Desperado

She felt the familiar whip of his sarcasm with pain she didn’t try to hide. After all, he couldn’t see it. “That’s our Eb,” she agreed. “A real kidder. I guess you have—what was her name?—June to take care of you?” she added with forced lightness.

“That’s right. I have June. She’s been here since I got home.” He emphasized the pronoun, for reasons of his own. He smiled deliberately. “June is all I need. She’s sweet and kindhearted, and she really cares about me.”

She forced a smile. “She’s pretty, too.”

He nodded. “Isn’t she, though? Pretty, smart, and a good cook. And she’s blond,” he added in a cold, soft voice that made chills run down her spine.

She didn’t have to puzzle out the remark. He was partial to blondes. His late wife, Patricia, had been a blonde. He’d loved Patricia...

She rubbed her fingers over the strap of her shoulder bag and realized with a start how tired she was. Airport after airport, dragging her suitcase, agonizing over Cord’s true state of health for three long days, just trying to get home to him—and he acted as if she’d pushed her way in. Perhaps she had. Eb should have told her the truth, that Cord still didn’t want her in his life, even when he was injured.

She gave him a long, anguished look and moved one shoulder restlessly. “Well, that puts me in my place,” she said pleasantly. “I’m sure not blond. Nice to see you’re still on your feet. But I’m sorry about your eyes,” she added.

“What about my eyes?” he asked curtly, scowling fiercely.

“Eb said you were blinded,” she replied.

“Temporarily blinded,” he corrected. “It’s not a permanent condition. I can see fairly well now, and the ophthalmologist expects a complete recovery.”

Her heart jumped. He could see? She realized then that he was watching her, not just staring into a void. It came as a shock. She hadn’t been guarding her expressions. She felt uncomfortable, knowing he’d been able to glimpse the misery and worry on her face.

“No kidding? That’s great news!” she said, and forced a convincing smile. She was getting the hang of this. Her face would be permanently gleeful, like a piece of fired sculpture. She could hire it out for celebrations. This wasn’t one.

“Isn’t it?” he agreed, but his returned smile wasn’t pleasant at all.

She shifted the strap of her bag again, feeling weak at the knees and embarrassed by her headlong rush to his side. She’d given up her new job and come running home to take care of Cord. But he didn’t need her, or want her here. Now she had no job, no place to live, and only her savings to get her through the time until she could find employment. She never learned.

He was barely courteous, and his expression was hostile. “Thanks for coming. I’m sorry you have to leave so soon,” he added. “I’ll be glad to walk you to the door.”

She lifted an eyebrow, and gave him a sardonic look. “No need to give me the bum’s rush,” she said. “I got the message, loud and clear. I’m not welcome. Fine. I’ll leave skid marks going out the door. You can have June scrub them off later.”

“Everything’s a joke with you,” he accused coldly.

“It beats crying,” she replied pleasantly. “I need my head read for coming out here in the first place. I don’t know why I bothered!”

“Neither do I,” he agreed with soft venom. “A day late and a dollar short, at that.”

That was enigmatic, but she was too angry to question his phrasing. “You don’t have to belabor the point. I’m going,” she assured him. “In fact, it’s just a matter of another few interviews and I can arrange things so that you’ll never have to see me again.”

“That would be a real pleasure,” he said with a bite in his deep voice. He was still glaring at her. “I’ll give a party.”

He was laying it on thick. It was as if he were furious with her, for some reason. Perhaps just her presence was enough to set him off. That was nothing new.

She only laughed. She’d had years to perfect her emotional camouflage. It was dangerous to give Cord an opening. He had no compunction about sticking the knife in. They were old adversaries.

“I won’t expect an invitation,” she told him complacently. “Ever thought of taking early retirement, while you still have a head that can be blown off?” she added.

He didn’t answer.

She shrugged and sighed. “I must be in demand somewhere,” she told the room at large. “I’ll have myself paged at the airport and find out.”

