Page 32 of Zane

"Are you wearing makeup?"

Sighing softly, Kara sat and took off her boots. His eyes were drawn to her feet, mouth tightening at the explosion of color on her toes.

"What's gotten into you?" He came to sit across from her, his face rigid. "I came here expecting an explanation for the way you behaved at the restaurant, only to see all of this." He swept an arm, encompassing the packages and herself. "Your mother and I are concerned about you-"

"There's no need. Now, if that's all, I really need to get these things upstairs and sort them out. And I need a glass of wine."

"Someone's influencing you. That's the only explanation I can find for this kind of behavior. I offered you a ring, and you threw it back at me. I'm willing to overlook what happened, and we can try to make this work." He started to reach for her, dropping his hands when she stepped back.

"We've been together too long for you to want to throw away something significant. I was hoping you would come to your senses by now and-"

"And what?" She plopped her hands on her hips, eyes militant. "Walk meekly to the altar to say, 'I do'? You have one thing right. I've come to my senses and for the first time in my life, I'm doing things my way."

He simply stared at her in genuine bewilderment. "Kara, this is not you."

"And thank God for that." Whirling, she marched out of the room and went to open the front door. "Please leave and you can tell my mother that I'm perfectly fine."

He followed but stood there. "You're going to regret this," he predicted. "When you finally come to your senses and realize the life we could have had, I won't be around waiting for you. In case you haven't noticed, there are women wanting to be with me, and I chose you."

The way he said it made it sound as if he was the star on top of the Christmas tree. Kara realized he genuinely thought he was a catch.

"Then I suggest you choose one of them. I'm no longer available." Standing aside, she waited until he had marched stiffly outside before slamming the door and locking it behind him.

Leaning against it, she pressed her hand to her quivering stomach and took several deep breaths.

Going into the kitchen, she went straight to the wine cooler and plucked out a bottle of Pouilly-Fuisse. She figured she had earned the indulgence. Going back into the living room, she grabbed some of the packages and trooped upstairs.

It took several trips for her to get everything. When the last bag was collected and her bedroom looked like a shopping area gone mad, she sat on the sofa in front of the fireplace and sipped the wine.

Ignoring the glaring doubts inside her head, she stretched her legs out and relaxed. She wasn't going to allow guilt to consume her. Finishing the wine, she pushed herself off the sofa and set about putting away her stuff.

*****

The fight was unexpected and just what he needed. The group of men were from out of town and full of biting remarks about the interior of the bar, the state of the walls and just about everything.

The leader's name was Pete, and he was the first to remark on Slim's face, pointing out sarcastically that the scar running diagonally from his left cheek to his chin was an improvement to his looks. That wouldn't have made a dent in Slim's usually sturdy and inflexible demeanor, but the man had made the comment that Slim's mother must be a saint or stupid to love a face like his.

At that, the entire room froze.

Eyes were turned toward the table where the strangers had settled, and the tension in the smoky room was as thick as the smoke hanging in the air. Tables were pushed back in anticipation. The three men got unsteadily to their feet, either foolish or having a death wish.

The leader, Pete, swung the first punch, which though wild, landed on Slim's left cheek, right where the scar was.

Zane had the bad luck to be sitting one table away. Even though he had no intention of getting involved, he was very soon caught up in the fray.

Hissing out a breath as someone landed a fist that glanced off the side of his head, he struck out automatically, his fist connecting with what felt like an iron jaw. Pain exploded and shimmered through his entire arm, making him as mad as hell.

By the time the men were bleeding piles on the floor, there were chairs and tables broken and several of the crew sporting bruises.

He was wiping the blood from his lips and wondering when the hell someone had landed that lucky punch when Paul Grant, aka 'Big Thunder,' came sauntering up.

"How the hell are you not injured?" Zane growled.

"I was smart enough to stay out of it." The man was huge, topping six five, and had tattoos snaking all over his neck, chest, and arms. His bald pate shone in the light flickering overhead. "You look like crap."

"Thanks," Zane muttered. "What the hell happened here?"

"The leader." Big Thunder pointed a scarred boot at the man trying to stagger to his feet. "He got dumped by his wife just a few hours ago. They had been drinking since that time. Anyway, it's time for you to disappear. The cops are on their way."