"Someone abandoned you... ."
Lainie wanted to respond with a laugh, but she couldn't manage it. Her throat felt thick and tight. "My parents," she said softly, feeling a familiar queasiness at the admission. Even now, after all these years, it still hurt to say it aloud.
Viloula stared at her, then slowly shook her head. "Dat was not de first time."
Lainie frowned. "I don't understand."
"History repeats itself, child, but it starts somewhere. For you, it began here in 1896 . . . with Killian."
Lainie frowned. "Killian? What can he have to do with this? He's a character, for God's sake. What I need is a way back home."
Viloula touched the amethyst medallion at her throat, closed her eyes. The stone sparkled with a brilliant, magical lavender light. "You and Killian are joined. Your souls are connected. I see dis clearly."
"Then you'd better open your eyes, Vi," Killian said.
Lainie crammed an open hand through her ragged hair. "Could we please stay focused here?" She jerked forward, slammed her elbows down on the table, and stared hard at Viloula. "I created Killian. I made him up."
"No."
Lainie stiffened, felt a hairline frisson of fear against her spine. "What do you mean?"
"You created Killian, but not until after you'd met him. You re-created him."
Lainie rocked back in her chair. "What?"
146
She and Killian said the word together. It bounced off the cabin's wooden walls and vibrated for a second before it was lost.
"You'd better talk fast, Vi," Killian said in a low, gravelly voice that reeked of danger.
Viloula frowned, as if searching for the right words. "De soul is life and spirit ... everyt'ing dat we are. It remembers all our lives."
Killian rolled his eyes. "Oh, for God's sake�"
"Dere are many ways to get in touch wit' a past life, many ways to call up de memories." She turned to Lainie, gave her a steady, honest look. "You have done it t'rough your writing, doan you see?"
Lainie shook her head. Cold fear radiated out from her spine. Suddenly she didn't want to hear what the old lady had to say. All she wanted was a guide home, a way back. "No, I don't see."
Viloula leaned forward. "When you write, you t'ink you are imagining. But maybe for writers it is not so simple. Maybe you are remembering instead."
"Viloula�" she pleaded, not knowing what else to say.
"It is not hard to understand. In anot'er time, you loved Killian, but somet'ing went de wrong way. It ended bad, maybe he abandon you, but in your soul� where de memories of love doan die�you remember dis man. And you write about him."
Killian frowned. "Come on, Vi. You're piling the mumbo-jumbo on pretty thick. I don't know this woman from squat."
Viloula didn't even look at Killian, she just kept staring at Lainie through those intense, unreadable black eyes. "T'ink about it. It explains why you know dis place, and Killian. You have been here, lived here, before."
147
Lainie squeezed her eyes shut. "I won't believe it."
Viloula leaned forward, whispered, "You see te trut' of it, doan you? You see dat t'ings here are different dan you t'ought. In little ways, maybe, but it is not de world you created. Not exactly. You wrote Killian as you remembered him, maybe as you wanted him to be. Part of dat will be de trut', part of it will be wrong, and some will be de imagination."
A long silence fell between them.
"This is un-goddamn-believable," Killian growled. "I brought her here to prove that she's a liar, and you back up her insane story."
"You are her soul mate, Killian," Viloula said unflinchingly. "Dis is de knowledge you sought from me."
He lurched to his feet. "What in the Christ is a soul mate? No! Don't answer that. I don't want to know."
"Look at her, you old fool," Viloula hissed, her voice rising suddenly, taking on a new power. "Look. Den tell me dere is no familiarity, no sense dat you have known her before."
He turned, stared into Lainie's eyes. She felt a shiver move through her at the intensity of his gaze. She tried to look away, but couldn't. She had a sudden, unexpected reaction to the sight of him. Unaccountably, she remembered the ledge and the other times when she'd looked at him and seen more than the character she'd created. A glimmer of maybe flitted through her head, brought with it a crushing sense of fear.
"See?" Viloula's voice was hushed and seductive, and Lainie felt it draw her into the fantasy. Even as the thought of a soul mate terrified her, it romanced her. What would it mean? she wondered fleetingly. What would it feel like to be treasured, loved, cared for?
