A little drop of Native American blood was exciting and unique. But a full-blooded Native American…she was horrified."
Cecily's opinion of the legendary Maureen dropped eighty points. She ground her teeth together. She couldn't imagine anyone being ashamed of such a proud heritage.
He looked down at her and laughed despite himself. "I can hear you boiling over. No, you wouldn't be ashamed of me. But you're unique. You help, however you can. You see the poverty around you, and you don't stick your nose up at it. You roll up your sleeves and do what you can to help alleviate it. You've made me ashamed, Cecily."
"Ashamed? But, why?"
"Because you see beauty and hope where I see hopelessness." He rubbed his artificial arm, as if it hurt him. "I've got about half as much as Tate has in foreign banks. I'm going to start using some of it for something besides exotic liquor. One person can make a difference. I didn't know that, until you came along."
She smiled and touched his arm gently. "I'm glad."
"You could marry me," he ventured, looking down at her with a smile. "I'm no bargain, but I'd be good to you. I'd never even drink a beer again."
"You need someone to love you, Colby. I can't."
He grimaced. "I could say the same thing to you. But I could love you, I think, given time."
"You'd never be Tate."
He drew in a long breath. "Life is never simple. It's like a puzzle. Just when we think we've got it solved, pieces of it fly in all directions."
"When you get philosophical, it's time to go in. Tomorrow, we have to talk about what's going on around here. There's something very shady. Leta and I need you to help us find out what it is."
"What are friends for?" he asked affectionately.
"I'll do the same for you one day."
He didn't answer her. Cecily had no idea at all how strongly her pert remark about being intimate with Colby had affected Tate. The black-eyed, almost homicidal man who'd come to his door last night had hardly been recognizable as his friend and colleague of many years. Tate had barely been coherent, and both men were exhausted and bloody by the time the fight ended in a draw. Maybe Tate didn't want to marry Cecily, but Colby knew stark jealousy when he saw it. That hadn't been any outdated attempt to avenge Cecily's chastity. It had been revenge, because he thought Colby had slept with her and he wanted to make him pay. It had been jealousy, not protectiveness, the jealousy of a man who was passionately in love; and didn't even know it.
Cecily's opinion of the legendary Maureen dropped eighty points. She ground her teeth together. She couldn't imagine anyone being ashamed of such a proud heritage.
He looked down at her and laughed despite himself. "I can hear you boiling over. No, you wouldn't be ashamed of me. But you're unique. You help, however you can. You see the poverty around you, and you don't stick your nose up at it. You roll up your sleeves and do what you can to help alleviate it. You've made me ashamed, Cecily."
"Ashamed? But, why?"
"Because you see beauty and hope where I see hopelessness." He rubbed his artificial arm, as if it hurt him. "I've got about half as much as Tate has in foreign banks. I'm going to start using some of it for something besides exotic liquor. One person can make a difference. I didn't know that, until you came along."
She smiled and touched his arm gently. "I'm glad."
"You could marry me," he ventured, looking down at her with a smile. "I'm no bargain, but I'd be good to you. I'd never even drink a beer again."
"You need someone to love you, Colby. I can't."
He grimaced. "I could say the same thing to you. But I could love you, I think, given time."
"You'd never be Tate."
He drew in a long breath. "Life is never simple. It's like a puzzle. Just when we think we've got it solved, pieces of it fly in all directions."
"When you get philosophical, it's time to go in. Tomorrow, we have to talk about what's going on around here. There's something very shady. Leta and I need you to help us find out what it is."
"What are friends for?" he asked affectionately.
"I'll do the same for you one day."
He didn't answer her. Cecily had no idea at all how strongly her pert remark about being intimate with Colby had affected Tate. The black-eyed, almost homicidal man who'd come to his door last night had hardly been recognizable as his friend and colleague of many years. Tate had barely been coherent, and both men were exhausted and bloody by the time the fight ended in a draw. Maybe Tate didn't want to marry Cecily, but Colby knew stark jealousy when he saw it. That hadn't been any outdated attempt to avenge Cecily's chastity. It had been revenge, because he thought Colby had slept with her and he wanted to make him pay. It had been jealousy, not protectiveness, the jealousy of a man who was passionately in love; and didn't even know it.
( Diana Palmer )
[ Paper Rose ]
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