AMY had never been in the bunkhouse before, so she hadn’t been aware Beau owned a shortwave radio. He’d sent her a message through Cookie to meet him there, and he would radio Ira for her. When she arrived, she entered to find a long, barrackslike room similar to the cook house, but without cooking facilities.
At the end where she entered, there were several easy chairs scattered around next to table lamps or standing lamps. A couple of wranglers looked up from books and smiled. J.C., the man with the cracked ribs, grinned at her through his chest-length beard, and continued to puff on a pipe that gave off a mellow cherry scent. She smiled back. “Mr. Diablo sent for me.
J.C. nodded his balding head. “Probably be right here, miss,” he said, his teeth clenched around his pipe. She wanted to ask him how his ribs were, but decided he’d be embarrassed. Nodding, she turned away and scanned a bookcase, filled with dog-eared novels, that dominated the front wall. Colorful woven rugs dotted the plank floor giving the room its only touches of color—except for the colorfully clad cowhands.
In one corner sat a card table. Four folding chairs stood away from the table as though they’d been left in haste—probably about the time the blizzard hit— and hadn’t been used since.
Midway into the sparsely furnished room, there were six sets of bunk beds, three to a side, all neatly made. A couple of off-duty hands were dozing, oblivious to lights or conversation. Wooden lockers were fastened to the wall between the beds. The rear of the long room held a couple of doors. Amy assumed they led to the bath and shower.
There was no fireplace in the bunkhouse, but there were a couple of butane stoves, one in front and one in back. Even so, the room was a little cool for her tastes. She decided not to take off her parka or she’d have to huddle by one of the stoves. Besides, she wouldn’t be here long. Since the shortwave radio was sitting right next to the card table, she had a feeling there would be absolutely no privacy, so the conversation would be short and discreet.
The door burst open, and Amy thought it was Beau, but instead she saw Snapper dash in, his face even more red than usual. “Come on, J.C.” He darted to the bunks and swatted at the sleeping men to rouse them. “Marv! Ed! We got a cow down in the north pasture and the boss said to get her on the downer cow skid as quick as possible.”
J.C. and the others were up and pulling on coats and gloves almost before Snapper’s words were out. “Can I help?” she asked.
Snapper grinned shyly. “No, ma’am. We got it handled.”
“What’s wrong with the cow?”
“Slipped on ice. She’ll be okay once we get her to solid ground. But right now she can’t get her footin’.”
“Poor thing,” Amy mused as the men filed out into the cold night.
After the noise of tromping boots and the slamming door, the place seemed eerily quiet. She could hear the hiss of the nearby butane stove and the tick of a clock she hadn’t yet spotted. Looking around, she spied it: a little cuckoo with painted alps and a mountain chalet above the clock face was nailed to the wall above one of the lower bunks. Its hands showed the time as a few minutes after seven. She’d just missed the birdie, or chalet owner, or whatever it might be, make his seven o’clock appearance.
The door squeaked again, and she stiffened. The authoritative tread on the floor had a disturbingly familiar sound. “Sorry to keep you waiting,” he said, not sounding sorry at all.
She turned, her expression as stiff as her posture. “I just got here,” she lied. For all she knew he’d been lurking outside and knew exactly how long he’d kept her cooling her heels. “Will that cow be okay?”
He’d slid out of his jacket and was hanging it on a peg. He frowned her way. “What cow?”
“The one that slipped on the ice.”
He deposited his Stetson on a second hook. “It’ll be fine, since Willie spotted it. If it’d been down all night, it could have frozen to death.”
She bit her lip. “You deal with a lot of life and death things out here.”
He scanned her face, his expression cool. “Nature can be cruel, Miss Vale.”
She nodded. “Still, it must be hard some days….”
“Getting cold feet?” He headed toward the corner where the shortwave was housed.
“My feet have been cold for days, Mr. Diablo. But if you mean, am I changing my mind, the answer’s no.” She joined him as he sat down before the radio, and for some reason found herself tugging her coat more closely around her. His attitude was decidedly chilly this evening. Adding ice to her tone so it would match his, she asked, “Could we get on with the call?”
He leaned back and grabbed the nearest folding chair and drew it up beside him. “Here, sit down.”
