Page 42 of Wyoming Heart

“There are a lot of things women can do,” he said quietly. “But some they can’t. Basically, a woman can’t match a man’s upper body strength. That puts her at a disadvantage if things get physical. Well, if she hasn’t had training in martial arts or hand-to-hand combat,” he amended.

“I would have liked a few lessons in martial arts,” she said. “But I never had the money. All I had coming in was what I made as a waitress, and my mother got that.”

He scowled. “Why didn’t you run away?”

She turned and looked up at him. “Where would I have gone?” she asked solemnly. “Mama convinced people around here that I was a liar. Nobody would have believed me about Henry.”

“Bart would have.”

She smiled sadly. “Henry was dangerous when he drank, and he kept a loaded pistol in the house. I wasn’t willing to risk Bart’s life, even to save myself.”

He drew in a long breath. She seemed genuine. It would have been hard to make up so many lies about her past.

“I was never around drunks,” he said. “Well, not until I went overseas.” He sighed. “A lot of men drink after they’ve had a taste of combat.”

“Including you?” she asked, as if she knew.

He averted his eyes. “For a time,” he confessed. “I had a pal that I went all the way through basic training with. He was a great kid. Grew up in Dade County, Florida, and his dad was a detective there.” His face tautened. “We’d just been deployed in Iraq. It was our first day there. A sniper took him out. He was standing next to me one minute and dead the next, with part of his head missing. I’d never seen anybody killed before,” he added very quietly.

She was listening. Just listening. Her dark eyes were steady on his face, soft with sympathy.

“There was a lot more than that, too, wasn’t there?” she asked.

His teeth ground together. “A lot more.”

“My father was in the military, in combat,” she said, turning her attention back to the flour. “I heard him talk about it to my mother, just once. He said it was like being sentenced to hell.”

“That’s not a bad analogy.” He sighed. “You never heard from your father, after he left?”

She shook her head. “I don’t want to hear from him. He walked out without a word to me, deserted me, for a woman he barely knew. My mother had a lot of lovers before she ended up with Henry,” she added bitterly. “I wouldn’t wish my childhood on my worst enemy.”

“You’re just like me,” he said absently. “Living in the past and can’t move forward.”

She grimaced. “Maybe so.”

“Are you in love with McGuire?” he shot at her.

She caught her breath, her eyes huge as they met his. “I hardly... I hardly even know him,” she stammered.

“He’s a rounder,” he said shortly. He knew that, because McGuire ran in the same social circles that he frequented himself. He’d heard stories about the rancher, even though they were only distant acquaintances.

“Well, look who’s talking,” she retorted, glancing at him as she went back to work, her hands covered in dough. “I’ve never met a cowboy who didn’t have a girl in every rodeo town!”

He bit his lower lip to keep the words back. He wasn’t just a cowboy, but the rounder part was true. He was a pot, calling the kettle black.

“Women are a permissible pleasure,” he said lazily. “I have no plans to marry and settle down and start changing diapers,” he added. It was a lie, but he wasn’t about to encourage Little Miss Muffet, here. He had to marry a woman from his own class, not some rustic cowgirl who wouldn’t know a dessert fork from a butter knife. Why did that bother him? She wasn’t even his type. Ida was.

“I don’t want to get married, either,” she confessed quietly.

He frowned. “Why not?” he asked. “Don’t you want kids?”

She felt hot all over, just thinking about them when he was standing so close to her. The way she’d felt in his arms was scary. She wanted him. She hadn’t known she was vulnerable.

He watched her cheeks color with fascination. If she was really experienced, that flush wasn’t something she could fake.

“Kids are nice, I guess,” she said after a minute. “I’ve never been around them much.”

“Two of my brothers have toddlers,” he said quietly. He smiled, reminiscing. “I don’t live close enough to visit often, but I like my niece and my nephews.”

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