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Why in the Christ had he turned his back on her?
His fear seemed such a small thing now, so inconsequential compared to her desperation. So what if he couldn't help her? He could get her back to Fortune Flats.
I'll get her back, God, he thought desperately. I'll send Skeeter with her. ... Just let her be all right.
Slowly he lifted his head. His eyes were gritty and tired and turned the world into a smeary blur of shadows within shadows. His headache intensified. He blinked to clear his vision.
"Ah, Lainie . . ." His tired voice cracked on her name. He shook his head.
"Killian?"
It was just a whisper of sound, so soft he thought
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he'd imagined it, conjured her voice from the shifting of the air.
Still, his breath caught. Hope hammered in his chest. "Lainie?"
"Over here."
He swung to the right. Light fanned out, touched a small, dark heap along the far wall. He took a hesitant, disbelieving step, then ran for her.
She lay curled in a ball, her knees drawn tight to her chest, her cheek pressed to the cold earth.
He dropped to his knees, almost afraid to believe she was really here. He set down the lantern and touched her cheek. Her skin was gritty and icy cold.
She turned slightly and looked up at him. Lantern light illuminated half her face, gave it the glow of warm gold.
"Lainie," he whispered, touching her cheek in a feather-stroke. "I'm sorry.. . ." His voice was thick and hoarse.
"I'm freezing," she whispered. As if to punctuate her sentence, she shivered hard.
He swept her into his arms and grabbed the lantern. Carrying her, he raced back to the camp and got her into his cabin, tucking her into the warm bed.
He sat down beside her as gently as he could. She lay on her back, her spiky hair a halo around her pale face. The grayed pillow mounded on either side of her face, made her look shrunken and incredibly fragile.
Fragile. He frowned slightly. That wasn't a word he'd ever considered in relation to Lainie. She was vulnerable, yes. But mostly she was hard and tough and determined. Hell, he'd never known anyone with a stronger will.
But now, seeing her in his bed, looking as lost as a child, he saw that she was fragile, too. Maybe more
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fragile than anyone he'd ever known. Behind all that bluster and defiance and cockiness, she was just as scared and lonely and alone as he was.
And she wanted his help.
The words hurt, caused a sharp ache in his chest. It was such a little thing she was asking. A normal man could do it with ease. But not him. Killian had been down that road before. He was a miserable failure at any kind of commitment?even one this small. He refused to let her count on him, refused to let her down.
She opened her eyes and looked up at him, her breathing shallow. "Thanks." The word was hoarse and ended in a cough.
He stared at her, trying to understand what it was about her that moved him so much, that scared him so deeply. She didn't look all that different from a hundred women he had known; she was no prettier, no sm
arter, no softer. But there was something ...
He thought of her as he'd found her, balled up and alone and crying in the dark. And suddenly he was furious with her, furious that she would risk her life in so careless a way. "You shouldn't have gone out there alone."
One thick black eyebrow arched. "Really? It's not like I had a choice."
