The Outcast

THE OUTCAST

Beverly Barton

Chapter 1

He was out there somewhere. Alone. Angry. Injured. And afraid he wouldn't live long enough to prove his innocence and make the guilty pay.

Elizabeth Mallory shuddered, as much from the premonition as from the chill of the February wind whipping across the front porch of her mountain cabin home. With a cup of strong black coffee in her right hand, she stood in the open doorway, gazing out over the freshly fallen snow. The first faint hint of morning painted the eastern horizon with various shades of red, from palest pink to deepest crimson. Clouds swirled, dark and foreboding in the gray sky, warning of more sleet and snow.

Elizabeth had sensed a winter storm brewing for days. She was never wrong about her weather forecasts. And she was never wrong in her premonitions. That's what bothered her. The stranger had invaded her thoughts months ago, and no matter how hard she tried to shake him, she couldn't. The first time he had come to her in a night dream. She had awakened from a deep sleep, trembling from the intensity of the vision. She had seen his hands. Big, strong hands-covered with blood. And then she'd seen his stunned face. Those fierce masculine features. Those amber eyes. She had tried to connect with his feelings, but without success. Who was this man? she'd wondered. Where was he? And why was she dreaming of him?

There was only one man in her life, if you didn't count O'Grady, a friend of her aunt Margaret's who did odd jobs around the greenhouses and kept her supplied in firewood for the long winter months high in the Georgia mountains. Sam Dundee had been her stepfather's younger brother, and when her parents had died in an automobile accident while she'd been a child, Sam had become her legal guardian. As much as she loved Sam and he her, the love they shared was platonic, the deep care and concern of family.

So there had been no one. Not in her bed. Not in her heart. Not until the past few months when she had been unable to control the visions of a tormented man pacing back and forth inside a cage. She had wanted to comfort him, but she couldn't. She could not reach him, no matter how hard she tried. Her telepathic abilities had always been somewhat untutored, not nearly as finely honed as her clairvoyant and precognitive powers, but there was more to it than that. This man, this tortured stranger, shielded his emotions, keeping everyone out, including Elizabeth.

Since childhood she'd known she was different. Her mother and stepfather had brought her to Sequana Falls, deep in the north Georgia mountains, home to her great-aunt, who also possessed psychic abilities and was the only one who'd ever been able to understand the soul-felt pain Elizabeth endured because of her powers.

Except for a brief sojourn from her mountain retreat to attend college, Elizabeth secluded herself from the world. Her abilities to predict the future, to foresee forthcoming events and read minds created problems for her from which not even Sam Dundee, with all his macho strength and loving concern, could protect her.

Cloistering herself away from the world had helped her live a somewhat normal life. She had sworn, after the terrors of living away from Sequana Falls for three years to acquire a college degree while still a teenager, that nothing and no one could ever persuade her to leave her sanctuary again.

Elizabeth allowed the hot coffee to warm her mouth before traveling downward, creating a soft heat within her body. She breathed in the fresh, crisp air-unpolluted mountain air, air closer to the heavens, as if it mingled with God's breath.

She tried to keep her eyes open, tried to focus on the snow-laden trees in the forest surrounding her. But the images formed in her mind, forcing her to see them, whether she wanted to or not. Darkness enveloped her. Night. Tonight! The stranger was running. Running in the freezing sleet, his feet weighted down by the heaviness of the packed, frozen snow beneath him. He slipped, righted himself, ran more slowly. Then he slipped again, lost his balance and fell into a snowdrift.

The cup in Elizabeth's hand trembled, sloshing warm coffee over the rim and onto her fingers. Shaking her head, she tried to dislodge the vision, to force the images to stop. She groaned deeply, softly. The pain of seeing the stranger's predicament and being powerless to help him frustrated Elizabeth.

Suddenly she felt MacDatho's cool, damp nose nuzzle the hand she held clutched at her hip. Her thoughts cleared. Nothing but dark clouds and white snow appeared in her line of vision. Turning her head slightly, she looked down at her companion. He gazed up at her with those serene amber eyes of his, as if he, too, had seen exactly what she had seen, as if he knew that a stranger was about to enter their lives.

Running her fingers through his thick winter fur, Elizabeth crooned to the big black animal, reassuring him that she was all right. She had raised MacDatho from a pup, his mother Elspeth, her German shepherd pet of many years, his father a wolf from out of the forest.

"You know, don't you, my fine lad?" Elizabeth said. "He's coming to us. Tonight."

MacDatho made a sound-not a bark, not a growl, just a rumbling sound. An affirmation of his mistress's words. He leaned his head against her leg, allowing her to pet him.

"I don't know what sort of man he is." Elizabeth nudged MacDatho, leading him back inside the cabin. She closed the heavy wooden door, shutting out the cold morning.

A fire blazed brightly in the enormous rock fireplace in the living room. MacDatho followed Elizabeth to the large, sturdy plaid sofa. When she sat, he lay at her feet.

"He's in trouble and he needs me, but that's all I can sense." Elizabeth placed her mug on the rustic table beside the sofa. "I can't read him, Mac. Odd, isn't it? I can read everyone, even Sam some of the time, but I can't get past the barrier this man has put up." Elizabeth was puzzled that she could pick up no more than a tiny fraction of the stranger's thoughts or emotions. Nothing solid. Nothing complete.

