When Lightning Strikes

He reached out and loosened the rope, eased it away from her shoulders. The scratchy fibers caught on her sweater for a second, then released, slid down her body, and landed across her thighs in a whisper of sound. But it wasn't good enough, just taking the rope off her. He wanted never to have thrown it at all. His shame intensified, became a stabbing pain in his gut.

And suddenly he couldn't fight her anymore. Didn't even want to. He was tired, so damn tired of keeping her at arm's length.

He'd take her to the Rock. The decision lifted a weight off his shoulders, made it possible for him to breathe again.

Maybe then he wouldn't look into her sad eyes and feel like such a failure.

"I'll take you where you need to go, Lainie."

She drew in a sharp breath, but didn't move, didn't look at him. "Why?"

It was a question he didn't want to examine too closely. He shrugged. "Does it matter?"

This time she looked at him, and her eyes were glazed with tears. "You'll help me get home?"

The way she said the word, home, was the way he'd once whispered Emily's name. It resonated with emotion, with a longing that bespoke more than just a place to sleep, but a corner of the heart, a resting place for a weary soul. It saddened him somehow, made him wish?for the first time in years?that he belonged somewhere, that he had a place called home.

"Yeah, I'll take you. But . . ." He paused, stared down at her. "But you should know, when the chips are down, I probably won't be there for you. I'm not too dependable."

"I'll take my chances," she said softly.

"Uh-huh." Somehow, he'd known she would say that. "Where's home?"

"Bainbridge Island, Washington . . . 1994." She tensed, her moist gaze fixed on his face, and he knew that she was waiting for him to laugh.

Strangely, he didn't feel like laughing. "You believe it's real, don't you?"

Squeezing her eyes shut, she nodded.

"I'll try to get you home, Lainie. Wherever home is."

She stared past him, gazing out across the shadowy desert, her shoulders rounding downward. "I want to trust you-----"

The quietly spoken words touched him more than he would have thought possible. He understood what it felt like not to trust anyone. How alone it sometimes made you feel. He forced a laugh, hoping she didn't notice its hollow ring. "You're like me, Lainie. We don't trust too many people."

She shook her head. "No."

"Then I guess it'll mean something when you do trust me." The minute the words left his mouth, he winced, wondering what in the hell had made him say that. He was the most untrustworthy person he knew. Trusting him would get her killed.

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She didn't smile, just looked at him with those heart-breakingly sad eyes. "It would mean everything."

Lainie sat on a boulder near the fire, her legs stretched out in front of her and crossed at the ankles. A half-empty whiskey bottle was beside her. The crackling red-gold heat licked at the soles of her boots, but for the first time in her life, she felt warmed from the inside.

And it scared her to death. At the thought, she took another drink, thankful that Killian had left the supplies next to her when he went to wash the dishes. If there was ever a time she needed bottled courage, this was it. She wanted to get so drunk, she couldn't think. Couldn't feel. Couldn't hope.

Almost against her will, she glanced across the campsite. Killian was a shadow among shadows, a dark shape squatted in front of a tarnished ribbon of river water. The rhythmic sounds of his labor filled the night, the gritty scraping of sand on tin, then the plunging splash of rinsing the dishes. He'd been washing dishes so long, she knew that he was avoiding her as well.

Why had he agreed to take her to the Rock? The question jabbed back at her time and again. She hefted the bottle and lifted it to her lips, taking another long, desperate gulp. The fiery liquid burned a path to her stomach and set it aflame.

It brought with it the memory of that second, that unbelievable moment in time, when he'd said he'd take her to the Rock. She'd thought for one terrifying second that she would embarrass herself by bursting into tears.

She wanted to believe it. Sweet Jesus, she wanted to believe it more than she'd ever wanted anything in her life. And when she looked at him, when she felt the

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whisper-soft touch of his finger at her chin, she'd almost let herself.