When Lightning Strikes

He gestured with a hand. "Go ahead."

She tapped her foot for a second, then looked away. "I said I'd need some privacy."

He glanced at the landscape around them. It was a huge, brown plain dot

ted with small, flowering shrubs. He couldn't help smiling. "This is as private as it gets."

She stared at him, gape-mouthed. "You expect me to just cop a squat out here in the middle of all this noth-

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ingness? God, there are scorpions out there, and snakes and lizards." She shuddered. "All kinds of grotesque little creatures just waiting for my bare butt to hang their way. Uh-uh. No way."

Killian smiled. "A feminine little thing like you ... I figured you could piss standing up."

Her gaze narrowed. "Turn around."

"I don't know, lady. I live to see crazy women pee."

She flipped up her favorite finger and spun away from him. As she passed a thin, straggly tree, she yanked off a handful of leaves and marched toward the biggest little shrub she could find.

He grabbed her saddle from the ground and tossed it onto the roan's swayed back, tightening the cinch quickly. He could hear her footsteps fading into the distance, punctuated by unladylike curses.

He turned his back on her. After a few minutes, he heard her come up behind him.

He cocked his head toward the roan. "Get on."

"No way. I'm going to wake up now."

He shook his head. Christ, this was getting old. He sighed and faced her. "Get on."

She stared at him, her fathomless hazel eyes fixed on his. For a second he thought he saw a softening in her gaze, but that was impossible. This woman was as soft as a thorn. "I can't seem to wake up," she said, crossing her arms and looking away.

He reached for his gun, pulled it out, and dangled it negligently along his thigh. "Get on the horse or I'll throw you on."

Her gaze flicked to his weapon, and he could see in the sudden narrowing of her eyes that she received the unspoken threat. She almost smiled, a brief upward tug of the lips that held no humor. "I guess I've got no choice."

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"That's right. Now, get on the horse."

"Don't think for a second I'm coming with you because of that gun. You can't kill me. It's my dream." She frowned. "Well, actually it's becoming a nightmare."

He stared down at her, unsure for a moment of how to respond. "Lady," he said softly, "you're crazy."

She gave him a cocky shrug. "You aren't the first to say that."

"I don't imagine I am." Turning, he reached for the rope tied to his saddle.

She swallowed convulsively, her gaze fixed hard on the rope. "Wh-What are you going to do with that?"

"I'm gonna tie your hands." He saw her flinch at his words, noticed the pallor that moved across her cheeks and the slight tremble in her lower lip just before she bit down on it. "Why?"

"Don't." The word was barely above a whisper. "I have a ... thing about that."

Suddenly she looked young and afraid and infinitely vulnerable. He knew he shouldn't respond, shouldn't let himself respond. He should just press the gun against her breast and repeat his threat. But there was something about her, something compelling and ... familiar.

Almost against his will, he moved toward her, watching as his shadow engulfed her. "Okay." Even as he said the word, he couldn't believe he was going to be so stupid. This woman was dangerous, possibly deadly, and the last thing he ought to feel for her was compassion. He ought to tie her up, gag her, and set her loose in the desert somewhere to die. That would be the smart thing.