Elizabeth curled up on the sofa, bending her knees so she could tuck her feet behind her. For the first time in her life Elizabeth Mallory was afraid of another human being without knowing why. Out there somewhere was a man she didn't know, a man in some sort of trouble, a man making his way to her cabin-to her. For months she had been tormented by images of this man's life. Bits and pieces of loneliness and pain. Fragments of anger and fear. If only he would allow her to see inside, to share what he was feeling. But it was obvious to Elizabeth that he shielded himself from emotions so completely that he never permitted anything or anyone past his protective barriers. Although Elizabeth knew him, would recognize him the moment she saw him, he didn't know her. When they met tonight-and they would meet tonight-he would have no idea that he was more than an invading presence in her life, that he had held a special place in her thoughts for many months, that he had become important to her even though they didn't know each other.

As much as she feared this unknown man, Elizabeth longed for him to enter her life. Anxiety and uncertainty warred with desperate need. Fear battled desire. Dread fought with longing. Elizabeth closed her eyes. The mo­ment she envisioned his hard, lean lips forming a strangled cry and heard him pray for help, she knew she was this man's only hope-this lonely and unloved outcast.

Slouched over in the seat, his shoulders slumped, eyes downcast, Reece Landry screamed silently at the injustice that had brought him to this point in his life. He'd been screaming for months, but no one had heard him.

He had never pretended to be a saint, never considered himself a good man, and he was guilty of many sins and a few crimes. But he was innocent of the murder that had placed him in this sheriff's car, on this Georgia highway in the middle of a once-in-a-decade winter storm, being taken to Habersham County, to Alto, Georgia, to be locked away inside Arrendale Correctional Institute for the rest of his life.

No one had believed him, except perhaps his lawyer. But he wasn't even sure about Gary Elkins. His half sister, Christina had hired the man. And despite the fact that Chris professed she believed he was innocent, she couldn't disguise the doubt in her eyes. No matter how much he wanted to trust Chris, she was, after all, a Stanton, and he knew better than to trust a Stanton.

Gary had told him not to lose heart, that he would appeal the case, that sooner or later they would find the real murderer. Reece wasn't so sure. In the five months since B. K. Stanton's death, the police hadn't sought another suspect. Just about the whole town of Newell believed Reece Landry was guilty.

With his head still bent, pretending sleep, Reece glanced around inside the car. The doors were locked, opening only from the outside. A Plexiglas partition separated him from the two deputies in the front of the car. He'd known Jimmy Don Lewis most of his life, and the two had never liked one another. Jimmy Don had always been a cocky little SOB. Harold Jamison wasn't much mote than a kid, red haired, freckled, with a warm, friendly country-boy grin.

Reece sat perfectly still, but in his mind he tugged on the chains binding his hands and feet, broke free and overpowered the deputies.

Hearing a chinking sound, Reece checked outside. Sleet mixed with snow peppered the windows.

In about an hour they would be in Alto. Reece could almost hear the gate closing behind him, could feel the walls shrinking to encompass him in a cage from which he would never escape.

Guilty. Guilty of murder in the first degree. He would never forget listening to the verdict being read or seeing the faces of the twelve jurors as they watched him during the trial. Not once had any of them looked at him with pity or uncertainty. He'd known, in his gut, that they would never set him free. B. K. Stanton had been the wealthiest and most powerful man in Newell, and Reece Landry had been the only suspect in his murder.

What the hell had he expected? The deck had been stacked against him since the day he was born. No one who lived on Lilac Road had a chance of gaining respectability, least of all the bastard son of a dirt farmer's daughter who had given her heart and her body to a married man.

He had grown up in Newell, in that tar-paper shack on Lilac Road, across the street from the local whorehouse and a half mile away from the best bootlegger in the county. He'd grown up hard and tough and just a little mean. Being born a bastard, raised in poverty, with a son of a bitch for a stepfather did that to a boy.

He had learned young that it didn't pay to care about anyone or anything except himself. The only person he'd ever loved, the only person who'd ever loved him had been Blanche, his beautiful, badly used and abused mother. But when he was twelve she'd died and left him with her sadistic husband.

He'd wondered why Blanche had ever married Harry Gunn. She had told him once that they were lucky to have Harry, someone to keep a roof over their heads and food in their stomachs, that not just any man would be willing to take another man's leavings.

And that's what he and his mother had been-B. K. Stanton's leavings.

The screech of tires coincided with the sudden jolt that sent Reece forward in his seat, only the safety belt stopping his headlong dive through the Plexiglas partition. The car somersaulted off the road, rolling over and over, landing right side up again as it skidded straight into the side of the mountain. A loud blast, the shattering of glass and screams of the startled deputies blended with the cry of the violent winter wind and the clink of frozen rain hitting the vehicle. The car's tumultuous movement tossed Reece about inside the back seat, despite the restraint of the safety belt. He grabbed in thin air for something to help him keep his balance as the car scraped along the side of the mountain, caving in the side of the car where Reece sat, then coming to a crashing halt as it ran head-on into an immovable object.

