Diana Palmer Quotes

Colby was quietly shocked to find Tate not only at his door the next morning, but smiling. He was expecting an armed assault following their recent telephone conversation. "I'm here with a job offer."
Colby's dark eyes narrowed. "Does it come with a cyanide capsule?" he asked warily.
Tate clapped the other man on the shoulder. "I'm sorry about the way I've treated you. I haven't been thinking straight. I'm obliged to you for telling me the truth about Cecily."
"You know the baby's yours, I gather?"
Tate nodded. "I'm on my way to Tennessee to bring her home," he replied.
Colby's eyes twinkled. "Does she know this?"
"Not yet. I'm saving it for a surprise."
"I imagine you're the one who's going to get the surprise," Colby informed him. "She's changed a lot in the past few weeks."
"I noticed." Tate leaned against the wall near the door. "I've got a job for you."
"You want me to go to Tennessee?" Colby murmured dryly.
"In your dreams, Lane," Tate returned. "No, not that. I want you to head up my security force for Pierce Hutton while I'm away."
Colby looked around the room. "Maybe I'm hallucinating."
"You and my father," Tate muttered, shaking his head. "Listen, I've changed."
"Into what?"
"Pay attention. It's a good job. You'll have regular hours. You can learn to sleep without a gun under your pillow. You won't lose any more arms." He added thoughtfully, "I've been a bad friend. I was jealous of you."
"Bu

get a good price for

Money isn't enough. Happiness takes more than a padded bank account.

He needs shaking up, I tell you, he's going to die an old maid. He gets all funny and red when unmarried ladies talk to him at church, and just look at how grumpy he's been since you've been around. We've got to save him, Amanda, he said solemnly.

You need a battle plan," Matt advised. "I never left the base without detailed reconnaissance and a battle plan. It's why I came home alive."
Tate chuckled in spite of himself. "She's a woman, not an enemy stronghold."
"That's what you think," Matt said, pointing a spoon in the other man's direction before he lowered it into his cup. "Most women are enemy strongholds," he added, with a wicked glance at his smiling wife. "You have to storm the gates properly."
"He knows all about storming gates, apparently," Leta said with faint sarcasm. "Otherwise, we wouldn't be expecting a grandchild…" She gasped and looked at Matt. "A grandchild. Our grandchild," she emphasized with pure joy.
Matt glanced at Tate. "That puts a whole new face on things, son," he said, the word slipping out so naturally that it didn't even seem to surprise Tate, who smiled through his misery.
"You go to Tennessee and tell Cecily she's marrying you," Leta instructed her son.
"Sure," Tate said heavily. "After all the trouble I've given her in the past weeks, I'm sure she can't wait to rush down the aisle with me."
"Honey catches more flies than vinegar," Matt said helpfully.
"If I go down there with any honey, I'll come home wearing bees."
Leta chuckled.
"You aren't going to give up?" Matt asked.
Tate shook his head. "I can't. I have to get to her before Gabrini does, although I'm fairly sure he has no more idea where she really is than I did until today.

You took his guns away from him, didn't you?"
Maude asked Cash when Cash pulled up in front of the
house.
He nodded. "They're locked up in my office." His expression was somber. "But there's still a pistol and a
shotgun in the house somewhere. Crissy told me. You'd
better get all the ammunition and lock it up somewhere."
"The minute I get inside," Maude promised.
Tippy glanced from one of them to the other. "You
aren't serious," she remarked.
Cash met her eyes. "If she were my wife, that's what
Maude would be doing for me," he said flatly. "And yes,
I'm serious. Maybe Judd hasn't realized it yet, but he
won't have a life left if Christabel dies. It isn't logical, but
it's what some men do when they're out of their minds
with grief. We don't need another tragedy.

Oh, it's a little worse than that," he said, nettled. "It makes you the illegitimate son of the senior Republican senator from South Dakota. And the press will eat you alive when it comes out. You, Leta, me, everyone our lives touch. Including Cecily. She'll make a damned great sidebar, with her anthropology degree!"
"You'll lose face with your constituents," Tate said coldly.
"Oh, to hell with that! Maybe I'll lose my job, so what?" Holden said, glaring at him. "It wouldn't matter if your mother would speak to me! She cut me off before I got two complete sentences out. She wouldn't come out here and help me tell you the truth. She hung up on me!"
"Good for her! What a pity she didn't try that thirty-six years ago."
The older man's eyes darkened. "I loved her," he said very quietly. "I still love her. I made the mistake of my life when I thought money and power would be worth marrying a vicious damned socialite who could help me politically. Your mother was worth ten of my late wife. I never knew what hell was until I tried to live with the devil's deal I made to get my office." He turned away again and sat down on the sofa wearily, glancing at the beer. "You shouldn't drink," he said absently.
Tate ignored him. He picked up the beer, finished it with pure spite and crushed the empty can.
"Aren't you leaving now?" he asked the other man with biting contempt.
Holden let out a long breath. "Where would I go? I live in a big empty house with a

Women won't have total equality until men can get pregnant.

Steel tempered by fire," she said aloud, without thinking.
"Am I?" he asked.
She smiled sadly. "Aren't you?"
He let out a long, slow breath and some of the tension drained out of him. He looked at her quizzically. "You give me peace," he said unexpectedly. "The only time I ever feel it is when I'm with you. God knows why, when you set me off like a bomb."
She searched his eyes. "Tate, Senator Holden has a reason for what he did," she told him seriously. "I don't pretend to know what it is, but I know him. He's not like some politicians who lie when the truth would suit better. He has integrity. He doesn't hold grudges and he doesn't backstab. You know that," she added with conviction.
He scowled. "Yes, I do." His narrow eyes searched hers. "What do you know, Cecily?"
"I know archaeology," she replied.
He reached out and touched her firm little chin with hard fingers. "You're keeping something from me," he said in a low, deep tone. "I'm not sure why I sense that, but I do."
"You think you know all about me," she replied, trying to draw back. "Don't…do that," she muttered, reaching up to catch his hair-roughened wrist in her warm fingers.
His breath caught. "Fatal error, Cecily," he said huskily, moving in, giving in to the hunger that had really brought him to her apartment at this hour of the night. "You shouldn't have touched me…

Colby arrived the next day, with stitches down one lean cheek and a new prosthesis. He held it up as Cecily came out to the car to greet him. He held it up as Cecily came out to the car to greet him. "Nice, huh? Doesn't it look more realistic than the last one?"
"What happened to the last one?" she asked.
"Got blown off. Don't ask where," he added darkly.
"I know nothing," she assured him. "Come on in. Leta made sandwiches."
Leta had only seen Colby once, on a visit with Tate. She was polite, but a little remote, and it showed.
"She doesn't like me," Colby told Cecily when they were sitting on the steps later that evening.
"She thinks I'm sleeping with you," she said simply." So does Tate."
"Why?"
"Because I let him think I was," she said bluntly.
He gave her a hard look. "Bad move, Cecily."
"I won't let him think I'm waiting around for him to notice me," she said icily. "He's already convinced that I'm in love with him, and that's bad enough. I can't have him know that I'm…well, what I am. I do have a little pride."
"I'm perfectly willing, if you're serious," he said matter-of-factly. His face broke into a grin, belying the solemnity of the words. "Or are you worried that I might not be able to handle it with one arm?"
She burst out laughing and pressed affectionately against his side. "I adore you, I really do. But I had a bad experience in my teens. I've had therapy and all, but it's still sort of traumatic for me

Tate was probably on his way back to the nation's capitol right now, she thought miserably. He would have protected her, and her child, but she'd sent him off in a fury. Great going, Cecily, she told herself. What a headline they'll have now! Former Teenage Love Slave Killed By Vengeful Gambling Syndicate. That would give people something to read with their morning coffee!

