All Chapters of LOVE IN TEXAS : Chapter 71 - Chapter 80

In a heartbeat, Shannon was around the tiny table and in Nick’s lap. They held on to each other like the last two people to make it onto the life raft before the ship sank. And they cried.Never in a million years would Nick have thought to find himself weeping in a woman’s arms. It wasn’t manly. It wasn’t macho Italiano, as his father would have said. Only a sissy would cry.Well, this sissy cried his eyes out—after all, he’d been holding it in for five years—and in the process, he felt a new lightening inside himself.Now that his tears were dried, he noticed that Shannon was quieting in his arms. He stood and carried her to the bed and lay down beside her.“You will never know,” she said, her voice unsteady, “what this means to me. What it will mean to my mother after all these years.” With her arms around his neck, she squeezed him tight.“His face still haunts my dreams.” He was rambling, but couldn’t seem to help it. “I wanted more than anything to be able to find someone, to he

It was the county 911 dispatcher, thank God. He told her their situation and asked that someone contact the fire chief at the scene and have him direct his spray toward the back corner. The woman tried to keep him on the phone, but he had to make preparations in case the fire decided to come in through that broken window before the crew could knock it down. Hewould have to make a stand in the bathroom.He tried to carry Shannon that far, but she was too limp and his leg was too weak. He ended up half dragging her to the tub, thanking God for slow renovations. The tub was an old cast-iron job that, if nothing else, wouldn’t melt and fuse with their skin. Of course, there was every possibility that they could end up beyond caring, but not as long as Nick had so much as one breath left in his body.He left Shannon on the floor next to the tub, then crawled back and pulled the sheets and blanket from the bed. They would make good wet wraps and help filter the air for breathing. He was ab

And then she went to bed and dreamed of Nick. The next morning, the ache of missing him was so strong she almost convinced herself to stay home and wallow in her misery.But she did go to work. Whatever had brought on the good mood of the night before had deserted her, but with grim determination, she kept her misery to herself. She would be fine, dammit. She would be terrific.No more putting off that chapter in her manuscript. That night when she got home, she changed into her sweats and settled down on the sofa, with all her writing materials spread out around her. And she sat there and stared.It was one thing to say she was going to write about Nick, but it wasanother actually to do it. Writing about him would be like bringing him into her home with her. Wouldn’t he then haunt her every day and night after that?Someone knocked on her door. They must have played the keeppressing buttons until someone lets you in game because she hadn’t buzzed anyone up. Frowning, she went to th

Amy shook her head. “Call me Amy. I’m a civilian now.” “No kidding?” His smile widened. “Is it congratulations or condolences?”While most people assumed she should be ecstatic to be out of the army, this man understood that she might feel otherwise. She appreciated that. “A little of both,” she said honestly.She followed him past the living room on the right, the formal dining room on the left, and into what Brenda had called the great room. Kitchen at one end, television, sofas, a wingback chair and a pair of recliners, along with bookshelves and a full entertainment center at the other.Amy breathed a sigh of relief. Brenda had been such a perfectionist and had talked about how she worked so hard to keep everything in her home neat and tidy and clean, or as much so as possible with three children and a husband. Amy had halfway expected the place to have that look-but-don’t touch appearance to it, like a room right out of a magazine or something.But this was a room a person could

Amy sagged onto the bed in her motel room. She was used to going without food, without sleep. She was used to killing heat, sand ineverything including her toothpaste, and total lack of privacy. She’d seen people die. She had shot at men who were shooting at her.But today, she hadn’t done anything that even began to compare to the things she’d been exposed to during the past few years. It was the emotional strain of having to describe Brenda’s death to Riley that had drained Amy’s reserves. Only the middle of the afternoon, yet all she wanted was to curl into a tight ball and sleep. Seeing no reason why she shouldn’t do that very thing, she stripped off her clothes, crawled between the crisp, clean sheets —never again would she take crisp, clean sheets for granted—and was out before she could finish the thought of how lucky Brenda had been to have those three beautiful daughters and that gorgeous hunk of a husband.Amy slept sixteen hours and woke feeling both ravenous and grungy. A