The pain in his head blinded Reece momentarily, a purple blackness swirling in front of his eyes. Running his hand over his face, he felt the wet warmth of his own blood. Another pain shot through his leg, the one caught between the seat and the crushed side of the car. He snapped the safety belt open, struggling to move. Tugging fiercely, he freed his trapped leg. Pain shot through his leg, and a sharpness caught his breath, sending an intolerable ache through his chest.

With his vision lost, Reece’s other senses took over, intensifying the pain of his injuries, creating a sour taste in his mouth and alerting him to the sweet, sickening smell of his own blood.

What the hell had happened?

Reece's vision cleared to a blurred fuzziness. Pale light, then streaks of colors floated in front of him. He heard the deep moan of another man and wondered who else was hurt.

When he tried to move, every inch of his body protested as intense pain warned him to stay still. Slowly, with the fuzziness fading and forms taking shape, Reece's vision cleared. Trying not to jar his body or move his head, he scanned the inside of the car. The Plexiglas partition was still intact, but the front seat was now shoved several inches into the back. The side of the car where Reece had been sitting was dented, caved in enough so that the glass had shattered, but a huge limb blocked escape by that route.

Forcing himself to endure the pain, Reece turned his head, knowing his only hope was to kick out the right window. Did he have the strength? Would it matter if he did?

He had no idea what condition Jimmy Don and Harold were in, whether they were dead or alive.

Reece tried to move again. Excruciating pain took his breath away. He tried again, lying down in the seat and positioning his feet. He kicked at the window. Once. Twice. Nothing. Then, garnering all his strength, Reece gave the kick all he had, crashing the window.

He eased his big body through the opening, the howling wind eating through his coveralls, the torrent of wet snow sticking to his hair and face like drops of chilled glue.

Landing flat on his face, Reece struggled to stand, but his legs wouldn't cooperate. He had to get up. He had to check on Jimmy Don and Harold. With his ankles shackled together, he found walking on the frozen ground difficult.

Reece couldn't remember a time in his life when he'd ached so badly, when every muscle in his body had cried out for relief. He wondered if he'd cracked a couple of ribs. Just how the hell was he going to escape when it was all he could do to breathe?

Knowing he couldn't leave without checking on the deputies, Reece crawled on his knees to the front side of the car. Fighting his pain and struggling against the wet, freezing sleet mixed with snow that hammered his unprotected head and face, Reece grasped the door handle and pulled himself to his feet. His leg ached like hell.

The sheriff's car had ended its wild ride with its left side butted up against the mountain, the hood crushed, like a squeezed accordion, into an enormous old tree. Snow blew into the car through the shattered windshield, covering both deputies. Reece tried to open the door, but it wouldn't budge. He called out to the men inside, knowing he couldn't leave them to die. Reece rammed his shackled fists through the window.

Peering inside he saw that Harold Jamison had been crushed by the steering wheel. He lay slumped over, his bloody face turned to one side, his sightless eyes staring off into space. Harold had been crushed to death, his body trapped. Jimmy Don moaned, but didn't open his eyes. Reece laid his hand on the man's shoulder. "I'll get you some help. Just hang on."

Reece scanned his surroundings, seeing only the sleet and snow that obscured his vision and limited his ability to navigate. The highway couldn't be more than a few yards away, could it? Maybe he could flag down a passing car or truck. But who in their right mind would be traveling in this weather? And if he flagged down a car for help, how would he explain not staying around until assistance arrived?

Then he remembered the radio in the car. Maybe the communication device was still operational. It was worth a try. Reece reached over Jimmy Don, checked the radio and sighed with relief when he found it still working. He radioed for help, giving the dispatch as much information as his limited knowledge permitted. When he was asked to identify himself, he cut the conversation short. He had to get away before it was too late. He'd done what he could to help Jimmy Don. It was probably more than the deputy would have done for him, under similar circumstances.

Reece winced, as much from the cynicism of his thoughts as from the constant pain in his head and body. He squeezed Jimmy Don's shoulder.

"I've radioed for help. Just hang in there."

Jimmy Don opened his eyes, his mouth trembling. He struggled to speak, but only a groan passed his lips. His body shook, then jerked. His head fell back against the seat.

"Jimmy Don!" Reece sought a pulse, but found none.

He knew what he had to do in order to survive, but he couldn't help feeling a certain amount of disrespect rifling Jimmy Don's corpse. He did it just the same, finding the keys that would free his hands and feet. Free! Free to run? Free to be hunted down and killed? No! Somehow, some way, he'd get away, he'd go back to Newell and find the person who'd killed B.K. Fate had intervened, giving him a chance to prove his innocence.

If he'd thought having the key would solve his problems easily, he'd been dead wrong. After several tries, he decided it was damned near impossible to insert the key and unlock the handcuffs. Cursing under his breath when he dropped the key to the ground, Reece lowered himself to his knees and retrieved it. He had to get out of these damned cuffs and chains or he'd never be able to escape.

