Wyatt Quotes

Um,i'm going shopping for a dress for the Homecoming Dance with Miranda,Wyatt and Leif." Dank chuckled."So,Leif's wearing a dress?

If it's in the bin, it's public property.

Whoever it was, whether I knew them or not, if I could help in some way, I would. I mean, if you can help, you have to help. Don't you think? - Poppy Wyatt

I remember the sights and sounds and smells of home because the memory of home is the thing that never leaves us.

Is it time for your period, or something?" With unerring instinct, he'd found a great big red button, and pushed it. Wyatt fights to win, which means he fights dirty. I understand the concept because that's how I fight, too, but understanding it didn't stop me from reacting. I could practically feel my blood bubbling with steam. "What?" He turned around, all controlled aggression, and damned if he didn't push the button again. "What is it about having a period that makes women so bitchy?" ... It was an effort, but I said as sweetly as possible, "It isn't that we're bitchier, it's that having a period makes us feel all tired and achy, so we have less tolerance for all the bullshit we normally SUFFER IN SILENCE." By the time the sentence ended the sweetness was long gone, my jaw was clenched, and I think my eyes were bugging out. Wyatt took a step back, belatedly looking alarmed.

What's being crazy like?" Wyatt blurted. "That depends, Enslow. What's being tactless and completely inappropriate like?

Leif's frown eased and he slid his finger under my chin and gently caressed my jaw line with the pad of his thumb. "Pagan,will you do me the honor of being my date for Homecoming Dance?The prospect of not being able to hold you in my arms all night is heartbreaking." Mirand sighed from across the table. "Okay,that was beautiful.Why didn't you ask me like that?"she asked Wyatt. Wyatt shot Leif an annoyed frown. "Thanks,buddy.Next time you decide to break out your romantic side,could you do it alone?

One of the liabilities of being a deep thinker, Wyatt mused, was that it left him vulnerable to existential crises.

Hearts got broken every day. Nobody died from that. But it did kind of fade the sunlight and drain the color from the days.

You accidentally punched him?” Wyatt asked, suppressing a chuckle. “I’m not sure you have a full understanding of the whole bodyguard thing.

I kissed him, and even though it hurt my mouth, I didn't mind; Wyatt's kisses were worth suffering over.

Noli me tangere, for Caesar's I am / And wild for to hold, though I seem tame.

I made a tactical error tonight with Wyatt." She paused "Horizontally." Sara laughed. "Again?

There's no normal life Wyatt, It's just life. Get on with it.

Tom became distracted by the sight of his own boobs. He reached down to grab them. Wyatt cleared her throat. "What?" Tom said defensively. "They're mine." "You aren't seriously planning to just sit there groping yourself in front of me, are you? That's kind of rude." Tom dropped his hands, a bit sheepish. "What, come on. You've got some new equipment, too. You're not curious?" Wyatt's armor clanked as she shifted awkwardly in her seat. "It's not like I haven't played sims as men before." "Right." Tom grinned. "So you've already done the groping thing." "That's not what I said!

Leadership begins and ends with relationships

Fast is fine, but accuracy is final.

The Georgian had used more words in 5 minutes than Wyatt had spoken during 1872 and 1873 combined.

It was not by a serpent, but by paper and ink that evil came into the world.

You're a big man," she murmured. "Compliments will get you everywhere. And I mean that literally." ~Wyatt

You broke into Drumindor?" Wyatt looked impressed. "I thought that was impossible." "Just about," Royce answered, "and we didn't get paid enough for the trouble it gave me." Hadrian snorted, "You? I was the one who nearly died making that leap. You just hung there and laughed.

Is there a way to to contact someone's computer with yours?" "Yes. It's called email," Wyatt replied.

Oooh, these ol' kness. What can I tell you? Roses can bloom in the hardest conditions. - Mr Wyatt

Wyatt gave him a look, making it obvious he thought Clay had lost his mind. “You telling me you think a piece of pie’s gonna fix my problems?” “Why not?” Clay laughed. “Fixed mine.

