He’d felt Cassie’s body relax next to his as she slept.

But now she moved restlessly and gave a broken cry, awakening him.

He called her name, but whatever nightmare had her in its grasp wasn’t ready to let go. “Cassie!” He shook her shoulder urgently, until finally her eyelids fluttered open. “How do you feel?”

She didn’t look at him as she replied, “Fine. Just a dream. I’ve had it since I was a kid.”

He noted the shakiness of her fingers as she pushed them through her hair. “What’s it about?”

“Murder.”

“Whose murder?”

She looked at him, and her eyes held horror in their depths. “Mine.”

In Sight of the Enemy
Kylie Brant

www.millsandboon.co.uk

For Jordan, who thinks he’s suffered greatly as the “middle child” but has really been spoiled beyond belief! We love you, honey.

Acknowledgments

Special thanks goes to Roxanne Rustand, for her expertise on horses and their behavior, and her unfailing support and friendship; to Vickie Taylor, fellow author, for generously sharing her experience and knowledge of the eastern Texas forests; and to my buddy, Paul Leavens, Director of Emergency Services, Mason City Mercy Hospital, for being my go-to guy every time I’m under deadline and need to shoot someone! I appreciate everyone’s help more than I can say. Any mistakes in accuracy are the sole responsibility of the author.

KYLIE BRANT

lives with her husband and children. Besides being a writer, this mother of five works full-time teaching learning-disabled students. Much of her free time is spent in her role as professional spectator at her kids’ sporting events.

An avid reader, Kylie enjoys stories of love, mystery and suspense—and she insists on happy endings. She claims she was inspired to write by all the wonderful authors she’s read over the years. Now most weekends and all summer she can be found at the computer, spinning her own tales of romance and happily-ever-afters.

She invites readers to check out her online read in the reading room at eHarlequin.com. Readers can write to Kylie at P.O. Box 231, Charles City, IA 50616, or e-mail her at kyliebrant@hotmail.com. Her Web site address is www.kyliebrant.com.

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 1

July

Cassie Donovan was dreaming of murder.

The familiar nightmare dragged her in, clutched her in its vicious grip, making escape impossible.

It was a familiar scene, one she’d experienced repeatedly throughout her life. Each time it was replayed for its audience of one with the same setting, the same characters. But rather than dulling its horror, repetition had honed it like a sharp blade.

The dark-haired woman in the room is packing quickly, frantically. Someone had painstakingly reproduced nineteenth-century splendor in the bedroom, but the panic in her movements is in marked contrast to the antiquated charm of her surroundings. Her yellow ruffled sundress flutters as she moves from dresser to suitcase, dropping a jumble of clothes into it. And then she looks up, an expression of terror on her face, listening to a sound that only she can hear. The lid to the suitcase is slammed shut, the locks engaged and the woman straightens, spine stiff with resolve or fear for the as yet unseen threat.

Cassie moved in the bed restlessly, her subconscious searching for means of escape. But there would be no avoiding the inevitable conclusion. Not for the woman in the bed. Not for the one in the dream.

She sends a quick look toward the half-closed closet door before grabbing the suitcase, carrying it down the hallway to a living room. A man clad in dark trousers and white shirt is already there. Slowly he rolls up his sleeves, first one, then the other. And though the woman lifts her chin, nerves show in the way her fingers tighten around the handle of the suitcase.

“Where are they?”

She doesn’t back down in the face of his angry demand, although she has to be aware of the menace in it.

The pretty Tiffany lamp, with the delicate wisteria winding about the shade, is picked up, sails across the room. When the woman ducks, it shatters against the wall, shards of colored glass spraying like tiny missiles. And then the man lunges, diving for her and the woman dodges, dropping the suitcase. He catches the fabric of her dress, yanks her to the couch and his balled fist smashes into her face.

“Where are they?”

The words are uttered in an enraged roar, the blows raining down fierce and punishing. The woman fights, almost breaks free, but his hands go to her throat and squeeze. She claws at them in an attempt to loosen his grip, but his fingers tighten as reason recedes and temper takes over. Her struggles grow weaker, until finally her hands drop away, one palm facing upward in a silent supplication. And then there’s no sound in the room but the harsh breathing of the man above her, his guttural furious cry.

Cassie gasped for air, her eyes flying open. She was only half-aware that she was on the floor, beside the bed, one hand flung up in a macabre reflection of the woman’s position in the dream. For the next few seconds she concentrated on the simple act of hauling air into oxygen-starved lungs.

She rose awkwardly, then stumbled toward the window. The moon was hanging fat and full in the diamond-studded sky, but the sight failed to soothe her as it usually did. The aftereffects of the nightmare still prickled her skin, and she rubbed her arms to chase away the lingering chill.

The dream had come often enough over the years that it was etched in her memory like acid on glass. If she wanted to, she could call up every tiny detail. The decorative vase on the ornate oak dresser in the bedroom, filled with fragrant gardenias. The Tiffany lamp on the table in the living room, with its delicate flowered vines tracing across the shade. The cameo-backed couch, the polished tongue-and-groove wood floor. The terror and resolve of the woman. The horrible intent of the man.

But try as she might, she could never put a face to the murderer.

It wasn’t until she was older that she’d recognized the void and tried to fill it. But each time the dream replayed, she was a helpless spectator. She could see only the back of the man, from the shoulders down; the width of the rooms; the woman engaged in her last violent struggle for life.

But no, that wasn’t quite true either. Because she could “see” one thing that couldn’t be explained by visual acuity. Although the door to the room’s closet was almost closed, she knew there was a little dark-haired boy huddled inside it, a baby’s soft terry toy clutched tightly in his hands. And she recognized that there were two victims in that house. One who would die and another whose end she’d never know.

For there wasn’t a doubt in her mind that the dream would come true. All of her dreams did.

Cassie didn’t know how old she’d been before she’d become aware of that inexplicable ability she’d been born with. The first instance she could recall she’d been about four and had dreamed every detail of the colt her favorite mare would give birth to. The events in the dreams that had followed over the years had never failed to materialize. But tonight’s nightmare had occurred with the most frequency.

With a hand that still shook she reached up, wiped her clammy forehead. It was easy to guess what had sparked it this time—the room in the bed-and-breakfast where she’d just returned from spending two days with her lover.

Shane had arranged the weekend away as a surprise for her, but her pleasure at his thoughtfulness had died abruptly once they’d walked into their room. When she’d viewed the turn-of-the-century furnishings her blood had run thick and cold. Although not identical to those in the dream, they had been similar enough to cause her a sleepless weekend. She’d tried, but she knew she hadn’t been able to completely hide the strain it had taken. Which hadn’t done a thing to heal the rift that was forming between Shane and herself.

Resting her forehead against the cool pane of glass, she closed her eyes. She shouldn’t have to struggle to hide who she was, what she was, from the only man she’d ever allowed herself to love. Love—real love—meant acceptance, didn’t it? But Shane hadn’t reacted as she’d hoped when she’d tried to explain to him a few weeks ago about the dreams that sometimes came, unbidden. And he was nowhere close to believing that her precognition—or any psychic ability—was real. Especially not when she told him what she’d dreamed about him and his upcoming assignment for Doctors Without Borders.

Her twin brother, Hawk, would frown disapprovingly if he knew she’d been honest with Shane, but she couldn’t fathom a future with a man she had to keep secrets from. And Shane hadn’t rejected her when she’d told him about her ability. She opened her eyes to stare blindly out into the night, taking a measure of comfort from the thought. As dismayed as he’d been by her revelation, he hadn’t walked away. But neither was he anywhere close to believing in it.

The weekend had been a chance for them to repair a relationship that had recently become more tenuous. Appreciation of Shane’s gesture had kept her from suggesting a different place to stay. Had kept her from falling into a deep sleep while there, lest tonight’s nightmare make an appearance. But all she’d managed, in the end, was to delay it.

She gave a little sigh, her breath fogging the window. Rubbing at the condensation absently, she pushed aside the trepidation filling her. The two of them would work through this. They would. What they had was too rare to give up on so easily. He just needed time to adjust, and she could grant him that time. As long as he reached some sort of acceptance in the end.

Turning back toward the room, she stared at the rumpled bedcovers with a renewed sense of dread. She wasn’t ready to crawl back in that bed again. Not while it still took such effort to keep the mental door closed tightly against those all-too familiar images.

But like sneaky fingers of fog, remnants of the dream filtered through her memory, leaving an icy wake. Her bedroom should be a haven. Certainly it couldn’t have been further removed from the one in the nightmare. She’d always deliberately embraced more contemporary furnishings, and the ranch bore her stamp of Southwestern decor. There was nothing fussy or overtly feminine about her bedroom trappings, or her wardrobe. Her clothing favored function and tailoring over frills and ruffles. There wasn’t a hint of the softly feminine touches apparent in the room from the dream.