Placing the key in his mouth, Reece lifted his hands and lowered his head. Damn but this was going to be tricky. He tried and failed, then tried again. Help should be arriving before too long. He didn't have all the time in the world to get away, but it looked like it just might take him half a day to free himself. On the fourth try, he inserted the key and said a silent thank-you to whatever higher power there might be. Clamping down on the key with his teeth, holding it as securely as he could, he turned his head, twisting the key in the lock. Reece believed the sweetest sound he'd ever heard was the lock on his handcuffs releasing.

He snapped the cuffs apart, flung them out into the snow and rubbed his wrists. Bending, he unlocked the shackles around his ankles and kicked them away.

The deputy wouldn't need his coat, but Reece would if he was to survive in this weather. He eased Jimmy Don's heavy winter jacket off his lifeless body and lifted his 9 mm automatic from its holster. Then he pulled the deputy's wallet from his pocket and removed the money inside, shoving the bills into the jacket.

Tramping through the packed snow, hearing the thin layer of forming ice crunching beneath his chilled feet, he struggled around the car, praying he could find his way to freedom.

A warm stickiness dripped down his cheek. Reaching up, he wiped away the moisture, then looked down at his hand to see a mixture of melting snow and fresh blood. God, how his head hurt!

With slow, painful steps, Reece made his way to the roadside. He had no idea where he was or in which direction he was headed. All he knew was that he couldn't stick around and get captured, get taken to Arrendale and locked away for the rest of his life. He hadn't killed B.K., but the only way he could prove it was to return to Newell and find the real murderer.

Damn, it was cold. Even in the sheepskin-lined jacket he'd stolen from Jimmy Don's dead body and the heavyweight navy blue winter coveralls issued to him at the county jail, the frigid wind cut through his clothing like a rapier slicing through soft butter.

He stumbled along the shoulder of the highway, finding it less slick than the icy road. Taking one slow, agonizing step at a time, Reece longed to run, but he did well just to continue walking.

He didn't know how long he'd been traveling away from the wrecked car when he saw the headlights of an oncoming vehicle. God, what he'd give for the warmth and shelter inside a car. If only he could sit down a few minutes and thaw out his frozen hands and feet. Trudging out into the road, Reece waved his hands about, hoping the driver would see him, and praying he wouldn't run him over.

The vehicle, an older model Bronco, slowed, then stopped, the motor running and the lights cutting through the heavy cloud of falling snow.

"What's the matter, are you crazy?" A middle-aged man, wearing what appeared to be camouflage hunting gear, got out of the Bronco.

"My car skidded off the road a ways back," Reece lied. "It's a total wreck. I need a ride to the nearest town."

"You hurt?" the gruff-spoken, ruddy-faced man asked.

"Banged my head pretty bad, bruised my leg and I could have a couple of ribs broken."

"Get in. I'm heading for Dover's Mill. Planning on getting me a bite to eat and a warm bed for the night. We can see if they've got a doctor who'll take a look at you."

"Thanks." Reece eased into the Bronco, slamming the door behind him. The warmth inside surrounded him. The comfort of sitting down spread an incredible ease through his aching body.

"I'm Ted Packard." The Bronco's driver held out his hand to Reece.

Reece hesitated momentarily, then offered the man his cold, bloodstained hand. "I appreciate the ride, Mr. Packard."

Ted eyed Reece with skepticism as he shifted gears, putting the vehicle in Drive. "What's your name, boy?"

"Landers. Rick Landers."

"Well, Rick, normally it wouldn't take us fifteen minutes to get to Dover's Mill, but with this damned storm, it could take us an hour."

Thankfully, Ted Packard wasn't a big talker or overly inquisitive. He'd seemed to accept Reece on face value, believing his story of having wrecked his car. The warmth and quiet inside the Bronco relaxed Reece, lulling him to sleep. When Ted tapped him on the shoulder to awaken him, Reece couldn't believe he'd actually dozed off.

"This here's Dorajean's," Ted said. "Best food in Dover's Mill. We'll ask inside about a doctor for you."

"Thanks." Reece opened the door, but found stepping out into the frigid afternoon air far more painful than he would have expected. He kept his moans and groans in check. "I don't think I need a doctor. At least, not right away. But I sure could use a hot cup of coffee and a bite to eat."

"Suit yourself," Ted said, exiting the four-wheel-drive vehicle. "You can call a local garage about your car, but I doubt there's much they can do until this storm lifts. If your car's totaled, it won't matter anyway, will it?"

"Right." Although his steps faltered a few times, Reece followed Ted into Dorajean's.

The restaurant buzzed with activity, obviously filled with stranded motorists. Every booth and table was occupied, leaving only a couple of counter stools free. Sitting beside Ted, Reece ordered coffee and the day's special-meat loaf, creamed potatoes and green peas.

The waitress, a heavyset, fiftyish redhead, flirted outrageously with Ted, the two apparently old acquaintances. Reece gulped his first cup of coffee, relishing the strong, dark brew as it wanned his insides. A TV attached to the wall possessed a snowy image of a newscaster. The sound had been turned down, but Reece could hear the static drowning out the broadcaster's voice. A nervous tremor shot through Reece's body. How long would it be before the sheriff's car was found and the authorities discovered that convicted murderer Reece Landry was missing? A few hours? By nightfall? Early morning?