What happened to you?" she asked.
"Bullets hurt," he said. "It missed the artificial arm by two inches, damn the marksman. I hate people who can't shoot straight."
"How many this time?" she asked with a smile.
"Just one," he said. "In the shoulder. It's much better now." He shook his head. "I'm getting too old for this. I've got so many broken bones that I can't move fast enough anymore."
She smiled wider. "Someday you'll find a woman who's worth giving up the danger for." The smile faded. "You're like Tate. He loves his work. He probably lives on adrenaline. Funny. I never understood that before. Now suddenly everything is clear. I was living on pipe dreams."
He sighed. "It was more than his heritage that kept him away from you," he said. "I knew, but I couldn't explain it to you. Work like ours demands sacrifice. Any loved one can become a hostage. Any relationship can take away the edge we need when we're under fire. A man with something to lose isn't a man to send on a potential suicide mission. Take your mind off the objective for one minute, and you're dead.

Tell me!" Cecily insisted later, shaking Colby by both arms.
"Cut it out, you'll dismember me," Colby said, chuckling.
She let go of the artificial arm and wrapped both hands around the good one. "I want to know. Listen, this is my covert operation. You're just a stand-in!"
"I promised I wouldn't tell."
"You promised in Lakota. Tell me in English what you promised in Lakota."
He gave in. He did tell her, but not Leta, what was said, but only about the men coming to the reservation soon.
"We'll need the license plate number," she said. "It can be traced.
"Oh, of course," he said facetiously. "They'll certainly come here with their own license plate on the car so that everyone knows who they are!"
"Damn!"
He chuckled at her irritation. He was about to tell her about his alternative method when a big sport utility vehicle came flying down the dirt road and pulled up right in front of Leta's small house.
Tate Winthrop got out, wearing jeans and a buckskin jacket and sunglasses. His thick hair fell around his shoulders and down his back like a straight black silk curtain. Cecily stared at it with curious fascination. In all the years she'd known him, she'd very rarely seen his hair down.
"All you need is the war paint," Colby said in a resigned tone. He turned the uninjured cheek toward the newcomer. "Go ahead. I like matching scars."
Tate took off the dark glasses and looked from Cecily to Colby without smiling. "Holden

Jason looked down at her with smoldering eyes in a taciturn face. "You'll have to do something about Mumbles before we come back for Thanksgiving, Gracie," he told her quietly. "Kittie's allergic to cats.

It was raining and I had to walk on the grass. I've got mud all over my shoes. They're brand-new, too."
"I'll carry you across the grass on the return trip, if you like," Colby offered with twinkling eyes. "It would have to be over one shoulder, of course," he added with a wry glance at his artificial arm.
She frowned at the bitterness in his tone. He was a little fuzzy because she needed glasses to see at distances.
"Listen, nobody in her right mind would ever take you for a cripple," she said gently and with a warm smile. She laid a hand on his sleeve. "Anyway," she added with a wicked grin, "I've already given the news media enough to gossip about just recently. I don't need any more complications in my life. I've only just gotten rid of one big one."
Colby studied her with an amused smile. She was the only woman he'd ever known that he genuinely liked. He was about to speak when he happened to glance over her shoulder at a man approaching them. "About that big complication, Cecily?"
"What about it?" she asked.
"I'd say it's just reappeared with a vengeance. No, don't turn around," he said, suddenly jerking her close to him with the artificial arm that looked so real, a souvenir of one of his foreign assignments. "Just keep looking at me and pretend to be fascinated with my nose, and we'll give him something to think about."
She laughed in spite of the racing pulse that always accompanied Tate's appearances in her life. She studied Colby

Love, for some people is undying, even if one lost the partner.

I know he's had his problems in the past…
"He can't keep his hands off a liquor bottle at the best of times, and he still hasn't accepted the loss of his wife!"
"I sent him to a therapist over in Baltimore," she continued. "He's narrowed his habit down to a six-pack of beer on Saturdays."
"What does he get for a reward?" he asked insolently.
She sighed irritably. "Nobody suits you! You don't even like poor old lonely Senator Holden."
"Like him? Holden?" he asked, aghast. "Good God, he's the one man in Congress I'd like to burn at the stake! I'd furnish the wood and the matches!"
"You and Leta," she said, shaking her head. "Now, listen carefully. The Lakota didn't burn people at the stake," she said firmly. She went on to explain who did, and how, and why.
He searched her enthusiastic eyes. "You really do love Native American history, don't you?"
She nodded. "The way your ancestors lived for thousands of years was so logical. They honored the man in the tribe who was the poorest, because he gave away more than the others did. They shared everything. They gave gifts, even to the point of bankrupting themselves. They never hit a little child to discipline it. They accepted even the most blatant differences in people without condemning them." She glanced at Tate and found him watching her. She smiled self-consciously. "I like your way better."
"Most whites never come close to understanding us, no matter how hard they try."
"I had

Well, that should do it," the man replied. "Oh, and I did put a small camera in your office, just to square things up. It's hidden, so you won't have to worry about somebody spotting it.

He made her think of ruins, of mysterious places in shadow and darkness, of storms and torrents of rain.

for my luggage and then we can go home.

You have to stop letting me do this," he bit off, half-angrily.
"If you'll stop leaning on me so that I can get my hands on a blunt object, I'll be happy to…!"
He kissed the words into oblivion. "It isn't a joke," he murmured into her mouth. His hips moved in a gentle, sensuous sweep against her hips. He felt her shiver.
"That's…new," she said with a strained attempt at humor.
"It isn't," he corrected. "I've just never let you feel it before." He kissed her slowly, savoring the submission of her soft, warm lips. His hands swept under the blouse and up under her breasts in their lacy covering. He was going over the edge. If he did, he was going to take her with him, and it would damage both of them. He had to stop it, now, while he could. "Is this what Colby gets when he comes to see you?" he whispered with deliberate sarcasm.
It worked. She stepped on his foot as hard as she could with her bare instep. It surprised him more than it hurt him, but while he recoiled, she pushed him and tore out of his arms. Her eyes were lividly green through her glasses, her hair in disarray. She glared at him like a female panther.
"What Colby gets is none of your business! You get out of my apartment!" she raged at him.
She was magnificent, he thought, watching her with helpless delight. There wasn't a man alive who could cow her, or bend her to his will. Even her drunken, brutal stepfather hadn't been able to force her to do something she didn't want to do

I know I said this before, but it bears repeating. You know Tate won't like you staying with me."
"I don't care," she said bitterly. "I don't tell him where to sleep. It's none of his business what I do anymore."
He made a rough sound. "Would you like to guess what he's going to assume if you stay the night in my apartment?"
She drew in a long breath. "Okay. I don't want to cause problems between you, not after all the years you've been friends. Take me to a hotel instead."
He hesitated uncharacteristically. "I can take the heat, if you can."
"I don't know that I can. I've got enough turmoil in my life right now. Besides, he'll look for me at your place. I don't want to be found for a couple of days, until I can get used to my new situation and make some decisions about my future. I want to see Senator Holden and find another apartment. I can do all that from a hotel."
"Suit yourself."
"Make it a moderately priced one," she added with graveyard humor. "I'm no longer a woman of means. From now on, I'm going to have to be responsible for my own bills."
"You should have poured the soup in the right lap," he murmured.
"Which was?"
"Audrey Gannon's," he said curtly. "She had no right to tell you that Tate was your benefactor. She did it for pure spite, to drive a wedge between you and Tate. She's nothing but trouble. One day Tate is going to be sorry that he ever met her."
"She's lasted longer than the others."
"You haven

his brother, except that he had

Please go away," she whispered. "Leave me in peace."
He scowled. "Cecily…"
"Please, Tate," she pleaded gently. "Just go home and forget that you know where I am. I've broken all my ties in Washington, I've put it all behind me. It's just me and the baby now."
"You and the baby and your mythical dead husband," he shot back. "What do I have to do to get through to you?

