"Don't make light of this, Lainie. Jesus Christ ..." He reached for her and swept her into his arms, burying his face in the crook of her neck.
She swallowed hard, feeling the sting of tears. She curled her arms around him, breathing in the warm, familiar
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scent of him, feeling the coarse softness of his hair against her cheek. She wished fleetingly, desperately, that this moment would never end, that somehow she could lose herself in him. "You're right," she said quietly. "I should have said what I feel. It's just that I'm unused to it."
He pulled back slowly and gave her a look that was razor-sharp in its pain. "You're going to have to get used to it fast, Lainie. Our time is running out."
The words struck her like a slap, brought it all back in crystalline clarity, the pain, the knowledge that this was all they would ever have, all they would ever share. She looked away from him, stared at the log wall through a blur of hot tears.
She drew in a deep, shuddering breath. The words, the emotion she'd hoarded all her life, filled her suddenly, swelled in her heart until she felt it would burst. She looked at him and tried to smile. It was a feeble, trembling failure. "I love you, Killian."
He smiled, but it was so sad and bittersweet that it broke her heart all over again. "I know you do, but..." His words trailed off. He looked away, stared at the wall.
It's not enough. She heard his words as clearly as if he'd spoken them aloud. She shivered at the intensity of her reaction. It was an agony unlike any she'd ever known before, so different from the vague pain of never having loved at all. "It's all there is, Killian," she said quietly, forcing the bitter words up her throat.
"Three little words," he said, and there was a caustic edge to his voice that cut through her heart like a jagged blade.
She touched him, made him look at her. "It's more than either one of us ever expected."
The moment spilled out, steeped in silence. She
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waited, breathless and afraid, to hear what he would say, wanting desperately to hear something, anything, that would make the unbearable pain of looking at him go away.
But he said nothing. She deflated, sagged against him, clutching him in shaking arms. There was nothing to say.
Finally he cleared his throat and looked away. "We'd better get going. We're going to have to ride hard to make the Rock by sunset tomorrow."
"Will we make it?"
"Yeah." He shoved a hand through his hair and nodded. The sun-etched lines in his face deepened suddenly, made him look old and beaten. "We'll make it."
Chapter Twenty-six
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They rode hard until nightfall. Even after so many bone-rattling hours in the saddle, Killian sat stiff and erect. Lainie's arms were around him, holding him tightly, though he knew she was exhausted and hurting.
He didn't want to stop, didn't want to face the evening that lay ahead. Thoughts of it swirled through his mind, left him feeling hollow inside. This would be their last night together.
He grimaced and yanked back on the reins, wrenching the bit into the soft sides of Captain's mouth. The horse stumbled to a halt and stood there, panting and wheezing. Sweat was a stinking white foam on the animal's cooper-colored neck.
"We'll make camp here," Killian said.
She pressed against him, tightening her hold until he could barely breathe, and he knew without looking at her that she felt it, too, this debilitating, suffocating sense of nearing the end.
His strength left him in a rush. He bowed his head, sagged forward, molding a big, gloved hand around hers.
They sat that way for what felt like hours. Cold, black night curled around them, spilled out across the desert in an endless cloud of nothingness.
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"I don't want to let you go," she murmured against his ear.
He straightened, tapped her hand a little too roughly. He couldn't fall into this trap, couldn't do this to either one of them. "Come on," he said gruffly, dismounting.
She waited a heartbeat and then sighed, slipping slowly to the ground beside him.
In utter silence, they prepared the campsite. He set up the small tent, cursing under his breath at every pound of the spikes into the hard ground. Behind him, he heard the clanging clatter of supper being started, the crackling hiss of a fire.
He stayed with the horse longer than necessary, brushing the animal's coat, cleaning his hooves, hobbling him down for the night. But finally he couldn't put off the inevitable anymore. Hesitantly he turned.