Reece sipped his second cup of coffee, enjoying it even more than the first. He glanced around the restaurant, noting the homey atmosphere, the red gingham curtains and tablecloths, the old-fashioned booths still sporting the outdated jukebox selectors. He wondered if the contraptions still worked.

The place was cram-packed with people of various ages, sexes and races. Water from the melting snow that had stuck to customers' feet dotted the black-and-white tile floor. Reece glanced out the windows, the heavy falling snow so thick he couldn't even see Ted's car in the parking lot.

The front door swung open. Reece's heart stopped. A local deputy walked into Dorajean's. Damn! He warned himself to stay calm, but his gut instincts told him to run. Hell, he was wearing county-issued coveralls, another deputy's winter coat and carrying a gun registered to the sheriff's department. What should he do? Did he dare risk staying long enough to eat? Surely the deputy wouldn't spot one man in the middle of so many people.

The deputy walked over and sat on the empty stool next to Ted Packard. Reece clutched his hands into fists at his sides to keep them from trembling. He wasn't going to get caught. He couldn't bear the thought of going to prison. He had to stay free long enough to find out who had killed B.K.

"Here you go, sugar. Dorajean's special for today." The redhead set the plate of piping-hot food in front of Reece.

"Thanks." He was hungry. He hadn't been able to eat more than a few bites of his breakfast this morning.

"You look like you've been in a fight, good-looking," the waitress said. "You got bruises all over your face and some dried blood on your forehead."

"Wrecked his car a ways back," Ted said. "I gave him a lift into Dover's Mill."

Why didn't they just shut up? Reece wondered. The more they discussed him, the more likely the deputy would take notice.

Reece shoved a spoonful of meat loaf into his mouth, following it with huge bites of potatoes and peas. Then he felt someone watching him. Not turning his head, but glancing past Ted, he saw the deputy glaring at him.

Reece stood. He had to get away. "Where's your rest room?"

"Round the corner, to the right," the waitress told him.

"Thanks."

Reece scanned the restaurant, looking for another entrance. There wasn't one. He headed in the direction of the rest room, then made a quick turn and walked into the kitchen, hugging the wall, hoping the cook wouldn't notice him. Easing slowly toward the back door, he breathed a sigh of relief when he stepped outside. The thick veil of snow created limited visibility, so Reece wasn't surprised when he stumbled over a low stack of wood and fell headlong into a row of metal garbage cans. Dammit, what a racket they made.

A sharp pain sliced through his side, and another zipped up his injured leg. Blood oozed down the bridge of his nose. He wiped it away. Every inch of his body ached, every bone, every muscle, every centimeter of flesh.

He headed into the wooded area behind the restaurant, not daring to go back into the parking lot. Sooner or later, when he didn't come back to the counter, Ted and the waitress would wonder what had happened to him. It couldn't be helped. He had to find someplace to stay until he'd mended enough to travel home to Newell.

When Reece tried to run, the pain hit him full force. He walked as fast as the snow-laden ground would allow, then as the cold seeped into his body and he became one with the pain, he increased his speed, finally breaking into a run.

Incoherent thoughts raced through his mind. Panic seized him, forcing him onward when common sense would have cautioned him to stop. Bleeding, out of breath and disoriented, Reece felt himself falling, falling, falling. When his body hit the ground, cushioned by a good seven inches of snow, he wanted nothing more than to lie there and go to sleep. Can't do that! Got to get up. Keep moving.

Come to me. I'm waiting. I can help you.

Reece heard the voice as clearly as if someone was standing beside him, speaking. Dear God, I'm losing my mind, he thought. I'm hearing voices.

With an endurance born of a lifetime of struggle and determination, Reece rose to his knees and then to his feet. He walked. He ran slowly. He fell. He picked himself up and walked again. He sloshed through a partially frozen stream, the water rushing around chunks of ice. His foot caught on a limb and he fell, his hip breaking through the ice. Cold water seeped into his coveralls. Righting himself, he stood and tramped down and out of the stream.

Minutes ran together, warping his sense of time, until Reece had no idea how long he had trudged through the woods. The sky had turned from gray to black. Not a star glimmered in the heavens. Swollen snow clouds blocked the moon, allowing only the faintest light to filter through the darkness. Reece couldn't see a damned thing, not even his own hand in front of his face. And he was so numbed from the cold and the constant pain that he barely felt the chilling wind or the freezing dampness.

It had to be night. That meant it had been hours since he'd left the restaurant back in Dover's Mill. Why hadn't he found shelter? Surely someone had a cabin or a shack out in these woods.

Reece felt his legs give way. He stumbled to his knees. Knowing that if he lay down in the snow he would never get up, Reece struggled to stay awake, to keep moving. He began crawling. One slow, painful inch at a time.

Beckoned by an unseen force, by a comforting voice inside his head, Reece refused to surrender to the pain and hopelessness. Then suddenly a sense of excitement encompassed him. That's when he saw it-an enormous wood-and-rock cabin standing on a snow-covered hill. Lights shone in every window as if welcoming him home. Dear God in heaven, was he hallucinating? Was the cabin real?

With what little strength he had left he forced himself to his feet, then checked in his pocket for the automatic. He was going to find out if that cabin was real. If it was real, then someone lived there and that person wouldn't take kindly to an escaped convict spending the night.

