felt as if the world was sitting on her thin shoulders as she got her purse and followed him to the door. She didn’t look at him as they left.
Justin tucked a wad of bills into Shelby’s purse when he stopped the Thunderbird on the side of the road near Mrs. Simpson’s house. She tried to protest, but he simply smoked his cigarette and ignored her.
“I told you earlier that the money was between you and me,” he said quietly, his dark eyes challenging as he cut the engine. He turned in the bucket seat, his long legs stretched out as he touched the power-window switch on the console panel. It was a rural road, and sparsely traveled. He had stopped under a spreading oak tree. He hooked his elbow on the open window to study Shelby narrowly. “I meant it. If you want to look on it as a loan, that’s up to you.”
She chewed on her lower lip. “I’ll be able to pay you back one day,” she said doggedly, even though she knew better. With what she made, it was going to be a struggle to eat and pay the rent. New clothes might become impossible.
“I’m not worried about it.”
“Yes, but I am.” She looked up, all her misgivings in her green eyes. “Oh, Justin, what am I going to do?” she moaned. “I’m alone for the first time in my life. Ty’s in Arizona, I have no family…” She got a grip on herself, averting her eyes. “It’s just panic,” she said tightly. “Just fear. I’ll get used to it. I’m sorry I said that.”
He didn’t speak. He’d never seen Shelby helpless. She’d always been poised and calm. It was new and faintly disturbing to see her frightened.
“If things get too rough,” he replied quietly, “you can move in with me.”
She laughed hollowly. “That would do our reputations a world of good.”
He blew out a cloud of smoke. “If gossip bothers you all that much, we can get married.” He said it carelessly, but his eyes were sharp on her face.
She knew she wasn’t breathing. She looked at him as the old wounds opened with a vengeance. “Why?” she asked.
He didn’t want to answer her. He didn’t want to admit, even to himself, that he was still vulnerable. He shrugged. “You need a place to stay. I’m tired of living alone. Since Abby and Calhoun moved out, the damned house is like a mausoleum.”
“You feel sorry for me,” she accused.
He took another draw from the cigarette. “Maybe I do. So what? Right now you don’t have many options. Either you borrow from me to afford Mrs. Simpson’s boarding house, or you marry me.” He studied the tip of the cigarette. “Of course, you can always go back to that converted storeroom over Barry Holman’s office and show him that you’re available—”
“You stop that,” she muttered. She shifted restlessly. “Mr. Holman isn’t that kind of man. And you have no reason to feel possessive about me.”
“Haven’t I?” His black eyes searched hers. “But I am, just the same. And I remember your saying the same thing about me. We were engaged once, Shelby. That kind of involvement doesn’t go away.”
“Some involvement,” she said with a tired sigh. “I never could decide why you wanted to marry me.”
“You were a feather in my cap,” he said coldly, lying through his teeth. “A rich sophisticate. I was just a country boy with stars in my eyes, and you took me for a hell of a ride, lady. Now it’s my turn. I’ve got money and you haven’t.” His dark eyes narrowed. “And don’t think I want to marry you out of some lingering passion.”
He hadn’t forgotten. It was in his eyes, his whole look. He’d marry her and make her hunger for a love he’d never felt, couldn’t feel for her. He held her in contempt because he thought she’d slept with Tom Wheelor, and that was the biggest joke of all. She was still a virgin, and wouldn’t it throw a stick into his spokes to find that out the hard way?
“No.” She sighed, belatedly answering his question. “I’m not stupid enough to think you still want me, after what I did to your pride.” She lifted her eyes to study the proud, arrogant set of his dark head, his eyes shadowed by the Stetson he always wore. “I used to think you cared for me a little, even though you never said you did.”
That was the truth. She’d never really been sure why he wanted to marry her. Except for that one night, he hadn’t been wild to try to get her into bed, and he’d never seemed emotionally involved, either. But she’d been so in love with him that she had not realized how relatively uninvolved he’d seemed until after their engagement had been broken.
He ignored her remarks. “If you want security, I can give it to you,” he said quietly. “I’ve got money now, although I’ll never be in the same class as your father was. He had millions.”
She closed her eyes on a wave of shame. She had her father and her own naïveté to thank for Justin’s bitterness. But Justin wanted revenge and she’d be a fool to deliver herself on a silver platter to him. “No, Justin. I can’t marry you,” she said after a minute. Her hand reached for the door handle. “It was a crazy idea!” She averted her face so that all he could see of it was her profile.
He put his hand over hers briefly, holding it, and then withdrew his fingers almost as quickly. His expression hardened. “It’s a big house,” he said. “With Calhoun and Abby living down the road, there’s only Lopez and Maria living with me. You wouldn’t need to work if you didn’t want to, and you’d have security.”
He was offering her heaven, except that it was impersonal on his part. More than anything else, he felt sorry for her. But under the pity was a darker need; she could feel it. Something in him wanted revenge for her rejection six years ago. His pride wanted restitution. Well, didn’t she owe him that, she wondered bitterly, after what her father had cost him? And she’d be near him. She’d have meals with him. She could sit with him in the evenings while he watched television. She could sleep under the same roof. Her hungry heart wanted that, so badly. Too badly.
“I don’t guess you’d…I don’t suppose you’d ever want a…” She couldn’t even say it. A child, she was thinking, although God only knew how she’d manage to deal with what had to happen to produce one.
“I won’t want a divorce,” he said, misunderstanding her thoughts. His eyes narrowed. “I’m not exactly Mr. America, in case you haven’t noticed. And I don’t want a woman I have to buy, unless it’s on my terms.”
That sounded suspiciously like a dig at her, because she’d refused him for what he thought was a lack of money. Her eyes lifted to his. “Do you still hate me, Justin?” she asked; she needed to know.
He stared at her without speaking for a long moment, quietly smoking his cigarette. “I’m not sure what I feel.”
That reply was honest enough, even if it wasn’t a declaration of undying love. There were so many wounds between them, so much bitterness. It was probably an insane thing to do, but she couldn’t resist the temptation.
She stared at his cigarette instead of at him. “I’ll marry you, then, if you mean it.”
He didn’t move, but something inside him went wild at the words. She couldn’t know
