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Prologue
Chapter One Two months later A s Clint Harrigan crossed the parking lot to the automatic doors of the supermarket, the late-afternoon sunlight warmed his shoulders through the wash-worn cloth of his shirt. Normally the first summery days of June lifted his spirits, but they weren’t doing the trick this year. Ever since his thirty-seventh birthday in March he’d been feeling depressed. It seemed like only yesterday that he’d been a snot-nosed college freshman with his entire adult life stretching ahead of him. Now, in what seemed like a blink, he was almost forty, had accomplished only a few of his goals, and felt as if time were running out. Granted, his quarter-horse ranch was a highly successful enterprise. Financially, he was set, and not many men his age could say that. Only what about his personal life? He’d fully expected to have a wonderful wife and a passel of kids by now. Instead he was facing another lonely Friday evening, his plans revolving around a man-size frozen dinner, a
Chapter One
Chapter Two C lint hit the floor before dawn the next morning. After a fast shower while still half-asleep, he dressed hurriedly and went downstairs to grab a cup of wake-me-up, already brewed and waiting in the carafe of the automatic coffeemaker. Thirty minutes later he was in the stables feeding his horses, surrounded by all the smells he loved: leather, alfalfa hay, grain, and even manure. This was his world, the place where he felt most balanced and at ease. The whickering of the animals soothed him like a lullaby did a baby. At the other side of the arena Clint’s ranch foreman, Hooter McElroy, worked in tandem with him. Routine. Clint could have done the drill with his eyes closed. Instead his senses were heightened with pleasure, making him acutely aware of everything around him. When he and Hooter met at the far end of the cavernous arena, Clint asked, “You believe in psychics, Hooter?” Hooter, a short, stocky man of fifty-six, soon to be fifty-seven, tweaked his graying handle
Chapter Two
Chapter Three L eaving Clint Harrigan to finish with the packing, Loni made her rounds of the house, pulling blinds and cutting the power to all the small appliances she used on a regular basis. All the other household gadgets were routinely left unplugged except when she needed them. She was bent over and twisted awkwardly at the waist with her head behind the television when he startled her once again by speaking from directly behind her. “You worried about fire while you’re gone or something?” Loni finished jerking the cord from the receptacle and turned to face him. He held the top of her embroidered pillowcase bunched in one fist. Not for the first time she felt a jolt of amazement to actually be standing face-to-face with him. He looked exactly as he had in her dreams, dark and ruggedly handsome, but in the flesh he had a much greater impact on her nerves, giving her a strange and purely feminine case of jitters. She had to make a concentrated effort to collect her thoughts and r
Chapter Three
Chapter Four W hen they got back to camp, Loni resumed her search for firewood, keeping the truck and trailer in sight this time. While she worked, Clint pitched the tent and attached space blankets to the interior walls with Velcro tabs to insulate against the cold. Then he took the coffeepot down to the river, filled it with water put through a compact hiker’s filter, and returned to camp to lay a fire for morning. Loni stood near the tent, shivering and rubbing her arms. “Please tell me you don’t expect me to sleep in this thing.” Clint crouched down to arrange the firewood she’d collected. “The tent is all we’ve got for shelter.” “You want me to sleep on the ground under that swatch of flimsy nylon in a wilderness area full of wolves, bears, and cougars?” Clint wished now that he hadn’t dwelled quite so much on the predatory prowess of mountain lions. “Trust me, you’ll be perfectly safe.” “Famous last words. Bears attack people in tents. I’ve heard about it on the news.” “Those wer
Chapter Four
Chapter Five T en minutes later Loni and Clint were down at the water. About a dozen people worked exhaustively to drag for Trevor’s remains. Even well below the rapids in what appeared to be calmer water, the swiftness of the current made the job difficult. People on both banks manned anchor ropes, trying to keep an aluminum riverboat, equipped with an outboard motor, from drifting downstream. Iron grapnels and gaffs were being tossed overboard, then hauled back up again. Loni felt particularly sorry for the two divers. Even with wet suits to protect them from the icy water, they had to be chilled to the bone. The search coordinator, a Crystal Falls policeman named Richard Conklin, had joined the local search-and-rescue team years ago and was now a knowledgeable veteran. He seemed to be a decent man. Despite his obvious disbelief when he heard Loni’s story, he maintained a courteous, professional manner. Directing a look at Loni, he asked, “What did you say your name was again? I didn
Chapter Five
Chapter Six L oni couldn’t think what to say. He wanted her to drop her jeans? Hands at his hips, booted feet set wide apart, he stood before her, as unbending as a tree, his dark eyes holding hers in a relentless grip. “You’re saddle sore,” he said. As if she needed him to tell her that? She had a very bad feeling her abused posterior had somehow been added to his evening chore list, right up there with lifting the horse’s hooves to check their frogs for stones. “Has anyone ever mentioned that you need to work on your leadins?” He gave her a bewildered look. “My what?” “Your leadins. You shouldn’t just walk up to a woman and tell her to drop her pants.” “I shouldn’t?” Loni glimpsed a twinkle of amusement in his coffee brown eyes. “No, you shouldn’t. It would be far nicer if you eased your way into it, saying something like, ‘You seem to be in a lot of discomfort. Maybe I’d better have a look.’” He nodded. “All right. You seem to be in a lot of discomfort. Maybe I’d better have a look.
