Or Sentence Examples
Do you want to go or not?
I don't like either the one or the other.
You're going to have a little brother or sister.
Why, they're better than piglets--or even milk!
Or was it the other way around?
Right or wrong, the decision had been made.
So what do you say, yes or no?
Two or three times we stopped to rest under a tree by the wayside.
It was now or never.
Sometimes he would take care of the whole flock while the shepherd was resting or eating his dinner.
AdvertisementDo you want the job or don't you?
One does not dress or act like a lady.
The top of the buggy caught the air like a parachute or an umbrella filled with wind, and held them back so that they floated downward with a gentle motion that was not so very disagreeable to bear.
What have they done for Louis XVII, for the Queen, or for Madame Elizabeth?
These soldiers guarded the streets of the town; they would not let any one go out or come in without their leave.
AdvertisementAlfonso looked to be a year or so older than Jonathan.
They've brought things to such a pass that there are no carts or anything!...
I don't know how many times or how many ways I can say I'm sorry.
I always knew when she wished me to bring her something, and I would run upstairs or anywhere else she indicated.
The idea of making love in a strange bedroom was disturbing enough, but with only a door between them and the children, locked or not, it didn't feel right.
AdvertisementNothing can get in or out.
The problem wasn't Dulce or his father.
Please record this or listen carefully.
A simple yes or no would have sufficed.
And because human nature changes either not at all or very slowly, people make the same choices over and over again.
AdvertisementI don't know if he is actually trying to hide things, or simply doesn't know how to initiate the subject.
I don't want to spoil them - or anyone else to spoil them.
What else did he know or suspect?
The birds were silent, watching her to see if she was friend or foe.
Probably not or he would have used it.
Whether things in the future stay the same as they are today or change from what they are today, both are understood in terms of the current reality.
He could easily overpower her in a struggle or outlast her in a chase.
Would you like some coffee or something?
I can't see any of the girls running the ranch... or wanting to, for that matter.
Were his comments genuine, or simply a way to get her to like him?
Well, whatever it is, it probably won't go down too well with Howard or Len.
Or was Brandon the one with the problem?
Was she glad or upset?
But then, she hadn't approved of his drinking or the way he treated Lori either.
I would never stop you from going to college or doing anything else you wanted to do.
I figured that if Giddon was using a pseudonym, he would have to either do his banking with his own name or fill out some kind of paperwork to do business under another name.
You can't understand that or how I feel.
Or have you changed your mind about leaving tomorrow?
She had always been a recluse at heart, often declining a social outing with her friends so that she could be alone with a book or her writing.
We'd better go in the back way or Mom will have my hide.
She had some money tucked away in a cookie jar in the kitchen and she intended to pay him something, whether he liked it or not.
It was either an original or an excellent copy, signed by Andy Gordon.
Who is asking, Andy Gordon or Yancey Giddon?
Anyway, if it's company you want, why not take Julia or Rachel?
I might have a stroke or a million other things.
Let's go get a hamburger or something.
She didn't like seeing someone else suffer the way she did every time she thought of Cody or Jake or others dying.
Either you'll die or you won't.
Or maybe peeling your skin off?
Or maybe they didn't care.
I don't suppose you'll put in a good - or bad - word for me.
I make the predictions in this book not to be sensational or controversial.
Did he arrange to have Alex out of the way, or was he simply taking advantage of the situation?
Do you want to talk to Len, or Howard?
Mertz said she told him she didn't know who Yancey was or what he did.
Or he was already a step ahead.
Or was it a nightmare only?
I gave her a week to make Gabriel fall in love with her, or I get her soul.
I don't want to see you hurt here or killed.
Or, sweet Edith wasn't so sweet and bashed Josh's head in and left him in the mine.
After you have written three or four words, you can put them together, can you not?
He hadn't thought about a sitter before now, or hadn't thought about how much he would pay?
The idea that Brandon felt relieved wasn't all that flattering - or comforting, for that matter.
He's never out more than ten to twenty minutes at a time and three or four sessions make a heavy day.
I'd say you have few choices; get protection, get a gun or head for the hills.
I'd use the wrong towel or leave a dish out, and then you'd be threatening to kill me again.
Am I speaking simply enough, Dusty, or do I need to dumb it down more?
She had no phone, no way of contacting Dusty or Jenn or Darian.
It'll make or break him, and I don't feel like he's anywhere near ready.
My batteries are low-- think I can Travel in an hour or so.
We may stay there a night or two.
I'll be in town in a day or two.
Her gums were irritated, reminding her she hadn't eaten or drunk water in a while.
We lived a long way from any school for the blind or the deaf, and it seemed unlikely that any one would come to such an out-of-the-way place as Tuscumbia to teach a child who was both deaf and blind.
