When Lightning Strikes

She turned slightly and met his gaze.

The pain and hopelessness in her eyes hit him like a physical blow. It came to him suddenly?crazily?that she'd looked at him like this before. He felt ... disjointed ... confused. Something about this moment was impossibly familiar.

She bit down on her lower lip, but it was too late. He'd seen the tremble in her mouth. "I'm in a coma," she murmured. "That's the only explanation. I've had hours to think about it, and it's the only answer that makes sense. I'm in a hospital bed somewhere, with needles sticking out of my arms. Maybe on Demerol." She glanced up at him, her face drawn into an earnest frown. "I want to wake up now."

He almost asked her who Demerol was, but he stopped himself just in time.

It didn't matter. Demerol could be her husband and it didn't matter. None of this craziness mattered. All that mattered was getting her back to the ridge and finding out how the hell she knew so much about him and his men.

72

73

"You're not listening to me," she said, her soft voice becoming a bit more strident. "I said I need to wake up now."

"You are awake," he said.

"Ha. Naturally you would think so. This is the only world you know."

Another meaningless statement to which there was no rational response. Thank God. The more she talked, the less he cared about the vulnerability he'd seen in her eyes.

He pushed the sleeping bag back and reached for his boots, checking them quickly for snakes. Plunging his stockinged feet in the worn, broken-in leather, he got to his feet. "Grab a few more sticks for the fire. I'll get the coffee started."

She sat up and gave him a wry, forced smile. "I suppose a double tall latte with skim milk is out."

"Huh?"

She sighed, shook her head. "I've got to work harder on your dialogue."

His eyes narrowed. "Is that an insult?"

"It depends on your point of view." She sighed. "Aw, hell, I don't feel up to fighting with my own imagination. Coffee's great. What are we having with it?"

"Beans."

"One of my favorite breakfast foods." She peeled the sleeping bag back from her legs and crawled out, then she turned and started rolling up the bag.

Killian watched her. She was crouched low, her once stiff and now wavy hair flopping against her cheek. The earrings she wore?and there were at least three in each ear?glinted in the early morning sunlight. Her profile was sharp and defined, her skin creamy and pale. There was a sadness to her mouth, a downturn to the edges

that made him wonder what kind of life she'd had. She was damned young to look so sad.

He pulled his gaze away from her and stared at the rock wall behind them. He was losing his mind. What the hell did he care why she looked sad? She meant nothing to him.

She finished tying the sleeping bag and sat back on her heels, running a hand through her hair. The short black curls bounced immediately back in place, covering one eye. "I need some mousse."

He ignored her. At least he tried to. "Uh-huh."

"And an Excedrin. This Demerol is giving me a headache." She stared at him, obviously waiting for him to respond?as if he had a moose standing by?and when he didn't, she sighed dramatically.

He shook his head, completely at a loss. "Where in the Christ are you from, lady?"

She gave a hollow laugh and didn't look at him. "The posse left way before dawn. They wanted to get the jump on you."

He stared at her for a second, feeling the blood drain from his face. What in the hell had he been thinking, for Christ's sake?

He made a growling, angry sound of disgust. That was the problem. He hadn't been thinking. He'd been staring into her goddamn eyes and wondering why she was so sad, wondering who would let a child smoke at eleven.

He cursed his own stupidity. It didn't occur to him to wonder how she knew about the posse. He accepted it as truth. Somehow he knew she was right, and the knowledge made him even angrier. He'd been so caught up by the sorrow in her eyes that he hadn't even bothered to question her.