Deep in the Heart by Sharon Sala Page A

he’d been forced to realize that Samantha Jean might not stay his personal property forever.
    He cocked an eyebrow. “You sure you want to know?”
    She frowned. “Of course, or I wouldn’t have asked.”
    “I punched his lights out because he noticed you were wearing a bra.”
    A slight flush stained her cheeks, but she managed a grin. “And that made you mad?”
    “No, not exactly. What made me maddest was that he’d seen you were growing up and I hadn’t. You were mine, Samantha. Always had been. Always would—”
    He froze in midsentence and glared at the road before him. “Hell.”
    His anger was unexpected, as if she were somehow to blame, and yet only she knew how certainly that was untrue.
    “Come on,” Samantha urged. The shadows on his face made her nervous and she wanted to erase them.
    “Show me some more. Let’s drive by the school. Then if we have time, we could go out to the old Kellog place and see if the blackberries are ripe. Oh, Johnny, remember the berries and what fun we had?”
    “It’s too early for berries. And yes, we had fun, Sam. We sure did.” Probably the most fun I ever had in my life, Samantha Jean. And it ended the day that you left me.
    “Whatever you want,” she said. “Just drive, I’ll look. That’ll be enough to satisfy me.”
    He watched the play of emotions cross her face and wondered who would be sick enough to want to snuff out the life of someone like Samantha Carlyle. He couldn’t fathom the world without her in it, somewhere.
    Breeze came through the rolled-down window of his pickup truck and lifted the hair away from her face. The old T-shirt she had on and the blue jeans she’d rolled up to her knees somehow made her look younger—more vulnerable—and yet too damned much of a woman. Their little trip through Cotton might satisfy her, but he was in serious doubt about his own satisfaction, or his diminishing peace of mind.

    It hadn’t taken long for word to get around that little Samantha Carlyle was back in town, and why. Tongues were wagging on every corner.
    John Thomas had figured that the simplest way to protect her was to tell everyone what had happened to her. And the quickest way to get the word around was simply to tell Angus Weaver. Angus never could keep a secret and he always got his facts straight.
    People needed to know that if a stranger came to town, the sheriff was to be informed immediately. So, he’d told Angus Weaver all about the letters and the other threats Samantha had received in L.A.—and he’d added that the police in L.A. hadn’t really believed she was in danger. That was all it took.
    The townspeople had taken to the intrigue of the story as if they had a mission. Suddenly every poor soul who now had the misfortune to stop for gas or a bite to eat at the local truck stop was greeted with less than the usual friendly enthusiasm. After all, Samantha was one of Cotton’s own and someone had threatened her life.
    Now that the telling was done, the waiting began. And that was the single most difficult thing of it all.

    John Thomas stared at the clock by his bedside table and wished it to hell and back for reminding him that there were at least four more hours of darkness before he could arise with dignity.
    The past four days had been some of the best and the worst that he could remember. It was wonderful to know that Samantha was here at his own home, and torture to know that when night came they would part company in the shadowy hallway to go to separate rooms…and separate beds. The bonds of their childhood were strong, and he often felt himself slipping back into an adult attraction that they’d barely explored.
    Once in a while he got glimpses of the child that she’d been, but most of the time, it was the woman she was now that made him crazy. The shadows in her eyes faded a little each day, and the smile on her lips grew wider each time she tried it. And the fact that she’d left home with exactly three changes