Read Something Different/Pepper's Way for Free Online Page A

interest.
    “Thanks, I’ll do that.” Still shaking his head, he went back to fixing the salad. A moment later he softly exclaimed, “Will you look at that?”
    “What?” She slid off the stool and went over to peer around him.
    “Your knife bit me.” Chase quickly held his right hand over the sink, and a single drop of blood dripped from his index finger to splash onto the gleaming white porcelain. “Or the Robbinses’ knife. Whichever—” He broke off abruptly as a muffled thump sounded behind him.
    Gypsy opened her eyes to the vague realization that she was lying on the coolness of a tile floor. A pair of jade eyes, concerned, more than a little anxious, swam into view. She gazed up into them dreamily, wondering what she was doing on the floor and why Chase was supporting her head and shoulders.
    He looked terribly upset, she thought, and didn’t understand why the thought warmed her oddly.
    Then her memory abruptly threw itself into gear, and she closed her eyes with the swiftness born of past experience. “I hope you put a Band-Aid on it,” she said huskily.
    “I have a paper towel wrapped around it,” he responded, a curious tremor in his deep voice. “Gypsy, why didn’t you tell me you couldn’t stand the sight of blood? God knows I wouldn’t have thought it, considering the type of books you write.”
    “It’s not something I normally announce to everybody and his grandmother,” she said wryly, opening her eyes again. “Uh… I think I can get up now.” She felt strangely reluctant to move, and grimly put that down to her sudden faint.
    “Are you sure?” Chase didn’t seem to be in any great hurry to release her. “Did you hit your head when you fell?”
    “If I did, it obviously didn’t hurt me. Help me up, will you, please?” She kept her voice carefully neutral.
    Silently he did as she asked, steadying her with a hand on each shoulder until the last of the dizziness had passed. “Are you sure you’re all right?”
    “I’m fine.” Gypsy made a production out of straightening her knit top. “Sorry if I startled you.”
    “Startled
me?” Chase bit off each word with something just short of violence. “You scared the hell out of me. How on earth can you write such gory books when you can’t stand the sight of blood?”
    Patiently Gypsy replied, “I don’t have to
see
the blood when I write—just the word.”
    He stared down at her for a long moment, shaking his head, until the bubbling sauce on the stove demanded his attention. He was still shaking his head when he turned away. “Ihope you don’t have any more surprises like that in store for me,” he murmured. “I’d like to live to see forty.”
    Curious, Gypsy thought, then shrugged. Turning away, she caught sight of Corsair. The way he was sitting by one of the lower cabinets communicated dramatically. She frowned slightly as she got his cat food out and filled the empty bowl at his feet. “Sorry, cat,” she murmured.
    “What about Bucephalus?” Chase asked, obviously having observed the little scene.
    “I fed him earlier.”
    “Oh.” Leaping conversationally again, he said, “Tell me something. Why is it that the heroes in your books really aren’t heroes at all? I mean, half the time, they’re nearly as bad as the villains.”
    “Heroes don’t exist,” she told him flatly, going back to sit on her stool.
    He tipped his head to one side and regarded her quizzically. “You’re the last person in the world I’d expect to say something like that. Care to explain what you mean?”
    “Just what I said. Heroes don’t exist. Not the kind that people used to look up to and admire. The heroes available today are the ones created years ago out of pure fantasy.”
    “For instance?”
    “You know. The larger-than-life heroes who were always fighting for truth, justice, and the American way. Superman. Zorro. The cowboys or marshalls in the white hats. A few swashbucklers. Knights on white chargers. They’re