I guess I wouldn't want to be rich. you'd never be sure if people liked you for what you were or what you had.
Tellie

Rebellious dark eyes in her faintly freckled face.

It seemed such a short time ago that Erin had come
running toward him, laughing, her black hair like silk around an elfin face. And he'd melted inside just at
the sight of her, gone breathless like a boy with his first real date. It still felt like that, despite her scars,
her limp. In his heart, he carried a portrait of her that would withstand all the long, aging years, that would
leave her young and unscarred for as long as he lived.

I've done some stupid things. I don't like myself very much right now." She shrugged. "Did you see what she did?" she added heavily. "She stepped right in front of the gun. She saw it coming. She didn't even hesitate. She must ... love him very
much," she added, almost choking on the words.
"She does," he agreed, feeling the words and hating them.
She glanced at him curiously. "You're in love with her,
aren't you?"
"If I am, it's nobody's business except my own," he told
her flatly.

Not really. I'm tired and I'd like to go to bed."
"At last, we agree on something." He moved toward her.
"Oh, no, you don't. I'm saving myself for my future husband."
"Thank you."
"It won't be you," she told him doggedly. "I'm not crazy enough to think that. You aren't a marrying man, remember? You don't want commitment."
"I don't know what I want anymore," he muttered.
"Well, I do," she said. "I want to go home."
"To a lonely apartment in Chicago?"
"It won't be lonely long," she assured him. "I'm going to start my very own lonely hearts chapter."
"Over my dead body."
"Nobody would want to meet over your old dead body.

Can we trust him, you think?" he

Matt's housekeeper let him in with a grimace.
"I'm harmless today," Tate assured the woman as she led the way to where Matt Holden was standing just outside the study door.
"Right. You and two odd species of cobra," Matt murmured sarcastically, glaring at his son from a tanned face. "What do you want, a bruise to match the other one?"
Tate held up both hands. "Don't start," he said.
Matt moved out of the way with reluctance and closed the study door behind them. "Your mother's gone shopping," he said.
"Good. I don't want to talk to her just yet."
Matt's eyebrows levered up. "Oh?"
Tate dropped into the wing chair across from the senator's bulky armchair. "I need some advice."
Matt felt his forehead. "I didn't think a single malt whiskey was enough to make me hallucinate," he said to himself.
Tate glowered at him. "You're not one of my favorite people, but you know Cecily a little better than I seem to lately."
"Cecily loves you," Matt said shortly, dropping into his chair.
"That's not the problem," Tate said. He leaned forward, his hands clasped loosely between his splayed knees. "Although I seem to have done everything in my power to make her stop."
The older man didn't speak for a minute or two. "Love doesn't die that easily," he said. "Your mother and I are a case in point. We hadn't seen each other for thirty-six years, but the instant we met again, the years fell away. We were young again, in love again."
"

It was so fast. So fast. One minute she was reaching, reaching, almost touching the center of ecstasy itself. The next she was convulsing with something so hot with throbbing pleasure that it was almost pain. An inhuman cry tore out of her throat as she went up like a Chinese rocket and exploded into a million flaming pieces of pure joy.

Leave it to you to find a legal way to do something illegal

I made decaf," he said. "Caffeine isn't good for you."
"Thank you, Mama Lane."
He made a face at her. "Tate and I used to share everything. Let him go off in a snit. I'll share his baby. If he doesn't come back, I'll appropriate it, and you."
"That's one area where all your commando skills will fail, dear man," she said affectionately. "I like you very much, and you can be baby's godfather. But I'm raising this child myself."
"Godfather." He was savoring the word when the toast popped up.
"Bad choice of words," she murmured. "I wouldn't want to give you any bad ideas. I don't want my child outfitted in a fedora and a machine gun."
"Commando godfathers are a different breed."
"Black bags and camo gear aren't much better," she informed him.
"Spoilsport. Where's your sense of adventure?"
"Hanging in the shower trying to dry out.

Tate practically raised you from what I hear. You love him, don't you?"
Her face closed up. "For all the good it will ever do me, yes," she said softly.
"He won't have the excuse of pure Lakota blood much longer," he advised.
"I'm not holding out for miracles anymore," she vowed. "I'm going to stop wanting what I can never have. From now on, I'll take what I can get from life and be satisfied with it. Tate will have to find his own way."
"That's sour grapes," he observed.
"You bet it is. What do you want me to do to help?"
"It's dangerous," he pointed out, hesitating as he considered her youth. "I don't know ... "
"I'm a card-carrying archeologist," she reminded him. "Haven't you ever watched an Indiana Jones movies? We're all like that," she told him with a wicked grin. "Mild-mannered on the outside and veritable world-tamers inside. I can get a whip and a fedora, too, if you like," she added.

Tate won't like it that we kept the truth from him."
"I'm resigned to that," Cecily said half-truthfully. "He would never have turned to me, anyway, even if he knew he had mixed blood. I've been living on dreams too long already."
"If you go away from him, he'll follow you," Leta said unexpectedly. "There's a tie, a bond, between you that can't be broken."
"There's Audrey," Cecily pointed out.
"Honey, there have been other Audreys," she replied. "He never brought them home or talked about them. They were loose relationships, and not very many at all-never any who were innocent."
"Audrey's lasted a long time."
Leta searched her eyes. "If he's sleeping with Audrey, Cecily, why can't he keep his hands off you?"
Cecily's heart turned over twice. "Wh…what?"
"Simple question," came the droll reply. She grinned at the younger woman's embarrassment. "When you came in the kitchen that last time you were here, before Tate left, your mouth was swollen and you wouldn't look straight at him. He was badly shaken. It doesn't take a mind-reader to know what was going on in my living room. It isn't like Tate to play games with innocent girls."
"He doesn't think I am, anymore," she returned curtly. "I let him think that Colby and I are…very close."
"Uh-oh."
She scowled. "Uh-oh, what?"
"The only thing that's kept him away from you this long is that he didn't want to take advantage of you," Leta replied. "If he thinks you're even slight

Go ahead. Ask me who the father is."
He only smiled. "Do I look that stupid to you?"
She pushed back her short hair with a sigh. "He doesn't know, and you're not to tell him. In English, Apache or Lakota," she emphasized, covering all her bases.
He nodded. "What are you going to do?"
"I haven't the slightest idea," she confessed. "I only used the home-pregnancy test this morning, but I was pretty sure before then. I've got to find a place to live where Leta won't see me for a while. I can't risk having her tell Tate." She glanced at him. "Where were you all this time?" she wanted to know.
"Sitting calmly in a wing chair sipping coffee and trying to look invisible." He lifted his eyebrows at her disbelieving expression. "Somebody had to keep his head."
"There's an old saying that, if you can keep your head when everyone around you is losing theirs, you don't have a clue what's going on," she misquoted.
"Could be. But I'm not sporting a bruised face, like some I could name." He leaned forward. "Want to marry me?"
"Thanks, Colby," she said softly. "I really mean it. But it wouldn't be fair to any of us. Especially you."
He folded his arms and leaned back. "The offer doesn't have a time limit. I really do love children.

