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speaking the words harshly, as if he still couldn't believe them.
    "You can't make people love you back," his
brother replied. "Funny, Dorie and I saw her in the
grocery store a few weeks ago, and she said
that same thing. She had no illusions about the way you felt, regardless of how it looks."
    Simon's eyes burned with anguish. "You don't know
what I said to her, though. I accused her of
killing John, of being so unconcerned about
his happiness that she let him go into a dangerous job that he didn't have the
experience to handle." His face twisted. "I said that she
was shallow and cold and selfish, that I had
nothing but contempt for her and that I'd never let a woman

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    Beloved
    Diana Palmer
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like her get close to me..." his eyes closed. ''Dear God, how it must have hurt her to hear that from me."
    Corrigan let out a savage breath. "Why didn't you
just load the gun for her?"
    "Didn't I?" the older man asked with tortured eyes.
    Corrigan
backed off. "Well, it's water under the bridge now. She's safely out of your life and she'll learn to
get along on her own, with a little
help. You can go back to your law practice and consider yourself off the endangered species list."
    Simon didn't say another word. He stared into his coffee
with sightless eyes until it grew cold.
    Tira slept for the rest of the day. When she opened her eyes, the room was
empty. There was a faint light from the wall and she felt pleasantly drowsy.
    The night nurse came in, smiling, to check her vital
signs. She was given another dose of medicine.
Minutes later, without having dared remember the
state she was in that morning, she went back to sleep.
    When she woke up, a tall, blond, handsome man with dark
eyes was sitting by the bed, looking quite
devastating in white slacks and a red pullover
knit shirt.
    "Charles," she mumbled, and smiled. "How
nice of you to come!"
    "Who'll I talk to if you kill yourself, you
idiot?" he muttered, glowering at her.
"What a stupid thing to do."
    She pushed herself up on an elbow, and pushed the mass
of red-gold hair out of her eyes She made a
rough sound in her throat. "I wasn't trying to
commit suicide!" she grumbled. "I got drunk and Mrs. Lester found an old empty prescription bottle and went
ballistic." She shifted sleepily and yawned. "Well, I can't blame
her, I guess. I still had the pistol in my hand and there was a hole in the wall..."
    "Pistol!?"
    "Calm down," she said, grimacing. "My head
hurts. Yes, a
    pistol." She grinned at him a little sheepishly. "I was going
to shoot the mouse."
    His eyes widened. "Excuse
me?"
    "There's a mouse," she said. "I've set
traps and put out bait, and he just keeps
coming back into my kitchen. After a couple of drinks, I remembered a scene in True
Grit, where John Wayne shot a rat, and
when I got halfway through the whiskey bottle, it seemed perfectly logical that
I should do that to my mouse." She chuckled a little weakly. "You had to be there," she added
help lessly.
    "I suppose so." He searched her bloodshot eyes.
"All those charity events, anybody calls and asks
you to help, and you work day and night to organize things. You're everybody's
helper. Now you're working on a collection of sculpture and still trying to
keep up with your social obligations. I'm
surprised you didn't fall out weeks ago. I tried
to tell you. You know I did."
    She
nodded and sighed. "I know. I just didn't realize how hard I was working."
    "You never do. You need to get married and have
kids. That would keep you busy."
    She lifted both eyebrows. "Are you offering to
sacrifice your self?"
    He chuckled. "Maybe it would be the best thing for
both of us," he said wistfully.
"We're in love with people who don't want us. At least we like each other."
    "Yes. But marriage should be more
than that."
    He shrugged. "Just a thought." He leaned over
and patted her hand. "Get well. There's a society
ball next week and you have to go with me.
She's going to be there."
    Tira knew who she was—his
sister-in-law,