From chapter 11
Diana’s
face burned. She slid the letter back into the envelope. Instead of messing things
up, she had played into her father’s interests and helped condemn Del to prison.
She rubbed her cheeks and tried to wipe away a torrent of guilt. How could she
ever face Del?
But
Owen did this for her, a rationalizing voice piped up in her mind. He was
thinking of her future. And oh–
She
pushed herself away from the table and snatched up the envelope. Where had he
gone? Where had that sneaky bastard gone?
In
the stable, Del, having let his anger wash through him and dissolve, brushed
bits of straw off Diablo’s back prior to saddling him. He glanced up at Diana’s
rapid approach and said, “If you’re here to justify Owen’s actions, save your breath.”
Stiff
in posture and voice, she said, “I don’t need to justify anything he did. He
was protecting me.” At his scornful laugh, she shook the envelope at him. “How
dare you read something addressed to me? Where did you get this?”
What
a bitch she could be. She had no right to be offended when the letter proved he
was the victim.
“Are
you going to answer me?”
Bright
color in her cheeks, righteous fury in those killer eyes. He said, “The inkwell
was dry. I searched for more. Evidently no one's looked through the desk for
four years. The letter was stuck in with papers in the bottom drawer. I did
what you'd have done if it was addressed to me.” He threw the brush into a
bucket of tools where it landed with a rattling clang. The mustang twitched his
ears and stepped forward.
Del
slipped a saddle blanket onto the horse, smoothed it, and turned to Diana. “Now
you know for a fact that old bastard--I'll call him what I damn well want--is
the one who should've rotted in prison. Not me.”
"You
threatened him--"
Stubborn
woman! "I threatened his possession of this ranch. My pa's lawful share. My lawful share." The earlier anger
bubbled up again. "Do you have any idea what it's like to be in prison?
Locked up, chained, treated like shit, hell, living in shit." As he spoke
he moved closer to her, but rather than retreat she stood rigid, hands linked
behind her, mouth a flat line, eyes daring.
He put out his hand, growled, "Give me the letter."
"It's
addressed to me."
"Give
it to me, dammit, so I can show it to the judge as proof I was innocent."
She
stared at the envelope as if she wanted to rip it to pieces, then threw it at
him, swung about and departed as rapidly as she had come, without one word of
apology. What a surprise.
