When Lightning Strikes

Until he looked at Lainie. Then he remembered it all in blinding, aching clarity. He remembered the pride he'd once taken in wearing the badge of a Texas Ranger, remembered the dreams he'd once held so close.

At the thought, he felt another surge of anger. He grabbed the bottle of whiskey and took a long drink. The alcohol seared his throat and filled his stomach with fire. He winced, wiped his mouth with his sleeve.

Didn't she know? She knew so goddamn much about him, about his life and his past. She had to know what a failure he was as a man, what a loser.

So why would she ask him for help?

And why would he want to try? He knew better. Jesus, he knew better. He didn't know which scared him more?the desire to help her or the realization that he couldn't.

Every time he'd ever tried to help someone, he'd failed. Utterly, miserably. He wasn't any good at it.

191

People who counted on him died. It was as simple?as horrifying?as that.

Help me, please . . .

With a bitten-off curse, he shoved away from the wall and surged into the crowd. He had to do something to get his mind off her. If he didn't, he was going to explode.

"Killian!" A trilling female voice punched through his thoughts, brought him up short.

He glanced to the left. A woman pushed through the crowd toward him, her mammoth breasts leading the way like a pair of bowsprits. Loose swells of sweaty cleavage jostled with every step. Right in front of him, she stopped, cocked her head, and gave him a seductive smile. "Ye're mighty unsociable-like tonight, Killian. Like always."

A bitter smile curved his mouth. This is what he needed. Fast, furious, impersonal sex. A good romp that would keep his body so busy, his mind would shut down.

He grabbed the whore and drew her close. With a throaty laugh, she stumbled toward him and tilted her face for a kiss. "Ooee! The girls ain't gonna believe this," she purred, smearing herself against him.

He made the fatal mistake of looking at her. Heavily made-up blue eyes blinked up at him sleepily, but he didn't even see them.

He saw Lainie's sad, hazel eyes instead. The image of them, desperate and sheened with tears, was like a blow to the heart. Stark, ice-cold fear rushed through him. Jesus, she was inside him. He couldn't get away from her sad eyes and pitiful request.

He stumbled back from the whore without mumbling a word. Clutching the whiskey bottle, he took a long, burning draw and slipped through the crowd.

192

The canvas door beckoned. He ducked his head and ran for it. He got halfway across the tent before he realized what he was doing, where he was going.

He'd been going to Lainie.

The thought slammed through the alcohol-induced haze and brought him to a dead stop. He stood in the center of the crowd like a fool, reeling and drunk, his mind unable to release its grip on Lainie and her sad, sad eyes.

He groaned quietly and bowed his head. Jesus, there wasn't enough alcohol in the world to make his problems go away. Not this time. He could drink from now until Sunday and he'd still be thinking of her.

You know what that's like, Killian, coming home to an empty house... .

He winced at the memory of her observation, so damned intimate. When he'd looked down at her then, he'd felt as if he were falling into the dark pool of her eyes. And there he'd found a warmth, an understanding he couldn't imagine. He'd thought?fleetingly and with longing?that she knew what it felt like to be kicked in the teeth and still go on. Knew what hell it was sometimes, how much willpower it took, just to keep living.

He walked slowly to the door and went outside, heading for the barn. There, he leaned against the wall and slid slowly to his butt, drawing his legs close. The black, black night curled around him, stars flickering overhead. Music and noise and laughter drifted on the slight br

eeze, muffled and low. The party was right there, not more than fifty feet away, and for the first time in years, he felt achingly alone.

He banged his head back against the wooden wall and let out a harsh sigh. He had to get away from her and stay away from her. Otherwise ...

He shuddered at the thought of otherwise.

193

If he didn't get away from her, she'd keep asking him for help, keep whittling away at the shell he'd worked so hard to create. Surprisingly, she'd found a weakness; one he hadn't even expected. Somewhere, deep inside him, was a remnant of the lawman he'd once been.