Lifting his feet, forcing himself to trek up the hill, Reece felt weighted down with numbness. The cabin hadn't disappeared. Still there. A warm, inviting sight. Only a few yards away. Huge steps, wide and high, awaited him. Pausing briefly, he stared up at the front porch. He'd have to break in, maybe through a window. But first he'd try the door, test its sturdiness, check out the lock.

One step. Two. Three. Four. He swayed, almost losing his balance. Can't pass out. Not now. So close. He lifted his foot up off the last step and onto the porch. The front door was so close, but somehow it seemed a mile away. If he couldn't figure out a way to pick the lock on the door, did he have the strength to smash in a window? Whoever lived inside was bound to hear the noise. He ran his hand over the bulge the 9 mm made in the coat pocket. Would he use the gun? Could he? Whoever lived inside would be an innocent victim.

Reaching out, his hand trembling, he grabbed the door handle. With shocking ease the door opened. Reece couldn't believe his good fortune. The door hadn't been locked. Who in their right mind would leave a door unlocked?

He eased the door back an inch at a time, hesitant, wondering what he would face inside the cabin. When he had opened the door completely he stared into the softly lit interior, the warmth of the house enveloping his frozen body, creating razor-sharp pricks of pain as the protective numbness began to thaw.

The smell of chicken stew permeated the air. And coffee. And something rich and spicy. Cinnamon. Maybe an apple pie.

He heard a noise, a low animal groan, then a deep growl. That's when he saw the animal. Thick black fur. Eyes like amber glass ovals. Sharp white teeth-bared. Hackles raised. What the hell was it? It looked like a damn wolf.

"Easy, Mac." The voice was gentle, soothing and captivatingly feminine. "It's him."

Reece gazed into the eyes of the most incredibly beautiful woman he'd ever seen. She stood just inside the enormous great room of the cabin, the wolf at her side. Her hourglass figure was covered with a pair of faded jeans and a red turtleneck sweater, overlaid with a plaid jacket. Reece couldn't stop staring at her, gazing deeply into her pure blue eyes.

"Shut the door behind you." Her voice held a melodious quality. "You're letting out all the heat."

Reece slammed the door, then closed his eyes for a split second. Shaking his head to dislodge the cobwebs of confusion was a mistake. Pain so intense that he nearly doubled over shot through his head.

"You're injured." She took a tentative step toward him, the wolf following. "Let me help you."

Reece touched the 9 mm in his pocket, then glared at the woman, hoping she wouldn't do anything foolish. What could he say to her? How could he explain being here inside her cabin? Unless she was a total fool, she'd soon realize he was wearing county jail coveralls and a deputy's stolen coat. Under the best of circumstances Reece wasn't much of a sweet-talker, and now sure as hell wasn't the time to learn how to become one.

"I need food and shelter for the night." He watched her face for a reaction. "I'll leave in the morning." She only stared at him. "I'm not going to hurt you. You don't need to be afraid of me."

The wolf took several steps ahead of his mistress, stopping only when she called his name and ordered him to sit.

"You don't need to be afraid of me, either," she said. "I only want to help you. Please trust me."

Reece grunted, then laughed, deep in his chest. "Yeah, sure. Trust you. Trust a stranger. Lady, I don't trust anybody." Reece couldn't figure her out. Why wasn't she her head off? Why wasn't she deathly afraid of him? Any sensible woman would have been. "I'm hungry. I need some food. A cup of coffee to start."

"All right. Please come in and sit down. I'll get you some coffee." She turned, but the wolf continued watching Reece.

"No, you don't. Stop!" She could be going to call the law, to turn him in. Reece covered the distance separating them in seconds, his head spinning, darkness closing in on him. Grabbing her by the arm, he whirled her around to face him. "I don't want you out of my sight. Understand?"

He wished the room would stop moving, wished his stomach didn't feel like emptying itself, wished the pain in his body would stop tormenting him.

"I'm not your enemy," she told him.

He heard her voice, but could no longer see her face. Darkness overcame him. His knees gave way. His hand slipped out of his pocket. He swayed sideways, then, like a mighty timber whose trunk had just been severed, Reece Landry dropped to the floor.

Chapter 2

Elizabeth knelt beside the stranger who had invaded the sanctuary of her home as surely as be had invaded her heart and mind repeatedly over the past few months. MacDatho sniffed the man's feet and legs, then lifted his head to stare at his mistress, their eyes connecting as they shared a common thought. This man, although weak, sick and at the moment disabled, could be dangerous. Her mind warned her to be wary of him; her heart told her to help him.

Touching his cheek, Elizabeth sensed the tension within his big body, despite the fact that he appeared to be unconscious. A day's growth of dark brown stubble covered his face, adding to his strong, masculine aura.

"He's cold, Mac. Almost frozen." Elizabeth began unbuttoning his heavy jacket. "We've got to get him out of these wet clothes and warm him up."

The man groaned. His eyes flickered open, then shut again. Elizabeth's hand stilled on his chest. She felt the hard, heavy pounding of his heartbeat and sensed the great strength and endurance he possessed.

