If You Believe

The door swung open. Mariah stood in the doorway. She took one look at him and gasped. Her nostrils flared, her eyes widened. She lurched for the door and tried to slam it in his face.

His hand snaked out, grabbed the door. She stumbled back, then stopped herself and stared at him through despair-darkened eyes.

She was a mess. Her hair was an uncontrolled mass of thick, wavy curls that lay half-pinned, half-dangling down her back. Her skin was deathly pale, almost gray, and her lips were a thin, colorless line.

She looked desperate and vulnerable . . . and achingly beautiful.

She swallowed hard. "Wh—What do you want?"

He moved awkwardly toward her, close enough to touch her but careful not to. He looked down, met her frightened, desperate eyes. He opened his mouth to speak, and found that he had nothing to say.

"Please," she said in a soft, quivering voice. "I dont want to play your games right now. "

It was now or never. He took a deep breath and forced himself to say the words hed never said before. "I . . . my mother . . . she died on Christmas Eve. "

Marians mouth slipped open. Surprise chased some of the sadness from her eyes.

"Im sorry. "

"I didnt come up here for your sympathy. "

"Why did you come up here?"

"I . . . aw, hell, its crazy—" Awkwardness suffused him. He turned to leave.

She reached for his arm. Her fingers curled around his forearm, tightly. He felt the warmth of her skin through the worn cotton of his shirt. A shudder of longing spilled through him at her touch.

Slowly he turned around, his eyes drawn irresistibly to her hand, so pale and soft against the tired fabric of his black shirt. Somehow her touch gave him strength, made it easier to face her and say what hed come to say.

He looked at her. Their gazes caught, held. "I just wanted you to know I . . .

understood. "

At his quiet confession, her eyes widened. A gentleness filled her eyes, the emotion so warm and soft, it made Mad Dogs heart sting with longing. She tried to smile.

He saw the slight trembling of her lips and almost groaned aloud. An aching tenderness unfolded within him. Christ, he felt something hed never felt before. He wanted to kiss her, to take her face in his hands and kiss the sadness from her mouth.

"Does it go away?" she asked softly.

He knew hed never forget this moment, never forget the sad luminescence of her eyes. Her honesty, like her pain, touched something deep inside him, something hed forgotten even existed. "It fades," he said softly.

"It fades. " She repeated his words quietly, staring up at him.

Mad Dog watched the movement of her lips, mesmerized. He wanted to say something else to her, something profound and relevant that would relieve some portion of her pain. But there was nothing; he knew that. Grief wasnt soothed by pretty words or flowers or notes of sympathy. It simply faded in its own time, in its own way. If it ever did.

But he had to do something to save this moment. It was so special, so suddenly fragile. He felt a connection hed never felt with a woman before. As if some part of her understood some secret part of him.

"Maybe youd like to go for a walk?" he said.

Chapter Ten

Maybe youd like to go for a walk?

Mariah stared at Mad Dog, feeling absurdly relieved. The suffocating weight of grief eased away from her heart; without it, she felt . . . light. It was such an ordinary request, go for a walk, but it had been so long since someone had expressed a desire to simply be with her.

She remembered long ago, when she was a young girl, waiting desperately for her father to ask her to join him on his adventure walks. But he never had. Hed walked with Mama for hours, tramping through the grassy pastures, strolling through the sun-dappled orchards. Mariah remembered watching, always watching, from the loneliness of her bedroom, until one day shed stopped waiting to be invited.

Now, finally, someone had asked her. A smile pulled at her lips. Lord, shed forgotten how powerful and potent it was to feel wanted. And how dangerous.