When Lightning Strikes

Slowly she brought her left foot over the saddle's seat and shifted to face him. Dangling both feet directly in front of Killian, she looked down at him. The memory of his embrace came at her without warning, stunning her in the intensity of her reaction. For a split second she imagined herself slipping downward, letting herself be enfolded in his powerful arms, letting herself be comforted.

Fool. She pushed the images away. Clutching the cantle's leather rim in tired, sweaty fingers, she slid downward. The toes of her boots touched his legs, rus-

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tied the warm denim of his pants, before her feet hit the ground.

His body loomed in front of her, pinned her between him and Captain's damp flank. The humid scent of the animal's sweat filled the air between them. Killian stood as still as a statue, his legs spread slightly, his arms behind his back. She felt the heat of his body against her, felt the warmth of his gaze on her face.

She wet her lips nervously and aimed the gun at his chest, thankful that his hands were tied. That had been a good decision. "Back up."

He waited a full minute, then did as she asked. When they were about ten feet apart, he smiled. "I can't be much help with my hands tied."

"That's true, you can't." She flicked the gun to the side an inch. "Sit there. I'll make us a fire."

He stared at her, saying nothing, not moving. Lainie straightened, forced herself to meet his probing gaze head-on. You 're in control here, she reminded herself a dozen times in the split second the silence lasted. Only you.

Slowly he backed up and sat down on a fallen tree. "I guess I can watch a woman work."

"Of course you can. It's how the West was won." Without another word, Lainie gathered up a few branches and twigs, and threw them onto a pile alongside the river. Reaching into the saddlebags, she pulled out the matchbox and lit the fire. Soon wispy trails of smoke spilled upward, followed by crackling, licking flames.

"I have to take a piss."

She gave him a tired wave. "Thank you for that urinary tract update. So go."

There was a silence that seemed to last forever, until finally he laughed. It was a rich, rumbling sound that

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drew Lainie's gaze. He was staring at her, and through the shadows on his face, she could just make out his eyes. They were crinkled in the corners, drawn in what would have been a smile on any other man.

She frowned suspiciously. "What?"

He got to his feet and walked toward her. She flinched at every step and wanted to turn away. But she stood her ground, tried to look disinterested. He came to within inches of her and stopped. Leaning close, he whispered in her ear, "My hands are tied."

It took Lainie a split second to get it. Then she drew in a sharp breath, her eyes widened. "I'm not untying your hands."

"Then you'll have to unbutton my trousers and take my?"

"Enough!"

He laughed again, and she wanted to slap his face. "Fine," she spat, shoving him away from her. "Turn around."

Still laughing, he stumbled backward and spun around, wiggling his fingers.

She advanced warily, keeping the gun prominently in front of her. With one hand, she untied the sagging knot and unwound the rope. "You have two minutes."

Without looking back, he strolled away from her, fading into the darkness just beyond the fire's glow.

Lainie backed up slowly and found her own place for privacy. When she was finished, she set the gun down on the dirt and stretched her fingers, hearing the snapping creak of tired bones. Standing, she let out a long sigh and pushed the damp tendrils of hair from her eyes. The endless darkness of the desert spilled out before her, a wavering palette of gray and black shadows that melted into a starless, lightless night sky.

"Lainie?"

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His voice came at her from the darkness, a curious mixture of anger and worry. The control she'd fought for slipped a notch. She hugged herself, trying to make the feelings go away. Slowly she turned toward him.

In the campfire's throbbing circlet of light, he stood tall and straight, his black duster flapping softly in the wind. There was no sardonic smile on his face this time, no taunting curve of a thick eyebrow. His face was drawn into an intense frown. Deep lines etched his mouth and eyes.