Honky Tonk Cowboy by Barri Bryan ISBN 1

MonaVie

Drink It ~ Feel It ~ Share It

Ex-convict Sarah Scott returns home after serving four years in prison with only one thought in mind, to create for herself a secure and stable life. Then she meets Blake Hamilton, ex-rodeo cowboy turned night club owner. The chemistry between them is explosive and instantaneous. A passionate encounter blossoms into a tempestuous affair. But there are problems, Blake's family disapproves of Sarah. Her friends dislike Blake. Sarah wants forever. Blake refuses to make a commitment. This star-crossed pair seems headed for heartbreak, then fate intervenes in a most unexpected way.

"Barri Bryan has given us a potpourri consisting of enough unbridled sexual passion to twist our jeans in a knot. Bryan brings us a believable story filled with lusty action and a usage of words that jacks up one's heart rate. You owe it to yourself to read Honky Tonk Cowboy. It's Sexy and a glistening-gutsy Gold." Bridges Magazine

If you enjoy passionate romance with intrigue and a little bit of country music, this is a book for you. I enjoyed almost every single page, and I'm happy to recommend Honky-Tonk Cowboy as a wonderful contemporary romance!" Ivy Quill Reviews

"Ms. Bryan's hero and heroine are flawed and sympathetic. Their story will be familiar to anyone who has suffered the pangs of unrequited love or addictive passion. It is a rougher story than many of this genre, and readers should be warned that they will want to scold, counsel and even berate both lead characters, as well as several secondary ones, throughout the course of the story. I recommend this book be taken in small doses, with allowances made for the possibility of personal growth for the reader as the characters resolve their conflicts in time to create a happy ending." Writers Club Romance Group on AOL

"Masterful suspense and sensational loving create a titillating romance. I didn't want to put this book down nor did I want it to end. Texas never seemed so passionate, so alive. It's obviously crafted by an author, or in this case, a team of authors, who have a deep abiding love for their state. Barri Bryan's earned a loyal fan for life." Knowbetter.com reviews

"Many sexual scenes, so be prepared. The couple broke up and made up several times in the story. But even with all that bouncing around, the story managed to flow easily. The side characters had lives of their own, and hopefully will have their own books as well. Way to go Barri Bryan! MORE!" Huntress Book Reviews

"Four Stars! I could not seem to put HONKY TONK COWBOY down; I yearned to learn more about these characters. I can recommend HONKY TONK COWBOY for an enjoyable read!" Scribes World Reviews

Headlines emblazoned across the front page of The Daily Clarion struck Sarah Scott with the force of a bullet fired at close range. JOHN MARKUM RELEASED FROM HUNTSVILLE PRISON. The paper slid from her fingers and fell to the floor.

"John's out of prison?" A cold shiver traveled down her spine, and lodged in the pit of her stomach. "I should have been notified. After I begged the parole board not to let him go." Her frightened gaze turned toward the young woman who was slumped in a chair across from her. "They didn't listen to a word I said."

Karen Hamilton frowned. "You didn't know John was being released? It's been on the news all day. Where have you been?"

Sarah swallowed over the tightness in her throat. "I worked at the library today." Her head felt light, her palms were sweaty. "What am I going to do?"

That was true. With a nod of her head, Sarah agreed. "You're right."Bitter experience had taught her the futility of railing against injury and injustice. Her voice dropped to a resigned whisper. "A mad man is being loosed on society, and there's nothing I can do about it."

"Look on the positive side," Karen sat up and took a deep breath."John's spent five years in prison. He's undergone psychiatric evaluation and treatment. He's being released for good behavior. Maybe he's changed."

John Markum would never change. Sarah knew that; she suspected her friend did too. "John is, and will always be, a mad, disruptive force. He destroys everything he touches."

"God knows I'm going to try." Sarah huddled in an overstuffed chair looking small and vulnerable. Her head dropped causing her honey-colored hair to fall like a curtain across her face, hiding the fear that dyed her amethyst eyes to a deep shade of indigo. Suddenly her chin lifted. "I'm stronger now, and wiser. He won't destroy my life again."

"Try to forget about John," Karen pleaded. "Let's talk about something more pleasant. Reid should be home soon, and we'll have dinner. I cooked your favorite, chicken-fried steak." She paused before adding, a little too casually, "By the way, his brother Blake will be with him."

Sarah closed her eyes and groaned. It wasn't enough that John Markum was out of prison, now her best friend was playing matchmaker. "Why did you invite someone else? You know how I feel about meeting strangers."

Karen twisted in her chair and looked uncomfortable. "I wouldn't do that to you. I didn't know Reid's brother was coming when I invited you for dinner."

Karen Hamilton was Sarah's oldest and dearest friend. She wanted to believe her. "So all of this is just a happy coincidence?"

Karen's denial held a ring of truth. "Was it Reid's idea?" Sarah didn't know Karen's new husband all that well.

"I don't think so." Karen's fingers dug into the chair arm. "I suspect Blake invited himself, although Reid would never admit that to me."

Guilt moved in to replace Sarah's doubt. She had been so engrossed in her own problems, that she'd failed to recognize Karen's obvious distress. "Are you having in-law trouble so soon? I thought you liked Reid's family."

"I do. Reid's parents are wonderful. But Blake? Oh hell, Sarah when you meet the man you'll understand."

It wasn't like Karen to speak in such derogatory terms about someone who was virtually a member of her family. "Understand what? What's wrong with Reid's brother?"

"He doesn't like me. He thinks Reid's marrying me was a mistake." Karen frowned. "I wouldn't wish him on my worst enemy. He's bad news." Her frown deepened as she shook her finger in Sarah's direction. "I want you to stay away from him."

Sarah laughed. "After all these years, you're still running interference for me. I think it all began with Jimmy Collins."

Karen's mouth curved in a reminiscent smile. "Even when you were six years old, you couldn't handle aggressive males, and Jimmy Collins got what he deserved."

Jimmy Collins had been a first-grade ruffian intent on making Sarah's first day at school miserable. He was clutching her arm, and aiming his pursed lips toward her face, when a much larger and more assertive Karen stepped in. A kick to the shins, and a slap across the head had sent Jimmy running for cover.

"Would you have believed then that Jimmy Collins, grade-school Romeo, would grow up to be James Jacob Collins, millionaire entrepreneur?" Mischief lurked in Sarah's smile. "Maybe I should have let him kiss me."

"Good Lord, Sarah, you've never had any sense where men were concerned." Shadows were collecting in the corners of the neat little living room. Karen moved gracefully across the floor and flicked the light switch by the door. "Maybe that's the answer. Maybe I should give Blake a kick on the shin, and a slap on the head, and send him packing."

"I am." Karen dropped any effort to conceal her dislike for her brother-in-law. "There's something about that man that makes me want to pat him on the back with a knife in my hand."

Sarah thought, as she watched the pained expression on Karen's face, that Blake Hamilton had no right to make his new sister-in-law so unhappy.

"Reid adores him." Karen blew a blast of air through her mouth. "A hold-over, I suppose, from the hero worship he developed when he was a teenager, and Blake was a star bronc rider on the rodeo circuit."

"What does Blake do now?" Sarah asked, finding herself being caught up in the mystique of Reid's older brother.

"As little as possible. When he could no longer straddle a horse, he came home and bought a honky-tonk."

"All right, then, a night club. For all his faults, Reid adores him . . . " Karen's voice died on the end of a sigh.

"You not only dislike him, you resent the influence he has over Reid." Sarah found that thought vaguely disturbing.

"No children. He had a wife once. She divorced him years ago. Reid says Blake was devastated. I suspect he got what he deserved."

"Maybe that explains his attitude now," Sarah suggested, feeling a little troubled by Karen's lack of objectivity.

"Don't feel sorry for that womanizing rascal. He wasn't a paragon of virtue before his wife found someone else, and he certainly hasn't been since!"

