The Bride Price. Suzanne Carey

David was part of the furniture became excruciating.

      At last it was Judge Beamish’s turn to speak. Citing the capital nature of the crime, he denied David’s request.

      Excusing himself with a long, slow look at Kyra, David accompanied his client and the bailiff back to the jail so that he and Paul could hold a private conference.

      For Kyra, it was as if all the light and energy in the room had departed with him. He didn’t bother to say goodbye, she thought. But then, why should he? There’s no precedent. A small, still voice inside her whispered, The twenty-two-year-old girl you once were was hoping he regretted his mistake, that he would try to win you back.

      It was going to be a long six weeks. Slumping a little in her chair, she tried to center herself.

      An informal bull session followed between her dad and the judge, a burly, fifty-something widower. Only half paying attention, Kyra was stunned to hear Hank Beamish remark that he and David were dating the same woman— Suzy Horvath, the newspaper editor who’d organized the dance festival.

      “We’re not really rivals, of course,” he confided with a wink at her. “So there’s no ground for prejudice. I don’t need to recuse myself.”

      If Big Jim found the conversation a little awkward, in view of Kyra’s presence, he didn’t let it show. “How’s that, Hank?” he asked negligently.

      The judge laughed outright as he stood and smoothed down his robe. “Hell, Suzy would tumble for him in a minute, if she thought he was serious. Of course, she’s a couple of years older than him. But that doesn’t mean much nowadays.”

      Why should I feel as if a knife has been plunged into the softest part of my stomach? Kyra asked herself. It’s just gossip, after all. I should have expected something of the sort. David’s had a lot of women since I refused to surrender my virginity without marriage. And he’ll have a lot more. It’s no skin off my nose.

      Her heart stubbornly aching despite the brave words she’d summoned to comfort herself, Kyra bade Judge Beamish goodbye and spent a few additional minutes hugging and talking to her dad. However, when an important phone call came through for him, she decided she’d had enough of hanging around the courthouse for one morning. Her parking meter had probably expired, anyway. Scribbling him a note that she planned to drive out to the house and take a dip in the pool, after stopping to see Red Miner’s wife, Flossie, who’d all but adopted her when her mother died, she headed for the stairs.

      In the interim, David had finished with his client and headed back in search of her. He came striding into the shadowed, momentarily deserted lobby just as she reached the bottom of the stairs. There was nobody around to form opinions or take notes.

      “Forget something?” she asked as casually as she could, taking a tentative step toward the door.

      His blue eyes glittered against the tan of his face. “As a matter of fact, I did. And I came back for it.”

      She realized abruptly that he was blocking her exit. “Dad’s still upstairs if you need to talk to him,” she whispered.

      “It isn’t your Dad I came back to see. And I suspect you know it, Changing Woman.”

      It was one of the love names he’d used for her. Beneath her staid, lawyerly suit, Kyra was tingling all over.

      “David, I don’t think…” she began.

      He wasn’t thinking, either. He was leading with his heart. Cutting off her flow of words before she could say something to discourage what he wanted, he tugged her to him and covered her mouth with his, boldly inserting his tongue.

      To be in his arms again, thigh to thigh and mouth to mouth, was like regaining a missing part of herself. Passion rose in a flood, racing through the parched arroyos of her loneliness like the male rain of a summer deluge anointing the high desert. The taste of him, both salty and sweet, his clean remembered scent of piñon and musk invading her nostrils, nearly blew her away.

      Yes, oh yes, she thought helplessly. This is what I’ve needed. What I’ve longed for with every breath, despite his treachery.

      Pliant as an aspen shedding its leaves on an October mountainside, she didn’t pull away. He was the first to break contact. Holding her back from him, though he continued to grip her upper arms, he gazed down at her with a gamut of emotions on his face.

      “Kyra, Kyra,” he said softly. “You’ll never know…”

      Abruptly, there were footsteps on the stairs behind them. One of the typists from the county clerk’s office gave them a sidelong glance as she brushed past them and hurried down the hall, her high heels clicking on the tiles.

      The woman was known to be something of a gossip. Wrenching free, Kyra regarded David with fire in her eyes. Her delicate, ringless hands had settled belligerently on her hips.

      “How dare you do…what you just did, after the way you walked out on me five years ago?” she demanded, unconsciously offering him a full confession of how badly he’d wounded her. “Surely you realize you’re the last man in the world I’d have anything to do with!”

      It wasn’t the time or the place to engage her in a shouting match. He wanted to make love to her, not fight over past mistakes. If she wanted an apology, he’d be glad to give it. He shouldn’t have left as he did. He’d realized that a hundred miles down the road.

      He just couldn’t let the falsehood stand. “You know you wanted me to kiss you…that we both wanted it,” he asserted in his soft, deep voice.

      It was true, God help her. One glimpse of him, one touch, and she was burning up with need for him.

      She’d never confess the truth—not if she lived to be a hundred. Turning on her heel without a word, she walked out the courthouse door. He didn’t follow. She didn’t have to turn around to know that he was staring after her.

      Pulling herself together, she strode toward her Cherokee with the energy of ten. She supposed it was too much to hope that Cheryl Garcia, the typist who’d caught them kissing, wouldn’t spread the story around. Though it was the county seat, Flagstaff was still a small town. Most people knew each other. It wouldn’t be long before everyone thought they were having an affair.

      Furious with David for putting her in that position and even angrier at herself, Kyra unlocked the door on the driver’s side. She almost didn’t see the sweet-faced young woman who’d just emerged from the county jail, a few paces down the street.

      “Kyra…Kyra Frakes…is that you?” the woman called, motioning her to wait.

      Thoughts of David and her tangled feelings for him faded. The woman was Paul Naminga’s wife, Julie. They’d met five years earlier, during the Leonard Naminga case. It was safe to say that, at the moment, she had more crushing burdens than Kyra did.

      “Julie…I was so sorry to hear about what happened,” she said earnestly when they were face-to-face. “I’ve always liked Paul so much…”

      Though Julie Naminga’s tone was cool, it didn’t ring with censure or condemnation. “I understand you’re here to help your father prosecute him,” she said.

      Kyra wasn’t sure how to respond. For some reason she felt incredibly guilty. Yet she hadn’t done anything. “Dad phoned and asked for my help, since Tom Hanrahan is out of commission,” she answered a bit defensively. “Since I happen to love him, I said yes.”

      A licensed practical nurse at the local hospital, Julie didn’t attempt to soothe her with polite clichés. Or launch into a diatribe. Instead, she seemed simply to absorb Kyra’s explanation and accept it for what it was—the reason she’d chosen to give for her actions. She’s reacting as David might have, in her place, Kyra realized.

      “I’d like to say something for the record,” Julie told her after a moment. “My husband’s innocent, just as Leonard was. When you and David were helping your father prosecute him, you sensed