"Nora Roberts - [O'hurleys 01] - The Last Honest Woman [TXT]" - читать интересную книгу автора (Roberts Nora)

The land curved gently, patched with snow, misted with a fog that
hovered over it. When Judd pawed the ground impatiently, she patted his
neck until he was quiet again. It was so beautiful. She'd been to Monte
Carlo, to London and Paris and Bonn, but after nearly five years of
day-to-day living and dawn-to-dusk working, she still thought this was
the most beautiful sight in the world.

The rain splattered down, promising to make the dirt roads that
crisscrossed her land all but unmanageable. If the temperatures dropped
that night, the rain would freeze and leave a slick and dangerous sheen
of ice over the snow. But it was beautiful. She owed Chuck for this. And
for so much more.

He'd been her husband. Now she was his widow. Before he'd burned himself
out he'd singed her badly, but he'd left her two of the most important
things in her life: her sons.

It was for them she'd finally agreed to let the writer come. She'd
dodged offers from publishers for more than four years. That hadn't
stopped an unauthorized biography of Chuck Rockwell or the stories that
still appealed from time to time in the papers. After months of
soul-searching, Abby had finally come to the conclusion that if she
worked with a writer, a good writer, she would have some control over
the final product. When it was done, her sons would have something of
their father.

Dylan Crosby was a very good writer. Abby knew that was as much a
disadvantage as an advantage. He'd poke into areas she was determined to
keep off-limits. She wanted him to. When he did, she'd answer in her
way, and she'd finally dose that chapter of her life.

She would have to be clever. With a shake of her head she ducked to her
horse and sent him moving again. The trouble was, she'd never been the
clever one. Chantel had been that. Her older sister--older by two and a
half minutes--had always been able to plan and manipulate and make
things happen.

Then there was Maddy, her other sister, younger by two minutes and ten
seconds. Maddy was the outgoing one, the one who could usually make her
own way through sheer drive and will.

But she was Abby, the middle triplet The quiet one. The responsible one.
The dependable one. Those titles still made her wince.

Her problem now wasn't a label that had been pinned on her before she
could walk. Her problem now was

Dylan Crosby, former investigative reporter turned biographer. In his
twenties he'd unearthed a Mafia connection that had eventually crumbled
one of the largest mob families on the East Coast. Before he'd turned