A Will And A Way. Нора Робертс

her back until she glared up at him, dry-eyed and furious. “You’ve a right to be upset, but putting a hole in me won’t accomplish anything.”

      “I knew you could be low,” she said between her teeth. “But I’d never have believed you could do something so filthy.”

      “Believe whatever the hell you want,” he began, but he felt her body shudder as she fought for control. “Pandora,” and his voice softened. “I didn’t do this. Look at me,” he demanded with a little shake. “Why would I?”

      Because she wanted to cry, her voice, her eyes were hard. “You tell me.”

      Patience wasn’t one of his strong points, but he tried again. “Pandora, listen to me. Try for common sense a minute and just listen. I got here a few minutes before you. I saw someone coming out of the shed from my window and came down. When I got here, this is what I found.”

      She was going to disgrace herself. She felt the tears backing up and hated them. It was better to hate him. “Let go of me.”

      Perhaps he could handle her anger better than her despair. Cautiously Michael released her arms and stepped back. “It hasn’t been more than ten minutes since I saw someone coming out of here. I figured they cut through the woods.”

      She tried to think, tried to clear the fury out of her head. “You can go,” she said with deadly calm. “I have to clean up and take inventory.”

      Something hot backed up in his throat at the casual dismissal. Remembering his own reaction when he’d opened the shed door, he swallowed it. “I’ll call the police if you like, but I don’t know if anything was stolen.” He opened his palm and showed her the emerald. “I can’t imagine any thief leaving stones like this behind.”

      Pandora snatched it out of his hand. When her fingers closed over it, she felt the slight prick of the hoop she’d fastened onto it only the day before. The emerald seemed to grow out of the braided wire.

      Her heart was thudding against her ribs as she walked to her worktable. There was what was left of the necklace she’d been fashioning for two weeks. The deceptively delicate tiers were in pieces, the emeralds that had hung gracefully from them, scattered. Her own nippers had been used to destroy it. She gathered up the pieces in her hands and fought back the urge to scream.

      “It was this, wasn’t it?” Michael picked up the sketch from the floor. It was stunning on paper—at once fanciful and bold. He supposed what she had drawn had some claim to art. He imagined how he’d feel if someone took scissors to one of his scripts. “You’d nearly finished.”

      Pandora dropped the pieces back on the table. “Leave me alone.” She crouched and began to gather up stones and beads.

      “Pandora.” When she ignored him, Michael grabbed her by the shoulders and shook. “Dammit, Pandora, I want to help.”

      She sent him a long, cold look. “You’ve done enough, Michael. Now leave me alone.”

      “All right, fine.” He released her and stormed out. Anger and frustration carried him halfway across the lawn. Michael stopped, swore and wished bitterly for a cigarette. She had no right to accuse him. Worse, she had no right to make him feel responsible. The guilt he was experiencing was nearly as strong as it would have been if he’d actually vandalized her shop. Hands in his pockets, he stood staring back at the shed and cursing her.

      She really thought he’d done that to her. That he was capable of such meaningless, bitter destruction. He’d tried to talk to her, soothe her. Every offer of help had been thrown back at him. Just like her, he thought with his teeth gritted. She deserved to be left alone.

      He nearly started back to the house again when he remembered just how shocked and ill she’d looked in the doorway of the shed. Calling himself a fool, he went back.

      When he opened the door of the shed again, the chaos was just as it had been. Sitting in the middle of it on the floor by her workbench was Pandora. She was weeping quietly.

      He felt the initial male panic at being confronted with feminine tears and surprise that they came from Pandora who never shed them. Yet he felt sympathy for someone who’d been dealt a bull’s-eye blow. Without saying a word, he went to her and slipped his arms around her.

      She stiffened, but he’d expected it. “I told you to go away.”

      “Yeah. Why should I listen to you?” He stroked her hair.

      She wanted to crawl into his lap and weep for hours. “I don’t want you here.”

      “I know. Just pretend I’m someone else.” He drew her against his chest.

      “I’m only crying because I’m angry.” With a sniff, she turned her face into his shirt.

      “Sure.” He kissed the top of her head. “Go ahead and be angry for a while. I’m used to it.”

      She told herself it was because she was weakened by shock and grief, but she relaxed against him. The tears came in floods. When she cried, she cried wholeheartedly. When she was finished, she was done.

      Tears dry, she sat cushioned against him. Secure. She wouldn’t question it now. Along with the anger came a sense of shame she was unaccustomed to. She’d been filthy to him. But he’d come back and held her. Who’d have expected him to be patient, or caring? Or strong enough to make her accept both. Pandora let out a long breath and kept her eyes shut for just a moment. He smelled of soap and nothing else.

      “I’m sorry, Michael.”

      She was soft. Hadn’t he just told himself she wouldn’t be? He let his cheek brush against her hair. “Okay.”

      “No, I mean it.” When she turned her head her lips skimmed across his cheek. It surprised them both. That kind of contact was for friends—or lovers. “I couldn’t think after I walked in here. I—” She broke off a moment, fascinated by his eyes. Wasn’t it strange how small the world could become if you looked into someone’s eyes? Why hadn’t she ever noticed that before? “I need to sort all this out.”