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pasture. It borders on both of theirs."
"Oh. Everybody says she's very pretty."
"So she is. But Dawson won't have anything to do with women in a
romantic way, and Powell is playing her along."
'' I heard that he was talking marriage.''
"Did you?" He frowned. "Well... that's surprising."
"Mrs. Jameson said his daughter ran away when she thought he was
going to marry Mrs. Holton."
Her father shook his head. "I'm not surprised. That child doesn't get along
with anyone. She'll end up in jail one day if he doesn't keep a better eye on
her."
She traced a pattern in the black crepe purse that matched her dress. "I
haven't been quite fair to her," she confessed. "She's so much like Sally." She
grimaced. "She must miss her.''
"I doubt it. Her mother left her with any available baby-sitter and stayed
on the road until the drinking started taking its toll on her. She never was
much of a driver. That's probably why she went into the river."
Into the river. Antonia remembered hearing about the accident on the news.
Powell had been rich enough that Sally's tragic death made headlines. She'd
felt sorry for him, but she hadn't gone to the funeral. There was no point.
She and Sally had been enemies for so long. For so long.
The sound of a car in the driveway interrupted her musings. She got up
and reached the door just as Powell knocked.
She felt embarrassed when she saw how he was dressed. He was wearing
jeans and a flannel shirt with a heavy denim jacket and old boots. If she was
surprised, so was he. She looked very elegant in that black dress and the dark
leather coat she wore with it.
His face drew in sharply at the sight of her, because even in her depleted
condition, she took his breath away.
"I'm running late." She improvised to explain the way she was dressed.
"I've just now come back from town," she lied, red faced. "I'll hurry and
change and be ready in a jiffy. Dad can talk to you while I get ready. I'm
sorry...!"
She dashed back into the bedroom and closed the door. She could have
died of shame. So much for her dreams of the sort of date they'd once shared.
He was dressed for a cup of coffee and a sandwich at a fast-food joint, and
here she was rigged out for a restaurant. She should have asked him where
they were going in the first place, and not tried to second-guess him!
She quickly changed into jeans and a sweatshirt and put her hair up in its
usual bun. At least the jeans fit her better than the dress, she thought dryly.
Powell stared after her and grimaced. "I had an emergency on the ranch
with a calving heifer," he murmured. "I didn't realize she'd be dressed up, so I
didn't think about changing "
"Don't make it worse," her father said curtly. "Spare her pride and go
along with what she said."
He sighed heavily. "I never do the right thing, say the right thing." His dark
eyes were narrow and sad. "She's the one who was hurt the most, and I just
keep right on adding to the pain."
Ben Hayes was surprised at the remark, but he had no love for Powell
Long. He couldn't forget the torment the man had caused his daughter, nor
what Antonia had said about Powell using his influence to open financial
doors for him. All Powell's pretended concern for his health hadn't changed
what he thought of the man. And tonight his contempt knew no bounds. He
hated seeing Antonia embarrassed like that.
"Don't keep her out long," Ben said coldly. "She isn't well."
Powell's eyes cut around to meet the older man's. "What's wrong with
her?" he asked.
"Her mother's barely been dead a year," he reminded him. "Antonia misses
her a lot."
"She's lost weight, hasn't she?" he asked Ben.
Ben shifted in the chair. "She'll pick back up, now that she's home." He
glared at Powell. "Don't hurt her again, boy," he said evenly. "If you want to
talk to her about your daughter, fine. But don't expect anything. She's still
raw about the past, and I don't blame her. You were wrong and you wouldn't
listen. But she's the one who had to leave town."
Powell's jaw went taut. He stared at the older man with eyes that glittered,
and he didn't reply.
It was a tense silence that Antonia walked back into. Her father looked
angry, and Powell looked.. .odd.
"I'm ready," she said, sliding into her leather coat.
Powell nodded. "We'll go to Ted's Truck Stop. It's open all night and he
serves good coffee,' if that suits you."
She read an insult into the remark, and flushed. "I told you I was dressed
up because I'd just come back from town," she began. "Ted's suits me fine."
He was stunned by the way she emphasized that, until he realized what
he'd said. He turned on his heel and opened the front door for her. "Let's go,"
he said.
She told her father goodbye and went through the door. Powell closed it
behind them, shutting them in the cold, snowy night. A metallic gold Mercedes-
Benz was sitting in the driveway, not the four-wheel-drive vehicle he usually
drove. Although it had chains to get through snow and ice, it was a luxury car
and a far cry from the battered old pickup truck Powell had driven when
they'd been engaged.
Flakes of snow fell heavily on the windshield as he drove the mile down the
highway to Ted's, which was a bar and grill, just outside the Bighorn city limits.
