“Pray as if all things depend on God, and work as if all things depend on you.”

“Because when I pray, I say your name first, and I say your name last. When I breathe, I breathe for you. Every kind thing I say, every good thing I do, I do because I know you're in the world and I...I love you.”

“No woman would come up with a plan like this, much less be able to execute it.”“I’m depending on that kind of thinking. Everyone will imagine you mad when you say a woman took you—if you even dare to admit it.” She inclined her head to him in mocking homage.“Women don’t have the ability to sustain a thought long enough to put such a plan in motion.”“Actually you’re right.” She grinned, not at all offended. “It took two women.”

“Caleb came to his mother's side and helped her to her feet. "Besides, if you rest, then I am free to make love to Jacqueline.""Caleb!" Jacqueline had been worried she would say the wrong thing. Instead, Caleb had put his foot in it.But obviously all the cliches she'd ever heard about Italian sons were true. He really could do no wrong, for Mrs. D'Angelo shook her finger at him--but she said indulgently, "You are incorrigible.""Ma, I'm just trying to get going on those grandchildren you want.”

“So while I can spin my fantasy whenever I wish, I’m afraid you wouldn’t do for me.”Sarcasm dripped from her every word. “You’re good at imagining, so pray imagine my heartbreak.”

“Let her go or I’ll shoot you.”“I’ve never met a woman who’d have the guts to shoot a man,” he sneered. All the women he knew were too kind. Too gentle.“I have the guts,” the girl said. “Better yet, I want to shoot you.”That shook him. The words, and the tone, a kind of flat, plain aversion the like of which he’d never met in all of his privileged life. What had he ever done to deserve this girl’s contempt? And why did he even care? “Which part of me will you shoot?” he mocked. “All that’s showing is my head—and you can’t be that good with a gun.”“I am,” the girl said. “On the count of three, I’ll shoot. One . . .”“You’d take the chance of hurting Miss Victorine?” he asked.“I won’t hurt her. Two . . .”“Amy, please, let him go!” Miss Victorine begged. “He was such a sweet boy.”“Three.” Amy’s eyes narrowed. Her finger began to squeeze the trigger.And he released Miss Victorine, spinning her away from him and into a cabinet.She landed with a thud and fell. The pistol roared.He dived to the floor.A shot whistled past the place where his head had been.“Damn, that was close. Good thing you surrendered, my lord!”“Don’t swear, dear, it’s not ladylike.”

“Because late night, when I made you mine—”“Shush. You didn’t!”“All right. Last night when you made me yours—”She definitely heard Pom snort.”