Growth happens in many ways, but a primary way is by giving your team authority equal to their responsibilities. This allows them to learn how to win by giving them the right to lose and, as a result, to learn from the experience

You planning on getting in our way again when we take him down? (Justin) Boy, you better take that tone and flush it. I’m not a Squire you’re talking to; I happen to be one of the guys you answer to. It ain’t none of your damned business why I’m going. You just don’t move until I tell you to or I’m going to show you how I once made Wyatt Earp piss his drawers. (Jess)

Dependent cultures not only kill the ambition of the people and the organization, they will ultimately drain the energy of the leader and result in the burnout that has killed so many promising careers

What is it that inspires you? What do you love to do? What would you do for free? At the beginning of my busi-ness career, my why was to become a millionaire—not a good why! And why not? Because that is an aspiration rather than a why. Aspirations, I have found, won’t fuel me when the going gets tough. But a true “why” will.

Her voice quavered humiliatingly. "Fuck you." "Been there, done that, and we'll do it again. But first you'll tell me what you're concealing." ~Wyatt

I could have picked up a stomach bug or eaten something which didn’t agree with me.” Wyatt’s gaze dropped to my belly and then moved back up to my face to meet mine. “You didn’t catch anything except my baby.” I

A man falls in love through his eyes, a woman through her ears.

You're a pain in the ass," she said, and suddenly, the loofah brush whacked her on the butt. She yelped and leaped forward, nearly smashing into Wyatt. "What the hell was that for?" "You threatened to kill me and you're outraged that I gave you a little spanking?" ~Faith/Wyatt

After a silence, because he knew me well, he said, "Not all wounds are the bleeding kind.

Her eyes were clear; she hadn't been crying. She was a cop's wife first, a woman second; she wouldn't give in to tears as long as Wyatt was fighting for his life because she was fighting with him in spirit.

Wyatt paused, wondering if it was protocol to apologise that his sibling was a little less shot up than theirs was.

Wyatt didn't want it, but without his permission, his heart started beating again. It had always beat for Tabitha.

Just try it,” he murmurs, reaching over to cover my hand gently. And I think, Whoa, that’s never happened before! Then: Is he just doing that because he thinks Wyatt is interested? And, finally, this: Who the hell cares?!

These bloody days have broken my heart.

He stopped and looked back at me "I love you too Pagan. I'll miss you. In every life.

Forsake me not till I deserve Nor hate me not till I offend; Destroy me not till that I swerve; But since ye know that I intend, Forsake me not.

Every moment of our lives we make choices. Most we don’t even know we’re making, they’re so dull or routine or automatic. Some are beyond explanation—like my mom choosing Wyatt’s memory over Dad and me.

So that night after Wyatt goes to bed, I can't sleep. And I see this piece of paper with this song he's writing and it's clearly about me. It says something about a redhead and mentioned the hoop earrings that I was wearing all the time. And then he had this chorous about me having a big heart but no love in it. I kept looking at the words, thinking, This isn't right. He didn't understand me at all. So I thought about it for a little while and got out a pen and paper. I wrote some things down. When he woke up, I said, "Your chorus should be more like 'Big eyes, big soul/big heart, no control/but all she got to give is tiny love.'" Wyatt grabbed a pen and paper and he said, "Say that again?" I said, "It was just an example. Write your own goddamn song." Simone: "Tiny Love"was the Breeze's biggest hit. And Wyatt pretended he wrote the whole thing.

A couple of hours after Rik left, Trance was still on the floor of the basement dungeon, staring at the mess around him. “Trance?” He looked up to find Wyatt at the bottom of the stairs, staring at him. Wyatt gave a long whistle as he looked around the room and then again at Trance. “Orgy gone wild?” Trance groaned. “Is there a fucking sign on my door that says ‘Bother Me Now’?

My phone vibrates and I glance at it. Good night. <3 Rae That little heart emoticon gives me the goofiest swell of emotion in history. Hell, I think I could give Wyatt a run for his money. He’s the king of goof. Night. I add a heart because it seems like the appropriate thing to do. Guess that makes me the king of goof’s bitch? Or is that love’s bitch? Either way, this girl owns me.

