” She licks her lips and says, “My question is: why don’t you just write an article and have it published? What’s holding you?” I don’t ...nswer right away. No one has ever asked me that before. “I’m . . . afraid . . . I guess.” “What are you afraid of?” “I honestly don’t know.” “Yes, you do. Tell me.” There is something pushy and controlling in the way she tells me this, and I don’t like it. I take a gulp of Chardonnay, wipe my mouth with a napkin and say: “I’m afraid of rejection. And I’m. His hot-blue eyes shone. Dune was the same, though he was no longer a young horse, his lovely coat touched faintly with white. Cole rode without a saddle, his feet gripped around the belly band his horse wore. He glittered in the sun. Sitting in front of him, moving with him as the horse rose and feel in trot was a small boy with brown skin and brown hair. The boy grinned, gripped the reins tightly as his father supported him on the back of the horse. Caden couldn't help but smile at his five. More

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