Mountain Man by Diana Palmer Page B

wanted to die. I swore I’d get over it, but I don’t know that I really have. The scars go deep.”
    She touched his face gently, running her fingers slowly along his hard cheek. Amazing, how exquisite it was to be near him.
    “I got thrown over by my fiancé,” she confessed. “He decided he wanted a rich girl, and I wasn’t …” She almost added “anymore” but she caught the word in time.
    He searched her soft green eyes. “You didn’t sleep with him,” he said, gazing at her intently.
    “That’s hard to explain.” She stared at his top shirt button. It was undone, and thick dark hair peeked out against his tanned skin. “I wanted the first time to mean something. What hurts the most is that I never felt that way about him. I thought I loved him, but I never thought about sleeping with him.”
    That was the truth. Seeing how fast living had ruled her parents’ lives had soured her on that part of life. Intimacy had become to them as careless as handshakes, and Nicole had determined that it would be treated more reverently in her own life. Perhaps, in retrospect, that was one of the reasons Chase had left her. He’d pushed her toward intimacy more and more after their engagement, but she’d resisted stubbornly. And now, standing closein Winthrop’s arms, she was savagely glad she’d resisted.
    There was more to it than that, he knew, but she wasn’t volunteering any more information. He studied her quietly, thinking how much like him she was. He ran his finger down her cheek. Secretive, too, but he’d get more of an explanation eventually. It was insane to be so pleased that she was still innocent. It excited him, as sophisticated women never had.
    “I could eat a moose,” he said conversationally. “Why don’t we rush back to the house and raid the freezer? Can you cook, in case Mary decides to try out for the Rockettes one day?”
    She laughed at him. His humor had surprised her. Was this the real man? Had that cold veneer finally melted away? “Yes, of course I can cook. Why would Mary want to try out for the Rockettes?”
    He shrugged. “She threatens it once or twice a winter. She saw them on television once and was sure she was just the right height, even though her legs were a bit large. I haven’t taken her seriously in past years, but as I get older, my stomach worries.”
    “Don’t you worry, Mr. Christopher, I’ll take care of you,” she murmured and turned toward the house. “Are you walking or riding?”
    He sighed and grimaced. “I guess I’m riding,” he muttered. “Damned leg hurts like hell.”
    She had a feeling he wouldn’t have admitted that to anyone but her. It was the best kind of compliment.She smiled and shook her head when he offered to let her ride with him after he’d painstakingly mounted the horse and was sitting regally on its back.
    “It wouldn’t do your leg much good,” she reminded him. “I’ll just walk alongside and look up at you adoringly, if you don’t mind.”
    “That’ll be the day,” he mused.
    She looked up. “What happened to your leg?” she asked softly.
    “Bone damage and torn ligaments. I was pinned in the car when she wrecked it,” he said simply. “The surgeons repaired it as best they could, but there were complications. I’ll always limp. And when I overdo, I’ll always hurt.” He glanced at her. “I had a choice between limping or giving up the leg. I came in with a matched set and I intend to go out the same way.”
    She pursed her lips, feeling mischievous, and almost asked an outrageous question. Then she blushed wildly and turned away.
    He guessed the question and burst out laughing. “No,” he murmured. “It doesn’t cramp my style in bed.”
    She gasped, glaring at him. “I never—”
    “You might as well have written it in twelve-inch letters on canvas,” he retorted.
    Her mouth opened and then closed while she thought up searing retorts, none of which came to mind. Later, she’d think up