She didn’t like the idea, but had no intention of letting him think he frightened her. She plopped into the chair and listened in stoic silence while he radioed Diablo Butte. It took several attempts before someone came on the transceiver at the other end. The voice was full of static and definitely not Ira’s. After telling the employee to get his father, Beau handed Amy the microphone. “Press this talk switch when you’re speaking. When you’re finished, let go. Got it?”
She nodded, hoping she did, but she hid her insecurity. “No problem.”
He stood, but instead of leaving, he lingered. Amy couldn’t see his expression without turning and she didn’t want him to know she was even aware that he hadn’t disappeared in a puff of black smoke. But she was very aware of him, his scent taunted, his eyes burned into her. She shifted, crossed and uncrossed her legs, cleared her throat. Nothing worked to remove him from her consciousness.
“Did you talk to your sister?”
His curt question made her fumble with the mike in her hand. Getting hold of herself, she nodded. “She’s doing fine.” Unable to help it, she faced him and found herself smiling. It had been a real balm to her soul to have a nice visit with Mary.
He watched her, eyes brooding. “Call her tomorrow if you want.” He pivoted away, apparently to give her privacy.
“Thank you,” she murmured, truly meaning it. Though his brusque attitude dimmed her smile, she was more grateful for his permission to call Mary than she’d been for his food and shelter. She was sorry he disliked her so much that he couldn’t accept her thanks with any friendliness.
He looked over his shoulder, clearly startled by her show of gratitude. He frowned, but before he could say anything, there was a squawk on the radio. Amy jumped as the jarring noise became Ira’s voice. She turned toward the radio, straining to hear. “Is that you, little sweetheart?” came the cheery voice, sounding metallic.
Amy pressed the talk switch. “Hi, Ira. How are you?” She stopped, then belatedly remembered Beau’s instructions and let go of the talk switch.
“I’m lonely, little one! But I bet you’re having the worst of it, stuck there with my grouchy son.” He laughed one of his melodious laughs she remembered so well, but she was surprised his joviality didn’t lift her spirits. Far from it. She felt oddly distanced from him. Trying to shake off the feeling, sure it was prewedding jitters, she laughed back. “It’s been an experience,” she called into the microphone. “I’ve learned how to feed cattle and break up ice.”
“The hell you say,” Ira shouted back. “Well, don’t worry about it, little one. Right after the wedding, I’m going to reward your patience about this damnable snow with a shopping spree in Paris. How does that sound?”
Amy was taken aback. “Oh—Ira. You never mentioned a honeymoon trip.”
He laughed his big, happy laugh again. “Well, little one, to be honest, I can’t leave the ranch right now. But I figured you’d want to get out of all this snow. And what’s nicer than spending money in an exotic place to take your mind off lousy weather? You can stay until spring.”
She stared at the microphone, far from thrilled with this news. Her plan had been to get to know her husband, learn about his ranch, become a real rancher’s wife. Besides, she didn’t want to be gone when Mary was ready to travel. “Ira—that’s kind of you…” She stopped, grimacing. She didn’t want to hurt his feelings, but she had to find a way to explain that she had no intention of chasing off to Europe.
“Sweetheart,” he came back, and Amy realized she must have let go of the talk switch. “Cook’s yelling at me to come to dinner or he’ll toss it to the dogs. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
“Oh—okay…” She wanted more time to discuss this Paris trip with him, but was frustrated by the unnatural way she was having to do it. “Uh—goodbye, Ira.”
There was nothing but static to answer her.
“Finished?”
She spun around. Beau was lounging against the far wall, certainly not far enough away to be out of earshot. She glared at him. “You should know if I’m finished or not. You could hear everything as well as I could.”
He pushed away from the wall. “Sounds like these few days with a grouch are going to pay off royally.”
His tone was so sarcastic, Amy found Cookie’s request to give him a little rope an impossibility. How dare he eavesdrop and then make fun of her in the bargain. “Why, yes, it looks like it is going to pay off! I adore Paris. Enough to put up with the biggest grouch west of the Mississippi for an entire week!” Hopping up from the chair, she sailed past him, highly insulted. Most of what she blurted was a lie. But there was one part of her speech she meant. He was a grouch. Even his handsome face and sculptured body couldn’t change that. “Good night, Mr. Diablo.” She threw open the door and headed out into fluttering snow.
“Au revoir, mademoiselle,” he drawled, cold irony in his voice.
