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"Wait," she whispered. "Please .. ."
Suddenly a gunshot blasted through the night.
Killian squeezed his eyes shut. "Thank God." His voice was scratchy and raw and tired-sounding.
She glanced at the window where a bustling stream of shadows scudded past. "What is it?"
"The party's starting." He reached for a whiskey bottle from the supply crate. "Whenever we bring back a haul from a job, we get drunk."
She felt the moment's connection with him fade away, as if he were moving farther and farther away from her, though he hadn't taken a step. The loss of that second, that feeling, was sharper and more painful than she
would have thought possible.
Get a grip on yourself, Lainie. She straightened her shoulders and tilted her chin, wiping the sadness from her face with an ease born of practice. She'd let him see too much, had given him too much power.
But now it was over. She'd thrown away her pride and asked him for help . . . begged him ... and it hadn't worked. She had her answer. An unequivocal no.
A sinking sense of regret settled against her heart, made her chest ache. Why had she expected anything else?
He set the bottle down on the table with a sloshing clank and turned away from her. "Come on. Let's go."
She stood her ground. "I am not going to a party where drunk men carry loaded weapons."
He turned slightly. His shadow engulfed her, cut off the meager warmth of the lantern light. "I'm not going to leave you here alone."
"Then stay with me."
He flinched at her softly spoken words. "I could tie you to the bed."
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The gaze she gave him was steady. "Yeah, you could."
He leaned toward her, close enough to touch. She smelled the smoky scent of his shirt, felt a whisper of his hair against her temple. "If I leave you alone, will you try to escape?"
"What's it to you if I do?"
He drew in a sharp breath. His eyes narrowed. "You're not going anywhere." Spinning on his heel, he stalked to the door and swung it open, yelling Skeeter's name.
Within seconds, the scrawny cowhand skidded up to the door, an empty whiskey bottle dangling from one fist. "Yes sir, boss." He gave a wobbly salute.
"This lady's my . . . guest for the evening. Stand outside the door and guard her."
Skeeter frowned. "But the party, boss. Mose and Purty 'n the boys are shootin' up the drinkin' tent and chasin' after some o' them whores we brung up from Carson City."
"Sounds lovely," Lainie said loudly, craning around to see Skeeter better. He stared at her like a stuck pig. Then, slowly, he frowned.
"All right, boss. I'll stand here."
Killian started to head for the door, then stopped. Slowly, almost as if he didn't want to, he turned and looked back at her. Then, with a bitten-off curse, he grabbed his hat and pushed through the door. It slammed shut behind him, leaving her alone once more.
She sighed and slumped on the bed, burying her face in her hands. Emotions mingled with facts and swirled around in her head until she was dizzy for thinking about all of it.
She thought about Kelly, about time and the nature of its passing, about soul mates and second chances and
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karma. Impossible information warred with undeniable feelings and became a dull headache at the base of her neck. But underneath it all was the question, burning and insistent. A question she couldn't dispel no matter how hard she tried, no matter how hard she concentrated.