Everything Miss Sullivan taught me she illustrated by a beautiful story or a poem.
Whenever anything delighted or interested me she talked it over with me just as if she were a little girl herself.
He pushed forward, feeling stirred, but not yet sure what stirred him or what he would say.
Just because it upsets me doesn't mean I don't want to know - or that you shouldn't tell me.
I don't know why she didn't ask for it before - or why she didn't tell me about the baby.
It makes me feel small when you keep things from me - like you don't trust me, or you think I'm not mature enough to handle it.
With the exception of the trail, of course, but he never appeared to be in any hurry – coming or going there.
He thinks its weaponry or something.
She didn't want to disappoint him or Damian and couldn't help but dread the conversation to come.
He'd always found something wrong, something evil or bad, no matter how small the inclination.
In hindsight, he wondered how he'd ever been fooled or why he'd settle for Claire when there was someone like Sofia out there, who'd love him for him and not for his title.
She'd been quiet for a day or two, going everywhere with him, a companion in his head who was beyond the touch of his angry master.
When he came to see the stars or watch the sunset, she didn't cry.
He didn't know how to leave the underground prison, or he'd take her outside to see them.
She didn't know if he'd welcome the gift or if his recent ordeal left him more jaded toward his past.
Or they'd have razed the whole mall.
Or I'll give you to Dusty.
When spent, she lay still, willing sleep or death to take her.
The thought pierced her thoughts, and she sagged against Two, not caring if she survived or not.
She was his current waltzing widow—first choice to fill his dance card when he wasn't surfing the net, tracking down an auction or garage sale or devouring a mystery novel.
He didn't even prattle on about some alleged personal experiences in a diamond mine in Africa, a search for gold or other such nonsense he was expected to resurrect or invent.
It's not a debate or anything.
Take pictures or something.
Please stop me if I become redundant or boorish.
She had no such experience or excuse.
Or whatever, she paused, as if waiting for his response, before continuing.
He didn't know why they broke in the first place or how to fix them if it happened again.
I can spend time researching it or I can try to duplicate.
All people need rest, even if they are made of wood, and as there is no night here they select a certain time of the day in which to sleep or doze.
After many adventures I reached Omaha, only to find that all my old friends were dead or had moved away.
True, they had eternity to figure each other out, but he didn't want her turning cold like Dusty or jaded like Jule.
Or maybe he just wanted her out of the house so he could kill the traitors.
Or maybe I'm just not … this is so unreal!
Renewed by the blood, more sobs wracked her body as she thought of Damian and how badly she'd destroyed any plan Dustin or Jule could make.
His brother wasn't sure of anything or anyone else, even if he did match the faces in his thoughts with those around him.
He will be forever stuck between the two worlds, the good and the evil, without entering either or leaving either behind.
She hesitated, sensing he would be angrier with her than Jule or Dustin had been.
She didn't know if she'd hurt him enough to drive him away forever or if there was a sliver of him that still wanted her.
No one attacked her or told her to stop.
She shivered, not wanting to imagine what Darkyn was capable of or how hard it might be to outmaneuver him to leave Hell.
She'd challenged Gabriel's new mate to win him over in one week, or one of them lost their souls.
A bad deal by a deity or its mate will ruin the universe.
But, if an Immortal or human or deity corners you, and you aren't able to summon me, you need to know how to defend yourself, Darkyn started.
Waiting for him to snap or yell as he had when she arrived to Hell, she touched him timidly with her other hand to begin exploring the ridges of the scars on his chest.
No part of his stance or piercing look was welcoming and yet, she felt the urge to cross to him.
She'd have to be dead-dead which could happen next week or in a millennium.
Or are you just tormenting me for the fun of it?
Tell me what you want or just leave me alone!
I won't let you think there's a chance this isn't real or permanent.
This place, him, her situation – they couldn't be, or she was going to go insane.
Uncertain if she understood him or not, Deidre studied him.
If you leave, you won't stay away long or go far.
She'd been on the verge of dying, discussing how her impending death forced her to decide whether she wanted to live or mourn.
Darkyn's daughter appeared frail and gaunt, her skin a shade or two darker than the white pillow beneath her head.
Or I'll never leave Hell.
Maybe she'll learn a thing or two about being human.
It didn't make sense that nothing could save the girl, or that Darkyn was capable of trying to.
Or he was obligated.
Surprised, she sought some sign he was testing her or baiting her again.
Her first thought was that he was sending her to Death as a means of torturing her or at least, nailing home the point that he had won this round with Gabriel.
Did he trust her or assume she knew better than to run?
You're a human mate, or were originally, which means I can't hurt you.
