New York Times and USA TODAY bestselling author DIANA PALMER returns with a fiery new couple!

Wolf Patterson and Sara Brandon are archenemies from ages ago, but mischievous fate has brought the tall rancher with the pale blue eyes together with the dark-haired beauty—on nearby Wyoming and Texas ranches. At first, sparks fly, but despite Wolf’s misguided notions about the spirited Sara and her indignance over the assorted injustices he has thrown her way, a truce—of sorts—forms. Suddenly Sara notices Wolf’s face, while not conventionally handsome, draws her like no other man has ever attracted her. And Wolf sees into the vulnerable soul that Sara hides from the rest of the world.

They are two passionate people with a talent for falling out. Will love be the spark they need to create what they both want the most…a family?

Praise for the novels of New York Times and USA TODAY bestselling author DIANA PALMER

“The popular Palmer has penned another winning novel, a perfect blend of romance and suspense.”

—Booklist on Lawman

“Diana Palmer is a mesmerizing storyteller who captures the essence of what a romance should be.”

—Affaire de Coeur

“Readers will be moved by this tale of revenge and justice, grief and healing.”

—Booklist on Dangerous

“Diana Palmer is one of those authors whose books are always enjoyable. She throws in romance, suspense and a good storyline.”

—The Romance Reader on Before Sunrise

“Lots of passion, thrills, and plenty of suspense…Protector is a top-notch read!”

—Romance Reviews Today on Protector

“A delightful romance with interesting new characters and many familiar faces. It’s nice to have a hero who is not picture-perfect in looks or instincts, and a heroine who accepts her privileged life yet is willing to work for the future she wants.”

—RT Book Reviews on Wyoming Tough

Wyoming Strong

Diana Palmer

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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Dear Reader,

I am plagued with insomnia. It seems to run in my family. Some nights I don’t sleep. One morning at 3:00 a.m. when I was wide-awake, I saw a young man with dark eyes and beautiful long hair in a shot on YouTube, auditioning for Britain’s Got Talent. Beside him was a lovely young woman. The caption was something about a shy boy captivating the judges. So I clicked on it. Mr. Antoine was picked on in school. This video is every hurt child’s triumph.

I bawled the first time I heard it. To date, I have watched it at least fifteen times (along with 48 million other people). The young man’s name is Jonathan Antoine. His partner was Charlotte Jaconelli, a fellow music student. They auditioned as Charlotte and Jonathan on Britain’s Got Talent in 2012. Both have recording contracts now. I sincerely hope that Mr. Antoine has the attention of the Metropolitan Opera. I have never in my life heard such a voice.

This book which you are about to read is one that virtually wrote itself. It is about two very damaged people who grow together out of their own tragedies. Wolf Patterson and Sara Brandon were introduced in Texas Born, My Mills & Boon Cherish story, where he accused her of harboring flying monkeys and using a broom for transport. Unknown to each, they play World of Warcraft together and are friends there, but enemies in real life. When Wolf is targeted by a psychotic former lover, Sara is drawn into the crosshairs with him.

Also out soon is The Morcai Battalion: The Recruit, for the first time in mass market paperback, with added scenes. It continues the turbulent relationship of the Morcai’s Dr. Madeline Ruszel and Dtimun, the mysterious alien Cehn-Tahr commander of the feared Holconcom. I am indebted to Mills & Boon HQN for giving me the opportunity to see it in print.

I am also indebted to all of you, who read my books.

I am still your biggest fan.

Diana Palmer

To Becky Hambrick, a dear woman who never missed a signing. She crocheted little scrubbers for my sink, which I still have. I think of her every time I use them.

And to J. L. Smith, who served Cornelia, Georgia, for many years as a police officer. James went to school with him. He was a good and kind man. And he was our friend.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Praise

Title Page

Dear Reader

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Extract

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

IT WASN’T THE long line so much as the company in it that was irritating Sara Brandon. Not only the company, but the way she was being watched, too.

He was lounging back against the nearby counter at the Jacobsville pharmacy, arrogant and amused, watching her with those icy Arctic-blue eyes that seemed to see right through her. As if he knew exactly what was under her clothing. As if he could see her creamy skin. As if...

She cleared her throat and glared at him.

That amused him even more. “Am I disturbing you, Ms. Brandon?” he drawled.

He was elegant. Devastating, physically. Lean-hipped, tanned, broad-shouldered, with big, beautiful hands and big feet. His Stetson was pulled low over his eyes, so that only their pale glitter was visible under the brim. His long, powerful legs in designer jeans were crossed, just the feet of his expensive tan boots peering out from under the denim. His chambray shirt was open at the throat. Thick, black, curling hair was exposed in the narrow vee.

The beast knew he was...stimulating. That’s why he did that, why he left those top buttons unbuttoned, she just knew it. She couldn’t completely hide her reaction to him, and he knew that, too. It drove her mad.

“You don’t disturb me, Mr. Patterson,” she said, her voice sounding a little choked as she tried to keep it steady.

Those eyes slid down her slender, elegant body in narrow black slacks topped by a black turtleneck sweater. His smile widened as she pulled her black leather coat closer and buttoned it, so that her sweater didn’t show. Her long, thick black hair dropped to her waist in back, waving around her exquisite face. Perfect, pouting lips led up to a straight nose and wide-spaced black eyes. She was a beauty. She wasn’t conceited about it. She hated her looks. She hated the attention she drew.

She crossed her arms against her breasts over the coat and averted her eyes.

“Oh, I wonder about that,” he drawled in his deep, slow voice. “You don’t look at all calm to me.”

“Do tell me what I do look like, then.”

He shouldered away from the counter and joined her. He was tall. He moved a little closer, as if to force her to look up and see how much he towered over her. She retreated a step, nervously.

“You look like a young filly, just taking her first steps out into the pasture,” he said quietly.

“I’ve been out in the pasture for a long time, Mr. Patterson, and I’m not nervous.”

He just cocked an eyebrow. He pursed his sensuous lips. “Well, you look nervous to me. Left the flying monkeys at home, did we?”

Her mouth flew open. “You listen here...!” She winced at the sudden turning of heads and quickly lowered her voice. “I do not keep...flying monkeys at my house!”

“Oh, I know that. You probably have them hidden out in the woods. Along with the broom.”

She ground her teeth together.

“Miss Brandon?” Bonnie called from the cash register. “I have your refill.”

“Thanks,” Sara said, and quickly moved away from the tall threat of Wofford Patterson’s body. They called him Wolf as a nickname. She could see why. He was really predatory. And it was something of a bit of luck that he didn’t like her.

She paid for her acid reflux medicine, smiled at Bonnie, glared at Wofford Patterson and started for the front door.

“Fly at a safe speed now,” he cautioned in a good-natured tone.

She whirled, her long black hair whipping. “If I really had flying monkeys, I’d have them drop you in the biggest manure lagoon in the whole state of Texas, and then I’d throw a match in it!” she flashed at him.

Everybody started laughing, especially Wofford Patterson. Red-faced, Sara almost ran out of the building.

* * *

“I WILL HAVE him shot,” she muttered to herself as she stalked to her white Jaguar. “I will have him shot, and then I’ll have them dismember him, and then...”

“Talking to yourself. Tsk, tsk,” she heard behind her. He was following her.

She turned around. “You are the most obnoxious, unbearable, tedious, irritating, vicious man I have ever known in my life!” she raged at him.

He shrugged. “I doubt that. You do inspire people to dislike you.”

Her small fists were clenched at her sides, the paper pharmacy bag gripped in one of them. She was almost on fire with anger.

She glanced beside her and saw Cash Grier, the Jacobsville, Texas, police chief, just coming up on the sidewalk. “I want him arrested!” she yelled, pointing at Wofford.

“Now, what did I do?” Wofford asked with a straight face. “I was only asking you to drive safely, because I worry about your health.” He gave her an angelic smile.

She was nearly shaking with anger.

Cash tried to hide a grin. “Now, Ms. Brandon,” he began gently.

“What exactly is a Miz?” Wolf wondered aloud. “Is it like a Mr. Woman sort of thing?”

She threw the bag of pills at him.

“She assaulted me!” Wolf exclaimed. “Assault is a felony, right?”

“Oh, I’d love to assault you,” she muttered under her breath.

“You really would, honey,” he drawled as he watched her come back up with the sack of pills. “I am a legend in my own time.” He even smiled.

She drew back a little foot in a pretty shoe.

“If you kick him, I really will have to enforce the law, Sara,” Cash reminded her.

She looked as exasperated as she felt. “Couldn’t you just...well, wound him?” she asked plaintively. “A little?”

Cash tried not to laugh and failed. “If I shoot him, I’ll have to arrest myself. Think how that would look.”

“You should go home,” Wolf told her with mock concern. “I’ll bet you haven’t fed the flying monkeys all day.”

She stamped her foot. “You pig!”

“Last week I was a snake. Is this a promotion?” he wondered aloud.

She took a step toward him. Cash got in between them. “Sara, go home. Right now. Please?” he added.

She blew a tendril of hair out of her face and turned back to the Jaguar. “I should have moved to hell. It would have been more peaceful.”

“The flying monkeys would have felt at home, too,” Wolf mused.