But despite the effort she’d taken to avoid such similarities, she knew that her efforts would be in vain. Over the years she’d learned to accept the inevitability of the dreams. She could no more prevent them than she could change their events from coming true. There was no doubt that the woman in tonight’s nightmare would eventually die a violent, hideous death. There could be no evading it.

She hugged herself with her arms, in an attempt to control the shudders that worked through her. A familiar sense of fatalism filled her. Because although Cassie couldn’t identify the setting or the time in the dream, the woman’s face was all too familiar. She saw it every time she looked in the mirror.

For as long as she could remember, she’d been dreaming of her own inescapable murder.

Dr. Shane Farhold shifted on his bench seat in the stadium, his gaze flicking over his surroundings idly. Jean-clad men and casually dressed women packed the outdoor arena. Regardless of gender, a full half of the occupants wore Stetsons, and most carried beers afforded by the vendors in the place. It would be hard to imagine a scene further removed from those in his former home in Boston, and the differences were satisfying. After his mother’s death there had seemed little reason to stay in the city. And once his only remaining family had found him again, he’d had every reason to leave.

With an ease born of long practice he shoved that memory aside and concentrated on the voice on the loudspeaker announcing the next contestant in the Bareback Bronc contest. Cassie was up next. As if on cue, his stomach clenched in tight knots. He could use a scalpel to slice open a man’s chest without a moment’s hesitation, but the sight of Cassie on a huge unbroken horse always had the power to turn his blood to ice. He knew all too well just how many bones could break if a person hit the ground with just the right amount of force. He’d pointed that out to her once and she’d only laughed and said that was why she preferred to stay on the back of the horse.

The gate on the chute swung open. There was a split second of stillness, as if the huge roan was trans-fixed by the crowd. Then it exploded out of the chute, a whirling dervish of clashing hooves.

“Relax, Doc,” said the bearded man beside Shane. “She marked out just fine. Always does.”

He didn’t bother to correct the man. His concern was hardly on whether or not Cassie’s feet had been placed above the break of the horse’s shoulder on its first jump out of the chute. Her dainty form atop the furious horse looked spectacularly out of place. The eight-second clock crawled with excruciating slowness, a marked contrast to the frenzied movements of the animal.

Cassie was smiling widely, looking as though she was having the time of her life. The rigging grasped in one hand, her other was raised in the air to avoid accidentally touching the horse or her equipment, an automatic disqualification. The animal reared then spun, engaging in a series of staccato, teeth-jarring sideways jumps.

She looked, to Shane, to be spurring in perfect rhythm with the horse’s movements. If the crowd’s roar of approval was any indication, they agreed. The final couple seconds were a blur, with the animal spinning and bucking wildly. When the buzzer sounded, however, Cassie was still seated, her smile still bright as the pickup men rode out to secure the horse.

Releasing the rigging, she reached over to one of the pickup horses and transferred to it. The horse veered free of the bronc and Cassie slid off its back, turned in Shane’s direction and blew him a kiss before running out of the arena.

Relief mingled with a sort of amused irritation. The man next to Shane guffawed and elbowed him. “What’d I tell you? Cassie knows what she’s doin’. There’s no one knows horses better’n her and Hawk Donovan.” He then fell silent, listening intently as the announcer stated her scores and the crowd applauded once again.

Minutes later, Cassie was slipping into the seat next to his, accepting the congratulations and good-natured ribbing of those around her with equanimity. She went into his arms with an ease that never failed to warm him. “I didn’t catch the score, did you?” When Shane repeated it for her, she wrinkled her nose and shook her head.

“What?” he asked. “That’s a great score. Best so far.”

“With eight more contestants after me, it won’t be good enough to win.” She settled in the seat next to his. “Half the score is based on the horse’s performance, and with my weight I’m never going to be exposed to the horse’s maximum strength.”

She could still surprise him, despite the fact they’d been dating six months. “If you know that going in, why the heck do you take the risks?”

Her lips curved. “For the thrill, of course.” She laughed when she saw his expression. “You know what else would thrill me?”

Her tone was innocent enough. The hand sliding up his leg was anything but. He clamped one hand firmly over hers to stop her teasing, even as his hormones expressed immediate interest. He wasn’t yet entirely comfortable with just how easily he responded to this woman. “What?”

“Letting you take me out of here and…” She leaned closer to breathe the rest into his ear. “…buy me a corn dog.”

Shane winced. “Do you know what they put in those things?”

“No, and don’t ruin it for me. We can’t come to the county fair without tasting all the once-a-year treats.”

He rose and followed her out of the stands. “Okay, but I’m not buying cotton candy. I do have medical ethics to uphold, you know.”

Slipping her arm through his, she leaned her head on his arm. “No problem. I brought my own money.”

Shane leaned back on the one empty bench they managed to find in the crowded midway and stretched out his legs. Crossing his arms over his stomach, he barely managed to stifle a groan. Despite his best intentions, he hadn’t done particularly well at withstanding Cassie’s constant invitations to take “just a bite.” As a result, he’d ingested some of the most dubious offerings masquerading as food he’d ever experienced. Following her gaze to a nearby food cart, he said emphatically, “Don’t even think about it. After three corn dogs—which could be more aptly named heart attack on a stick—cotton candy, a pretzel, a caramel apple and something called wild melon sorbet, you can’t possibly be thinking of eating a funnel cake.”

With a look of unmistakable regret on her face, she nodded. “You’re right. I should give it another hour. I’ll be hungry again by then.”

He cocked an eyebrow, raked her slight figure with disbelief. “Your metabolism just might constitute a medical miracle. I should alert researchers at the National Institute of Health.”

Quick reflexes had him deflecting the elbow she jabbed at him. “Not everything has a scientific explanation, you know. And my metabolism is only one of my inexplicable talents.”

Her words managed to puncture his feeling of well-being. He didn’t want to engage in yet another conversation about her so-called abilities. Not for the first time he wondered what had happened to the woman he’d thought he’d known. The one full of life and fun, but with shadows of secret sorrows in her eyes that she’d never spoken of. The one whose sudden claim of psychic ability terrified and dismayed him by turns.

Deliberately, he changed the subject. “What’s the game plan for the rest of the afternoon? Are you signed up for any more death-defying events?”

She laughed, shook her head. “Nope, but you really haven’t experienced the fair until you enter something yourself. I think they’re still looking for contestants for the pie-eating contest.”

Apparently the expression on his face was its own answer. She went on without pausing a beat. “No? Well, the longest beard is out, because even if you’d been interested, you didn’t get the head start most of those guys did. Although,” she reached up, rubbed her hand over his unshaven jaw, “I have to say, the day-old beard is a good look for you.” Her fingers lingered, and her touch, coupled with the slow smile she gave him, ignited an immediate flicker of heat.

“Really?” He lowered his voice intimately. “That’s not what you said when my whiskers were leaving marks on your skin yesterday morning. I distinctly remember when I was kissing your breasts and you said—”

“Or we could go see Hawk at the horse barn.” Cassie jumped up, her cheeks flushed. “I probably should. He’s been stuck with the chores all day.”

Shane rose as well, satisfied by the flare of color his suggestive remark had brought to her face. The woman was a study of contrasts. Strong and confident in her reputation as one of the leading horse breeders in the nation, yet appearing almost unsure sometimes of the allure of her own femininity. Assertive on one hand, with flashes of an unexpected vulnerability that had gotten to him from the first. Discovering the layers of her was an endless fascination.

Or had been until he’d uncovered the one thing about her that would have sent him running from any other woman. The one thing that he’d never be able to live with.

An innate protectiveness had him moving closer to her side, to shield her from the mob of people jostling around them as they made their way to the horse barn. He couldn’t explain to himself why he hadn’t run, couldn’t explain the stubborn hope he clung to that he could talk her out of her sudden foolishness. He only knew it was imperative that he do so.

The crowd thinned as they got closer to their destination. Cassie’s steps slowed as they approached a line of children having their faces painted by an older woman sitting on a stool at the edge of the midway. There were shrieks of laughter as the children dodged around them on their way back to their waiting parents, eager to show off the small brightly colored pictures adorning their cheeks.

“Well, this seems like a harmless enough interest,” he said, glancing down at her. She’d come to a complete halt, her gaze fixed on the woman with the paints. “Are you getting the lasso or the horse?”