If you win or lose, let it be on purpose.
Deals made while the negotiator is distracted or emotional are easier to win, he said.
I don't expect them or anyone else to make deals with you for me, she said, hurt as much by his words as the thought that there was no one outside of Hell who wished her well.
She held no sway in what happened or played no larger part in their twisted doings.
Any thought she had of trying to make it here faded whenever she saw the desert or thought about how Darkyn manipulated her.
But she didn't have horns or a tail or anything.
Deidre braced herself for his violent reaction or words.
He had almost been kind, or at least, as kind as he was capable of being.
Her heart was breaking again or maybe, her hope crumbling.
This felt like another of his tests or maybe, his way of closing another door.
I had to make a choice without knowing what would happen or even if you would be there for me in the morning.
She'd show him she wasn't afraid to back down in bed or anywhere else.
Whether or not you take my deal, I'll help her.
She'd never before been able to tell when someone lied to her or when they were manipulating her.
He cannot enter Death's domain or other areas of the Immortal world without invitation.
He handled weapons as if they were extensions of his body, never dropping them or misplacing a strike.
Deidre never felt she belonged in the mortal or Immortal worlds, because she didn't.
Darkyn didn't restrict her movement or who she saw, but the idea of seeing Gabriel again so soon after their meeting yesterday disturbed her.
He leaves no room for failure or my hope that certain things will change.
It had nothing to do with you or how I felt.
Basically. Or would've been, if Darkyn hadn't decided to honor the informal deal he made with her.
Darkyn is not an easy person to understand or live with, and I'm still not certain at all what to think of him at times.
An instinct wriggled, one she didn't want to acknowledge or deal with.
He shared some of his power or whatever your deities do.
He didn't do or say anything bad.
She had no idea if Darkyn sought her out when she was upset because he thought she might be in danger or because he was concerned about her being with her ex.
No part of her wanted to reveal what Gabriel told her or that she meant it when she said she would find a way to help him.
You had no trouble ripping him from me or me from my own life.
It didn't create trust or affection or hope or love.
I do not wish them well or happy.
Deidre wasn't certain if there was any affection for his daughter, though his persistence in healing her was a sign of either care or obligation.
She wondered if it was because of the thought of her seducing someone else or because of her triumph at winning his affection, even if he beat her at every other thing.
He made no move to bite her or kiss her, simply studied her, his thumb stroking the pulse in her neck.
She didn't wait to see if he stayed or went but walked out of her room.
If you try to alert anyone or escape, I'll peel your skin from your bodies and watch you scream, Harmony warned.
And you'd better come too or you'll never find your way out of this hole.
It was unclear if this action was prompted by Patsy Boyd herself or just some do-gooder trying to clear her desk of problems.
Sprinkled in the assortment of oldies were a few exceptions—two couples both named Dawkins, and Pumpkin Green, a young man taking a break from his cross country hike to California in support of the homeless, or so he claimed.
Or why they were here in the first place, as they expressed zero interest in the beauty of the area; Ouray's main attraction.
We're not talking about cats, or Fred.
Cynthia thought a second or two, careful with her answer.
I didn't plan it or nothing.
I've been all over and most of it looks the same from a bus or a bar.
Or maybe she just wants to prove to herself someone actually loves her enough and cares about her enough to punish her.
Maybe something to do with her mother—like her mother mistreats her or beats her?
She acts more sorry for the woman, or exasperated, than afraid of her.
I can't tell you to break or keep promises, but I can sense you want to talk about this problem.
Nobody knows where the man is and even if he's been in there a long, long time, someone must care about him, or at least maybe did back then, when it happened.
They made me wait an hour or so knowing what was coming.
They knew there was little more they could do or say to console the lonely child.
We'll be back in an hour or two.
While Dean was fully exonerated from any wrongdoing in the unfortunate affair, either Fitzgerald failed to agree with the determination or simply despised being judged wrong.
The State of Colorado sent me over, seeing as there's no experienced under-sheriff or deputy.
And because some little snot-nose has a vivid imagination, or thinks it's fun to tell whoppers, I'm supposed to go traipsing off in some god-forsaken mine on the taxpayer's expense on a treasure hunt?
Now, if you're acting sheriff or whatever the hell your position is, it's your damned job to follow through.
When the meal ended and the dishes were put to bed, the three withdrew to the parlor, now empty of guests who were either dining uptown or waiting in line to do so.
I might have pulled your leg a time or two, but we've got along pretty good over the years keeping stuff to ourselves.
Mostly meant the old man was in jail again, or they was looking to find him and put him there.
They might still want to ask me a question or two.
Whether it was Pumpkin's advice or the sunny day, Cynthia's mood lightened as they drove.