“One day,” she said, raising a fist.

“I am always at home,” he pointed out with a grin. “Come on over. I’ll find some boxing gloves.”

“Will they stop a bullet?” she asked hotly. She added a few choice words in Farsi. In fact, she added a lot of them, in a high, provoked, angry tone. She stamped her foot to emphasize that she meant them.

“Your brother would be shocked, shocked I tell you, to hear such language coming out of his baby sister’s mouth,” Wolf said haughtily. He glanced at Cash. “You speak Farsi. Can’t you arrest her for calling people in my family names like that?”

Cash was looking hunted.

“I’m going home,” Sara said furiously.

“I noticed,” Wolf replied lazily.

She told him what he could do in Farsi.

“Oh, it takes two for that,” he replied in the same tongue, and his pale eyes absolutely howled.

She got into the car, revved it up and roared off down the street.

“One day,” Cash told Wolf, “she’ll kill you, and I’ll have to appear at her trial to say it was justified self-defense.”

Wolf just laughed.

* * *

SARA BROKE SPEED LIMITS. She was still shaking when she pulled up outside the house her brother, Gabriel, had bought in Comanche Wells, just down the road from Jacobsville. She wished Michelle was home from college, if only briefly. Michelle would listen and commiserate with her. She would understand. She knew more about Sara than local people did.

Michelle knew that Sara’s stepfather had assaulted her, almost to the point of rape when Gabriel had all but broken her bedroom door to get to him. Sara had to testify at the trial that sent her stepfather to prison, sit in the witness chair and tell total strangers exactly what the animal had done to her. And about the disgusting things he’d said while he was doing it. She couldn’t force herself to tell it all.

The defense attorney had been eloquent about Sara, a young girl teasing an older man and getting him so worked up that he had to have her. It wasn’t that way, but she was sure some people on the jury listened.

Her stepfather had gone to prison. He’d died when he got out. Sara shivered violently, remembering how and why. Sara and Gabriel’s mother had shoved them out the door after the conviction and left them on the streets. One of the public defenders who was in Sara’s corner at a second trial, when her stepfather was shot by police, had a maiden aunt who took them in, spoiled them rotten and left them most of her enormous estate.

She was worth millions, and the public defender refused to hear a word about Sara and Gabriel turning down the inheritance. They still thought of him as family. He’d been kind to them when the world turned against them.

The Brandons’ mother moved away, grieved herself to death over her second husband and refused to have any contact afterward with either of her children. It had been devastating, especially to Sara, who felt responsible.

The experience had sickened her, turned her into a recluse. Sara was twenty-four, beautiful and all alone. She didn’t date anybody. Ever.

The way Wolf Patterson looked at her, though; that was new and unsettling. She...liked it. But she couldn’t afford to let him know. If he pursued her, if things heated up, he’d figure out her secret. She couldn’t hide her reactions to any sort of physical intimacy. She’d tried once, just once, with a boy she liked at school. It had ended with her in tears and him leaving in a temper, calling her a stupid tease. So much for dating.

She locked the door behind her, tossed her purse onto the side table and went upstairs. She’d had a light lunch before she left for the pharmacy, so the rest of the day was hers to do as she pleased. She was rich. She didn’t have to work. But she had no social life. At least, not in the real world. In the virtual world, however...

* * *

SHE TURNED ON her state-of-the-art gaming computer and pulled up the World of Warcraft website. Sara was a secret gamer. She didn’t tell anybody about her habit. Gabriel knew, but nobody else did. She had a beautiful Blood Elf Horde toon, a character with almost white-blond hair and blue eyes—sort of a reverse Sara, she liked to think, chuckling. It was a world away from the black-haired brunette that she really was.

She pulled up her character, Casalese, a powerful warlock, and walked into the game. The minute she came online, she was whispered.

Want to do a raid with me? he asked. “He” was a level 90 Blood Elf death knight named Rednacht. The two had met at an in-game holiday event, started talking and had been online friends for a year or so. They didn’t do the Real ID thing, so she had no idea who he really was. She didn’t want a lover. She only wanted a friend. But they did friend each other, using the generic ID she used for her account, so she knew when he was online. And vice versa. They’d both turned level 90 at the same time. They’d celebrated at an in-game inn with cake and juice, and shot off the fireworks they were gifted with out in the countryside of the new area, Pandaria.

It had been a magical night. Rednacht was fun to be around. He never made really personal remarks, but he did mention things that were going on in his life from time to time. So did she. But only in a generic way. Sara had real issues with her privacy. Because of Gabriel’s profession, she had to be especially careful.

Most people didn’t know what her brother did for a living. He was an independent military contractor who worked frequently for Eb Scott. He was a skilled mercenary. Sara worried about him, because they only had each other. But she understood that he couldn’t give up the excitement. Not yet, anyway. She did wonder how that might change when Michelle, who had become their ward with the sudden death of her stepmother, graduated from college. But that was sometime in the future.

I feel more like a battleground, she typed. Rough morning.

He typed back lol, laughing out loud. Same here. Okay. Shall we slay Alliance until our blades are no longer thirsty?

She laughed back. That sounds very nice.

* * *

A COUPLE OF hours of play, and she felt like a new woman. She signed off, told her friend good-night, had a light dinner and went to bed. She knew that she was hiding from life in her virtual playground, but it was at least some sort of social life. In the real world, she had nothing.

* * *

SARA LOVED OPERA. The local opera house in San Antonio had been closed earlier in the year, although a new opera company was being founded. However, she had to have her opera fix. The only remaining one within reach was in Houston. It was a long drive, but the Houston Grand Opera was performing A Little Night Music. One of the songs was “Send in the Clowns,” her absolute favorite. She was a grown woman. She had a good car. There was no reason that she couldn’t make the drive.

So she got in the Jaguar and took off, in plenty of time to make the curtain. She’d worry about coming home in the dark later.

She loved anything in the arts, including theater and symphony and ballet. She had tickets to the San Antonio Symphony and the San Antonio Ballet companies for the season. But tonight she was treating herself to this out-of-town spectacular performance.

She was looking at her program when she felt movement. She turned as a newcomer sat down, and she looked up into the pale, laughing eyes of her worst enemy in the world.

Oh, darn, was what she should have said. What she did say was far less conventional, and in Farsi.

“Potty mouth,” he returned under his breath in the same language.

She ground her teeth together, waiting for his next remark. She’d stomp on his big booted foot and march right out of the building if he said even one word.

But he was diverted by his beautiful companion before he could say anything else. Like the other woman Sara had seen him with, at another performance, this one was a gorgeous blonde. He didn’t seem to like brunettes, which was certainly to Sara’s advantage.

Why in the world did he always have to sit next to her? She almost groaned. She bought her tickets weeks in advance. Presumably so did he. So how did they manage to sit together, not only in San Antonio at every single event she attended, but in Houston, too? Next time, she promised herself, she’d wait to see where he was sitting before she sat down. Since the seats were numbered, however, that might pose a problem.

The orchestra began tuning its instruments. Minutes later, the curtain rose. As the brilliant Stephen Sondheim score progressed, and dancers performing majestic waltzes floated across the stage, Sara thought she’d landed in heaven. She remembered waltzes like this at an event in Austria. She’d danced with a silver-haired gentleman, an acquaintance of their tour guide, who waltzed divinely. Although she traveled alone, she’d shared sights like this with other people, most of them elderly. Sara didn’t do singles tours, because she wanted nothing to do with men. She’d seen the world, but with Gabriel or senior citizens.

She drank in the exquisite score, her eyes closed as she enjoyed the song that was one of the most beautiful ever written, “Send in the Clowns.”

* * *

INTERMISSION CAME, BUT she didn’t budge. Wolf’s companion left, but he didn’t.

“You like opera, don’t you?” he asked her, his eyes suddenly intent on her, drinking in her long black hair and the black dress that fit her like a glove with its discreet bodice and cape sleeves. Her leather coat was behind her in the seat, because the theater was warm.

“Yes,” she said, waiting with gritted teeth for what she expected to follow.

“The baritone is quite good,” he added, crossing one long leg. “He came here from the Met. He said New York City was getting to him. He wanted to live somewhere with less traffic.”

“Yes, I read that.”

His eyes were on her hands. She had them in her lap, with a death grip on her small purse, her nails digging into the leather. She didn’t seem to have a care in the world, but she was wired like floodlights.

“You came alone?”

She just nodded.

“It’s a long way to Houston, and it’s night.”

“I did notice.”

“Last time, in San Antonio, it was with your brother and your ward,” he recalled. His eyes narrowed. “No men. Ever?”

She didn’t reply. In her hands, the purse was taking a beating.

To her shock, one big, beautiful, lean hand went to her long fingers and smoothed over them gently.

“Don’t,” he said tersely.

She bit her lip and looked up at him unguardedly, with the anguish of years past in her beautiful dark eyes.

He caught his breath. “What the hell happened to you?” he asked under his breath.

She jerked her hands away, got to her feet, put on her coat and walked out the door. She was in tears by the time she reached her car.

