She took a step, perhaps two, before he stopped her. The touch of his hand on her arm was all she needed. A small, desperate sound escaped her lips as she swirled around and threw herself into his arms. He embraced her so tightly, she couldn't breathe, but it didn't matter.
"Jesus, Lainie," he whispered hoarsely against her ear. "What in the hell are we going to do?"
She clung to him, her face pressed into the crook of his neck, his skin slick with her tears. "I don't know."
They stood that way for what seemed like forever, naked, clasped in each other's arms. Neither one of them wanted to be the first to turn away, but even now, in his arms, Lainie felt as if he were light-years away. As if she couldn't actually touch him if she reached out.
Finally, as if on some unspoken cue, they both pulled apart. Lainie immediately felt a chill against her flesh,
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and she wondered fleetingly if she'd ever really be warm again. She reached down for her jeans, which lay in a heap at the foot of the bed. "I'll get this place picked up and start a fire. You go ahead and see to the horse."
"Yeah." The word slipped out on a heavy sigh as he reached for his own drawers and trousers.
Lainie scooped the jeans into her arms and reached down for her socks. One lay beside the jeans and the other hung from the rickety headboard. She moved right up against the bed, her shins against the wooden frame, and reached for the sock.
She heard a whispered rustling, like the crinkling of cellophane. She stopped, frowning, her hand hovering above the sock. "Did you hear?"
A sharp pain, like a quick pierce of a needle, flared near her ankle. She yelped and stumbled backward.
"What happened?"
She bent down and peered under the bed. "Something bit me."
Deep shadows lay heaped beneath the bed. She heard the scurrying sound again. Something moved.
Killian leapt toward her and flung her away from the bed. She stumbled back.
A slender, straw-colored insect crept out from the cover of the shadows. It moved slowly, six legs working as one, with two dangerous-looking pincers poised above its head. A long, jointed tail curved up over its body, ending in a sharp, hairy stinger.
"Oh, Jesus," Killian breathed. "A scorpion." He wrenched sideways and picked up his cowboy boot, slamming the heel down on the deadly insect.
Before she could say a word, Killian yanked a dirty blanket off the bed and wrapped it around her. The musty scent of old wool filled her nostrils, sickening
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and sour. Sweeping her into his arms, he carried her through the broken door. Racing across the untended yard, he skidded to his knees alongside the stream and shoved her foot into the cool water. "Stay here." He leapt to his feet and started to turn away from her.
She grabbed his wrist so tightly, her nails gouged his skin. He paused and glanced down at her. "Was it the deadly kind?" She had to force the question up her throat. It sounded weak and desperate and afraid. Exactly the way she felt.
The look on his face was all the answer she needed. "Stay here," he said in a gruff voice. "I'll get the cabin ready for you."
"I think I'll stay out here, thanks."
"You'll need the bed," he answered softly, and in the words she heard the ringing echo of a thousand unspoken ones.
Suddenly Viloula's prophecy came back to her. There will be a death. Lainie shuddered and wrapped her arms around her naked body, staring down at the foot shimmering beneath the mirror of the water. It felt, strangely, like someone else's foot, someone else's problem.
Then the pain began, a low, dull throbbing at the base of her ankle, and she knew she was in trouble this time. She'd done a lot of research on the American Southwest, and she knew that scorpions were considered the most deadly animals in the desert.
Adults rarely die, she reminded herself.
Rarely.
She closed her eyes and bowed her head, clutching the rough woolen blanket more tightly around her shoulders. The statistic wasn't quite as comforting as she'd like.
"Never," she said with a laugh that sounded a little hysterical. "Adults never die would be good."