Working quickly, she finished unbuttoning the sheepskin jacket, pushed it apart across the stranger's broad chest and tried to lift his left shoulder so she could ease his arm out of the garment.

Opening his eyes, Reece stared up at the woman leaning over him fiercely tugging on his jacket sleeve. What the hell was she trying to do, undress him? Was it possible that she was actually trying to help him? Well, he didn't want her help; he didn't want anybody's help. He'd learned long ago not to trust people, especially those who pretended they wanted to help you.

Reece grabbed the woman by the neck, shoving aside the thick, long braid of dark hair that hung down her back. Gasping, she stared at him, her big blue eyes filled with surprise. Then he heard the animal at her side growl as it lowered its head and bared its fangs, its hackles bristling in warning.

"Let go of me." Elizabeth kept her voice soft, even and as unemotional as possible.

"And if I don't?" Lying on his side, Reece pulled her face down next to his. There was a smell of woman about her, sweet and clean but slightly musky. He could sense that she was just a little bit afraid of him and trying her damnedest not to show it.

"MacDatho could rip out your throat if I gave him the order." She was so close to this man, only a breath away, their mouths and noses almost touching. Warmth spread through her body, a result of fear, uncertainty and sexual awareness. Some deep-seated yearning within her urged her to taste his lips, to warm their cool surface with the heat of her mouth.

Reece reached up with his other hand, encompassing her neck completely with both hands. "And I could snap your soft, silky neck like a twig." Glancing at the woman's huge dog, he wondered if the animal would attack with or without his mistress's command.

Reece felt the woman's pulse beating rapidly in her neck. No doubt about it, she was afraid of him. Good. He needed her scared so she wouldn't do anything stupid. If he could control her, he could control her animal. But the moment he glanced from the dog back to her face, he almost regretted having threatened her. There was a wounded look in her eyes.

MacDatho growled deeply, raising his tail, his teeth still bared.

"No, Mac. I'm all right." Trying to convince herself as much as MacDatho, Elizabeth sent a message to Mac that this stranger was their friend, a friend in need of their help.

MacDatho eyed the stranger, then lowered his tail, but his hackles remained raised and his teeth partially bared in a snarl.

"You've got that animal trained pretty good, haven't you?" Keeping a tight hold on the woman, Reece raised himself up off the floor. Every bone, every muscle, every fiber of his being ached. The warmth inside the cabin sent pinpricks of pain through his body, the frigid numbness slowly replaced by nearly unbearable feeling.

"We're going to get up off the floor," Reece said, shoving himself against the soft solidity of the woman's body.

Elizabeth followed his orders, struggling to stand when he forced himself to his feet. He kept a stranglehold on her neck with one hand, the other hand biting into her shoulder. Once on his feet, he swayed. Elizabeth slipped her arm around his waist, instinctively trying to help him. He jerked away from her touch, momentarily releasing his hold on her.

She had never known anyone so afraid of human contact, so distrustful of another person's offer of help. "You need to get out of those wet clothes. You need to get warm."

Reece grabbed her by the arm. MacDatho growled again. Elizabeth sent Mac a silent message to stay calm, but she could sense his intention to attack Reece-and soon.

Elizabeth had only one choice. When she was on her feet again, she bowed her head, concentrating completely on stopping Mac from acting on his animal instincts to protect her.

"I don't want to hurt you," Reece heard himself saying and wondered why he felt such a strong need to reassure this woman. He pulled her close to his side, forcing her to walk beside him to the enormous rock fireplace.

Shivers racked his body. His hands trembled, and for a moment he wasn't sure he would be able to continue standing. When he shoved Elizabeth away from him, she almost lost her balance, but she caught hold of the wooden rocker near the wood stack on the wide hearth. MacDatho approached Reece with slow, deliberate strides.

You mustn't attack him, Elizabeth warned. Closing her eyes, she cautioned MacDatho that this stranger was an alpha male, a pack leader, the dominant animal.

Mac stopped dead still, eyeing Elizabeth as if questioning her, then he looked at Reece, dropped his tail, cringed low on his hind legs and began making licking movements with his tongue.

"What the hell's wrong with him?" The damned dog acted as if he'd suddenly become deathly afraid of Reece, and his actions didn't make any sense.

"It's Mac's way of accepting you, of letting you know he wants to be your friend." No need to explain to this stranger that she had convinced MacDatho that another male animal was the dominant one. He probably wouldn't understand, anyway.

"I don't want his friendship, or yours, either." The pain in Reece's head intensified, the tormenting aches in his body blazing to life as the numbness faded. "I'm hungry. I need some food. And some aspirin."

"If you'll come into the kitchen, I'll fix you something. Or if you want to rest in here, I'll bring out something on a tray."

"You're not going anywhere without me." Reece glanced around, looking for all the exits from the huge room. No matter what she said or how sweetly she acted, he couldn't trust this woman. He didn't dare.

He wouldn't hurt her. Hell, he wouldn't even hurt her damn, crazy dog. But he couldn't let her know that she had nothing to fear from him or she might destroy his only chance of escaping a prison sentence and proving himself an innocent man.

"Come into the kitchen. I have some leftover chicken stew from supper."