* * *

IT WAS SO UNFAIR. She hadn’t had a flat tire in years. She had to have one tonight, of all nights, on a dark street in a strange city many miles from her San Antonio apartment. When Gabriel and Michelle were gone, she didn’t like staying by herself on the small property in Comanche Wells. It was remote, and dangerous, if any of Gabriel’s enemies ever set themselves on retaliation. It had happened once in the past. Fortunately, Gabriel had been at home.

She’d already called for a tow truck, but the account she used was briefly tied up. It would be just a few minutes, they promised. She hung up and smiled ruefully.

A car approached from the direction of the theater, slowed and then whipped in just in front of where she was parked. A tall man got out and came back to her window.

She froze until she realized who it was. She powered the window down.

“This is a hell of a place to be sitting with a flat tire,” Wolf Patterson said shortly. “Come on. I’ll drive you home.”

“But I have to stay with the car. I’ve called the tow truck, and they will be here in a few minutes.”

“We’ll wait for the wrecker in my car,” he said firmly. “I’m not leaving you out here alone.”

She was grateful. She didn’t want to have to say so.

He chuckled softly as he got a glimpse of her expression when he opened the door of her car. “Accepting help from the enemy won’t cause you to break out in hives.”

“Want to bet?” she asked. But with a resigned sigh, she got into his car.

* * *

IT WAS A MERCEDES. She’d never driven one, but she knew a lot of people who did. They were almost indestructible, and they lasted forever.

She was curious about the windows. They looked odd. So did the construction of the doors.

He saw her curiosity. “Armor plating,” he said easily. “Bulletproof glass.”

She stared at him. “You have a lot of people using rocket launchers against you, do you?”

He just smiled.

She wondered about him. He spoke several impossible languages. He wasn’t well-known locally, although he’d lived in Jacobs County for several years. Of all the spare tidbits of information she’d been able to gather about him, he’d once worked for the elite FBI Hostage Rescue Unit. But apparently, he was involved in other activities since then, none of which were ever spoken about.

Gabriel found him amusing. He only said that Wolf had moved to Jacobsville because he was looking for a little peace and quiet. Nothing more.

“My brother knows you.”

“Yes.”

She glanced at him. He was looking at his cell phone, pushing through screens, apparently sending emails to someone.

She averted her eyes. He was probably talking to his date, maybe apologizing for keeping her waiting.

She wanted to tell him he could go, she’d wait for the wrecker alone; she wouldn’t mind. But she did mind. She was afraid of the dark, of men who might show up when she was helpless. She hated her own fear.

He glanced at her hands. She was worrying the purse again.

He put away the cell phone. “I don’t bite.”

She actually jumped. She swallowed. “Sorry.”

His eyes narrowed. He’d been deliberately provoking her for a long time, ever since she ran into him with her car and then accused him of causing the accident. She was aggressive in her way. But alone with him, she was afraid. Very much afraid. Such a beautiful woman, with so many hang-ups.

“Why are you so nervous?” he asked quietly.

She forced a smile. “I’m not nervous,” she said. She looked around for car lights.

His eyes were narrow, assessing. “There was a pileup just outside the downtown loop,” he told her. “That’s what I was checking for on my phone. The wrecker should be here shortly.”

She nodded. “Thanks,” she said jerkily.

He lifted an eyebrow. “Do you really think you’re that attractive?” he asked in a cool drawl.

Her shocked eyes went up to meet his. “Excuse me?”

There was something ice-cold in his look, in his manner. She was bringing back memories he hated, memories of another beautiful brunette, provocative, coy, manipulative. “You’re sitting there tied in knots. You look as if you expect me to leap on you.” His sensual lips pulled up into a cold smile. “You’d be lucky,” he added provocatively. “I’m very selective about women. You wouldn’t even make the first cut.”

She stopped twisting the purse. “Lucky me,” she said with an icy smile. “Because I wouldn’t have you on toast!”

His eyes flashed. He wanted to throw things. He couldn’t leave her here alone, but he wanted to. She made him furious.

She started to get out of the car.

He locked the door from a control panel. “You’re not going anywhere until the wrecker gets here.” He leaned toward her abruptly, without warning.

She shot back against the door, suddenly trembling. Her eyes were wide and frightened. Her body was like taut rope. She just looked at him, shivering.

He cursed under his breath.

She swallowed. Swallowed again. She couldn’t even look at him. She hated showing that weakness. Aggression always provoked it. She’d never dealt with her past. She couldn’t get over it, get through it.

Headlights came up from behind and slowed. “It’s the tow truck,” Sara said. “Please let me out,” she choked out.

He unlocked the door. She scrambled out and ran to the vehicle’s driver.

He got out, too, cursing himself for that look on her face. She’d done nothing to cause him to attack her, nothing except show fear. It wasn’t like him to attack women, to threaten them. He was disturbed by his own response to her.

“Thank you for staying with me,” she told Wolf in a hunted tone. “He’s going to drop me off at my apartment and take the car to the dealership,” she choked out, indicating the elderly driver. “Good night.”

She ran to the wrecker and climbed up into the passenger seat while the driver worked at securing her car.

Wolf was still standing beside his car when the tow truck left. Sara didn’t even turn her head.

* * *

GABRIEL WAS HOME for a few days. Sara went to Comanche Wells to cook for him.

He noticed her subdued attitude. “What’s wrong, honey?” he asked softly as they drank coffee at the kitchen table.

She grimaced. “I had a flat tire, coming home from Houston after the opera.”

“At night?” he asked, surprised. “Why did you drive? Why not take a limo?”

She bit her lower lip. “I’m trying to...grow up a little,” she said, managing a shaky smile. “Or I was.”

“I hate to think of you sitting in the dark waiting for a wrecker,” he said.

“Mr. Patterson saw me there and stopped. I sat in his car while the wrecker got to me.”

“Mr. Patterson?” he mused. “Wolf was in Houston, too?”

“Apparently, he likes opera, too, and there isn’t a company here right now,” she said through her teeth.

“I see.”

Her expression was tormented. “He...he didn’t even do anything. He just turned in his seat and leaned toward me. I...reacted like a crazy person,” she bit off. “Made him mad.”

“We’ve had this discussion before,” he began.

“I hate therapists,” she said hotly. “The last one said I wanted people to feel sorry for me, and I probably overreacted at what happened!”

“He what?” he burst out. “You never told me!”

“I was afraid you’d hit him and end up in jail,” she returned.

“I would have,” he said harshly.

She drew in a breath and sipped coffee. “Anyway, it wasn’t helping.” She closed her eyes. “I can’t get past it. I just can’t.”

“There are nice men in the world,” he pointed out. “Some even live right here in Jacobsville.”

Her smile was world-weary. “It wouldn’t matter.”

He knew what she’d gone through. He hadn’t known that the rape attempt wasn’t the first one, that their stepfather had spent months making suggestive comments, trying to touch her, trying to get her into bed long before he used force. That, combined with the court trial, had warped Sara in ways that made Gabriel despair for her future. What a hell of a thing to happen to a girl at the age of thirteen.

“You love children,” he said quietly. “You’re dooming yourself to a life all alone.”

“I have my entertainments.”

“You live in that virtual world,” he said irritably. “It’s no replacement for a social life.”

“I can’t cope with a social life,” she replied. “I have never been more sure of anything.” She got up and bent to kiss his forehead. “Leave me to my prudish pursuits. I’ll make you an apple pie.”

“Bribery.”

She laughed. “Bribery.”

* * *

GABRIEL WAS AT the feed store the next Friday when Wolf Patterson came in. He was scowling even before he saw Gabriel.

“Is she with you?” Wolf asked.

Gabriel knew who he meant at once. He shook his head.

“Is she crazy?” he asked. “Honest to God, I stayed with her in my car until the wrecker came, and she acted as if I was bent on assault!”

“I’m grateful for what you did,” Gabriel said, sidestepping the question. “She should have taken a limo to Houston. I’ll make sure she does next time.”

Wolf calmed down, but only a little. He shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his expensive jeans. “She ran into me with the car, you know. Then she blamed me for it. That started the whole thing. I hate aggressive women,” he added shortly.

“She tends to overreact,” Gabriel said noncommittally.

“I don’t even like brunettes,” he said curtly. His pale eyes flashed. “She’s not my type.”

“You’re certainly not hers,” the younger man pointed out with a grin.

“Who is?” Wolf asked. “One of those tofu-eating tree huggers?”

“Sara...doesn’t like men.”

Wolf raised an eyebrow. “She likes women?”

“No.”

Wolf’s eyes narrowed. “You’re not telling me anything.”

“That’s exactly right,” Gabriel replied. He pursed his lips. “But I’ll tell you this. If she ever showed any interest in you, I’d get her out of the country by the quickest means available.”

Wolf glared at him.

“You know what I mean,” Gabriel added quietly. “I wouldn’t wish you on any woman alive, much less my baby sister. You still haven’t dealt with your past, after all this time.”

Wolf’s teeth were clenched.

Gabriel put a hand on his shoulder. “Wolf, not all women are like Ysera,” he said softly.

Wolf jerked away from him.

Gabriel knew when he was licked. He smiled. “So, how’s the wargaming?”

It was a carrot, and Wolf bit. “New expansion coming out,” he said, and smiled. “I’m looking forward to it, now that I’ve got somebody to run dungeons with.”