Amy didn’t know if she was more irritated or more hungry. If pressed for the truth, she was fairly sure she knew what was bothering her, but she preferred to think she was tossing and turning because she hadn’t eaten dinner. The other possibility was too unsettling to dwell on.
Tossing off the covers, she got out of bed and dressed. She couldn’t bear lying there with nothing to do but think! Grabbing her parka, she tiptoed through the house and into the kitchen, where she threw together a cheese sandwich, then slipped out the kitchen door. Another inch of snow had fallen since she’d gone to bed several hours ago. She decided that trudging to the barn in this bitter cold was exactly what she needed to work off her pent-up energy.
She ate the sandwich as she walked, downing the last bite when she reached the pen where Desiree was housed. Climbing through the rails, she softly called her little friend. After a minute, she saw the spindly baby amble over and bawl with recognition. Perching on the bottom fence rail, she hugged the calf. It was nice to be offered a tidbit of unqualified love, even if it was from a dumb animal that probably couldn’t tell her from any of the other humans on the place. But she didn’t care. She just needed some comfort and warmth. “How are you doing, Desiree?” She rubbed the calf’s neck affectionately. “If you’ve got some time, I need to talk—woman to woman.”
Right on cue, the baby bawled again, and Amy smiled. “Thanks, sweetie. I’ll do the same for you, any time.”
For several minutes, she stroked Desiree’s silky back. She wasn’t hungry any longer, but she didn’t feel better. She’d been afraid all along that it hadn’t been hunger keeping her awake. She opened her mouth, but couldn’t voice her apprehensions. She wasn’t sure if it was because her thoughts were too muddled to put into words, or if they were too horrible to say out loud.
Restive and anxious, she stroked the calf. The conversation with Ira last evening had struck fear in her heart. Was he really interested in a true wife, a true home? What if she was just another girl-toy to him? She hugged Desiree’s neck, suddenly frightened.
She couldn’t stand the idea of such a sham of a life. What should she do? Should she pack up and go back to Chicago? Or was she overreacting? Maybe all she had to do was have a nice, private talk with Ira, convince him she didn’t need trips to Paris to make her happy. All she wanted was a stable, secure home and family, like the one her parents had made together.
“Okay, Desiree. Since I don’t seem to be able to talk about it out loud, how are you at mental telepathy?” The calf blinked and she smiled wanly. “That good? Wonderful.” She pressed her cheek against the calf’s neck, pondering what she should do. She supposed she shouldn’t act rashly. Maybe Ira was overcompensating out of his concern for her happiness. If she explained how she felt, everything would probably be fine, wouldn’t it?
A tear slid down her cheek and she had to stifle a sob. “Oh—Desiree.” She shook her head to staunch the afflicted words from flowing out. Still, her mind cried, “Why do I have the feeling it’s not that easy?”
The calf wiped a sloppy tongue across her chin, seeming to show compassion. Amy sat back on the rail and swiped at her eyes. “Thanks, sweetie.” She began to absently stroke the animal’s back again, staring up at the sky. There were no stars and hardly any illumination, and she felt very alone. She kept stroking Desiree’s back, contemplating why it seemed like nothing in life was easy. She liked Ira, she really did, but…
Biting down hard on the inside of her cheek, she struggled to force back a thought that kept trying to break into her consciousness. Fisting her hands at her cheeks, she squeezed her eyes tight. She was not falling in love with Beau Diablo! She was not! His kiss had not meant the moon and the stars to her! Besides, his contempt for her was so palpable, she was surprised she didn’t keep hitting it head-on, like an invisible shield, whenever she got within ten feet of the man.
She was crazy to allow such a ludicrous idea to intrude on her thoughts, spoiling her sleep. It didn’t matter that she melted when she saw him, that her heart tripped over itself at the sound of his voice. It didn’t mean anything that even his grim expression thrilled her more than Ira’s friendly laugh and ingratiating charm. Beau made it clear with every look, every word he spoke, that he didn’t like her, and she was determined to keep that feeling completely mutual.
Deep inside her brain, a little voice nagged, “Who are you trying to convince, Amy? Me—or you?” The mental query shook her.
“What do you think, Desiree?” she whispered shakily. “Any answers?” She shook her head at herself. Here she was seeking advice from a three-dayold calf, in weather that would gleefully turn her to an ice sculpture in an hour’s time. Was she going crazy or was she just lonely and nervous about getting married?
