“I go to bed and then that man sits in the next room and continues laughing about his own writing. And then I knock at the door, and I say, now Jim, stop writing or stop laughing.”

“Hello."Her mood deflated as if she'd been pricked with a pin. "Alan.""Shelby."She struggled not to be moved by the quiet,serious tone that should never have moved her.She liked men with a laugh in their voice. "Alan, this has to stop.""Does it? It hasn't even started.""Alan-" She tried to remember her decision to be firm. "I mean it. You have to stop sending me things. You're only wasting your time.""I have a bit to spare," he said mildly. "How was your week?""Busy.Listen,I-""I missed you."The simple statement threw the rest of her lecture into oblivion. "Alan, don't -""Everyday," he continued. "Every night. Have you been to Boston, Shelby?""Uh...yes," she managed, busy fighting off the weakness creeping into her. Helplessly she stared up at the balloons. How could she fight something so insubstantial it floated?"I'd like to take you there in the fall, when it smells of damp leaves and smoke."Shelby told herself her heart was not fluttering. "Alan, I didn't call to talk about Boston.Now,to put it in very simple terms,I want you to stop calling me, I want you to stop dropping by, and -" Her voice began to rise in frustration as she pictured him listening with that patient, serious smile and calm eyes. "I want you to stop sending me balloons and pigs and everything! Is that clear?""Perfectly.Spend the day with me."Did the man ever stop being patient? She couldn't abide patient men. "For God's sake, Alan!""We'll call it an experimental outing," he suggested in the same even tone. "Not a date.""No!" she said, barely choking back a laugh. Couldn't abide it, she tried to remember.She preferred the flashy, the freewheeling. "No,no,no!""Not bureaucratic enough." His voice was so calm,so...so senatorial, she decided, she wanted to scream. But the scream bubbled perilously close to another laugh. "All right, let me think-a standard daytime expedition for furthering amiable relations between opposing clans.""You're trying to be charming again," Shelby muttered."Am I succeeding?”

“The hardest thing about writing is writing.”

“Everyone always asks, was he mad at you for writing the book? and I have to say, Yes, yes, he was. He still is. It is one of the most fascinating things to me about the whole episode: he cheated on me, and then got to behave as if he was the one who had been wronged because I wrote about it! I mean, it's not as if I wasn't a writer. It's not as if I hadn't often written about myself. I'd even written about him. What did he think was going to happen? That I would take a vow of silence for the first time in my life?”

“We shouldn't have left." Keeley paced the kitchen, stopping at the windows on each pass. Why weren't they back?"Darling, you're shaking.Come on now, sit and drink your tea.""I can't.What's wrong with men? They'd have beaten that idiot to a pulp.I'm not that surprised at Brian,I suppose, but I expected more restraint from Dad."Genuinely surprised, Adelia glanced over. "Why?"As worry ate through her she raked her hands through her hair. "He's contained. Now you,I could see you taking a few swings..." SHe winced. "No offense," she said, then saw that her mother was grinning."None taken.My temper might be a bit, we'll say, more colorful than your father's. His tends to be cold and deliberate when it's called for.And it was.The man hurt and frightened his little girl.""His little girl was about to attempt to gut the man with a hoof pick." Keeley blew out a breath. "I've never seen Dad hit anyone, or look like he wanted to keep right on with it.”

“Moving on was always the end plan.New York,he remembered, was a fair distance away.It should be far enough. As for tonight, he was going to have a shot of whiskey in his tea to help smooth out the edges. Then by God, he was going to sleep if he had to bash himself over the head to accpmplish it.And he wasn't going to give Keeley another thought.The knock on the door had him cursing under his breath.Though she'd been doing well,his first worry was that the mare with bronchitis had taken a bad turn.He was already reaching for the boots he'd shed when he called out."Come in,it's open.Is it Lucy then?""No,it's Keeley." One brow lifted, she stood framed in the door. "But if you're expecting Lucy,I can go."The boots dangled from his fingertips, and those fingertips had gone numb. "Lucy's a horse," he managed to say. "She doesn't often come knocking on my door.”

“She took his hand, fumbled with the door herself. Breathless, she would have stumbled if he hadn't caught her. "Teach me to wear heels in the damn stable," she muttered. "My legs are shaking."With a nervous laugh she turned back to him. Her legs stopped trembling. At least she couldn't feel them. All she could feel now was the unsteady skipping of her heart.He was staring at her, his eyes intense. When she'd turned his hands had reached up to frame her face. "You're so beautiful."She'd never believed words like that mattered. They were so easily, and so often carelessly, said. But they didn't seem easy from him.And there was nothing careless about the tone of his voice.”