He doesn’t speak, but his presence is screaming tension the way his hands are planted firmly on the counter at my sides. I’ve made him mad, but I ...on’t care, I want it. I want him to do something, say something, but he just stares at me, probably reigning in his anger. He’s so beautiful and angry, and I don’t know what comes over me. I’m filled to the brim with anger, need and confusion. My eyes flash to his chest and back to his eyes. Then I slap him, hard, across the face. I glare at him as. " Only 'til I die," he offered."Well, at least they're Dan Posts," she said, "and not the gaudy, artsy-fartsy crap hipsters around here try to pass off as 'authentic Westernwear' but..." She smiled. "You're not in Dallas anymore, Toto. No onein New York wears cowboy boots with business suits." Ooh, she's a poet, isn't she?" He grinned. "A poet who knows her bootbrands, no less, but I gotta tell you, darlin', I don't give aflyin'fu..." He stopped himself with a shake of his head and. More

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