Friends and Lovers by Diana Palmer Read Free Book Online Page A

noises, like canvases falling, easels being displaced, chairs being knocked over, accompanied by muffled curses. “I’ve got a flashlight around here somewhere. Aha, here it is! I’ll just turn it on and…damn!” There was a rattling, a metallic sound. “No batteries,” he sighed, and there was a thud.
    “How about a candle?” she suggested.
    “Oh, I’ve got two of those, right here beside me.”
    “Well, light one!” she called. She wrapped her arms around herself, feeling chilled and a little frightened in the darkness.
    “With what?” he asked politely.
    “A match, stupid!”
    “I don’t smoke!” he shot back.
    “Then rub two of your easels together and make a fire,” she grumbled. “Be resourceful!”
    “Come over here and kiss me,” he said with a gleeful theatrical laugh, “and we’ll set the place aflame!”
    She laughed defeatedly. “Well, then…ah!” The lights came back on and she slumped with relief.
    “Fast work,” Donald muttered, rubbing his knee.
    “I hate Houston in the spring,” she said, leaning against the table for a minute. “The humidity and the rain are bad enough, but the thunderstorms are truly awful.”
    “Amen. Now, back to the job at hand, my dear….”
    ***
    A week went by, a slow miserable week during which she made a stab at beginning the research on her latest book and set up an appointment with a friend in the police department, to learn something more about murder, drugs and drug dealing.
    But all the while, her rebellious mind was on John and the feel of his arms crushing her against his powerful body, and the taste of his hard mouth on hers. She walked around aching, wondering how it would have been if she’d opened his shirt and touched him the way she’d wanted to, if she’d given in completely and kissed him back. She still didn’t understand what was happening to her, but it was slowly sapping her strength, her pride, her willpower.
    Friday rolled around and she glared at the telephone on her desk, hating it because it hadn’t rung. Perhaps John was out of town. Or, worse, perhaps he didn’t plan to call her. She’d said she didn’t want to see him again. Surely he hadn’t taken her seriously?
    She chewed on her lower lip, her eyes riveted to the phone. After a minute, she picked up the receiver and began to dial John’s number, hating her own weakness. But she had to find out if they were on speaking terms.
    Josito answered. “Why, hello,
señorita
,” he said, his voice surprised.
    “Hello, Josito. Uh, is John around?”
    “Sí
,
”
he said, still uncertain.
    “He, uh, hasn’t been out of town or anything?”
    “No,
señorita
, he is here at the ranch. Surely he has phoned you?”
    “No,” she grumbled, “he hasn’t. Where is he?”
    He laughed amusedly. “You will not believe it.”
    “That bad, huh? Where is he? Come on, Josito, if you tell me, I’ll tell you who’s going to get the knife in the sequel to
The Grinding Tower
,” she added temptingly, knowing the diminutive man’s passion for her work.
    “You will?” She could almost see his face lighting up. He laughed. “All right, then. He is helping the men hay the Johnson bottoms.”
    “John?” she burst out. “But he hates haying—he’d rather dig post holes.” She frowned. “Why is he helping? With that baler-loader of his, all it takes is a couple of men.”
    “The machine, it is not working,” came the amused reply.
    She sighed. “Again, huh? I’ll bet the mechanics have run out of words to call it by now. Well, what is he doing, rolling it into big round bales?”
    Josito sighed. “He is doing it the old way, as usual,” he said.
    “This I’ve got to see. The Johnson bottoms?”
    “
Sí, señorita.
And now,” he said sternly, “who gets the knife?”
    “Raggins,” she replied, laughing at his intake of breath. “Well, the old devil deserves it, don’t you think?”
    “Oh,
sí!
Most definitely!”
    “I hate the silly man, too,” she