She remembered her mother confiding how frightened she’d been before her wedding, and how she’d almost run screaming into the street. But she hadn’t, and years later she’d been able to smile at her daughter and say that she was glad she hadn’t.
Taking a breath of icy air, she stood, giving the calf one last hug. “Thanks, honey. I think you’re right.” This quiet time out here with an accepting companion had helped clear her mind. What she needed to do was get to Diablo Butte and see Ira face-to-face. Have that talk. And if by some chance she felt he wasn’t willing to try to make a real marriage, then she wouldn’t go through with it.
If it came to that, she would figure out a way to deal with Mary’s money problems. She knew, without a miracle, their medical debts were becoming insurmountable, but she wouldn’t consider marrying someone for his money. If she did, she’d be as bad as Beau believed her to be.
Stepping back between the railing, she patted the calf’s cheek. “You’re a good little listener. Now get some sleep.” The calf bawled and scooted up to stick its face through the fence, big eyes wistful. Amy gave in and hugged her again. “I guess you deserve a little extra loving, being awakened at three o’clock in the morning that way.”
After kissing the calf on the top of its furry head, she hurried toward the ranch house. She was so cold she felt like a block of ice, and was grateful there would be coffee in the kitchen pot. Cookie always left some warming on winter nights for what she called “frost-bit cowboys”.
After removing her parka, she checked the wall clock. It was just past three-thirty. Pouring herself a cup, she sat down before the kitchen fire. It didn’t provide much warmth, and when she looked at it, she discovered there was nothing left but embers.
Resolved to find heat somewhere, she stood and pushed through the kitchen door, heading around the corner. Flickering light in the living room caught her eye, and she smiled. How nice. She could thaw out before a real fire. Silently blessing the person who’d put on logs too large to burn quickly away, she headed for the fireplace, settling on the wide stone lip of the outer hearth.
She sniffed the strong coffee, then sipped. It warmed her insides as the blaze caressed her back. Inhaling deeply, she savored the smell of the wood fire mingled with the coffee. She was learning to like this brawny Wyoming brew, and she was discovering she enjoyed spending quiet time like this. She only wished she didn’t have such troublesome thoughts milling around in her brain, driving her insane with worry. Trying to push from her mind all her fears about Ira’s motives and her uninvited attraction to Beau, she muttered, “I really, really hate this!”
“I’m sorry our coffee isn’t up to your standards, Miss Vale.”
Amy’s head snapped up and she scanned the darkness. He wasn’t on the couch or the nearby chairs. She could see them too well in the fire’s glow. Hearing movement, she veered around to stare into the blackness at the back of the room. He must have been standing before the window wall, watching the night. Now she could see him, a vague silhouette, slightly blacker than the blackness of the shadowy world beyond. He was moving, coming nearer.
She set her mug aside, for it had begun to shake so violently she was afraid she’d drop it if she didn’t. “D-don’t you sleep?” Why did he—of all people— have to show up?
“Apparently I get as much sleep as you do.” He came so close their boots almost touched. When he stopped, he shrugged his hands into his jeans pockets. “What are you doing prowling around at this hour?”
She couldn’t tell if he was accusing her of anything or not. His tone gave nothing away. Presenting a cavalier attitude she didn’t feel, she smirked. “I was casing the joint for pawnable stuff. You know, sterling silverware, gold jewelry, big wheels of cheese. The usual loot bimbos steal.”
An ironic smile tugged at one corner of his mouth. “And you decided to take a break from stealing cheese and have some coffee?”
She shifted away from his bothersome good looks. Drawing her legs up onto the hearth, she wrapped her knees with her arms. “You know what they say—all work and no play…”
“Excited about your trip?”
“What trip?” She turned, confused. His features were highlighted by the golden flicker, his hair radiant with amber highlights. Those blue eyes were pure fire, making her pulse jump and leap awkwardly.
“To France.”
The reminder was like a slap, but she worked at keeping her expression bland. “Aren’t you clever to guess it. My fabulous trip to Paris has been keeping me awake, I’m so hot to buy, buy, buy!”
He startled her by joining her on the hearth, his arm brushing her back as he sat down. Reflexively, she dropped her feet to the floor and scooted away from him.
When she peered at his face, he was scanning her critically. “Am I crowding you?”
“It’s your fire.” Her teeth worried her lower lip. He was too close, observing her too thoroughly. As much out of nervousness as to restore warmth to her body, she rubbed her arms.