Revolutionaries can't afford to worry about tomorrow.

That night, while you were asleep, I unbuttoned your pajama jacket and looked at what he'd done to you. Afterward, I drove back to his house and very nearly killed him. If he hadn't started crying and begging me to stop, I…" He let out the angry breath. "That was when I realized how I felt about you," he added, his eyes meeting hers. "A man wants to protect what he considers his own. It started then, that night."
She was surprised by what he was telling her. "You…looked at me?"
He nodded. His eyes narrowed. "You had the most beautiful little breasts," he said roughly. "And they were covered with bruises. I wanted to kiss the bruises, take you into my bed and hold you, just hold you, all night long so that you'd be safe. I didn't dare give in to the impulse, of course," he added with the first touch of amusement he'd shown since her arrival. "My mother would have horsewhipped me."
She felt waves of surprised pleasure lance through her body. "I never knew."
"I was always known for my poker face," he murmured. "But it was sheer agony to be around you. The older you got, the worse it was. It was inevitable that one day I'd go mad and take you." He sighed. "The most hellish part of the whole thing was knowing that all I had to do was touch you and you'd let me do anything I liked to you."
She traced the mouth of her coffee cup. "I loved you," she said quietly.
"I know."
There was a world of pain in the words. She looked up into his black eyes and

College was an experience I'll always cherish. Now I fund a scholarship at my alma mater in my late father's name - he'd laugh to know that it's a science scholarship, when I can barely do math! I also fund a nursing scholarship at the Oglala Lakota College in Kyle, South Dakota, in the name of my mother, who was a nurse.

steps that construction required. He answered her questions and satisfied her curiosity. And she was reluctant to see their excursion end. It had been unexpectedly pleasant. His grandmother was waiting in the living room when they got back. "So there you are." She glared at Wentworth from the sofa, where she was lounging in a

The hell of it is that my son, my only child, has to turn out to be," he added with a return of his old spirit, black eyes flashing, "the one man in Washington, D.C. who hates my guts!"
"You weren't too fond of him, either, if you recall," she pointed out.
He glared at her. "He's hot-tempered and arrogant and stubborn!"
"Look who he gets it from," she said with a grin.
He unlinked his hands as he considered that. "Those can be desirable traits," he agreed with a faint smile. "Anyway, it's nice to know I won't die childless," he said after a minute. He lifted his eyes to her face. "Leta can't know any of this. When and if the time comes, I'll tell her."
"Who's going to tell him?" she ventured.
"You?" he suggested.
"In your dreams," she said with a sweet smile.
He stuffed his hands back into his pockets. "We'll cross that bridge when the river comes over it. You'll be careful, do you hear me? I've invested a lot of time and energy into hijacking you for my museum. Don't take the slightest risk. If you think you've been discovered, get out and take Leta with you."
"She's afraid to fly," she pointed out. "She won't get in an airplane unless it's an emergency."
"Then I'll come out and stuff her into a car and drive her to the airport and put her on a plane," he said firmly.
She pursed her lips. He was very like Tate. "I guess you would, at that.

He cuddled her back into his arms and sighed, closing his eyes as the flames in the gas logs danced like sugar-plums. Gracie watched them across his broad chest, feeling the happiness like a flame inside her heart. Somewhere she heard Christmas carols being sung and a dog barking in the distance. Closer, she heard the strong, regular beat of Jason's heart under her ear. Christmas wasn't only in her heart. It was in her arms.

A nurse interrupted the conversation by appearing in the doorway to tell a beaming Matt Holden and Leta that they'd just become grandparents. It was a fine, healthy boy, and as soon as they had Mrs. Winthrop in a room, everyone could come and see him in the nursery. She darted a worried glance toward a group of taciturn men in sunglasses and dark suits, facing another group in casual dress but looking at windows as if they might be contemplating a break-out. And one of those men bore a striking resemblance to a mobster ...
She beat a hasty retreat back into the safety of the surgical ward. That baby was going to have some very odd visitors.

He got in beside her and impatiently reached for her seat belt, snapping it in place. "You always forget," he murmured, meeting her eyes.
Her breath came uneasily through her lips as she met that level stare and responded helplessly to it. He was handsome and sexy and she loved him more than her own life. She had for years. But it was a hopeless, unreturned adoration that left her unfulfilled. He'd never touched her, not even in the most innocent way. He only looked.
"I should close my door to you," she said huskily. "Refuse to speak to you, refuse to see you, and get on with my life. You're a constant torment."
Unexpectedly he reached out and touched her soft cheek with just his fingertips. They smoothed down to her full, soft mouth and teased the lower lip away from the upper one. "I'm Lakota," he said quietly. "You're white."
"There is," she said unsteadily, "such a thing as birth control."
His face was very solemn and his eyes were narrow and intent on hers. "And sex is all you want from me, Cecily?" he asked mockingly. "No kids, ever?"
It was the most serious conversation they'd ever had. She couldn't look away from his dark eyes. She wanted him. But she wanted children, too, eventually. Her expression told him so.
"No, Cecily," he continued gently. "Sex isn't what you want at all. And what you really want, I can't give you. We have no future together. If I marry one day, it's important to me that I marry a woman with the same backgroun

Inevitably Tate phoned her at her office when she'd returned. "Leta said you and Colby left suddenly," he said softly. "What did you find out?"
"This isn't a secure line," she told him without expression in her voice. It hurt to hear him talking to her in that almost intimate tone after what Audrey had told her. "Stop talking like a secret agent," he teased.
"You start thinking like one again," she told him. "I'll meet you for coffee in the usual place."
"What usual place?"
"Where you and Audrey go, of course."
That hadn't been a teasing tone in her voice. "I only took her there once, Cecily, the day you ran into us ... "
"Ten minutes." She hung up, got her jacket and went out, telling her secretary that she had a meeting and would be back in an hour. She dreaded seeing him again. But if she could just keep her head, perhaps she could bluff her way through. She felt betrayed.

Leta walked to the door and opened it with a ready smile for Colby Lane. And found herself looking straight into the eye of a man she hadn't seen face-to-face in thirty-six years.
Matt Holden matched her face against his memories of a young, slight, beautiful woman whose eyes loved him every time they looked at him. His heart spun like a cartwheel in his chest.
"Cecily said it was Colby," Leta said unsteadily.
"Strange. She phoned me and asked if I was free this evening." His broad shoulders shrugged and he smiled faintly. "I'm free every evening."
"That doesn't sound like the life of a playboy widower," Leta said caustically.
"My wife was a vampire," he said. "She sucked me dry of life and hope. Her drinking wore me down. Her death was a relief for both of us. Do I get to come in?" he added, glancing down the hall. "I'm going to collect dust if I stand out here much longer, and I'm hungry. A sack of McDonald's hamburgers and fries doesn't do a lot for me."
"I hear it's a presidential favorite," Cecily mused, joining them. "Come in, Senator Holden."
"It was Matt before," he pointed out. "Or are you trying to butter me up for a bigger donation to the museum?"
She shrugged. "Pick a reason."
He looked at Leta, who was uncomfortable. "Well, at least you can't hang up on me here. You'll be glad to know that our son isn't speaking to me. He isn't speaking to you, either, or so he said," he added. "I suppose he won't talk to you?" he add

Is the world really a better place now that nothing is considered bad? People just do what they want, with anyone. How is that different from what animals do in the wild?

