The Glass Shoe by Kay Hooper

intensity of him enveloped her.
    "What are you afraid of? Being hurt again? I don't want to hurt you."
    She heard the ghost of a laugh escape her. "Do you think that matters?"
    A slight frown drew his brows together. "Don't good intentions count?"
    "You know what they say about the road to hell." She pushed his hand away from the reins. Now was the moment, she thought. Now she had to tell him the truth. But she was feeling too much to shape the truth into words. She was feeling so much that she didn't know what she felt.
    Ryder was staring at her, his sharp gray eyes narrowed. But before he could say anything, Amanda realized that it was beginning to snow.
    "We'd better get back," she said. "There's a storm coming." She lifted the reins slightly and her horse obediently moved forward.
    The man riding beside her said nothing for several minutes. Then, quietly, he said, "He must have hurt you very badly."
    Surprising herself, Amanda replied to that honestly. "Hearts don't break, Ryder. We don't break. We just make stupid mistakes."
    "What mistake did you make?"
    ; She thought about that, then managed a smile even though she wasn't looking at him. "I think I made the mistake of expectations. It isn't a particularly original story." She was mocking herself now, trying to keep it light. "I expected him to be honest. He wasn't."
    "And you got hurt."
    Her own words had caused guilt to sweep over her, and Amanda chided herself angrily. Dammit, why couldn't she tell him the truth? She responded to his comment almost absently. "I also got over it."
    "Did you?"
    She decided not to answer that. Instead, she said, "We'd better hurry," and urged Whiskey into a lope before Ryder could accuse her of running away.
    The remainder of the ride back to the ranch was accomplished in silence. By the time they drew up near the house, the light snow had become big, wet flakes blown by a stiff wind, and visibility was decreasing rapidly.
    "I'll take them to the barn," Ryder said. "You go on into the house."
    Amanda dismounted and handed him her reins. "Thanks. Doug will unsaddle them."
    "See you inside."
    She went into the house, shaking the snow off her jacket and hair as she stood just inside the kitchen door on a braided rug. She tucked her gloves into the pockets of her jacket, then hung it up on a peg by the door. She took one step into the warmth of the big kitchen, but was halted by the large, unhappy dog standing squarely before her. He gave her a look of heart-rending reproach.
    "I'm sorry," she said involuntarily. "But we went a long way, and you would have gotten tired."
    Nemo waved his tail in acknowledgment but whined low in his throat, still unhappy.
    Amanda looked across the room at Penny, who was busy mixing the ingredients for a cake. "What's wrong with him?" she asked Penny.
    "He doesn't like storms," Penny said calmly. "The last time I saw him this upset, we were snowed in for a week."
    Amanda winced. "Great. It's really coming down out there."
    "I know. The work crew turned around and left no sooner than they got here. The foreman said to tell you they'd be back when the weather cleared. Nobody wanted to get stuck this far from town. Your breakfast is in the top oven."
    "I really don't—"
    "Eat," Penny insisted without looking at her.
    It was less trouble to give in. Amanda patted Nemo on his massive head, then crossed the room and poured herself a cup of coffee. "Where's Sharon?"
    "I sent her to town with one of the men. Supplies, just in case."
    "I hope they make it back all right," Amanda said uneasily.
    "Don't worry. They went in that new four-wheel-drive Doug brought with him."
    Amanda set her coffee cup on the old wooden table pushed over in one corner, deciding to eat in the kitchen rather than in lonely splendor in the dining room. She went to the two ovens that were built-in and opened the top one. Two plates were inside, both heaped with pancakes and crisp bacon.
    "Ryder?" Amanda asked, sending Penny a questioning