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She began to understand him, a little. He’d been burned, and he was shy of fire. She searched his hard face. “I had to go and interview a prisoner in a criminal investigation. I said something that hit him the wrong way and he attacked me, right there in the interrogation room.” She swallowed, hard, fighting the fear all over again. “I never thought any man would attack me physically, not like that. He broke a bone in my face and I think he would have killed me if I hadn’t been able to scream.” She wrapped her arms around herself. “It sort of . . . ruined me about . . . men.”
He caught his breath. “Did you talk to a psychologist?”
She nodded. She smiled sadly. “She was very nice. But do you know what it costs to go into therapy and stay in it for years? I didn’t have the money. So I went as long as the Bureau was willing to pay her.” She drew in a long breath. “Honestly, it didn’t help all that much. I’m still afraid that it might happen again. He was very quiet. He even smiled at me. I thought he was a gentle sort of person . . .” She stopped. The memory stung.
He scowled. That didn’t sound like any manly woman he’d ever heard of. He’d dated a policewoman once and watched her subdue an escaping suspect. She was small, but the prisoner didn’t have a chance. She wrestled him down and cuffed him. She even smiled while she was doing it.
Meadow wasn’t like the policewoman. She had a sensitivity he hadn’t expected. Her father had exaggerated some of her characteristics. He wondered now if he hadn’t done it to throw Dal off the track. It even made sense. Dal was forceful and aggressive, even with men. But he was also persistent with the women he pursued, and he generally scored when he wanted to. If he’d known what Meadow was really like under the mask she showed the world, he might have found her even more attractive than his florist.
Was Meadow’s father afraid that he might want Meadow, who was already fascinated by him, and leave her devastated after a brief affair that she might not be able to avoid? He wasn’t sure he could answer that question, even in his own mind. She was very attractive. He didn’t want to be drawn to her, but he was. She was religious. She’d expect the works, marriage, a ring. He couldn’t do that. The florist knew he was obsessed with freedom. It was a casual thing. Meadow would be . . . different.
Meadow noticed the way he was looking at her, and it made her nervous. She crossed her arms over her breasts and shifted a little. “I’ll try harder to keep Snow at home,” she said to provoke him out of his glowering expression.
He shrugged. “Nail Jell-O to a tree while you’re at it,” he murmured as he turned away with his cat.
“The same thing applies to your cat,” she said.
He just kept walking.
She closed the door and leaned back against it with a sigh. It was hard going when she was near him. The past kept prodding her.
He’d probably long forgotten, but when Meadow had turned eighteen, there was a Christmas party in Catelow that she and her dad attended. The one that ended in the humiliating punch incident. She’d just started college that semester, and she was gung ho on her new experiences.
She’d bored a cattleman so badly with her revelations about History 101 that he’d smiled, excused himself, and actually left the building.
Dal had been dancing with a pretty blond woman, but she went to the restroom and he went to the punch bowl at the same time that Meadow did.
Meadow had adored him from the first time she’d ever seen him, wearing stained work chaps and a sweat-darkened chambray shirt with disreputable boots and a battered black Stetson. He was tall and handsome. Women were always flocking around him at any social gathering. He never seemed to tire of the attention, although he played the field. There was no serious companion at the time.
She’d looked at him and remembered the coal bin incident and her ruined red dress and his nasty comments about her looking like a streetwalker. Arrogant pig!
The band was playing a lazy tune. People were dancing. Meadow was wearing a frilly cocktail dress with black high heels. Her blond hair was soft and thick around her shoulders. She’d used just enough mascara to outline her big, soft green eyes. She wasn’t pretty, but she could be attractive when she worked at it.
Dal gave her a long look but averted his eyes to the punch bowl as if one brief glance was enough to tell him she wasn’t worth pursuing.
She was putting finger sandwiches on a paper plate. Her fingers were unsteady. She’d prayed that he wouldn’t notice.
In fact, he didn’t. He was intent on the blond.
They didn’t speak. A couple beside them was pointing to mistletoe overhead and laughing.
“Come on, people, it’s Christmas! Peace on earth! Love your fellow man. Or woman!” a young man chided.
Meadow averted her eyes from the kissing couple beside her and was about to walk away when Dal suddenly shot out a big hand, caught her waist, and pulled her to him.
“What the hell,” he said as his head bent. “Might as well not waste the mistletoe.”
He caught her mouth under his and kissed her with instant, hot passion, twisting her soft lips under his until they parted and her head fell back against his broad shoulder with the force of the kiss.
She was too shocked to really enjoy it. Besides that, she’d never really been kissed in an adult way, and she didn’t know how to respond. It didn’t help that there were wolf whistles nearby while Dal made a meal of her mouth. If she’d dreamed about kissing him, and she had, it hadn’t been in a public place with onlookers making a joke of it.
He pulled back, frowning as he saw the shock and uncertainty on her soft oval face. Her cheeks were flushed and she looked as unsettled as she felt.
“Nice work there, Dal.” A fellow cattleman laughed.
“Hollywood stuff, for sure,” a companion offered.
The blond, noticing the attention they were getting, came back and latched onto Dal’s muscular arm. “Hey, stop sampling the local refreshments and show me what you’ve got, cowboy,” she purred.
