The Devil She Knows Read Online Free PDF Page A

judging by how you can string words together.”
    She gaped at him, totally at a loss for words. How much thinking did it take to realize the man you loved didn’t care—no, didn’t give a damn about you? Proven when he hit you on the head with his Colt!
    She started to throw a punch at that infuriating, handsome, all-too-memorable mouth.
    Unfortunately, the door swung open first.
    â€œLowell? Sweet Jesus, you made good time!” Uncle William started to embrace his old friend. But Gareth sidestepped slightly and light from inside poured over Portia in a welcoming flood. Suddenly she wasn’t dusty and chafed in her leather breeches and creased bandanna on a rutted street hundreds of miles from anywhere she knew.
    She was a breath away from home.
    Uncle William froze then leaped onto the threshold and swept her up. She wrapped her arms around his neck and clung, shaking, as if she were a little girl once again, back when she was always safe with her favorite uncle.
    â€œSweet Mother Mary,” he muttered. They held onto each other for what seemed like an infinity, while her body ignored the contrast between itself and fresh clothing and clean skin, before he carried her inside.
    â€œViola, sweetheart,” he crooned, “look what Lowell brought you for a birthday present.”
    He set Portia down carefully on a polished tile floor, covered with brilliant rugs. Soft white plaster walls reflected the golden lamps swinging from the ceiling and the fire crackling in a curved fireplace, until the large room seemed an oasis of warmth and love. Leather chairs and overstuffed sofas offered tempting places to rest.
    But none of that mattered, next to the woman struggling to her feet.
    â€œPortia, my love.” Her mother’s younger sister held out her arms, soft shawls falling toward the floor like autumn leaves at winter’s first touch.
    â€œAunt Viola.” Hot speech regarding Gareth’s unjust treatment, rehearsed a thousand times over during the past day, died on Portia’s lips.
    Aunt Viola had never been hale and hearty like Aunt Rosalind, someone capable of playing tennis for hours. But her elfin beauty had always glowed with an inner joy, which made most men call her a beauty. Portia had always considered her healthy, although not extremely strong after her second son Brian was born.
    But now? She could barely stand unaided and her skin was gray, more ashen than rose-petal. Dear Lord, she looked as if she was still close to death, yet the miscarriage had occurred almost a month ago.
    Uncle William lightly squeezed Portia’s shoulders.
    She shook him off. She didn’t need the warning to make sure she’d put her best beloved aunt first, in every way. She dropped her hat onto the nearest table and ran forward.
    â€œDearest, dearest aunt.”
    They hugged each other, scalding tears of joy blending on their cheeks.
    Portia started to wrap herself closer, the way she’d always done but alarm rippled across her skin, edging her back. Aunt Viola was so very thin, far thinner than usual.
    Portia shifted her grip slightly and held herself a little more cautiously, careful to keep her arms in a cradle rather than crush. She would keep the little hellions called her cousins out of harm’s way, while she was here. That would give Aunt Viola time to rest and heal.
    Aunt Viola stroked Portia’s hair. Despite all her best resolutions, Portia leaned into the maternal reassurance.
    Delicate fingers smoothed the lingering sore spot on her scalp. Portia yelped and flinched away.
    â€œWhat happened to your head, dear? Did you take a fall?” Aunt Viola questioned. “Do we need to send for the doctor?”
    Portia gritted her teeth, unable to form a polite answer.
    â€œI’m sorry but I’m afraid I hit her, ma’am,” Gareth answered.
    â€œWhy?” Uncle William shot the question at him like a cannonball.
    â€œWe stopped for water at