Sarah knew how easy it was to misjudge others because of circumstances. "Give the man a chance, Karen. I've learned from experience it's not wise to judge a person by what's happened in the past."

"There is no comparison between you and Blake," Karen argued with a wave of her hand. "You're just a girl who got caught in an unfortunate situation."

Sarah looked around Karen's comfortable living room and thought how little her friend knew of the seamier side of life. "I'm not a girl, I'm a thirty-two-year old woman. I'm also a felon and an ex-convict."

"Surely you don't blame yourself for what happened?" Karen raised shocked eyebrows. "None of it was your fault."

Sarah didn't want to argue about her guilt, or lack of it. "I'm guilty of crimes that the state can't punish me for."

"So you keep on punishing yourself." Karen shook her head sadly from side to side. "You were the victim, not the perpetrator."

Sarah had believed that once. She knew now it wasn't true. Four years in prison had stripped her of all her innocence and most of her illusions. "I can't pass the blame for my own mistakes on to someone else, but just the same I love you for believing in me, and for defending me."

"Someone may need to defend you, literally, against John Markum now that he's out of prison."

The mention of John Markum sent a tremor of fear through Sarah. "I thought we agreed not to talk about John."

"We did. I'm sorry I mentioned him." Karen glanced at the clock. "Reid should be here by now."

Karen might believe Sarah was a victim. Sarah doubted that anyone else did. Most of the people in the little town of Summerville referred to her as that Scott woman, or notorious Sarah Scott. "Sometimes I wonder about the wisdom of coming back here to live. Summerville is such a small town."

"With such a long memory." Karen jumped to her feet as a car, followed by a pickup, pulled into the driveway. "That's Reid and his brother. Get the door, Sarah. I have to see about dinner." Karen hurried toward the kitchen.

"Karen," Sarah called after her friend's retreating figure, "come back here, now."

Karen stuck her head around the side of the dining room door, and made a wry face. "You said you could take care of yourself."

Squaring her shoulders, Sarah pulled the front door open. Reid stood on the other side. With him was a tall, dark man wearing jeans and a plaid shirt. Stepping back, she explained, "Karen's in the kitchen."

Reid responded with a booming, "Hello, Sarah!" He preceded his brother into the room. "Something smells delicious."

His brother was not nearly so cheerful. A most reluctant Blake Hamilton followed Reid inside. He acknowledged his introduction to Sarah with a cursory, "Howdy, ma'am."

He knows who I am, Sarah thought. The cool greeting came as no surprise. "Good evening." Sarah let her eyes slide over the man who stood in the doorway, hat in his hand, looking uncomfortable and ill-at-ease. He was tall, with the muscular build of an athlete. The incredible blue of his deep-set eyes contrasted strangely with the jet black of his curly hair. Sarah nodded in his direction. "I'm happy to meet you." She was lying through her teeth. Nothing made her more unhappy than having to meet a so-called eligible male.

Despite Karen's remarkable culinary efforts, dinner was a miserable experience. Talk was sporadic and stilted. Karen, who was obviously irritated by her brother-in-law's presence, spoke only to Sarah and Reid, ignoring Blake completely.

Reid, clearly embarrassed by Karen's attempt to exclude his brother, overcompensated by trying, repeatedly, to draw Blake into the conversation.

Blake seemed completely indifferent to Karen's snub. He spoke only when his brother asked him a direct question, giving one of three answers each time he responded: "Yeah," "Nope," or "Beats me." His considered apathy only added to the tension that sparked through the room like an exposed electric wire.

By the time dinner was over, Sarah felt as if she had been trampled by a herd of longhorns. Over coffee and desert she made her bid for freedom. "I hate to end such an enjoyable evening, but I'm scheduled to work at the library tomorrow. I really must go."

"Where's your car?" Reid seemed relieved to see the evening drawing to a close. "I didn't see it in the driveway."

"I came here from the library, by way of the gym," Sarah explained. "I walked." She held up her gym bag for Reid to see. "I have to go."

"It's dark out," Reid protested. "You can't go wandering around town at this hour."

Karen disagreed, as she had with everything Reid had said all evening."Oh, come on, Reid. This is Summerville. Nothing ever happens here."

"I'll take you home," Reid insisted, then paused. "Or better yet, Blake can drive you home. It's on his way."

It wasn't, and Reid knew as much. He was using Sarah's leaving as an excuse to get rid of Blake too. She struggled to hide her annoyance. "I prefer to walk."

Ignoring her protest, Reid turned to his brother. "Blake will you take our guest home?"

Sarah sent Karen a look that pleaded for help. "I'm quite capable of finding my way home."

Karen did a complete about-face. "It's not the distance. John could be out there somewhere."

"He wouldn't come here, to Summerville." Sarah protested, as she realized at last, that Reid and Karen were agreeing on something. They both wanted Blake to go and take Sarah with him.

For the first time during the long evening, Blake spoke of his own volition. "We could argue about this all night, but I have to get back to San Antonio. Get your bag, Ms. Scott, and let's go." Walking out the door, he left Sarah to grab her gym bag, and follow after him.

As Sarah got into Blake's pickup and fastened her seat belt, he asked, with a touch of insolence, "You do live in Summerville, don't you?"

"Yes." Sarah was still trying to recover from being so unceremoniously ejected from her best friend's home.

"That's on Oaks Street isn't it?" The motor coughed then purred to life. Over the sound of shifting gears, Sarah answered, "Yes."

Blake backed from the drive, turned his pickup south and drove toward the church.

She was stuck in an uncomfortable situation. She may as well make the best of it. Sarah looked around Blake's cluttered truck. He certainly wouldn't win any prize for neatness. His dash was littered with an array of useless items: Papers, envelopes, a flashlight, a pair of sunshades. An empty beer can lay on the floor under her feet. Two lengths of rope, one long, one short, hung over the gun rack that ran across the back glass. "Karen tells me you were once a rodeo star."

"Is that why you carry ropes around in your truck?" she asked, hoping to elicit some kind of response.

"They're not ropes, one's a lasso, the other's a tying string." His abrupt reply should have silenced her, it didn't.

Sarah shrugged off his short reply. "So Reid said you were a saddle bronc rider."

"I was." Lights from a passing car flashed across Blake's granite profile. She could read nothing from his set expression.

An uneasy silence replaced Sarah's feeble attempts at conversation. She thought, as she stared at a passing car, that she had never before been so effectively ignored. Still, Blake's contempt was no more than she expected. After all, she was Sarah Scott, ex-convict.

Sarah pointed toward a bungalow nestled far back from the road in a grove of oak trees. "That one."

Blake wheeled into the driveway, and jammed his foot into the brake, bringing the truck to a screeching halt.

So much for chivalry, Sarah thought, as she opened the pickup door. Blake was not about to escort her to her house. Obviously, he didn't want to be seen with her. She let her eyes scan him from head to toe."Good-bye, Mr. Hamilton." Then got out of the truck, and slammed the door, hard! As she turned, a tug at her skirt made her realize it was caught in the door of the truck. She stepped back and lost her balance as her heel caught on a tree root. The skirt parted company with the closed door with force enough to send her sprawling on the ground in an undignified heap. When she tried to rise, a sharp pain shot though her ankle.

Blake got out, came around his pickup and stood looking down at her. As she struggled to rise to her feet, he asked, "Do you need help, Ms. Scott?"

"I twisted my ankle." Raising one arm, Sarah ordered, "Give me your hand. I can't get up."

Instead, he reached down, and with one fluid motion, scooped her into his arms, and began to carry her toward the house. He was holding her too close to him. She felt the steady beat of the life force that flowed through him; sensed the masculine strength that emanated from his muscular body. Her heart gave an uneasy lurch. "Put me down."

