Hidden Riches

take you home and you can spend the night beating yourself up over it.”
    “I don’t have to apologize for having feelings. And I can get myself home.”
    “You wouldn’t get two blocks before that bleeding heart of yours splashed on the sidewalk.”
    The buzzing in her ears came first. It always did when her temper snapped. Quick as a snake she rounded on him, leading with her left. He dodged that, but it was only a fake. Her sneaky right caught him in the jaw and snapped his head back.
    “Son of a bitch.” He saw stars. Later, he might take a moment to admire the fact that she’d all but knocked him on his ass. But now, eyes slitted with fury, he clenched his fists. She tossed her chin up in challenge.
    “Try it,” she invited. “Just try it.”
    It could have been funny—if there had been only temper in her eyes. If there hadn’t been the quiver of tears beneath the dare. “Fuck this,” he muttered. Ducking under her raised fists, he caught her around the waist and scooped her up over his shoulder.
    She exploded with a volley of oaths, furious at the indignity of having to hammer at his back. “Put me down, you chicken-hearted bastard. You want to fight?”
    “I’ve never coldcocked a woman in my life, Conroy, but you can be the first.”
    “Goddamn you, put me down and try it. They’ll have to scrape you up off the pavement. When I’m finished, they’ll have to pick you up with tweezers. They’ll . . .” It drained out of her, as it always did, quickly, completely. She went limp, shut her eyes. “I’m sorry.”
    He wasn’t finished being angry. “Shut up.” He yanked out his keys, punched them into the door lock. In a smooth, economic move, he pulled her down, protected her head with his hand and shoved her into the car.
    She kept her eyes closed, listening to him stalk around the car, open the door, slam it again. “I am sorry, Jed. I apologize for hitting you. Does it hurt?”
    He wiggled his throbbing jaw. “No.” He wouldn’t have admitted it if it had been broken. “You hit like a girl.”
    “The hell I do.” Insulted, she snapped up in her seat. The cool look in his eyes made her slump back again. “I wasn’t angry with you,” she murmured as he drove out of the lot. “I needed to vent at someone, and you were handy.”
    “Glad I could help.”
    If he was trying to chastise her with that frigid tone, she thought, he was doing a first-rate job. “You deserve to be mad.” She kept her eyes lowered.
    It was more difficult to take her sincerity, and her misery, than it had been to take the punch. “Just let it go. And Conroy? Don’t mention to anybody that you got past my guard.”
    She turned back and, seeing the worst had passed, mustered up a smile. “I’ll take it to my grave. If it’s any consolation, I might have broken several fingers.”
    “It’s not.” But he took her hand, lifted it to touch to his lips. The stunned expression on her face had him scowling again. “What’s the problem now?”
    Since he’d released her hand she brought it up to her own cheek. “You threw me off a minute, that’s all. The sweet routine hasn’t exactly been your style with me.”
    Uncomfortable, he shifted in his seat. “Don’t make me regret it.”
    “I probably shouldn’t tell you, but bits of business like that—hand kissing and similar romantic gestures—make me all squishy inside.”
    “Define ‘similar romantic gestures.’ ”
    “Oh, like flowers, and long smoldering looks. Now that Ithink of it, you’ve done pretty well in the long-smoldering-look department. Then there’s the big guns. Sweeping me up into your arms and carrying me up a curving staircase.”
    “You don’t have a curving staircase.”
    “I could imagine I did.” On impulse, she leaned over and kissed his cheek. “I’m glad you’re not mad at me anymore.”
    “Who said I wasn’t? I just don’t want to fight when I’m driving.” He lapsed into silence a moment. “About Mrs. Lyle,” he began. “I’m going to need to check on her condition. If she comes out of it, she might put some pieces together for me.”
    “Us,” Dora corrected quietly. “She’s awake. Her niece came by the shop this morning.” She linked her fingers again, tightly, and concentrated on keeping her voice calm and even. “She told me that Mrs. Lyle had come out of the coma, but that the doctors weren’t committing themselves about her recovery.”
    “It’s too late to try to get in to