Page 9 of Texas Honor

She stared at him blankly. “Why? Are you afraid I might attack you?”

He stared back. “Well, after the experience you had, I thought...”

“What experience?” she asked politely.

“The man at the shopping center,” he said, his green eyes level and frankly puzzled as he closed the door behind him.

“Are you afraid of me because of that?” she burst out. “I do realize you may be a little weak, Mr. Jessup, but I promise I won’t hurt you!”

He gaped at her. “What?”

“You don’t have to be afraid of me,” she assured him. “I’m not really as bad as Aunt Lillian made me sound, I’m sure. And it’s only a red belt, after all, not a black one. I only sat on him until the police came. I hardly even bruised him—”

“Whoa,” he said curtly. He cocked his dark head and peered at her. “You sat on him?”

“Sure,” she agreed, pushing her hair out of her eyes. “Didn’t she tell you that Beth and I ran the little weasel down to get my purse back and beat the stuffing out of him? Overweight little juvenile delinquent, he was lucky I didn’t skin him alive.”

“You weren’t attacked?” he persisted.

“Well, sort of.” She shrugged. “He stole my purse. He couldn’t have known I was a karate student.”

“Oh, my God,” he burst out. His eyes narrowed, his jaw tautened. “That lying old turkey!”

“How dare you call my aunt a turkey!” she returned hotly. “After all she’s doing for you?”

“What, exactly, is she doing for me?”

“Well, bringing me here, to help you write your memoirs before...the end,” she faltered. “She told me all about your incurable illness—”

“Incurable illness?” he bellowed.

“You’re dying,” she told him.

“Like hell I am,” he said fiercely.

“You don’t have to act brave and deny it,” she replied hesitantly. “She told me that you wanted young people around to cheer you up. And somebody to help you write your memoirs. I’m going to be a novelist one day,” she added. “I want to be a writer.”

“Good. You can practice with your aunt’s obituary,” he muttered, glaring toward the door.

“You can’t do that to a helpless old lady,” she began.

“Watch me.” He was heading for the door, his very stride frightening.

“Oh, no! You can’t!” She ran after him, got in front of him and plastered herself against the door. “You’ll have to go through me.”

“Suits me, Joan of Arc,” he grumbled, catching her by the waist. He lifted her clear off the floor until she was unnervingly at eye level with him. “You sweet little angel of mercy, you.”

“Put me down or I’ll... I’ll put you down,” she threatened.

He stared amusedly into her blue eyes under impossibly thick lashes. “Will you? Go ahead. Show me how you earned that red belt.”

She tried. She used every trick her instructor had taught her, and all it accomplished was to leave her dangling from his powerful hands, panting into his mocking smile.

“Had enough?” she huffed.

“Not at all. Aren’t you finished yet?” he asked politely.

She aimed one more kick, which he blocked effortlessly. She sagged in his powerful hold. Lord, he was strong! “Okay,” she said, sighing wearily. “Now I’m finished.”