“Are you cold?”
Deciding her little trek in the snow was none of his business, she shrugged. “The atmosphere’s been pretty chilly around here.” He didn’t respond, and his continued silent regard began to wear on her. If it weren’t that the blaze felt so good, she would have vaulted up and fled. But since she was chilled to the bone, she refused to allow his stare to intimidate her into flight—at least not as long as her feet were numb. Concluding that conversation had to be better than this strained quiet, she asked, “So—what are you doing up?”
“Thinking about you.”
The softly spoken admission shot through her like liquid fire, staggering her. She couldn’t believe she’d heard right and twisted his way. “Thinking about what?”
“You,” he repeated, and the world teetered slightly. “I’ve been wondering what makes you tick.”
She was unable to move or think. She could only stare at him as firelight danced along his ruggedly handsome features. She didn’t dare look into his eyes for fear she would see something undeniable there, something that would draw her into his dangerous arms again. “It—wouldn’t matter what I told you,” she managed weakly. “You have your mind made up about me.”
“You mean the fact that I think you’re a shallow party girl?”
His harsh portrayal hurt, but she wouldn’t allow him to see her pain. “Is that what you really think I am?” she countered. “Or is it what you want me to be?”
There was a change in his eyes, an ominous change, and a hardening around his jaw, but she refused to cower beneath his glare. Her heart was pounding so hard she didn’t know if her rib cage would survive the battering. Weary of fighting her fascination for him, and fearing she was about to lose the battle, she decided drastic measures had become necessary.
Her plan came to her in a rush, fully formed and brutal out of necessity and self-preservation. She had to make him so enraged at her he would have nothing to do with her for the rest of her time here. She must fling some hard truths at him, make him furious enough to keep his distance.
“I think you—you want me, Mr. Diablo.” She eyed him directly, using all her willpower to keep her voice from cracking. “I think it irritates you that your father is marrying me—because—because you’re hot for me and you can’t have me!” She had no idea if what she was saying would truly make him mad or if he’d merely laugh at her and mock her the way he had so many times before. But she’d started this, so she had to plunge on, intent on making him despise the sight of her. “I think you want to kiss me right now, but you’re trying to manipulate me—the shallow party girl—to start things for you so you don’t have to betray your father. You want me to betray him for you. Well, I’m not the conniving snake here. You are. So, if you want a piece of my—my action, buddy, you have to do your own dirty work. And I don’t believe even an egotistical jerk like you would sink that low.” She clamped her jaws together and jumped to her feet. There! If that didn’t make him want to throw her off a cliff, she didn’t know what would!
She had only taken a step away from him when she found herself caught by the wrist. He was suddenly standing, growling out an oath. “Dammit!” He dragged her to face him, his features fierce. “You’re right, Amy. I do want you. But you’re wrong about my father.” Taking her by the shoulders, he tugged her against him. “I don’t give a damn about betraying him. He invented the word.”
Amy’s eyes stung with tears at his savage tone, but she blinked them back. “Let me go!”
“You don’t want that. You want me as much as I want you.”
She was dizzy with longing, but she tried to deny the truth. She opened her lips, but no angry rejection came. Suddenly, they were clinging together in a rush of wayward desire. Claiming her lips hungrily, he crushed her to him. The sensual ravishment of her mouth sent spirals of delight through her and she stood on tiptoe, hugging him, hating herself, but unable to push away. What he’d told her had been agonizingly on target. She wanted him as badly as he wanted her. His slightest touch set her aflame, burning away all her good intentions.
Moaning with desire, she returned his kisses with careless abandon, her hands searching, exploring his broad back. He felt so thrillingly male, his scent an aphrodisiac as his hands massaged an exciting message she couldn’t ignore.
The demanding mastery of his kisses made her feel faint, and when his lips moved along her jaw and began to nip gently at her throat, she grew so lightheaded with need she feared she would lose her ability to stand.
Just when she knew she would surely sink to the floor, he lifted her in his arms. “You’re so beautiful.” He kissed her temple. “I knew we’d be good together.”
Drugged by his lovemaking, she allowed herself to be eased onto the couch. How welcome Beau’s hard warmth was as he slid over her. She sighed, pressing her open lips to his, quivering with the hot intimacy of his kiss. Gathered against his firm torso, her body cried out for a deeper intimacy. As he inflamed her passion, she could feel his arousal grow and her senses reeled.