Whether it was wedding plans, baby names, or ways to kill her son, Dean didn't know.
They sat there and pretended to agree, or at least consider the alternatives and ramifications as presented.
What do you do at age thirty, or, if you're lucky, forty?
Dean was sure that, deep down, she thought whacking at a ball or chasing one someone else clobbered was an extended children's game and certainly not a worthwhile profession.
He's an adult, or nearly so.
I'd better get cracking on that, knock on doors or something.
The Lucky Pup is one of a dozen or so digs scattered around his property up in Governor's Basin.
Dean had trouble remembering who was who but all were of like mind in their affection for the old man who turned up the charm meter a notch or two.
No, she didn't remember who'd called or even if they left a name.
If this here skull wasn't broken, maybe someone would think it was the real McCoy—at least in the dark or from a distance.
The couple was hoping to get on the road ahead of one or more of the feuding Dawkinses, who might be moseying to the same destination.
My guess is it came from a finger or toe.
Either that or scare us badly.
Without a pump or two spares, they accomplished the same thing.
It's the heart of the season and still early enough to hitch a ride with a Jeep tour or a tourist.
I like staying in a house, or a bed and breakfast—places where you meet people.
It's hard to say there's no connection with the bones until we're sure there is a third Dawkins, who he or she is, and what the suit is all about.
Finding another Dawkins in one of Ouray's dozen or two lodging places shouldn't be much trouble for an ace detective-almost sheriff.
Like it or not, he'd best get cracking.
If you're going to return to chasing bad guys, you'd better think about getting in shape or you won't be catching any of them.
It looks like a hole in the ground that hasn't been touched in thirty years or more.
He kept writing all one summer—ten or twelve letters.
The woman listened patiently, or so Dean assumed by her silence.
She may be a first class bitch—but if there isn't a legal custody fight or the child isn't reported in danger or grossly neglected, it's none of our business.
He could lie and tell them he was a police officer or sheriff and maybe squeeze some tidbit of information about recently released mom Patsy, but surely Fitzgerald would find out and tank his election ambitions, if those aspirations weren't already six feet under.
With the DNA you could tell whose finger it was, if you happened to have the rest of the guy's body or a few squirts of his liquids.
It doesn't smell as if it was cleaned or preserved.
Absent one of those gizmos to see around corners or a newspaper with a hole in it to held high like all the really cool spies do, Dean tried the direct approach.
The top was still off, allowing additional room, but he still felt three or four trips lay ahead.
Ma thought mammograms were for old ladies or women with big boobs.
Or whoever's ass ends up owning the mine, Dean thought, but he simply waved away the apology.
Or, more intriguingly, perhaps one of the auction's bargain foot lockers contained the remains of the actual skeleton!
In addition to the five we bought, there were five or six—maybe seven more.
In the eyes of the Deans, it was looking more and more as if person or persons unknown did in fact take the original bones and switch them for the theatrical imitations Fitzgerald dragged out of The Lucky Pup mine.
The warmth of the evening chased out Bird Song's guests—all non-dieters probably queuing up for ice cream, or maybe simply promenading the Victorian village streets as alpenglow painted the surrounding peaks in pink.
Or perhaps the theater props were kept somewhere just before the auction— after they were hauled out of the storage quarters.
But he's far too young to have had any involvement with the Dawkinses, the mine, or the skeleton.
He and his buddies finished first six or seven times in a row.
She said her mother or someone took her calling card but she didn't explain.
Or, papa got an answer to his newspaper ad and saved a shotgun shell by doing the bashing himself.
She was nearly as tall as he, a natural blonde or the customer of a very good beautician.
Did you read this somewhere or do you just have a vivid imagination?
Or maybe it's just because daddy didn't ask their permission first.
Or maybe it goes back to your junior prom.
But that doesn't mean we didn't love each other or have a super twelve years together.
Depending on provocation—any or none.
I just don't know who or how or why they were taken.
Is she a friend of the family or just someone you're humping on the side?
There, amid a cluster of floats, Boy Scouts and ballerinas, four of Fred's lady friends were in the final stages of hanging bunting about a beautiful old touring car whose vintage or name Dean couldn't identify.
Besides, Dean thought, Randy—single or married—probably has more sense than to get knocked on his ass by a zillion pounds of water pressure aimed at his body.
It was a young man's—or woman's—game, although Dean doubted he'd have joined the contest, at least not willingly, even in his careless years.
Bird Song was empty, or so they thought, when they returned.
Long pants or grubby clothes weren't necessary, as Dean had no intention of entering the mine.
Are you going to continue to play detective and grill the poor woman, or is this a fun trip?
