Why couldn’t this Jeep go faster? His foot pushed the pedal to the metal, but the battered car wouldn’t go more than fifty-five miles per hour. When he thought of the Ferrari in his garage in New York, he ground his teeth in frustration. Then laughed. He could see himself trying to explain to Nora how a farmhand could afford a Ferrari. Nora. Her eyes stared at him through the windshield: soft and dreamy after his kiss. Frightened yet determined when faced with a bill. Hard and vengeful at the name of Charles Blair. Ah, but she would be a vengeful angel. His hands tightened on the wheel. His deception was be coming a nightmare. He rubbed his eyes and grabbed for his coffee as the miles stretched out ahead. So far to go. He had asked for her trust rather than appeal to her innate kindness. Was it the better course, or was he nothing but a coward? Trust me, he had asked. Yet, for her to do so, he had to watch her suffer in her financial debt. What kind of fate would set him up in a position of champion, when honesty would destroy any hope for their relationship?