Her head cocked, Cassie stared intently at the woman. “She looks familiar, but I don’t think I know her, and I recognize just about most in the county.”

Shane shrugged. The sun overhead was merciless in a way he’d been unfamiliar with until he’d experienced Texas heat firsthand. He found himself wondering if the horse barn would be air-conditioned. Somehow he doubted it.

“Maybe she’s someone who travels the county fairs in the area,” he suggested.

At that moment, the older woman looked up and smiled. “Come, Cassie, it’s your turn now.”

There was a slight accent to her words that Shane couldn’t identify, but it matched the exotic slant of her eyes. Aside from that, her appearance blended in with most of the other fairgoers. She was dressed in jeans, boots and a short-sleeved denim shirt. Her long dark hair was streaked with white, and she wore it pulled back in a simple ponytail.

Cassie smiled tentatively and walked toward the lady. “I’m sorry. I feel like I should know you.”

“You know a great many things, not all of which can be explained. But you trust in your gift, as you should. You’ll share that ability with one to come, and teach her to nurture it. As you must. The ability that brings you your greatest sadness will also save your life.”

Shane felt, rather than saw, the jolt the words had on Cassie. And he’d heard as much cryptic nonsense from the stranger as he wanted to. “C’mon, Cass,” he said shortly. “I thought you wanted to go see Hawk.”

But she remained rooted to the ground, her gaze on the woman before her. If she’d heard him, she gave no sign of it. The older lady leaned forward, a slight lilt to her voice. “Your daughter will share your gift and you will teach her to use it well, not hide it as you’ve been forced to. Accept your future without the fear you’re used to regarding it with. There is joy there, as well as sorrow.”

“My daughter? But when…”

Irritation turned to something else. His hand went to Cassie’s back, in an effort to move her away. “Lady, this fortune-telling nonsense might play with the rest of the fairgoers, but you picked the wrong couple to lay it on.” He couldn’t believe his damnable luck. All Cassie needed right now was a stranger’s babblings to encourage her in her own ridiculous notions.

Her attention switched to him. “It is you, Shane, who regards it as nonsense, but you must learn to listen, and to accept. Cassie’s fear for you is well founded. Afghanistan holds dangers for you that cannot be comprehended. Consider well before deciding your course. Your decision will change everything.”

There was a moment of stunned shock before fury began to boil. He looked at Cassie, a bitter sense of betrayal almost choking him. “No wonder she looks familiar to you. How long did it take for the two of you to cook this thing up?”

Cassie stared at him, a mask of confusion on her face. “What? Shane, this only proves what I’ve been trying to tell you. I knew you shouldn’t go on that assignment. It isn’t too late. You could still back out.”

He took a step away from her. And then another. It was safer that way, given the rage surging through him. “Someone more easily controlled might even fall for this scene. Of course, a more honest woman would never have set up such an elaborate ruse to manipulate a man, but hey, whatever means necessary, right?”

Hurt mingled with determination in her expression, but he wasn’t going to allow it to affect him. Not when it appeared that he’d been the biggest fool of all time. Had he given it a thought, he would have found it ironic that the greatest betrayals in his life had been perpetuated by frauds and fakes who’d pretended to love him.

But he wasn’t much in the mood to appreciate the irony.

“Shane, you have to listen.” There was desperation in Cassie’s voice, in the clutch of her fingers when she laid them on his arm. “If you go through with that assignment, I’m afraid you may not come home alive. I told you about my dream—”

He jerked away from her touch. “You told me. What you didn’t tell me was the lengths you’d go to get your own way.”

“This isn’t about me! It’s about—”

“Finally something we can agree on.” His jaw was tight, his chest felt as if a vise squeezed it. “This isn’t about you at all. Not anymore.”

The older woman was speaking again, but he couldn’t hear her. There was a roaring in his ears, and a fist punching his heart as he turned to leave. The first step felt like a surgical slice, neatly peeling away a part of his life he’d begun to think of as permanent. With the second step, a blessed sort of numbness settled in and he welcomed it, even knowing it wouldn’t last. The lack of feeling made it possible to take the next step. And then the next. Soon he was striding rapidly toward the parking lot where he’d left his vehicle. Away from the charlatan spouting her cryptic psychic nonsense.

And away from the only woman he’d ever loved.

Chapter 2

Three months later

Shane pushed open the door of his house and was immediately assailed by the dual odors of Pine-Sol and stale air. Although his housecleaner had been instructed to keep the place clean in his absence, she’d obviously neglected to air it out regularly.

He walked through the entryway to drop the bundle of mail he’d collected from the Post Office, then went back to the porch to retrieve his bags. He set them down in the hallway, nudging them out of the way with one foot. Leaving the door open, he went back to deal with the mail that had accumulated in his absence.

The place felt foreign, distant somehow. Which was amazing, considering the places he’d been living for the past several months.

Living. That was the operative word. He’d come back to the States alive. There had been times he’d been convinced that would never happen.

Without any real interest, he began sorting through the mail. Half of it was junk, which he set aside to be discarded later. There was an oddly disorienting feeling to be reading advertisements guaranteeing financial success, and catalogs featuring malnourished, scantily clad models, when only twenty hours earlier he’d been in a country where a man was routinely killed for the dollar in his pocket or the half-worn boots on his feet. Where a baby died for lack of ample penicillin. Where the medications that could save lives were bartered by warlords and thieves as lucrative items on a thriving black market.

Like a flick of a switch he turned that memory off and concentrated on the task at hand. Three piles—for junk, professional and personal. The latter was woefully thin, consisting of only a letter that looked to be from his lawyer. Until… His hand faltered when he came upon the plain white envelope without a return address. He didn’t need one. He recognized the handwriting.

Cassie’s.

A memory of her face flashed into his mind, its appearance a bit too easily summoned for comfort. With slightly more difficulty, he pushed the mental image aside. She was out of his life. Had been for three months. Nothing contained in the message would change that.

He let the letter drop from his fingers to land on the top of the third pile, and continued sorting. The wound in his shoulder had stiffened up on the plane and throbbed dully. The bandage needed to be changed, and he’d have to get a new prescription now that he was home. Somehow he couldn’t summon the interest or inclination to do any of that at the moment.

The phone rang, the sound startling in the silence of the house. Shane answered it and, upon hearing the voice on the other end, felt his blood go glacial.

“Shane? Oh, thank the goddesses. Where have you been?”

“Gran.” His voice was flat. “How did you find me?”

He could almost picture the careless wave of her hand. “Oh, that doesn’t really matter, does it, sweetie? What matters is that you’re finally home. Someone at the hospital where you work told me that you were out of the country. Did you enjoy your vacation? I always worry about your working too hard.”

Shane’s mouth twisted wryly. “The vacation was fine. What do you want?”

Her voice went persuasive. “Now, dear, don’t sound like that. I just wanted to say hello, that’s all. Family should keep in touch, and with your dear mother gone we need each other more than ever.”

“Difficult to figure, considering I never needed you at all.” He looked at his reflection in the mirror hanging above the hall table. A stranger stared back at him. Hair that hadn’t been cut in months, three days’ growth of beard on his face, partially hiding a fresh scar that began beneath his chin and zigzagged down three inches to the right. Surface changes, for the most part, with the exception of his eyes. Ghosts lurked there, haunted fragments of memory that he doubted he’d ever shake. But for all the changes, he was still Dr. Shane Farhold.

He just wasn’t certain who that man was anymore.

“Shane? Are you still there?”

“Yes.” With a mental jerk, he shifted his attention back to the woman on the other end of the line and answered her question.

“Well, that’s good, then. I wanted to tell you about the sweetest little shop I’ve set up. I’m selling Wiccan items and teaching some classes. You can’t believe the response I’ve gotten. With my ability for summoning the spirits, there’s a never-ending stream of people who are lonely for a long departed loved one. But not all people are open-minded about that, as you recall.”

He read the underlying message in what she didn’t say. “Run a little afoul of the local law, did you?”

Her tone was just right. A little bewildered, with a touch of the shakiness one might expect in a seventy-year-old woman. Except that Genevieve Fleming had never exuded signs of her age in her entire life. She didn’t admit to it at all, unless it could help her in some way. “They’re hounding me, Shane, treating me like some common criminal. They want a payoff, of course, a bribe to leave me alone to conduct my business in peace.”

“Really.” When he noticed his fist clenching, he consciously relaxed it, continued sorting the mail. “Are you sure it’s a bribe they want, Gran? I believe it’s more commonly referred to as bail.”

