By Request Collection April-June 2016. Оливия Гейтс

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СКАЧАТЬ testimony. Your friends were impressed but concerned that you don’t take much time for yourself. Besides, I’m not as dumb as I look. In some circles, I’m considered astute.”

      She grinned, even as the guilt over her lies threatened to overshadow her glow. The battle was tough but her time with him was so short she didn’t give in. “Does that kind of talk work with the ladies in Dallas?”

      He shrugged. “Used to. Not so much anymore.”

      “Why not?”

      “The women in my life, who are mostly friends, by the way, are far more impressed with substance than flash. Although come on, you have to admit, I do have a decent sense of humor.”

      Mostly friends? There was a thought that was being banished right that second. Of course he had women in his life. He’d told her he hadn’t found the right woman. That was still true, and she’d better not forget it.

      “Are you planning on leaving right after you drop me off?” she asked.

      “I should, but I haven’t decided if I’m flying out tonight or tomorrow morning. Tomorrow’s stretching it.” He reached over and squeezed her thigh. “But I’m finding it difficult to leave.”

      “Oh, well, that’s…Yeah. Well, you’re welcome to stay as long as you like.”

      He smiled. “Thanks.”

      She laughed at herself, shaking her head. She was way too comfortable with him. It was nice. Scary, too.

      “Unfortunately, my staff are becoming panicked. I don’t normally take such impromptu vacations,” he said. Then, before she had a chance to respond, he switched gears. “What about you? You figured out how you’re going to spend the rest of the money?”

      “Basics, mostly. Nothing glamorous. I’ll get some plans worked up for the new quarantine barn. Maybe start laying in supplies.” Her brain veered toward overload and she had to rein in her thoughts. She didn’t want to give up a single minute of her time with Tucker. “Depends on how much I have to spend to fix the things that have been cobbled together with duct tape and a prayer.”

      “I have a feeling you’ll be getting more funds relatively soon.”

      “I thought you said that’s not your decision.”

      “It’s not. But I know what the foundation criteria are because I helped write them. Unless there’s a compelling argument against Safe Haven, which I can’t imagine happening, I’m confident the board will vote in your favor.”

      “That would be great. Wow. Better than great.”

      “You’ll have enough to turn that mouse hole you’re living in into a storage shed. Build yourself something with a bit more breathing room.”

      She turned to face the road ahead, leaving the subject with a quick nod. “Safe Haven, for all its trouble, is perfect for me. I’m busy all the time. I go to bed exhausted and wake up ready to go at it again. It suits me.”

      He touched her hand. “The work is too demanding to come home to that tiny place. If for nothing else, you should have a decent bathtub.”

      She turned her hand over and threaded their fingers together. All she wanted to do was tell him the truth. Right now. Everything. Her mistakes, her naivety, how she’d gotten caught up in a lifestyle that didn’t belong to her. That she’d run as much in shame as fear, and how each day compounded the pain she’d caused her family, her friends.

      It wasn’t the fear of losing him that stopped her, even though she was certain she would. It was losing the best chance Safe Haven had to become what the sanctuary could be. Not only a place to save so many animals, but to teach and train the next generation of caretakers.

      While her life might have turned into a sordid melodrama, her legacy could still be worth something. Even though no one from her other life would know. She would. That counted for a lot. Made waking up each day a bit easier.

      “You okay?” he asked.

      “Fine. Sorry to see the interlude end.” Squeezing his hand, she said, “I don’t want to get all sappy or anything, but, well, you’ve been the best part of—” Her voice broke. She cleared her throat, then whispered. “Just, the best part.”

      PULLING INTO THE PARKING LOT at Safe Haven was bittersweet at best. Tucker got out to carry the food chest into the cabin so that Annie could decide which small items she could fit in her fridge.

      Before he’d even shut the back of the Land Rover, Shea spirited Annie away, and not in the direction of the cabin. She’d given him an apologetic smile before she’d let herself be taken, anxious to find out what had gone on during her absence. It alarmed him, but Shea didn’t seem off. Though with her it was sometimes hard to tell.

      Jesse showed up. “Everything’s fine,” he said, walking with Tucker. “Doc Yardley came by and gave all the mares and foals a clean bill of health. But I suppose the ladies want to chat.”

      They entered the matchbox house, his mind still struggling to accept the fact that someone lived there full-time. Annie lived there. Mostly on her own. What in the hell were her winters like? They were so far up north, the snow had to be brutal. He knew the statistics about volunteers in winter. People meant well, but putting out feed during a blizzard was nobody’s idea of fun. Especially when it could so easily be seen as someone else’s problem.

      The idea that Annie could get hurt alone in the middle of nowhere made him feel ill. He put down the ice chest and excused himself, shutting the door to the small bathroom behind him—he had to make a phone call, and it was the only remotely private place to do so.

      The Annie situation had grown exponentially. It had a lot to do with the sex, of course. The intimacy between them had been as easy as taking the next breath. He wanted her all the time, his need becoming like a persistent low fever. He’d managed to wait patiently in line at the deli for her to pick out her food, and he’d only kissed her when he was sure she wouldn’t be embarrassed. But dammit, the memories of their night together made it hard to think straight.

      He didn’t want to leave.

      He had to leave.

      The sooner, the better. Where the hell was George, anyway? On top of everything else, Tucker was getting worried about his friend. He was no spring chicken, although Tucker would never say that to his face. George was about ten years younger than Tucker’s father…his adopted father. He’d been a police officer in Brooklyn for years, worked vice and homicide, and he’d gotten more than a few commendations. But he’d hated the bureaucratic red tape, quit the force and got his private investigator’s license.

      He’d met Michael Brennan during a bar fight. Neither man had meant to be in that particular bar. Just passing the time in what normally was a quiet place in Manhattan. The fight had nothing to do with them, but together they’d stopped it, not without injury. Nothing that a couple of cold ones hadn’t fixed, though.

      They’d stayed friends till the end of Michael’s life. George had helped carry the casket. If something happened to George because of this investigation, Tucker would find it difficult to forgive himself.

      He dialed the man’s number again, only to have it go straight to voice mail. He left a message that was as СКАЧАТЬ