To Have And To Hold. Diana Palmer

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      She left Cabbage curled up on a rug and went out the back door, barefoot, her mind on the tiny stream at the back of the property and how cool the water would feel. Dressed in white shorts and a lacy pink top, she made her way through the sparse woods, trying to walk carefully enough that the bark and pine needles and twigs didn’t rip the soles of her feet apart. Before she finally reached the bank of the cool little stream, she wished a hundred times that she’d worn sandals.

      The stream was nestled in a green glade with wildflowers curling along the shady bank, and the water was sweet and cold and clear. She waded in it contentedly, careful not to splash water on her spotless shorts while she felt the rocks smooth and hard under her tender feet.

      She closed her eyes on a sigh, feeling the wind in her face, hearing the murmur and gurgle of the water and the heavy thud and crackle of leaves as something came bounding towards her.

      “Arrrrrff!”

      Her eyes flew open at the loud bark as the Doberman came into the water with a mighty leap, and she screamed and slipped and fell with a great splash right into the water.

      She glared furiously at the beast. He sat down in the water, eyeing her carelessly and watching her frantic efforts to sit up and smooth the wild fury of her hair.

      “Urrrrrrr!” he purred, and seemed to grin, if dogs could.

      “Oooooh!” she groaned angrily. “You great clumsy beast! Why can’t you stay at home and eat his steaks and push him into the water? Hmmm?”

      He shook his wide black head, his sharp ears pricked as he enjoyed the water gurgling over his fur. “Ruff!” he replied, leaning forward with his long, thin nose as if to emphasize the playful bark.

      With a sigh and a shake of her head, she relaxed in the stream and brought her knees up to wrap her arms around them. “Ruff to you, too, Charlie horse,” she murmured. “I hope you do realize that if that awful old man you live with catches us together, there’s going to be an awful scene? Oh, well.” She let her forehead rest on her arms. “All right, sit there. But do be quiet, okay?”

      “Asssruth,” he said in a low bark.

      “Nice puppy.” She reached out a slender hand and let him sniff it before she ran it over the sleek, silky fur over his eyes. He settled down in the stream beside her, and the water ran quietly around them both.

      Only a few minutes had passed, and Madeline was lost in the peace and quiet of the glade when a rude voice shattered the enchanted silence.

      “Suleiman! So there you are, you damned fugitive!”

      Oh no, not again, Madeline groaned silently, looking up to find her neighbor on his way through the young trees, his look as black as the matching slacks and shirt he wore.

      He stood at the bank and looked down at her, his hand idly going to the giant dog as it clambered up on dry land to sit and look contentedly up at him.

      “Why,” he asked quietly, “are you sitting in the water fully clothed?”

      She met his level gaze narrowly. “Why,” she returned, “don’t you ask your horse?”

      He blinked. “My what?”

      “That black one there. Remember him? He’s the one who had supper with me last week—and went for a swim with me today.” Her eyes blazed. “I can’t wait to see what he does next; every day’s a new adventure!”

      He eyed her suspiciously. “He was on a lead,” he said, nodding toward the dog. “And I don’t think he’d have broken it without some coaxing.”

      That was the last straw. She could hear her quickened breathing, feel the fury choking in her throat. “You think I lured him down here?” she asked tightly.

      One heavy, dark eyebrow went up. He stuck his hands in his pockets and lifted his head arrogantly, studying her. “Did you?” he asked finally.

      Her full lips made a thin line. “And I suppose I moved next door to you in order to attract your attention, too?” she persisted.

      “It’s been done,” he replied matter-of-factly.

      She stood up, ignoring the water that trickled down from her wet shorts in a downpour and stuck her hands on her slender hips. “Shall we have the gloves off?” she asked quietly, barely containing her temper. “Point number one, you’re years too old for me, and even if you weren’t, I am off men. Period. Point number two,” she continued, ignoring the sudden flash of his dark eyes, “I grew up in this house. It was my uncle and aunt’s, and I’ve been here for over eighteen years. Hardly,” she added with chilling politeness, “an attempt to attract your attention . . . Mr. . . . Mr. whoever you are!”

      One dark eyebrow went up. “You really don’t know, do you? Call me Cal.”

      “There are a lot of things I’d rather call you,” she remarked, still sizzling under her studied calm.

      “Don’t strain yourself.” His dark eyes slid up and down her slender figure. “So I’m too old for you, am I?”

      She flushed uncomfortably but stood her ground. “Yes, you are.”

      “How old are you?”

      “It’s none of your business—but I’m twenty-four,” she replied.

      “Touché” he told her. “All right, Burgundy, let’s call it a draw and put up the gloves. I bought this property for a refuge. I don’t want it turned into an armed camp. Pax?”

      She eyed him warily. “You started it,” she said defensively.

      “I can finish it, too,” he said, the authority in his deep voice arresting. “I’ll ask you once more—pax?”

      That or nothing, he didn’t have to say it, it was there in his dark, unsmiling face. She grimaced. “Pax,” she ground out.

      “Like pulling teeth, isn’t it?” he asked. “Need a hand?”

      She shook her head stubbornly, giving the Doberman a nasty glance as she found her way to the bank, careful not to slip again on the water-polished stones, where the ripples played.

      She shifted from one foot to the other in the soft, cushy grass near the tree trunks to dry her toes.

      “Suleiman knocked you down, didn’t he?” he asked her.

      She nodded. “He didn’t mean to,” she said, defending the big beast sprawled at his master’s feet. “He’s just an overgrown puppy.”

      “Come at me with a stick and you’ll see what kind of a ‘puppy’ he is,” he replied flatly. “I’ll walk you home. It’s getting late.”

      She studied the hard, leonine face with a curiosity she couldn’t hide. He was used to giving orders, that showed. In experience, much less age, he was by far her superior, and his face was hard with lessons she had yet to learn. She felt a sense of loneliness in those dark deep-set eyes and wondered vaguely if he ever smiled.

      “Suit СКАЧАТЬ