By Cathy Gillen Thacker
HE enjoyed HIS FATHER'S WIFE...
But earlier transgressions haunted desire Barrister, whose good looks helped her upward push from a tenant farm to a Texas fortune. Did her quiet loveliness cover an unsightly lust for wealth . . . or darkish secrets and techniques she'd lengthy saved secure, to guard her younger son?
Chase Barrister chanced on desire enigmatic and elegant--but she had the flavor of forbidden fruit. Years in the past, Chase had fled his father's legacy, yet he'd taken thoughts of his stepmother and his personal bittersweet desire.
After his father's dying, Chase lower back to Texas and wish. may he be stuck within the internet of familial deceit. . . or untangle a decent love and really come domestic?
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Additional info for Tangled Web
You’re valid, for one hour,” 48 a. m. h o m e s she says, handing the ticket back. ” She leads him into a room, weighs him, takes his blood pressure and tempera ture, and tells him to hop up onto the table. “Go ahead and make yourself comfortable. ” “I’m OK,” he says. ” She winks. ” Dr. Lusardi asks, sweeping into the room, his white coat following him. “I was in pain, incredible pain. ” “Fine. I feel ﬁne, and then I remember the pain. ” Lusardi ﬂips through his chart. ” The doctor gestures for him to take off his shirt.
He takes out a ﬁve and a few ones and slaps them into the man’s hand. ” the dining-room hostess asks. ” the hostess asks again. He nods. “This way,” she says, leading him into the empty dining room. Someone hands him a menu, someone else pours him a glass of water, another puts a dinner roll on his bread plate and some butter beside it. He immediately eats the roll. He hasn’t been eating bread—it’s not part of his program. The roll is 52 a. m. h o m e s warm, yeasty sourdough. He eats it with cold butter—he closes his eyes—good.
M. h o m e s atmosphere, hinting at the day to come. He sat in the back, with the windows down, his head into the breeze like a dog. The driver babbled like a bad bartender, talking about everything, anything, nothing. ” He didn’t answer; the last thing he wanted was a confes sional conversation with the cab driver. “Fine, keep it a secret, see if I care. Everyone thinks they’re entitled to keep it to themselves. What do they know? That’s how you get sick, really sick—ulcers, colitis, cancer. I tell people everything, what do I need to keep secrets for?