"I don't like being ordered around, Ms. Scott. Not even by a pretty little blonde with purple eyes." He carried her up the steps and onto the porch. "Where's your key?"

"Put me down." His overpowering strength was smothering her. "The key's in the mailbox. I can manage on my own from here."

Blake stood Sarah on her feet. "That's no place to leave your key." He found the key, unlocked the door, then hauled Sarah back into his arms, and pushed the door open with his foot. "It's stupid to lock a door, then leave the key in the mailbox."

Immediately, Sarah's defenses went up. No one, but no one called her stupid and got away with it. "I didn't ask for your opinion."

"It's not an opinion, it's a fact." Blake dumped Sarah on the couch. "You should take your key with you when you leave."

If she told him she felt safer if her door key wasn't on her person, he would only ask more questions. It was none of his business anyway. "I don't need you to tell me what to do." After years of self recrimination, Sarah was still struggling to find her self respect and rebuild her self-image. She was not going to let some boorish cowboy denigrate it. "I don't need anyone for any reason."

"You needed me to help you get into the house." Using his thumb, Blake pushed his hat to the back of his head. "You're kind of cute when you're mad." A seductive, lopsided smile pulled at the corners of his mouth. He was making light of every word she'd spoken. "I believe you were leaving. Close the door on your way out."

Cold fury caused the skin on the back of Sarah's neck to crawl. Did he think because of her past he could come into her home and make improper advances? "Will you please leave?"

The smirk faded. He took a step backward. "I was only trying to be helpful." Turning on his heel, he strode out the front door, closing it behind him as he went.

"Helpful?" Sarah fumed, "That kind of help, I don't need." She tried to stand. A stabbing pain shot up her leg. The insistent ringing of the telephone made her lean back on the couch and reach for the receiver. "Yes?"

Karen's worried voice sounded across the wire. "Sarah, honey, I owe you an apology. Reid says I should apologize to Blake too. Is he there?"

"Then I'll catch him another time." Karen's relief sounded in her long sigh. "I'm sorry for the way I behaved tonight, and I'm sorry that Reid was so adamant about having Blake take you home."

Sarah's concern was more for Karen and Reid than for herself. "Are things all right between you and Reid? All through dinner, you both seemed so angry."

"I was angry with Blake, and I took it out on you and Reid. I'm sorry. I could have killed Blake tonight, for being so obviously bored by our company."

"You didn't give him much of an opportunity to be friendly." Sarah attempted to soothe her old friend. "He's not that bad, Karen."

"Stay away from that man, Sarah. Blake attracts women like stale beer attracts flies. And considering your track record, I'm beginning to have second thoughts about letting him take you home."

Sarah smiled into the telephone. "Don't worry, Karen. I don't intend to become involved with your brother-in-law." Or any other man, she thought. She had learned her lesson well.

"I'm glad to hear that." Karen carefully changed the subject. "Now I can get on to more important matters. The Committee of Seven is meeting at my house a week from Saturday. I'm having a backyard barbecue. I need your help with the menu and the shopping, and a dozen other things. Can you have lunch with me tomorrow?"

"I'd love to." Sarah suspected her friend wanted to make sure she stayed busy. "Tell me where, and when . . . " Sarah looked around her living room. "Karen, I left my gym bag in Blake's pickup and it has the book Paul gave me on our wedding day in it. What's his telephone number?"

Karen seemed reluctant to give Sarah Blake's number. "I could call him for you."

"Karen, for heaven's sake, will you give me the number? I want my book back, and as soon as possible."

Reluctantly, Karen agreed. "Oh, all right, but it's against my better judgment."

Sarah hung up and called Blake's number immediately. She left a message on his answering machine, telling him that her bag in his pickup, and asking him to call her.

When three days passed without any response, Sarah decided he wasn't going to answer. She would probably have to enlist Karen's help to get her book back. Maybe Karen was right about her brother-in-law. How could he be so careless about another person's property?

Early Sunday morning, Sarah answered an insistent knock on her door, and saw Blake, standing on the other side of the screen. Her gym bag was in his hand; a big smile wreathed his face. "Hello, Ms. Scott. Remember me?"

Ignoring the man and his greeting, Sarah opened the screen and grabbed her bag. "My bag! I thought I'd lost it. Is my book still in here?" She closed the door, leaving Blake standing outside.

Without an invitation, he stepped through the door, and closed it behind him. "Mind if I come in?"

Sarah unzipped the bag, and reached for her book. "Oh thank God! I thought I'd lost it!" Tears sprang to her eyes as she let the bag fall to the floor and hugged the book to her chest.

"The bag was in the seat of my truck." Blake explained. "I was coming to Summerville anyway, so I thought I'd bring it to you."

"I was so afraid I'd lost it." Sarah caressed the book with loving fingers. Through a rainbow of tears, she read: Sonnets of Elizabeth Barrett Browning, then opened the book to the inscription on the fly leaf. The bold cursive script looked back at her: To the ends of Being and ideal Grace - with my lost saints, my darling, Paul.

"There is no Paul." Sarah ran her hands along the ends of the slim volume. "Paul was my husband. He's . . . dead." A purple flame blazed through her tears. "You read my inscription! You had no right!"

Blake was anything but repentant. "I opened the book," One shoulder rose then fell in an indifferent shrug. "and there it was, so I read it. It didn't make a lot of sense."

That was understandable. He'd probably never read a love poem in his entire life. "Why did you open the bag?"

"I called you, you knew how important and expensive this book was." Gradually, outrage and anger gave way to grudging relief. "You could have had the courtesy to return my call. Why didn't you?"

An aggravating little grin tugged at one side if his mouth. "I thought you left the bag in my truck so you'd have an excuse to call me."

She didn't know which was more repulsive, his honesty or his ego. "And what made you change your mind?"

Sarah was set to give this egotistical cowboy the tongue lashing of his life. Second thoughts caused her to reconsider. He was Karen's brother-in-law, and Karen was her dearest friend. It would be best if she made some kind of peace with him. She tamped down her anger. "You

drove a long way to return my bag. I'm grateful. Would you like a cup of coffee before you go?"

"Coffee sounds great." He followed her into the small, immaculately clean kitchen.

Placing two cups on the counter, Sarah poured coffee as she asked, "Sugar? Cream?"

"Black." Leaning back in his chair, Blake let his eyes slide the length of Sarah's small figure. "You're a very unusual looking woman."

Sarah set the steaming cups on the table. His abrupt compliment caught her off guard. "Unusual?"

His smile was sweet and guileless. "Your hair's the color of ripe wheat, and those purple eyes. I never knew anyone with purple eyes before."

What a line, Sarah thought. She sat across from him, poured cream into her coffee, and stirred it slowly. Should she tell him that he was wasting his time? Wisdom dictated diplomacy. Laying her spoon on the table, she met his frankly appraising gaze. "I have never thought of

"Oh, but you are and I apologize for reading your book. It was a thoughtless thing to do."

A pained expression moved across Sarah's face. Did he expect her to sanction his high-handed actions? "Yes, it was."

Completely poised, and seemingly not the least offended by her sharp retort, Blake took a sip of coffee, then set his cup in the saucer. "Has your husband been dead long?"

Over the lump in her throat, Sarah replied, "Five years." Could it be that this man didn't know about her past? "My husband was Doctor Paul William Scott."

Realization leaped into his eyes. "The physics professor who tried to sell his research findings to a foreign government?" He took another quick sip of coffee. "You're that Sarah Scott?"

Dropping her head, Sarah traced the tablecloth's pattern with the handle of her spoon. "You didn't know?"

Raising her head, she met his stiletto stare. "The evening you brought me home from Karen's? I thought you knew who I was, and that's why you made improper advances."

"Made improper advances?" He seemed genuinely surprised by her curt accusation. "I wasn't making advances of any kind. I was trying to help you."

