If You Believe

"Mariah?"

Reluctantly she came to a stop. "Yes?"

"Its darker than hell out here and I have no idea where the river is. "

Mariah ground her teeth in frustration. He was right, of course. There was no way he could find the river without her assistance. She hugged herself tightly and tapped her foot impatiently.

Dont let him get to you, Mariah. Keep your distance,

"Fine, Mr. Stone. Im waiting. "

He loped up behind her. She felt each crunching step like a slap.

"You there?"

"Right here. "

He moved toward her. She felt his hand close around hers; strong, long fingers slid gently between her own.

She stiffened, tried to yank her hand away.

He held fast. "I wouldnt want to get lost," he said with a soft laugh.

Mariah tried not to notice how good it felt to be touched by him, how warm his skin felt against hers. "F-Fine," she said. "Lets go. "

He pulled her close and whispered in her ear. "Yeah, lets. "

A flurry of emotions hurtled through Mariah as she led Mad Dog through the darkened orchard. Her senses seemed heightened in the shadowy half world of time that was neither night nor day. His fingers, curled warm and protectively around her own, felt like a lifeline in the darkness. A connection to another human being that she hadnt had in years.

It had been so long since a man had touched her. Even in passing. And now someone was holding her hand. She felt a hundred intense, unexpected emotions all at once—giddy, desperate, frightened.

The feelings were foreign and yet frighteningly familiar. She tried to convince herself that she didnt desire Mad Dog Stone, not even a little bit. That any woman would feel a spark of response in this situation. And she even knew that on some level it was true. Any woman would respond to a man like him.

But there was more to it. God help her, even after everything that had happened to her, with everything that she knew about Mad Dog, he still touched something inside her. Something that hadnt been touched in a lifetime and was desperately in need of warmth.

By the time they reached their destination, dawn had dressed the farm in pinks and golds. Strands of rosy dawn light slid through the shadowy orchard and licked the foamy swirls, of the river. The quiet lap-gurgle-splash of the water against the muddy bank was the only sound in the world.

For a split second Marian hesitated to tell Mad Dog theyd reached the fishing hole.

She knew hed pull his hand away then, and shed be as she was before. A woman unconnected and alone.

She sighed, and in the silence the sound was achingly pathetic. Was she really so lonely that holding a mans hand—even Mad Dogs—could reduce her to silent lies?

"Were here," she said, wishing she could put a stronger spine in her words.

Instead, they sounded wistful and vaguely disappointed. Exactly the way she felt.

He waited a heartbeat, then let go of her hand. The cool breeze immediately rushed in, chilling flesh that moments ago had been warm and damp and joined.

She dropped the tackle box and rods. They hit the grassy earth with a jangling thud.

Mad Dog sat down and stretched his long legs out. Leaning back on his elbows, he grinned up at her.

Reaction set her fingertips trembling. God, how long had it been since a man had looked at her like that? As if she were young and beautiful . . . as if she mattered. The warm humor in his eyes snagged a corner of her heart, made her yearn again for that amorphous something that shed never known.

"You gonna stand there all day?"

Marian felt as if she were melting. She swallowed hard, trying to remind herself that he was a no-account drifter who offered nothing but pretty words and a quick good-bye.