“Your mysterious woman.” Gabriel chuckled.

“I assume she’s a woman,” he replied, shrugging. “People aren’t usually what they seem in these games. I was complimenting a guildie on his mature playing style, and he informed me that he was twelve years old.” He laughed. “You never know who you’re playing with.”

“Your woman could be a man. Or a child. Or a real woman.”

Wolf nodded. “I’m not looking for relationships in a video game,” he replied easily.

“Wise man.” Gabriel didn’t tell him what Sara did for amusement. It really wouldn’t do to sell her out to the enemy. He hesitated and glanced toward the street. “There’s a rumor going around.”

Wolf turned his head. “What rumor?”

“Ysera got away,” he reminded the other man. “We’ve searched for over a year, you know. One of Eb’s men thinks he saw her, at a small farm outside Buenos Aires. With a man we both remember from the old days.”

Wolf’s face tightened as if he’d been shot. “Any intel on why she’s there?”

Gabriel nodded grimly. “Revenge,” he said simply. His eyes narrowed. “You need to hire on a couple of extra men. She’d have your throat slit if she could.”

“I’d return the favor if I could do it legally,” Wolf returned with faint venom.

Gabriel slid his hands into his jeans pockets. “So would the rest of us. But you’re the one in danger, if she really is still alive.”

Wolf didn’t like remembering the woman, or the things he’d done because of her lies. He still had nightmares. His eyes had a cold, faraway look. “I thought she was dead. I hoped...” he confessed quietly.

“It’s hard to kill a big snake,” the other man said flatly. “Just...be careful.”

“Watch your own back,” Wolf replied.

“I always do.” He wanted to tell the other man about Sara, to warn him off, to avert a tragedy in the making. But his friend didn’t seem really interested in Sara, and he was reluctant to share intimate details of Sara’s past with her worst enemy. It was a decision that would have consequences. He didn’t realize how many, at the time.

CHAPTER TWO

GABRIEL WENT BACK to work, and Sara had a weekend jaunt to the Wyoming ranch with Michelle during spring break. Then Michelle went back to school, and Sara went shopping in downtown San Antonio.

Sara shopped for spring clothes and then tried on mantillas in the huge Mercado in San Antonio, enjoying the sounds and smells of the market. A few minutes later, she took her purchases to the River Walk and sat down at a small table, watching the boats go by. It was April. The weather was warm and dry, and flowers were appearing in the planters all around the café. It was one of her favorite places.

She put her purse under the table and leaned back, her beautiful hair rippling with the movement. She had on black slacks and loafers and a candy-pink blouse that emphasized her exquisite complexion. Her black eyes danced as she listened to a strolling mariachi band.

She moved her chair to accommodate two men sitting down behind her. One of them was Wolf Patterson. Her heart jumped. She rushed to finish her cappuccino, gathered her bags and went to pay for it at the counter.

“Running away?” a silky, deep voice asked at the back of her head.

“I was finished with my coffee,” she said stiffly, smiling and thanking the clerk as she was handed her change.

When she turned, he was blocking the way out. His pale eyes were flashing with hostility. He looked as if he’d have liked to fry her on a griddle.

She swallowed down the nervousness that always assailed her when he was close. She tried to step back, but there was no place to go. Her huge, beautiful eyes widened with apprehension.

“When does your brother get back?” he asked.

“I’m not sure,” she said. “He thinks maybe by the weekend.”

He nodded. His eyes narrowed on her face. “What are you afraid of?” he asked half under his breath.

“Not a thing, Mr. Patterson,” she replied. “Because I’m not your type.”

“Damned straight.”

She was ready to try to push past him, frustrated beyond rational behavior, when one of his companions called to him.

While he was diverted, she slipped to the side of him, and went out of the area at a dead run. She didn’t even care if people stared.

* * *

THERE WAS A ballet later in the week. She loved the ballet. She loved the color, the costumes, the lighting, all of it. She’d studied the art in her childhood. At one time, she’d dreamed of being a prima ballerina. But the long years of training and the sacrifices the role demanded were too much for a young girl just discovering life.

Those had been good days. Her father had still been alive. Her mother had been kind, if distant. She remembered the happy times they’d had together with a bittersweet smile. How different her life might have been if their father had lived.

But looking back served no real purpose, she told herself. Such as her life was, she had to try to cope.

She sat down in her seat near the front of the concert hall, smiling as she looked at the program. The prima ballerina was an acquaintance of hers, a sweet girl who loved her job and didn’t mind the long hours and sacrifice that went along with it. Lisette was pretty, too, blonde and tall as a beanpole, with eyes as big and dark as chestnuts.

The ballet was Swan Lake, one of her absolute favorites. The costumes were eye-catching, the performers exquisite, the music almost enchanted. She smiled, her heart swelling as she anticipated the delightful performance.

She heard movement nearby and almost had a coronary when she saw Wolf Patterson and yet another beautiful blonde moving into the seats beside hers. She actually groaned.

The woman stopped to speak to someone she knew. Wolf dropped down into the seat next to Sara’s and gave her conservative black dress and leather coat a brief scrutiny. His glare could have stopped a charging bull. “Are you following me around?” he asked.

She counted to ten. In her hand, the program was twisting into large confetti.

“I mean, just a couple of weeks ago, there you were at the opera in Houston, and here you are tonight at the ballet in San Antonio, with seats right next to mine,” he mused. “If I were a conceited man...” he added in a deep, slow drawl.

She turned her black eyes up to his and made a comment in Farsi that made his hair stand on end. He snapped back at her in the same language, his eyes biting into her face.

“What in the world sort of language is that?” his blonde companion asked with a laugh.

Wolf clenched down on more words as Sara turned her head and tried to concentrate on the stage curtain. The orchestra began tuning up.

“Aren’t you going to introduce me?” the blonde woman persisted, glancing at Sara’s discomfort with an honestly worried expression.

“I am not,” Wolf said, enunciating every word. “Curtain’s going up,” he added shortly.

* * *

SARA WANTED TO get up and walk out. She almost did. But she couldn’t bear to give him the satisfaction. So she lost herself in the color and beauty of Swan Lake, her heart in her throat as the preliminary dancers gave way to the title role, and Lisette came on stage.

Her friend’s exquisite beauty was apparent even at a distance. She twirled and pirouetted, making the leaps with precision and grace. Sara envied her that talent. Once upon a time, she’d seen herself on the stage in a costume like that beautiful confection Lisette was wearing.

Of course, reality had put paid to that sad dream. She couldn’t imagine standing in front of a lot of people, having them all look at her, without flinching. Not after the trial.

Her face grew taut as she remembered the trial, the taunting of the defense attorney, the fury in her stepfather’s face, the anguish in her mother’s.

She didn’t realize that she’d crumbled the program in her slender fingers, or that the tragic look on her face was drawing all too much reluctant interest from her acquaintance in the next seat.

Wolf Patterson had seen that look before, many times, in combat zones. It was akin to what was called the “thousand-yard stare,” familiar to combat veterans, a blank expression with terrible eyes that recalled things no mortal should ever have to witness. But Sara Brandon was pampered and rich and beautiful. What reason would a woman like that have to act tormented?

He laughed silently to himself, faint contempt on his hard features. Pretty little Sara, tempting men, ridiculing them in passion, making them plead for satisfaction and then laughing when they achieved it. Laughing with contempt and disgust. Saying things...

A soft hand touched his. The mature blonde woman beside him was frowning.

He shook himself mentally and dragged his eyes away from Sara. He managed a reassuring smile at his companion, but it was a lie. Sara unsettled him. She reminded him of things past, things deadly, things unbearable. She was everything he hated in a woman.

But he wanted her. The sight of her lithe, elegant body made him ache. It had been a long time. He hadn’t been able to trust another woman after Ysera, want another woman.

In the back of his mind was the ridicule and the laughter. He hadn’t been able to control his desire, and Ysera thought it was funny. She loved manipulating him, tormenting him. And when she’d had her fill of humiliating him in bed, she’d sent him off on a chore of personal vengeance with a lie.

He closed his eyes. A shudder ran through his powerful frame. He couldn’t escape the past. It tormented him still. There had been no consequences, but there should have been. Ysera at least should have been held accountable, but she was out of the country before she could be arrested. For over a year there had been no word of her. He’d thought she’d finally gotten what she deserved—that she was dead. Now she was back, still alive, still haunting him. He would never know peace for the rest of his life.

“Wolf,” the blonde woman whispered urgently. She wrapped her hand around his clenched fist. “Wolf!”

Sara realized, belatedly, that something was going on beside her. She turned her head in time to see an expression of such anguish on the tall man’s hard face that concern replaced her usual resentment.

His fist was clenched on his chair arm. The blonde woman was trying to calm him. He looked like a drawn cord.

“Mr. Patterson,” Sara said, her voice very soft so that it didn’t carry. “Are you all right?”

He looked down at her, coming out of the past with the pain still in his eyes. They narrowed, and he looked at her as if he hated her. “What the hell do you care?” he gritted.

She bit her lower lip almost through. He looked coiled, ready to strike, dangerous. She forced her attention back to the stage, a deathly pallor in her cheeks. More fool me, for caring, she thought.