I find no peace, and all my war is done, I fear and hope; I burn and freeze like ice; I fly above the wind yet can I not arise; And naught I have and all the world I seize on. That looseth nor locketh holdeth me in prison, And holdeth me not, yet can I scape nowise; Nor letteth me live nor die at my devise, And yet of death it giveth none occasion. Without eyen I see, and without tongue I plain; I desire to perish, and yet I ask health; I love another, and thus I hate myself; I feed me in sorrow, and laugh in all my pain. Likewise displeaseth me both death and life And my delight is causer of this strife.

There's something wrong with that boy." Clay sounded mystified. "He's talented, ain't no one gonna argue that, but yeah... something." Sweaty, tired, and sore, Romeo sat on the mat in the massive martial arts center Clay owned with Jules and Wyatt. While trying to catch his breath, he watched Tino move to the beat of his own drummer as he worked out using a punching bag. With white headphones in his ears, his brother bounced and danced and kicked at that stuffed sack of beans, and for the life of him, Romeo couldn't tell if he was trying to hurt the thing or date it.

WYATT: What kind of sound waves? DR. BAZELON: Tapes of the cries of baby mice. This sound reaches a level of forty thousand cycles per second. It's the purest thing in nature.

You always this combative, Miss Wyatt?" "Not as a rule, no." "That's too bad. A combative woman is usually a passionate woman,

Signs are my food, drink are my tears; Clinking of fetters such music would crave; Stink and close air, away my life wears Innocency is all the hope I have. —Sir Thomas Wyatt

I don't think I've actually seen you smile before, " Wyatt observed. "This woman must be the real deal to teach you how to smile.

You can't keep secrets from the dead. - Wyatt

When Wyatt writes, his lines fledge feathers, and unfolding this plumage they dive below their meaning and skim above it. They tell us that the rules of power and the rules of war are the same, the art is to deceive; and you will deceive, and be deceived in your turn, whether you are an ambassador or a suitor. Now, if a man's subject is deception, you are deceived if you think you grasp his meaning. You close your hand as it flies away. A statute is written to entrap meaning, a poem to escape it.

Wyatt slowed to a stop. Noah continued on for a few feet before he realized Wyatt had dropped back, and he turned to look at him questioningly. “I don’t think I can do this,” Wyatt said. Noah nodded in understanding and walked back beside him. He reached up and smacked Wyatt on the side of the head. “Did you leave your balls in his toilet too?” " Ow! What? No!” “Then get the lead out, Case,” Noah said as he grabbed Wyatt’s elbow and began pulling him along. “I hate you.

This is so my favorite time of day to make house calls," Mendoza announced from the backseat of Wyatt's SUV as they cruised the Soyopango gangland territory. "Nothing says sneak attack like waltzing in under the cover of the noon-fucking-sun.

How did people get over this? They obviously did. Every day someone fell in love with the wrong person and had to pack up all their fragile, misguided hopes and unwanted affection, and move on to the next picnic table.

I'm not into exhibitionism. No one sees my woman but me." "I'm not your woman." Dropping his head, he nipped at her earlobe, held it between his teeth as he growled, "Tonight you are." ~Wyatt

Wyatt had planned a romantic evening and he'd been teasing her with little notes for weeks that left hints about what they would be doing. I walked into Miranda's bedroom and she'd taken all those notes off her mirror and had them on her bed in a circle around her. The bear he'd given her last year was sitting in her lap and the necklaced she'd saved so long for was in her hand. She was rubbing the smooth diamond as she stared at the notes in front of her.

When we go there again, it’s going to be because you have feelings above the fact that we have amazing sex. It’s going to be about you and me, and what we’re buildin’ here. I want you.” He kisses me. “I want you more than anything. But not when you’re holding back, and not when you’re feelin’ guilty because I gave you the best orgasm of your life.” “Umm,” I laugh. “Little full of yourself?” “You’ll be full of me soon.” “Oh, God.” “You can call me Wyatt.

Why did we all crave love so badly when half the time it left us annihilated?

