Once a Rebel. Sheri WhiteFeather

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paused, then said, “Lily was the love of my life when I was young. And look what happened to us.”

      She shook her head. “It’s not like that between Ethan and me. I hardly know him.”

      “The heart doesn’t forget.”

      She leaned forward, tempted to touch Ryan’s cheek. She knew he’d loved his first wife. She’d been his childhood friend, the woman who bore his children. But Lily was the fire in his soul. “You’re just an old romantic.”

      “And you’re a young woman who needs a good man.”

      “I have my career.”

      “And a big, empty condo in California. That’s not enough, Susan.”

      “I’m not ready to fall in love.” And especially not with Ethan, she decided. She didn’t need the complication. Not now. Not while she was in Texas. “I spent enough time mooning over him.”

      “Like I used to do over Lily?”

      She leaned back against the sofa, doing her damnedest not to lose the fight. Apparently Ryan was determined to drive his point home, to compare his life to hers. “I never pegged you for a matchmaker.”

      “Are you kidding? Me? The old romantic?” He chuckled under his breath. “It’s right up my alley.”

      She forced a smile, humoring him. And humoring herself, as well.

      Because deep down, she wanted to see Ethan again, to summon the courage to stop by the hunting cabin. But she knew she wouldn’t.

      Susan wasn’t about to chase him.

      Not ever again.

      Two

      Ethan parked his truck and entered the outer courtyard of the main house, where native plants and ornamental grasses flourished. He took the stone walkway, wondering if he was doing the right thing. Dusk had long since fallen and Susan hadn’t showed up at his place. For some self-absorbed reason, he’d expected her to visit him, to take advantage of his invitation. Seventeen years ago, she would’ve jumped at the chance.

      But apparently times had changed.

      He blew out a rough breath and inhaled the night-blooming flowers that flanked his path. Was it too late to call on her?

      He adjusted his hat, lowering it on his head. Susan never failed to make his blood warm, even when they were kids. He had no business wanting her. Not then and not now.

      But he couldn’t help it.

      When they were teenagers, he’d heard all sorts of stories about her. He had no idea if the rumors were true. According to gossip, she’d slept with a slew of boys in Red Rock. She’d supposedly devirginized a few of them, too.

      Not that his fantasies hadn’t run in that direction. She’d been the object of every wet dream he could remember. But he’d had other dreams about her, too. He’d wanted to protect her, to heal her the way he’d learned to minister to the animals on the ranch. But Susan hadn’t been a wounded filly or an ailing calf. She’d been wild and independent, as raw as the confusion she’d caused.

      The confusion she was still causing.

      Ethan wanted to give in to temptation. He wanted to unlock the mystery of the girl he’d refrained from touching, the girl who’d bloomed into a sophisticated woman.

      With anxiety churning in his gut, he mounted the front steps. Why hadn’t she stopped by the hunting cabin to see him? Had she deliberately left him panting after her? Or was he reading too much into it?

      Either way, he was trapped, locked in good and tight.

      The way she used to flirt with him. The nights he’d spent thinking about her. Every last memory was magnified in his mind, right down to the day she’d gone off to college.

      The day she’d disappeared from his life.

      Ethan cleared his thoughts, then knocked on the door, expecting Lily to answer his summons. But when Susan appeared, wearing a flowing robe draped over a pair of silky pajamas, he wished he’d had the sense to forget about her.

      She presented a soft, sultry image, with the top button on her pajamas straining above her breasts. The robe gaped in that spot, drawing his gaze to the slight swell of cleavage.

      “Ethan?”

      He pulled his gaze to her face. Her honey-blond hair fell in a loose, nighttime style, lightly combed and framing her chin. He wondered if it smelled like lemons. Her hair had been longer when they were younger, and the citrus scent used to drive him half-mad. Not that she would know the difference. He’d never mentioned it.

      “I wasn’t expecting you.” She tightened the belt on her robe, but her modest effort didn’t change a thing.

      He could still see the straining button.

      He cleared his throat. “I hope it’s not too late for a visit.”

      “No. Of course not.” She recovered her composure. “Ryan and Lily already went to bed, but I was just getting ready to fix a cup of tea. Would you like some?”

      He rarely drank tea, but he wasn’t about to turn her down, not after showing up at her door. “Sure. That’d be nice.”

      Ethan followed her into the kitchen, where she filled a stainless steel kettle, the kind that whistled, and set it on the stove. He remembered that his mom used to boil water in one of those. As a child, he used to wonder what made it cry out.

      When Susan turned to look at him, he caught himself frowning.

      “Are you okay?” she asked.

      He wiped the surly expression off his face. Thinking about his mom always put him in a bad mood. “I’m fine.”

      She invited him to sit in the dining room, where she was still close enough to hear the whistle blow.

      He removed his denim jacket and placed it over the back of a chair. But he didn’t expect her to remove her robe. She still had it cinched. As a teenager, she used to show a lot of flesh, wearing skimpy outfits designed to set his gender on fire. Yet somehow, the misbehaving button on her pajama top seemed even sexier than all those cropped T-shirts and short-shorts ever did.

      “Is there something special you wanted to talk to me about?” she asked.

      Suddenly Ethan had the urge to bolt. He didn’t know what to say, how to explain his compulsion to see her at this hour, so he faked it the best he could. “We didn’t have much time to visit earlier, to catch up on old times.”

      She smoothed the Aztec-printed placemat in front of her. “You had an appointment.”

      “I’m not in a hurry now.” Which was a lie, of course. He was anxious as hell, impatient to cross the finish line, to have a zipper-blasting affair with her. He’d always been sexually obsessed with her, but things had been complicated when they were young.

      She

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