He was trying to cope with memories that were killing him. Sara reminded him too much of things he only wanted to forget. He cursed under his breath in Farsi, got to his feet and walked out of the theater. The blonde woman looked at Sara with a grimace, as if she wanted to explain, to apologize. Then she just smiled sadly and followed him out.

* * *

THAT TORMENTED LOOK on Wolf Patterson’s face haunted Sara for the rest of the week. She couldn’t get it out of her mind. He’d stared at her as if he hated her in those few seconds. She began to realize that it wasn’t necessarily her whom he hated. Perhaps it was someone she reminded him of. She smiled sadly to herself. Just her luck, to feel the stirrings of attraction to a man for the first time in her life, and have him turn out to be someone who hated her because she reminded him of another woman. An old flame, perhaps, someone he’d loved and lost.

Well, it was hopeless to look in that direction anyway, she consoled herself. She’d only really been alone with him once, and look how she’d embarrassed herself when he came too close. She still flushed, remembering how she’d run from him after her flat tire. He wouldn’t understand why she’d reacted that way. And she couldn’t tell him.

* * *

SHE CLIMBED INTO her pajamas late that night and pulled up her game on the computer, setting the laptop on a board across her lap as she propped up in bed.

Her friend was on. Hi, she whispered.

Hi, he whispered back.

He was usually more wordy than that. In the middle of something? she queried.

No. Bad memories, he said after a minute.

I know all about that, she wrote sadly.

There was a brief pause. Want to talk about it? he asked.

She smiled to herself. Talking doesn’t help. How about a battleground?

He wrote lol on the screen, invited her to a group and queued them for a battleground.

Why does life have to be so hard? she wrote while they waited.

I don’t know.

I can’t get away from the past, she wrote. She couldn’t tell him everything, but she could talk a little. He was the only real friend she had. Lisette was kind and sweet, but she had so little free time just to talk.

Neither can I, he wrote after a minute. Do you have nightmares? he asked suddenly.

She grimaced and wrote, All the time.

Me, too. There was a hesitation. Damaged people, he wrote.

Yes.

Holding each other together, he added, with another lol.

She returned the laugh, and smiled to herself. BRB, she wrote, gamer’s slang for “be right back.” I need coffee.

Good idea. I’ll make some and email you a cup, he wrote.

She chuckled to herself. He was good company. She wondered who he was in real life, if he was a man or a woman or even a child. Whatever, it was nice to have someone to talk to, even if they only talked in single syllables.

He was back before the queue popped. We should get one of those chat programs like Ventriloquist, he commented, so that we can talk instead of type.

Her heart almost stopped. No.

Why?

She bit her lower lip. How could she tell him that it would interfere with the fantasy if she brought real life into it? That she didn’t want to know if he was young or old or female.

You’re frightened, he wrote.

She hesitated, her hands over the keyboard. Yes.

I see.

No, you don’t, she replied. I have a hard time with people. With most people. I don’t... I don’t like letting people get close to me.

Join the club.

So in a game, it’s sort of different, she tried to explain.

Yes. There was a hesitation. Are you female?

Yes.

Young?

Yes. She paused. Are you male?

There was no hesitation at all. Definitely.

She hesitated again. Married?

No. And never likely to be. Another pause. You?

No. And never likely to be, she replied, adding a smile.

Do you work?

And now, time for the lies. I cut hair, she lied. What do you do?

There was a hesitation. Dangerous things.

Her heart skipped. Law enforcement? she typed.

There was a howl of laughter. How did you get there?

I don’t know. You seem very honest. You never try to ninja the loot when we do dungeons. You’ll stop to help other players if they get in trouble. You’re forever using in-game skills to make things for lower level players. Stuff like that.

There was a long hesitation. You’re describing yourself, as well.

She smiled to herself. Thanks.

Damaged people, he mused. Holding each other together.

She nodded. She typed, It feels...sort of nice.

Doesn’t it?

There was a new warmth in the screen. Of course, they could both be lying. She didn’t work, she didn’t have to, and he might not be in law enforcement. But it didn’t matter, since they were never likely to meet in person. She wouldn’t dare try. She’d had too many false starts in her young life, trying to escape the past. She would never be able to do it. This was all she could hope for—a relationship online with a man who might not even like her in the real world. But it was strangely almost enough.

Time to go, he said, as the Join Battle tag came up.

After you, she typed back. Which was a joke; since they were a group, they entered together.

* * *

SHE WAS SITTING in the park, feeding the pigeons. It was a stupid thing to do, the birds were a nuisance. But she had bread left over from a solitary lunch, and the birds were comfortable, cooing around her feet as she scattered crumbs.

She was wearing a green V-necked pullover sweater with jeans and ankle boots. She looked very young with her long hair in a braid down her back and her face clean of makeup except for the lightest touch of lipstick.

Wolf Patterson stared at her with more conflicting emotions than he’d ever felt in his life. She was two different people. One was fiery and temperamental and brilliant. The other was beautiful and damaged and afraid. He wasn’t sure which one was the real Sara.

He’d felt guilty at the way he’d snapped at her at the ballet. He hadn’t meant to. The memories had eaten at him until he felt only half-alive. Just knowing Ysera was out there, still plotting, made him uneasy. With the memory of her came others, sickening ones, that Sara reminded him of.

She felt eyes on her and turned her head, just slightly. There he was, a few feet away, standing with his hands in his pockets, scowling.

It fascinated him to see the way she reacted. Her lithe body froze in position with crumbs half in and half out of the bag she was holding. She just looked at him, her great black eyes wide with apprehension.

He moved closer. “A deer I shot once looked just like that,” he remarked quietly. “Waiting for the bullet.”

She flushed and dropped her eyes.

“I don’t hunt much anymore,” he remarked, standing beside her. “I hunted men. It ruins your taste for blood.”

She bit her lower lip, hard.

“Don’t do that,” he said in the softest voice she’d ever heard him use. “I won’t hurt you.”

She actually trembled. She managed a faint laugh. How many times in her life had she heard that from men who wanted her, hunted her.

He went down on one knee right in front of her and forced her to meet his eyes. “I mean that,” he said quietly. “We’ve had our differences. But physically, you have absolutely nothing to fear from me.”

She swallowed. Hard. Her eyes when they met his were full of remembered fear and pain.

His Arctic-blue eyes narrowed. It had been a shot in the dark, but he watched it hit home. “Someone hurt you. A man.”

She tried and failed to make words come out of her mouth. On the bag, her hands were clenched so tightly that the knuckles went white.

Her very vulnerability hurt him. “I can’t imagine a man brutal enough to try to hurt something so beautiful,” he said very softly.

Her lower lip trembled. A tear she couldn’t help trickled out of the corner of her eye.

“Oh, God, I’m sorry,” he said roughly.

She caught her breath and swiped at the tear, as if it made her angry. “Should you be giving aid and assistance to the enemy?” she asked in a choked tone.

He smiled. Antagonism was much preferable to those silent tears. They hurt him. “Truce?”

She looked into his pale eyes. “Truce?”

He nodded. “We don’t want to scare away the pigeons. They’re obviously starving. You’re upsetting them.”

She was upsetting him, too, but he didn’t want to admit it. He felt guilty at the things he’d said to her. He hadn’t realized that she was damaged. She had such a strong, brave spirit that he hadn’t expected this vulnerability.

She straightened a little and tossed more crumbs at the birds. They gathered around them, cooing.

“I expect if the police see me, I’ll be arrested. Nobody loves pigeons.”

He got up and dropped lightly onto the bench beside her, just far away enough not to make her nervous. “I do,” he corrected. “If they’re cooked right.”

A tiny little laugh jumped out of her throat, and her black eyes lit up like fires in the night.

“I had them in Morocco, when I was there on a case once,” he remarked.

“I did, too. In this beautiful hotel on a hill in Tangier,” she began.

“El Minzah,” he said without thinking.

Her hand stilled in the bag. “Why, yes,” she stammered.

“They had a driver named Mustapha and a big Mercedes sedan,” he continued, grinning.

She laughed. It changed her whole appearance, made her even more beautiful. “He took me to the caves outside the city, where the Barbary pirates hid their loot.”

“You? Alone?” he probed gently.

“Yes.”

“You’re always alone,” he said thoughtfully.

She hesitated. Then she nodded. She turned back to the pigeons. “I don’t...mix well with people,” she confessed.

“Neither do I,” he said gruffly.

She tossed another handful of crumbs to the birds. “You have that look.”

“Excuse me?”

“My brother has it, too,” she said without glancing at him. “They call it the thousand-yard stare.”

He cocked his head and narrowed his pale eyes as he stared at what he could see of her face. He didn’t say a word.

She lifted her eyes and winced. “Sorry,” she said, flushing. “I always put my foot in my mouth around you.” She shifted restlessly. “You make me nervous.”

He let out a short laugh. “Me and the Russian Army maybe,” he mused.

She turned her face toward him. She didn’t understand.

He searched her black eyes slowly, and for longer than he meant to. “You stand your ground,” he explained. “You fight back. I admire spirit.”

She averted her eyes. “You fight back, too.”

“Long-standing habit.”