She sat beside the fire, crouched down, stirring a pot of something. The baggy sweater lay slipped off one shoulder, revealing a milky soft curve that sparkled with moonlight. The firelight illuminated her profile, gave it the ethereal, impossibly pale perfection of a cameo against the surrounding darkness. She looked sad and alone, her full lips drawn in a limp frown.
His heart clutched. Emotion moved through his chest in a tightening wave. He battled the sudden depression, shoved it aside. There was no point to it now. She was right. This was all they had, all they could hope to have, and he wouldn't mourn it now, before it was gone. He'd have a lifetime to grieve at the loss. Now he had to enjoy whatever seconds they'd been given.
Forcing a smile, he strode toward her. She flinched at every step he took, hunched over a little more. The edges of her mouth quivered, tears glittered in her �
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The pungent aroma of coffee hung in the air, gave the campsite a false homeyness. "We can't do this, Lainie," he said softly.
She leaned against him. "I know. I keep telling myself we need to enjoy the time we have, but ... it's so hard. Every time I look at you I want to cry."
He curled an arm around her shoulder and brought her close. He wanted to crush her against him and smother her with kisses and ask her to make an impossible choice. But he loved her too much to do it. He had to be strong now, strong enough for both of them.
"Is that food ready?" he asked after a while.
She shrugged. "It's beans. What difference does it make?"
They lapsed into silence again, but it was laced with undercurrents, unspoken thoughts, unvoiced wishes. He thought about how he felt when she lay in that rickety bed, writhing with fever, screaming in pain at his touch. When he hadn't thought she'd live. It seemed so far away now, that fear, buried beneath the fresh wounds of their impending separation.
But he'd made a decision then, come to a realization. She had a life somewhere else, a child to care for, and he couldn't take that away from her. God had granted him the gift of her life; the price was good-bye.
He had to let her go. He knew that, even though the very thought of it broke his heart. He wished he had more of her to keep with him, memories to cherish in the long, cold darkness of the days without her.
Tomorrow would be here so quickly, and they knew so little about each other. Not nearly enough. They needed the one thing they didn't have. Time.
He sighed and picked up a stick, poking it into the fire. 'Tell me about it ... your home, your life."
"You mean about Kelly," she said, and there was a
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sad wistfulness in her voice that told him so much. And suddenly he was grateful for her daughter, more grateful than he could have imagined. She would need that kind of love and caring after this was over. "She's such a beautiful child, Killian. Well, I guess she's not a child anymore. She's a young lady."
Killian felt an unexpected stab of longing. For half his life, he'd told himself that he didn't want children, didn't need them. But now, hearing the love in Lainie's voice, he envied her. He wondered about parenthood, wondered what kind of moments he'd missed. "What's she like?"
She shrugged. "I don't know, like other kids, I guess, only . . . more so maybe. She deals with life head-on. She doesn't hide her feelings or her hurts."
He smiled, trying to lighten the moment, t
o make it ordinary. "Not like her mom, huh?"
She laughed quietly. "I raised her to be self-confident and unafraid ... everything that I tried to be and never was."
"You're wrong, Lainie. You're stronger than anyone I've ever known."
"I was so afraid she'd turn out like me, and so afraid I'd turn out like my folks." She turned, gazed up at him with eyes so bright and pain-filled, it hurt to look at her. "Until you, I was afraid of everything. Now ..." She glanced away, giving a small, almost unnoticeable shrug. "Now I'm only afraid of not feeling this anymore. Of not being with you, not holding you, not knowing that you're beside me."
"I'd stay beside you forever if�" Killian stopped.
Of course. Why hadn't he thought of it before? It was so simple, so damned obvious.
She frowned up at him. "What is it?"
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He looked down at her, and for a minute he couldn't speak. His thoughts were a confused, electrified jumble.
"Killian .. . you're scaring me."
"Did Viloula tell you how it would take place, this going through time?"
She shook her head, frowning slightly. "No. She doesn't know."
"How did it happen last time?"
"I was sitting at my computer�" At his confused look, she waved airily. "I'll explain 'computer' later. Anyway, I was working at my terminal late one night. All of a sudden a storm started, lightning struck, and I woke up face-first in the Arizona dirt."