But that’s the thing about lasts. No one ever plans those last moments. Last words. Last actions.

Fast is fine, but accuracy is everything.

I leave off therefore, Since in a net I seek to hold the wind.

I want you to feel me deep inside you. Give me that…allow me that Aria.

You're powers are tied to your emotions, all you have to do is focus.

Look,” she said, “apparently you bring out my inner slut. I’m not going to thank you for that.” Wyatt smiled that sexy smile of his. “I could make you.” She pointed a finger at his nose. And then lowered it so it was pointed at another part of his anatomy entirely. “Don’t even think about it.” “Oh, I won’t,” he said silkily. “But you will.” And she knew he was right.

The ice cold fear I’d felt, not knowing if Wyatt was alive, pressed into the wall with other girls and surrounded by guys who were unspeakably brave, hit my body again in a wave. This was trauma—the gift that keeps on giving.

Her tits are full and proud, like a goddamn American flag flying above the indent of her waist. And fuck if I’m not feeling mighty patriotic right now.

My mom told me once that Wyatt loved her the way a boy will love his mother, but I loved her the way an artist loves another. Jo taught me what that meant.

You're alive." Wyatt's voice had never sounded so...small. "You were dead, but Christ, Evy, you're alive.

Suppose she denied him then but favored him some other time? Women are weak and easily conquered by flattery. Especially when men write verses to them, and there are some who sat that Wyatt writes better verses than me, though I am the King.

Hell? Baby, you have no idea what hell is. Hell is when someone you trusted takes your worst fears and makes them come true. Hell is being stuck inside your own head because no one cares enough to help you get out. Hell," he rasped next to her ear, "is being dead inside a body that still works." ~Wyatt

Doc seemed to gather himself to say something important, and spoke as firmly as he could, though his voice was somewhere between a whisper and a whine. "Wyatt, I cannot make you another denture. No more fights. You get that mad again, shoot the bastard. Promise me.

Romeo laughed harder. "Lady doctors?" "Wyatt calls 'em that." Jules giggled. "Poor fella, stuck with me for a twin. He's been hearing 'bout hormones and period problems since he was fourteen. He's got to have some defense mechanism against all of it." "I think he has hormone problems," Romeo said with a frown. "He was definitely menstruating yesterday.

Are you going to do something or just stand there and bleed?

The thing about Sarah was, she always did what I wanted her to do. Always. And that was because she was me, and I was her. She never disappointed me. She always showed up. Wyatt disappointed me precisely because he was real. He was a real boy who could not climb my tower in the slippery rain.

He had hit with his closed fist and knocked her sprawling. It took talent to make Wyatt lose his temper, but Jessie knew just how to do it, and did it mainly just to have something happening. Pouring whiskey from bottle to glass was boring work.

They flee from me that sometime did me seek With naked foot, stalking in my chamber. I have seen them gentle, tame, and meek, That now are wild and do not remember That sometime they put themself in danger To take bread at my hand; and now they range, Busily seeking with a continual change.

She smiled. "I know, this is a place where one employs nothing but aristocrats for the lousiest kinds of jobs." "They're all aristocrats, that's true," said Wyatt, "because they know that there's no such thing as a lousy job--only lousy men who don't care to do it.

How long ago did she die, Wyatt?" Morgan pressed. "Is it nine years now?" "Eight," Wyatt said, halfway between stubborn and sad. "I promised to love her all my life, Morg. I meant to keep my word." That shut Morgan up, but Doc's eyes opened and he gazed at Wyatt for a long time. "What?" Wyatt asked. "That is your ghost life, Wyatt," Doc told him, and closed his eyes again. "That is the life you might have had. This is the life you've got.

Whoso List to Hunt Whoso list to hunt, I know where is an hind, But as for me, helas! I may no more. The vain travail hath worried me so sore, I am of them that furthest come behind. Yet may I by no means, my worried mind Draw from the deer; but as she fleeth afore Fainting I follow. I leave off therefore, Since in a net I seek to hold the wind. Who list her hunt, I put him out of doubt, As well as I, may spend his time in vain; And graven in diamonds in letters plain There is written, her fair neck round about, "Noli me tangere, for Caesar's I am, And wild to hold, though I seem tame." Sir Thomas Wyatt

Whether or not you get what you're looknig for depends entirely on one things and one thing only. It depends on your willingness to do something different.