She tossed some more crumbs. She was running out. “You don’t really like women, do you?” she blurted out, and then flushed and grimaced. “Sorry! I didn’t mean...”

“No,” he interrupted, and his eyes grew cold. “I don’t like women. Especially brunettes.”

“That was awful of me,” she apologized without looking at him. “I told you I don’t mix well with people. I don’t know how to be diplomatic.”

“I don’t mind blunt speaking,” he said surprisingly. “So it’s my turn now.” He waited until she looked at him to continue. “You were hurt, badly and physically, by a man somewhere in your past.”

The bag went flying. She wrapped her arms around herself and shivered.

He wanted to draw her close and hold her, comfort her. But he moved toward her, and she shot to her feet, her head lowered.

“God, Sara, what happened to you?” he asked through his teeth.

She swallowed. Swallowed again. “I can’t...talk about it.”

He was going to find out from Gabriel. He had no right to be curious, but she was too beautiful to go through life locked up inside like that. He stood up, too, but he didn’t move closer. “You should be in therapy,” he said softly. “This is no sort of life.”

“I should be in therapy?” she returned with a short laugh. “What about you?”

His face shuttered. “What about me?”

“At the ballet,” she said. “You have no idea how you looked...”

His chin lifted. His pale eyes flashed. “We were talking about you.”

“Something happened to you, too,” she said doggedly. “I thought you hated me because I ran into you with the car. But that wasn’t it at all, was it? You hate me because I look like her, because I remind you of her.”

His face was like stone. Beside him, one big hand clenched.

“You...loved her,” she guessed.

His eyes fragmented, like icy shards cutting into her face. “Damn you,” he whispered in a vicious undertone. He turned and walked away.

Sara, watching him, wasn’t even offended. She began to understand him, just a little. There was something traumatic in his past, too. Something that tied him up in knots, that left him no peace. He’d loved the woman. She saw it in his eyes.

Perhaps she’d died. Or left him for another man. Whatever the reason, he was still tied to it, wrapped up in it. He couldn’t get past it, any more than Sara could forget what had been done to her.

Damaged people, she thought, and smiled sadly. She picked up her bag, tossed it in a nearby trash receptacle and went back to her apartment.

* * *

GABRIEL CAME HOME that weekend. He looked tired, and he wasn’t smiling.

“Bad week?” Sara asked. They were at the ranch in Comanche Wells. She only stayed there when he was at home. She was nervous of being so far out of town on her own.

“Very bad,” he said. “We’re having some problems over the oil fields. Terrorists, kidnappings, the usual,” he added with a smile. “How are you?”

It was a throwaway remark, except that his eyes were very intent on her face as he waited for the answer.

“I’m...the same. Why do you ask?”

“Because Wolf Patterson called me and asked what had happened to you that made you back away from him if he came too close.”

Her heart jumped. “He had no right,” she began furiously.

“He reminded me that he waited for a tow truck with you one night after an opera in Houston, when you had a flat, and that you almost ran to get into the wrecker with the driver. Then he told me about a conversation you had in the park. He said you were afraid of him when he moved close to you.”

“Only because he was being sarcastic and obnoxious,” she shot back. “I can’t abide the man!”

His eyes narrowed. “I know you too well to believe that,” he said. “You find him attractive.”

She flushed.

He drew in a long breath. “He went through hell because of a woman who resembles you,” he said after a minute. “He’s not an evil man. He wouldn’t hurt you deliberately. But he might not be able to help it. He’s carrying scars. Bad ones.”

“Can you tell me why?”

He shook his head. “It’s much too personal.”

“I see.”

“He’s had some very hard knocks from women. His mother hated him.”

“What?”

“She didn’t want a child, but her husband did. When he died, she farmed Wolf out to one set of friends after another. In one of those households, the father was an alcoholic. He beat Wolf until he was old enough to fight back. His mother thought it was funny when the authorities tried to make her take him back. She said that she had no use for a sniveling little brat that she didn’t want in the first place.”

Sara sat down. She was getting a very sick picture of the man’s background.

“But he ended up in law enforcement. He was with the FBI,” she recalled, having heard him say that.

Gabriel almost bit his tongue off not replying. “He was a cop in San Antonio for a while. He went into other work, and they farmed him out to various agencies over the years. But he left the old life behind when he came here and bought the ranch.”

“He seems an odd fit for a small town,” she said slowly.

“It’s not the usual small town,” he replied. “He has enemies. Jacobsville is overflowing with mercs and ex-military, and he has friends here. Including me.”

She frowned. “He has enemies?”

“Deadly ones,” he replied. “There’s already been one attempt.”

“Someone tried to kill him?” she asked, shocked, hating her own reaction to those words, because it mattered to her that someone had tried to kill him.

Gabriel saw that. “Yes. Which makes him a moving target, along with anyone who gets close to him.” He put his big hand over hers. “You’ve had enough tragedy and trauma in your life. I don’t want you around him.”

She gnawed her lower lip.

“Sara, whatever you think you feel,” he said, choosing his words, “it wouldn’t end well. He hasn’t faced his past any more than you’ve faced yours. The two of you could damage each other, badly.”

“I see.”

“He’s not the man for you to cut your teeth on. I can’t tell him what happened to you, and I know for a fact that you won’t. He’s aggressive with women he wants. You can’t afford to let him want you. Do you understand?”

She swallowed. “Yes.”

“I’m sorry.”

She drew in a breath, forced a smile and changed the subject. “How about a slice of cake? I made you a chocolate one.”

He smiled back. “That would be nice.”

CHAPTER THREE

SARA FELT GRIEF like a living thing when she remembered what Gabriel had said about Wolf Patterson. Until then, she hadn’t realized how her attitude toward him was changing. When he’d knelt in front of her in the park, spoken to her in that gentle tone, her heart had started to melt. But she knew Gabriel was right. She couldn’t afford to encourage a man like that.

Aggressive with women he wanted, Gabriel had said. So her brother knew things about him, knew that he had women.

It shouldn’t have surprised her. Wolf was an attractive man. When he wasn’t baiting her and being sarcastic, he was charming. Those blonde women she’d seen him with were certainly charmed, she thought bitterly. Blonde. Always blonde. He hated brunettes. Sara was a brunette...

The more she thought about it, the more it hurt. She’d buried herself in her studies for years, learned languages, traveled, done anything she could to force the horrible memories out of her mind. She succeeded for whole days at a time, although the nightmares came frequently, and she woke up screaming.

In the daytime there was a remedy. She could ride. She loved horses, and she was an accomplished rider. The freedom of sailing across the pastures on the back of Black Silk, the fastest of Gabriel’s geldings, was a thrill beyond description. It blew away the pain. It gave her peace.

Black Silk had a wild, free spirit, much like Sara herself. She tossed the saddle onto his back, checked the bindings and swung gracefully up onto his back. She pushed him into a full gallop across the pasture. Laughing, with her lithe body clinging to the saddle, her long black hair flying behind her, she made a picture that an artist would have loved.

But the man driving along the road, watching her, was filled with horror. She could break her neck like that!

He drove hell for leather down the road to the end of the pasture, swung the Mercedes up to the fence and slammed out of it seconds after he cut off the engine.

Sara, shocked, saw him and pulled Black Silk up at the fence, patting him to ease his nervousness. She let him walk to the watering trough and sat still while he drank, and a furious Wolf Patterson came right over the fence toward her.

“Get down,” he said in a tone that could have curdled milk.

Speechless, she just sat and looked at him.

He reached up and pulled her off the horse’s back as if she weighed nothing. He stood there, holding her in his arms off the ground, and glared into her shocked black eyes.

“You crazy little fool, you could have killed yourself!” he ground out.

“But...I always ride...like that,” she began.

His hard face was pale. His eyes were flashing like fireworks. His eyes fell to her beautiful face, to her wide black eyes, to her soft bow of a mouth. He groaned, almost shivering with hunger, and suddenly brought his mouth right down over Sara’s soft lips without one single sign of hesitation.

He felt her body go stiff. His mouth insisted, but the harder he kissed her, the more she stiffened. After a few seconds, he realized that she was frightened of him.

He forced himself to slow down, although her mouth was the sweetest nectar he’d tasted in years. He smoothed his lips tenderly over her top lip, teasing it, toying with it, in a silence broken only by the raspy sound of his own breathing and the quick rhythm of hers.

“I won’t hurt you,” he whispered. “Don’t fight me. Open your mouth under mine. Let me taste you...”

She’d never felt anything quite like it. Her hands had a death grip on his neck, cold and tremulous as she let him kiss her. It had been years since she’d even tolerated a kiss. His mouth was sensuous, firm, very expert. She didn’t know what to do, but she did relax just a little. It felt good. It felt...wonderful. Nothing like the man in her nightmares...

He lifted his head a few seconds later and looked into her wide, curious black eyes. “You don’t know how to do this,” he said in a deep, almost shocked tone.

She swallowed. She could taste him on her mouth, tasted coffee and something like mint.

He was fascinated. He bent to her mouth again, drew his ever so softly over it, smiling faintly, because she wasn’t resisting him.

“Like this,” he whispered, and taught her the brushing little caresses that were tender and slow and arousing.