Cynthia scrunched close to Dean's ear, trying to hear the conversation, and offered a word or two as well.
Either Cynthia's presence relaxed her or she'd decided David Dean was not a combatant from the enemy camp.
It's private land, not national forest or park lands, and even though you or the Dawkinses own all this, it's not posted, except for the mine tunnel.
I wonder if that shot, or whatever it was, came from the owner of that blue sweater on his Jeep seat?
When the phone rang for the fourth time, Dean assumed it was either a call for reservations or more discussion on the upcoming New Jersey wedding plans, but Cynthia held the phone against herself and called to her husband.
Darkness moved in quickly now, and he knew he'd soon need help and more light than a simple flashlight to locate a wreck, if in fact a vehicle had plunged to the valley floor, a hundred or more feet below.
He had no idea of the depth of the gorge or the length of the rope, but he prayed it was sufficient.
He wasn't sure if she had seen it, too, or she was afraid he was returning to the road without her.
Have a shot or two of whiskey.
Hey, you're a witness and I want your statement, whether you like it or not!
Lydia was not as tall as Jennifer Radisson, but only by an inch or two.
He wiped his prints and replaced it, wondering if Joseph or Ginger Dawkins was responsible for the gunshot at the mine.
There was polite applause, a little less then followed Fitzgerald's words, or so thought Dean.
One of Mrs. Worthington's friends taped the debate and Fred and Cynthia listened to it while Dean nursed his ego, and an ale or two, on the front porch.
I think there's a good chance it was either her or Fitzgerald.
Pumpkin and the Westlake fellow are over with Mrs. Langstrom, or at the funeral home.
He can't bear to pass up an antique bargain—buying or selling.
A woman identified herself as Mrs. Fryatt and asked if Martha had telephoned today, or if we'd heard from her, or from her mother, or anyone else concerning Martha.
That or Dean's announcement about running his fingerprints.
Asking about Josh-the-miner is like asking about Joe-with-a-moustache or John-who-drives-a-snowplow.
He was around Ouray for ten years or so.
I'm surprised Ed's newspaper ad didn't say, 'Dead or Alive!'
The runners might encounter any kind of weather, including freezing temperatures, fog, rain, or snow.
While safety is closely monitored, the challenge is not for the untrained or naive.
Dawkins, Sr. had never hired another mine manager after Josh and never so much as mentioned the Lucky Pup after that time—to his sons or his wife.
Or did he come back to Ouray and do something about it?
They were only here four or five years in the late fifties, Charlie said.
All the guests are staying put, with no check-ins or check-outs, Cynthia said as she and her husband sat down to lunch.
So far, except for stomach growls an hour or so before mealtime, Dean wasn't complaining.
Certainly he has no ties to Josh Mulligan of forty years ago, or the Dawkins, or the Lucky Pup mine.
Common sense tells us the obvious is usually where the truth rests and the obvious is either Fitzgerald or someone in the Dawkins family.
I guess he was 'high profile'— king of the clan or some nonsense like that.
What does all that nonsense have to do with vodka or Billy Langstrom?
Some hacker might be able to, or the FBI maybe.
While Pumpkin Green was not at this week's mass, or probably any other service within miles of Ouray, Billy Langstrom's partner in love Melissa attended.
Fred had told him the young girl lived between divorced parents, always at odds with one or the other.
You'll look around when you get a search warrant, or hell freezes over—whichever comes first!
It was the wrong thing to say— or do—to Cynthia Dean.
The WWW news was either negative or tardy because each took turns bickering at the other until Dean was ready to toss the entire family.
He's out to get you, or to use me to do it, or get both of us.
She didn't want to talk whilst I was there, figuring maybe the line was tapped or something.
My grandparents didn't stay long—a year or two—and then they moved to Denver.
I suppose Paul recognized my name, either before or soon after we first met, back when I was a teenager.
There was nothing they could say or do about Martha's situation except to keep their telephone nearby and pray for the best.
Perhaps the body is much younger—only ten or twenty or thirty years old.
There was a sheriff's vehicle parked out front, but Dean wasn't sure if it belonged to Fitzgerald or Lydia.
David Dean harbored serious doubts about leaving Lydia Larkin's apartment without either contacting the police or calling an ambulance—or maybe a lawyer.
There was no sign of Fitzgerald, Lydia Larkin, the jailer, or Fred O'Connor.
He'll be back in twenty minutes or so.
They think Patsy Boyd stashed the kid with a relative or a buddy and the girl's okay.
I can't see where there's near enough evidence to nail Fitzgerald over Billy's death, or that there ever will be.
I don't even know the decade the guy died, much less who he was or who might be connected to him.
