Wyoming Strong

“Something happened to you, too,” she said doggedly. “I thought you hated me because I ran into you with the car. But that wasn’t it at all, was it? You hate me because I look like her, because I remind you of her.”

His face was like stone. Beside him, one big hand clenched.

“You...loved her,” she guessed.

His eyes fragmented, like icy shards cutting into her face. “Damn you,” he whispered in a vicious undertone. He turned and walked away.

Sara, watching him, wasn’t even offended. She began to understand him, just a little. There was something traumatic in his past, too. Something that tied him up in knots, that left him no peace. He’d loved the woman. She saw it in his eyes.

Perhaps she’d died. Or left him for another man. Whatever the reason, he was still tied to it, wrapped up in it. He couldn’t get past it, any more than Sara could forget what had been done to her.

Damaged people, she thought, and smiled sadly. She picked up her bag, tossed it in a nearby trash receptacle and went back to her apartment.

* * *

GABRIEL CAME HOME that weekend. He looked tired, and he wasn’t smiling.

“Bad week?” Sara asked. They were at the ranch in Comanche Wells. She only stayed there when he was at home. She was nervous of being so far out of town on her own.

“Very bad,” he said. “We’re having some problems over the oil fields. Terrorists, kidnappings, the usual,” he added with a smile. “How are you?”

It was a throwaway remark, except that his eyes were very intent on her face as he waited for the answer.

“I’m...the same. Why do you ask?”

“Because Wolf Patterson called me and asked what had happened to you that made you back away from him if he came too close.”

Her heart jumped. “He had no right,” she began furiously.

“He reminded me that he waited for a tow truck with you one night after an opera in Houston, when you had a flat, and that you almost ran to get into the wrecker with the driver. Then he told me about a conversation you had in the park. He said you were afraid of him when he moved close to you.”

“Only because he was being sarcastic and obnoxious,” she shot back. “I can’t abide the man!”

His eyes narrowed. “I know you too well to believe that,” he said. “You find him attractive.”

She flushed.

He drew in a long breath. “He went through hell because of a woman who resembles you,” he said after a minute. “He’s not an evil man. He wouldn’t hurt you deliberately. But he might not be able to help it. He’s carrying scars. Bad ones.”

“Can you tell me why?”

He shook his head. “It’s much too personal.”

“I see.”

“He’s had some very hard knocks from women. His mother hated him.”

“What?”

“She didn’t want a child, but her husband did. When he died, she farmed Wolf out to one set of friends after another. In one of those households, the father was an alcoholic. He beat Wolf until he was old enough to fight back. His mother thought it was funny when the authorities tried to make her take him back. She said that she had no use for a sniveling little brat that she didn’t want in the first place.”

Sara sat down. She was getting a very sick picture of the man’s background.

“But he ended up in law enforcement. He was with the FBI,” she recalled, having heard him say that.

Gabriel almost bit his tongue off not replying. “He was a cop in San Antonio for a while. He went into other work, and they farmed him out to various agencies over the years. But he left the old life behind when he came here and bought the ranch.”

“He seems an odd fit for a small town,” she said slowly.

“It’s not the usual small town,” he replied. “He has enemies. Jacobsville is overflowing with mercs and ex-military, and he has friends here. Including me.”

She frowned. “He has enemies?”

“Deadly ones,” he replied. “There’s already been one attempt.”

“Someone tried to kill him?” she asked, shocked, hating her own reaction to those words, because it mattered to her that someone had tried to kill him.

Gabriel saw that. “Yes. Which makes him a moving target, along with anyone who gets close to him.” He put his big hand over hers. “You’ve had enough tragedy and trauma in your life. I don’t want you around him.”

She gnawed her lower lip.

“Sara, whatever you think you feel,” he said, choosing his words, “it wouldn’t end well. He hasn’t faced his past any more than you’ve faced yours. The two of you could damage each other, badly.”

“I see.”

“He’s not the man for you to cut your teeth on. I can’t tell him what happened to you, and I know for a fact that you won’t. He’s aggressive with women he wants. You can’t afford to let him want you. Do you understand?”

She swallowed. “Yes.”

“I’m sorry.”

She drew in a breath, forced a smile and changed the subject. “How about a slice of cake? I made you a chocolate one.”

He smiled back. “That would be nice.”

CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_c7bf1f86-a14a-5022-b1e6-c8fff06c483c)

SARA FELT GRIEF like a living thing when she remembered what Gabriel had said about Wolf Patterson. Until then, she hadn’t realized how her attitude toward him was changing. When he’d knelt in front of her in the park, spoken to her in that gentle tone, her heart had started to melt. But she knew Gabriel was right. She couldn’t afford to encourage a man like that.

Aggressive with women he wanted, Gabriel had said. So her brother knew things about him, knew that he had women.

It shouldn’t have surprised her. Wolf was an attractive man. When he wasn’t baiting her and being sarcastic, he was charming. Those blonde women she’d seen him with were certainly charmed, she thought bitterly. Blonde. Always blonde. He hated brunettes. Sara was a brunette...

The more she thought about it, the more it hurt. She’d buried herself in her studies for years, learned languages, traveled, done anything she could to force the horrible memories out of her mind. She succeeded for whole days at a time, although the nightmares came frequently, and she woke up screaming.

In the daytime there was a remedy. She could ride. She loved horses, and she was an accomplished rider. The freedom of sailing across the pastures on the back of Black Silk, the fastest of Gabriel’s geldings, was a thrill beyond description. It blew away the pain. It gave her peace.

Black Silk had a wild, free spirit, much like Sara herself. She tossed the saddle onto his back, checked the bindings and swung gracefully up onto his back. She pushed him into a full gallop across the pasture. Laughing, with her lithe body clinging to the saddle, her long black hair flying behind her, she made a picture that an artist would have loved.