She followed his lead, her heart racing. He was her worst enemy in the world, and she was letting him kiss her. Not only that. She was...kissing him back. He tasted like honey...

“That’s it, baby,” he whispered. “Yes. Just like that...”

His arms contracted and his mouth opened, pressing her lips apart. His body was hardening as he held her. He hadn’t felt anything so powerful for a very long time. Her mouth was the sweetest honey he’d ever had.

She felt the strength in his hard arms, the warmth of his muscular chest against her breasts. She moaned softly as sensations she’d never felt in her life lanced through her.

He heard the soft moan and suddenly ground her breasts against him as the fever began to burn in him. That was when he felt her go stiff.

He forced himself to lift his head. Her eyes were wide and shocked, and now there was fear in them. His eyes narrowed as he realized why. Her nipples were hard, like little stones pressing into his chest. Did she know why they were hard? he wondered. Because she acted like a woman with her first man.

His chin lifted as he looked at her. He felt arrogant. “Have you ever had a man?” he asked in a deep, rough whisper.

Her reaction shocked him. She made a sound like a sob deep in her throat and pushed at him, frantically. “Let me down. Let me down, please!”

He put her on her feet. She looked up at him with anguish.

The reaction set him off. He hadn’t meant to touch her. The way she was riding had frightened him, God knew why. He was only trying to keep her safe. But she backed away as if he’d done something unspeakable.

His pale eyes narrowed. “Your love life is none of my business,” he said shortly. “But it’s a good act.”

Her tongue felt thick. “Act?”

His mouth pulled up into a cold, sarcastic smile. “The frightened virgin bit,” he explained. He slid his hands into his pockets, and hateful memories flooded his mind, of another brunette, coy and teasing and innocent. Except that she wasn’t innocent. She’d tormented him, shattered his life. It had started just like this.

She wrapped her arms around her chest. She felt cold all over. Technically, she was still a virgin. But that was only due to a physical barrier that had stopped her stepfather long enough for Gabriel to break in the door.

She closed her eyes, and a wave of pure nausea swept over her. She was back in that time, in that space, in her room, screaming for help that she never expected to come. Her mother had gone shopping. Gabriel was in school. Except that he’d left class early. Thank God he had!

She shivered.

Wolf, watching her, was torn by conflicting emotions. Part of him was ablaze with a monstrous desire to push her down in the grass and have her right there. Another, saner, part was certain that it was an act. A woman who traveled, was sophisticated and was of her age was afraid of kisses? She’d been putting on an act. In his car, after the opera, in the park and now here. Tempt him, pretend to be afraid to make him vulnerable. And then the knives would come out of hiding. Exactly as they had with Ysera.

Ysera. His eyes closed on a silent groan. He’d loved her. What she’d done to him was beyond cruelty.

Sara had turned away. She climbed back into the saddle. She didn’t look at Wolf Patterson.

“I’ve been riding horses since I was three years old,” she said through her teeth. “When I was younger, I did rodeo. I know how to handle horses.”

“And now I know that, don’t I?” he said. He smiled at her. It wasn’t a nice smile. It was demeaning, arrogant. “Just for the record, I don’t like brunettes. You might have noticed that the women I date are blonde.”

She didn’t answer him.

“The frightened virgin bit won’t work again,” he added. “You’ll have to think of something a little more original. I’m an old fox, honey. I know women.”

She felt a chill run down her spine. She lifted her chin. “Whatever you may think, I’m not in the mood for a torrid love affair, Mr. Patterson,” she said haughtily. “Least of all with you.”

He only smiled. “You’d be lucky,” he drawled.

She fought the memory of how gentle he’d been, how very tender. She didn’t want to remember. Her hand tightened on the reins. Then, involuntarily, she remembered what Gabriel had told her about Wolf’s mother, and she winced inwardly. The woman had done untold damage. No doubt there was some other woman, as well, more recently, who’d added to his scars. He was the most mistrustful person she’d ever known. She didn’t trust people, either, but she couldn’t talk to him. He disliked her. But why had he kissed her? She couldn’t understand the way he went from hot to cold and back again with her.

He was studying the horse closely.

“Something on your mind?” she asked coolly.

“Couldn’t get the broom cranked?”

Her black eyes flashed like lightning. “If I had a broom, I’d hit you with it!”

“And you know what I’d do when you did, don’t you?” His voice was deep and caressing. His eyes were sensuous, like that firm, chiseled mouth, smiling at her as if he knew everything she was feeling. She could see in her mind what he was thinking, see him take the broom away and jerk her into his arms, and bend his head...

She swallowed, hard, and fought down a new and disturbing hunger.

“I have to go home.” She turned the horse with easy skill.

“Time to feed the flying monkeys?”

She started to say something, bit her tongue instead and galloped away, red-faced.

* * *

GABRIEL DIDN’T LIKE parties as a rule, but there was always the one exception. Jacobsville had holiday events to benefit the local animal shelter. There was a dance at the civic center, and everybody attended. It was one of several throughout the year. This one was for spring.

Sara went with her brother. Michelle was coming home soon, but she’d had a job interview in San Antonio, and she wanted to stay there over the weekend in Sara’s apartment. So it was just Sara and Gabriel at the dance.

Sara let her hair fall naturally, thick and black and down to her waist in back. She wore an off-white ankle-length dress that complemented her soft, pale olive skin, while emphasizing her black eyes, her beauty. She wore only a string of pearls and stud earrings with it.

She looked exquisitely beautiful.

Wolf Patterson hated her on sight in that dress. He remembered Ysera wearing one like it when they went nightclubbing in Berlin. At the end of the evening, he’d removed it. Ysera had vamped him, seduced him, whispered how much she loved him, how much she wanted him. Then she’d ridiculed him, laughed at him, made him feel like a fool.

Sara caught that expression on his face and couldn’t understand it. She averted her eyes and smiled at an elderly cattleman who seemed to have come to the benefit alone.

“Pretty young woman like you shouldn’t be hanging out with an outlaw like me,” he teased. “You should get out there and dance.”

She smiled sadly as she nursed a soft drink. “I don’t dance.” She did, but she couldn’t abide being that close to a man. Not anymore.

“Now that’s a pity. You should get our police chief to teach you.” He chuckled, indicating Cash Grier, who was out on the dance floor with his beautiful redheaded wife, Tippy, doing a masterful waltz.

“I’d just trip over my feet and kill somebody.” Sara laughed softly.

“Hi, Sara,” one of Eb Scott’s men called to her. She knew him. Gabriel had invited him to the house a couple of times. He was tall and dark, very handsome, with flashing green eyes. “How about dancing with me?”

“Sorry,” she declined with a smile. “I don’t dance...”

“That’s silly. I can teach you. Here.” He took the soft drink away and caught her hand.

She reacted badly. She jerked back, flushed. “Ted, don’t,” she said in a curt undertone, tugging at her hand.

He’d had at least one drink too many. He didn’t realize what he was doing to her. “Oh, come on, it’s just a dance!”

Wolf Patterson caught him by the collar and almost threw him away from Sara.

“She said she didn’t want to dance,” he told the man, and his posture was dangerous enough to sober the other man up. Fortunately, they were in an alcove, and they didn’t draw attention. Sara was embarrassed enough already.

“Gosh. Sorry, Sara,” Ted told her, flustered, as he glanced at Wolf Patterson, whose eyes were glittering like fresh ice.

“It’s okay,” she said in a husky undertone. But her hands were shaking.

Ted grimaced, nodded at Wolf and made himself scarce.

Sara swallowed, then swallowed again. She was shaking. Any sort of aggression from a man, even slight, was enough to set her off.

“Come with me,” Wolf said quietly. He stood aside, indicating the side door.

She followed him out into the night. It was cold, and her coat was in the hall with all the others.

Wolf took off his jacket and slid it over her soft, bare shoulders. It was warm from his body. It smelled of masculine spice.

“You’ll get cold,” she protested.

He stuck his hands into his pockets and shrugged. “I don’t feel the cold much.”

They stared out over the long pasture that led to a wooded area around the community center. The night was quiet, except for the distant sound of dogs howling. There was a crescent moon that gave just enough light to let them see each other.

“Thanks,” she bit off, not looking at him.

He drew in a long breath. “He was drinking. He’ll apologize the next time he sees you.”

“Yes.”

“You have some real issues with men,” he said after a minute.

“No, I...”

He turned quickly toward her. She jerked backward helplessly.

He laughed coldly. “No?”

She bit her lower lip and lowered her eyes. “You think you can get over things,” she said in a dull tone. “But the past is portable. You can’t run from it, no matter how fast you go, how far you go.”

“You can cash checks on that,” he agreed bitterly.

“I’m sorry I set you off, at the house,” she began.

“You remind me of her,” he bit off. “She was beautiful, too. Brunette, black eyes, olive complexion. In the right light...” He hesitated. “Do I remind you of the man who hurt you?” he asked abruptly.

“He was blond,” she said unsteadily.

“I see.”

She closed her eyes.

“Gabriel won’t tell me a damned thing about you.”

“We’re even. He won’t tell me about you, either.”

He managed a faint laugh. “Curious about me, are you?”

“Not...that way,” she said under her breath.

