Silver Dreams by Cynthia Thomason Page B

tree."
     
    Elizabeth was seething. "Is that right, Max? Well, we do pick our friends, and thank heavens I don't have to choose you!"
     
    He stepped back from her, as if he knew he'd gone too far. "I'm just trying to save you some grief, Betsy."
     
    "My name is Elizabeth, and I'll thank you to call me that. No, on second thought, don't call me anything. Just go away, Max. Go away."
     
    He opened his mouth, then closed it again. Finally he held up his index finger and said softly, "Just watch yourself, Bet... E-liz-a-beth. Trusting the wrong people can get you into a lot of trouble."  He walked down the alley, turned a corner and disappeared.
     
    Elizabeth thought about what he'd said. His warning had come too late because she'd already trusted the wrong person when she believed in him. Now there wouldn't be a trip to Colorado. She wouldn't find the Fair Day Mine, and much time might pass before she made her name as a reporter. Tears welled in her eyes. Her throat constricted. It hurt to admit that the biggest disappointment of all was that she wouldn't be working side by side with Max Cassidy.
     
     
     
    Max was thankful for two things. One was that he'd chosen Flanagan's Tavern to get drunk since it was only a few blocks from his flat. When he finally decided to walk, crawl, or be dragged home, it wouldn't be too hard to get there. The second was that it was Friday night and he was anticipating the first Saturday he'd had off in many weeks. He could sleep off the hangover he was sure to have in the morning.
     
    Sometimes Max regretted his lack of tact. Growing up with Seamus Cassidy for a father didn't teach a person much about that underrated character trait. Seamus solved all his problems with a strong word and an even stronger fist. Max learned early on that to survive in a violent world, he either had to learn to duck or battle back with a bluster equal to his opponent. Max had mastered both.
     
    But four years at the University of Dublin had taken some of the rough edges off Max Cassidy. Unfortunately he was still discovering that not all people were as hardhearted or filled with resentment as his father had been. Since coming to America, Max had nearly succeeded in erasing the bitterness of a painful, deprived childhood and replacing it with the self-esteem won from hard work. But just when he thought he'd banished the last of Seamus from his system, Max realized he still had the sharp Cassidy tongue that could bite with the sting of a scorpion.
     
    He'd never forget the look on Betsy Sheridan's face when he left her in the alley. All he'd meant to do was save her from wasting time and money on a scheme which was guaranteed to bring disappointment and failure. He'd only intended to warn her about the misery that comes from believing in the incredible, trusting in the unreliable - hard lessons Max had learned growing up in Ireland. But his callous words had hurt her, taken the sparkle out of eyes that were green as a County Cork hillside. He guessed it was true then. Some of the father always stayed in the son.
     
    "Here's the other pint you ordered, luv."
     
    Max looked up into the doe-brown eyes of Sally. She took away his empty mug and left a full one. Max couldn't remember how many times she'd done that this evening, but he was beginning to feel the effects and welcoming the numbness.
     
    Sally gave a furtive glance toward the bar and then slid into the booth beside him. "Why don't you tell me what's wrong, Cassidy?" she said. "I can tell you're under a cloud this night."
     
    He took a long swallow of ale. "It's nothing to worry your pretty head about, Sally. I'll be right as rain tomorrow."
     
    "You can tell me what’s got you blue, you know that." She gave him a playful pinch to his arm.
     
    Her coaxing was so gentle that Max relented with a sigh. "I've had a disagreement with a friend, that's all. About a couple of things we don't exactly see eye to eye."
     
    Sally nodded. "Could this friend be