LITMIR.BIZ

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living on her inheritance. Doesn’t have to do anything, lucky girl.”

      “I wouldn’t want to do nothing,” Antonia remarked thoughtfully. “I like teaching. It’s more than just a job.”

      “Some women aren’t made for purposeful employment.”

      “I guess not.”

      She finished heating the soup and poured the coffee she’d made. They ate in silence.

      “I wish your mother was here,” he said.

      She smiled sadly. “So do I.”

      “Well, we’ll make the most of what we have and thank God for it.”

      She nodded. “We have more than some people do.”

      He smiled, seeing her mother’s face in her own. “And a lot more than most,” he added. “I’m glad you came home for Christmas.”

      “So am I. Eat your soup.” She poured him some more, and thought that she was going to make this Christmas as happy for him as she could.

      Chapter Two

      Dawson Rutherford was tall, lean and drop-dead gorgeous with blond, wavy hair and eyes that seemed to pierce skin. Even if he hadn’t been so handsome, his physical presence was more than enough to make him attractive, added to a deep voice that had the smoothness of velvet, even in anger. But he was as icy a man as she’d ever known, especially with women. At his father’s funeral, she’d actually seen him back away from a beautiful woman to avoid being touched. Odd, that, when she knew for a fact that he’d been quite a rounder with women in his checkered past.

      If Antonia hadn’t given her heart to Powell Long so many years before, she wouldn’t have minded setting her cap at Dawson, intimidating though he was. But he was plainly meant for another type of woman altogether. Barrie, perhaps.

      It was Christmas Eve, and he’d stopped by with a pipe for her father. Antonia walked him out a few minutes later.

      “Shame on you,” she muttered, pausing on the porch.

      Dawson’s green eyes twinkled. “He’ll get over the bronchitis. Besides, you know he won’t quit smoking, whether or not I give him a new pipe. You’ve tried and I’ve tried for years to break him. The best we can do is make him smoke it outdoors.”

      “I know that,” she agreed, and smiled. “Well, it was a nice gesture.”

      “Want to see what he gave me?” he asked, and produced a smooth silver lighter with inlaid turquoise.

      “I didn’t know you smoked,” she observed.

      “I don’t.”

      Her eyes widened.

      “I did, just briefly, smoke cigars.” He corrected himself. “I gave it up months ago. He doesn’t know, so don’t tell him.”

      “I won’t. But good for you!” she said approvingly.

      He shrugged. “I don’t know any smokers who don’t want to quit.” His eyes narrowed, and he watched her without blinking. “Except one, maybe.”

      She knew he was talking about Powell, who always had smoked cigars, and presumably still did. Her face began to close up. “Don’t say it.”

      “I won’t. You look tortured.”

      “It was nine years ago.”

      “Somebody should have shot him for the way he treated you,” he replied. “I’ve never liked him, but that didn’t win him any points with me. I loved my father. It was a low thing, for Sally to make him out a foolish old man with a lust for young girls.”

      “She wanted Powell.”

      His eyes narrowed. “She got him. But he made her pay for it, let me tell you. She took to alcohol because he left her alone so much, and from all accounts, he hated their daughter.”

      “But why?” Antonia asked, shocked. “Powell loved children, surely…!”

      “Sally trapped him with the child,” he replied. “Except for that, he’d have left her. Don’t you think he knew what a stupid thing he’d done? He knew the truth, almost from the day he married Sally.”

      “But he stayed with her.”

      “He had to. He was trying to build a ranch out of nothing, and this is a small town. How would it look for a man to walk out on a pregnant woman, or on his own newborn daughter?” He pursed his lips. “He hates you, you know,” he added surprisingly. “He hates you for not making him listen, for running. He blames his misery on you.”

      “He’s your worst enemy, so how do you know so much?” she retorted.

      “I have spies.” He sighed. “He can’t admit that the worst mistake was his own, that he wouldn’t believe Sally capable of such underhanded lies. It wasn’t until he married her that he realized how she’d conned him.” He shrugged. “She wasn’t a bad woman, really. She was in love and she couldn’t bear losing him, even to you. Love does crazy things to people.”

      “She destroyed my reputation, and your father’s, and made it impossible for me to live here,” Antonia said without pity. “She was my enemy, and he still is. Don’t think I’m harboring any tender feelings for him. I’d cut his throat given the slightest opportunity.”

      His eyebrows levered up. Antonia was a gentle soul herself for the most part, despite an occasional outburst of temper and a keen wit that surprised people. She hadn’t ever seemed vindictive, but she harbored a long-standing grudge against her former best friend, Sally. He couldn’t really blame her.

      He fingered the lighter her father had given him. “How’s Barrie?” he asked with deliberate carelessness.

      “Fending off suitors,” she said with a grin, her soft gray eyes twinkling. “She was juggling four of them when I left.”

      He laughed coldly. “Why doesn’t that surprise me? One man was never enough for her, even when she was a teenager.”

      She was curious about his antagonism toward Barrie. It seemed out of place. “Why do you hate her so?” she asked bluntly.

      He looked surprised. “I don’t…hate her,” he said. “I’m disappointed at the way she behaves, that’s all.”

      “She isn’t promiscuous,” she said, defending her colleague. “She may act that way, but it’s only an act. Don’t you know that?”

      He looked at the lighter, frowning slightly. “Maybe I know more than you think,” he said curtly. His eyes came up. “Maybe you’re the one wearing blinders.”

      “Maybe you’re seeing what you want to see,” she replied gently.

      He pocketed the lighter with a curt gesture. “I’d better go. I’ve got a deal cooking. I don’t want the client to get cold feet.”

      “Thanks for coming to see Dad. You cheered him up.”

      “He’s my friend.” He smiled. “So are you, even when you stick your nose in where you shouldn’t.”

      “Barrie’s my friend.”

      “Well, she’s not mine,” he said flatly. “Merry Christmas, Annie.”

      “You, too,” she replied with a warm smile. He was kind, in his way. She liked him, but she felt sorry for Barrie. He was a heartbreaker. And unless she missed her guess, Barrie was in love with him. His feelings were much less readable.

      After he left, she went back to join her father in the kitchen, where he was fixing hot chocolate in a double boiler. He glanced over his shoulder.

      “Did he leave?”

      “Yes. Can I help?”

      He

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