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Tess's finger didn't go anywhere near the button. Egotistical actors weren't for her. She had no desire to be the wind beneath his wings. Men and lives merged into one another, became a hyp-
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notic blur of color and questions and possibilities. Still Tess sat there, her finger hovering over the red button that would supposedly grant her another life. She didn't believe a word of it, of course, but somehow she couldn't hit the button?even to play along. Especially not with the kind of men who kept showing up. (Currently there was a man in a space suit hovering in front of her.)
The spaceman melted away. Slowly the color onscreen softened. A man appeared, standing alone and in the shadows. He was standing beside an old wooden crib, staring down at a baby wrapped in a bundle of woolen blankets. His big shoulders were hunched, his fingers were curled tightly around the crib's top rail. The quiet strains of his breathing reached her ears, filling her senses like long-sought-after music.
Tess felt his quiet desperation like a noose around her neck.
He moved forward, and the shadows fell away, revealing a once handsome and now haggard face framed by jet black hair badly in need of a trim. He stared down at the child. One finger at a time, as if each motion were fraught with danger, he lifted his hand and reached toward the baby's cheek. Halfway there, he froze. His fingers trembled. Tears glistened in the corners of his eyes, and he yanked his hand back.
God, how he loves that child.
Then he was gone.
Tess slammed her palm down on the button.
"He's the one?" Carol's voice sounded soft and deceptively close.
Tess nodded slowly, shaken and confused by the intensity of the emotions she'd felt. As someone who'd spent a lifetime isolated and alone, watching, she knew little of stormy passions and wrenching heartache. And yet, when she'd looked into his eyes, she'd seen pain, real pain, and
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something more. Some dark, aching emotion that ripped past her natural optimism and frightened her.
There had been something about him, something in his defeated gaze that cut like a knife blade through her heart. She'd learned long ago to read people's eyes and see beyond their words, yet never had she glimpsed a soul in such agony.
"I don't know," she murmured. "I felt such ... pain."
"I understand, hon. You've always been a healer at heart. Good luck. You'll need it with that one."
There was a wisp of rose-colored light, a scent of smoke, and then nothing. Tess knew without question that she was alone again.
"What now?" she asked of no one in particular, and flopped back in her chair.
Except there was no chair. No chair, no floor, no walls. There was only an immense sky of midnight black spack-led with stars so bright, they hurt the eyes.
Tess whizzed by the moon and kept falling.
Chapter Two
Pain. Immense, incalculable pain.
Tess lay perfectly still. She tried to breathe and found that even that simple action hurt. Every square inch of her body felt battered and broken. Even her breasts ached.
Why? Why did she feel like this?
She'd been hit by a bus.
The memory came at her like a hard right punch, catching her square in the gut. Her breath expelled in a sharp rush. Her lungs burned at the effort. No wonder she hurt. She was lucky to be alive.
Or was she?
Am I dead?
She remembered uttering that small, quiet question, remembered the endless star-spangled night sky and Carol's barroom voice. Yep.
Just as she'd thought. It had all been a dream. Or a painkiller-induced hallucination. Or one of those near-death experiences inquiring minds loved so much.