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven S leep eluded Clint. Head pillowed on his saddle, he tried counting stars instead of sheep, but thoughts of Loni kept circling in his mind. That kiss…It had been amazing. He’d kissed his share of lady frogs and a few princesses as well, but never in his memory had one simple kiss aroused him so completely or touched him so deeply. He kept remembering the wide, wary look in her eyes, and then the awkward first contact, her soft lips pursed, her teeth clamped closed. Years ago, when he and his brothers had still been young enough to occasionally come across an inexperienced female, they’d called it the “virgin pucker.” Maybe he was misreading her. That had to be it. He guessed her to be in her late twenties, maybe even early thirties. Beautiful women, even clairvoyants who’d never been in a lasting relationship, didn’t make it to that age without garnering a good deal of sexual know-how along the way. Maybe she hadn’t believed him about the chewing tobacco. That would expla
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight A n hour later they had crested the ridge. Eager to begin the descent down the opposite side of the mountain while there was still enough sunlight for safe travel, Clint was mildly irritated when Loni hollered from the back of the line for him to wait. He turned in the saddle to watch her ride toward him. “What’s up?” he asked when she drew her mount to a stop near him. “That’s the wrong way.” Flinging out an arm, she pointed toward the setting sun. “He’s in that direction.” Over the course of the last two days Clint had come to trust in Loni’s instincts as he’d never believed possible, but the footprints, not yet obliterated by the wind, didn’t lie. “Honey, I’ve seen a few of Trevor and Nana’s tracks, and they aren’t heading west.” She frowned in bewilderment. “I don’t know how that can be. I feel it here, Clint.” She pressed a fist to her sternum. “He’s over there.” She pointed again. “I’m certain of it.” Problem: Clint’s experience in tracking told him to follow the bo
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine S upper that night was a little more elaborate than the prior evening. Clint’s belly button felt as if it were fastened to his backbone, so in addition to chili with beans, he got out the mixings for corn bread and started a pot of coffee. Loni’s rapt attention to the bread-making process amused him. “Thinking about trying this someday, are you?” Crouched at his elbow, she nodded and smiled. “Maybe tomorrow night. I’d like to help as much as I can. This camping-out business is kind of fun, actually.” She eyed the skillet he’d set aside. “Are you going to try baking the bread in that?” “I’m not going to try. I’m going to do it.” After removing an egg from a plastic backpacker’s carton, he cracked it into the dry mixture. “You slap on a lid, keep it at the edge of the fire, and constantly move the skillet to maintain a fairly even heat. Pretty soon it’s done to a turn.” “Are the eggs safe to eat after being out of the refrigerator for so long?” “I carry a small collapsible c
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten L oni was certain she hadn’t heard Clint right. She’d felt his arousal last night when he kissed her, and she’d seen evidence of the same yesterday morning when they first awakened. How could he possibly be impotent? “I’m sorry?” She turned a questioning gaze on him. “Could you repeat that, please?” His normally burnished face had taken on a ruddier hue. “I can’t have sex,” he informed her huskily. “I gave it up.” She searched his dark eyes, which were usually alight with mischief. Not now. He appeared to be dead serious. “Lent ended on Easter.” “No, no, not for Lent. I mean I gave it up permanently.” “Permanently?” Loni had been waiting all her adult life to finally experience the joys of womanhood, and now the man of her dreams was telling her he’d given up sex? This couldn’t be happening. “Why on earth would you do that?” “Not permanently. Bad choice of words. Outside of wedlock, I mean. I promised myself I’d never again have sex unless I was married.” “Oh, I see.” Only
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven S upper was divine. Loni created their rice dish, sipping Irish coffee as she cooked. Clint reclined beside the fire, talking with her while she worked. He was, Loni decided, the handsomest man she’d ever seen. His skin was the color of caramel toffee, her favorite treat. His thick, wavy hair shone in the fading light like polished jet. His features were purely masculine, reminding her of chiseled granite. She loved his sharp nose, his firm yet mobile mouth, and the deep cleft in his square chin. Freshly shaven and wearing a clean blue chambray shirt, he looked almost good enough to eat, and when he flashed her one of those glamorous grins, she was tempted to have a taste. She settled for feasting on the rice-and-chicken concoction, which was amazingly good. After they were both replete, they enjoyed another Irish coffee and then went to the creek to wash the cooking utensils. Loni felt just a little tipsy, which made her laugh a lot. At one point Clint grabbed her arm,
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve O nce back at camp, Loni lay with Clint on their sleeping bags by the fire, content simply to be in his arms. There were things she wanted to say to him, mainly that she’d never dreamed it possible for anything between a man and a woman to be so wonderful. She felt happy in the strangest places. Even the tips of her toes felt as if they were glowing. But once they started talking, reality would push its way between them, and though it was selfish, she wanted to protect this moment and savor it—just for a little while. In the end, though, she was the first to break the silence. “Are you feeling guilty? About what we did, I mean.” He smiled against her hair and tightened his arms around her. “I’m a Catholic, and you ask if I feel guilty?” Loni giggled. It was good to be with someone who would always understand her religious quirks. “We had good intentions.” “I’ll stress that to Father Mike when I go to confession. ‘I had good intentions, Father. I don’t know how the hell i