His thumb rubbed gently over her bow mouth, liking the way it

I won't be responsible for helping you move someplace where you're at risk. For one thing, Tate would kill me if anything happened to you."
"He might maim you a little…"
"I'm not joking," Colby said quietly. "You don't understand how he is about you. He isn't normal when you're threatened, in any way."
He studied her for a long moment. "Cecily, how do you think it would affect him if he knew you were carrying his child?"
Her heart almost jumped out of her chest. She put a hand over her slightly swollen waistline and sighed. "I don't know. He…loves little things," she said after a minute, smiling as she recalled Tat with a succession of her pets over the years. "He likes children, too. We always had a Christmas party at the school on the Wapiti reservation every year, and Tate would help pass out presents. The kids were crazy about him."
"He loves children," Colby agreed. "He'd want his own child."
She lowered her eyes to the carpet with a sigh. "Maybe. Or maybe it would just make him feel trapped all over again." She put her head in her hands. "It's all such a mess," she murmured. "I don't know what to do."
"In which case, you should do nothing," Colby said firmly.
She didn't quite meet his eyes as she smiled. "Good advice."
Which didn't mean she was willing to take it, she thought an hour later as she packed a suitcase. She couldn't tell Colby her plans for fear he might tell Tate. She couldn't tell Matt or Leta for the same reaso

All the people we loved, who have died, are still alive in the past. The only thing that really separates us is time. It's a matter of perspective. That's what separates optimism and pessimism.

I didn't know you involved yourself in political issues."
She glanced at him wryly. "Of course you didn't. You don't know a lot about me."
He scowled as he turned his attention to the circle and watched his mother dance, resplendent in her beautiful buckskins. No, he didn't know a lot about Cecily, but he did know how devastated she'd been to discover he'd paid her way through college, absorbed all her expenses out of pity for her situation. He was sorry for how much that had hurt her. But over the past two years, he'd deliberately distanced himself from her. He wondered why…
"I had dinner with Senator Holden last week," she said conversationally, deliberately trying to irritate him. "He wanted to point me toward some special collections for the museum."
He stared at his mother in the circle, but he was frowning, deep in thought. "I don't like Holden," he said curtly.
"Yes, I know. You'll be delighted to hear that he returned your sentiment," she said with a chuckle at his scowl.

but he'll die because of me!" she moaned. "I've killed him!" Carson

You said that it would be the two of us from now on, if this happened. That there would be no more Audrey, no other woman. That you'd come to me to be comforted, to be cared for."
He took great handfuls of her own wonderfully soft hair and framed her face in his lean hands. He bent to kiss her with breathless tenderness, savoring her warm mouth. "I will. Even if I don't know that I can cope with that again," he said huskily.
"With lovemaking?"
He took a long, long look at her. "You don't know much about this," he said finally. "There are…degrees of pleasure. Sometimes it's good, sometimes it's even great. Once in a lifetime or so, it's sacred."
"I don't understand."
"You were a virgin," he whispered solemnly. "But we joined souls. I was inside you, but you were inside me, too." He nuzzled her nose with his. "I remember wondering if a man could die of pleasure, just at the last. It was so good that it was almost painful."
She smiled. "I know. I love you," she said softly.
He looked away from her. His hands on her shoulders were bruising.
"Sorry," she murmured, pulling away. "You don't want to hear that. But it's a fact of life, like middens and projectile points and horizons in archaeology. I can't help it, and it isn't as if you didn't already know. I couldn't have slept with you only because I wanted you. Not with my past."
He knew that. He knew it to the soles of his feet. He was confused and afraid and overwhelmed by the passi

And the boys made fun of her skinny legs that were always bruised and cut from her tomboyish antics at the ranch. There was one special boy, Jake Weldon. Maggie pretended not to notice him. He was one of the boys who made fun of her, and it hurt really

Way for new, winter taking away the remnants of the old to clear room for the young growth. Life, in other words, in all its fierce beauty and stark routine. All things went to the soil eventually. It was the way of life.

Is that how the song goes? It's the chorus.

His eyes ran over her hungrily. "I couldn't get it out of my mind," he said, almost to himself, "the way it felt, back at my mother's house. I was never so hungry for anyone, but it wasn't completely physical, even then." He frowned. "I want you, Cecily, and I hate myself for it."
"What else is new?" She gestured toward the door. "Go home. And I hope you don't sleep a wink."
"I probably won't," he said ruefully. He moved toward the door, hesitating.
"Good night," she said firmly, not moving.
He stood with his back to her, his spine very straight. "I can trace my ancestors back before the Mexican War in the early 1800s, pure Lakota blood, undiluted even by white settlement. There are so few of us left…"
She could have wept for what she knew, and he didn't know. "You don't have to explain it to me," she said solemnly. "I know how you feel."
"You don't," he bit off. He straightened again. "I'd die to have you, just once." He turned, and the fire was in his eyes as they met hers, glittering across the room. "It's like that for you, too."
"It's a corruption of the senses. You don't love me," she said quietly. "Without love, it's just sex."
He breathed deliberately, slowly. He didn't want to ask. He couldn't help it. "Something you know?"
"Yes. Something I know," she said, lying with a straight face and a smile that she hoped was worldly. She was not going to settle for crumbs from him, stolen hours in his bed. Men were devious when desi

Yes?" he said impatiently.
There was a pause. "You wouldn't believe how many people I had to bribe to get this new number of yours. But I didn't think past getting you to answer the phone," Colby said reluctantly. "I don't know how to tell you this."
"You and Cecily are getting married," Tate drawled sarcastically, hating the very idea of it and trying not to let it show. "I can't say it's any big surprise. Was there anything else?"
There was another pause. "Cecily won't marry me."
"Tough." Tate wasn't going to admit how much that admission pleased him, even if she wouldn't answer her damned phone when he tried to call her. "So?"
Colby laughed mirthlessly. "I thought this was the right thing to do. Now, I'm not sure if it is."
"I'm not pleading your case for you," Tate replied. His voice was icy. Then he hesitated. His heart skipped a beat as another reason for this call occurred and chilled his blood. "Has something happened to her?" he asked immediately.
"She's not hurt or anything," the other man replied. "It's just than I can't find her. Maybe they can't find her, either," he continued, sounding as if he was talking to himself.
Tate had a terrible sinking feeling in his stomach. He broke the Internet connection on the other line and turned off the computer. "What's up?" he asked, sounding the way he used to, when he and Colby were colleagues in the old days.
"Cecily's done a flit," Colby told him. "She's gone and I can't find h

There" title="Diana Palmer Quotes: Yes?" he said impatiently.
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Pity Matt didn't help him through a window instead of over a sofa," she grumbled. "He needs an attitude adjustment.