"You really didn't know who I was?" Sarah took a quick sip of coffee to ease the catch in her throat.

"I served four years in prison for my alleged crimes." How many times had she seen that look of accusation on a stranger's face? It always left her feeling hurt and defensive.

"Alleged?" Blake's brows met together in a frown. "Are you telling me you weren't guilty?"

"No." An old, familiar pain moved in around Sarah's heart. She had long ago learned the futility of trying to convince anyone of her innocence. "You can believe anything you want to believe. I don't care anymore."

Blake's eyes narrowed. "Wasn't Doctor Scott involved in some kind of germ warfare project?"

Even as she spoke, Sarah wondered why she bothered. "The proper term is genetic weapons research."

"And he tried to sell that information to a foreign government?" Suddenly, Blake's face was grim.

"Paul had no idea that the man he had hired to help him with his research had ties to a foreign power."

Blake had the good grace to look uncomfortable, but his curiosity overrode his discretion. "This other man, your accomplice, what was his name?"

"He lied." Blake hadn't believed anything she had told him. She wasn't surprised. Neither had the jury that convicted her. "John is an obsessive liar, among other things."

Blake lifted his cup in a little salute. "Sure." He swallowed the last of his coffee, then pushed his chair back from the table, and stared down at his watch. "I have to go."

She watched as he got into his pickup, and drove away. He had judged and convicted her all over again.

Sarah picked up her book. Regret brought pain, then tears. Those tears fell on the slim volume she held in her hands as the scissors of her memory sheared away the years, and she was back in that old heartache again. Wiping the tears from the book, she whispered, "Oh, Paul, I want to believe that you've forgiven me." A shiver shook through her slim frame. "If I could only forgive myself."

Sarah put the grocery bag on the picnic table and sat in a patio chair."Karen, You really should have given me a list. I hope I remembered everything."

Sun shining through the oak trees cast swaying shadows across the yard. Karen peered into the brown bag. "Did you get paper plates and paper cups?"

The sound of Sarah's fingers snapping cracked the still summer air. "I knew I'd forget something."

Sarah leaned back in her chair and watched as Karen took items from the bag and put them on the table. "How did you get to be a member of the Committee of Seven? That prestigious group is supposedly made up of Summerville's most civic-minded citizens."

Karen giggled as she folded the paper bag, and laid it in a chair. "Are you implying that I'm not a civic-minded citizen?"

The shadow of a smile tugged at Sarah's lips. "I do wonder how you came to be on a committee with the bank president's wife, the mayor's wife, and the richest man in South Texas."

"Miles Weston suggested my name to his wife when Henry Jones moved away last spring. As prestigious as it sounds, being on this committee is no picnic." Karen giggled again. "No pun intended."

A sudden breeze stirred across the patio. Karen reached to retrieve the bag that had blown from the chair. "Miles is my boss. I don't want to offend him. He thinks serving on the committee is an honor."

"I suppose so." Karen tossed the bag into a trash can. "But being on a committee chaired by Tiffany Weston is not my idea of fun and games. And I also have to work with Suzie Boswell and Clay Daniels. Suzie never lets anyone forget that she's the mayor's wife. Clay's conservative views are in direct conflict with Tiffany's avant-garde ideas." She dropped into a chair and shook her head. "Douglas tries to control the committee through Suzie. Add to that Clay's outdated notions, and Tiffany's hair-brained schemes, and you can understand why I'm sometimes beside myself with frustration."

Sarah jumped to Clay's defense. "Clay is a kind generous man. If it weren't for him, I wouldn't be working now as a volunteer at the library. He may be a little old fashioned, but I've never known him to be disagreeable."

Karen rolled her eyes heavenward. "Clay is a shrewd business man and an arch conservative. He's putty in your hands, Sarah because he's crazy about you. Don't you know that?"

Sarah suspected as much, but she didn't want to admit it. "Clay and I are friends, that's all."

"But Clay would like to be more than just your friend." Karen stood and put her hands on her hips. "Clay Daniels is the most eligible bachelor in South Texas, and he adores you. Why don't you give him some encouragement, Sarah?"

"Because I respect him too much to lead him on." Sarah began to carry chairs across the patio. "How many people are coming to your picnic?" she asked, glad for a reason to change the subject.

Sarah thought of Karen's food-laden kitchen table. "And you have enough food for thirty people."

"Better safe than sorry," Karen declared. "We're going to discuss the annual banquet. That may take hours."

Reid's sudden appearance, carrying four six packs of beer and accompanied by his brother, Blake, brought the conversation to an abrupt halt.

"This is an unexpected pleasure." Karen bristled, as Blake followed Reid onto the patio.

"Blake decided to drive out for a visit," Reid said, obviously upset by Karen's reaction to Blake's unexpected appearance.

"So I see." Karen hurried past the two men, and sped toward the house. "Come along, Reid. You can help me make the potato salad."

Reid dumped the beer into the nearest chair and called after his wife, "Karen, wait."

"Maybe you should do as she says," Blake advised, as he folded his tall frame into a patio chair. "She looks like she might be the least bit angry." He pushed his hat back, and smiled. "You wouldn't want that, now would you?"

Ignoring Blake's taunting remark, Reid hurried toward the back door. "Don't leave," he called over his shoulder. "I want to talk to you, but I have to help Karen first." He moved across the patio, and toward the house.

Sarah rearranged plates and cups on the picnic table, as she stole a sidelong glance in Blake's direction. The keenness of his gaze made her turn her face away. "Karen is really a very nice person," she asserted, thinking that Blake couldn't have chosen a worse time to make an unexpected call. "You really should make an effort to get to know her a little better."

"Maybe you should take your own advise." Blake's voice scraped like sandpaper across Sarah's nerve ends. "If you got to know me a little better you might find that I'm a very nice person."

Disturbed that he had turned her own words against her, Sarah pivoted to stare up at the tall oaks that grew along the fence row of Karen's back yard. "I'm talking about you and Karen."

She could hear the smile in his voice. "And I'm talking about you and me." Putting his feet in the chair across from him, he let his appreciative eyes slide over Sarah's jeans-clad figure. "Why don't you give us both a break, and come down off your high horse? You and I have both been around long enough to know the score."

She turned to face him. The frankly admiring look in his eyes made her pulses flutter. Taking a deep breath, she clamped down on that unexpected emotion. "I don't care about the score. I don't even want to play the game."

Sarah's head snapped back. This egotistical cowboy was coming on to her. Did he think she had designs on him? She could soon disabuse him of that foolish notion. "Mr. Hamilton -"

"Hello," a voice called from across the patio as Karen and Reid reappeared with Douglas and Suzie Boswell in tow.

Douglas leered at Sarah, making her blood boil. Douglas had been trying to coax her into bed with him since the week after her return to Summerville. "Hi Sarah." Making an exaggerated bow over Sarah's hand, he kissed her finger tips.

Sarah pulled her hand away. Blake's blue eyes boring into her, coupled with Suzie's angry, "Really, Douglas," was too much. "I have work to do in the kitchen." Sarah bolted for the back door.

Once inside, she gripped the sides of the sink and stared out the window. The kitchen provided refuge, but there was no escape. Would men always think she was an easy mark? Would women always believe she was capable of stepping over the line with any man who showed an interest?

"You were too engrossed in your own thoughts." He came to stand beside her. "Problems?"

"Nothing I shouldn't be used to by now." Sarah walked toward the living room. "And nothing I can't handle."

"Another unkind remark?" Taking Sarah's hand, Clay led her to the couch. "Sit down and tell me what happened."

Clay was not a tall man, but he towered head and shoulders over Sarah. With one arm around her waist, he urged, "Tell me what happened. Maybe talking about it will help."

Sarah dropped onto the couch, and drew a deep breath. She couldn't tell Clay that Douglas Boswell had been harassing her for months, and over the past few weeks, that harassment had turned bitter and vindictive. "It's not worth telling."