"I know you as well as anyone does, Killian," the old woman said in her hypnotic voice. "I understand dis
148
world, your world. It is a place of guns and death. Now, for de first time, you must see wit' your heart."
He seemed for a second to have stopped breathing, he went so still. An unfathomable emotion darkened his eyes to black. "What makes you think it'd be the first time?"
Spinning away from them, he strode for the door, reached for the latchstring.
"Killian?" Viloula called out.
He stopped, but didn't turn around. "Yeah?"
"I am sorry."
There was a long pause before he answered. "Don't be. You couldn't have known." Then he pushed through the door and disappeared.
Lainie stared at the closed door for a long time, trying to gather her thoughts. They were swirling around her, sucking her into a rising sense of panic. Soul mates .. . lost loves ... second chances. What did it all mean?
It overwhelmed her. Suddenly she had nothing to believe in, nothing to hang on to. All she'd ever had, since the agony of her childhood, was her own courage and her daughter's goodness. That was all. It had always been enough, but now it was woefully inadequate. She needed something more. She needed . .. faith, and it was the one thing she'd never had.
She sighed, feeling old and inexpressibly tired. As always, she'd have to go on without it. Somehow, she had to find a way back to Kelly, and it didn't matter what she believed in or didn't believe in.
Kelly. As always, the name was enough to calm her. She took a deep breath and thought for a second about her daughter, the love of her life.
Kelly was what mattered, only Kelly.
It was time to cut through the shit. Who cared about soul mates and life choices and chances to solve old
149
problems? She had something a lot more pressing to handle right now.
She gave Viloula a steely look, feeling stronger. "So you're saying that Killian is my soul mate, but I don't recognize him or feel anything for him."
"I t'ink you should feel somet'ing for him___"
Lainie nodded curtly. "Yeah, right. The point is, I don't care. I just want to get home."
Viloula frowned. The heavy flesh of her brow pleated. "But you need to be here. Somet'ing happened in de past dat made your future impossible. You have to stay here and solve it to�"
"Solve it?" Lainie threw herself backward in her chair and crossed her arms. "Look, Viloula, I don't need some mumbo-jumbo about realigning my karma or changing the past to help me in the future. I need to get back."
"Back? But you're here. Dere's no going back."
The words drove through Lainie like a knife. She got to her feet and stumbled backward, slamming against the wall. "Don't say that."
Viloula pushed heavily to her feet and moved toward Lainie. She wore a thick flannel shirt and ratty wool pants, hitched tight around her small waist by a fist-wide man's belt. Frowning, she moved toward Lainie. "What is it?"
"I have to go back," Lainie whispered. "It's Kelly."
"What about dis Kelly?"
"She's my daughter."
Viloula stopped dead. "A child?"
Tears gathered in Lainie's eyes again. It was too much for her suddenly, more than she could handle. "My baby," she murmured, hugging herself. "I have to get back to my baby."
Vilo
ula buried her face in her hands. A quiet moan
150
escaped her. "Sweet Jesus. Sweet Jesus, a child. A child. None of de books say anyt'ing about getting back to a child."
He was in deep shit.
Killian stood in the doorway of his half-assed excuse for a home and stared out at the encampment. Sunlight glanced off the naked, textured surface of the sandstone cliffs, turned the rock from gray to gold. Everything was still and quiet. Frost clung stubbornly to the rooftops and tents, sparkling like glitter-dust in the sunlight.
The air in the hideout seemed thick this morning, almost stagnant. No birds swooped and dove yet, or chattered in early morning call. No wind whistled through the cottonwood leaves. It was preternaturally quiet.
Killian let out a steady breath and eased forward, leaning against the doorjamb, watching Viloula's cabin. A confusing mix of emotions left him feeling uneasy and vaguely restless. He didn't for a second believe that crap of Vi's about him and Lainie being soul mates, but he had to admit�at least now, in the solitude of his own cabin�that there was something between them. Something strange and unexpected and frightening.
You know what that's like, Killian, coming home to an empty house....
The words slammed through him again, made him wince.
