Page 39 of Passion's Wicked Torment

Kristin was surprised by how insulted she felt that he actually believed this of her, even though she had gone to great lengths to make him believe it.

“So we both fell for the other’s act,” he said somberly.

“Yes.” She could not keep the sadness from her voice. She too was thinking about the way things might have been had fate treated them a little bit kinder.

Hunter pulled her close. Suddenly he smiled. “But that’s over with now, babe! Now we know the truth about each other, and we can start all over again!”

“No,” she said softly. “We can’t.”

“Why not?” His hand was behind her head, gently pushing her face close to his.

“My life is different now. Things have changed with me.” Her voice was soft, and she was having a hard time thinking straight. She was looking at his eyes and then his lips, feeling herself weaken in his arms. That old familiar feeling of tenderness and yearning came over her. She tried to resist. “I’m not free to . . . to . . . I’m not free anymore.”

He kissed her gently, cutting off her words. Then his kiss became more forceful, and she felt herself melting in his arms, too weak to resist. It had always been this way with him. With him and with no one else. Only he could make her feel this way, so completely, so instantly.

Time lost all meaning. It could have been a second or a minute or an eternity later when the door suddenly burst open and slammed back against the wall. Kristin looked, startled.

There, standing in the doorway, was Sean McShane. He still wore his Mountie uniform, and his angry face was turning as red as his coat as he stared at Kristin in Dallas Hunter’s arms. Kristin backed away. McShane came forward. Before Kristin could stop him, the Mountie had swung at Hunter, hitting him and sending him crashing backward against the wall.

“Sean!” she cried. “No!”

He glared at her with fury.

Hunter straightened up and gained a strong footing, preparing to fight.

“No, don’t!” Kristin exclaimed, coming between them. She held her arms out at her sides to keep them apart. “Now, just . . . just settle down, both of you! There’s . . . we’ve got to talk about this.”

“Talk,” sneered McShane, fists still clenched. Kristin could see he was deeply hurt.

“This is the man I was . . . close to before you found me in Vroman’s whorehouse. I told you a little about him. His name is Dallas Hunter.”

None of this lessened his anger or explained what she was doing in his arms. “What’s he doing here?”

“He came to see if I was in trouble so he could help me. He’s been searching for me for a long time, ever since he found out Ironman knew it was me who tried to warn him.”

McShane accepted the information, but it did not make any difference to him. He was still seething. His fists remained clenched.

“All right,” said Hunter. “He knows who I am. Now you tell me who he is. That’s a very cute red coat he’s got on, but he doesn’t look like Santa Claus.”

McShane began advancing on him again. Kristin held him back, devoting all her attention to pushing him away. “Dallas,” she asked over her shoulder, “would you leave? Please!”

“No.”

“Go outside for a minute. Okay? And I’ll talk to you later.”

“No.”

“Well all right then,” she said, turning angry herself. “Go ahead and kill each other. See if I care.” She put her arms down and stepped aside.

There were three angry people in the room now. The men, though, were each sufficiently interested in what Kristin’s relationship was with the other that they temporarily cooled their tempers. No word was spoken, but a truce was declared by mutual understanding as they glared into each other’s eyes. McShane slowly unclenched his fists. Hunter, who had been standing with his legs braced apart, arms ready for action, relaxed his posture slightly.

“Can we sit down?” Kristin suggested, encouraged by this small success. The men each took a seat, still looking at one another warily, like caged animals ready to pounce. Kristin sat down behind her desk.

“Dallas, this is Sean McShane. He’s the man who saved me from that whorehouse and cared for me while I was in terrible shape. He’s the man I’ve been living with ever since. And he’s my partner in this saloon casino.” She glanced at McShane from the corner of her eye and saw that he was waiting for her to add something more. She could either add it or not add it. Either way, it would be a clear signal to him. He was tensely waiting for that signal.

Kristin lowered her eyes as she looked at Hunter and added softly, “And he’s the man I love.”

That was what McShane had been waiting to hear. He came over to her and took her hand in his, possessively, while staring at Hunter all the while. It was like he was publicly staking a claim. K

ristin sensed that if she had not said those words, he would have instantly walked out of the office . . . and out of her life, no matter how painful it would be for him. That would be his only choice after seeing her in Hunter’s arms, kissing him.

Hunter kept a poker face. “All right. You love him. Congratulations. Now, how do you feel about me?”

She lowered her eyes and did not say anything. She would not lie to him. But she would not answer either. When she looked up, she tried to make her voice gentle. Instead, it was filled with anguish. It hurt her to do what she was doing. “Dallas, one thing I will tell you. I ... I have a life here. I have Sean, and I have my business. And the town. I’ve accepted that this is what my life is going to be. I don’t want any . . . disruptions now. Any complications.

Hunter retained his impassive face. She knew him well enough to know that he was hurt but was not showing it. Why should he show it? It would gain him nothing. She knew he felt that to show your feelings was a sign of weakness. He stood up and nodded. “All right. It’s your life. You make the decisions.” He winked at her. It was a final sign of affection that made her heart sink with sadness at the realization that she would never see him again. Hunter started for the door.

“Wait,” said McShane. He went up to him. “You came all this way to see if Kristy was in trouble and to help her. You can stay for a while. Overnight, at least. You’ll be our guest.”

Hunter shook his head. “There’s no point. Besides, I’ve spent too much time as it is tracking down Kristin. I have to get back to my original mission.” He shook hands with McShane, formally, without friendliness. He said to Kristin, “Good-bye, babe,” and then he turned to go.

“Dallas,” she called after him, “what are you going to do now?”

“Continue my mission.”

“What is your mission?”

“To get evidence against Ironman. And to rescue your brother.”

“What?” she said, astonished. “But he’s dead! Chad is dead!”

Hunter narrowed an eye and peered at her. “Who told you that?”

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