Beloved. Diana Palmer
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against women like Tira. It kept him safe from any emotional involvement.
Unaware of Simon’s hostile thoughts, Tira went to her silver Jaguar and climbed in behind the wheel. She paused there for a few minutes, with her head against the cold steering wheel. When was she ever going to learn that Simon didn’t want her? It was like throwing herself at a stone wall, and it had to stop. Finally she admitted that nothing was going to change their shallow relationship. It was time she made a move to put herself out of Simon’s orbit for good. Tearing her emotions to pieces wasn’t going to help, and every time she saw him, she died a little more. All these years she’d waited and hoped and suffered, just to be around him occasionally. She’d lived too long on crumbs; she had to find some sort of life for herself without Simon, no matter how badly it hurt.
Her first step was to sell the Montana property. She put it on the market without a qualm, and her manager pooled his resources with a friend to buy it. With the ranch gone, she had no more reason to go to cattle auctions.
She moved out of her apartment that was only a couple of blocks from Simon’s, too, and bought an elegant house on the outskirts of town on Floresville Road. It was very Spanish, with graceful arches and black wrought-iron scrollwork on the fences that enclosed it. There was a cobblestone patio complete with a fountain and a nearby sitting area with a large goldfish pond and a waterfall cascading into it. The place was sheer magic. She thought she’d never seen anything quite so beautiful.
“It’s the sort of house that needs a family,” the real estate agent had remarked.
Tira hadn’t said a word.
She remembered the conversation as she looked around the empty living room that had yet to be furnished. There would never be a family now. There would only be Tira, putting one foot in front of the other and living like a zombie in a world that no longer contained Simon, or hope.
It took her several weeks to have the house decorated and furnished. She chose every fabric, every color, every design herself. And when the house was finished, it echoed her own personality. Her real personality, that was, not the face she showed to the world.
No one who was acquainted with her would recognize her from the decor. The living room was done in soft white with a pastel blue, patterned wallpaper. The carpet was gray. The furniture was Victorian, rosewood chairs and a velvet-covered sofa. The other rooms were equally antique. The master bedroom boasted a four-poster bed in cherrywood, with huge ball legs and a headboard and footboard resplendant with hand-carved floral motifs. The curtains were Priscillas, the center panels of rose patterns with faint pink and blue coloring. The rest of the house followed the same subdued elegance of style and color. It denoted a person who was introverted, sensitive and old-fashioned. Which, under the flamboyant camouflage, Tira really was.
If there was a flaw, and it was a small one, it was the mouse who lived in the kitchen. Once the house was finished, and she’d moved in, she noticed him her first night in residence, sitting brazenly on a cabinet clutching a piece of cracker that she’d missed when she was cleaning up.
She bought traps and set them, hoping that the evil things would do their horrible work correctly and that she wouldn’t be left nursing a wounded mouse. But the wily creature avoided the traps. She tried a cage and bait. That didn’t work, either. Either the mouse was like those in that cartoon she’d loved, altered by some secret lab and made intelligent, or he was a figment of her imagination and she was going mad.
She laughed almost hysterically at the thought that Simon had finally, after all those years, driven her crazy.
Despite the mouse, she loved her new home. But even though she led a hectic life, there were still the lonely nights to get through. The walls began to close around her, despite the fact that she involved herself in charity work committees and was a tireless worker for political action fundraisers. She worked long hours, and pushed herself unnecessarily hard. But she had no outside interests and too much money to work a daily job. What she needed was something interesting to do at home, to keep her mind occupied at night, when she was alone. But what?
It was a rainy Monday morning. She’d gone to the market for fresh vegetables and wasn’t really watching where she was walking when she turned a corner and went right into the path of Corrigan Hart and his new wife, Dorothy.
“Good Lord,” she gasped, catching her breath. “What are you two doing in San Antonio?”
Corrigan grinned. “Buying cattle,” he said, drawing a radiant Dorothy closer. “Which reminds me, I didn’t see you at the auction this time. I was standing in for Simon,” he added. “For some reason, he’s gone off sales lately.”
“So have I, coincidentally,” Tira remarked with a cool smile. It stung to think that Simon had given up those auctions that he loved so much to avoid her, but that was most certainly the reason. “I sold the Montana property.”
Corrigan scowled. “But you loved the ranch. It was your last link with your father.”
That was true, and it had made her sad for a time. She twisted the shopping basket in her hands. “I’d gotten into a rut,” she said. “I wanted to change my life.”
“So I noticed,” Corrigan said quietly. “We went by your apartment to say hello. You weren’t there.”
“I moved.” She colored a little at his probing glance. “I’ve bought a house across town.”
Corrigan’s eyes narrowed. “Someplace where you won’t see Simon occasionally,” he said gently.
The color in her cheeks intensified. “Where I won’t see Simon at all, if you want the truth,” she said bluntly. “I’ve given up all my connections with the past. There won’t be any more accidental meetings with him. I’ve decided that I’m tired of eating my heart out for a man who doesn’t want me. So I’ve stopped.”
Corrigan looked surprised. Dorie eyed the other woman with quiet sympathy.
“In the long run, that’s probably the best thing you could have done,” Dorie said quietly. “You’re still young and very pretty,” she added with a smile. “And the world is full of men.”
“Of course it is,” Tira replied. She returned Dorie’s smile. “I’m glad things worked out for you two, and I’m very sorry I almost split you up,” she added sincerely. “Believe me, it was unintentional.”
“Tira, I know that,” Dorie replied, remembering how a chance remark of Tira’s in a local boutique had sent Dorie running scared from Corrigan. That was all in the past, now. “Corrigan explained everything to me. I was uncertain of him then, that’s all it really was. I’m not anymore.” She hesitated. “I’m sorry about you and Simon.”
Tira’s face tautened. “You can’t make people love you,” she said with a poignant sadness in her eyes. She shrugged fatalistically. “He has a life that suits him. I’m trying to find one for myself.”
“Why don’t you do a collection of sculptures and have a show?” Corrigan suggested.
She chuckled. “I haven’t done sculpture in three years. Anyway, I’m not good enough for that.”
“You certainly are, and you’ve got an art degree. Use it.”
She considered that. After a minute, she smiled. “Well, I do enjoy sculpting. I used to sell some of it occasionally.”
“See?” Corrigan said. “An idea presents itself.” He paused. “Of course, there’s always a course in biscuit-making…?”
Knowing his other three brothers’ absolute mania for that particular bread, she held up both hands. “You can tell Leo and Cag and Rey that I have no plans to become a biscuit chef.”
“I’ll pass the message along. But Dorie’s dying for a replacement,” he added with a grin at his wife. “They’d chain her to the stove if I didn’t intervene.” He eyed Tira. “They like you.”
“God