Maybe 'metalman' is some sheet metal worker or some heavy metal rocker.
I was kind of scared they might shoot us or something, but nothing bad happened.
A quick telephone call to Jake Weller produced no further word on whether or not Fitzgerald had reported as summoned to Denver.
She seemed to consider whether or not to answer.
No one knows where the hell he is, or what he's plotting.
God, maybe it got infected or something!
The voice echoed from somewhere to the left, or was it the right?
I knew one way or another the bones would be made public.
It was a week or so before his car was found.
You are a deity without a domain or source of power, which means you have nothing I could possibly want, Darkyn said.
Wynn wasn't about to ask why it was secret or spend too much time in Hell with the violent creature before him.
All she had to do was practice for a day or two and then find Gabriel.
She struggled to recall what her real mother looked like or the day she became Death or even the day she met Gabriel.
She'd worn either sandals or tennis shoes.
Without her power, she wasn't able to sense him or the danger he posed.
Demon Law offers you no protection, Death's mate or not.
There were too many emotions for her to identify them, but one of them – or all of them? – caused the tears.
The overload of emotions, the inability to read Gabriel's mind to find out what he thought, so she knew what to say or do.
Rather than taking souls and risking a run-in with him or his dealers, the demons snatched the dead or killed whomever they wanted and brought them here, where they'd have more time for soul extraction.
Yeah. No word yet on whether or not there are more.
Or maybe explain why you didn't even tell me before seeking him out?
The demons can't access it, but an Immortal or dealer who goes through Hell can.
There was no room for mistakes or hesitation.
None of the five fought him or made excuses.
In the meantime, killing dealers he used to consider colleagues or allies weighed heavily on his emotions at a time when he needed to think clearly.
The goddess never appreciated anything around her, or anyone.
He expected her to push him away and slap him, and he was prepared to leave and remain furious at her for the next week or two.
And yet, he couldn't deny that Deidre was back or at least, a woman who had the knowledge of the goddess and the body and heart of a human.
When you touch someone, you feel nothing, not the warmth of their skin or the smoothness.
She recalled no emotions, though, to indicate if that exchange was good or bad.
The only thing I didn't count on was Darkyn giving me the choice of my power or Gabriel when I left Hell.
Or he's killed her.
I don't know if this is a message or something else.
The sky was given the status of something pure and clean, the earth sort of a dirty wasteland, and anything below water level or the ground considered Hellish.
Deidre hadn't tried to dye her hair pink or hide the fact she was different.
The trail was narrow enough that she found herself running into his frame or leaning against him.
She held her breath, wondering if he meant to respond or not.
Or worse, staying with her for eternity but hating her.
It doesn't matter what color your hair is or what Darkyn did to you.
Unable to look at him or control the tears starting to form, Deidre walked away.
Whatever happens with my mate, happens if or when it does.
I don't suppose you will find a need to raise him or Kris as you did me.
Or risk that there was something else going on that would drive his mate back to Darkyn for whatever reason.
He didn't give her the reassurance she sought about whether or not they had a real future together, and she brokered a deal with the Dark One in a desperate attempt to ensure she had a chance with Gabriel.
She mourned the loss of all she'd ever learned or known.
Deidre paced through the garden, not really interested in the blooming flowers, statuary or neat rows of hedges.
Deidre shifted, aware again that she was now defenseless against the creatures that used to either fear her or at least, respect her power.
Deidre wasn't certain if that was good or not.
Would revealing your secret to him make him pity you or drive him away?
Unless you're using magic on her, there's no way any woman – Immortal, deity or human – would ever choose to stay with you.
Perhaps when she lost her soul at the end of the week or maybe, if she could help him recover his underworld, she'd tell Gabriel then.
No deity or Immortal or living human ever welcomed or accepted Death, but the souls always had.
But how did one misplace or lose millions?
Or did they cross over from the underworld?
She touched a branch gingerly, uncertain if the trees here were sensitive to touch or not.
Could be an underground spring or river or something causing them to move.
You act like you've been shut out of your underworld or your mate made a deal with Darkyn and turned into someone else.
Maybe there's a backdoor or someone she knows in Hell who can help you.
Deidre stared at him as if deciding whether she wanted to be angry or disappointed.
He liked trying to get a rise out of her, and he really did want to know where they stood in her mind and whether or not he had to worry about her running off to make more deals with Darkyn.
It was a far cry from the woman who ran away screaming from the soul she accidentally touched last week or the goddess who would've commanded him rather than risk getting her hands dirty.
He'd cave to Andre's advice and double-check with Darkyn about whether or not his mate owed the Dark One anything – formally or informally.
She didn't move away or object when he allowed his palms to skim her curves, tracing down her sides to her hips then around to her tight bottom.