“Really?” He turned and moved just a step closer. “You were kissing me back in the pasture.”

She flushed. “You caught me...off guard.”

“Just how experienced are you?” he asked bluntly. “Is that innocence real, or is it an act? Something to disarm a man and make him feel protective?”

She wrapped his jacket closer around her thin shoulders. “I live inside myself,” she said after a minute. “I don’t...need other people.”

“I feel that way, too, most of the time. But then there are the long, empty nights when I have to have a woman just to get through them.”

Her face flamed. “Lucky women,” she drawled.

His hand came up, very slowly, and pushed back a long strand of silky black hair from her face. “Yes, they are. I’m a tender lover,” he said softly.

She stepped back, nervously. She didn’t like the mental pictures that were forming in her mind.

“Sara, are you all right?” Gabriel asked from the doorway.

They both turned to look at him. “Yes,” she said.

He gave Wolf a speaking look. “You should come back in. It’s cold.”

“I’ll be there in just a minute,” she promised.

Gabriel nodded and went inside, but with obvious reluctance.

“Your brother doesn’t want me anywhere near you,” Wolf told her.

“Yes. He told me that you’re...” She flushed as she recalled what Gabriel had said, that Wolf was aggressive with women he wanted. “He said that you have a past that you haven’t dealt with.”

“Like you,” he returned.

She nodded. “He said we could hurt each other badly.”

“He’s right,” he replied with narrow, dark eyes. “Past a certain point, I wouldn’t be tender. And I think aggression is what frightens you the most.”

“I can’t...do that,” she said, her voice curt.

“Do what?”

“Sleep...with anyone.”

His face hardened. “Then you shouldn’t send out signals that you’re available. Should you?”

“I haven’t!”

“You lay in my arms like a silken doll and let me have your mouth,” he said under his breath, his voice deep and soft and sensuous. He leaned toward her conspiratorially. “That’s a signal.”

“I was surprised,” she shot back. “Caught off guard.”

“You don’t like men close to you,” he said, thinking out loud. “You were frightened of Ted. But you like it when I touch you, Sara.”

“I...don’t!”

His forefinger went to her soft bow mouth and traced around its outline in a slow, sensuous appraisal that made it tremble.

He moved a step closer, watching her face lift helplessly, feeling the quick, involuntary whip of her breath.

“Your brother was right,” he whispered as he bent. His mouth shivered over her parted lips, barely touching, tracing, tempting. “I’m much more dangerous than I look.”

She wanted to move away. She really did. But the feel of him so close to her, the smell of him, familiar and dear, the hard warmth of his mouth teasing hers, made her reckless. She’d never really wanted a man to kiss her. But she loved it when Wolf did. He made the bad memories go away.

His fingers were tracing up and down her long neck, making sensuous little patterns while his mouth smoothed over her lips.

“You could become an addiction,” he whispered. “That would be the worst thing I could do to you.”

Her eyes opened wide on his face, seeing it harden, seeing his eyes glitter.

“I mean it,” he said roughly. “I hate brunettes. I wouldn’t mean to take out old vendettas on you, but I might not be able to help it.” His mouth crushed down on hers briefly and then lifted. “She liked to make me crazy in bed, then she laughed at me when I lost control and went over the edge.”

She caught her breath at the images that flashed through her mind.

“I don’t think she ever felt a damned thing. But she pretended that she did, at first. She told me she was a virgin. She even acted like one...”

He jerked away from Sara. His pale eyes were glittery on her face. “Just like you,” he said in a rough undertone. “Backing away to make me come close then pretending that I got through her defenses, that I wasn’t like the other men who frightened her.”

She began to understand what Gabriel meant. She felt a sense of loss. This man was far more damaged even than she was.

“Have you ever had therapy?” she asked sadly.

“Therapy.” He laughed out loud. “I had two years of a woman ridiculing me every time I lay in her arms, making me beg for satisfaction. Can damned therapy fix that?” he asked in a rasping tone.

She winced.

“So I date blondes. They don’t come with bad memories, and I can make them lose control, make them beg me.” He smiled coldly. “Payback.”

She had a sick feeling deep inside. He would do that to her, if they ever became involved. He would make her pay for those scars the other woman had given him. She hadn’t realized until then that she felt different with him than she ever had with other men.

“Have I shocked you?” he asked sarcastically.

“Yes,” she replied softly. “I...haven’t ever... Well, that’s not quite true.” She lowered her eyes. “My stepfather tried to have me. He was brutal and vulgar and there was a trial... I had to testify against him. He went to prison.”

“Did you tease him?” he asked coldly. “Drive him crazy until he had to do something about it?”

Why had she thought he might feel differently than other men had? She laughed softly to herself. She took off his jacket and handed it to him. “I’m sure that’s what I did,” she replied. “It must have been my fault.”

He couldn’t see her face. He didn’t realize that she was being sarcastic. “Poor damned fool,” he bit off. “Just don’t think you’ll ever get the opportunity to try it out on me.”

“Mr. Patterson,” she said with ragged pride, “it would never occur to me that you’d be that stupid. Excuse me.”

She brushed by him and went into the civic center. She found Gabriel standing by the punch bowl. She was poised, but very pale.

“I’d like to go home, please,” she said in a haunted tone.

Gabriel looked over her head at Wolf Patterson’s cold expression. He glared at his friend, but Sara looked as if she couldn’t take any more.

“Yes,” he told her. “Come on.”

* * *

SHE MADE COFFEE. They sat at the kitchen table and drank it.

“What did he say to you?”

“The usual things.” She sighed. “But he did tell me about the woman...”

“Ysera?”

She looked up. “Is that her name?”

He nodded. His face was grim. “We hated her. We knew what she was doing to him, but you can’t drag a man away from a woman he thinks he’s in love with. She damned near destroyed him.” He frowned. “He’s never spoken of it to anyone. Not even to me. I know about it from a girl who worked with her. She thought Ysera was warped, mentally. I have to agree.”

“He told me about her to warn me off,” she said. She shook her head. “I can’t imagine a man putting up with that.”

“He loved her,” he said simply.

She drew in a breath and sipped coffee. “He said that he didn’t think therapy could do anything for him.” She flushed.

“What else did he say?”

She laughed hollowly. “That I must have teased our stepfather until he went crazy to have me.”

“I’ll break his damned neck!”

“You will not,” she said, pulling his shirtsleeve to make him sit back down. “He doesn’t know a thing about me. It’s what even one of my friends thought.”

“You were thirteen!”

She winced. “Maybe I wore shorts too much...”

“Oh, God, don’t do that to yourself!” he burst out. “You were a child, far more innocent than most girls your age. He’d been after you for months.”

“I didn’t tell you that!” she exclaimed, embarrassed.

“The prosecutor told me,” he replied. “He was livid. He said they should have the death penalty for cases like yours.”

She lowered her eyes to the table. “I have no peace. I have nightmares.” She smiled sadly. “There’s this man I play WoW with,” she recalled. “He says he has nightmares, too. Of course, he could be a woman or a man or a child, I don’t really know, but he...he gives me peace. We get along so well together. He said that he couldn’t get away from the past. I know how that feels.”

He didn’t dare tell her that her WoW friend was none other than Wolf Patterson. The player was the only real confidant she had, besides Gabriel. It was one of the only happy things in her sad life, that game. Perhaps it was the only thing Wolf had, as well.

“Do you know who he is in the real world?” he asked conversationally.

“Oh, no. I don’t want to,” she added. “The game isn’t like real life. We just have fun playing together, like children.” She laughed. “It’s so funny. I don’t have friends, you know. But I have a friend in him. I can talk to him. Not that we go into specifics. But he’s a compassionate person.”

“So are you.”

She smiled. “I try to be.”

“Sara, do you understand now why I told you that you can’t afford to let Wolf get close to you?”

She nodded.

“Someone said that Ted got insistent about dancing with you,” he said abruptly.

“Yes. He tried to drag me out onto the dance floor,” she replied uneasily. “Mr. Patterson caught him by the collar and almost threw him into a wall.” She shivered. “He’s scary when he loses his temper.”

“Only because he never loses it,” Gabriel replied. “That’s one man you don’t ever want to make mad. Well, if you’re a man, that is. I’ve never known him to hurt a woman.” He studied her. “He was aggressive with Ted?”

“Yes.”

He didn’t want to make the obvious assumption, but it presented itself just the same. Ted was trying to put the make on Sara, and Wolf was protective of her. Jealous over her? Possibly.

“It wouldn’t end well,” he said, thinking out loud.

“Don’t you think I know that?” she asked. “He even told me that he...gets even for what the brunette did to him, with other women.” She flushed.

“He doesn’t talk about it, to anyone,” he repeated. “Why did he tell you?”

“I don’t understand why, either,” she replied. “He hates brunettes.”

“You have to make sure he doesn’t develop a taste for you,” he said firmly.

She nodded. She was remembering how it felt to kiss him, to be in his arms, and she didn’t want to. She didn’t dare tell Gabriel how things had already gotten physical between them.

“Don’t worry,” she said gently, and smiled. “I’m not suicidal.”

* * *

A FEW DAYS LATER, she had occasion to remember those words.

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