“And when, these so called Catholics, had washed out their trucks, they burned the town. And when the fires died down, the bulldozers moved in. The weeds and thorns finished the job.”
“No...” Lindsey exhaled, “the job isn’t finished; is it, Roberto?” He turned and studied her face. “Not for the Haitians.”
He stepped across. “You are as smart as you are beautiful,” he breathed and Lindsey was surprised when he lifted a hand, rested it on her waist; like he was about to waltz her about the trees, only there was no music here. Her breath halted as she felt his thumb lift to stroke a lower rib. She looked up into his eyes and his face flooded with color.
“Please,” he said, dropping his hand. “Forgive the intrusion. I did not mean to be... forward.”
“Don’t be silly, Roberto,” Lindsey replie