She gave him one long, last look, certain that it would be the last time her eyes would see that handsome face. There was some old saying about divine punishment in the form of showing paradise to a victim and then tossing him back into reality. It was like that with Maggie, having known the utter delight of Cord’s lovemaking only once. Despite the pain and embarrassment, and his fury afterward, she’d never been able to forget the wonder of his mouth on her body for the first time. The rejection she felt now was almost palpable, and she had to hide it. It wasn’t easy.

“Thanks for the caring concern,” he drawled.

“Oh, anytime,” she replied merrily. “But you can phone me yourself next time you stick your face in a bomb and want tending. And just for the record, you can tell Eb his sense of humor stinks!”

“Tell him yourself,” he shot back. “You were engaged to him, weren’t you?”

Only because I couldn’t have you, she thought, and your marriage was killing me. But she didn’t say another word. She smiled carelessly, dragged her eyes away from him, turned neatly on her heel and started back out the door.

She’d just gone through the doorway when he called to her suddenly, reluctantly, in a husky tone, “Maggie!”

She didn’t hesitate for a second. She was angry now, too, angry that she’d come three thousand miles, that she’d been stupid enough to care about a man who’d never returned her feelings, that she’d believed Eb Scott when he said Cord had asked for her.

June was in the hall, frowning. The frown deepened when she saw Maggie’s face, saw the hurt the woman was trying valiantly to hide.

“Are you all right?” she asked in a quick whisper.

Maggie couldn’t manage many words at that point. June was Cord’s new love interest. Maggie couldn’t bear to look at her. She just nodded, a curt jerk of her head. “Thanks,” she bit off, and kept walking.

She went out the front door and closed it behind her. Despite that faint call, Cord hadn’t pursued her. Maybe he felt momentarily guilty for being so unwelcoming. His sense of hospitality was probably outraged, but she knew from the past that he didn’t dwell on his conscience. Meanwhile, she wanted nothing more than to get her long fingernails into Eb Scott. He was happily married now, and she knew he hadn’t phoned her to be malicious, but he’d caused her untold misery by upsetting her about Cord’s condition. Why?

She stood on the front porch for a moment, trying to get herself together again. Houston was about twenty minutes miles away, and she’d sent the cab off, expecting to stay with Cord and take care of him. She laughed out loud.

She looked toward the highway. Oh, well. As they said, walking was great exercise. She was glad that she’d worn sneakers instead of high heels with her nice gray pantsuit. She could spend the time it took walking to Houston thinking about her stupidity. She noticed that Cord didn’t strain his sense of hospitality offering her a ride, either.

She tugged her wheeled suitcase along with her down the steps and started down the driveway with growing amusement at the absurdity of her predicament. She glanced down at the suitcase with a whimsical smile. “I don’t even have a horse to ride off into the sunset on. Well, it’s just you and me, old paint,” she said, reaching down to pat the suitcase. “Let’s mosey!”

* * *

BACK IN THE living room, Cord Romero was standing where Maggie had left him, frozen with anger by the fireplace.

June looked in, worried. “She seemed concerned about you,” she began.

“Sure,” he said on a cold laugh. “It’s twenty minutes from Houston and she couldn’t drive out here any sooner than this. Some concern!”

“But she had a—!” she began, about to tell him about the suitcase Maggie had left on the porch.

He held up a big, lean hand. “Not another word,” he said firmly. “I don’t want to hear one more thing about her. Bring me a cup of coffee, would you? Then send Red Davis in here.”

“Yes, sir,” she said.

“And tell your father I want to see him when he’s through overseeing the loading of those cattle we’ve culled,” he added, because her father was the livestock foreman.

“Yes, sir,” she said again, and left.

Cord cursed under his breath. He hadn’t seen Maggie in weeks. It was as if she’d vanished off the face of the earth. He’d actually gone by her apartment once, although she’d refused to answer the doorbell, even after he’d spent five minutes ringing it. She wouldn’t answer her damned telephone, either. He didn’t want to admit that he’d missed her, or that it hurt like hell that she’d waited four days to come and see about him.