Even his lingering doubt about the real cost of her deals with Darkyn didn't extend to the question of whether or not he was meant to be with the woman in his arms.
Whatever secret she kept, it couldn't change this moment or what he felt.
She didn't remember his passion, the way he tasted and smelled and felt, or the movement of his muscles beneath taut, smooth skin.
Or maybe, like he really had loved her through the millennia they were together.
She wasn't expecting his gentleness or the level of his interest in exploring her body, a combination that rendered her breathless before her clothes were off.
She listened, not wanting to cry or acknowledge the level of pain she put him through for so long.
I realized then you'd never understand or accept me for who I was.
They could've both gone somewhere else entirely, wherever they wanted to go, without the underworld crumbling or the pain Gabriel was in.
The pain she was in or the situation where she might lose her soul in three days.
He didn't know what that meant or even if it was a possibility that she would one day trust him enough to tell him what was burdening her.
He also wasn't going to let the Dark One hurt or threaten or even talk to his mate ever again.
Or checking with the Oracle.
I can't read her mind or find all the deals in the Oracle.
He took her arm with one of the hands that had explored every part of her body – or the body he thought was hers - not even a few hours before.
Everything he did was to help her, or so he thought.
Before she became a human, she never understood him or what he felt and thought.
Or what exactly his mate had done.
Or might have happened, if things broke bad.
He couldn't help feeling angry with the goddess who set this all up or escape the emotion he felt knowing his mate was the woman he'd loved for thousands of years.
Even if you reject me or hate me or … She cleared her throat.
He didn't know if it was because of Darkyn or because of being attacked by death dealers that defected.
Not at all like Darkyn was bleeding her dry or torturing her.
He leaves no room for failure or my hope that certain things will change, she said.
He half-expected Darkyn to snap or scream at her.
Or that she bore them no ill will.
She'd been incapable of empathy or remorse.
He wasn't as forgiving of himself or his mate.
In fact, she glowed with health, even if she seemed shy or nervous.
She couldn't change anything that happened or make things right.
She didn't know how he could love her still after all she'd done or why he was willing to try to make things work.
He never expected to see the blue sky again or the trees around the fortress, let alone sip sweet tea and nibble on berry scones.
You win your battles or they destroy you!
He wasn't about to lose her or the chance to build a life with the woman he'd loved for tens of thousands of years.
Something as simple as calling her sweetheart or pointing out her many attributes could put her in a romantic mood.
Coupling words with a gentle caress or lifting her into his arms and carrying her to their bedroom never failed to excite her.
The rest he had built in investments – other than what was in the special savings account drawing interest until he could decide whether to return it or accept the responsibility that went with it.
Carmen was always willing to listen, whether it was something happening at work or his plans about the wildlife safari.
It was hard to tell if the visitor was unwelcome, as he always maintained a professional tone when talking to customers or strangers.
She must at least think she has or surely she wouldn't have shown up after all this time and started a fuss about something that we all settled long time ago.
Someone needs to have the final say or some decisions could go on and on.
Destiny had finally reached the point that she would tolerate being held by Lori, but after a few minutes she was ready to get down or go to Alex, Carmen or Jonathan.
Whether there was someone else in her life at this point or she was alone was a mystery.
You're always helping me out one way or another.
Reluctant or not, his body heat was welcome.
Marriage was supposed to cool that passion, or so they said.
Maybe it was macho or part of the control thing.
Is the bus bringing him, or do you have to go get him?
No, but sometimes I don't see him for a week or more.
In addition to the native deer, the Elk or buffalo could have eaten the grain.
He couldn't have been too close or the horses would have smelled him.
Ordinarily she would have thumped him on top of the head or yelled, but fearful of offending a customer, she tolerated his invasion of her space.
A simple yes or no would suffice.
Not the abbreviated version contrived for a witless or hysterical wife, but the whole thing – including any designs Lori has on you... or you have for her.
Whether he believed it or not, Lori was a threat to their relationship.
She stared after him as he drove away, wondering if he would be home for supper – or if he was going to eat alone.
I don't want you to love me out of guilt or pity.
I loved you from the day we met, and it had nothing to do with guilt or pity.
Maybe - or by splitting us up.
Was he an admirer, as Alex thought, or was he paid to make it look like they were involved?
Later that evening while they were alone, Carmen and Alex decided that the next time Lori came by or called, Carmen would talk to her and tell her that the option to take Destiny back had passed.
I was thinking about you then, not Alex or Destiny.
Life was so different than she had planned or expected, and yet, it was so much better.
Then he would have appointed her executor or something.
It was hard to tell whether she would go through with contesting the will, or if she even could after so long.