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen T he ride that followed was more grueling than Loni had ever imagined the horses could withstand. True to his word, Clint headed due west with Trevor and the sleeping bag cradled in one arm, the unburdened packhorses scrambling up the steep, rocky inclines behind him. He set such a fast pace that Uriah, Loni’s mount, was soon blowing with exhaustion, his huge body foamy with sweat. Even Nana’s energy seemed to flag on the steepest parts of the slopes. At the crest of the second mountain Clint threw up a hand to halt the horses, slid from Malachi’s back, and gently deposited the bundled child on the ground. To Loni he yelled, “Unsaddle Uriah. We’ll go bareback from here.” Bareback? Loni was only just now growing accustomed to the saddle. But she obeyed Clint’s orders without hesitation, her heart breaking for Uriah, who stood on trembling legs, his great head hanging. Clint removed Malachi’s bridle and put it on Jemima. Then he came to remove Uriah’s head tack and put i
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen L oni stayed at the hospital until nearly midnight to be there when Clint was finally released. Because he was in the ER receiving an infusion, he was considered to be an outpatient and would be able to go as soon as his treatment was completed. Samantha’s husband, Tucker, had joined her, and they stayed until almost ten, but after visiting Clint several times and peeking in on a sleeping Trevor in the pediatric wing, the handsome veterinarian and his pretty wife finally yawned good nights at Loni and went home. Clint’s father and brothers had left hours before to go into the wilderness after the abandoned horses. In the end it was only Loni in the waiting area when Clint emerged from the ER. “I’ve been given permission to go up and look in on Trevor,” he told her after a brief embrace. “You want to come up with me?” “Can I?” “Now that all these idiots finally believe I’m his dad, I guess I can take his future mama up to see him. If they say anything, I’ll tell them to
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen I n the morning Loni left Clint to shower and shave while she went downstairs for a cup of the coffee that he’d set last night to brew automatically. Cradling a hot mug in her hands, she leaned against the counter to enjoy her new favorite morning ritual. Nothing woke her up quite so pleasantly as sniffing the aromatic steam from a cup she held just under her nose. Normally she preferred tea, but since she’d come to know Clint, her tastes seemed to be changing. The rich, hard kick of strong coffee had its merits. As she sipped the scalding-hot brew, Loni noticed that the answering machine light was blinking. Clint had played all the messages last night, and so far as she knew, the phone hadn’t rung again after they went to bed. Feeling like Pandora approaching the infamous box, Loni leaned close to study the apparatus. It was different from hers at home, but it took her only a moment to determine which button performed what function. She was also quick to notice that Cl
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen O nce again Loni found herself in the ER waiting room, surrounded by members of Clint’s family. Clint was with Hooter, wherever that might be. The old foreman had still been alive when the ambulance brought him in, but the head injury was serious, and so far Loni and the others had received no updates. Frank rested a comforting hand on Loni’s knee. “He’s a tough old fart, honey. He’s goin’ to be okay.” “Hell, yes,” Quincy seconded. “Hooter’s survived worse than this. Remember the time he forgot to shift the tractor out of gear, climbed off to do something, and got run over?” The family spent a moment reminiscing about that event. Then Samantha said, “Quit blaming yourself, Loni. It’s not your fault that a bunch of idiotic reporters sneaked into the stable and spooked Uriah.” Loni’s throat felt as if a steel band were tightening around it. “Hooter pushed me out of the way. He saved me and took the punishment himself.” Frank patted her knee. “Damn straight. He wouldn’t be
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen C lint dialed Loni’s cell number yet again, left another voice message, and then slapped his phone closed. His entire family sat around his kitchen table, their expressions glum. “This is like attending a wake without a corpse,” Parker observed. “I don’t know about everyone else, but I need a drink.” Tucker Coulter, Samantha’s husband, rested his elbows on the table, his forehead pleated in a thoughtful frown. “Why would she refuse to answer her phone? Was she pissed at you when she left the hospital?” Clint tossed the cell phone onto the table. “No. It’s about the media and what happened to Hooter, I’m telling you. She’s gotten it into her damned fool head that she needs to protect me, and count on it—she won’t have any contact with me until she feels sure I won’t suffer for it.” “I’m so sorry,” Frank said gruffly. “When I told Sharon Michaels about Loni’s being a psychic, I never dreamed this might happen.” Clint passed a hand over his eyes. “I should have told you
Chapter Seventeen
Epilogue
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