Ted sold beer and wine and good food, but Antonia had never been inside the
place before. It wasn't considered a socially respectable place, and she
wondered if Powell had a reason for taking her there. Perhaps he was trying
to emphasize the fact that this wasn't a routine date. It was to be a business
discussion, but he didn't want to take her anyplace where they might be
recognized. So if that was the case, maybe he really was serious about the
widow Holton after all. It made her sad, even though she knew she had no
future with him, or with anyone.
"You're quiet," he remarked as he pulled up in the almost deserted parking
lot. It was early for Ted's sort of trade, although a couple of tractor trailers
were sitting apart in the lot.
"I suppose so," she replied.
He felt the unease about her, the muted sadness. He felt guilty about
bringing her here. She'd dressed up for him, and he'd slapped her down
unintentionally. He hadn't even considered that she might think of this as a
date. She was as sensitive now as she had been at eighteen.
He went around the car to open her door, but she was already out of it and
standing in the snow when he got there. She joined him at the fender and
walked toward the bar. Her sneakers were getting wet and the snow was deep
enough that it leaked in past her socks, but it didn't matter. She was so
miserable already that cold feet just seemed to go with her general mood.
Powell noticed, though, and his lips compressed. It was already a bust of an
evening, and it was his own damn fault.
They sat down in a booth and the waitress, a big brunette named Darla,
smiled and handed them a menu.
"Just coffee for me," Antonia said with a quiet smile.
Powell's eyes flashed. "I brought you here for a meal," he reminded her
firmly.
She evaded his angry eyes. "I'll have a bowl of chili, then. And coffee."
He ordered steak and salad and coffee and handed the menu back to the
waitress. He couldn't remember a time when he'd felt as helpless, or as
ashamed.
"You need more than that," he said softly.
The tone of his voice brought back too many memories. They'd gone out to
eat very rarely in the old days, in his old Ford pickup truck with the torn
seat and broken dash. A hamburger had been a treat, but it was being
together that had made their dates perfect. They'd wolf down their food and
then drive out to the pasture near Powell's house. He'd shut off the engine
and turn to her, and she'd go into his arms like a homing pigeon.
She could still taste those hot, deep, passionate kisses they'd shared so
hungrily. It was amazing that he'd had the restraint to keep their dates
innocent. She'd rushed headlong into desire with no self-preservation at all, [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
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pasture. It borders on both of theirs."
"Oh. Everybody says she's very pretty."
"So she is. But Dawson won't have anything to do with women in a
romantic way, and Powell is playing her along."
'' I heard that he was talking marriage.''
"Did you?" He frowned. "Well... that's surprising."
"Mrs. Jameson said his daughter ran away when she thought he was
going to marry Mrs. Holton."
Her father shook his head. "I'm not surprised. That child doesn't get along
with anyone. She'll end up in jail one day if he doesn't keep a better eye on
her."
She traced a pattern in the black crepe purse that matched her dress. "I
haven't been quite fair to her," she confessed. "She's so much like Sally." She
grimaced. "She must miss her.''
"I doubt it. Her mother left her with any available baby-sitter and stayed
on the road until the drinking started taking its toll on her. She never was
much of a driver. That's probably why she went into the river."
Into the river. Antonia remembered hearing about the accident on the news.
Powell had been rich enough that Sally's tragic death made headlines. She'd
felt sorry for him, but she hadn't gone to the funeral. There was no point.
She and Sally had been enemies for so long. For so long.
The sound of a car in the driveway interrupted her musings. She got up
and reached the door just as Powell knocked.
She felt embarrassed when she saw how he was dressed. He was wearing
jeans and a flannel shirt with a heavy denim jacket and old boots. If she was
surprised, so was he. She looked very elegant in that black dress and the dark
leather coat she wore with it.
His face drew in sharply at the sight of her, because even in her depleted
condition, she took his breath away.
"I'm running late." She improvised to explain the way she was dressed.
"I've just now come back from town," she lied, red faced. "I'll hurry and
change and be ready in a jiffy. Dad can talk to you while I get ready. I'm
sorry...!"
She dashed back into the bedroom and closed the door. She could have
died of shame. So much for her dreams of the sort of date they'd once shared.
He was dressed for a cup of coffee and a sandwich at a fast-food joint, and
here she was rigged out for a restaurant. She should have asked him where
they were going in the first place, and not tried to second-guess him!
She quickly changed into jeans and a sweatshirt and put her hair up in its
usual bun. At least the jeans fit her better than the dress, she thought dryly.
Powell stared after her and grimaced. "I had an emergency on the ranch
with a calving heifer," he murmured. "I didn't realize she'd be dressed up, so I
didn't think about changing "
"Don't make it worse," her father said curtly. "Spare her pride and go
along with what she said."
