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hard to miss.
Backed up against the wall of the tallest stadium seats, he stood, his legs spread, his arms
crossed. In his standard starched, white western shirt and jeans with a silver belt buckle as big as
her two fists, he was a scrumptious sight for her sore eyes. He watched the formations of the
latest act in the arena, a drum and bugle corps from the local high school. His handsome face was
split in the biggest grin she d ever seen him sport.
But when she walked up to him and said hello, his features fell apart.
He inhaled, recovering himself to take in her ponytail, shirt and jeans.  Been around to
see your work?
She stood taller, scraping up all her gumption. He was still so angry. How could she ever
explain? How could she survive making him angrier?  I have. It looks wonderful.
He gave Shana her due.  You need to be proud of yourself.
 I am. She took the words and used them to her advantage.  I d like to be prouder.
He stared at her. Whether he understood what she meant or not, she couldn t take time to
learn. The noise from the crowd was rising to higher, ear-splitting decibels and she couldn t
speak to him here.  I d like to talk to you. Privately.
 Now?
She nodded.  It won t take me long, and what I want to tell you is long overdue. Can we
go to your office?
He thought that one over for long seconds.  Hurry up. I want to be back for the next
event.
Shana expected him to take her arm and help her descend the steps, like the gentleman he
always was, but he didn t touch her.
And as they walked across the yard toward the office, she regretted that she d ever tried
to come here and talk to him. What was she going to gain? Whatever it was, a freer conscience, a
clear slate, it was her gain, wasn t it? Not his. How selfish of her.
He took out his keys and opened the main office door. Then he swung it wide to let her
precede him. She strode inside to the room where she d first met him and first seen that he was
better so much better than any fantasy she d had of him. Her temporary desk, all the rickety
chairs, the overflowing file cabinets were gone. The only item that remained was Kade s desk,
clean as a whistle, not paper or paperclip to be found.
She spun toward him.  What s happening here? Where is everything?
Kade had taken up the same hard stance he d assumed up on the stairs. Corded legs
braced wide, massive arms folded across his chest. His position was formidable and so was his
tone.  Gone. Sam s building us a new office over on the other side of the pens.
 That s terrific. She clasped her hands together.  Oh, just what you need.
His expression told her no, that was not what he needed.  What do you want, Shana?
 I came to tell you everything.
 Why? The word was dark with pain.
She had to keep going.  Because I should have long ago. Because I owe it to you.
He shook his head.  You owe me nothing. He extended an arm to define the room, the
pens, the main rodeo.  You did all this. I owe you my thanks.
 I hear Sam gave you a raise. She stepped toward him.
 And a bonus. I m buying my house.
 Oh, darling, that s wonderful. She realized when he winced that she d said too much
and not yet enough. She bit her lip, ran a hand back through her hair.  Look, I need to tell you
how I hurt you.
 Damn, Shana, you don t need to tell me. I feel it every hour of every day.
 No! She stomped her foot.  Before a few weeks ago, I hurt you. I was the one, she
grabbed a breath,  I was the one who wrote that story about you in the Dallas paper!
His eyes widened, and the green went from dark to light.
 I am S.J. Carpenter, and I wrote the piece that the TV reporters and the national
association used to run you out of competition.
He hadn t moved, and she wasn t sure he d heard her, so she walked forward, pointing to
her chest.
 Don t you see, I ruined you. And it was because all that afternoon I saw you yelling at
the judges, arguing with your competitors and acting like a wild man!
 I was drunk.
He said it so softly she had to pause.  What?
 I was drunk. Had been for two days. Didn t know enough not to compete.
 I didn t know, she whispered.  But& but that doesn t matter. I still wrote that. I
couldn t believe how the media used it and made it into this huge story. God! On all the
channels! They said you were a hothead. Then someone else came along and talked about the
way bronco busting was so dangerous. Caused so much brain damage. And I felt like a fool. An
idiot. I had ruined you and all the while you were disabled!
 I should have quit long before you wrote that piece. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]