Wildest Hearts

muttered.

    Annie realized he was turning a dull red. “I've never known anyone who wrote. What kind of stuff is it?”

    “Suspense.”

    “No kidding? This is exciting. No wonder you're kind of strange. This explains everything.”

    Bolt gazed at her impassively. “It does?”

    “Of course. Everyone knows writers are strange. Have you finished a manuscript?”

    “I'm working on the last few chapters of one.” Bolt started for the kitchen again. “I'll fix you something to eat.”

    “Forget it. I'm really not hungry.”

    “Mr. Rain said you were to be fed.”

    “Okay, okay. Whatever Mr. Rain wants, Mr. Rain gets.” Annie followed Bolt into the sleek kitchen. “I'll take a glass of wine if you've got it. I could use one. And maybe a pretzel or something.”

    “I don't have any wine. I have beer.”

    “Beer will do.” Annie seated herself on a stool behind the counter and watched as Bolt took a can from the refrigerator, opened it, and poured the contents into a glass. “Bolt, can I read what you're written?”

    He looked at her, startled. “You want to read it?”

    “I'd love to.”

    “I don't know.” It was the first time Bolt had ever looked indecisive. “No one has ever read anything I've written.”

    “Someone will have to read it eventually,” Annie said persuasively. “I read a lot of suspense. I really enjoy that kind of stuff.”

    Bolt hesitated. Then he gave Annie a direct look. “Will you be honest with me about it?”

    Annie mentally crossed her fingers behind her back. “Absolutely.” One could always find something nice to say about an artist's creation, she reminded herself.

    “All right then.” Bolt put some pretzels on a plate. “But if you don't like it or if it bores you, I want you to put it down and tell me the truth. Agreed?”

    “Sure.” Annie took the glass of beer and the small tray full of pretzels and went back into the living room.

    Bolt picked up a stack of neatly printed pages and handed them to her. “Why did you come down here?”

    Annie made a face. “Can't you guess? Oliver and I quarreled.”

    “So why did you come here?”

    “You know Oliver.” Annie took a swallow of the beer. “He'd worry if he thought I had actually left the building. He'd probably send you after me to keep an eye on me. This way neither of us gets wet and I get to read a good book while I wait for him to come to his senses.”

    Bolt frowned. “Come to his senses and do what?”

    “Apologize.” Annie munched a pretzel.

    Bolt looked blank. “Why would Mr. Rain apologize?”

    “Because he's in the wrong and he knows it. Don't worry, I won't be here all night. He'll come down to fetch me eventually. Oliver plays fair.”

    “You don't know him very well yet, do you?” Bolt sat down in front of the computer screen. “Mr. Rain plays to win. No, I take that back. Mr. Rain does not play at all. He goes to war.”

    “He's changing. You'll see. Do you write all night?”

    “Sometimes.”

    “You know, Bolt, I'm getting a whole new view of you.”

    “That makes us even.”

    “How come you don't like me, Bolt?”

    Bolt's fingers froze above the computer keys. “What makes you think I don't like you?”

    “Call it a strong hunch,” Annie said dryly. “Is it because you think I'll take advantage of Oliver? You don't have to worry, you know. Oliver can take care of himself.”

    Bolt gave her an odd look. “I'm aware of that.”

    “I won't get my greedy little hands on all his money.”

    “No,” Bolt agreed. “You won't. Not unless he wants you to get your hands on it.”

    “So how come you're worried about me hanging around?”

    Bolt gazed into the depths of the computer. “He's grown somewhat fond of you,” he said at last.

    “I'd like to think that was true,” Annie said. “But to be honest, he's not fond of me at all tonight.”

    “He's not accustomed to dealing with anyone quite like you, Mrs. Rain.”

    “So?”

    “So, I'm afraid he may on occasion suspend his normally extremely sound judgment where you're concerned.”

    “Hah. You think I'm going to wrap him around my little finger?”

    “I think you already have.” Bolt went back to work as if she weren't in the room.

    Annie propped one leg over the arm of the chair and settled in the corner. She swung her foot absently as she started to read Bolt's manuscript.

    Everything was back under control. For the moment, at any rate.

    Annie was downstairs with Bolt