May God give us the grace of becoming like little children, full of joy and energy with which we can love other people.

What happened?" Wyatt asked Crystal, and stood back so the two of them could come inside out of the oppressive heat. "Why are you asking her?" Reed thumped past him. "I'm the one on crutches." "She'll tell me the truth," Wyatt said. "You'll just give me some bullshit story that will end with 'You should see the other guy'." "You wound me, bro" [Reed] "He tore his ACL the day before yesterday trying to do a stunt on a skateboard." [Crystal] "Mendoza dared him." [Luke Colter] "No one held a gun to the fool's head" [Mendoza]

Wyatt avoided the petty gunfights and headed to a saloon and rigged up a bunch of Molotov cocktails. Her firebombs against members of Tom and Vik's posse had destroyed the scenario's promise of so many wonderful gun duels. She'd killed most of their group, too, and shown everyone that she wasn't getting promoted only because of her programming skills. Her dislike of fighting had paradoxically turned her into a lethal killing machine.

Falling in love with you was the easiest thing I’ve ever done. Falling is easy. Staying that way is hard. But I’ve been choosing hard all my life, so why the hell would the life I make with the woman who completes me be any different? I love you like a madman. You’re the air I breathe, my next heartbeat, and I’m never letting go.

Her heartbeat began to pound faster. Thirteen’s eyes were sweeping over her body. A slow, deliberate glance. “Can he—can he see through the mirror?” His gaze felt like a hot touch on her skin. “Of course not” was Dr. Wyatt’s instant response. The doc sounded annoyed with her. Her shoulders relaxed. Subject Thirteen smiled. Damn.

The fructe of all the servise that I serve Dispaire doth repe, such haples hap have I ; But tho he have no powre to make me swarve, Yet by the fire for colde I fele I dye : In paradis for hunger still I sterve : And in the flowde for thurste to deth I drye ; So Tantalus ane I and yn worse payne, Amyds my helpe, and helples doth remayne.

Whoso list to hunt, I know where is an hind, But as for me, hélas, I may no more. The vain travail hath wearied me so sore, I am of them that farthest cometh behind. Yet may I by no means my wearied mind Draw from the deer, but as she fleeth afore Fainting I follow. I leave off therefore, Sithens in a net I seek to hold the wind. Who list her hunt, I put him out of doubt, As well as I may spend his time in vain. And graven with diamonds in letters plain There is written, her fair neck round about: Noli me tangere, for Caesar's I am, And wild for to hold, though I seem tame.

Church, in the New Testament sense of the word, is not a meeting we attend, but a group of which we are a part, and a group we serve within.

Those who are able to see beyond the shadows and lies of their culture will never be understood, let alone believed, by the masses.   Plato

This can't happen again, Wyatt. We're done. It's over." A palm slapped against the door, right next to her head, so hard she jumped. "I don't think so." "If you think I can spend the next thirteen days seeing you, hearing you, smelling you"--he inhaled deeply and growled a little--"without touching you, you're very, very mistaken." "It's not over, Faith. It's just begun." ~Wyatt

It was very quiet. No one else would have seen if not for the desert. But when the desert heard Pete Wyatt singing a love song, it took notice. The desert loved him, after all, and wanted him happy. So when it heard Pete singing, it rose a wind around them until the breeze sang gently like strings, and when it heard Pete singing, it provoked the air to heat and cool around every stone and plant so that each of these things sounded in harmony with his voice, and when it heard Pete singing, it roused Colorado's grasshoppers to action and they rubbed their legs together like a soft horn section, and when it heard Pete singing, it shifted the very ground beneath Bicho Raro so that the sand and the dirt pounded a beat that matched the sound of the incomplete heart that lived in Pete Wyatt.