There was a moment of silence, while she rapidly regrouped, but only a moment. She’d always been quick to recover. Quick to assess any situation and milk it for all she was worth. Then she gave a martyred sigh, like a woman trying her best to be strong. “You have caller ID, I suppose. Well, as a matter of fact, I hadn’t wanted to alarm you, but for some reason I’ve been put in jail. I don’t know how to handle this. I feel so alone.” Her voice broke.

There had been a time, even a few months ago, when the sound would have tugged at his conscience. Guilt was a habit decades in the making, difficult to break. But right now he felt nothing. No guilt. No compassion. Nothing but a weary sort of irritation that he might have felt for a particularly annoying stranger. His grandmother was little more than that, at any rate.

“Considering your experience with jails around the country, it’s hard to believe you’re totally out of your element.” He tossed a credit card application onto the discard pile. “You have my lawyer’s number. Use it.”

“He hasn’t been helpful at all. Do you know, he expects me to plead guilty? If he was really worth the money you pay him, he’d post my bail and have the charges dismissed. He refuses to get me out of here.”

“Because you’ve skipped bail the last two times you’ve been arrested,” he reminded her. “Leaves us in a rather uncomfortable position when you can’t be depended on to show up for the court date.” His gaze dropped once more to the plain white envelope, its very simplicity inviting him to pick it up. Open it. To delve once again into a morass of emotion that he was reluctant to repeat. There was something to be said for the lack of feeling he’d been experiencing for the past few weeks. Absence of emotion also meant absence of pain. One of those damn silver linings the Pollyanna types always talked about. If he had an ounce of self-preservation left, he’d toss the letter away with the junk mail.

“Shane, if you’d just fly here to talk to me, I’m sure we could work this out. I need to see my only grandchild.” Genevieve’s voice quavered a bit. “Remember when you lived with me what a great team we made? We were inseparable.”

He smiled humorlessly. “Actually, I do remember teaming up with you. I remember everything. Which is why I have no interest in a reunion. I’d recommend that you call my lawyer and follow his advice. There’s nothing more I can do.” He was disconnecting the phone with one hand, even as he picked up Cassie’s letter with the other.

He could think of no better time to read her letter than right after dealing with his grandmother. They had, after all, so much in common. With any luck he could dispense with Cassie’s message as easily, as emotionlessly, as he had with Genevieve.

But that hope was dashed when he read the single line printed on the page.

We need to talk.

There was nothing else. Just four words followed by her neat signature. Nothing to hint at her reasons for contacting him. Certainly their last fight, a few days after the fair, had been passionately final.

We need to talk.

They’d said everything they needed to each other then, and, if truth be told, even more. When he remembered the bitterness with which they parted, regret surged, forging through the shield he’d erected around his heart. But as often as he’d turned it over in his mind, he’d never been able to figure another way for them.

He looked at the postmark on the envelope. It had been mailed after he’d been in Afghanistan for two months. His original assignment had been for four weeks, but he’d made arrangements to extend it. And then he had ended up staying even longer than he could have imagined.

His gaze dropped to the letter again. Whatever she wanted to talk to him about had already waited a month. Maybe she’d written the note in a weak moment, driven by memories and remorse. Perhaps she’d thought better of the missive as soon as it was mailed. At any rate, what would they talk about? If there was one thing he’d learned in the past few months, it was that regret never changed anything. What was done was done. And then one just figured out how to live with the results.

We need to talk.

He didn’t need to talk to Cassie. He didn’t need her on any level. He’d spent three long months learning that. What he needed at this moment was to contact the hospital, get himself back on rotation. To unpack and deal with his wash. Get some medical supplies, including a prescription of painkillers and maybe, if the mood struck him, a haircut so he wouldn’t scare his patients. Those were his priorities right now, and every one of them could be accomplished without dredging up painful feelings that were better left safely buried.

Decision made, he balled the note up in his hand, let it drop to the floor and headed out the door.

Cassie murmured soothingly to the half-wild stallion, not attempting to move any closer to it. Its rolling eyes and flared nostrils told her exactly how agitated it was. Now she’d see how much she’d taught it about trust.

Her hand inched upward a fraction of an inch at a time, even as she kept up a running litany of calming sounds. Her gaze never left the animal’s eyes. That was where she’d see its reaction first.

It whickered nervously, backed up a little, flicked its tail. She moved forward a step and it went still, warning her. She froze, but never stopped her low, soothing monologue. The horse shook its mane and danced sideways, then finally lowered its head and pricked its ears, watching her.

Recognizing that the timing was right, Cassie reached out slowly, stroking its shoulder before easing forward to rub its neck. When it lowered its head further, she snapped a lead rope on the halter and led it quietly toward the hands waiting in the barn’s entrance.

“Damn if I know how she does it.” Lonny, their newest and youngest hand, shook his head. “He was as spooked as I’ve ever seen him.”

“He’s been off his feed,” Cassie frowned consideringly. “Maybe we should get the vet out here to give him a going-over. He could be coming down with a virus.”

Jim reached out to take the lead rope and Cassie stepped back. “You’re getting as good at that as Hawk, Cass.”

She laughed. “No one’s as good as Hawk when it comes to communicating with animals. But I’ve picked up a thing or two from him.”

“You’ve put in a long day. Why don’t you knock off?” The older man handed the horse off to Lonny, who led it away.

Gritting her teeth, Cassie mentally counted to ten before returning evenly, “I’m okay.”

In his forties, Jim Burnhardt was their senior hand, and an invaluable help around the ranch. But he’d gotten into the habit of watching over her like a mama over her chicks in her brother’s absence. Which told her, better than words, that her brother had specifically instructed him to do so.

Jim faced her again, eyeing her shrewdly. “When’s Hawk coming home, anyway?”

“We spoke a few days ago, but he didn’t say when he was returning.” Removing his hat, Jim slicked his hand through his hair. “I was planning on going to town for more feed, but if you’re going to work some more, I can stick around.”

You’d think, Cassie thought aggrievedly, that she hadn’t been working alongside the ranch hands since she was ten. Not for the first time, she wished she could give her brother a swift kick for making everyone around here suddenly see her as an invalid. “Go ahead and pick up the feed. The hardware store called, too, and the rolls of barbed wire we ordered are in. If you leave now, it’s still going to be close to dark before you can get back. Why don’t you just go straight home from town. You can bring the supplies with you tomorrow morning.”

Jim hesitated, clearly torn between the logic of her suggestion and a misdirected sense of responsibility. “That makes sense, but…are you done outside here for the day, then?”

Patience, never her strong suit, abruptly splintered. “For Pete’s sake, Jim, I’m more than capable of—” One look at the man’s stoic countenance had her biting off the rest of her sentence. It was clear from his expression that her outburst wasn’t going to change his mind, and he wasn’t the one she needed to convince, at any rate. Hawk was behind this new suffocating mantle of protectiveness all the ranch hands had donned in his absence. Snapping at Jim wasn’t going to change that.

“Fine.” Her surrender wasn’t managed with particular graciousness. “Tell Lonny and the others they can leave once the chores are done. I’ll go concentrate on paperwork.”

“That’s good, then,” Jim said, plainly relieved. “You probably have plenty of that with the Greenlaurel Horse Sale coming up.”

The fact that he was right didn’t make her feel any better as she headed from the corral to the house. She much preferred spending her time engaged in physical labor. The trouble with paperwork was that it left the mind too much time to think. And those thoughts all too frequently focused on the one man she’d loved, then lost.

At least, she consoled herself, he was alive. The county rumor mill was alive and in good working order. She’d heard Shane was headed home, but details of his health had been maddeningly spare.

She took off her boots in the mudroom before heading through the kitchen toward the den. She’d spent more than a few months caught with emotions swinging wildly between hope and despair. There had been a finality to their last scene that was only partially owed to their breakup. Despite his refusal to believe her, she’d known what he’d been heading toward when he left for Afghanistan.

She just hadn’t known if he’d come back alive.

The dream she’d had about his assignment there had been maddeningly incomplete, a collage of hazy snippets bursting with violence. The shot ringing out in the dead of night…the blood pouring from his body as it tumbled out of the jeep to the ground…

Living for months with those images branded on her mind would be enough to cause stress for anyone. And more than ever she was convinced that the recent changes in her health were due to just that: stress. She’d neither eaten nor slept well following Shane’s departure. The waiting had been agonizing. Surely that was enough to explain the sudden lapses in thought she’d been experiencing the past couple months; the short interruptions in concentration and speech that had gotten Hawk increasingly concerned. Especially after it happened while she was working with the stallions.

She walked to the den and, with a sigh, settled in behind the large desk. She and her twin brother despised paperwork equally, and when he was around, they split the workload. But in his absence, she was forced to shoulder his share as well as her own. It wasn’t a chore she relished.

