Особое чувство собственного ирландства. Пат Инголдзби
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over to her and nudged her back from the railing. “The weather could have loosened it. Let me check before you lean your weight on it.”
He tested the sturdiness of the balustrade with a shake of his strong hand. To his satisfaction, it didn’t budge.
“Looks okay,” he told her. “Go ahead and lean all you want.”
She moved up to the wooden rail and placed both hands around the smooth wood. For the umpteenth time since he’d ran into her, he noticed there was no wedding ring on her left hand. On her right hand there was a pear-shaped solitaire diamond the color of champagne and the size of too-many-karats-to-count.
On many women the ring would have looked gaudy, but on Clementine it looked perfect. She’d been born to be adorned and pampered and it showed in the proud carriage of her body.
He walked up beside her and leaned his hip against the deck railing. “So what have you been doing all these years, Clementine?”
She didn’t answer immediately nor did she turn her head to the side to glance at him. Quito got the feeling she didn’t want to share such personal information with him. And he was about to tell her that she didn’t have to tell him anything when she spoke.
“I can tell you that I haven’t been nearly as productive as you, Quito.”
He frowned. “What does that mean?”
“You’ve made something of yourself.” She turned slightly to look at him and he saw that her eyes were shadowed with secrets and grief. “You’re a respected sheriff. You’re doing exactly what you want to do.”
“And you’re not?” he asked gently.
She made a tiny sound in her throat that was something between a laugh and a moan. “Uh, I don’t know that I’ve ever really done what I wanted to do.”
“Clementine.”
He said her name in a soft, scolding way and she looked at him with a pained smile. “Forget I said that, Quito. I guess you could say I’ve been busy. I worked for my father’s company up until I was twenty-five, then I married a businessman from Houston. That lasted nearly five years. The past couple of years, I’ve been traveling abroad, donating my labor and money to needy children in war-torn countries.”
To hear that she’d been married kicked him like a mule. But to know that she was now divorced sent a surge of wicked relief rushing through him. As for Clementine volunteering to the needy, he couldn’t imagine it. Not that she wasn’t generous. She was. He’d often heard her and her parents talk about giving to different charities. But to rough it in a third world country would take a mentally and physically tough person.
“You mean, you’ve been doing work like they do in the Peace Corps?” he asked incredulously.
One corner of her full lips curled upward. “Hard to believe, isn’t it? Me washing clothes in a galvanized tub on a rub board and handing out food and medicine to people who rarely see a white woman.”
Quito’s eyes slipped up and down her tall figure. She was slender, but there was also a fit look about her that said she hadn’t just been sitting on a couch eating chocolates. His eyes darted to her hands and this time he noticed her nails were cut short.
“Actually, it is. I can’t see you living in some dirt hut in the jungle.”
She laughed softly and he could see that surprising him had pleased her greatly. “I’ve been in jungles and deserts, mountains and cities, doing all sorts of work with my own two hands.”
“Why? You could just donate money,” he reasoned.
She shook her head and the sunlight rippled over her blond hair. “Not for me. Giving money isn’t the same as giving of yourself. And anyway, after the divorce, I wanted to get away from Houston.”
“A bad parting?” His eyes darted over her elusive expression.
Bad, Clementine thought with a strong urge to let out a mocking laugh. Her parting with Niles Westcott had been worse than bad, the divorce had been horrendous and now, well, she lived in fear every day of her life.
“Terrible. The only thing good about it was that there were no children to hurt.”
He was quiet for a long time and then he asked, “Why no children? I thought you always said you wanted to have several children?”
Clementine could no longer look at him. The pain in her heart had to be showing in her eyes and she couldn’t let him see. She couldn’t let him guess what a mess she’d made of her life.
Looking down at the valley stretching before them, she sighed. “That’s true. I did want children. But Niles turned out to be a far different man than I thought. I didn’t want to have a child with him. He would have made a horrible father.”
“Damn it all, Clementine. If that’s the way you felt, then why did you marry the man?”
A tear slipped from her eye and she wiped it away as she turned her head to look at him. “Because I thought I was doing the right thing.”
He shook his head and then he simply looked at her as though he couldn’t decide whether he wanted to curse or cuddle her.
Finally he moved a step closer and Clementine’s heart began to pound out of control.
“You thought you were doing the right thing when you walked away from me,” he murmured.
With a muffled cry, she suddenly stepped forward and buried her face in the middle of his chest.
“Forgive me, Quito. Please forgive me.”
Chapter Three
His fingers pushed into her silky hair and he stroked the back of her head soothingly.
“Clementine, whatever you’re thinking, I don’t hate you. I’ve never hated you.” He bent his head and pressed his cheek against the top of her head. “You were very young then. And there’s no need to rehash the past now. Just because we were once lovers doesn’t mean we can’t be friends now. Hmm?”
Clementine wanted to slip her arms around him and hold him for long, long moments. She wanted to breathe in that remembered scent of his skin and hair, feel the strength of his arms curling around her. But she couldn’t invite or provoke any sort of affection from this man. She loved him too much to make his life miserable a second time.
After a minute or so, his forefinger came under her chin and he tilted her face up to his. Clementine blinked the moisture from her eyes and struggled to smile at him.
“Of course we can be friends, Quito. I’d like that very much.”
“Good. I’d like it, too.”
Her eyes slid to his mouth and her stomach began to flutter as though the wings of thousands of birds were taking flight inside of her.
“Uh, maybe we’d better go down now,” she told him. “I’m sure you’re getting tired.”
Their eyes met and she licked her lips. Quito cleared his throat and stepped back.
“Yeah. It’s time I got back to town. Or my deputies will be sending out a search party.”
The two of them stepped back into the bedroom and Quito latched the sliding door behind him. After they’d gone downstairs and were about to leave the foyer, Quito asked, “What are you going to do with the place? Sell it?”
Clementine finished cuing in the alarm system, then opened the door.
“I’m not sure. I came up here with intentions of putting it on the market. But now that I see it, I don’t know, it still seems like home. Doesn’t that sound silly? It’s been eleven years since I stepped foot on the place, yet in many ways it seems like only yesterday.”
Quito couldn’t admit to her that it felt the