When Lightning Strikes

She sat beside the fire, crouched down, stirring a pot of something. The baggy sweater lay slipped off one shoulder, revealing a milky soft curve that sparkled with moonlight. The firelight illuminated her profile, gave it the ethereal, impossibly pale perfection of a cameo against the surrounding darkness. She looked sad and alone, her full lips drawn in a limp frown.

His heart clutched. Emotion moved through his chest in a tightening wave. He battled the sudden depression, shoved it aside. There was no point to it now. She was right. This was all they had, all they could hope to have, and he wouldn't mourn it now, before it was gone. He'd have a lifetime to grieve at the loss. Now he had to enjoy whatever seconds they'd been given.

Forcing a smile, he strode toward her. She flinched at every step he took, hunched over a little more. The edges of her mouth quivered, tears glittered in her ?

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The pungent aroma of coffee hung in the air, gave the campsite a false homeyness. "We can't do this, Lainie," he said softly.

She leaned against him. "I know. I keep telling myself we need to enjoy the time we have, but ... it's so hard. Every time I look at you I want to cry."

He curled an arm around her shoulder and brought her close. He wanted to crush her against him and smother her with kisses and ask her to make an impossible choice. But he loved her too much to do it. He had to be strong now, strong enough for both of them.

"Is that food ready?" he asked after a while.

She shrugged. "It's beans. What difference does it make?"

They lapsed into silence again, but it was laced with undercurrents, unspoken thoughts, unvoiced wishes. He thought about how he felt when she lay in that rickety bed, writhing with fever, screaming in pain at his touch. When he hadn't thought she'd live. It seemed so far away now, that fear, buried beneath the fresh wounds of their impending separation.

But he'd made a decision then, come to a realization. She had a life somewhere else, a child to care for, and he couldn't take that away from her. God had granted him the gift of her life; the price was good-bye.

He had to let her go. He knew that, even though the very thought of it broke his heart. He wished he had more of her to keep with him, memories to cherish in the long, cold darkness of the days without her.

Tomorrow would be here so quickly, and they knew so little about each other. Not nearly enough. They needed the one thing they didn't have. Time.

He sighed and picked up a stick, poking it into the fire. 'Tell me about it ... your home, your life."

"You mean about Kelly," she said, and there was a

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sad wistfulness in her voice that told him so much. And suddenly he was grateful for her daughter, more grateful than he could have imagined. She would need that kind of love and caring after this was over. "She's such a beautiful child, Killian. Well, I guess she's not a child anymore. She's a young lady."

Killian felt an unexpected stab of longing. For half his life, he'd told himself that he didn't want children, didn't need them. But now, hearing the love in Lainie's voice, he envied her. He wondered about parenthood, wondered what kind of moments he'd missed. "What's she like?"

She shrugged. "I don't know, like other kids, I guess, only . . . more so maybe. She deals with life head-on. She doesn't hide her feelings or her hurts."

He smiled, trying to lighten the moment, t

o make it ordinary. "Not like her mom, huh?"

She laughed quietly. "I raised her to be self-confident and unafraid ... everything that I tried to be and never was."

"You're wrong, Lainie. You're stronger than anyone I've ever known."

"I was so afraid she'd turn out like me, and so afraid I'd turn out like my folks." She turned, gazed up at him with eyes so bright and pain-filled, it hurt to look at her. "Until you, I was afraid of everything. Now ..." She glanced away, giving a small, almost unnoticeable shrug. "Now I'm only afraid of not feeling this anymore. Of not being with you, not holding you, not knowing that you're beside me."

"I'd stay beside you forever if?" Killian stopped.

Of course. Why hadn't he thought of it before? It was so simple, so damned obvious.

She frowned up at him. "What is it?"

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He looked down at her, and for a minute he couldn't speak. His thoughts were a confused, electrified jumble.

"Killian .. . you're scaring me."