Date with a Cowboy. Diana Palmer

hurts more not to talk about them,” she said simply. “I miss my grandfather every day. He was my best friend. He taught history at the local college. We went fishing together on weekends.”

      “She liked to swim,” he said, indicating the tombstone. “She was on a swim team at her elementary school. She was a whiz at computers,” he added, laughing softly. “I’d be floundering around trying to find a Web site, and she’d make two keystrokes and bring it up on the screen. She was … a child … of great promise.” His voice broke.

      Without counting the cost, Sara stepped right up against him and put her arms around him. She held on tight.

      She felt the shock run through him. He hesitated, but only for a minute. His own arms slid around her. He held her close while the wind blew around them, through the tall trees that lined the country cemetery. It was like being alone in the world. Tony Danzetta was out of sight watching, of course, even if he couldn’t be seen. Jared couldn’t be out of his sight, even at a time like this.

      He let out a long breath, and some of the tension seemed to drain out of him. “I couldn’t talk about her. There’s a hole in my life so deep that nothing fills it. She was my world, and while she was growing up, I was working myself to death making money. I never had time to go to those swim meets, or take her places on holidays. I wasn’t even there last Christmas, because I was working a deal in South America and I had to fly to Argentina to close it. She was supposed to spend Christmas with me. She had Thanksgiving with her mother.” He drew in a ragged breath and his arms involuntarily contracted around Sara’s slim figure. “She never complained. She was happy with whatever time I could spare for her. I wish I’d done more. I never thought we’d run out of time. Not this soon.”

      “Nobody is ever ready for death,” Sara said, eyes closed as she listened to the steady, reassuring heartbeat under her ear. “I knew Grandad was getting old, but I didn’t want to see it. So I pretended everything was fine. I lost my parents years ago. Grandad and I were the only family left.”

      She felt him nodding.

      “Did she look like you?” she asked.

      “She had my coloring. But she had her mother’s hair. She wasn’t pretty, but she made people feel good just being around her. She thought she was ugly. I was always trying to explain to her that beauty isn’t as important as character and personality.”

      There was a long, quiet, warm silence.

      “Why did you decide to live here?” she asked suddenly.

      He hesitated. “It was a business decision,” he replied, withdrawing into himself. “I thought new surroundings might help.”

      She pulled back and his arms fell away from her. She felt oddly chilled. “Does it help?”

      He searched her eyes quietly. After a minute, the intensity of the look brought a flaming blush to her cheeks and she looked down abruptly.

      He laughed softly at her embarrassment. “You’re bashful.”

      “I am not. It’s just hot,” she protested, putting a little more distance between them. Her heart was racing and she felt oddly hot. That wouldn’t do at all. She didn’t dare show weakness to the enemy.

      “It wasn’t an insult,” he said after a minute. “There’s nothing wrong with being shy.” His eyes narrowed. “Who looks after you, if you get sick? Your boss?”

      “Dee’s wonderful, but she’s not responsible for me. I look out for myself.” She glanced at him. “How about you?”

      He shrugged. “If it looked like I was dying, Tony the Dancer would probably call somebody if he was around—if he wasn’t on holiday or having days off. My lawyer might send a doctor out, if it was serious and somebody called.”

      “But would they take care of you?” she persisted.

      “That’s not their job.”

      She drew in a long breath. “I know you don’t like me. But maybe we could look out for each other.”

      His dark eyebrows lifted. “Be each other’s family, in other words.”

      “No ties,” she said at once. “We’d just be there if one of us was sick.”

      He seemed to be seriously considering it. “I had flu and almost died last winter,” he said quietly. “It was just after I lost my daughter. If Tony hadn’t come back early from Christmas holidays, I guess I’d have died. It went into pneumonia and I was too sick and weak to get help.”

      “Something like that happened to me this year,” she said. “I got sick and I had this horrible pain in my stomach. I stayed in bed for days until I could get up and go back to work. It was probably just the stomach bug that was going around, but I thought, what if it was something serious? I couldn’t even get to the phone.”

      He nodded. “I’ve had the same thoughts. Okay. Suppose we do that?”

      She smiled. “It’s not such a bad idea, is it?”

      “Not bad at all.”

      “I would be more amenable to the plan if you’d stop treating me like a bag lady,” she added.

      “Stop dressing like one,” he suggested.

      She glowered up at him. “I am not dressed like a bag lady.”

      “Your socks never match. Your jeans look like they’ve been worn by a grizzly bear. Your T-shirts all have pictures or writing on them.”

      “When you’re working, you don’t look all that tidy yourself,” she countered, not comfortable with telling him the truth about her odd apparel, “and I wouldn’t dare ask what you got on your boots to make them smell so bad.”

      His eyes began to twinkle. “Want to know? It was,” and he gave her the vernacular for it so wickedly that she blushed.

      “You’re a bad man.”

      He studied her closely. “If you want to be my family, you have to stop saying unkind things to me. Give a dog a bad name,” he said suggestively.

      “I’d have to work on that,” she replied.

      He drew in a long breath as he glanced back at the small grave. “Why did you come out here today?”

      She smiled sadly. “Today is Father’s Day. I put some new silk flowers on Grandad’s grave. Sometimes the wind blows them away. I wanted to make sure they were still there.”

      “I meant to call one of the local florists and get them to come out and put a fresh bouquet on her grave. But I’ve had some business problems lately,” he added without specifying what they were. “I write myself notes about things like that.” He smiled wryly. “Then I misplace the notes.”

      “I do that all the time,” she confessed.

      He cocked his head, staring at her. “Why can’t you wear things that match?” he asked, noting that she had on mismatched earrings.

      She grimaced. It was much too early in their ambiguous relationship to tell him the real reason. She lied instead. “I’m always in a hurry. I just put on whatever comes to hand. Around town, people know I do it and nobody makes fun of me.” She hesitated. “That’s not quite true. When I came here to live with Grandad, some of the local kids made it hard on me.”

      “Why?”

      “Well, my mother wasn’t exactly pure as the driven snow,” she confessed. “She had affairs with three or four local men, and broke up marriages. The children of those divorces couldn’t get to her, but I was handy.”

      She said it matter-of-factly, without blame. He scowled. “You should sound bitter, shouldn’t you?” he queried.

      She smiled up at him. “Giving back what you get sounds good, but these days you can end up in jail for fighting