He sighed heavily. "I never do the right thing, say the right thing." His dark
eyes were narrow and sad. "She's the one who was hurt the most, and I just
keep right on adding to the pain."
Ben Hayes was surprised at the remark, but he had no love for Powell
Long. He couldn't forget the torment the man had caused his daughter, nor
what Antonia had said about Powell using his influence to open financial
doors for him. All Powell's pretended concern for his health hadn't changed
what he thought of the man. And tonight his contempt knew no bounds. He
hated seeing Antonia embarrassed like that.
"Don't keep her out long," Ben said coldly. "She isn't well."
Powell's eyes cut around to meet the older man's. "What's wrong with
her?" he asked.
"Her mother's barely been dead a year," he reminded him. "Antonia misses
her a lot."
"She's lost weight, hasn't she?" he asked Ben.
Ben shifted in the chair. "She'll pick back up, now that she's home." He
glared at Powell. "Don't hurt her again, boy," he said evenly. "If you want to
talk to her about your daughter, fine. But don't expect anything. She's still
raw about the past, and I don't blame her. You were wrong and you wouldn't
listen. But she's the one who had to leave town."
Powell's jaw went taut. He stared at the older man with eyes that glittered,
and he didn't reply.
It was a tense silence that Antonia walked back into. Her father looked
angry, and Powell looked.. .odd.
"I'm ready," she said, sliding into her leather coat.
Powell nodded. "We'll go to Ted's Truck Stop. It's open all night and he
serves good coffee,' if that suits you."
She read an insult into the remark, and flushed. "I told you I was dressed
up because I'd just come back from town," she began. "Ted's suits me fine."
He was stunned by the way she emphasized that, until he realized what
he'd said. He turned on his heel and opened the front door for her. "Let's go,"
he said.
She told her father goodbye and went through the door. Powell closed it
behind them, shutting them in the cold, snowy night. A metallic gold Mercedes-
Benz was sitting in the driveway, not the four-wheel-drive vehicle he usually
drove. Although it had chains to get through snow and ice, it was a luxury car
and a far cry from the battered old pickup truck Powell had driven when
they'd been engaged.
Flakes of snow fell heavily on the windshield as he drove the mile down the
highway to Ted's, which was a bar and grill, just outside the Bighorn city limits.
Ted sold beer and wine and good food, but Antonia had never been inside the
place before. It wasn't considered a socially respectable place, and she
wondered if Powell had a reason for taking her there. Perhaps he was trying
to emphasize the fact that this wasn't a routine date. It was to be a business
discussion, but he didn't want to take her anyplace where they might be
recognized. So if that was the case, maybe he really was serious about the
widow Holton after all. It made her sad, even though she knew she had no
future with him, or with anyone.
"You're quiet," he remarked as he pulled up in the almost deserted parking
lot. It was early for Ted's sort of trade, although a couple of tractor trailers
were sitting apart in the lot.
"I suppose so," she replied.
He felt the unease about her, the muted sadness. He felt guilty about
bringing her here. She'd dressed up for him, and he'd slapped her down
unintentionally. He hadn't even considered that she might think of this as a
date. She was as sensitive now as she had been at eighteen.
He went around the car to open her door, but she was already out of it and
standing in the snow when he got there. She joined him at the fender and
walked toward the bar. Her sneakers were getting wet and the snow was deep
enough that it leaked in past her socks, but it didn't matter. She was so
miserable already that cold feet just seemed to go with her general mood.
Powell noticed, though, and his lips compressed. It was already a bust of an
evening, and it was his own damn fault.
They sat down in a booth and the waitress, a big brunette named Darla,
smiled and handed them a menu.
"Just coffee for me," Antonia said with a quiet smile.
Powell's eyes flashed. "I brought you here for a meal," he reminded her
firmly.
She evaded his angry eyes. "I'll have a bowl of chili, then. And coffee."
He ordered steak and salad and coffee and handed the menu back to the
waitress. He couldn't remember a time when he'd felt as helpless, or as
ashamed.
"You need more than that," he said softly.
The tone of his voice brought back too many memories. They'd gone out to
eat very rarely in the old days, in his old Ford pickup truck with the torn
seat and broken dash. A hamburger had been a treat, but it was being
together that had made their dates perfect. They'd wolf down their food and
then drive out to the pasture near Powell's house. He'd shut off the engine
and turn to her, and she'd go into his arms like a homing pigeon.
She could still taste those hot, deep, passionate kisses they'd shared so
hungrily. It was amazing that he'd had the restraint to keep their dates
innocent. She'd rushed headlong into desire with no self-preservation at all, [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]