It was unusual for Hawk to leave the ranch for any amount of time. But when the doctors in Greenlaurel had been unable to come up with a reason for her condition, he’d been determined to find one himself. He’d undertaken the search for their birth mother with the express purpose of discovering something, anything, in their genetic history that would help treat Cassie’s condition.

And he’d been successful, for the most part. He’d managed to trace their birth mother, who was long deceased. He’d even, to her amazement, discovered they had a brother, a triplet, who she’d yet to meet. He’d been stingy with the details. But he had found notes that indicated their mother had experienced spells much like Cassie’s. He’d called Cassie a few days earlier with a recipe for a tea that helped with the worst of the symptoms. The organic drink had accomplished what the endless round of medical tests and medications had failed to do. Unfortunately, she couldn’t convince the hired help of that fact.

An hour went by, and then another. Cassie took a break for a quick dinner of soup and a salad before trudging back to the den. If she stayed at it until bedtime, she’d just about be caught up. With any luck, that would mean she wouldn’t have to do more paperwork until right before the sale, which would be in another ten days. And by that time, Hawk would be home and she just might be able to guilt him into believing it was his turn at the desk.

The Greenlaurel Horse Sale was becoming a major source of income for the ranch. As their reputation as breeders of horses for dressage and jumping had grown, they’d had to do less and less traveling around the country, finding instead that potential buyers were seeking them out. The local sale gave them an avenue to showcase their stock and to place orders. Their sale bills had been circulating for months. Local motels in the area were fully booked for the date. And although Hawk had been vague about when he was returning home, there wasn’t a doubt in Cassie’s mind that he’d arrive well before the event.

She was almost finished double-checking the files on each of the horses they were offering for sale when her fingers faltered, then stilled. A kaleidoscope of colors wheeled past her eyes and her heart began to pound. There was a sensation of speed, as if she were hurtling along atop a locomotive, her surroundings a blur. And then just as abruptly the sensations faded, leaving only brief, fragmented flashes in their wake. The bits formed a confusing mural of images that shifted and swirled before gradually settling into a recognizable form.

When the mental fog lifted, she looked around, disoriented. The first thing she saw was the tea she’d mixed with her dinner and carried in here, unfinished. With a hand that still shook, she reached for the glass, raised it to her lips and sipped.

The glass was set back on the desk and Cassie rolled her chair back, troubled. She hadn’t had an episode since Hawk had given her this recipe, their birth mother’s recipe, to try. Twice a day she mixed it, drinking it with breakfast and dinner. She’d missed her second dose only by a couple hours, and the symptoms had not only returned, but intensified.

She took a deep breath. Well, it wasn’t the end of the world. At least she knew now how important it was to stay on schedule with the mixture. She waited a couple more minutes until her pulse had slowed, before getting up to go to the front door. The bell rang a moment before she reached it, as she’d known it would. And when she pulled the door open, she recognized the strangers standing before her. She’d “seen” them five minutes earlier.

“Cassie Donovan?”

The woman who spoke wore her dark hair long, with no attempt made to disguise the gray in it. She looked to be in her forties, but given the care she took with her appearance, was probably older. There was a look of competence about her, and a shrewd calculation in her eyes.

“I’m Cassie.” Although her tone was friendly enough, she made no move to unlock the screen door between them. Dusk was rapidly approaching, and the place was isolated. Cassie had never feared staying alone at the ranch, but she’d been raised to be aware of the dangers, and took precautions.

“I’m Darla Billings. This is my husband Stan.” Cassie glanced at the large man beside her and thought they made an odd couple. He was bulky with a muscular build that was owed more to pumping iron than to the physical labor found on a ranch. His complexion was ruddy, his blond hair slicked back and his gray gaze inscrutable.

“This is unforgivably rude of us, I know.” At the woman’s rueful voice, Cassie’s attention shifted back to her. “We drove from Kentucky, intending to visit family and then come to Greenlaurel for the horse sale. But since we were passing so close, I couldn’t resist stopping by and seeing whether it would be possible to take a peek at your stock. We’ve been poring over your sale bill for weeks and I’m determined to take at least a couple Donovan Ranch mares back with me.”

“I’m sorry, we don’t do prior sales,” Cassie said.

“Oh, we understand that.” The woman hastened to add. “We just want to be able to narrow down our bidding list so we can concentrate on the stock that really interests us.”

Cassie hesitated. It was an unusual request, but she was well aware of the lengths some people would go to get an advantage over others. And it seemed harmless enough. “Well…maybe you could come back tomorrow. There’s not much daylight left.” Innate caution prevented her from mentioning that her crew had left for the day. There was a niggling sense of discomfort that might have been left over from her earlier flash of this scene. Whatever its source, she had no intention of giving them a tour of the barns this evening.

“We’ll be on the road again tomorrow.” Stan spoke for the first time, his voice gravelly, as if from disuse. “Darla’s folks live in New Mexico and we’re heading there at dawn. We won’t get back until the night before the sale.”

“I’m not sure I—” Cassie stopped midsentence as she looked beyond the couple’s Dodge pickup to the thin column of dust rising from the lane leading to the ranch. “Well, it looks like this is my night for company.”

Both turned to look at the vehicle approaching from a distance. They exchanged a quick glance before facing her again. “I’m sorry, we don’t want to keep you from your guests. Maybe we will come back tomorrow.” When the man at her side seemed about to speak, Darla went on firmly, “Now, Stan, it’s not going to matter if we head to Clayton a few hours later than planned.” The car in the lane drew closer. As if in a sudden hurry to leave, the couple on the porch headed for the steps and began to descend them.

“I’d be glad to show you around if you can make time tomorrow,” Cassie said politely. Whoever was heading for the ranch had just done her a favor. The newcomer’s arrival had convinced the couple to leave, whereas she had been experiencing a decided lack of success. The two got back in their pickup, the woman driving. With a casual wave, she backed up the vehicle and drove away.

Cassie swung the door shut, a bit relieved. More than likely the new arrival would be Jim. He’d probably decided to drop off the supplies tonight rather than waiting until tomorrow as she’d suggested. If that was the case, it was doubtful he’d even come up to the house.

As she headed back to the den, she considered the spell she’d had prior to the strangers’ arrival. The unexpected lapses in thought and activity had worried Hawk enough. But when they’d been followed by these flashes into the immediate future, he’d been driven to act. Had her mother possessed psychic ability, too, she wondered, or had she used the tea recipe only as a means to alleviate the other symptoms they shared? She was eager for Hawk to return home so she could get the answers to these and a multitude of other questions that had plagued her since their last conversation. Her brother wasn’t exactly a chatterbox under the best of circumstances, but on the phone he was even more reticent than usual.

She’d lived with precognition all her life. But always before, her ability had manifested itself when her defenses were down and her subconscious took over. The dreams she had foretold events days, weeks or, in the case of the most frequent one, years in the future. She didn’t understand why that would change now, and other than Hawk, there was no one she could discuss it with.

Cassie gave a little laugh as she imagined sharing that little tidbit with the medical staff at Greenlaurel Community Hospital. They’d have her fitted for a straitjacket and safely ensconced in a padded room in record time. Her brother had been right. No one else could know about her ability. Other people didn’t, wouldn’t, understand. She’d discovered that the hard way.

The doorbell rang again, and Cassie turned back to the door, puzzled. Jim always went to the side door, so she must have been wrong in assuming her visitor was her foreman. With a sliver of apprehension she went to the door, opened it. Then stood frozen in shock when she recognized the man standing before her.

Shane. A dizzying wave of joy hit her, followed by relief, concern and then apprehension again. Her stomach clenched, tying into tight, neat knots, and her mind went abruptly blank. Now that the time had come, she had absolutely no idea what to say to him.

“Are you going to let me in?” His voice was perhaps the most familiar thing about him. Certainly there was nothing in his hard expression that reminded her of the tender lover who had held her in his arms. But given their acrimonious parting, she shouldn’t be surprised.

The memory of that final scene was enough to have her spine stiffening. Shoving aside any softer memories, she unlatched the screen door, held it open.

“I heard you just returned. I didn’t expect to see you so soon.”

She stepped aside as he walked into the house, careful to avoid touching him. She didn’t need to be assailed by familiar memories, to have old feelings rushing back to taunt her with what had been. She didn’t need to realize that the attraction burned just as brightly as it had three months ago. And every bit as futilely.

