Walk Away Joe Read Online Free PDF Page B

to me you ought to be saying this to Lana,” he said, then turned away again as he hooked a stirrup over the pommel and tightened the cinch strap.
    She felt the light sting in his subtle reprimand, but knew she deserved it, and more. He was right. Lana was young and sincere and sweet. As Tag’s wife and the only woman in residence on the ranch, Lana took pride in her unofficial role as hostess. She had repeatedly tried to coax Sara to join them for meals. She’d shut off Lana’s efforts with stilted no-thank-yous and a depression-induced aloofness. Finally, Lana had quit asking. Sara didn’t blame her. But she did blame herself for being so distant. From the beginning she’d felt guilt over that.
    “I intend to tell her,” she said softly. “Just as soon as I speak my piece to you.”
    She drew another fortifying breath. “I know you’re caught in the cross fire here. That never should have happened, since the plan was to let me drop out of the real world for a while.”
    He cast her a considering look that gave her the courage to continue.
    “Lucky you,” she said, with a grim smile. “You just happened to be the drop-off point. For what it’s worth, I appreciate that you’re putting up with me. And if it makes you feel any better, I could cheerfully strangle Karla and Lance for putting us both in this position.
    “It’s not fair to you. I never intended to drag you into my problems. I never intended to drag anybody into my problems. I don’t like it much—this notion that my friends feel I need their help. I like it even less that I added insult to injury with that...” She paused, not wanting to put it into words, but knowing she had to. “That stunt I pulled last night.”
    She swallowed hard as the shame momentarily outdistanced her resolve. She looked away, closed her eyes and collected herself.
    “You hadn’t bargained for that,” she said, making herself meet his eyes again. “You haven’t bargained for any of this. And you shouldn’t have to. You weren’t supposed to be any more than a distant spectator in my little...” Again, she hesitated, then made herself continue.
    “In my little breakdown—or whatever the hell it is that’s happening to me.”
    Her breath stalled under the crushing weight of that statement, and she realized that she was shaking. She’d just voiced a concern she’d only last night given up avoiding. With the help of her friend Jack Daniel—or, when the bottle ran dry, too many cool six-packs—she’d managed to deny that she wasn’t coping any more.
    The brutal reality that she’d just admitted to that ugly little truth aloud—and to Lambert, of all people—sent a chill through her blood that even the heat of this scorching summer day couldn’t temper. With the chill, came the fear. She really didn’t know what was happening to her. It scared her half to death.
    She didn’t like being afraid. During the long hours of last night, alone and shocked painfully into sobriety by that cold shower and her shame, she’d decided she had to face her fears. She couldn’t run away from them anymore.
    At the heart of it all, she didn’t like the person she’d become—a woman who would throw herself at a stranger as a substitute for a solution. She didn’t like the face she saw in the mirror. It was haunted and haggard, flushed from the abuses she’d inflicted on herself, stressed with guilt, and now with the humiliation of knowing she’d offered herself like used goods in a pathetic effort to combat her sense of failure.
    She became aware, suddenly, of the silence. And of the tightness in her chest, and of the tears stinging her eyes.
    Lowering her head, she blinked them back—then almost gave in to them again when Lambert’s soft and oddly comforting gaze touched hers.
    “For a woman who hadn’t strung much more than two words back-to-back since you’ve been here,” he said, flipping the stirrup down then regarding her again over his extended arm,