Debbie slipped into her room and closed the door. She leaned back, letting the tears run. She tried to laugh away her foolishness, but there was nothing behind her lips but a sob. She’d known what she was getting into when she’d promised Lily she’d come. Only a fool would have ignored the warning signs that Cole Brownfield had left behind him when he’d run from Oklahoma.

But, love makes fools of us all, she thought. “Okay, mister. We’ve played dodge ball of the heart long enough. I give myself two more weeks, and then it’s time to pack it in. If you can’t see what you’ll be throwing away, then I guess I was the blind one, after all.”

Her muttered vow was harsh. But no one heard. And in the end, it wouldn’t have mattered if they had.

*  *  *

Cole was showered and dressed and in the kitchen, downing one quick cup of coffee when she walked into the room.

For one long moment, they stared at each other. He missed nothing of her still-wet lashes clinging together above eyes dark with pain, nor of the way her arms were folded across her chest—body language that told him he’d hurt her, and she was not open for more of the same.

She tugged at the oversized T-shirt skimming the hem of her shorts, and knew that she’d never be able to let him leave with this hurt between them. She sighed. It served her right for falling in love with principles, no matter how misguided.

“I suppose you think you’re going to get a goodbye kiss?” she muttered.

The heavy band around his heart loosened just enough for him to answer. “I’d given it a little thought,” he whispered, and then she was in his arms.

“You think too much,” she said.

The kiss was bittersweet. The pain was still there. But a promise of something better came in the touching, and Cole left with the taste of her on his lips.

Chapter 9

Thomas Holliday got careless. He was broke, and it had been a week since the incident at the mall. It was time to get back on to the streets and do a little hustling. His fingers itched. His adrenaline raced. He swaggered down the steps of a friend’s apartment. It was his residence for the week. Next week it would be somewhere else. Where he slept was the least of his worries.

It never occurred to him that he could work for money. That required too much effort and the payoff was, in his estimation, unworthy. It also never occurred to him that he made less as a thief than he would have working for minimum wages in a fast-food restaurant. Thomas Holliday wasn’t known for his brains, only his fast hands and quick feet.