When she turned from closing the door, he was facing her, one hand jammed in his jeans pocket. Hungrily her gaze moved over him, taking inventory. He was leaner, harder. She looked at his chest, but could see no signs of the injury she knew was hidden beneath his clothes. The jagged scar that worked down the side of his throat made her heart lurch. And then her gaze rose, to rest on his eyes. The eyes of a stranger, one who’d been to hell and back and hadn’t yet adjusted to the journey.

“I don’t know why I came,” he said harshly. “We said all we had to say before I left.”

Anger, a quick violent surge of it, flared through her, like a comet blazing a path through the night sky. “Your brush with death obviously didn’t teach you tolerance.”

He stared at her for a moment, then shook his head. “You talked to Simon at the hospital?”

“All he said was that you were coming home,” she said simply.

He considered her for a moment longer. His friend Simon Thurson was the only person Shane had given even the sketchiest details of his experiences to. Finally he shrugged. “I don’t know what you heard about my injuries, but I’m fine.” At least he would be, once he’d slept for about three days and regained some more mobility in his shoulder. With any luck, he could be back in the operating room within a couple weeks.

Her mouth twisted. “You’re far from fine, Shane. But if you’re convinced, who am I to argue?” She went past him to the couch and sat. He remained where he was. With the remarkable clarity of hindsight he realized he shouldn’t have come. It wasn’t like him to entertain himself by pulling scabs off barely healed wounds. And the wound caused by their breakup was every bit as painful as the injury in his shoulder.

His free hand clenched into a fist. No, he shouldn’t have come. They could have said anything that needed saying in a terse phone call. He’d told himself that the entire time he was in the drugstore. At the hospital. But still he found himself making the drive out to the ranch, calling himself a fool with every passing mile.

“Why don’t you sit down?” Cassie suggested.

“I won’t be staying.” He was far more comfortable keeping a distance between them. Even if he sat on a nearby chair, he’d be able to smell the shampoo in her hair, something fresh and lemony. He’d be able to see the softness of her skin, so at odds with the denim shirt and jeans. He’d remember all the times he’d stripped her and possessed every inch of that softness. Explored it by touch and sight and taste. The nights he’d lain awake with her in his arms, unwilling to sleep and miss a single moment of that magic.

And he’d remember anew the agony of their parting.

“Let’s not do this again, Cass.” His voice was raw. So were his feelings, though he’d half convinced himself he no longer possessed any. “Nothing’s changed, and there’s no reason to put ourselves through hell. It’s over between us.” The words burned his throat as he uttered them. But if they affected her, there was no sign of it on her face.

“You’re right—it is over.” She’d made the biggest mistake of her life when she’d trusted him with her secret. When she’d expected love to mean acceptance. It wasn’t a mistake she’d repeat. And it had been an act of supreme self-indulgence. She knew what the future held for her. She’d dreamed it all too often in excruciating Technicolor detail. It would be hideously unfair to put a loved one through the pain caused by her death. It was better, far better, to limit the number of people it would impact.

She quieted the inner voice jeering at that thought and concentrated on the man before her. “I won’t pretend I wasn’t tempted to avoid this meeting. But you deserve to know the truth.”

“The truth?” A corner of his mouth pulled downward. “I’m not sure you and I can ever agree on exactly what that means.”

His words stung like tiny angry bees. “This has enough scientific evidence to satisfy even you. I’m pregnant. You’re going to be a father.”

Chapter 3

The news punched through him like a fist to the solar plexus, leeching his lungs of oxygen. Senses reeling, Shane shook his head a little, as if that would help him make sense of the incomprehensible.

“But…we were careful.” As soon as he managed the words, he winced. As a doctor, he knew better than most the limitations of birth control. But shock was hazing his thinking, making logic difficult to summon. Cassie was pregnant. And the baby was his. He never entertained a doubt about that.

Raking her still slender form with his gaze, he demanded, “How far along?”

“Fourteen weeks.”

“The bed-and-breakfast,” he murmured.

“Probably.”

For a moment their gazes caught, an unspoken sea of memories eddying between them. Sunlight slanting through the sheers at the window, long leisurely mornings spent in bed as the world had seemed to narrow its focus to just the two of them.

Before the memories could ensnare him, he neatly sidestepped them. “Who’s your doctor? Have you had any tests yet? How’s your health?” He cocked his head, his gaze turning professional. “How much weight have you gained? You are eating, aren’t you?”

“Relax. I’m seeing Dr. Godden.”

Satisfied, he gave a quick nod. “Joanne’s good.”

“And—” a corner of her mouth rose “—you should know by now that nothing could ever keep me from eating.”

She managed to surprise a smile from him. “I remember. But nausea often accompanies the first few months of pregnancy. It’d be better if you could get through it on your own, but there are medications available if you can’t.”

“No nausea. I’ve gained two pounds already.”

He frowned, crossed to sit next to her. “That’s not enough.”

“Dr. Godden isn’t concerned. You shouldn’t be either.” She hesitated then, before adding briskly, “I mean that, too. I don’t want you to worry about anything. Neither of us planned on this, but I’m going to keep the baby and raise it. I thought it would be easiest all around if I gave it my last name. You can be involved to whatever degree is comfortable for you, or not at all, if that’s what you want. The decision is yours.” The last few sentences came out in a rush, as if she’d practiced them long and hard and wanted them uttered before she lost her nerve.

She rose then, and turned toward the door. “I know this is a lot to lay on you all at once as soon as you returned, so feel free to take your time thinking about it. You can let me know whatever you decide.”

There was a little flare of anger directly beneath his heart. As a dismissal, it wasn’t particularly subtle. Reaching for her hand, he tugged on it. She bounced down on the couch again, and he kept her there, not releasing his grip. He waited for her to look at him before saying, “A tidy little speech, Cass, designed to let me off the hook. But you’re overlooking one thing—this baby is mine, too.” Saying the words out loud somehow made them feel more real. “And I’d never walk away. I intend to be fully involved.” Abandonment came easily to some men. Certainly his father had never looked back when he’d left over twenty years ago. There was no way Shane would ever do that to his own child. And the fact that Cassie had thought he might hurt more than it should.

“I…” Her gaze went to their hands. “All right, then. I just wanted you to know you had a choice.”

He smiled humorlessly. “No. I don’t.” He didn’t expect her to know that, or to understand it. Emotional scars could last far longer than physical ones. Every experience, especially the painful ones, left indelible marks on a person’s character. And it wasn’t in Shane’s to walk away from his responsibility, to let his child grow up without a father in its life. He hadn’t changed that much.

“Okay, then.” She tried for a smile, didn’t quite manage to pull it off. When she attempted to slip her fingers from his grasp, he didn’t let her. Wetting her lips, she faced him squarely. “I know this is complicated, but it doesn’t have to be. I’d never deny you access to the child, and if you stay in the area, there’s no reason we can’t share custody. I’d have some concerns with visitation, of course, if you decide to practice elsewhere, say out-of-state, at least until the child is older. But if—”

“I’m not going anywhere.” Thirty minutes earlier he’d never have imagined uttering that sentence. He’d come back to Greenlaurel not knowing anymore who he was or where he belonged. But he had a piece of that answer now, from a most unexpected direction. He belonged with his child.

She tugged at her fingers again. “If you’d let me go, I’ll get the ultrasound picture to show you.”

He released her and she left the room, returning in a minute to hand him the picture. He’d seen many of them, of course. As a resident, he’d done a stint in the OB-GYN unit at Boston General.

So he was unprepared for the tide of emotion that ambushed him then, filling his chest and straining his heart. It shoved aside the clinical, scientific detachment he’d always examined these pictures with before. He stared at the white lines on the picture, detailing the tiny perfect form. Unconsciously he traced them with his forefinger. The baby had one small fist to its mouth, as if already searching for the contentment supplied by a miniature thumb. The date was stamped across the top, almost a month ago, with Cassie’s name next to it.

“Shane?” Cassie’s voice held a question. Only then did he realize how long he’d spent staring at the picture. “You can keep that if you want. I have another.” When he didn’t answer, couldn’t, her voice grew uncertain. “Unless you’ve… Have you changed your mind?”

“No.” Because his throat seemed full, he cleared it. “I haven’t changed my mind.” The curtain of numbness that had shrouded his emotions for long months had begun shredding the moment he’d seen her letter, had rented when she’d opened the door and he’d seen her once again.

His defenses had crumbled when he’d taken one look at the tiny form in the picture and fully realized what it meant. His child.

He took one last glance at the picture before forcing himself to tuck it into his shirt pocket. “Did they tell you the sex?” Although the determination could be tricky at this early date, he had a good idea.

“I didn’t ask.”

He nodded, but his mind was already grappling with a host of other questions. Suddenly a decision that had seemed so easy only minutes ago became fraught with complication, although their situation was hardly an uncommon one. Children grew up all the time with split families.

