Once a Rebel. Sheri WhiteFeather

nearly dropped his fork. “What kind of question is that?”

      “An honest one.”

      “I didn’t want to hurt you. To become part of your pain.”

      “But the way you looked at me gave me false hope.”

      “Okay, fine.” He frowned, steadied his fork. “You want the whole truth? I wanted to heal you, to sweep you into my world and make you mine. But the idea of losing you scared me. I knew you wouldn’t stay in Texas.”

      Her breath went still; her mind went into its Ph.D. mode. “Who abandoned you, Ethan? Who was I representing?”

      “No one. Christ Almighty.” He cursed under his breath, then looked up, apologizing, it seemed, to the Man above. “Does everything we do have to be dissected? Analyzed? Chewed up and spit out?”

      Guilty as charged, she thought.

      “Besides,” he went on, “now that we’re older, I’ve been chasing you like a rutting bull. I think that makes us even.”

      She looked into his eyes and saw his pain, the rejection she was causing. “I’m sorry. But now it’s my turn to be afraid. To be wary of an attachment.”

      “Maybe I can teach you how to get over it.” He gave her a gentle smile. “Some things aren’t meant to last. Sometimes we have to take life as it comes.”

      He was right. But he was wrong, too. Sometimes people had to protect their hearts. “I don’t have affairs anymore. Not without some sort of commitment.”

      “Does it have to be a long-term commitment?”

      “I like to hope it does. My last two relationships lasted for quite a few years. They didn’t work out, but at least I tried.”

      He lifted his water and took a swig. “Mine never last. But I’m not saying that I won’t make a long-term commitment. That it won’t ever happen.”

      She nodded, recalling that he wanted a wife and children someday. “Maybe you’re not as detached as you seem.”

      “Detached? I’m falling at your feet, woman.”

      “Because you want sex.”

      “I settled for friendship, didn’t I?”

      “Yes, you did.” And he was turning into a darn good friend, someone she was able to confide in.

      “Do you want to talk about Cathy?” he asked. “Dissect her for a while?”

      “And take the pressure off of us? Sure.” She took a bite of the enchilada she’d barely touched, grateful her appetite was coming back. Cathy was the reason she’d accepted his dinner invitation. Amber, too. But she’d already grilled him about his ex. “Tell me what you know about her.”

      “She’s fourteen, I think. And she’s originally from California.”

      She scooted closer to the table. “Northern California?”