What's Luke doing here?" He kept the Harley steady while I got off. He swung his leg over and stood up, removing his helmet and gloves. "I called him from Jason's place. He's going to help us get your stuff moved over." "Wow." A laugh bubbled on my lips, surprising me after the heartbreak I'd experienced at Wyatt's house. "You don't waste any time." "Nope." He tipped his head with a cocky grin that launched butterflies in my stomach. "Don't want to wait for you to come to your senses.

Wyatt should’ve looked ridiculous sitting on the floor, leaning into the crate making kissykiss noises at the cat, but he didn’t. He looked … mouthwatering. “Hey, sweet thing,” he said in a low cajoling voice. “Come on out. I’ll gonna love you up, I promise. You know you want some of that.” “Oh, please,” Emily said on a laugh to cover up the fact that her bones melted at the sound of him. “That’s never going to work—“ But hell if the cat didn’t shift ever so slightly closer to Wyatt and sniff at him. Wyatt flashed both Sweetie and Emily a smile. “Aw, that’s it,” he crooned to the suspicious, wary cat. “Come on, baby girl, all the way. I’ll be good to you, I promise.” Emily laughed again, even as she felt her nipples tighten. She crossed her arms over her chest. “Honestly, Wyatt, no selfrespecting female – cat or woman – is going to—

Galatians 5:22-23 describes the fruit of the Spirit, which is "love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control." Notice the verse does not say the "fruits" of the Spirit, but fruit. The fruit, or result, of the Spirit working in our lives is that we become not just some but all of these things: more loving, more patient, more faithful, and so forth. This verse is not a to-do list for us to work through, but a description of the transformation that occurs when God's Spirit begins to work in us.

The fields...are white already to harvest" (John 4:35 KJV), or as other versions put it, "ripe for harvest."...One part of the harvest metaphor we may have missed was the importance of timing-there is a season for both sowing and reaping, and sometimes there is a season of simply waiting and watering.

Help!” screeched a feminine voice. “HELP ME!” Parker whipped around, automatically reaching for the weapon that he didn’t have at the small of his back because, oh yeah, he was in running gear with no place to hide a weapon. But there was no woman. Just a huge parrot perched on a printer at the front desk. “Help!” it squeaked in a shockingly authentic woman’s voice. “I’ve been turned into a parrot!” “Peanut, play dead,” Wyatt said. Peanut sighed and tucked her head into her feathers. “Good parrot.” Wyatt looked at Parker. “She’s a nut.” “Damn, shit, farts,” the bird muttered beneath her breath, making Parker grin. Wyatt sighed. “Peanut’s a mimic, and Jade, our office manager, has a bit of a potty mouth.” “Boner,” Peanut said, head still tucked into her feathers. “Peanut, dead parrots don’t talk.” Wyatt turned back to Parker. “Follow me.

The Peacemaker Colt has now been in production, without change in design, for a century. Buy one to-day and it would be indistinguishable from the one Wyatt Earp wore when he was the Marshal of Dodge City. It is the oldest hand-gun in the world, without question the most famous and, if efficiency in its designated task of maiming and killing be taken as criterion of its worth, then it is also probably the best hand-gun ever made. It is no light thing, it is true, to be wounded by some of the Peacemaker’s more highly esteemed competitors, such as the Luger or Mauser: but the high-velocity, narrow-calibre, steel-cased shell from either of those just goes straight through you, leaving a small neat hole in its wake and spending the bulk of its energy on the distant landscape whereas the large and unjacketed soft-nosed lead bullet from the Colt mushrooms on impact, tearing and smashing bone and muscle and tissue as it goes and expending all its energy on you. In short when a Peacemaker’s bullet hits you in, say, the leg, you don’t curse, step into shelter, roll and light a cigarette one-handed then smartly shoot your assailant between the eyes. When a Peacemaker bullet hits your leg you fall to the ground unconscious, and if it hits the thigh-bone and you are lucky enough to survive the torn arteries and shock, then you will never walk again without crutches because a totally disintegrated femur leaves the surgeon with no option but to cut your leg off. And so I stood absolutely motionless, not breathing, for the Peacemaker Colt that had prompted this unpleasant train of thought was pointed directly at my right thigh. Another thing about the Peacemaker: because of the very heavy and varying trigger pressure required to operate the semi-automatic mechanism, it can be wildly inaccurate unless held in a strong and steady hand. There was no such hope here. The hand that held the Colt, the hand that lay so lightly yet purposefully on the radio-operator’s table, was the steadiest hand I’ve ever seen. It was literally motionless. I could see the hand very clearly. The light in the radio cabin was very dim, the rheostat of the angled table lamp had been turned down until only a faint pool of yellow fell on the scratched metal of the table, cutting the arm off at the cuff, but the hand was very clear. Rock-steady, the gun could have lain no quieter in the marbled hand of a statue. Beyond the pool of light I could half sense, half see the dark outline of a figure leaning back against the bulkhead, head slightly tilted to one side, the white gleam of unwinking eyes under the peak of a hat. My eyes went back to the hand. The angle of the Colt hadn’t varied by a fraction of a degree. Unconsciously, almost, I braced my right leg to meet the impending shock. Defensively, this was a very good move, about as useful as holding up a sheet of newspaper in front of me. I wished to God that Colonel Sam Colt had gone in for inventing something else, something useful, like safety-pins.

