Nonfiction 3

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By Diana Palmer


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Sample text

Abby had seen Calhoun lose his temper, and she knew how hard he could hit when he did. " the drunken cowboy demanded. " Calhoun caught the smaller man's wrist in a hard, cruel grasp and twisted. The man groaned and went down, holding his hand and cursing. " one of the man's cronies protested, standing up. He was almost Calhoun's size, and a lot rougher-looking. " Calhoun asked in a soft drawl that was belied by the dark glitter in his eyes. " The younger man threw a punch, but he was too slow. Calhoun's big fists put him over a table.

Justin was so nice. He never tried to hog-tie her. Now why couldn't Calhoun be like that? She felt murderous when she considered Calhoun's possessiveness. She was entitled to a life that didn't revolve around him. There was just no sense in wearing her heart out on his taciturn indifference. None at all! Misty came ten minutes later. Thank God, Calhoun didn't reappear. With a sigh of relief, Abby ran out to Misty's little sports car, all smiles, her breaking heart carefully concealed from her all-too-perceptive girlfriend.

She'd grow old with Calhoun patting her on the head. Once or twice she'd almost thought he felt something for her, that he'd begun to notice her. But if he had, he certainly wouldn't be running all over the place with other women. And he wouldn't ignore Abby unless she started a fight or got into trouble. She was his responsibility, of course. His headache. To him she was anything but a warm, attractive woman whom he might love eventually. That she'd never be. By the time she got to the house, she felt sick all over, but a plan was beginning to form in her mind.

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