Page 52 of Wyoming Heart

Mr. Fender took a step up in his estimation. “It’s late.”

“Well, yes. We sat on a bench outside the restaurant and watched the waves for a while. Galveston is really beautiful.”

“Yes, it is,” he agreed. “I like to go deep sea fishing when I’m down there.”

She’d always thought that was a sport for rich men, but apparently even cowboys could afford it. She sat down in her armchair. “Did you catch anything you could eat?”

He chuckled. “I caught a record-breaking swordfish and threw it back in.”

“You didn’t have it mounted?”

“I don’t need trophies to prove I’m a man,” he said simply. “But there are plenty who do.”

She smiled. “My dad used to hunt before he left us. He never had deer heads mounted, either.”

“Do you remember him?”

She drew in a breath. “I was only nine years old when he went away. I remember the uniform more than I remember his face. I doubt I’d recognize him if I met him on the street. Not that I want to,” she added harshly. “Cousin Rogan said he was in Billings and he wanted me to talk to him. I refused.”

“You don’t forgive.”

“Not something as harsh as what he did, leaving me at my mother’s mercy,” she said shortly.

“I have a hard time letting go of things, too,” he replied.

“When people hurt you, it’s human nature to resent them.”

“It is. What did you eat in Galveston?”

She laughed. “Oysters. I love them, fried.”

“Me, too. I’d rather have them raw, though, with just a little Tabasco sauce.”

“I expect we’ll both die of mercury poisoning if we keep it up.”

He burst out laughing. “Maybe so, but what a way to go!”

She grinned. “It really is.”

“I’ll let you go. I just wanted to know if you got home safely,” he said in a soft, husky tone.

“I got home just fine.” She paused. “Thanks. For checking.”

He chuckled. “No problem. Bart was worried. See you around, cowgirl.”

He hung up and she felt her heart sink to her feet. Bart was worried. What an idiot she was, to think Cort cared one way or another. She got up from the chair, turned out the lights and went to bed.

CORTCURSEDHIMSELFroundly for that lie. Bart was already asleep. Cort had paced the floor, but his cousin had assured him that Mina was in safe hands. McGuire would take good care of her, he affirmed.

But Cort had worried anyway. He knew about airplanes. He’d been flying around in private ones for years, and he knew what could go wrong at the drop of a hat. He’d been in planes that came near to crashing. He couldn’t shake off the concern, although why he’d feel it for a woman he didn’t care about was disturbing. They had nothing in common except anguish from the past. She was a small-town cowgirl who didn’t know anything about the world he lived in. She’d never fit in his circles.

So why did he care?

He wished he knew. He turned out his bedside lamp and went to bed. But he didn’t sleep.

In the distance were big guns firing. Closer, there was the sharppingof bullets hitting nearby. His friend called a greeting to him just as another bullet sang and the man’s head exploded in a spray of blood. Cort closed his eyes and shuddered. He wondered if he would ever be free of the war he fought in, so long ago.

MINAWASPLANTINGFLOWERS. She was also working on the next book, in her head. It was how she furthered plots, by doing mundane tasks that didn’t require much brainwork while her mind grappled with complicated scenarios. Some fit, some didn’t. By the time she started writing at the computer, it would all resolve into a comfortable scene.

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