“Where were you born?” she asked.
His face hardened and his lean hands gripped the wheel convulsively. “My birth certificate says Billings, Montana,” he replied tersely. “I suppose that’s where my mother and her...husband lived at the time.” He didn’t add that he’d never had occasion to look at his birth certificate in all those years—even when he’d joined the service, his mother had provided records to the authorities. Why hadn’t he ever questioned it? It wasn’t until after Hank Nelson died that he’d seen all the paperwork—the birth certificate with the name he was born under and the adoption papers. God, it hurt to realize how easily he’d accepted the lies....
Allison hesitated. She could tell that it was like putting a knife into him to answer the question. But his own avoidance of the subject had surely added to his discomfort.
“You don’t like to talk about it, do you?” she asked quietly.
“No,” he said honestly.
“When a splinter gets under the skin,” she began carefully, “pulling it out at once prevents it from doing too much damage. But when it’s left inside, it festers and causes infection.”
His eyes sliced through her. “And that’s what my past is, do you think? A splinter that’s embedded?”
“In a manner of speaking,” she replied. Her eyes fell to the firm set of his lips. “I imagine it was the shock of your life to find out who your father was in such a way. But I agree with Marie. I think your stepfather meant to tell you and kept putting it off until it was too late.”
His pale green eyes flashed. He didn’t like being reminded of it, but what she said made sense. It was just the newness of discussing it, he supposed. He wouldn’t let Marie or Dwight talk about it around him. He couldn’t really understand why he hadn’t already cut Allison dead. He knew instinctively that she was sensitive enough that one hard word would stop her. He just couldn’t seem to speak that one hard word. The idea of hurting her didn’t appeal to him at all.
They drove into Billings, along the wide streets, and Gene pointed out the landmarks.
“The airport sits on the Rimrocks,” he added, nodding toward his left as they turned toward the hotel. “Yellowstone Kelly’s buried up there, and the old graveyard is down the hill from the grave.”
“I’ll bet I could spend a whole day just looking around Billings,” she remarked.
“Billings is big, all right,” he agreed, his eyes on a traffic light up ahead. “And the surrounding area is full of history.”
“Yes, I know,” she said excitedly. “The Custer Battlefield is somewhere nearby, isn’t it?”
“Over near Hardin,” he said. “I’ll take you there one day if you like.”
Her heart jumped. He made it sound as if they were headed for a real relationship, not just a quick flirtation. She stared at his profile with a feeling of slow warmth building inside her.
“I’d like that very much, Gene,” she said softly.
He was grateful that the traffic light changed in time to distract him, because the expression on her face could have hypnotized him. He’d never seen such warmth in a woman’s eyes. It drew him like a blazing fire on a snowy night.
“You shouldn’t look at me that way when I’m trying to drive,” he said curtly.
“I beg your pardon?”
He glanced at her as he pulled into the hotel parking lot, mentally praying for an empty spot. She looked blank, as if the remark didn’t register.
“Never mind,” he murmured, his keen eyes on the last space, where a car was backing out. “The answer to a prayer,” he chuckled.
“The parking spot?”
“You bet,” he agreed. “The food here is something special, as you’ll see, so it’s usually crowded on weekends.”
He pulled into the vacated parking spot and parked. The night air was warm and the city smelled of anything but exhaust fumes. Perhaps it was its very spaciousness.
“This doesn’t look like Arizona, but it’s just as spread out,” she remarked, staring around her with interest.
“Most Western cities are,” he said. He escorted her into the lobby and then into the elevator. They rode up to the restaurant near the top of the building and were seated by a window overlooking the Yellowstone River and the railroad tracks. A freight train was barreling through the darkness and Allison’s eyes followed it wistfully.
“Do you like trains?” he asked, glancing down at the passing train.
“Oh, yes,” she said with a sigh. “I used to dream about having an electric train set of my very own, when I was little. But I was taught that there were many things more important than toys.”
He smiled gently. “Such as?”
She returned the smile. “A pair of shoes for a neighbor’s little girl who didn’t have any. Glasses for a seamstress who was the sole support of three children. Insulin for a diabetic who could barely afford to pay rent.”
He had to search for words. He hadn’t expected that reply. “Taught by whom? Your parents?”
She nodded. She looked down, toying with her utensils. “They were...very special people.” She had to bite down hard to keep the tears back. Nightmare memories flashed through her mind.
Gene didn’t miss the sudden look of panic on her face. His lean hand crossed the table and caught hers, enveloping it tightly. “You can tell me about it later,” he said quietly.
His compassion startled her. Her lips parted as she met his pale green eyes and searched them, while her fingers curled trustingly into his. “It’s still fresh, you see,” she whispered huskily.
“You lost them recently?”
She nodded. Words couldn’t get past the lump in her throat.
“So that’s why you’re here,” he said, thinking aloud. “And
