Desperado

“Our lives are intertwined. You can’t break an eighteen-year bond just like that,” he pointed out. “Some marriages don’t last a fraction that long.”

The word froze her. She averted her face.

“It wasn’t an insult,” he said at once, misunderstanding her reaction. “Your husband wasn’t good to you. You had every reason not to want to remember him.”

“I have more reason than you’ll ever know,” she said without meeting his speculative gaze. “Happy marriages are a fairy tale.”

“Dane Lassiter wouldn’t agree with you,” he mused. “Neither would your friend Kit.”

She shrugged. “They got lucky.”

“You don’t think you could?”

She rubbed at a spot on her purse. “I don’t ever want to marry again.”

He hesitated. “Maggie, don’t you want children someday?”

The question sent her gaze flying up to meet his. The pain, the anguish, the haunted look in them shocked him.

She opened the door and got out.

He followed, determined to find out why she looked that way, when Red Davis sped up the driveway and stopped even with Cord.

“The irrigation equipment’s up and running like a track star, boss,” he called with a grin. “And they promised to replace any part that misfires again!”

“Good work.”

“Thanks! How are you doing, Maggie?” he called to her with a big grin.

Cord’s eyes flashed. “I don’t pay you to flirt with my foster sister,” he shot at the younger man, and he wasn’t teasing.

Davis saw that. He cut his losses, waved and shot off again down the ranch road.

Cord’s attitude puzzled Maggie. It was oddly like jealousy. But that was an outlandish assumption. It would take a miracle to get Cord jealous of her.

He led the way through the living room, where she left her purse, and into the dining room. Four places were set at the table, and an older white-haired man was occupying one of them while June put dishes of food on it.

“Hi!” she called to Maggie. “I hope you like chili and Mexican corn bread.”

“Love them. And there’s supposed to be a cherry pie?” she added hopefully.

June grinned, with a glance at Cord. “Oh, I heard somebody had a passion for it. I’m famous for my cherry pie. You can even have vanilla ice cream on it, if you like. It’s homemade, too,” she added.

Maggie smiled at her. “I think I’ve died and gone to heaven!”

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