He’d just never considered it for his child.

Dodging the bleakness that accompanied that thought, he said with more certainty than he was feeling, “We’ll work it out. When’s your due date?”

“April fourth.”

“You should be cutting way back on your work around here.” Concern flickered when he saw the mutinous look on her face. “Cass, you’ll have to take things easy, especially this winter.”

“Dr. Godden says I can continue doing what I’m doing as long as I feel up to it.”

He opened his mouth to argue, then closed it again. Of course, that was standard medical advice for a woman with a low-risk pregnancy. But this was different. This was Cass. And the baby in question was his. It was oddly disconcerting to discover how easily science could be set aside when emotion was involved. He made a mental note to talk privately to Hawk about curtailing Cassie’s activities around the ranch. Despite her slight stature, she worked as hard as any hand on the place. Common sense demanded that she exercise some restraint during the course of the pregnancy.

A sudden thought struck him. “Were you uncertain about the due date originally?”

He noticed the caution creeping into her eyes. “What do you mean?”

“Well, they usually don’t order an ultrasound in the first trimester unless there’s a reason for it. And you said your health is fine, so…”

“Yes, it was for the due date.” It may have been his imagination but her response seemed rushed. “Like I told you, the baby is fine.”

The phone rang then, and Cassie rose, not without a feeling of relief. She’d like to delay any discussion of the tests she’d undergone, and the reason for them, for as long as possible. Shane was very much a man of science. A discussion of her symptoms would only worry him, and he wouldn’t put a lot of stock into the recipe for the tea Hawk had found for her.

As the phone sounded again, she quickened her step. Wild horses couldn’t convince her to tell him about the brief flashes into the immediate future she’d been experiencing. She’d learned too late that he wasn’t a man to accept anything that couldn’t be proved and witnessed with his own eyes.

A moment after answering the phone she heard her brother’s voice on the line and a delighted smile broke out. “You’re not checking up on me, are you? Because I can assure you, Jim makes a pretty effective watchdog.”

“Cassie, thank God.” The urgency in his voice had the smile fading from her lips. “I’ve been trying to get in touch with you. I don’t know how much time we have. You’re in danger. Is Jim there? The other hands?” She heard him swear, the impatience in his epithet familiar. “Damn. I suppose they’ve all gone home for the day.”

She frowned. “Hawk, what’s wrong?” A shiver raced down her spine, and the room seemed suddenly chilled.

“You need to get off the ranch. Now. Go to town and stay with…I don’t know, any of your friends. Sheila maybe, if Rafe will be there. Just go somewhere safe and don’t return until I get to town. It’s going to take me a day or so. I haven’t been able to get a flight yet. If I don’t find something soon, I’ll start driving.”

It was unusual to hear her taciturn brother string two sentences together at once. So this litany of terse orders didn’t get her back up. It filled her with foreboding.

“You’re going to have to be a bit more specific, Hawk. What’s going on? What kind of danger are you talking about?” She glanced up as Shane moved to her side. At his quizzical look, she shrugged. She couldn’t tell him what was going on when she didn’t understand herself.

Rather than snapping at her, as was his custom when she refused to fall in with his plans, he spoke faster. “Someone is coming for you. I don’t know who will appear, but stay away from anyone you don’t know, just to be safe. I can’t give you details now. Just get out of there, Cassie, as quickly as possible.”

“There was a couple here about an hour ago,” she said acerbically. “They wanted to look at the horses we have listed on the sale bill. Irritating, certainly, but hardly cause for alarm.” Annoyance had replaced trepidation. It wasn’t like him to be so dramatic, but he’d been overprotective ever since he’d learned of her pregnancy, and the weird spells that had accompanied it.

“Who were they?” His voice was sharp. “What’d they look like?”

After Cassie described the strangers, she heard her brother’s voice, sounding muffled, as though he were talking to someone next to him. “Sheridan’s found her. She’s already been there.”

“Sheridan?” The shiver was back, an electric current down her back. “They introduced themselves as Billings.” Even as she completed the sentence she knew the couple had lied. There had been something about them from the first that had made her wary. She’d explained away the feeling as a side effect of the mental flash she’d had that had preceded their arrival. Cassie swallowed around a throat that had gone suddenly dry. Aware of the man standing beside her, listening intently, she said, “Hawk, I knew they were coming. Just like I knew about Baby.”

Her brother was silent as he digested the information. She’d called him on his cell a couple days ago, after she’d had one of those strange mental flashes. In this one she’d seen her brother’s beloved dog, Baby, lying on the ground, blood pouring from its flank. Her brother hadn’t been available to answer her call. But when they’d spoken later she’d learned her brother had been involved in a fight for his life, and his pet had been injured by a bullet meant for him.

“This is related to what you found out about our mother, isn’t it? What haven’t you told me about that? Why would people have tried to stop you from discovering the truth about her death?” She felt, rather than saw, Shane’s reaction to her words.

“I’ll tell you everything later,” Hawk promised, a hint of desperation sounding in his voice. “But I think the woman who showed up at your door is Dr. Janet Sheridan. She’s a chemist, and the man she works for will stop at nothing to get you, Cassie. She’ll try to inject you with a drug they’ve designed. You can’t let her near you.”

The ground seemed to shift beneath her. There were, she thought numbly, more pieces than ever missing from the story her brother had yet to tell her about his adventures in the last few weeks. “Who is he?” she demanded. “How would he know about me?”

“That doesn’t matter now. If the woman at your door was Sheridan, and from your description, it sure sounds like it, she’s picked up some hired muscle to help her. I don’t know why she left before kidnapping you, but you can’t wait for her to come back.”

“I know why.” Cassie took a deep breath, forced herself to think rapidly. “Shane was coming up the drive. When they saw the car, they left, saying they’d be back tomorrow.” After their initial insistence on seeing the horses, she’d thought it odd that they’d left in such a hurry. But when she’d discovered who was in the vehicle that had sent them on their way, all thoughts of the couple had abruptly faded.

“Farhold’s there?” Hawk’s voice was sharp. “Let me talk to him.”

She hesitated, torn. Her brother had made no bones about his feelings about Shane when he and Cassie had broken up. But the decision was taken out of her hands, along with the phone.

Ignoring her glare, Shane took a few steps away, holding the cordless to his ear. “Hawk. What the hell’s going on?”

“Get her out of there, Farhold. You’ve got to keep her safe. You owe her that much, at least.”

The censure in the man’s voice didn’t come as a surprise. For all intents and purposes, he’d left Cassie alone and pregnant. Even if he had known about the baby, it wouldn’t have changed what happened between the two of them. Couldn’t change it even now.

“I heard most of what you told her on the phone,” he said evenly. “And there was a car leaving as I came up the lane. You think the couple in it was after her? But why?”

“I’m as certain as I can be. So is the FBI. They’re involved in this case, too. I don’t have time to go into it. Just get her to town and watch her every second. I’ll get there as soon as I can, and the Bureau is sending agents, as well. The danger is real, Shane. Make her believe it. And keep her safe. This guy who’s after her, he’s—” The line went abruptly dead.

“Hawk?” When there was no answer, he clicked off the phone and looked at Cassie. “His phone must have gone dead. Was he calling from his cell?”

“Check the caller ID.” He pressed the button on the receiver that should have displayed the numbers of incoming calls. The screen remained blank.

“Looks like it was your phone that went dead.”

She went to the den and retrieved her cell phone from its cradle. As she reentered the living room, she flicked on the light switch, then stopped midstride when the light failed to go on. She swallowed hard, caught his gaze on her. “The electricity is off.”

A grim mask slid over his expression. “Any chance it happened earlier today and you just didn’t notice?”

She thought for a moment. “I used the microwave and the stove about three hours before you got here. It could have gone off anytime since then, I suppose.”

He went to the window, peered out into the rapidly descending dusk. “There’s no sign of anyone out front. Any other way to get to the ranch without using the lane?”

“Not unless someone got to the main road and cut the fence, came up a quarter mile or so from here and circled around back.” The likelihood of that scenario was remote. But then, the whole scene Hawk had warned her of had a vaguely surreal aspect to it.

“Grab a bag and throw a few things together,” Shane said. “You’re staying with me until we get this figured out.” As he spoke he moved to the door, locked it. She stared at him, swaying a bit on her feet as his figure moved into and out of focus. His words seemed to come from a distance and there was an all too familiar sense of velocity, as though she was being catapulted through space. Her pulse galloped as her vision dimmed, rainbows arrayed beneath her eyelids. The cell phone slipped from her hand, clattered unnoticed to the floor. And then it was as if a giant curtain was slung aside, bits of mental images whirling and colliding before forming yet another scene.

