A Handful of Heaven

"Oh, my God ..." Devon breathed.

"I'm not telling you this so you'll feel sorry for me."

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had

It happened to someone else. Some other poor fool of a kid.

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so much from him-his pride, his ability to trust, his willingness to love.

It all fit into place now. The anger he wore like a suit of armor; the drifting, solitary life-style he espoused; the disgust he felt for his fellow man. They were all walls that protected his heart from further injury. The falsely convicted boy had grown into a man who refused to let himself be hurt again. A man who refused to care whether he belonged.

No wonder he refused to leave the refuge of the wilderness. Everyone he'd ever loved had betrayed him.

She sighed. There was nothing she could say that would ease his pain. All she could do was love him as deeply and as well as he'd allow. Maybe someday, if she loved him long enough, he'd realize that his exile was over. Maybe he'd even realize that she wasn't like Mibelle and that his love was safe with her.

With that thought she curled up against his chest and closed her eyes. She was asleep in seconds.

Memory's icy grip eased slowly. He'd made it, he realized suddenly. He'd made it through the darkness and into the light. His eyes slid shut in a moment of silent thanks. He felt better than he had in years: freer, more relaxed.

And all because of Devon.

The woman he loved.

He could no longer deny his own feelings. He needed her: her wit, her laughter, her strength. More even than that, he needed her simple faith.

She made him believe in himself. Because she saw in him more than a reclusive, angry murderer, he became more.

For the first time in his life he wanted something, and he wanted it with a desperation that twisted his gut. He wanted the welcome her eyes promised. He wanted the home her arms offered.

No wonder his stomach was in knots. He wanted something that didn't exist. The home he'd felt in her arms was a false home. Like one of those storefronts on Circle City's main street. It was a home that existed until spring, and then it was gone.

How many times had she promised to leave Dawson City when the river thawed? It wasn't an idle threat either. It was

a plan of action. And, God knew, Devon never turned her back on a plan. As soon as she had enough money for boat fare she'd leave. She couldn't wait to leave the uncivilized Yukon backwater behind her-and the filthy Neanderthal whom she'd slept with because it was "sensible."

Oh, she cared for him. He knew that. But it wasn't enough; not for either of them. They were both stubborn, pigheaded people, and they both knew what they wanted out of life. He wanted to tramp around in the wilderness taking pictures for the rest of his days.

Not so Devon. She might say she'd never marry, but it was what she wanted. It was what every woman wanted: a nice house in town, a husband with a steady job, children, and a dog.

He didn't want any of those things, and he couldn't ask her to adopt his isolated life-style. He loved her too much to turn her into a recluse.

He couldn't leave, and she wouldn't stay. So they'd spend the winter together, laughing, sharing, loving, caring. Pretending spring wasn't coming.

But how could he love her all winter and then return to his old, lonely, meaningless life? For one frozen, magical heartbeat, he would have belonged-and that brief moment would make the return to isolation almost unbearable.

Maybe it would help if he never actually said "Hove you." Maybe if he didn't say the frightening, irreversible words aloud, he could pretend he didn't love her. Then he'd make it through the winter with his soul intact.

Silence wasn't much of a shield. But it was all he had.

Besides, he rationalized, it was better for her if he kept silent. She deserved more out of life than a broken-down old man who was terrified of love. Yes, he'd keep his love a secret. It was better that way. Better for both of them.

Devon snuggled closer against the warmth of Stone Man's body. It didn't help. She rolled onto her back, clutching the blanket to her breasts. Her teeth started chattering. Goodness, she thought, it must be fifty below.