy Crockett wouldn’t agree with you,” she informed him. “Neither would Jim Bowie, or George Custer, or Crazy Horse or Pancho Villa or Genghis Khan.”

      He pursed his lips. “You certainly covered all walks of life with that group.”

      She chuckled.

      “Why don’t you move out here with me?” he asked out of the blue. “You can learn the cattle business. We could play with the train sets in our spare time. I’ve got a whole room dedicated to them, complete with buildings and tunnels, mountains and even running water for trestles to go over.”

      She turned her purse in her hands and hated the invitation. He was inviting his foster sister to move in. Nothing more.

      He pulled up in the driveway that circled at the front door and cut off the engine. He turned to her with narrowed eyes. “You want me,” he said bluntly. “I know it. I want you. You know that, too. But nothing will ever come of it unless you want it to. I made a vicious mistake with you once because I was out of my mind with grief and alcohol. I never make the same mistake twice. You’ll be safe here.”

      “That’s an interesting choice of words,” she replied slowly. “Safe from your old enemy, you mean.”

      His chin lifted. “From him, and from me, Maggie,” he replied. “I won’t make you afraid of me. Not in any way.”

      She laughed mirthlessly. “I’ve been afraid of you for years, in between attacks of helpless attraction,” she said matter-of-factly. “There has to be a cure somewhere. If I go far enough, maybe I can find it.”

      It was a confession, of sorts. He rested one arm over the steering wheel and studied her sadly. “All we have left,” he said softly, “is each other.”

      Her eyes flew to his. She was pale, confused, uneasy. She frowned. “Don’t do that,” she said irritably. “Don’t make it sound like you need me. You never have and you never will. I’m a memory adjunct. That’s all I’ll ever be.”

      “Our lives are intertwined. You can’t break an eighteen-year bond just like that,” he pointed out. “Some marriages don’t last a fraction that long.”

      The word froze her. She averted her face.

      “It wasn’t an insult,” he said at once, misunderstanding her reaction. “Your husband wasn’t good to you. You had every reason not to want to remember him.”

      “I have more reason than you’ll ever know,” she said without meeting his speculative gaze. “Happy marriages are a fairy tale.”

      “Dane Lassiter wouldn’t agree with you,” he mused. “Neither would your friend Kit.”

      She shrugged. “They got lucky.”

      “You don’t think you could?”

      She rubbed at a spot on her purse. “I don’t ever want to marry again.”

      He hesitated. “Maggie, don’t you want children someday?”

      The question sent her gaze flying up to meet his. The pain, the anguish, the haunted look in them shocked him.

      She opened the door and got out.

      He followed, determined to find out why she looked that way, when Red Davis sped up the driveway and stopped even with Cord.

      “The irrigation equipment’s up and running like a track star, boss,” he called with a grin. “And they promised to replace any part that misfires again!”

      “Good work.”

      “Thanks! How are you doing, Maggie?” he called to her with a big grin.

      Cord’s eyes flashed. “I don’t pay you to flirt with my foster sister,” he shot at the younger man, and he wasn’t teasing.

      Davis saw that. He cut his losses, waved and shot off again down the ranch road.

      Cord’s attitude puzzled Maggie. It was oddly like jealousy. But that was an outlandish assumption. It would take a miracle to get Cord jealous of her.

      He led the way through the living room, where she left her purse, and into the dining room. Four places were set at the table, and an older white-haired man was occupying one of them while June put dishes of food on it.

      “Hi!” she called to Maggie. “I hope you like chili and Mexican corn bread.”

      “Love them. And there’s supposed to be a cherry pie?” she added hopefully.

      June grinned, with a glance at Cord. “Oh, I heard somebody had a passion for it. I’m famous for my cherry pie. You can even have vanilla ice cream on it, if you like. It’s homemade, too,” she added.

      Maggie smiled at her. “I think I’ve died and gone to heaven!”

      THE MEAL WAS pleasant. Maggie liked June’s father, who was a veteran cowboy. He was good company, and he had a hatful of funny stories about places he’d worked. One involved his breaking a mustang on a West Texas ranch. The wild critter had jumped the corral fence, with him hanging on, just as the boss’s wife drove up in her brand-new blue Cadillac convertible. Seconds later, the horse was sitting in the backseat.

      Maggie almost fell over. “What did you do?” she exclaimed.

      “Picked myself up off the ground and ran for my life. I jumped in my old truck and took off, without even asking for my week’s wages.” He shook his head. “The awful thing was that I met the man again a few years back, when I was working at a ranch outside San Antonio. It turns out he and his wife were already having problems, but when she pitched that fit, he divorced her. He said he’d laughed about me and that mustang for years.”

      “Serves you right for running away,” June quipped.

      He chuckled. “It surely did. I haven’t run from anything much since then. But I was eighteen years old and new to cowboying at the time. Sort of like Red Davis is now.”

      Cord’s eyes glittered. “Davis is a pain in the neck. If he wasn’t so good with equipment and inventory, he’d already be a memory.”

      Darren Travis chuckled. “Well, he’s pretty good with horses, too. And don’t forget that he talked that newspaper reporter out of doing a story on your stint with the FBI.”

      “I could have talked him out of it,” Cord said curtly.

      “Yes,”

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