Free Triple treat by Barbara Boswell Page A

again so you have to change diapers again. Day in and day out, repetitious, tedious and unending, with never a moment to yourself. Pretty hellish existence, if you ask me."
    "Who asked you?" Carrie snapped, then answered her own question. "Nobody did. And nobody asked you to come over and stay either. If you find it so hellish to be around us, then get out of here!"
    Tyler looked at her. She had whipped off her sunglasses and was glaring at him, her blue eyes fierce and piercing, her expression one of pure fury. She was mad, boiling mad, and he shifted uncomfortably on the ground. He couldn't remember anyone ever looking at him with such pure, unabashed anger. Certainly no woman ever had.
    The shock of it abruptly doused his own ire. "Don't tell me you're kicking me out again?" he attempted flippantly, flashing his most charming bad-boy grin.

    Carrie was not charmed, not a bit. "Yes, I am. You're moody and you have a mean streak and I don't have to put up with any of it, not you or your bad moods or your meanness. So just—take a hike!"
    "Moody? Mean? Me?" Tyler was stunned. And stung. "Your accusations are both untrue and unwarranted and incredibly insulting. I've never—"
    "No, I'm sure you never have heard a few home truths about yourself," Carrie cut in hotly. "This is a first for you. You're rich and you're single and therefore, you're spoiled. Lots of women will put up with just about any kind of treatment from a rich, single guy like you because they have some stupid delusions that they might actually win you—the prince himself!—and live happily ever after with all your millions."
    She paused, midtirade, to breathe. Tyler opened his mouth to speak, then closed it. What she was saying had a hideous ring of truth to it. He'd certainly been aware of his status and his appeal, and he'd certainly used both to his own advantage. His behavior hadn't always been... exemplary. But no woman—not a single one!—had ever dared to tell him so. Until now.
    "Well, I don't have to put up with you or suck up to you," Carrie ranted on. "I have nothing to lose and everything to gain by telling you to go away and don't come back."
    Tyler stood and stuffed his hands into the pockets of his jeans. "You certainly have..." His voice trailed off. He cleared his throat. "Moxie." It was one of his father's words, not his own, but it seemed to fit. "And while I don't look for moxie in the women I, uh, date—" he smiled sheepishly "—I find that I have to respect it in a—friend."
    Carrie rose, too, and they stood, practically toe-to-toe, her glaring up at him, him gazing bemusedly down at her. "I'm not your friend," she countered.
    "Last night you said you were."

    "I just said it to get rid of you."
    "And now you're saying you aren't, for the same alleged purpose—to get rid of me. Rather paradoxical, don't you think?"
    "What I think is that you're a jerk."
    Tyler grimaced. "If I leave, I won't be back, Carrie. You won't see me again."
    She folded her arms, never taking her eyes from him. "Good!"
    He knew she meant it, too. Tyler heaved an exasperated sigh. "So why am I still standing here? After all, I'm not nailed to the ground. Why haven't I stormed out of this wreck of a yard, thanking my good fortune for having escaped such a sharp-tongued, bad-tempered witch?"
    "Except you'd spell it with a 6," Carrie said coolly.
    Tyler stared at her. She didn't look quite as angry anymore. He thought he could detect a distinct gleam of amusement beginning to glimmer in those luminous eyes of hers.
    His mouth was suddenly quite dry. "Why the hell am I still here?" he asked huskily.
    "I don't know. Maybe because you're awed by my moxie?"
    "You're laughing at me," he said incredulously. "And you're not mad anymore." He was suddenly, unexpectedly exhilarated. And enthralled.
    "I guess not." Carrie shrugged. "I admit to having the world's worst temper. I'm quick to anger but I get over it just as fast. And what you said about my life—about