Diana Palmer - Wyoming Strong

So she got in the Jaguar and took off, in plenty of time to make the curtain. She’d worry about coming home in the dark later.

She loved anything in the arts, including theater and symphony and ballet. She had tickets to the San Antonio Symphony and the San Antonio Ballet companies for the season. But tonight she was treating herself to this out-of-town spectacular performance.

She was looking at her program when she felt movement. She turned as a newcomer sat down, and she looked up into the pale, laughing eyes of her worst enemy in the world.

Oh, darn , was what she should have said. What she did say was far less conventional, and in Farsi.

“Potty mouth,” he returned under his breath in the same language.

She ground her teeth together, waiting for his next remark. She’d stomp on his big booted foot and march right out of the building if he said even one word.

But he was diverted by his beautiful companion before he could say anything else. Like the other woman Sara had seen him with, at another performance, this one was a gorgeous blonde. He didn’t seem to like brunettes, which was certainly to Sara’s advantage.

Why in the world did he always have to sit next to her? She almost groaned. She bought her tickets weeks in advance. Presumably so did he. So how did they manage to sit together, not only in San Antonio at every single event she attended, but in Houston, too? Next time, she promised herself, she’d wait to see where he was sitting before she sat down. Since the seats were numbered, however, that might pose a problem.

The orchestra began tuning its instruments. Minutes later, the curtain rose. As the brilliant Stephen Sondheim score progressed, and dancers performing majestic waltzes floated across the stage, Sara thought she’d landed in heaven. She remembered waltzes like this at an event in Austria. She’d danced with a silver-haired gentleman, an acquaintance of their tour guide, who waltzed divinely. Although she traveled alone, she’d shared sights like this with other people, most of them elderly. Sara didn’t do singles tours, because she wanted nothing to do with men. She’d seen the world, but with Gabriel or senior citizens.

She drank in the exquisite score, her eyes closed as she enjoyed the song that was one of the most beautiful ever written, “Send in the Clowns.”

* * *

INTERMISSION CAME, BUT she didn’t budge. Wolf’s companion left, but he didn’t.

“You like opera, don’t you?” he asked her, his eyes suddenly intent on her, drinking in her long black hair and the black dress that fit her like a glove with its discreet bodice and cape sleeves. Her leather coat was behind her in the seat, because the theater was warm.

“Yes,” she said, waiting with gritted teeth for what she expected to follow.

“The baritone is quite good,” he added, crossing one long leg. “He came here from the Met. He said New York City was getting to him. He wanted to live somewhere with less traffic.”

“Yes, I read that.”

His eyes were on her hands. She had them in her lap, with a death grip on her small purse, her nails digging into the leather. She didn’t seem to have a care in the world, but she was wired like floodlights.

“You came alone?”

She just nodded.

“It’s a long way to Houston, and it’s night.”

“I did notice.”

“Last time, in San Antonio, it was with your brother and your ward,” he recalled. His eyes narrowed. “No men. Ever?”

She didn’t reply. In her hands, the purse was taking a beating.

To her shock, one big, beautiful, lean hand went to her long fingers and smoothed over them gently.

“Don’t,” he said tersely.

She bit her lip and looked up at him unguardedly, with the anguish of years past in her beautiful dark eyes.

He caught his breath. “What the hell happened to you?” he asked under his breath.

She jerked her hands away, got to her feet, put on her coat and walked out the door. She was in tears by the time she reached her car.

* * *

IT WAS SO UNFAIR. She hadn’t had a flat tire in years. She had to have one tonight, of all nights, on a dark street in a strange city many miles from her San Antonio apartment. When Gabriel and Michelle were gone, she didn’t like staying by herself on the small property in Comanche Wells. It was remote, and dangerous, if any of Gabriel’s enemies ever set themselves on retaliation. It had happened once in the past. Fortunately, Gabriel had been at home.

She’d already called for a tow truck, but the account she used was briefly tied up. It would be just a few minutes, they promised. She hung up and smiled ruefully.

A car approached from the direction of the theater, slowed and then whipped in just in front of where she was parked. A tall man got out and came back to her window.

She froze until she realized who it was. She powered the window down.

“This is a hell of a place to be sitting with a flat tire,” Wolf Patterson said shortly. “Come on. I’ll drive you home.”

“But I have to stay with the car. I’ve called the tow truck, and they will be here in a few minutes.”

“We’ll wait for the wrecker in my car,” he said firmly. “I’m not leaving you out here alone.”

She was grateful. She didn’t want to have to say so.

He chuckled softly as he got a glimpse of her expression when he opened the door of her car. “Accepting help from the enemy won’t cause you to break out in hives.”

“Want to bet?” she asked. But with a resigned sigh, she got into his car.

* * *

IT WAS A MERCEDES. She’d never driven one, but she knew a lot of people who did. They were almost indestructible, and they lasted forever.

She was curious about the windows. They looked odd. So did the construction of the doors.

He saw her curiosity. “Armor plating,” he said easily. “Bulletproof glass.”

She stared at him. “You have a lot of people using rocket launchers against you, do you?”

He just smiled.

She wondered about him. He spoke several impossible languages. He wasn’t well-known locally, although he’d lived in Jacobs County for several years. Of all the spare tidbits of information she’d been able to gather about him, he’d once worked for the elite FBI Hostage Rescue Unit. But apparently, he was involved in other activities since then, none of which were ever spoken about.

Gabriel found him amusing. He only said that Wolf had moved to Jacobsville because he was looking for a little peace and quiet. Nothing more.

“My brother knows you.”

“Yes.”

She glanced at him. He was looking at his cell phone, pushing through screens, apparently sending emails to someone.

She averted her eyes. He was probably talking to his date, maybe apologizing for keeping her waiting.

She wanted to tell him he could go, she’d wait for the wrecker alone; she wouldn’t mind. But she did mind. She was afraid of the dark, of men who might show up when she was helpless. She hated her own fear.

He glanced at her hands. She was worrying the purse again.

He put away the cell phone. “I don’t bite.”

She actually jumped. She swallowed. “Sorry.”

His eyes narrowed. He’d been deliberately provoking her for a long time, ever since she ran into him with her car and then accused him of causing the accident. She was aggressive in her way. But alone with him, she was afraid. Very much afraid. Such a beautiful woman, with so many hang-ups.

“Why are you so nervous?” he asked quietly.

She forced a smile. “I’m not nervous,” she said. She looked around for car lights.

His eyes were narrow, assessing. “There was a pileup just outside the downtown loop,” he told her. “That’s what I was checking for on my phone. The wrecker should be here shortly.”