A little drop of Native American blood was exciting and unique. But a full-blooded Native American…she was horrified."
Cecily's opinion of the legendary Maureen dropped eighty points. She ground her teeth together. She couldn't imagine anyone being ashamed of such a proud heritage.
He looked down at her and laughed despite himself. "I can hear you boiling over. No, you wouldn't be ashamed of me. But you're unique. You help, however you can. You see the poverty around you, and you don't stick your nose up at it. You roll up your sleeves and do what you can to help alleviate it. You've made me ashamed, Cecily."
"Ashamed? But, why?"
"Because you see beauty and hope where I see hopelessness." He rubbed his artificial arm, as if it hurt him. "I've got about half as much as Tate has in foreign banks. I'm going to start using some of it for something besides exotic liquor. One person can make a difference. I didn't know that, until you came along."
She smiled and touched his arm gently. "I'm glad."
"You could marry me," he ventured, looking down at her with a smile. "I'm no bargain, but I'd be good to you. I'd never even drink a beer again."
"You need someone to love you, Colby. I can't."
He grimaced. "I could say the same thing to you. But I could love you, I think, given time."
"You'd never be Tate."
He drew in a long breath. "Life is never simple. It's like a puzzle. Just when we think we've got it solved, pieces of it fly in all

I never knew how empty the world could be, how colorless, until I tried to live in it without you

Colby's resourceful, I'll give him that."
"You used to be good friends."
"We were, until he started hanging around Cecily," came the short reply. "I'm not as angry at him as I was. But it seems that he has to have a woman to prop him up."
"Not necessarily," Matt replied. "Sometimes a good woman can save a bad man. It's an old saying, but fairly true from time to time. Colby was headed straight to hell until Cecily put him on the right track. It's gratitude, but I don't think he can see that just yet. He's in between mourning his ex-wife and finding someone to replace her." He leaned back again. "I feel sorry for him. He's basically a one-woman man, but he lost the woman."
Tate packed back to the wing chair and sat down on the edge. "He's not getting Cecily. She's mine, even if she doesn't want to admit it."
Matt stared at him. "Don't you know anything about women in love?"
"Not a lot," the younger man confessed. "I've spent the better part of my life avoiding them."
"Especially Cecily," Matt agreed. "She's been like a shadow. You didn't miss her until you couldn't see her behind you anymore."
"She's grown away from me," Tate said. "I don't know how to close the gap. I know she still feels something for me, but she wouldn't stay and fight for me." He lifted his gaze to Matt's hard face. "She's carrying my child. I want both of them, regardless of the adjustments I have to make. Cecily's the only woman I've ever truly wanted."
Matt s

Are you a relative of her late husband?" the woman asked.
His eyes widened. "I beg your pardon?"
"It must be so hard for her, pregnant and just widowed," the middle-aged woman continued. "We've all done what we could to make her happy here. Mr. Johnson, the curator, is a widower himself. He's already sweet on her. But you're probably anxious to see Mrs. Peterson. Shall I ring her and let her know you're coming?"
Tate's eyes were blazing. "No," he said with forced politeness. "I want to surprise her!"
He stalked out, leaving the rented vehicle where it was as he trudged through the small layer of snow and glared contemptuously at the cars sliding around in the street as they passed. This little bit of snow was nothing compared to the six-foot snowdrifts on the reservation. Southerners, he considered, must not get much winter precipitation if this little bit of white dust paralyzed traffic!
As for Cecily's mythical dead husband, he considered, going up the walkway to the small brick structure where she lived, he was about to make a startling, resurrected appearance!
He knocked on the door and waited.
There was an irritated murmur beyond the closed door and the sound of a lock being unfastened. The door opened and a wan Cecily looked straight into his eyes.
He managed to get inside the screen door and catch her before she passed out.
She came to on the sofa with Tate sitting beside her, smoothing back her disheveled hair. The nausea c

He seemed to be an eternal on-sale item in the matrimonial market that everybody bypassed for the fancier merchandise.

Eleanor…" He hesitated, and she felt his other hand come up to tilt her face up to his. "I need you…just for a few minutes…"

She read the hunger in his voice, the ache for what he"d lost, the grief…

"Take what you need, Curry," she said quietly, her body yielding to his in an unspoken invitation.

"I won"t hurt you…" he whispered unsteadily as he bent to her upturned mouth, feeling it open deliciously as his lips touched it so that the restraint went out of him almost immediately. He lifted her across his knees and kissed her like a drowning man who never expected to feel a woman's softness again. There was desperation in the rough mouth invading hers, urgency. His arms contracted and hurt her, bringing a soft moan from her lips.

Don't make that mistake again," he said in a voice so quiet it was barely audible. He looked as if all his latent hostilities were waiting for an excuse to turn on her. "If you throw that cup at me, so help me, I'll carry you over and put you down in the punch bowl!"
"You and the CIA, maybe!" Cecily hissed. "Go ahead and try…!"
Tate actually took a step toward her just as Colby managed to get between them. "Now, now," he cautioned.
Cecily wasn't backing down an inch. Neither was Tate. He'd gone from lazy affection and indulgent amusement to bristling antagonism in the space of weeks. Lately he flew into a rage if Cecily's name was mentioned, but Colby hadn't told her that.
"You have no right to make that kind of insinuation about me," she said through her teeth. "I don't get jobs lying on my back, and you know it!"
Tate's black eyes narrowed. He looked formidable, but Cecily wasn't intimidated by him. She never had been. He glanced at her hands, which were clenched on her cup, and then back to her rigid features. It had infuriated him to be the object of televised ridicule at the political dinner, and Audrey's comments had only made things worse. He was carrying a grudge. But as he looked at Cecily, he felt an emptiness in his very soul. This woman had been a thorn in his side for years, ever since an impulsive act of compassion had made her his responsibility. In those days, she'd been demure and sweet and dependent on him, and her shy hero worship

He laughed. He had a similar appliance in his truck, a Lo-Jack, and where it was installed nobody knew. "I get it." "Good man. If you have any questions or concerns, you can call us, right?" "Right.

In a private room down the hall, a tired but delighted Cecily was watching her husband with his brand-new son. Cecily had thought that the expression on Tate's face at their wedding would never be duplicated. But when they placed the tiny little boy in his father's gowned arms in the delivery room, and he saw his child for the first time, the look on his face was indescribable. Tears welled in his eyes. He'd taken the tiny little fist in his big, dark hand and smoothed over the perfect little fingers and then the tiny little face, seeking resemblances.
"Generations of our families," he said softly, "all there, in that face." He'd looked down at his wife with unashamedly wet eyes. "In our son's face."
She wiped her own tears away with a corner of the sheet and coaxed Tate's head down so that she could do the same for him where they were, temporarily, by themselves.
Now she was cleaned up, like their baby, and drowsy as she lay on clean white sheets and watched her husband get acquainted with his firstborn. "Isn't he beautiful?" he murmured, still awed by the child. "Next time, we have to have a little girl," he said with a tender smile, "so that she can look like you."
Her heart felt near to bursting as she stared up at that beloved face, above the equally beloved face of their firstborn.
"My heart is happy when I see you," she whispered in Lakota.
He chuckled, having momentarily forgotten that he'd taught her how to say it. "Mine is equally happy

I think small towns are the closest to heaven you can get on earth. I'm glad that some other people, my wonderful readers especially, feel the same way I do.

Matt was deeply touched that his estranged son would come to him for advice. He wasn't going to let it show, of course. A man had his pride.

I want to stay here," she said quietly.
He drew in a short breath, still full of adrenaline from the violence and still fuming because she was rejecting him.
He looked into her eyes. "My parents want you to come home so that they can be near their first grandchild."
Her eyebrows lifted. "That's a new angle," she said. "Pulling out all the stops, are you?"
He glared at her. "Don't think I can't live without you, even if you are carrying my son."
She shrugged, not letting her sorrow show. "I've never thought that, Tate," she said with forced cheer. "How could a mere woman compete with covert ops?

