Tory let out a disgusted sigh. “No. Not seriously.”
“I heard that you were going to be married a couple of years back to some schoolteacher.”
Tory smiled sadly with her confession. “It didn’t work out.” She turned away from him and began dressing. He watched as she slid her arms through the sleeves of her blouse.
“Why?”
Wasn’t it obvious? “Because of you. As crazy as it sounds, senator, you’re a hard act to follow.” She smiled sadly at her own admission. How many times had she tried to deny, even to herself, that she still loved him?
“That’s some consolation,” he said, relief evident on his face. He had pulled on his cords, and pushed his arms through his shirt, but it was still gaping open, displaying in erotic detail, the muscles of his chest and abdomen. “I want you to consider my proposal.”
“I think it’s five years too late.”
One dark brow quirked. “Better late than never, isn’t that what they say?”
“‘They’ aren’t always right.”
Trask smiled cynically as he helped her to her feet. “Marry me, Tory. I need you.”
“Not now, don’t ask—”
“We put it off too long once before.”
“I can’t make a decision like this; not now, anyway. We’ve got too many things hanging over our heads. I…I need time, and so do you.”
“You think that I’m caught up in the moment.”
Her head snapped up. “I wouldn’t be surprised.”
“What would it take to convince you?”
“Time—enough time to put all of what happened behind us.”
“Five years isn’t enough?”
Tory smiled sadly. “Not when one party is interested in dredging it all up again.”
He leaned forward, pushing his forehead against hers and locking his hands behind her shoulders. “I love you and I’m worried about you.”
“I’m fine,” she tried to assure him.
“Yeah, I can tell.” He patted her gently on the buttocks. “So who would want to fill that gorgeous skin of yours full of buckshot?” he asked.
“No one was shooting at me.”
His face became stern. “Whoever shot the calf wasn’t playing around.”
“I’m okay,” she insisted but he didn’t seem convinced. “Really.”
“I think you should come and stay with me at the cabin. You’d be safer.”
“I can’t.”
He rubbed his chin in frustration. “Look, Tory, I dragged you into this mess and now it seems to be getting dangerous. I feel responsible.”
“You don’t have to. I can look after myself.”
“If another person was involved in the Quarter Horse swindle, he’s also involved in murder, Tory. Jason’s murder. There’s no telling to what lengths he might go to protect himself. The dead calf and the potshot taken at us today are serious.”