"So now you're planning to be at the Rock at midnight, hoping to ride some cosmic bolt of lightning back through time."
Her frown intensified. "Are you making fun of me?"
A grin burst across his face. He couldn't help it. He suddenly felt like a kid again, full of hope. The heavy veil of depression had ripped a little, let in a steady stream of light, and it warmed him. "Of course not. I'm just trying to understand."
"Why? All that matters is that I'm there. I have to count on fate to get me back."
"Or destiny." He said the words softly, feeling an unexpected shiver move through him. The moment he said the word, destiny, the pieces came together in his mind and formed a whole. Destiny.
She stared up at him, a hard, no-nonsense look in her eyes. "You're building up to something. What is it?"
He leaned toward her, his gaze as earnest as hers. "Do you think we're soul mates?"
"It doesn't matter. All I know is that I love you in this life ... more than I ever thought possible."
"Well, 7 believe it."
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"You do?"
I forgive you, Johnny. Lainie's words came back to him, swollen with meaning. Emily had always called him Johnny; only Emily. No one else called a gruff-talking, gray-haired giant of an outlaw Johnny. Yet the name had slipped from Lainie's mouth, an endearment from another woman, another time. But the same soul, a soul he'd loved once, and now believed he'd love for all time. "Yeah," he said softly. "I do. And that's why I'm thinking maybe we're not looking at this right."
"What do you mean?"
"We're seeing tomorrow night as an end. But maybe .. . maybe it could be a beginning."
"I don't understand, Killian. Tomorrow�"
"I could go with you."
Her mouth snapped shut. She stared up at him, unblinking. For a split second, she went so still, she appeared to stop breathing. "Wh-What do you mean?"
He twisted around a little, clutched her shoulders, and drew her close. "Who's to say it's not possible? I mean, none of this is possible. What if I just held your hand and wouldn't let you go?"
She bit down on her lower lip. He could see that she was battling hope, trying not to let the potent emotion overtake her. She was afraid of it, afraid to believe in something that would break her heart. "You could be hurt. You could ... die."
"Nothing could hurt me more than losing you."
"But if something went wrong, if it wasn't possible�"
"I'd die," he said simply. "And I wouldn't have a second's regret."
She swallowed convulsively, her wide-eyed gaze fixed on his. "You'd do that ... for me?"
Though he should have expected it, her question
filled him with an inestimable sadness. He touched her gently, breezed a callused finger along the velvety underside of her chin. "When will you understand how much I love you?"
She tried to laugh. "Maybe when we're sixty I'll finally believe it."
"Will you let me try it tomorrow?"
"Let you?" She gave another laugh, this one trilling and a bit hysterical. "Will I let you risk your life to be with me? What kind of question is that? A nice person, a heroine, would say no. She'd make the ultimate sacrifice and be happy knowing the man she loved was alive."
A smile quirked one corner of his mouth. "And is that you, Lainie?"
She smiled in spite of her obvious intention not to. "Damn you, Killian. When did you get to know me so well?"
A lifetime ago. "I don't know. So will you let me try to come with you?"
Her smile faded. She gazed up at him with a painful honesty. "Really?"
He nodded, saying nothing.
"I'd do it for you, you know."
He smiled. "Yeah, I know."
"The twentieth century is a pretty wild place," she said, almost smiling.
"What will I do there?"
"I don't know. Your facts and my words would be a great combination. We could write killer westerns together. Or maybe a movie screenplay."
He didn't even bother asking what she was talking about. He didn't care. All he cared about was planning a future. "Sounds good," he murmured.
"I have a mystery writer acquaintance who could
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help us get you an identity." She snuggled against him and sighed. "Kelly will love you."
He heard the enthusiasm in her voice, and knew it was strained, forced. "Will it work?" he asked quietly.
It took her a long time to answer, and when she did, her mouth was trembling slightly. "I don't know."
