Conall's Legacy Read Online Free
Author: Kat Wells
psychiatrist. A widowed psychiatrist.”
“What’s he doing in Cochise County? We’re not exactly mainstream out here.”
“He’s living in Tucson for a couple of years doing research with the university.”
“So tell me what he looks like.”
“He’s tall, dark, and handsome. Total cliché, but true.” The flush came back to her cheeks, and she lifted one hand to fan her face as though Adriano’s heat were too much for her. “Add the strong yet sensitive guy that he is, and you have a recipe for one delectable man.”
“And the fact he has kids and a history doesn’t bother you?” Luisa asked.
“Maybe a little, but to make a great relationship, we all have to compromise. Besides, I think he’d be worth it.” She lifted one shoulder. “And the kids are beautiful.”
The interest was there to see in her eyes. Luisa knew there’d be more to come on the subject of Adriano Menendez. She shook her head. Maybe something is missing from my life . It had been a long time since a man had lived at La Puerta de _ Paraíso .
She ran her hands over the time-smoothed arms of the rocker and envisioned her father sitting and rocking as he had each evening, as it had now become her custom to do. A picture of a man sitting beside Luisa in a second rocker formed in her mind--a man tall, slim, and well-muscled. A man with courage and integrity. A man who would never break a commitment once made. He’d reach over and gently take her hand in his, wrapping her fingers with his own as they sat and watched the sun sink below the horizon. Pipe dreams, she thought and the picture snapped out like a burned bulb.
CHAPTER THREE
Drake pulled off the highway and parked on the gravel shoulder to check the map. He swiped the back of his hand across his forehead, clearing the sweat away before it dripped into his eyes--again. The air conditioner in his brand new truck had given up the fight before he’d reached Needles, where it had been 115 in the shade. The guy at the stop and rob he’d hit for coffee said it was a little warm early this year. Drake snorted. Late May and already 115. He’d never been anywhere it was too hot to breathe--until now. It had actually cooled off to 92 when he’d reached Sierra Vista.
Drake had sweltered since the cooler had given out, and he cursed Rick for putting him through this. His inherent honesty wouldn’t let him curse Rick for long, though. The problem was his; he’d admitted that to himself somewhere along the highway between Los Angeles and Hell.
A dozen times or more he’d debated how badly he wanted to stay a cop and whether this exile was worth it. He glanced at the blacktop and saw waves of heat radiating from the pavement. For a split second he saw the waves of heat from the bomb blast, and Conall lying at his feet. He sucked air into tight lungs and jerked his attention to the present.
Maybe before he got even with Rick, he’d have to shoot the truck salesman for selling him this lemon. On top of the air going out, the locating system failed to give him the right directions to the local BLM, causing him to drive loops around town in search of the keys to his new digs. The town’s one main street made him wish yet again for Los Angeles traffic. To top it off, he’d been handed a letter addressed to the manager--a female manager. “So much for being alone,” he grumbled.
He picked up the map and directions, and looked at them again. The directions for the last leg of this journey firm in his mind, he tossed the map onto the seat and pulled onto the blacktop.
First, bad luck had taken his best friend, and now it put Drake smack in the middle of a southwestern desert hell. Hot air blew in the window, hitting Drake’s tired eyes. Sweat rolled down the sides of his face, and dripped into the neck of his shirt.
“Damn, I hate the heat,” he said into the suffocating air in the cab. Whatever possessed me to do this? I should have quit the police force and taken up roller
“What’s he doing in Cochise County? We’re not exactly mainstream out here.”
“He’s living in Tucson for a couple of years doing research with the university.”
“So tell me what he looks like.”
“He’s tall, dark, and handsome. Total cliché, but true.” The flush came back to her cheeks, and she lifted one hand to fan her face as though Adriano’s heat were too much for her. “Add the strong yet sensitive guy that he is, and you have a recipe for one delectable man.”
“And the fact he has kids and a history doesn’t bother you?” Luisa asked.
“Maybe a little, but to make a great relationship, we all have to compromise. Besides, I think he’d be worth it.” She lifted one shoulder. “And the kids are beautiful.”
The interest was there to see in her eyes. Luisa knew there’d be more to come on the subject of Adriano Menendez. She shook her head. Maybe something is missing from my life . It had been a long time since a man had lived at La Puerta de _ Paraíso .
She ran her hands over the time-smoothed arms of the rocker and envisioned her father sitting and rocking as he had each evening, as it had now become her custom to do. A picture of a man sitting beside Luisa in a second rocker formed in her mind--a man tall, slim, and well-muscled. A man with courage and integrity. A man who would never break a commitment once made. He’d reach over and gently take her hand in his, wrapping her fingers with his own as they sat and watched the sun sink below the horizon. Pipe dreams, she thought and the picture snapped out like a burned bulb.
CHAPTER THREE
Drake pulled off the highway and parked on the gravel shoulder to check the map. He swiped the back of his hand across his forehead, clearing the sweat away before it dripped into his eyes--again. The air conditioner in his brand new truck had given up the fight before he’d reached Needles, where it had been 115 in the shade. The guy at the stop and rob he’d hit for coffee said it was a little warm early this year. Drake snorted. Late May and already 115. He’d never been anywhere it was too hot to breathe--until now. It had actually cooled off to 92 when he’d reached Sierra Vista.
Drake had sweltered since the cooler had given out, and he cursed Rick for putting him through this. His inherent honesty wouldn’t let him curse Rick for long, though. The problem was his; he’d admitted that to himself somewhere along the highway between Los Angeles and Hell.
A dozen times or more he’d debated how badly he wanted to stay a cop and whether this exile was worth it. He glanced at the blacktop and saw waves of heat radiating from the pavement. For a split second he saw the waves of heat from the bomb blast, and Conall lying at his feet. He sucked air into tight lungs and jerked his attention to the present.
Maybe before he got even with Rick, he’d have to shoot the truck salesman for selling him this lemon. On top of the air going out, the locating system failed to give him the right directions to the local BLM, causing him to drive loops around town in search of the keys to his new digs. The town’s one main street made him wish yet again for Los Angeles traffic. To top it off, he’d been handed a letter addressed to the manager--a female manager. “So much for being alone,” he grumbled.
He picked up the map and directions, and looked at them again. The directions for the last leg of this journey firm in his mind, he tossed the map onto the seat and pulled onto the blacktop.
First, bad luck had taken his best friend, and now it put Drake smack in the middle of a southwestern desert hell. Hot air blew in the window, hitting Drake’s tired eyes. Sweat rolled down the sides of his face, and dripped into the neck of his shirt.
“Damn, I hate the heat,” he said into the suffocating air in the cab. Whatever possessed me to do this? I should have quit the police force and taken up roller
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