Free Sleeping Beauty by Dallas Schulze Page B

breaking up. I'm just frustrated and worried but I didn't mean to snarl at you. I didn't mean to bring any of this up at all. Chalk it up to PMS and overwork weakening my already scattered brain cells."
    "Lisa..."
    "No." Lisa shook her head, her smile wavery around the edges. "Let's not and say we did. I really am tired, and I'm probably not entirely rational." She ran her fingers through her hair, dislodging the pencil, which clattered to the floor and rolled under the edge of the work counter. "This is the last time I take a commission firom someone who wants the work last week."
    Looking at her friend, it struck Anne that she really did look tired, her usual sparkle dulled. Her mind still reeling with all that had been said, she struggled to conjure up a smile. "That's what you get for letting greed overrule artistic integrity."
    "I guess." Lisa looked down at the piles of ribbon and buttons scattered across the work surface and sighed. "Maybe this will all make sense in the morning, but at the moment it looks like Jackson Pollack threw up here. Time to go home."
    Anne waited while Lisa found her shoes and the keys and turned out lights. She was vaguely surprised to see that it was only twilight. It felt as if it should be much later. The air was still warm, but it carried the sweet promise of the rain that was supposed to come overnight. The street was almost empty, most of the businesses long since closed, but there was a smattering of cars angled into the curb in front of the bar down the street, a few more parked in front of Luannes on the opposite side.
    Looking at the cafe reminded Anne of her lunch with Neill Devlin. It seemed a long time ago.
    "All set,'' Lisa said as she locked the door. She turned and, though the light was poor, Anne could feel her searching look. "I didn't mean to upset you."
    "That's okay." Anne glanced past her at the light spilling through the window of the cafe. "Maybe I haven't been paying enough attention lately—to a lot of things." Because she could sense that Lisa was still worried, she gave her more. "You know, it just occurred to me that I didn't pay my share of the lunch bill today. I was in such a hurry to get back to work that I forgot all about it and left Neill stuck with the check."
    Lisa's smile was slow. "Good heavens, you'll have him thinking that Hoosiers don't pay their own way. Something like that could do irreparable damage to the reputation of the entire state."
    "Maybe I should go over to The Blue Dahlia and settle up with him." Anne felt a little curl of excitement in the pit of her stomach.
    Neill pushed his chair back from the table and looked at the words displayed on the laptop computer's screen with baffled surprise. Where the hell had this come from? He hadn't been thinking about starting another book, not this soon and maybe not ever. And, if he had given another book any thought, it certainly hadn't been this. What the hell was he doing writing a western? He didn't even write fiction, for chrissake.
    But the words were there, neat black text on a white screen, unmistakably the opening scene of a novel— a man, alone and wounded, left for dead by the man who'd been his partner. Now he stood surrounded by sky and prairie, with nothing but wits and luck to keep him alive. And there was a woman, not pretty, but with strong features marked by the struggle to survive in a land of stark beauty and little mercy. Their paths were going to intersect, though Neill wasn't sure just how or when.
    "I'll be damned," he muttered, pushing the chair back and standing up. The light had faded while he worked, and he switched on a couple of lamps to banish the gloom before getting a beer out of the tiny refrigerator in the kitchenette. He twisted off the top and took a healthy swallow, his eyes settling on the glowing screen across the room.
    When he was packing for the trip, he'd thrown the computer in more out of habit than anything else. The laptop was the high-tech equivalent