Особое чувство собственного ирландства. Пат Инголдзби

Cream or sugar?”

      “Cream please.”

      The lawyer carried it over to her and she smiled wryly as she accepted the cup and saucer. “At least you think I’m a lady,” she said.

      Frowning, he rested his hips on the front of the desk. “Now why would you say that? I’ve always considered you a lady.”

      A blush crept across her face. “Well, I don’t imagine you’ve had too many good thoughts of me since I left Aztec. You and Quito were such good friends.”

      He shrugged. “And we still are. I don’t put the entire blame on your breakup with you. You were very young then, Clementine. Quito should have realized that and—well, let’s not get into all that. Tell me what you’re doing with the house?”

      Neil walked around the desk and eased down in a leather chair. Clementine sipped her coffee and tried to get comfortable. “I don’t know. That’s why I wanted to talk to you about it first. I knew you’d be honest with me. As to whether I should sell or rent.”

      Thoughtful, he rubbed a thumb and forefinger across his dented chin. “The place has been empty for a long time. Years, in fact. Why have you suddenly decided to do something with it?”

      Clementine breathed deeply. “Believe me, Neil, my decision isn’t sudden. I’ve had the place on my mind for a long while. But I—” She couldn’t continue. She couldn’t admit to this old friend that she’d been afraid to return to Aztec, afraid of facing Quito and all that had happened between them. “I’ve been busy with one thing and another,” she finished.

      He smiled understandingly. “Well, the years have certainly been kind to you, Clementine. You haven’t aged a day. You’re still just as pretty as ever.”

      “And it sounds like you’re still the flirt and flatterer that I remember,” she teased.

      Neil chuckled and then his expression turned serious. “I thought that you might have come back because of Quito. You must have heard he nearly died.”

      The news was such a slam to her stomach she actually pressed her hand against her midsection. Incredulous, she stared at him. “Nearly died? But how? Why?”

      “Someone tried to murder him. It happened out on highway 544. Someone drove up beside him and pumped three nine millimeter slugs into the side of his vehicle. Two of the bullets hit Quito and did a lot of damage. He only got released from the hospital about two or three weeks ago.”

      So that’s why he’d looked a little pale, she thought. And all the time he’d been standing beside her table, she’d been thinking his ashen color had been a result of seeing her again. Clementine should have known better than to think she’d had that much effect on the man.

      Still stunned, she slowly shook her head. “No—I—I hadn’t heard about Quito. In fact, I just saw him over at the Wagon Wheel. He stopped by my table to say hello.” A pained expression crossed her face. “He didn’t say anything about being shot!”

      Neil shrugged. “No. Quito wouldn’t say anything. He’s not the sort to go around talking about himself.”

      Or to her, she thought, sadly.

      “I noticed he was still wearing his badge and gun. So apparently he’s not giving up the job of sheriff,” she said to Neil.

      Leaning back in his chair, Neil folded his arms across his chest and thoughtfully eyed her troubled face. “Why, Clementine, you sound as if you still care about our brave sheriff.”

      Trying to keep any sort of emotion from her face, Clementine reached down and pulled a set of thick papers from the briefcase she’d carried in with her handbag.

      “Here’s the abstract and deed for the house and land,” she said stiffly. “Once you have a chance to read it over you can contact me at the Apache Junction.”

      Clementine rose to her feet and walked out before the lawyer collected himself enough to make any sort of reply.

      Once she was outside and sitting in her car, she finally let her guard down. With a heavy sigh, she rested her forehead on the steering wheel and closed her eyes.

      Clementine, you sound as if you still care about our brave sheriff.

      What made Neil think she still had feelings for Quito Perez, she wondered bitterly. Eleven years was a long time. Love didn’t last that long. Not for anybody.

      Chapter Two

      After Clementine drove away from Neil Rankin’s office, she decided at the last moment to turn the car onto the highway and drive out to the Jones house.

      She’d only arrived in Aztec last night after a long drive up from Houston. Her mother, Delta, had pronounced her crazy for wanting to drive eleven hundred miles rather than fly to northern New Mexico. But Clementine hadn’t wanted the trip to be short. She’d wanted the extra time to think about the past and ponder her future.

      Nothing had turned out as she’d once planned and a tiny part of her hoped and believed that making this trip, and doing away with the house her parents had willed her, would finally put an end to her restless heart.

      The car topped out on a small grade and Clementine automatically began to brake as she noticed a patrol car parked on the side of the road. It would be just her luck to get a speeding ticket, she thought dourly. Quito would surely get a laugh out of that.

      On closer inspection, she noticed the car was empty and just as she was about to pass, she caught sight of a man’s figure standing out among a stand of twisted juniper trees.

      It was Quito!

      Without bothering to wonder why, she steered her car onto the shoulder of the highway and parked in front of the patrol car. In a matter of seconds she was out of the car and walking toward him.

      He noticed her immediately, but he didn’t bother walking to meet her. Instead he stood his ground and waited for her to come to him.

      She was still dressed in the slim white skirt and peach silk blouse she’d been wearing at the Wagon Wheel. The four-inch spiked heels on her feet were sinking into the loamy red soil and he cursed under his breath as she awkwardly covered the rough ground between them.

      “What are you doing out here, Clementine?”

      She licked her lips and smoothed her skirt. “I saw the car and then I spotted you. I thought something might be wrong.” She hadn’t exactly thought he was having trouble, but it was the only excuse she could think of at the moment. Apparently from the dry expression on Quito’s face, he considered it pretty lame, too.

      “Well, there’s nothing wrong. And you’re going to kill yourself wearing those heels out here like this.”

      A smile tilted the corners of her lips. “Still the ever practical Quito, I see.”

      Her blue eyes slid covertly down his six-foot-three-inch body. He was thick with muscle, much more so than he’d been eleven years ago. His thighs had his jeans stretched tight and the expanse across his chest and shoulders seemed to go on forever. He was wearing a white oxford shirt and the color contrasted starkly against his dark skin.

      As her eyes returned to his face, she felt another kick in the stomach. Quito wasn’t handsome. His features were far too rough for that. But the chiseled nose and mouth and dark hooded eyes all combined to make the most masculine face she’d ever seen. And one that, for her, had been unforgettable.

      “I could think of worse things to be called,” he said.

      She smiled again while inside she sighed softly at the thought of stepping forward and laying her cheek against his broad chest. Quito was the strongest, bravest man she’d ever known. No one had ever made her feel as safe as he had.

      “This morning—you didn’t ask me why I was here in Aztec,” she said. “How come?”

      Her question