He circled; so did she. “You have to keep your strength up, to spread that manure.”
“I had a big breakfast. A big, late breakfast.” He feinted, nearly snatched her, but she slipped away, laughing. “You’re quick.”
“I know.”
He faked again and, as she pivoted, snaked out an arm to wrap around her waist. When he lifted her off her feet, she squealed with laughter. “I’m quicker.”
It was dizzying to realize he could hold her suspended with one arm. Dizzying and exciting. “I let you catch me.”
“Bull.” He kissed her, hard, then tucked his other arm around her to swing her in three quick circles.
“You’re making me drunk again.” Laughing, she clutched at his shoulders and enjoyed the ride.
“Good.” He swung her again, again, caught up in the joy of it, the joy of her. The sound of her laugh was thrilling, familiar. The feel of her body against his, suddenly as vital as home…
“Put me down, you fool. John.” Her head rolled back; the room spun. “Supper’s burning.”
She could smell it. The bottom of the pot would be scorched for certain. She could smell him—sweat and smoke and animal. Beneath her apron, the baby she carried quickened….
Panic and something else clogged Shane’s throat. He set her on her feet, still supporting her as he shook her. “Rebecca. What is it?”
“It’s happening again. Like last night.” Her face was sheet-white, and her voice became faint and dreamy…. “There’s stew in the pot, burning in the pot. Did you bring in more wood for the fire?” With her eyes unfocused, she pressed a hand to her stomach. “This one’s a girl. Johnnie’s going to have a sister….”
Then, as if a light had been switched on, her eyes cleared, sharpened. “My equipment.” She broke away and raced to the living room. “Look at this! Just look. It’s registering higher than last night. There’s so much energy. I can feel it on my skin—like electric shocks.”
While he watched, saying nothing, she began to mutter to herself, checking dials, gauges, monitors. All business now, her movements brisk and precise, she turned to her recorder.
“Event commenced at thirteen-twenty and five seconds. Sharp sensory stimuli. Visual, olfactory.” As if distracted, she ran a hand over her hair, then competently recounted everything that had happened.
“An overall sense of well-being,” she finished, “of happiness. Love. It’s possible sexual anticipation was caused by previous stimulation rather than the event, or was enhanced by previous stimulation.” She tapped her finger on her lips, thinking. “End of event thirteen-twenty-four and fifty-eight seconds, which at four minutes and fifty-three seconds makes it the longest to date.”
On a long breath, she set the recorder down. “And the strongest,” she murmured.
“Previous stimulation?”
She pulled herself out of her thoughts and turned to Shane. “I’m sorry, what?”
“Is that what you’re calling it? Previous stimulation?”
“Technically.” She dragged her hands through her hair again until it stood up in spikes. “That was incredible, absolutely incredible. Last night I was sitting in the kitchen, and I could see it change. It was smaller, and there was a fire in a little stone hearth, pies on the windowsill. There was a baby crying, Shane.” Excitement sparkled in her eyes and seemed to shimmer in the air around her. “I got the baby crying on tape. I recorded it.”
Pressing her hands to her cheeks, she laughed. “I could hardly believe it myself, even after I played it back half a dozen times. That’s why I got out the wine. A little toast that turned into several big ones. I meant to tell you this morning, but we got distracted.”
“Distracted.”
Finally, the edgy tone of his voice, the flat look in his eyes, pierced through her exhilaration. The glow faded from her cheeks. He was pale, his face set, his eyes hard.
“Why are you angry?”
“Because this is nonsense,” he tossed back, preferring anger to the heady sensation of fear. “And because I don’t like being called a distraction, or a previous stimulation.”
“That’s not it at all.”
“Don’t you start on me. Keep your degrees in your pocket, and don’t poke in my brain.”
“You’re not angry,” she said quietly. “You’re scared.”
For an instant, his eyes were lethal. “I’ve got things to do.”