Shane was striding across the room in front of the window. There was the sound of a shot, and the glass shattered, spraying across the room.

“Cass!”

She blinked rapidly, noting the insistence in the word, if not the meaning. Her vision cleared, leaving her feeling weak and limp. She was seated, although she didn’t remember sitting down, and Shane was kneeling in front of her, his hands over hers, his face concerned.

“Are you all right?”

“Fine.” She tried to summon a smile, doubted she pulled it off. Rising, she prayed her knees would hold her. “I’ll get a bag. You’ll need to lock the other two doors.”

Shane got to his feet, still watching her strangely. “I already did.”

Although she had no memory of it at all, she nodded. “I’ll just be a minute.” She took several steps before hesitating, flashes of that last mental image appearing again in her mind. “Come with me.”

He did, driven out of an anxiety he didn’t voice. She was still white, still shaky, and he didn’t trust her to not collapse before making it to her room. But she moved at record speed, dragging a small bag out of her closet and throwing in a change of clothes, then crossing to the adjoining bath to pack some toiletries. He went to the window in her room and looked out, the lengthening shadows making it difficult to see anything. It’d be fully dark in another fifteen minutes. Night never used to hold any particular fears for him. Not until he discovered firsthand how many black-hearted thieves and murderers prowled beneath its mantle. The knowledge was enough to keep his instincts razor sharp.

He looked up as Cassie reentered the room, noted that she’d regained a bit of color. “Let’s go,” he said, taking her elbow and leading her out the door. “We can contact Hawk again once we get to town.”

“I could call him now from my cell.”

“It’s going to take someone with a better hand at electronics than me to put your cell phone back together, if it can be salvaged at all.” At her blank look, he added, “You dropped it. Remember?”

But when she got to the living room and saw the pieces of what had been her phone heaped on the end table, she bit her lip. The truth was, she didn’t remember. Not the moments leading up to the vision, not those immediately following it.

A feeling of unease stabbed through her. The episodes had never before occurred so closely together. She needed to get the ingredients for the tea from the kitchen and pack it for her trip to town. In addition to their increasing frequency, the experiences were also getting stronger.

She was crossing to the kitchen when something made her turn. Her blood froze as she saw Shane close the curtain beside one window, approach the next to do the same thing.

“Stay away from the window!”

Her voice was sharp as she started toward him. He turned his head, frowned, but never broke his stride. “Get the rest of your things, Cass. I’ll feel better once I have you back in town.”

His words were lost on her. Racing across the room, she dove at him, hitting him square in the back and knocking him to the floor. As if on cue, the window above them exploded, tiny shards of glass raining down on them as they lay, panting for breath, on the floor.

She’d landed on top of him when she fell, but the impact had driven the air from her lungs. As she hauled in oxygen, she heard him mutter, “What the hell? Are you all right?”

“Someone…shot at you.” Gulping for air, she raised her head and pointed. He followed the direction with his gaze, stilled when he saw the splintered hole in the side of the entertainment center, which had been directly to his left.

“You saw someone out there?” He grasped her elbows, raised her to her feet, none too gently. “And you still raced over here putting yourself in line of the bullet?” He gave her a shake, his face harsh. “You try something like that again, and pregnant or not, I’ll paddle your ass.”

Her lungs had returned to normal, as had her temper. “You could try, anyway.” Yanking herself from his grasp, she moved cautiously until she was out of the line of vision from any of the windows. Only then did she rise. When she did, she found Shane right beside her. She didn’t remember him being able to move that fast before. Or that silently.

“You don’t want to push me, Cass.” There was a thread of meanness to his voice that was as unfamiliar as the bleakness in his eyes. “I’m not the same man you knew a few months ago.”

Her stomach hollowed out, and the danger surrounding them abruptly receded in the face of the truth in his words. She’d already recognized that, hadn’t she, the moment she’d opened the door and seen him again? There was a far more subtle difference than the scar tracing down his throat. And whatever had caused the difference, she was achingly aware he’d suffered profoundly for it. “Who are you, then?” she whispered, not expecting an answer.

He stared at her for a long moment, before stepping back and turning away. His voice sounded raw when he responded. “Damned if I know.”

Struggling to make sense of his words, she watched as he went to the gun cabinet on the wall. Her jaw dropped open as he opened it and took out a rifle. The sight of Dr. Shane Farhold with a gun in his hands, and, she recognized incredulously, handling it with some degree of familiarity, was incomprehensible. He’d never made any secret of his disapproval of gun ownership. He’d lost too many gunshot wound victims on the operating table, he’d once told her, to have any respect for gun advocates’ argument promoting the so-called right to bear arms. She’d understood the source of his distaste, even if she hadn’t agreed with it.

So it was doubly shocking to see him hefting the rifle to his shoulder, sighting it, before lowering it to ask, “Where do you keep the ammunition?”

It took a couple attempts before she could manage an answer. “Top shelf, hallway closet.” As he strode off, she carefully made her way to the wall, wincing as shards of glass crunched beneath her feet. Sidling along the wall to the window, she reached out, pulled the curtain.

A beam of light appeared, as Shane approached her again. “I found flashlights up there, too.”

“Hawk believes in being prepared.” And so did she. Without a word, she reached out, took the flash-light from him and went to the gun case. If her brother was right, there were two people outside waiting for them. With both her and Shane armed, the odds evened.

“I don’t get it. According to Hawk, the couple who was here earlier has orders to kidnap me.” The words sounded even more ludicrous for being spoken out loud. “So why would they be shooting?”

“The shot wasn’t meant for you. If your brother is right, they’ll want you alive. Right now I’m the only person standing between you and them.” His voice was matter of fact in the near darkness. “By eliminating me, they’ll be a heck of a lot closer to their goal.”

“Like hell,” Cassie muttered. She had no idea what Hawk was involved in, or how it affected her. But she knew intuitively that if the couple outside ever succeeded in their mission, she’d never return to the ranch alive.

Memory flickered, of the dream that had haunted her all her life. The stranger on her doorstep wasn’t the murderer from her nightmares. The two men had different coloring and physical builds. But that didn’t mean that her kidnapping wouldn’t start a sequence of events that would result in the final enactment of the dream.

She may have to accept the finality of her own end, but she’d never accept that for her unborn child.

“Shine that light over here so I can load.”

Obediently, she swung the beam of light toward the direction of Shane’s voice. Although his movements weren’t as rapid and automatic as her own would be, there was no doubt he’d done this before. When he’d finished, without a word she took his gun and handed him hers to load.

“What about your cell? If we called the sheriff, he could be out here in twenty minutes.”

Shane’s mouth flattened. “I didn’t bring it.” There was a sound then that had them both going silent, straining to listen.

Someone was on the front porch.

Cassie’s gaze went to the door handle, watched it twist slowly, first one way, then the other. Setting the flashlight down, she reached for her gun.

Shane grabbed his as well, and as if one, they walked silently to the kitchen, to the side door that led into the mudroom. They waited for long tension-filled moments, before hearing the sound of that door being tried.

Then swiftly, Shane brought the rifle to his shoulder, aimed and fired through the curtained window beside the door. They heard a muttered curse, footsteps running down the steps.

Cassie couldn’t prevent a tiny grin. “Sounds like you gave them something to think about.”

“For now, at least.” Shane crossed to her side and they went back to the kitchen. “But they’ve got all night, and we can’t be positive it’s just the two of them. We can’t watch all four sides of the house indefinitely.” If the couple out there wanted in badly enough, he was afraid they just might succeed. There were any number of windows that would provide access. And there was the outside chance that, if pressed, they’d try something even more daring.

“We could make a run for your car. With each of us providing cover for the other, we could probably make it, especially now that it’s dark.”

“They’ve probably already made sure the car is useless to us.” It was what he would do. Slit the tires or remove a distributor cap. “And if we leave here for a vehicle that’s been taken out of commission, we just put ourselves at their mercy.”

“Okay. We can probably hold them off until daylight. Jim and the other hands are usually here by six-thirty. That’s only nine hours or so.”

He knew they didn’t have that long. He looked at her, barely able to make out her features in the darkness. “If they’re as desperate as Hawk seemed to believe, they’re going to find a way in before then. We need to think of something else.”

She was silent long enough to have him watching her closely. The urgency of their situation would be enough to send most women into hysterics, and Cassie had looked on the verge of collapse just a few minutes earlier. But her voice, when she finally spoke, sounded remarkably steady.

“All right, then. I think our best chance is to make a run for it.”

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