A Handful of Heaven

His words were like a bucket of icy water on the fire of her anger. He meant it, she realized grimly. He would step on her, and up here no one would care.

It was sobering and frightening to realize how powerless and alone she really was. She was a woman unused to being afraid, a woman used to being in control. With effort she forced down her pride. This wasn't the time to react on a gut level. She needed to think, to analyze her predicament and devise a reasonable compromise.

"All right," she said shakily. "I won't do battle with you. I concede your greater strength. Now would you please let goof my wrists?"

His fingers flipped open. She jerked her hands back then laced her fingers together and laid them in her lap. Her neck bowed. Staring at her hands, so small and white against the wrinkled cotton of her apron, she took a deep, fortifying > breath.

"Devon?"

She didn't look up. She wasn't ready to meet the mocking triumph in his eyes.

His forefinger found the hollow triangle beneath her chin and forced her chin upward.

The look in his eyes wasn't what she'd expected. He looked old, and infinitely sad. And almost sorry. Her heart skipped a beat, and she couldn't help feeling a spark of hope. But then, she reminded herself, it never had taken much to give her hope. She'd always been an optimist-even during the bad days of her childhood.

"Devon," he said softly, "don't make us any worse enemies than we have to be."

She looked directly into his eyes, seeing for the first time the tiny mahogany flecks that darkened the amber orbs. "Why must we be enemies at all?"

The sadness in his eyes vanished, and they once again turned cold and distant. "It's my way. I don't like people."

She answered without thinking. "That doesn't make sense. I don't like beets, but when my Aunt Edna used to serve them on Thanksgiving, I ate a whole plateful."

He jerked his finger back as if burned. "/ don't make sense?" he asked incredulously. "I don't even know what you're babbling about half the time."

Devon realized her error instantly. Darn! What was it about him that disconnected her brain every time she opened her mouth? If she wanted to get through to him, she had to jam lots of meaning into a few well-chosen words. Babbling about Aunt Edna's beets was definitely a tactical error.

"I don't care whether you choked on every one of your aunt's slimy beets at Thanksgiving. I just want you to shut up. Is that asking so much?"

A question! He'd actually asked her a question. Now they were getting somewhere. She beamed. "Well, since you've asked, let me answer. You're my partner and my ... tent-mate; we can't spend seven months in total silence. I rather enjoy talking, and ..." She stopped. He was looking at her as if she were a rabid dog.

"Keep away from me, Devon, and keep away from my store. In fact, if you take one dainty little step into my post again, you'll find yourself

swimming in the Yukon River. Am I understood?"

She gritted her teeth. Enough trying to be polite and civ-

58

Chapter Six

his

Ha!

chose

Ue felt

Home Sweet Home.

maybe.

The Red Badge of Courage.

71

Chapter Seven