LITMIR.BIZ

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      Colt was silent a moment, then stepped in front of her. The setting sun shone behind him, a red ball on the horizon at his back. The wind blew his dark curls, and his brown eyes looked intently at her. “But you do want it.”

      “Yes,” she whispered. “I really do.”

      Colt sighed, then squatted in front of her. “Okay, the thing to do, when you’re faced with an obstacle, is list the things you have to overcome, then figure out how you’re going to overcome them, one by one. You said there were a jillion reasons, and the first one is your lack of education.”

      “And how am I going to overcome that? Run off to art school now?”

      “Not a bad idea. But no.” He stood and sat down on the rock beside her, taking her hand. “I don’t think that’s necessary. How long has it been since you sent that first book in?”

      Becca shrugged. “Almost four years ago. Right after Mama died.”

      “And since then you started painting again, right? And you’re doing the drawings for Dunleavy’s, too. So you have more experience, and therefore more education. You’ve learned things.”

      “I suppose I have learned a few things, but—”

      “No ‘buts.’ You’re better now than you were four years ago. So that problem is taken care of. Now, what’s the next?”

      Becca shook her head and smiled. “I don’t know. A lot of publishers accept only computer artwork now. I don’t even have the programs on my computer. My old computer probably wouldn’t handle the programs even if I did have them.”

      “But that problem could be solved pretty easily, with a little money.”

      “Oh, yeah, a new computer and software. I’ll just run down to Circle D and pick those up.”

      “What I’m saying is that it’s not impossible.”

      “Spoken like someone who is not on a teacher’s salary. Do you have any idea how much computers cost?”

      He ignored the question. “Okay, so what’s our next obstacle? That’s only two out of a jillion.”

      Becca drew her head back and sighed. “Colt, seriously—”

      “I am serious, Becca. What’s the next problem?”

      She studied their fingers linked together. How was it, she wondered idly, that he felt so comfortable just picking up her hand, when she couldn’t seem to drag her mind away from the feel of his palm against hers, his fingers twining around her own?

      “Come on, what is it?”

      Becca raised her chin and looked Colt in the eye. “I really don’t think I can do it. I mean, I know I can write the stories, and I can do the art. I just don’t think I can do a good enough job that anyone would actually pay for them.”

      “Oh, well then.” Colt stretched out his legs and smiled. “That’s not a problem. Because I think you can do it. Matter of fact, I think it enough for both of us. So don’t worry about that. You don’t have to believe in yourself. I believe in you.”

      Becca stared at Colt, her breath caught in her throat, unable to speak. She had never realized that she had missed hearing those words in her life, never realized what a hole there was in her until Colt filled it, and so easily that it appeared effortless. She found herself blinking back hot tears.

      “That—that might be the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me,” she whispered.

      He turned to face her, his mouth open to speak. He looked into her eyes and closed his mouth again. His thumb moved over hers softly. “Well, I wasn’t going for that. I was just telling you the truth.”

      “I know. That’s what makes it so special. You’d better watch it, Colt. A few more words like that, and I might not believe you’re the bad guy you keep trying to convince me you are.”

      She wished the comment back as soon as she’d said it, because his face got that hard look she was coming to recognize and despise.

      “That would be your mistake.” He released her hand and stood. He stuffed his hands in his pockets. “You should know as well as I do what I’m capable of.”

      He was trying to push her away. She recognized it, and refused to let him. “I know what you’re capable of. You’re capable of encouraging me like no one ever has.”

      “How do you know I didn’t just say that out of guilt?”

      “Guilt over what?”

      “Over not taking you with me when you asked me. For leaving you here to waste your life.”

      Waste her life. The words swirled in the wind around Becca. She told herself that he didn’t really mean it, that he was just trying to push her away because she’d said something nice about him.

      And knew it was working, after all. “Is that why you said that? Because you feel guilty?”

      He didn’t answer. He stood before her, jaw clenching and releasing, and looked at the horizon.

      Becca closed her eyes and looked away. She would not let him do this to her. He only had the weapon if she handed it to him, and she would not do that.

      “If it is, then let me just ease your conscience. You did the right thing when you refused to take me with you. It would have been a colossal mistake, and I’m grateful that you had sense enough to see that at the time. And as for me wasting my life…” She sighed and raked a hand through her hair. “You haven’t wasted your life, have you, Colt? You pursued your dreams and became very successful. And what good has it done you? You’re still the same bitter, hateful person you were when you left Aloma. Only now, I believe you’re even harder than you used to be. The boy I knew would never have deliberately tried to hurt me the way you just did.”

      She stood and brushed off the back of her dress. Her voice quiet, but steady, she said, “Damn you, Colt. Damn you for saying that. And damn you for thinking it.”

      She gathered her equipment, refusing to give in to the tears that built behind her eyes.

      Colt grabbed her arm as she moved by him. “Becca, wait.”

      She faced him, her teeth clenched, determined that he wouldn’t see a trace of hurt in her eyes, would only see the anger she was fully justified in feeling.

      “Damn it,” he said softly. He kissed her, hard, and she could feel the frustration vibrating off him. She let him, because she knew he was looking for a fight and she refused to give it to him.

      When he drew his head away, she met his gaze squarely. “Was that guilt, too, Colt?” She was fiercely proud that her voice, if soft, at least didn’t tremble.

      He scowled and backed away, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

      “Well, was it? If you’re going to do that, at least don’t be a chicken about it. Was that guilt, too?”

      He shook his head slowly. “No. It wasn’t guilt.”

      She opened her mouth to ask what it was. But she decided she didn’t want to know. Was better off not knowing. So instead of asking, she said, “I don’t want to play this game anymore, Colt.”

      He cleared his throat. “And what game is that?”

      She whirled around, her arms out, frustrated and angry at them both. “This stupid game. From the moment you came back into town, I’ve flirted with the idea of picking up where we left off that night. And you’ve thought about it, too—I can see it in your face when you look at me. But we both know it’s not going to happen. It won’t happen, and shouldn’t happen. It was a mistake before, and it would be even more of a mistake now, when we’re both old enough to know better.”

      She stopped, hands on her hips. “I just—this is

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