Carl Barkley had been the star quarterback of their high school football team. Natalie had been his date, and the envy of the girls in the senior class, for the Christmas dance. She was to be his date for the senior prom, as well. Handsome, blond, blue-eyed Carl, who was president of the Key Club, vice president of the student council, an honor student with a facility for physics that had gained him a place at MIT after graduation. Carl, dead at eighteen. Natalie couldn’t stop crying.
At times like these, she ached for a family to console her. Old Mrs. Barnes, who’d given her a home during her junior year of high school and with whom she would live while she attended the local community college, was away for the weekend. She wasn’t due back until the next morning. There was Vivian Killain, of course, her best friend. But Vivian had also been a friend of Carl, and she was too upset to drive. The only fight Natalie and Vivian had ever had was over Carl, because Vivian had started dating him first. Carl had only gone out with her once before he and Natalie ended up in English class together. It had been love at first sight for both of them, but Vivian only saw it as Natalie tempting her boyfriend away. It wasn’t like that at all.
The thunder shook the whole house, and it wasn’t until the rumble died down that Natalie heard someone knocking on the front door. Slipping a matching robe over a thin pink satin nightgown with spaghetti straps, she went to see who it was.
A tall, lean man in a raincoat and broad-brimmed Stetson stared at her.
“Vivian said your aunt was out of town and you were alone,” Mack Killain said quietly, surveying her pale, drenched face. “I’m sorry about your boyfriend.”
Natalie didn’t say a word. She simply lifted her arms. He picked her up with a rough sound and kicked the door shut behind him. With her wet face buried in his throat, he carried her easily down the hall to the open door that was obviously her bedroom. He kicked that door shut, too, and sat her gently on the armchair beside the bed.
He took off his raincoat, draping it over the straight chair by the window, and placed his hat over it. He was wearing work clothes, she saw through her tears. He hadn’t even stopped long enough to change out of his chaps and boots and spurs. His blue-checked long-sleeve shirt was open halfway down his chest, disclosing a feathery pattern of thick, black curling hair. His broad forehead showed the hat mark. A lock of raven-black straight hair fell over the thin black elastic of the eye patch over his left eye.
He stared at Natalie for a few seconds, taking in her swollen eyes and flushed cheeks, the paleness of the rest of her oval face.
“I didn’t even get to say goodbye, Mack,” she managed huskily.
“Who does?” he replied. He bent and lifted her so that he could drop down into the armchair with her in his lap. He curled her into his strong, warm body and held her while she struggled through a new round of tears. She clung to him, grateful for his presence.
She’d always been a little afraid of him, although she was careful not to let it show. She’d been the one who nursed him, over the objections of the orphanage, when he was gored in the face by one of his own bulls. His sister, Vivian, was no good at all with anyone who was hurt or sick—she simply went to pieces. And his brothers, Bob and Charles, were terrified of their big brother. Natalie had known that he stood to lose his sight in both eyes instead of just one, and she’d held him tight and told him over and over again that he mustn’t give up. She’d stayed out of classes for a whole week while the doctors fought to save that one eye, and she hadn’t left him day or night until he was able to go home.
Even then, she’d stopped by every day to check on him, having presumed that he’d have his family standing on its ear trying to keep him in bed for the prescribed amount of time. Sure enough, the boys had walked wide around him and Vivian just left him alone. Natalie had made sure that he did what the doctor told him to. It amused and amazed his siblings that he’d let her boss him around. Killain gave orders. He didn’t take them from anybody—well, except from Natalie, when it suited him.
“We were going to the senior prom together,” she said huskily, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. “This morning, I was deciding what sort of dress to wear and how I was going to fix my hair...and he’s dead.”
“People die, Nat,” he said, his voice deep and quiet and comforting at her ear. “But I’m sorry he did.”
“You didn’t know him, did you?”
“I’d spoken to him a time or two,” he said with deliberate carelessness.
“He was so handsome,” she said with a ragged sigh. “He was smart and brave and everybody loved him.”
“Of course.”
She shifted into a more comfortable position on his lap, and as she did, her hand accidentally slid under the fabric of his cotton shirt, to lie half buried in thick hair. Odd, how his powerful body tensed when it happened, she thought with confusion. She was aware of other things, too. He smelled of horses and soap and leather. His breath pulsed out just above her nose, and she could smell coffee on it. Her robe was open, and the tiny straps that held her gown up had slipped in her relaxed position. One of her breasts was pressed