We all go through periods of anguish, times when we think we can't face what lies ahead. But the only way to get past it is to go through it, straight through it. No detours, no camouflage, no running. You have to meet problems head-on, despite the pain.

I'm happy here, Tate. I'll let you know when the baby comes," she added quietly. "Certainly, you'll have access to him any time you like."
Doors were closing. Walls were going up around her. He clenched his teeth together in impotent fury.
"I want you," he said forcefully, which was not at all what he wanted to say.
"I don't want you," she replied, lying through her teeth. She wasn't about to become an obligation again. She even smiled. "Thanks for coming to see about me. I'll phone Leta when she and Matt come home from Nassau."
"They're already home," he said flatly. "I've been to make peace with them."
"Have you?" She smiled gently. "I'm glad. I'm so glad. It broke Leta's heart that you wouldn't speak to her."
"What do you think it's going to do to her when she hears that you won't marry the father of your child?"
She gaped at him. "She…knows?"
"They both know, Cecily," he returned. "They were looking forward to making a fuss over you." He turned toward the door, bristling with hurt pride and rejection. "You can call my mother and tell her yourself that you aren't coming back. Then you can live here alone in the middle of 'blizzard country,; and I wish you well." He turned at the door with his black eyes flashing. "As for me, hell will freeze over before I come near you again!"
He went out and slammed the door. Cecily stared after him with her heart in her throat. Why was he so angry that she'd relieved him of any obligations abo

I'll stay with her," Maude interrupted, just before
Grier could say the same thing.
"You can't. Not in intensive care. You can see her three
times a day, for no more than ten minutes each time," he
added firmly. "It's too serious. She has to be kept quiet.
No upsets."
Judd looked as if he'd die trying not to snap at the surgeon. But he finally just nodded defeatedly.
Coltrain put a rough hand on his shoulder. "Don't borrow trouble. Take it one hour at a time. You'll get through this."
"Think so?" Judd asked heavily.
"I know so. I'll keep a close watch on her. Try not to
worry." He nodded to the others and went back down the
hall.
Judd looked at the other three people with him. "I'm
glad you're all here. But if anybody gets into that room,
even for a minute, it's going to be me," he said shortly.
Cash looked inclined to argue, but the expression on
Judd's face made him back down.

You're a worse punishment than even he deserves, lady," she bit off as she turned away from the phone. "I wouldn't wish you on my worst enemy!"
The phone rang again and she picked it up, ready to give Audrey a fierce piece of her mind. But it was a journalist wanting to know if the story in the tabloids was true, about Tate and Cecily being lovers when she was still in school.
"It most certainly is not," she said curtly. "But I'll tell you what is. Tate Winthrop is marrying Washington socialite Miss Audrey Gannon at Christmas. You can print that, with my blessing!" And she hung up again.

live long enough to

There is a song, Noreen," he said tenderly. "It was nominated for an Academy Award. I can't sing, enamorada, but the words say that when a man loves a woman, really loves her, he can see his unborn children in her eyes." - "To my shame, I saw my sons in your eyes the day I found you in the kitchen at your aunt's house," he whispered, watching her face color. "And I was married. What a living hell it was, to know such a sin and be unable to repent it." (Diana Palmer)

She felt guilty, as she had when she'd heard Matt's deep, beloved voice after thirty-odd years. She'd been too flustered to say much to him, and in the end, regretfully, she'd hung up on him out of sheer embarrassment.

He'd been unique, a member of a vanishing race, a vanishing tribe, an individual in an ancient society. Now he was one of thousands with mixed blood, not unique anymore, not even Lakota. He was part Moroccan, part Berber if he believed the senator. The illegitimate son of a senator, how was that for a shocker? And if it hadn't been for a renegade gambling syndicate trying to get a casino on Sioux land that they could siphon off profits from, he'd have gone the rest of his life without ever knowing the truth. His mother had kept her secret for thirty-six years. His whole life.

I wish you'd told me this before."
"It wouldn't have changed anything."
"Maybe not. But talking about wounds can help heal them."
"You don't talk about yours," she pointed out.
He sat down on the sofa facing her and leaned forward. "But I do," he said seriously. "I talk to you. I've never told anyone else about the way my father treated us. That's a deeply personal thing. I don't share it. I can't share it with anyone but you."
"I'm part of your life," she said heavily, smoothing her hair back again. "Neither of us can help that. You were my comfort when Mama died, my very salvation when my stepfather hurt me. But I can't expect you to go on taking care of me. I'm twenty-five years old, Tate. I have to let you go."
"No, you don't." He caught her wrists and pulled her closer. He was more solemn than she'd ever seen him. "I'm tired of fighting it. Let's find out how deep your scars ago. Come to bed with me, Cecily. I know enough to make it easy for you."
She stared at him blankly. "Tate…" She touched his lean cheek hesitantly. He was offering her paradise, if she could face her own demons in bed with him. "This will only make things worse, whatever happens."
"You want me," he said gently. "And I want you. Let's get rid of the ghosts. If you can get past the fear, I won't have anyone else from now on except you. I'll come to you when I'm happy, when I'm sad, when the world falls on me. I'll lie in your arms and comfort you when you're sad

How silly of her not to realize that strongest friends make the best enemies; they always know where the weaknesses are hidden.

He's healing, though," she

At least her nice boss was going to come out ahead, she thought. Gerald would marry Sadie and have a perfectly wonderful life while Nicky grew old taking dictation. It didn't bear thinking about.
Maybe she could do what she'd threatened Winthrop with - get married and have children. Sure. Nothing easier. First, she had to find a man. And who could measure up to old stone face?

Get him in leg irons and transport him to the hospital," Grier told him curtly.
"I need a doctor," Clark raged. "I'm shot. My hand's
bleeding!"
Grier stared at him. "If you make a move I don't like,
you'll need a mortician," he said with pure malice, and
abruptly spun the Colt with a professional skill that made
Clark back up a step.

At least she was good at archaeology, she mused, even if she was a dismal failure as a woman in Tate's eyes.
"She's been broody ever since we got here," Leta said with pursed lips as she glanced from Tate to Cecily. "You two had a blowup, huh?" she asked, pretending innocence.
Tate drew in a short breath. "She poured crab bisque on me in front of television cameras."
Cecily drew herself up to her full height. "Pity it wasn't flaming shish kebab!" she returned fiercely.
Leta moved between them. "The Sioux wars are over," she announced.
"That's what you think," Cecily muttered, glaring around her at the tall man.
Tate's dark eyes began to twinkle. He'd missed her in his life. Even in a temper, she was refreshing, invigorating.
She averted her eyes to the large grass circle outlined by thick corded string. All around it were make-shift shelters on poles, some with canvas tops, with bales of hay to make seats for spectators. The first competition of the day was over and the winners were being announced. A woman-only dance came next, and Leta grimaced as she glanced from one warring face to the other. If she left, there was no telling what might happen.
"That's me," she said reluctantly, adjusting the number on her back. "Got to run. Wish me luck."
"You know I do," Cecily said, smiling at her.
"Don't disgrace us," Tate added with laughter in his eyes.
Leta made a face at him, but smiled. "No fighting," she said, shaking a fin

It's better to keep one's mouth shut and appear stupid than open it and remove all doubts.

After the pain, the pleasure.

