A Dream to Call My Own by Tracie Peterson

again. Mercy, but the woman could stir his blood. He held fast, however, sensing that it was more than a little important that Lacy air her fears and thoughts.
    “It’s not fair.” She waved her arms and the gelding shied away. “It’s not fair. I don’t want to feel like this.”
    “Like what, Lacy?”
    “I don’t want to care about you. I don’t want to melt away every time you touch me.”
    He shrugged with a grin. “I kind of like that part.”
    “Of course you do,” she railed. “Men!” Lacy kicked her saddlebags.
    “All right, calm down.”
    “If I could do that,” she countered, “I wouldn’t be out here trying to sneak off.”
    This caused Dave to laugh. “Lacy, let’s go in the house and talk this out. It’s freezing out here.” He crossed to where she stood. “Go on. I’ll unsaddle your horse.”
    “No. I have to go home.”
    “You can go home after we talk.” Dave uncinched the saddle and pulled it from the gelding’s back. Lacy stood watching him but said nothing more. When he’d accomplished the task, he took her by the arm. “Come on.”
    She didn’t resist as Dave led the way to the house. Once inside, she didn’t bother to take her coat off or even move from the chair where he deposited her. Apparently she was resigned to letting him have his way, and for this, Dave was grateful.
    He stoked the fire in the stove, then came to sit down beside her. “Now tell me what’s not fair and why you were crying as if you’d lost your last friend.”
    Lacy picked at the buttons of her coat, refusing to look up. “I don’t want to love you.”
    “So you admit that you do,” Dave replied, rather pleased with himself.
    Her head snapped up at this. “I didn’t say that.”
    “Then what are you saying?”
    She put her hands to her face and rubbed her temples. She looked like someone trying very hard to figure out a great mystery. “I don’t know what I’m saying or thinking. That’s the problem. I just know that you weren’t in my plans.”
    “And just what plans did you have?”
    Lowering her hands, she looked him in the eye. “I want to find my father’s killer.”
    “As do I. We both want the same thing, as far as I can see.”
    “But I want to find him.”
    “What does it matter who finds him, as long as he’s found?” Dave asked. “Honestly, Lacy, why can’t you be content to know that I care about the matter as much as you do and trust me to see the job done?”
    “Because I need to help.” She got up and walked to the stove. Holding her hands out to the warmth, she continued. “All of my life, I’ve made a mess of things. I’ve failed people—people who suffered because of my inability to do what was required of me.” She turned and looked at him with an expression that nearly sent Dave into her arms. “I don’t want to fail anyone else.”
    “You haven’t failed nearly as much as you think. We all make mistakes, and we all have tasks too big to handle. That doesn’t make you a failure. You did your best, didn’t you?”
    “But it wasn’t enough.”
    “Lacy, doing your best is all that’s required. God expects no more. Ma always said that with human beings, most everything is impossible at one time or another. But with God, all things are possible.”
    “I want to believe that.”
    Dave got up, but Lacy held her hands out. “Don’t. Please don’t touch me. Something happens to me when you touch me.”
    He grinned. “I know. Something happens to me when I touch you. It’s the passion that’s between us that makes me certain we’re meant to marry—to be together always.” He came to a stop at the point where her fingers touched his chest. “Lacy, I love you. I love your fire and passion.”
    “I can’t let passion rule my life,” she said, her voice softening to a bare whisper.
    “Passion is the stuff of life,” he replied, never taking his gaze from hers.
    “I’ll only fail you,” she said, shaking her head slowly as she let her