Iâm always packing. And you keep your little hands off my gun,â he added sternly. âI donât let women play with it, even if they ask nicely.â
âTheodore, Iâm scared of guns,â she reminded him. âAnd you know it. Thatâs why you come over and sit on the front porch and shoot bottles on stumps, just to irritate me.â
âIâll try to reform,â he promised.
âLies.â
He put his hand over his heart. âI only lie when Iâm salving someoneâs feelings,â he pointed out. âThere are times when telling the truth is cruel.â
âOh, yeah? Name one.â
He nodded covertly toward a woman against the wall. âWell, if I told that nice lady that her dress looks like she had it painted on at a carnival, sheâd probably feel bad.â
She bit her lip trying not to laugh. âShe probably thinks it looks sexy.â
âOh, no. Sexy is a dress that covers almost everything, but leaves one little tantalizing place bare,â he said. âThatâs why Japanese kimonos have that dip on the back of the neck, that just reveals the nape, when the rest of the woman is covered from head to toe. The Japanese think the nape of the neck is sexy.â
âMy goodness!â She stared up at him, impressed. âYouâve been so many places. Iâve only ever been out of Montana once, when I drove to Wyoming with Uncle John to a cattle convention. Iâve never been out of the country at all. You learn a lot about other people when you travel, donât you?â
He nodded. He smiled. âOther countries have different customs. But people are mostly the same everywhere. Iâve enjoyed the travel most of all, even when I had to do it on business.â
âLike the time you flew to London with that detective from Scotland Yard. Imagine a British case that involved a small town like Hollister!â she exclaimed.
âThe perpetrator was a murderer who came over here fishing to provide himself with an alibi while his wife committed the crime and blamed it on her absent husband. In the end, they both drew life sentences.â
âWho did they kill?â she asked.
âHer cousin who was set to inherit the family estate and about ten million pounds,â he said, shaking his head. âThe things sensible people will do for money never ceases to amaze me. I mean, it isnât like you can take it with you when you die. And how many houses can you live in? How many cars can you drive?â He frowned. âI think of money the way the Crow and Cheyenne people do. The way most Native Americans do. The man in the tribe who is the most honored is always the poorest, because he gives away everything he has to people who need it more. Theyâre not capitalists. They donât understand societies that equate prestige with money.â
âAnd they share absolutely everything,â she agreed. âThey donât understand private property.â
He laughed. âNeither do I. The woods and the rivers and the mountains are ageless. You canât own them.â
âSee? Thatâs the Cheyenne in you talking.â
He touched her blond hair. âProbably it is. We going to dance, or talk?â
âYouâre leading, arenât you?â
He tugged her onto the dance floor. âApparently.â He drew her gently to him and then hesitated. After what sheâd told him, he didnât want to do anything that would make her uncomfortable. He said so.
âI donâtâ¦well, I donât feel uncomfortable, like that, with you,â she faltered, looking up into his black eyes. She managed a shaky little smile. âI like being close to you.â She flushed, afraid sheâd been too bold. Or that heâd think she was being forward. Her expression was troubled.
He just smiled. âYou can say anything to me,â he said gently. âI wonât think
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