A grim, bitter smile curved his lips but didn't light his eyes. That's why he'd taken her to Viloula's. It had had nothing to do with using the old woman's obeah magic. He'd just wanted to get away from Lainie, away from the wrenching sadness in her eyes and the quiver of desperation in her voice. And the impossible connection he felt when he looked at her.
She knew him; knew the dark, ugly secrets of that
151
empty house on the prairie. Knew the secrets that haunted him and the realities that had driven him from civilization fifteen years ago and turned him into the ruthless, selfish outlaw he'd become. Somehow .. . she knew.
"Jesus," he cursed. Reaching back into the cabin, he yanked his flannel work shirt out of the corner, where he'd thrown it some weeks back. It smelled of wood-smoke and dust and decay. He reached into the breast pocket and pulled out an old bag of tobacco. Rolling a cigarette, he lit it and took a long, thoughtful drag. Smoke wreathed his face, blurred his vision for a second, and stung his eyes. The sharp, familiar scent filled his nostrils.
He leaned against the doorjamb and took another drag. He could see her silhouette through the dirty window. She stood stiff and erect. He wondered fleetingly if she still looked so sad, still looked as if she'd never had a friend in her life and never really been one.
All she'd asked him for was a little help.
Help. Need. The words drove through him, sliced through the defenses he'd set up so long ago. It was surprising how badly they hurt; even worse, even more painful, was the realization that he couldn't help her. He'd known it, of course, known for years that he was a worthless excuse for a man. But somewhere, in the back of his mind, he'd always thought that maybe someday he could go back, become once again the young man filled with dreams and fueled by honor.
He smiled bitterly. Now he knew the truth; he'd known it the second she asked him for help. There was no honor left in him, if in fact it had ever really been there. It was one of the things he'd left behind so long ago, one of the many things that died in that little house
152
on the windy prairie. He couldn't help her. Hell, he couldn't help anyone.
People who counted on John Killian died alone.
He flinched at the thought of Emily. He still couldn't believe he'd mentioned her to Lainie.
Why? Why had he mentioned his wife?
The question drew the strength from him for a moment. He hadn't said his wife's name aloud in ten years, maybe more. And yet, with Lainie, it had come naturally.
Why? The question was cold and stark. It jabbed him, pierced the armor he'd spent a lifetime creating.
He told himself it had been because he'd wanted to prove to her that she was wrong, and he wanted to believe it. He wanted it more than he'd wanted anything in years.
But he couldn't quite manage it. He was many things�a cheat, a loser, an outlaw�but he wasn't a liar, especially not to himself. He'd always looked life square in the eyes and taken the heat head-on.
He'd told Lainie because, somehow, he'd needed to tell her. And that wasn't even the most frightening realization. He'd told her the truth because she'd needed to hear it, part of it anyway.
She'd needed it; he'd known that somehow, and it had moved him to respond.
He cursed harshly and threw his cigarette to the ground. It lay there, rocking, its red and gray tip smoldering against the cold, hard dirt. A pathetic wisp of smoke trailed upward, melting away in the air.
He glanced down at Viloula's place again, drawn in spite of himself to look for her. She was still standing in front of the window. Instinctively he knew that she was afraid. He felt her fear, tasted it on his tongue,
153
smelled it in the freshness of the morning air. It was as if it were his fear, too.
"Christ," he cursed softly, and rubbed his tired eyes, shaking his head. He was losing his mind. Pretty soon he was going to start believing that bullshit about time travel and soul mates and love that lasts forever.
He backed into his cabin and shut the door. Shadows rushed in and cut off the weak heat of the morning sunlight. Dust filtered down onto his head from the timbered rafters.
He had to stay away from her. He knew it, believed it with every bit of rationality in his mind. If he was smart, he'd throw her on the back of a horse and take her to Fortune Flats, then put her on a train bound for anywhere.
Vaya con Dios, crazy lady.
She could tell Joe Martin whatever she wanted about Killian's Ridge. The law knew everything there was to know about it anyway. She couldn't hurt him with her words.
But she could kill him with her eyes. There was a darkness inside her, a pain that mirrored his own.
It was that understanding, that empathetic knowledge, that scared the hell out of him. He'd never felt it for another human being except Emily, and that had taken years to develop. Yet he'd felt it for Lainie from the moment he'd seen her lying on the desert floor, bound, gagged, and vulnerable.
