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pain and grief and fury he’d felt that day. “So I stayed in military school, made good grades, got promotions. When I graduated, they said he was in the audience, but I never saw him.
    â€œI went right into the army afterward, from one special ops assignment to another. Occasionally I did jobs in concert with other governments. When I got out of the army, I wentfreelance. I had nothing to live for and nothing to lose, and I got rich.” He stiffened. “I didn’t need anybody in the old days. I was hard as nails. Funny, nobody tells you that there are things you can’t live with, until you’ve already done them.”
    Her soft hand reached up to his lean, scarred cheek, and traced it tenderly. “You’re still there,” she said quietly, and her eyes had an eerie paleness as they met his reluctant ones. “You’re trapped in your own past. You can’t get out, because you can’t let go of the pain and the hatred and the bitterness.”
    â€œCan you?” he shot right back. “Can you forgive your attacker?”
    She let out a soft breath. “Not yet,” she confessed. “But I’ve tried. And at least I’ve learned to put it in the back of my mind. For a long time, I hated the whole world and then Rory came to live with me. And I realized that I had to put him first and stop dwelling on the past. I can’t let go of it completely, but it’s not as much a burden as it was when I was younger.”
    He traced her eyebrows with a lean forefinger. “I’ve never spoken of this to anyone. Ever.”
    â€œI’m a clam,” she replied gently. “At work, I’m everyone’s confidant.”
    â€œSame here,” he confessed with a light smile. “I tell them that governments would topple if I told what I know. Maybe they would, too.”
    â€œMy secrets aren’t that important. Feel better?” she asked, smiling up at him.
    He sighed. “In fact, I do,” he said, surprised. He chuckled. “Maybe you’re a witch,” he mused, “putting spells on me.”
    â€œI had an uncle who said our family came from Druids in ancient Ireland. Of course, he also said we had relatives who were priests and one who was a horse thief.” She laughed. “Hehated my mother and tried to get custody of me when I was ten. He died of a heart at tack that same year.”
    â€œTough break.”
    â€œMy life has been one long tough break,” she replied. “Sort of like yours. We’ve both been through the wars and survived.”
    â€œYou don’t have my memories,” he said quietly.
    â€œYou might think of bad memories like boils,” she commented, not totally facetiously. “They get worse until you lance them.”
    â€œNot mine, honey.”
    Her eyebrows lifted. She was fascinated by the endearment, uttered in that soft, deep tone. She colored a little. Odd, because she hated that word when it was tossed around by a parade of would-be lovers who used it like a weapon against her femininity.
    He lifted a single eyebrow and looked roguish. “You like that, do you?” he drawled. “And you know that I don’t use endearments as a rule, too, don’t you?”
    She nodded. “I know a lot of things about you that I shouldn’t.”
    His chin lifted and he looked down his long, straight nose at her. “I only thought you were dangerous in Jacobsville. Now I know you are.”
    She grinned. “Glad you noticed.”
    He laughed and let her go. “Come on. We’re going to qualify as an exhibit if we stand here much longer.” He held out his hand.
    She cocked her head. “Is that the only body part you’re offering me?” she asked, and then colored wildly when she realized what she’d just said.
    He burst out laughing, linking her fingers with his. “Don’tbe pushy,” he chided. “We haven’t even