Clay sat down beside her, and put his arm around the back of the couch. "Relax, my dear."

The temptation was too great. Sarah put her head on his shoulder, and relaxed in the warmth of his embrace.

Clay brushed a wisp of hair from her forehead as he made soothing sounds deep in his throat. "I suspect you're not as tough as you appear. You need someone to take care of you."

"I feel much better now." Sarah didn't want Clay to read encouragement into her need for his friendship. She tried to move away.

"Stay." Clay pulled her back into his arms. "You must learn to ignore the snide remarks of unfeeling people."

"Clay, you're a dear." And he was. Clay Daniels conjured up pictures in Sarah's mind of southern gentlemen wearing white suits, and broad brimmed hats, as they leisurely sipped mint juleps.

From the kitchen door, a rough voice boomed. "Karen needs your help, Sarah. She asked me to find you."

Sarah looked over Clay's shoulder and into the eyes of Blake Hamilton. She was astonished at the mocking resentment she saw there. "Thank you."

"What do you want me to do?" Sarah spread her hands in a helpless little gesture.

"Kill my brother-in-law." An acid tone crept into Karen's lowered voice. "Before he succeeds in turning this picnic into a disaster."

"Get him away from my boss," Karen whispered her exasperation. "He is hell bent on arguing with every thing Miles says."

"I'll try." Sarah wondered if Blake was behaving so abominably just to annoy Karen. She would like to have told him to go home, and not to come back again without an invitation. Instead, she came to stand beside Miles Weston as he argued with Blake about the merits of cross breeding dairy cattle. "Blake, I need your help."

Miles raised one eyebrow, as Blake remarked caustically, "You need me? What for?"

Sarah spoke the first words that came into her head. "I forgot to get crushed ice for the ice chests. Will you drive me to the convenience store?" It was a lame excuse, but it was the best she could manage on such short notice.

By now Miles had wandered away. Sarah breathed a sigh of relief. "I suppose I could." She wanted to keep Blake away from Miles, as long as possible. "But I hate to put dripping bags of ice in my car."

"Are you referring to Clay?" At least now, Blake was talking to Sarah, not arguing with Miles.

"I'm referring to the man you were making out with on the couch," Blake answered.

He was trying to make her angry. "The man's name is Clay Daniels. He's a member of the committee." Sarah forced herself to hold onto her temper. "He needs to be here. And he doesn't have a pickup."

"So I noticed." Blake lifted his hat, and brushed his fingers through his hair. "He's driving a Cadillac Coupe de Ville."

There seemed no point in asking again. Sarah began to walk away. Blake caught up to her as she was unlatching the front gate. "I'll drive you. Let's go."

Once inside his pickup, Blake glanced toward Sarah. "Will your boyfriend mind you leaving with me?"

"Boyfriend?" Was he trying to annoy her? "I haven't heard the word boyfriend since I was in high school." She placed her hand over her mouth to stifle what she hoped would pass for a bored yawn.

"Should I have asked if Clay Daniels will mind you leaving with me?" Blake changed lanes of traffic, and made a sharp right turn. "He's a very conservative man. I don't think he'll approve of me making off with his woman."

"You said you didn't know Mr. Daniels." Remembering the look on Blake's face the morning he had learned who she was, Sarah decided it would be a waste of her breath to try to explain the situation. "And I doubt that he would consider you a threat."

"I said I hadn't been introduced to Mr. Daniels. Everybody in Texas knows him by sight." He grinned, a silly lopsided smile that made him seem at once knowing and vulnerable. "You seem to know him very well."

"Clay and I are friends." Sarah stared out the pickup window at the passing traffic. "We work together."

Blake stopped for a red light. "I saw what good friends you are, and I understand. A man as rich and socially prominent as Clay Daniels doesn't come along every day of the week." His head swivelled to glare at her. On a burst of sudden, uncontrollable anger, he hissed, "Women like you irritate the hell out of me."

The fact that she had finally pierced that tight armor he wore, elated Sarah. "Women like me?" she questioned, too sweetly. "What have I done that could possibly irritate a strong, forceful he-man like you?"

Blake shifted gears, and the pickup lurched forward. "Forget it." He seemed to be struggling to gain control. "I was way out of line."

Did he think he could insult her, then calmly say forget it, and she would let the incident pass? "I don't want to forget it. I want you to apologize for that tasteless remark."

Braking his pickup in front of the convenience store, Blake let his eyes move from the top of Sarah's head to the tip of her custom made boots. "Don't try to be forceful, Sarah. It's not your style."

Sarah would have liked to slam out of the pickup, and walk away. Her goal was to keep Blake away from Karen's picnic as long as possible. Smiling, she scoffed, "What could you possibly know about style?"

He smiled back at her, that silly lopsided grin that now succeeded in infuriating her. Sarah struggled to keep the anger out of her voice. "What's so funny?"

"You are. Give it up. Style is just another word for technique. Your technique needs improving. A woman with your looks and experience doesn't have to get tough with a man to get what she wants." He reached across the short space that separated them and ran his forefinger across her lips.

It was such a tiny little contact, but little electric shocks danced along Sarah's face as his finger brushed her skin. Her reaction was so strong that any reply she might have made, vanished in the heat of her confusion. Pulling back, she slapped at his hand. "Don't touch me!"

"You shouldn't go around throwing out challenges, if you don't want me to call your bluff." His smile was smug. "You came here for ice, remember?"

His touch terrified her. The feel of his finger grazing her lips was like a jolt of electricity. With one hand over her mouth, she looked at him wide eyed, and shocked. "Yes, I . . . " Sarah walked away from the pickup, trying to salvage some shred of her dignity and recapture herself control.

She lingered in the store as long as she dared. When she returned, fifteen minutes later, followed by a store employee pushing a grocery cart holding several bags of crushed ice, Blake put his head out the window and asked, "Do you need any help?"

"No. Thank you." Sarah stood by as the young man put the bags in the back of the pickup. As he pushed the cart toward the store, she got in beside Blake, and fastened her seat belt. "I was a little longer than I thought I'd be."

"You were deliberately killing time. While you were wandering around inside a cool store, I've been sitting out here in a hot pickup." Pushing his hat back, Blake wiped perspiration from his forehead. "Did Karen put you up to this?" He turned the key in the ignition, and revved

He was too near the truth for comfort. "You are one suspicious man. Why would Karen do something like that?"

"Because she knows that I know the score." Blake looked over his shoulder, as he backed his pickup onto the street. "Unfortunately, my brother doesn't. That makes me a little overprotective of him."

"That's the most absurd thing I ever heard," Sarah said with acid disdain. "Just what do you think you're protecting Reid from?"

"From the pitfalls of marriage," Blake sneered, "I would assume that from personal experience you would know how dangerous it is for a man to cede too much power to a woman-" A sardonic smile touched the hard lines around his mouth.

Sarah bristled. "My personal life is none of your business. How dare you assume anything about me?"

"Oh, please, Sarah. You've done an excellent job of spreading the sordid details of your life over every newspaper and tabloid in Texas. It would be difficult for me not to know about your personal life." He spoke the barbed words with ruthless ease.

He was voicing public opinion, and he had every reason to believe what he said was true. She was being foolish, but Sarah felt a need to explain. "What you read in the tabloids was a far cry from what actually happened. I made a mistake, and I . . ."

"And you what?" Blake wheeled his pickup into Karen's drive, and hit the brakes with a vengeance.

"And I am still paying for it." Sarah's chin lifted. She didn't owe Blake Hamilton an explanation, not about anything.

"We all pay for our mistakes, one way or another, we all pay." Blake pulled his keys from the ignition. "See if you can find someone to unload my pickup."