In only about five or ten minutes, the mare was groaning and lying on her side, pushing hard.
It's nice any time we're together – with or without the kids.
Whether he was trying to escape or attack Alex was unclear, but Alex reached the door at the same time the man did.
Shock or maybe fear put the words in her mouth when the woman answered.
Bill usually came over in the evening to help, and sometimes Sean or Paul.
Since they still didn't know why he attacked her or Alex, they considered it possible that he might return.
But then, that was obvious or she wouldn't have hired someone the way she did.
Why not one of his sisters or brothers – or his parents?
All the answers had either died with Josh or would likely remain a secret with Lori.
The doctor said they could find no reason for him to stay in a coma, except the possibility of brain damage from lack of oxygen or blood loss.
She never mentioned Lori or the man who had stabbed him – or anything else unpleasant.
I don't know if he drove it or why he would have it.
Would she spend the rest of her life traveling back and forth from a hospital or nursing home?
Maybe this man had a seedy past – or present, life.
The nurse thought his larynx might still be irritated from the endotracheal or feeding tube.
It was frustrating to work with someone who didn't try, but if it had not been for him trying to rescue her, she might be the one on that bed – or in the morgue.
He's my husband, for better or for worse.
In any case, the vow was for better or for worse.
It was hard to say whether she would visit Alex, or whether he would even know who she was.
Physically, he was improving, but not in the conversation or response area.
Was that something new, or had he been that way all along – even before he opened his eyes?
Even the doctor had no idea if or how quickly he would return to normal.
Yet he still couldn't control his facial muscles or speak.
He should have no trouble figuring out where he lived, worked or what his telephone number was.
Whether it was something she actually needed or something she contrived to make him feel needed was irrelevant.
There was no reason why he couldn't do the finances or make the normal decisions.
And then there was that other thing – their love life, or lack thereof.
Maybe she should instruct or remind him, but the thought of it seemed so unnatural.
Or, maybe it was the thing with his father.
Of course, Katie wouldn't know about the way he stroked her cheek or brushed her lips with his in such a tantalizing way.
He couldn't possibly know or understand, but he seemed to sense something was wrong between them.
To move, or even breathe, would have destroyed the moment.
Are you going to let him slip out of your hands or are you going to do something?
Or is it somehow different when she's his wife?
Whether that desire was conveyed by him or originated in her head was a mystery, but when he drew her into his arms, she was willing.
Was she joking or not?
Whoever owned the soul, he or she was important to find their way to Death's jewelry box.
He flung one of his knives at the tree line, not caring if he hit anything or not.
Gabe had never heard of Logan Myers and didn't know what connection he might have, considering he had no living relatives or friends, aside from Rhyn and Katie.
She had to be, or he wouldn't have been able to assume her role as Death.
He hadn't been attacked by anything remotely human or animal.
He doubted his night – or his next few thousand years – was going to get any better than this.
He ate without waiting for her, his eyes either glued to her or the door.
Was he offended or surprised?
There are no locks on the doors or windows, and only one route of egress in the case of an emergency.
Or, you know, just a quickie in the moonlight.
Something about him made her feel comfortable, or she wouldn't be sitting alone with a man dressed like the angel of death on the beach after dark, revealing secrets she didn't tell her boyfriend of two years.
Unlike Logan, this man wouldn't hesitate or complain about holding her on the days when the pain was too much.
She hadn't judged him or restrained him.
He'd never been guilty in his role as an assassin or as Death, until sitting with her on the beach.
Or maybe, he wanted to get rid of his own regret at the idea of taking such a sweet soul, someone who might've been a kindred spirit in a different time and place.
You won't fail the underworld or her.
Or paint her face blue, Gabriel added.
He didn't have to love her or live with her or even talk to her.
He didn't know how to shake off that yoke or his anger.
Or make love to her again.
Or maybe you all should consider making instruction manuals before dumping your duties and walking away.
She shook her head and focused on her phone again, willing Logan to return one of her dozens of calls or texts.
Or maybe, he planned on coming back for her tonight.
Whenever she felt overwhelmed from her oncoming death or the doctors' news, she ran to her room until she was strong enough to face the world again.
If you don't want to forgive me or can't, I understand, she started.
Either she was dead and didn't know it, or she was close enough to take matters into her own hands.
This time, there was no mistaking the weapons lining his trench coat or the sword along one thigh.
She hadn't planned on jumping off her building, but the events of this night made the idea more appealing than having her head severed from her body or ending up a pile of bones in a bathtub.
Or, I'm alive and about to be dead.
He was unconscious – or dead? – while she stood on a beach near blue-green depths so clear, she could see the white sand at the bottom of the water.