Tate was sprawled across the bed in his robe early the next morning when the sound of the front door opening penetrated his mind. There was an unholy commotion out there and his head was still throbbing, despite a bath, several cups of coffee and a handful of aspirin that had been forced on him the day before by two men he'd thought were his friends. He didn't want to sober up. He only wanted to forget that Cecily didn't want him anymore.
He dragged himself off the bed and went into the living room, just in time to hear the door close.
Cecily and her suitcase were standing with mutual rigidity just inside the front door. She was wearing a dress and boots and a coat and hat, red-faced and muttering words Tate had never heard her use before.
He scowled. "How did you get here?" he asked.
"Your boss brought me!" she raged. "He and that turncoat Colby Lane and two bodyguards, one of whom was the female counterpart of Ivan the Terrible! They forcibly dressed me and packed me and flew me up here on Mr. Hutton's Learjet! When I refused to get out of the car, the male bodyguard swept me up and carried me here! I am going to kill people as soon as I get my breath and my wits back, and I am starting with you!"
He leaned against the wall, still bleary-eyed and only half awake. She was beautiful with her body gently swollen and her lips pouting and her green eye sin their big-lensed frames glittering at him.
She registered after a minute that he wasn't himsel

I've been noble since they took you to the hospital," he said through his teeth. "I'm tired of it. I don't eat, I don't sleep, I can't even work. I remember your voice moaning in my ear like the cry of the damned while I was having you," he bit off, bending to her mouth. "You couldn't get enough of me. You couldn't get close enough to me. Your face when I fulfilled you ... I ache every time I think about it.

Guilt. Torment. Sorrow. Shock. Which?" she asked against his chest.
"I'm trying," he murmured on a weary chuckle. "But all I can manage is pride," he added softly. "I satisfied you completely, didn't I?"
"More than completely," she murmured against his damp shoulder. Her hand traced his chest, feeling the coolness of his skin, the ripple of muscle. "Hold me close."
He wrapped both arms around her and drew her on top of him, holding her hungrily to him, their legs lazily entwined. "I seduced you."
She pressed a soft kiss to his collarbone. "Mmm-hmm."
He caught his breath as the tiny, insignificant movement produced a sudden, raging arousal.
She lifted her head. "Did I do something wrong?"
He lifted an eyebrow and nodded toward his flat stomach. She followed his amused glance and caught her breath.
He drew her mouth down over his and kissed her ferociously before he sat up and moved off the bed.
"Where are you going?" she asked, startled.
He drew on his briefs and his slacks, glancing down at her with amused delight. "One of us has to be sensible," he told her. "Colby's probably on his way back right now."
"But he just left…"
"Almost an hour ago," he finished for her, nodding toward the clock on the bedside table.
She sat up, her eyes wide with surprise.
"I took a long time with you," he said gently. "Didn't you notice?"
She laughed self-consciously. "Well, yes, but I didn't realize it was that long."

You were just in South Dakota a couple of weeks ago," he pointed out. "Why didn't you get it then?"
"It wasn't available then." She brushed back a tiny strand of loose hair. "Don't cross-examine me, okay? It's been a long day."
He ran a hand around the back of his neck, under his braid of hair, and stared at her own hair in the tight bun at her nape as she replaced the errant strand. "I thought you took it down at night."
"At bedtime," she corrected.
His eyes narrowed. "Lucky Colby," he said deliberately.
She wasn't going to give him any rope to hang her with. She just smiled.
He glared at her. "He won't change," he said flatly.
"I don't care," she said. "I appreciate all you've done for me, Tate, but my private life is my own business, not yours."
"That's a hell of a way to talk to me."
"That works both ways," she replied, eyes narrowing. "What gives you the right to ask questions about the men I date?"
Her words made him mad. His lips compressed until they made a straight line. He looked like his father when he was angry. He finished his coffee in a tense silence and got to his feet. He glanced at his watch. "I've got to go. I just wanted to see how you were."
"You just wanted to see if Colby was here," she corrected and smiled mirthlessly when he blinked.
"You know I don't approve of Colby," he told her.
"Like I care?" she said.
He took a step toward her. His black eyes glittered with conflicting emotion

The milk is long since out of date, the bread all has mold and I think you could start a bacterial plague with what's in the crisper here…"
"Order a pizza," he suggested. "There's a place down on the corner that still owes me ten pizzas, paid for in advance."
"You can't eat pizza for breakfast!"
"Why can't I? I've been doing it for a week."
"You can cook," she said accusingly.
"When I'm sober," he agreed.
She glowered at him and went back to her chore. "Well, the eggs are still edible, barely, and there's an unopened pound of bacon. I'll make an omelet."
He collapsed into the chair at the kitchen table while she made a fresh pot of coffee and set about breaking eggs.
"You look very domesticated like that," he pointed out with a faint smile. "After we have breakfast, why don't you come to bed with me?"
She gave him a shocked glance. "I'm pregnant," she reminded him.
He nodded and laughed softly. "Yes, I know. It's an incredible turn-on."
Her hand stopped, poised in midair with a spoon in it. "Wh…What?"
"The eggs are burning," he said pleasantly.
She stirred them quickly and turned the bacon, which was frying in another pan. He thought her condition was sexy? She couldn't believe he was serious.
But apparently he was, because he watched her so intently over breakfast that she doubted if he knew what he was eating.
"Mr. Hutton told the curator of the museum in Tennessee that I wasn't coming back, and he

I saw him with her last week, at a coffeehouse near my apartment. They were holding hands. She's captivated him."
"The Lakota Captive." Leta made a line in the air with her hand. "I can see it now, the wily, brave Lakota warrior with the brazen white woman pioneer. She carries him off into the sunset over her shoulder…"
Cecily whacked her with a strand of grass she'd pulled.
"You write history your way, I'll write it my way," Leta said wickedly.
"Native Americans are stoic and unemotional," Cecily reminded her. "All the books say so."
"We never read many books in the old days, so we didn't know that," came the dry explanation. She shook her head. "What a sad stereotype so many make of us-a bloodthirsty ignorant people who never smile because they're too busy torturing people over hot fires."
"Wrong tribe," Cecily corrected. She frowned thoughtfully. "That was the northeastern native people."
"Who's the Native American here, you or me?"
Cecily shrugged. "I'm German-American." She brightened. "But I had a grandmother who dated a Cherokee man once. Does that count?"
Leta hugged her warmly. "You're my adopted daughter. You're Lakota, even if you haven't got my blood.

But you'll get used to it. Life has to be lived. You can't sit by the road and watch it pass.

We come from seed," he told his son, smiling. "We grow up, blossom, and produce fruit. Then the fruit dries and goes into the ground to make the next crop. The old plant doesn't die so much as it gives itself to the soil to nurture the new plant. Since energy is neither created nor destroyed, only altered, dying is the other face on the coin of life. Nothing to be afraid of, really. After all, my boy, we all pass from this plane into another. It's inevitable, like the rainbow after the storm.

Be careful. Be extra careful."
"I will. You do the same," she added with a chuckle.
"I'm a tough old bird," he told her. "Otherwise, I wouldn't still be alive in the first place," he assured her. "You eat properly and take your prenatal vitamins."
"Stop mothering me," she muttered.
He grinned. "Somebody has to. See you, kid.

More often than not, a woman marries for money and a man marries for sex. What difference does a sheet of paper with signatures make?"
"If you have to ask, you wouldn't understand the answer," she said simply.