Why had she even bothered trying to explain? "We can carry some of the bags as we go in." Sarah got out of the pickup, slammed the door, then lifted one wet bag from the back of the truck, and walked toward the house.

As they came up the walk, Douglas Boswell appeared in the doorway. "Let me help you, honey." He shot Blake a contemptuous look.

Sarah dumped the bag into Douglas's arms. "There are several more bags in the back of Blake's pickup. Will you see that they're unloaded?"

The meal was eaten with gusto and amid heated controversy. Clay was the choice of five of the Committee of Seven to receive the prestigious Citizen of The Year award to be given at the upcoming banquet. Clay refused to cast a vote, and Suzie Boswell, at the behest of her interfering husband, cast the one dissenting ballot.

Tiffany Weston was furious. "It is not imperative that we have consensus from the Committee," She flung a wrathful look toward Douglas, "but it would be so much better if we could."

Looking from Douglas to Tiffany, Suzie stammered, "I don't know, Tiffany. Douglas thinks - "

"Douglas isn't a member of this committee." Tiffany's voice snapped with unconcealed hostility.

Sarah slipped through the side gate and walked toward Karen's front porch. The setting sun was splaying the western sky with fingers of iridescent pink and flaming gold.

Sitting on the steps of the porch, Sarah tossed pebbles toward the picket fence. She smiled each time a pebble struck a picket. Pulling her knees under her chin, she wrapped her arms around her legs and gazed into space. Day's end always stirred old memories. "The moving finger has written, and moved on," she reminded herself. "Neither piety nor tears . . ."

"Talking to yourself?" Sarah looked up to see Douglas Boswell standing directly in front

"Remembering." She stiffened with anxiety. She didn't want to be alone with Douglas.

"I could help you forget, Sarah, If you'd give me half a chance." Douglas came down beside her with startling speed.

Douglas followed, grabbed her in a tight embrace, and buried his face in her hair. "An unhappily married man. Suzie doesn't understand me."

"That's the oldest line in the world." Very carefully, Sarah pushed back. Fragments of half-forgotten memories crowded into her mind. It would not be wise to openly defy him.

"Come on, little girl. I have what a lonely widow lady like you needs." Douglas's hands were hot on her back.

His unwelcome embrace focused and intensified those terrifying memories. Sudden panic impelled Sarah toward a desperate bid for freedom. "No!" her voice rose."Let me go!" She shoved her hands into Douglas's chest.

A deep voice sounded from the end of the porch. "The lady says no, Boswell. Let her go."

Douglas stopped his unwelcome advances and stood to face the owner of that deep voice.

Standing, Sarah pushed her shirt tail into her jeans. She could imagine what kind of spin Blake would put on what he had just witnessed. "Thank you," She murmured stiffly, then shoved her shaking hands into the pockets of her jeans.

For some reason she couldn't explain, it did. She called after him,"Yes, very much."

"Thank you, again." Sarah dropped her eyes. She wasn't sure what she was thanking him for. "Goodbye, Blake."

Sarah watched until the pickup disappeared around a bend in the road before she moved toward the back yard, and the still arguing Committee of Seven.

The banquet honoring the citizen of the year was the social event of the summer season in Summerville. Always highly advertised and widely touted, it promised to be more spectacular this year than ever before.

The Committee of Seven, after several heated and intense arguments, announced the Citizen-of-The-Year Award would be presented to Clay Daniels for his tireless personal efforts and his sizeable monetary contributions to the building and maintaining of Summerville's City Library.

Holding up a long, very elegant green gown for Sarah's inspection, Karen asked, "How do you like my new dress?"

Sarah sat cross-legged on Karen's living room carpet, counting banquet tickets. "Hold on a minute. I'm counting."

"How many tickets do we have left?" Karen carefully draped her dress over a chair.

"Do you want to ride to the banquet with Reid and me?" Karen perched on the arm of the chair. "We'd be glad to come by for you."

"I'm going with Clay." Sarah laid the box of tickets aside, as her incredibly long lashes fell to cover her eyes.

"You finally agreed to go out with Clay?" Karen struck her forehead with the heel of her hand. "That will start tongues wagging all over Summerville."

That was exactly what Sarah feared would happen. "I know, but all the same, I've decided it's time I got on with my life."

"I suppose Clay was as surprised as I am." Karen pushed her dress aside and sat down in the chair. "He's asked you out a dozen times in the last few months, and you've always said no."

"I hope I'm not doing the wrong thing by accepting now." Sarah had refused go out with Clay because she didn't want to spoil their friendship. If being seen with the notorious Sarah Scott threatened to mar Clay's impeccable public image, he might began to feel differently about her. "I've warned him what to expect."

"Who would dare insult the scion of the Daniels dynasty?" Karen's eyes widened. "No one in Summerville would chance offending Clay, and you know it."

"John?" Karen asked apprehensively. "Are you still afraid he'll start stalking you again?"

"That's always a possibility." Sarah's fingers dug into the soft pile of the carpet. "I don't dare let down my guard."

"He doesn't even know where you are." Karen made a nervous little gesture with her hands as she tagged her question with a breathy, "Does he?"

"I don't know. But reporters from San Antonio will be at the banquet." An old dread was threatening to pull Sarah into its undertow. "Sarah Scott in the company of Clay Daniels. Can you imagine what kind of tabloid headlines that would make?"

Leaning forward in her chair, Karen asked, "Have you explained all this to Clay?"

"I told him some, not all." Sarah sighed. "I told him John had been released from prison." She picked up the box of tickets, and fumbled through its contents. "Should I count the remaining tickets?"

"You should put that box down, and tell me what you told Clay." Karen's voice held genuine concern. "Does he know how John once stalked you for months on end?"

Sarah hid her fear behind a pensive frown. "If I told Clay that, he'd ask all sorts of questions." Clay respected her, held her in high esteem. He was one of the few people who did. "Questions I don't care to answer." She couldn't chance destroying that regard by telling him sordid details from her past. Neither did she want to explain to Karen the selfish reason for her silence. "I don't want to talk about John."

"Then we won't." Karen's smile was meant to be reassuring. "I don't think you have to worry. John is no fool. He wouldn't dare began harassing you again."

You don't know him, Sarah thought. You don't have an inkling of what he's capable of doing. Aloud, she asked, "Did you buy shoes to go with your dress?"

"Not yet." Karen extended her hand in Sarah's direction. "Let me have four more tickets. I want two for Reid's parents and two for his brother."

"You're buying banquet tickets for Blake?" Sarah's hand halted in midair. "You don't even like the man."

"Reid's father is buying the tickets. I could hardly tell him that I would just as soon his older son didn't put in an appearance. I can only hope that Blake's too busy doing whatever he does to show up."

"So you are still at odds with Reid's brother?" Sarah put the tickets in Karen's upturned palm.

"Yes, and it's not apt to get any better. He's a trouble maker. He enjoys creating discord between Reid and me." Karen laid the tickets beside her new dress.

Sarah had to agree. "I hate to think that's so, but after seeing him in action the day of the picnic, I have to believe it."

"He thinks," Karen put her hands on her hips and turned her head to one side, "and this is a quote, that I, 'have too much influence over Reid'."

"Did he say that to Reid?" Sarah thought that was an unkind assessment, at best.

"The best way to fend off unkind remarks is to ignore them." Sarah stood and dusted her hands across the back of her jeans. "It works for me most of the time."

With a shrug, Karen said, "Enough of that unpleasant subject, also. Tell me what you're going to wear to the dance."

"Clay likes me in purple. He says it matches my eyes. My mauve formal will do fine."

One week later, clad in that svelte creation, Sarah braced herself, as she entered the banquet hall on Clay's arm, and well she should have. Every eye in the hall turned toward the handsome couple, as they stepped through the wide entrance way.