No doubt about it. He ought to stay the hell away from her.
But he wouldn't. He knew that. Because today when she'd looked up at him through those teary, frightened eyes and asked for help, he'd felt something. Something he hadn't felt in years. For a second, he'd almost wanted to say yes.
154
And with that thought, that realization, he was plunged back into the cold darkness of a hell he thought he'd walked away from years ago.
Chapter Thirteen
"Come here, Alaina. I will make you a cup of tea."
Lainie barely heard the words. She stood at the window, her arms wrapped tightly around herself, her eyes aching with tears that wouldn't fall. Sunlight had long since erupted over the mesa top, gilding the ridge. Heat pushed through the dirty glass and traced her cheeks, but still she was cold inside. So cold.
Viloula took ahold of her elbow and maneuvered her to a chair. Lainie let herself be led, too tired to fight it. The strong, humid scent of boiling water filled the tiny cabin, gave it a homey feel.
Viloula went to the stove, then returned with a cup of steaming hot tea and a piece of cold corn bread smothered in butter. "Eat dis."
Viloula sat down at the table across from Lainie, scooting close. "You look so unhappy, child," she said in a tired voice.
"Wouldn't you be?"
Viloula closed her eyes and nodded slowly. "You must love her very much."
Lainie squeezed her eyes shut, battling tears.
"Maybe dat's what dis is all about," Viloula said quietly. "Just somet'ing simple. Like love."
Lainie opened her eyes. "I don't think I'm up to talk-J55
156
ing about this craziness anymore, Vi. Just give me a second, okay?"
Viloula took a sip of her tea, then set her cup down with a clink. She eased the spectacles down her nose and peered at Lainie above the bent metal rim. A gentle smile curved her thin lips.
Lainie felt a jolt of hot emotion at the look. She'd never seen one like it before, though she'd waited all her life for it and long ago given up. It was the loving glance of a mother to a daughter, a caring concern that warmed a place inside of Lainie, a place that had been cold and dark and lonely for years.
"I saw you looking at my necklace before," Viloula said quietly. "You like it?"
Too shaken to do anything else, Lainie lowered her gaze to the stunning jewel at Viloula's throat. The lavender stone glimmered with hidden light. "It's beautiful."
"It is much more dan dat." She leaned forward. "It is a magic necklace."
"Oh," Lainie said, for lack of anything better.
"Ever since you got to camp, de stone has been hot on my skin. And I have .. . known t'ings."
"Like what?"
"Like ... you were coming."
Lainie sighed. "But not going."
"Who knows what will happen, Alaina? God is mysterious in His ways."
"That's for sure. He slings my butt back in time one hundred years, and for what? Because I have a soul mate who is pining away for me? Whose undying love called me back through time?" She snorted. "Yeah, right."
Viloula didn't flinch at the derision in Lainie's voice. "T'ink of it, Alaina. Imagine it. A love dat noting, not even death or time, can kill."
157
Lainie shook her head. "I'm too old to believe in fairy tales, Viloula. I just want to get back to Kelly."
"You are never too old to believe in love, Alaina. Look at me. I have only been in love once in my whole life�and wit' a bear of a man who lost his arm and t'ought I couldn't love him anymore. Dere was never anyone else for me. But I keep believing dere will be."
"Sounds like Alzheimer's to me," Lainie muttered, but even as she spoke the bitter words, she felt something strange happen inside her. It was as if the words she tried so hard to discount had landed, taken root in that cold, forgotten corner of her heart.
What if.
To Lainie, they'd always been magical words, a writer's lifeblood. The beginning of every story. What if. ..
"What if is right," Viloula whispered. "What if Killian once loved you so much dat you remembered it one hundred years later, t'rough another woman's heart? What if you loved him so much, you came back t'rough time to find him again?"
Lainie squeezed her eyes shut tighter, refusing to let herself be drawn into another useless, pointless fantasy. She'd engaged in this kind of wishful thinking a million times in her life. It didn't work. "And I thought I was the romance writer."
When Lightning Strikes Page 13
