The Winter Man by Diana Palmer Page B

spice and fir. She loved the smell. She recalled the feeling it gave her to be carried, when he’d taken her out of the library protesting. His arms had been warm and strong and she’d never wanted to leave them. But she was going to have to move on.
    She put the shirt down. After a minute she realized that he’d know it had been moved, a man as sharp as Tony. She dropped it back onto the carpet, went out of the bedroom and closed the door.

I t was late when Tony came back. She was watching a movie on television, curled up on the sofa in slacks and a soft yellow knit shirt, with her bare feet under her. He smiled at the picture she made. He thought of a small kitten, cuddly and sweet, and snapped that thought right out of his mind.
    â€œFound something to watch, I gather?” he teased.
    She fumbled for the remote control. “Just a movie on regular television,” she said quickly, flushing.
    He frowned. “You can watch pay-per-view if you want to,” he said. “Listen, kid, three or four bucks for a movie isn’t going to break the bank.”
    She flushed even more. “Thanks.”
    Her embarrassment made him uncomfortable. He wasused to women who didn’t mind ordering the most expensive items on the menu, who asked for trips to the most expensive concerts, who wanted jewelry for presents. This one was nervous because he might think she’d watched a movie on the pay channels. He felt odd.
    She sat up and worked her feet back into her loafers.
    â€œYou want to take in a show or something?” he asked.
    She stared at him. “A show?”
    â€œThere’s a good theater company here. They have a ballet, an orchestra. Somebody’s probably doing something Christmasy, even though it isn’t quite the holiday season.”
    She would have loved to go. But she recalled that she didn’t have a dress that would do to wear to something fancy. Her clothes closet was bare, except for a few mix and match outfits suitable for work. She didn’t even have the sort of shoes she’d need for an evening on the town. Tony probably had a dinner jacket or even a tuxedo packed away in that hanging bag she’d seen on the door to his bathroom.
    â€œMmm…no,” she drawled. “I don’t think so. Thank you.”
    Unaware of her wardrobe difficulties, he took the refusal in stride, thinking she probably didn’t care for highbrow entertainment.
    â€œDo you play cards?” he asked.
    She shook her head. “Sorry.”
    He shrugged and sighed. “It’s going to be a long week,” he murmured. He studied her curiously. “Okay, then. When you’re home, what do you do at night?”
    She looked uncomfortable. “I read books, mostly, if there’s nothing interesting on the military history channel.”
    His eyelids flickered. “You like military history?”
    â€œI love it,” she replied, smiling.
    â€œWhich period?”
    â€œAny period,” she told him. “I’ve read everything I could find about Alexander the Great, Julius Caesar, Napoleon, cavalry and Native American battles of the nineteenth century, generals of the Second World War,” she rattled off. “I never met a battle I didn’t want to read about.”
    He sat down across from her. “I took my degree in criminal justice,” he said. “But I minored in history. My favorite period was World War II, European theater.”
    She smiled. “I remember. Your foster mother said you were always outlining battle plans to her over dinner.”
    He chuckled. “She didn’t understand a thing I talked about, but she was always patient and kind.” The smile faded. He looked down at his shoes. “She convinced me that not all foster parents are bad. I went through several after we moved from the reservation in North Carolina down to Georgia.”
    This was an experience that had left scars in him.