LITMIR.BIZ

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isn’t it? But I wasn’t the only one. We both tried to fix each other. Your technique was a little different, that’s all.” She shrugged. “Young and stupid sums it up, I guess. We fell hard and immediately started trying to change each other into people it would be safer to love.”

      Love. The word scraped across places already raw. “You found plenty that needed fixing, didn’t you? There wasn’t that much that you liked about me back then.”

      She winced. “I can see where you got that impression, but it isn’t true. There was plenty I liked. And,” she admitted, “one or two things I couldn’t live with.”

      She’d made that plain. Restless, he started walking. “Why did you come back, Dixie?”

      She fell into step with him. “You keep asking me that.”

      He didn’t know what kind of answer he was looking for. Just that he hadn’t gotten it yet.

      What was wrong with him, anyway? He’d planned to bring Dixie to his cabin after lunch—but he’d been hoping for a little afternoon delight, not a session mucking around in his least pleasant memories. Not to mention his least pleasant self. “I’m acting like an idiot, aren’t I? Sorry.” He made himself smile.

      She stopped. “Don’t do that.”

      “Don’t do what? Be pleasant? Polite?”

      “Don’t put on a happy face for me.”

      “What if it isn’t for you?” he snapped. “Maybe I need to remind myself I can be civilized.”

      She stood there, shoulders straight, eyes narrowed as she studied him. God, he used to love the way she faced off with him, not backing down an inch…Cole took a deep breath. Some things it was best not to remember too clearly. “Walk with me a bit, okay?”

      “Okay.” And that was all she said.

      Cole headed for one of his favorite paths, a deer trail that led to a small meadow that was green and pretty now. It would be spectacular in the spring, he thought. Dixie would love it when the wildflowers burst into bloom.

      But she wouldn’t be here in the spring, would she?

      Carpe the damn diem, then. If all he had was another week or so, he’d better make the most of them. “What did you think of my cabin? I realize you haven’t seen much of it yet.”

      “I love it. But it wasn’t what I’d been expecting.”

      “What were you expecting?”

      The path was too narrow for them to walk abreast, so she was following him. He couldn’t see her teasing smile, but he heard it in her voice. “Something more rustic. A lot more rustic. You did say you’d done a lot of the work yourself.”

      “You lack confidence in my carpentry.”

      “I didn’t think you knew one end of a saw from the other.”

      “I didn’t, to start out with,” he admitted. “After the wall fell down, I took a couple courses.”

      She laughed. “It really fell down? Which one?”

      As he told her the story of his early, botched attempt at fixing up his place, a wave of relief swept through him. They’d be okay. As long as they kept it light, didn’t let things get intense, they’d be fine.

      At the end of the tree-shrouded path lay his meadow. His heart lifted as he stepped from shade to sun. There was nothing vast or magnificent about this spot. The beauties here were small and common, but something about the shape of the pocket-size meadow seemed to cup the sunshine, to gather and soften it. He could have sworn the grass grew a little greener here, waving gently in a breeze the trees had blocked. Off to the west a towhee called its name—to-whee, to-whee.

      “Oh…” Dixie stopped several paces behind him and turned in a slow circle. “A little piece of perfection, isn’t it?”

      Her response pleased him. “This is the other reason I bought the place.”

      “It’s lovely.” She stood motionless and smiling, glossed by sunshine. The breeze teased her hair and pressed her thin blue dress against a shape that was pure female.

      Longing hit, a sweep of emotion that made him feel larger, lighter, full of air and dreams…then receded, leaving him mute and unsteady.

      “Cole?” She tilted her head. “Is something wrong?”

      “Probably.” He’d been wrong. Terribly wrong. He didn’t want a few days of friendly, keep-it-light sex from her. He wanted more. Much more.

      He walked slowly up to her.

      Nerves flickered in her eyes. She knew what was on his mind, oh yes. She didn’t back up—but she wanted to, he could see that. Instead she tilted her head back, frowning. “What flipped your switch?”

      “You.” He put his hands on her arms and ran them up to her shoulders, letting the warmth of her seep into his palms. “You always have.”

      “I don’t think this—”

      “Good. Don’t think.” He crushed his mouth down on hers.

      She jolted. He knew that, but only dimly—the ripe taste of her flooded him, a wine more heady than sweet. He pulled her tight against him, running his hands over her, feeding on the feel of her, the scent and taste and heat that was Dixie.

      It wasn’t enough. He needed more—needed enough of her that she wouldn’t leave, couldn’t leave him again. His arms tightened around her.

      And, dammit to hell, as soon as he did that, she started struggling. Pushing him away.

      Cole had to drop his arms and let her go. Again. And it hurt, again.

      Her mouth was wet, her hair wildly mussed and her eyes snapping with anger. “I won’t be forced.”

      It was guilt that made him snap back. “Forced? It was a kiss!”

      “You were going too fast. Pushing too hard.”

      His mouth twisted. So did something inside, something that spilled out ugliness. “You’ve given me every reason to think you’d like to be kissed. Or was that all part of the game? Do you get a charge out of teasing men?”

      “Where did that come from?” she snapped.

      “You like men, don’t you? Eli, Russ, me—you flirt with us all. Am I just one of your men, Dixie?”

      She spun around and started back toward the path.

      “That’s right. Walk away. That’s your answer to everything.”

      She paused. Slowly she turned. “People who leave aren’t exactly high on your list, are they, Cole? Or maybe they make the wrong list. Eleven years ago, I was the one to leave. We haven’t talked about that.”

      “That’s right, I forgot. Talking is your other answer.”

      She scowled. “I like yelling, too, sometimes.”

      “I remember.” God, he did remember. Not the exact words of that last fight, but the feelings. She’d been furious, hurt—and the more angry she’d gotten, the colder he’d turned, until he’d thought he might never be warm again. “You yelled plenty when I forgot your birthday. Then you left me.”

      She stared. “Tell me that isn’t the way you remember it.”

      “It’s what happened! I messed up with the dates—”

      “You refused to change a dinner with a client to another day!” She advanced, fists clenched at her sides. “We had a date, you and I, but you forgot and booked a dinner with a client for that night. I was hurt, yes, because you’d forgotten, but that wasn’t why I left!”

      “Then why?” he

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