Stand whoso list upon the slipper top Of court's estates, and let me here rejoice And use me quiet without let or stop, Unknown in court, that hath such brackish joys. In hidden place so let my days forth pass That when my years be done withouten noise, I may die aged after the common trace. For him death grippeth right hard by the crop That is much known of other, and of himself, alas, Doth die unknown, dazed, with dreadful face.

In a hurry to escape he let himself out of the house and walked to the truck. Before he could climb inside Marilee raced down the steps. Breathless,she came to a sudden halt in front of him. At the dark look in his eyes she swallowed. "Please don't go,Wyatt. I've been such a fool." "You aren't the only one." He studied her with a look that had her heart stuttering.A look so intense, she couldn't look away. "I've been neating myself up for days,because I wanted things to go my way or no way." "There's no need.You're not the only one." Her voice was soft,throaty. "You've always respected my need to be independent.But I guess I fought the battle so long,I forgot how to stop fighting even after I'd won the war." "You can fight me all you want. You know Superman is indestructable." Again that long,speculative look. "I know I caught you off guard with that proposal. It won't happen again. Even when I understood your fear of commitment, I had to push to have things my way.And even though I still want more, I'm willing to settle for what you're willing to give,as long as we can be together." She gave a deep sigh. "You mean it?" "I do." "Oh,Wyatt.I was so afraid I'd driven you away forever." He continued studying her. "Does this mean you're suffering another change of heart?" "My heart doesn't need to change. In my heart,I've always known how very special you are.It's my head that can't seem to catch up." She gave a shake of her head,as though to clear it. "I'm so glad you understand me. I've spent so many years fighting to be my own person, it seems I can't bear to give up the battle." A slow smile spread across his face, changing it from darkness to light. "Marilee,if it's a sparring partner you want,I'm happy to sigh on. And if,in time,you ever decide you want more, I'm your man." He framed her face with his hands and lowered his head,kissing her long and slow and deep until they were both sighing with pleasure. Her tears started again,but this time they were tears of joy. Wyatt brushed them away with his thumbs and traced the tracks with his lips. Marilee sighed at the tenderness. It was one of the things she most loved about this man. Loved. Why did she find it so hard to say what she was feeling? Because,her heart whispered, love meant commitment and promises and forever after,and that was more than she was willing to consider. At least for now. After a moment he caught her hand. "Where are we going?" "Your place.It's closer than the ranch, and we've wasted too much time already." "i can't leave the ambulance..." "All right." He turned away from the ranch truck and led her toward her vehicle. "See how easy I am?" At her little laugh he added, "I'm desperate for some time alone with you." Alone. She thought about that word. She'd been alone for so long.What he was offering had her heart working overtime. He was willing to compromise in order to be with her. She was laughing through her tears as she turned the key in the ignition. The key that had saved his life. "Wyatt McCord,I can't think of anything I'd rather be than alone with you.