Free The Quiet Seduction by Dixie Browning Page B

tornado news had been relegated to a few inches on page thirteen. Dump trucks were still hauling away the ruins of a trailer park and parts of a strip mall. A new steeple was already being built for the church. The warehouse had been reroofed and the dispossessed residents of Shady Grove Trailer Park had been relocated. Storm continued to read the daily newspaper from front page to last, including the classified ads. Still no mention of a missing husband, father, brother, son or business partner. The district attorney was evidently still missing, but after the first few days, there were no more stories.
    Strange. He’d have thought it would be big news. Maybe the guy had turned up, in which case he would need to find himself a new identity.
    Ellen was in and out during the day while Pete was in school, doing chores that Storm insisted he could be helping her with now that he was physically able again.
    â€œDon’t even think about it,” she’d insisted right back. “The last thing either of us needs is for you to get kicked by a horse or to slip on a patch of fresh manure the way I did. In your condition, you’d probably be laid up for the rest of the year.”
    â€œWhat do you mean, in my condition? In case you haven’t noticed, I’m in peak physical shape now.”
    She’d stared pointedly at his forehead, noting that the knot was gone, and the bruising had faded to agrayish shade of yellow. “Yeah, yeah, you’re ready for the Olympics,” she’d jeered softly. “Look, if I have to have more help, I’ll call on one of my neighbors.”
    â€œSpeaking of neighbors, it’s been a week now and I haven’t noticed any of them coming around to check on you.”
    â€œBecause they know we’re all right. Joey’s folks called and I told them—”
    â€œAbout me?”
    She’d hesitated for so long he’d thought she wasn’t going to answer. Later he might wonder why. “Look, if you want me to spread the word, letting any interested parties know where to find you, just say so. I offered to do it before, if you’ll remember. Maybe I’m wrong, but I got the idea you weren’t too eager to advertise your presence until you’re back in your right mind.”
    â€œOuch. Did you have to put it that way?”
    A smile had tugged at the corners of her mouth. “You know what I mean.”
    â€œYeah, I do. I’m only teasing, Ellen.”
    She’d sighed then, and flopped onto the sofa. Tugging a plastic jet fighter out from under her left hip, she’d waved the F-18 in a careless gesture, then set it on the coffee table along with two comic books, a copy of Horse Breeders Quarterly, a pot holder that had somehow strayed in from the kitchen, and a stoneware vase of dried flowers.
    â€œI guess I’m out of practice. Being teased, I mean. Jake used to tease me about— Oh, you know. Things like not knowing the difference between a holdback horse and a cutting horse. And not liking fried liver and strawberry ice cream.”
    â€œTogether?”
    â€œOf course not, silly. They’re just two foods I don’t happen to care for.”
    â€œRight. Uh, what is the difference, by the way?”
    â€œThe difference?”
    â€œHoldback and cutting.”
    â€œOh. Well, this is book learning, you understand—we never made it to the training part—but from what I’ve read, a holdback horse is trained to hold back. Actually, they back up. I can give you Jake’s books on the subject if you’re really interested. Right now, training is the least of my worries. I just want my mares to give me two healthy babies I can either sell or breed when they’re old enough. I might eventually hire a trainer, or maybe not. Maybe just producing and selling will be enough.”
    For several moments neither of them had spoken. It had been an oddly comfortable silence. The kind that