Nodding, Clay waved back, then began to thread his way through the crowd. "This way." Seemingly oblivious to the stares and whispers that greeted them along the way, he led Sarah to the table, and helped her into a chair. Then, with a polite nod, excused himself. "I'm expected on the speakers' dias." Dropping a kiss on Sarah's cheek, he promised, "I'll be back soon."

Sarah settled in her chair and scanned the faces around the table. Blake Hamilton had made it to the banquet after all. By his side sat a lovely dark-haired young woman. The elder Hamiltons were the ones who were conspicuous by their absence.

Introductions were made. The woman's name was Linda Webster. If she recognized Sarah, she gave no sign. "Hi." She smiled in Sarah's direction.

Linda was seated next to Tiffany Weston who barely nodded in Sara's direction. Miles Weston sat on the other side of his wife. He favored Sarah with a cool and brief, "Hi." Douglas and Suzie Boswell made up the remainder of the group. Doug-as ignored Sarah completely. Suzie's unkind comment was lost in the chill that hung like a malediction in the tense atmosphere.

She had certainly put a damper on the party. Leaning near Karen, Sarah whispered, "I should sit somewhere else."

Drawing a deep breath, Tiffany gritted through clenched teeth, "The problem is, our mayor is an idiot!"

With infuriating smugness, Douglas declared, "I didn't select the keynote speaker for the banquet, the City Council did."

"You damn well sanctioned their choice!" Tiffany's voice rose, then fell as she noticed couples at the adjoining tables beginning to stare.

Miles laid his hand on his wife's arm. "Tiffany, please, let it be. This is not the place for a scene."

Tiffany snatched her arm away, and lowered her voice. "Don't you, 'Tiffany, please', me. Douglas did this to embarrass The Committee." Leaning across the table, she wagged her finger in Douglas's face. "You bastard. You know Markum's history and how obsessed he is with that -" She shot Sarah a disparaging look. "Woman!"

"Tiffany, please." Miles caught his wife's arm. "Don't borrow trouble. Markum has paid his debt to society. He taught adult education classes while he was in prison and has become quite an authority on adult illiteracy, and ways to fight it. Why don't we give the man the

"Borrowing trouble am I?" Tiffany asked, as a smug I-told-you-so look contorted her pretty face. "Markum is looking daggers this way. What happens if he decides to come down here and start his hell raising all over again?"

Miles calm was slowly replaced by uncertainty as he stared toward the speakers' dais. "Do you think there's some danger?"

Sarah couldn't bring herself to follow Miles's troubled gaze. A rope of fear was uncoiling in the pit of her stomach, and climbing slowly upward. Douglas Boswell had found a way to avenge himself on her for her refusal to sleep with him. She should have known, after what happened the day of Karen's picnic, that he would retaliate. "I can't stay here," she whispered through dry lips.

Karen paled as she rounded on Douglas with a vengeance. "You invited John Markum here?"

Tiffany snorted, "The illustrious mayor of Summerville asked him to be the keynote speaker."

Douglas ran his finger around his stiff shirt collar. "John Markum has a lot to say about the importance of literacy in relation to crime prevention. His appearance was supposed to be a surprise, but Suzie here," he nodded toward his wife, "blabbed to Tiffany."

Karen vaulted to her feet. "Even if what you say is true, Douglas, that's not why you asked John Markum to speak here tonight. If you think you can justify such a malicious act, Tiffany is right, you are an idiot." She scanned the large hall. "I have to help Sarah get out of here."

Reid half rose. Karen pushed him back down into his chair. "One of us should stay here. I'll take Sarah to . . ."

Reid tried to shrug Karen's hand away. "I'm not about to let you and Sarah leave here without me."

"And have John Markum follow you?" Reid's eyes darted around the table, and came to rest on the set face of his older brother. "Blake, will you take Sarah home?"

"Not home," Karen interjected. "Take her to San Antonio. She can check into a hotel. I'll pick her up tomorrow."

A disapproving frown pulled Blake's heavy brows together. "She came with Mr. Daniels, maybe she should leave with him."

Karen was adamant. "Is everybody here crazy? If we call Clay back down here, John will follow him, and I hate to think what the consequences could be."

Reid leaned across the table, a note of desperation in his voice. "Please, Blake."

Linda shrugged her shoulders. "Go ahead, this seems to be an emergency. I'm sure someone here will see that I get home."

Tiffany gave Douglas a withering glance, "I will be happy to take you home, Miss Webster." then favored Blake with one of her rare smiles."The Committee would be eternally grateful to you, Mr. Hamilton, for coming to its rescue."

Karen's agitated voice cut into the conversation. "Will the lot of you shut up?" She sat back down. "People are staring. Blake, get Sarah out of here or I will."

Sarah stood and pushed her chair back. "All this fuss is unnecessary. I don't need an escort. I can call a cab to take me home."

"Not on your life!" Karen inserted fiercely. "Home is the last place you should go."

"Will somebody do something?" Tiffany ground out, "Before there's a scene right here at my banquet."

Standing, Blake pushed his chair under the table and nodded in Sarah's direction, "Let's go."

He would have been hard pressed to say no, Sarah thought, as she followed him to the back entrance of the hall, out the emergency exit and toward his pickup.

Blake unlocked his truck and slid into the driver's seat, then leaning across opened the other door. "Get in."

Sarah lifted her skirt, and climbed into the pickup. She glanced over her shoulder to make sure they hadn't been followed, then huddled in the far corner of the seat. "Let's get out of here."

Blake put his key into the ignition. "Fasten your seat belt." The truck's engine sputtered to life. "Where to?"

Sarah's entire body tightened as she drew a deep breath. "Take me home. I can drive myself to some safe place."

"You're in no condition to drive yourself anywhere. And I promised my brother I'd take you to a San Antonio." Gears clashed as Blake made a donut turn and sped from the parking lot. "Will you please fasten your seat belt?"

Remembering Blake's statement about Karen having too much influence over Reid, Sarah tactfully refrained from calling his attention to his mistake. Over the click of her seat belt, she said, "I'm sorry I took you away from the banquet."

Blake swung the pickup onto the interstate. Turning briefly, he smiled at her. "Don't be. It promised to be a very boring evening."

There seemed to be no polite answer to that statement. Sarah lapsed into morose silence. An involuntary shudder shook her. John had been within striking distance again! She closed her eyes against a fear that numbed her heart and threatened her sanity.

Blake drove swiftly, but carefully. They sped along for several miles in without speaking. As they neared the city limits of San Antonio, he broke the strained silence by asking, "Where to, lady?" His fingers moved restlessly around the steering wheel, as his eyes once again, cut in Sarah's direction. "Down town? Up town? Across town?"

Lost to everything but her present trauma, Sarah was as oblivious to his voice as she was to the other sights and sounds around her.

Sarah was struggling with sense-rending emotions. As she tried to pull her thoughts back from the brink of terror, Her mind moved from fear, to become a total blank.

His sharp command cracked the air and brought Sarah back from the confides of a black void. She blinked. "I'm sorry, what did you say?"

"I asked where you wanted to go." He pulled his eyes from the road long enough to scan her pinched face. "Are you sure you're all right?"

"I will be." Sarah dragged her thoughts back to the present. "You can take me downtown to the Marriot Hotel. But first I need a tooth-brush." She glanced down at her tight formal. "I could use a robe and slippers, but I suppose that's too much to ask."

Sarah wanted to believe she detected a note of softness in that deep voice. She studied the grave profile of the man beside her. There was nothing soft about his appearance. His face was a composite of hard lines and straight angles. Yet, he was making an effort to be considerate. Maybe she'd been assessing him too harshly. She thought, with a touch of irony, that it wouldn't be the first time she'd misjudged a man.

He seemed to have read her thoughts. "Give me a break. I can be a nice guy, sometimes." Slowing his pickup, he exited the freeway and drove onto an access road, then confounded her completely by saying, "You can't run forever, you know."