He turned to her, took her face in his hands, and gazed down at her, loving her more in that moment than he would have thought possible. "If there is a God, Lainie, I'll come back with you."
She nodded, but in her eyes he saw the truth she tried to hide. The desperate sadness that caused the tears.
She didn't believe it was possible, not really. Not in her heart and soul, where such things mattered. She'd spent a lifetime not believing in anything, and it was too late to change now. Too late to start believing in God and destiny and second chances.
"Don't worry, Lainie," he whispered, rolling her over and pressing her down on her back for a tender kiss. "I'll believe enough for both of us."
The angry sky boiled. Rain drizzled downward, pattering the ground in a ceaseless staccato that formed a thin layer of mud. A storm was coming, moving across the desert in a kaleidoscope of shadows and light.
Killian and Lainie stood at the crumbling edge of a mesa, staring down at the washed-out gray coverlet of the desert floor. Towering rock walls outlined the huge box-shaped canyon below.
Behind them, Captain stood motionless and exhausted, his tired head hung low to the ground. The wheezing snort of his heavy breathing was a steady sound amidst the marching rain.
Killian pointed at a monolithic slab of stone that tow-
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ered in the distance. Rain thumped on his oilskinned sleeve. "That's the rock that lightning struck."
She squinted, trying to see through the watery blur. A great red obelisk thrust up from the earth in the canyon's corner, its top an immense, jagged crown of stone. "How far away is it?"
"Six, maybe seven miles." He tented a hand over his eyes and squinted at the weak sun. It hung low to the ground, suspended amidst the thick gray shroud of the coming storm. "We're going to have to hurry to reach it before sunset."
Sunset. She shivered at the word, wishing he had said something else. It was so final. The single word that held together all her hopes
and fears and prayers. Sunset. Whatever would happen to them�a taste of eternity or a plunge straight to hell�would happen when that pale yellow globe ducked into the darkening earth.
She slipped her hand through his, squeezed the damp leather of his glove. Fear was a cold, hard stone in the pit of her stomach, but she refused to give in to it.
He squeezed her hand. "Let's go."
She nodded, her throat too thick to force a sound. Wordlessly she climbed back into the saddle.
With a sigh, he climbed up alongside her and settled wearily into the leather seat. Drawing back on the reins, he maneuvered Captain off the jutting precipice of rock and headed down the winding, narrow trail that led to the gorge.
For more than an hour, they picked their way through the narrow crevasse that led down to the canyon floor. The horse's hooves splashed on the slippery mud. Every now and then his heaving flank smacked against the moist sandstone walls. Rain hammered their heads, streaming down the sides of Lainie's face in icy, squiggling lines. She blinked against the wetness and tried to
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stay alert, but all she wanted to do was close her eyes and hold Killian. Hold him and never let him go.
Finally they reached the end of the trail and came into the open space of the canyon floor. Wind whipped down the rock walls and smacked into them, yanking the hat from Killian's head. He reached for it and missed. Lainie watched the black dot of a hat spiral away from them, dancing and twirling above the muddy redness of the ground.
The rain picked up, turned from a drizzle to a drenching, icy cold downpour. Nickel-sized droplets hammered her head, plunked on the puddles and rivulets that grew suddenly from the dirt. Wind and water spiked her eyes, made it hard to see anything.
"Can you see it?"
She heard his voice, reedy and thin against the wind's howling laughter.
"Yeah," she yelled back, drawing in a mouthful of sweet, fragrant rain. She sputtered and coughed and pressed her lips together. Though she couldn't see the sun anymore, she knew it had dipped farther in the hour they'd spent winding through the mesa's unforgiving walls.
Killian spurred Captain to a gallop. The horse gave a mighty effort. He lurched into a jarring trot, then wheezed and shuddered and staggered sideways. His trot melted back into a slow, methodical, plodding walk.
Killian shook his head and patted the animal's sweat-1 foamed neck.
Lainie leaned around Killian, trying to see Captain's | big head. "What's the matter?"
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