“You’ll never marry my father,” Beau muttered against her mouth.
Something in his ragged assertion caused the reasoning part of her brain to click on, setting off an alarm. Was there a tinge of satisfaction in his voice? What was going on here? What was she doing? How could she lose herself the way she had—like some mindless, amoral twit?
She was acting just the way Beau had expected her to act! A horrible idea struck. Was this seduction planned to pay his father back—betrayal for betrayal? Of course it was. Beau didn’t even like her. What had possessed her to dare him with her own foolish lips? Did she really believe he wouldn’t take her up on it? She’d played right into his hands. Now he would take satisfaction in reporting to Ira that his shallow, party-girl fiance had cheated on him only days before the wedding—with his own son.
She moaned, sick at heart. Though her limbs were passion weakened and her body loath to comply, she slid her arms from around his neck and pressed impotently against his chest. “No…” she cried, but the only sound she heard was a fervent sigh. His hand was on her thigh, moving upward to breach the ribbing of her sweater. She gasped with involuntary delight as his seductive fingers dipped beneath the knit fabric to touch bare flesh. With all her flagging strength, she fought her hunger to surrender. “I—I’m not going to give you the satisfaction,” she whimpered against his jaw. “Get off me!”
“Amy, you don’t mean that.” His hand had stilled, but he made no move to obey her. “Let me.”
She closed her eyes, struggling for supremacy over her crazy need for him. “It’s wrong. I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself.”
“Sex is natural.” He caressed her throat with persuasive lips. “Don’t fight it.”
Every fiber in her body wanted those marvelous lips to dip lower but she resisted her craving, pushing hard. “Get—up!”
She thought she heard him groan, but she wasn’t sure it was anything but a frustrated exhaling. “Amy—you don’t love my father.”
“That’s between your father and me.” She shoved harder against him. “Why should you care anyway?”
“I don’t care.” He lifted his face from hers, his jaw tight. But he didn’t relinquish his intimate position. “I’ve told you I don’t care.”
“I think you do.” She managed to conjure up a withering stare, though she felt drained, humiliated. “Oh—I don’t mean you care about me. But I know you’re full of rage about what your father did to your mother, and how he’s lived his life since.”
Beau’s nostrils flared, and she thought she saw a flash of pain mix with the ire in his gaze.
Desperate to rid herself of the haunting feel of his kisses, she rubbed shaky fingers across her lips. It didn’t help; the feeling lingered, torturing her. She was so miserable she had to strike back at him for his cruel, revengeful seduction. “You’re so arrogant you think you know everything,” she hissed. “Well, maybe you have a right to resent some things about Ira’s past, but this time you’re wrong. Your father has asked nothing of me but my companionship for as long as I want it that way.”
For an endless moment, he watched her with sparking eyes. “Miss Vale,” he finally ground out, “either you’re very naive about what marriage is, or you think I am.”
Before she could conjure up a scathing letort, he slid to her side. In a defensive move, she scrambled away. Far from steady on her feet, she leaned against the arm of the couch to collect herself.
He stood, too, every line of his body taut as if held still by ironfisted control. He shoved his hands into his pockets, and she had the feeling he would have grabbed her back into his arms if not for his conscious effort to resist. “You’re still planning to go through with the marriage?” he asked.
“Of course!” Fury edged her words with ice, covering her breathlessness. She was so confused and hurt she didn’t even stop to wonder if what she was saying was true anymore. Besides, Beau didn’t deserve any open, honest admissions after what he’d done. “If your father still wants to marry me after you revenge yourself by reporting back what happened here tonight.”
Fleetingly, a small, bitter smile twisted his lips. “I assume I don’t have your vote for gentleman of the year, then?”
“What does that mean?”
His gaze slid to the fire as he clenched and unclenched his jaw. “Nothing happened here,” he muttered.
Misery filled her heart at his gibe. It didn’t matter that he was unaware of her love for him; it was just so hurtful that he could casually toss off what they’d shared as an unsuccessful means to an end.
Righteous indignation surged through her, strengthening her limbs and her resolve. “Why don’t you go look at yourself in the mirror, Mr. Diablo?’’ Fighting tears, she pivoted away. “You might see some of the same imperfections you hate in your father in your own reflection!”