How many times had she slammed up against that same brick wall of truth? "I know."

What she had thought was compassion had been no more than morbid curiosity. Turning her head, Sarah compressed her lips and stared out the window.

After a long moment of silence, one side of Blake's mouth turned up in a caustic half-smile. "Taming fear is like riding a bucking bronco." Turning off the access road, he pulled onto a crowded street. "You win if you can hang on long enough."

Sarah scorched him with a hostile gaze. Everything with this man was concrete and physical. She turned her eyes to the road in front of them.

The lights of the city loomed before them, glittering against the backdrop of an ebony sky. Blake drove down Military Drive until he found an all-night convenience store. Pulling into the parking lot, he stopped his pickup and folded his arms across his chest. "I'll wait."

Sarah opened the door and got out of the truck. As her feet touched the pavement, a million pin pricks of pain stabbed the back of her eyes and danced through the top of her head. The pain sharpened and became more intense as she sank slowly into the arms of oblivion.

Just as slowly, just as painfully, the fog that had enveloped her brain began to lift. From far away someone was calling her name. "Sarah! Sarah! Can you hear me?" With consciousness came remembrance. Opening her eyes, she grimaced. "What happened?"

She was seated, once more, in Blake's truck, with him standing beside the open pickup door looking concerned, or was it frightened? "You fainted. But you're all right now, aren't you?" He sounded anything but sure.

"I'm all right," Tiny pin pricks of pain still punctured her scalp and ran down the back of her neck. Feeling vulnerable and more than a little foolish, she leaned her head against the back of the seat and confessed, sheepishly, "I haven't eaten today."

Blake shook his head in disapproval, then closed the door. "I'll go to the store for you. What do you want?"

Raising her head, Sarah rubbed the back of her neck with her hand. "A tooth-brush, and a robe, and some slippers." As he turned to go, she called after him. "Thank you."

Blake returned several minutes later, carrying a small paper bag. "One tooth-brush. It's the best I could do." Without another word, he heaved his body into his truck, and sped from the parking lot.

Once again, Blake made a sharp turn, this time off Military Drive and onto the tree-lined street of a quiet residential neighborhood.

"That's not necessary." Even though she protested, his unexpected gesture of kindness touched her deeply. "And it would be an imposition."

Blake's eyes never left the road. "Don't argue. It's settled." The words, for all their bluntness, carried a note of comfort and assurance.

"Sure you can." He frowned. "You're in no condition to be alone." Pulling his pickup into the drive way of a modest three bedroom house, Blake stopped the engine, and set the brake. "This is my castle."

Once inside, Sarah sat in a kitchen chair, and drew a tremendous sigh of relief. At least temporarily, she was out of harm's way.

"I'll be right back." Blake disappeared down the hall, and returned a few minutes later, carrying a faded and battered terry cloth robe. Handing it to Sarah, he pointed toward a door at the end of the hall. "The bathroom's that way. While you change, I'll see about scrounging up

Twenty minutes later, Sarah reappeared at the kitchen door. "Something smells delicious." She had showered, and shampooed her hair, but she couldn't wash away those sordid old memories.

"It's my specialty, cheese omelet." Blake was studying her with an appraising frown.

"I like omeletes and I love cheese." Pulling the belt of the outsized robe more securely around her, Sarah asked, "You did mean for me to wear this?"

"Sure. why?" He stood, holding a spatula in his hand, with his mouth slightly open.

Blake's mouth snapped shut. He pointed the spatula toward to the kitchen table. "The omelete's ready, and I made coffee. Sit down."

Sarah sat, put her elbows on the table, and let her eyes scan the modern kitchen. It was plain almost austere, with none of the amenities that make a house a home. Dirty dishes were stacked in the sink. The trash basket was full to overflowing. One cabinet door swung open. "Have

"Not long. I'm just a sloppy housekeeper. Running my club takes most of my time." Blake set a plate of food before her. "Eat."

Sarah savored the omelette to the last bite, then pushed her plate back, stretched, and yawned.

Blake was still staring at her with the oddest expression on his face. "Would you like to go to bed now?"

The implications of his words hit Sarah before they were out of his mouth. Sitting up, she clutched the neck of her oversized robe. "I beg your pardon!"

Blake looked more amused than embarrassed. "I mean I can show you to the spare bedroom." Laughter lit the blue of his eyes, pulled at the corners of his mouth. "That's all I meant, relax, if you can."

That was the problem, she couldn't relax. Sarah doubted that she would sleep this night. "I'm still a little up tight. I need some time to unwind."

Blake was stacking more dishes in the sink. With a wave of his hand, he invited, "Sit anywhere you'd like."

If she had thought she would escape him by leaving the room, she was mistaken. Blake was close on her heels as she hurried from the kitchen to the living room.

"You don't have to stay with me." Sarah pushed aside an untidy stack of magazines and newspapers, and sat on the couch. "I don't mind being alone."

Blake leaned against the door frame and gazed at her. "You're still a bundle of nerves. Get over it. John Markum is miles away. You're safe now."

So long as John Markum walked on this earth, Sarah would not be safe. "This is not your problem. Go to bed and leave me alone"

Coming across the room, Blake eased into a chair across from her. "How long have you had all this fear and confusion locked up inside you?"

"I don't want to talk about it." Just like every one else, he wanted to pry into all the disagreeable details of her past. Did he think because he had shown her a little kindness, that he had the right to ask personal questions? Her nostrils flared. "I don't discuss my private

His sympathy converted to ironic amusement. "You are one touchy female. I don't give a damn about your personal life. I thought it might help if you talked about your unreasonable fear of John Markum."

Sarah was set to protest. Second thoughts made her reconsider. To some degree, she supposed, all fear was unreasonable. "I don't think you'd understand."

A residue of amusement glittered in the blue of his eyes. "I'm reasonably bright. Try me."

"Because," she said, hoping to shock him into silence, "in many ways you're like John."

"Why you. . ." Some strange emotion flitted across his face, then as quickly as it appeared, he subdued it. "You don't even know me."

"But I know about you. For years you were a bronc rider. That's a violent sport."

The look in his eyes, the grave expression on his face sent a shiver down Sarah's backbone. She licked her lips. "Aren't you?"

Brushing at the thin line of perspiration that beaded his upper lip, Blake let his eyes scan her face, then slide to her breasts. "Not always."

It was not the answer she had expected. To cover her confusion Sarah said, with a hint of irony, "Maybe you're human after all."

His eyes met hers, and held them in a hard stare. "As human as John Markum? Five years in prison and he's still out of control where you're concerned."

Her brow wrinkled in disbelief. "Is that what you think? You couldn't be more wrong. John's not out of control, he's obsessed."

As if wearied by the continued bandying of words, Blake asked almost contemptuously, "Why don't you get a restraining order against the man and be done with it?"

Sarah shook her head. "A legal paper would make no difference to John. He's a law unto himself. He abducted me once, I live in fear that he will do it again."

"You say he abducted you." Blake raised a skeptical eyebrow. "He says you went willingly."

A month ago he didn't even know who she was. Now he was authority on what had happened between her and John? "Who have you been talking to?"

Blake lifted one shoulder in an indifferent shrug. "I went to the library, and read some old newspaper accounts. You could have pressed charges then, and you didn't. Why?"

He was asking personal questions again, prying where he had no business. "Press charges?" Her voice snapped with hostility. "I was in jail. So was John. What would have been the point of pressing charges?"

Blake seemed genuinely surprised by her angry response. "I didn't intend to upset you. I'm sorry I asked."

She moved uncomfortably under his compassionate stare. His sympathy was more unwelcome than his prying questions. "You should be. Butt out, cowboy."

"Don't." That, Sarah reasoned, should put an end to this painful conversation. She shifted and tucked one leg under her. "Good night, Blake."

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