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so-called surgery, I was going to get the hell out of there. My life was worth more than the money they were paying me.”
    “And did you?”
    “Did I live through it? No, I died,” Brig mocked the question.
    “I meant, did you quit after that?” Trudie elaborated.
    “Yes. As soon as I could move, I headed for the States . . . and ultimately here. End of story.” He started to pull her back into his arms and begin a more intimate exploration of her heavy breasts.
    But Trudie wasn’t satisfied and she laid a rigid arm against him to maintain distance. “When you came back, did you see your grandfather again?”
    “No. He’d had a massive coronary. They buried him a month before I returned.” He took hold of the hand on his chest straining to keep them apart and lifted itto his mouth. He kissed the tips of her fingers and slowly worked his way to the palm, licking the sensitive hollow with the tip of his tongue. He heard the tiny gasp of arousal she tried to conceal.
    “What about his business?” She let herself be pulled down. “His money?”
    “He left it all to another grandson, my cousin.” Which wasn’t precisely the truth, but Brig was tired of the questions. And the answer to that one wasn’t any of her business.
    “The cousin you are going to New York to see?” she persisted.
    “The very same.”
    Brig rolled her onto her back. The most effective way to silence her endless questions seemed to be with a kiss. While he ravished her lips, he felt the resistance ebb from her. Cupping the weight of one breast in his hand, he teased its peak into hardness with his thumb. His knee forced its way between her legs to spread them apart.
    As his mouth followed the curve of her cheek to her neck, Trudie whispered in his ear, “You are a horny bastard, Brig McCord.” Her voice was reluctant in its demand for satisfaction. He laughed softly at her loving insult.

Chapter II

    T HE NOISE. H E’D forgotten the noise of a big city. The stream of traffic was a constant hum, punctuated by horns and whistles for a taxi. Voices with a variety of accents and languages seemed to drum into his ears. The heat was stifling after the coolness of the mountains. The sun beat down and the miles of concrete streets and buildings baked in its reflected warmth. The air was foul with the smell of gasoline fumes and automobile exhausts. Not even the hog dogs and sausages from the push cart at the corner had an appetizing aroma.
    Bending down, Brig looked inside the open window of the cab. The driver was slowly and painstakingly counting out his change, fumbling through pockets and producing money from each one. It was an old ploy to try to increase his tip by wearing out the patience of the passenger waiting for his change.
    “It’s your time you’re wasting, friend,” Brig dryly informed the cab driver. “I’ve got all day.” The lastbill magically joined the others and the wiry man passed him his money. “Thanks.”
    As he stepped onto the sidewalk, the cab pulled away from the curb, forcing its way into the traffic. Brig paused to look up at the building towering in front of him. The main office of Sanger Corporation occupied the entire twenty-third floor.
    “We grow them tall in New York, cowboy,” some wise-cracking pedestrian remarked.
    His dusty gaze flicked to the young man already laughing over the comment with his companion. Brig noticed the curious glances his white straw Stetson, brown boots, and western-cut leisure suit of forest green were receiving from the passersby. He would have drawn less attention if he’d been wearing a long, flowing robe of a sheik, he thought cynically.
    Entering the building, he walked to the elevators. A pair of doors slid open as a bell dinged and an “up” arrow was lit. Brig stepped inside and pushed the floor button. More passengers entered, two young women among them. Brig removed his hat as everyone shifted to allow more room. A young brunette stood beside him, giving