Elizabeth glanced back at the stranger as he followed her toward the kitchen. He walked on unsteady legs, his movements slow paced and lethargic. If he made it to the kitchen it would be a miracle. The man was dead on his feet.

Reece felt the dark, sinking nausea hit him. His knees buckled. He grabbed at thin air, trying to steady himself. Don't you dare pass out again! If you do, you'll wake up in prison! He heard the woman say something to him, but the loud, buzzing roar in his head obliterated her words.

"Please, let me help you. You need to lie down." Elizabeth reached out to him, trying to touch him.

Irrational panic seized Reece. The woman was lying to him, trying to catch him off guard. She didn't know him. Why would she want to help him? He couldn't trust her.

"Stay away from me!" Clutching the gun in his right hand, he pulled it out of his coat pocket, then shoved her away, pointing the weapon directly at her.

He swayed toward the wall, his shoulder hitting the wooden surface with a resounding thud. Blackness encompassed him.

Elizabeth watched, feeling totally helpless as the stranger slid down the wall, falling onto his side. Rushing to him, she knelt beside him and realized two things. He was still alive. And he held the gun in his hand with a death grip.

"Come on, Mac. We've got to take care of him. He's probably suffering from hypothermia and Lord knows what else." Elizabeth wished her abilities extended to healing. Unfortunately, she didn't have the magic touch, only a basic knowledge of herbs and the power of the mind to restore one's health.

"I don't know how we'll ever move him. He's such a big man." After prizing the gun from his tenacious grasp, Elizabeth proceeded to remove the stranger's coat, then his shoes and socks. When she saw the county jail identification stamped on the dark blue coveralls he wore, she realized that this man, this stranger who had invaded her mind and her heart months ago, was an escaped convict.

Her trembling hands hovered over his body. Her mind raced through the thoughts and images that had been bombarding her for months. She tried to sort through her feelings, to separate her emotions from logic. This man posed a threat to her. That was a certainty. But not physically. She sensed he would never harm her, that he did not have the soul of a killer.

But he was dangerous.

"If only he'd regain consciousness." Elizabeth spoke more to herself than MacDatho, although the wolf-dog listened intently. "He's too heavy for us to move, and he needs to be in a warm bed. He could have a concussion. Look at the dried blood on his forehead and the swelling right here." Her fingers grazed the knot on his head, encountering the crusted blood that marked a line between his eyebrows and down his straight, patrician nose. She lifted a lock of brown hair, matted with blood.

Elizabeth would never have been able to explain to anyone else how she felt at this precise moment, for indeed, she could not explain her feelings to herself. All she knew was that she must help this man, that she and she alone could save him from not only the immediate physical pain he endured, but from the agony of being trapped like a caged animal, doomed to suffer for wrongs he had not committed.

With utmost haste Elizabeth divested the stranger of every article of clothing except the white boxer shorts that were plastered to his body. Where earlier the stranger had felt cold, nearly frozen to the touch, he now felt somewhat warmer.

Elizabeth rubbed his face. "Please come to, just a little. I don't think Mac and I can get you to a bed without your cooperation."

Why couldn't he have stayed unconscious when he'd first passed out in the living room? At least it was toasty warm in there, the roaring fire close. She could have made him a pallet on the floor until he'd regained consciousness. But no, he had to pass out in the cool, dimly lit hallway leading to the kitchen.

Elizabeth slapped his face gently at first, then a bit more forcefully. "Come on. Wake up."

Reece moaned. Elizabeth smiled.

"That's it, come on. All I need is partial consciousness. Just enough to get you moving."

Reece moaned again. His eyelids flickered. He heard a feminine voice issuing orders. She was demanding that he awaken, that he get on his feet. Why didn't she leave him alone? He didn't want to open his eyes. He didn't want to stand. He didn't want to move. But she, whoever the hell she was, kept prodding him, kept insisting that he help her. Help her do what?

Elizabeth said a prayer of thanks when she had roused the stranger enough to get him to sit up. His head kept leaning sideways, resting against his shoulder. He couldn't seem to keep his eyes open. Finally, summoning every ounce of strength she possessed, she helped him to his feet. He slumped against her, his heavy weight almost sending her to her knees. She struggled against her body's insistent urging to release the burden far too enormous for her to carry.

"Come on. Help me, dammit! I can't carry you." Elizabeth encouraged him, both physically by squeezing her arm around him, and mentally by concentrating on discovering his name.

For months she had been, unwillingly, a part of this man's life. She had witnessed his suffering, his anger and his degradation at being caged, but she had never been able to delve deeply inside him. She had sensed fragments of his emotions, caught quick glimpses of his past, present and future. But nothing concrete. Not even his name.

He leaned more and more heavily against her as she tried to force him to take a step. Finally she shoved him up against the wall, bracing her body against his, trying to keep him standing. If only she could get through to him. If only he wasn't shielding his mind.

She ran her fingers over his face, gently, caressingly. Lowering her voice she spoke to him, pleadingly, with great concern. She felt the breach, the slightest opening in his mind.

"I want to help you. You need me so much. Don't fight me."

Reece! His name was Reece. He had given her that much. If he hadn't been so weak, so helpless, she doubted he would have let down his protective barrier long enough for her to have gained even that small piece of information.

"We need to get you in a warm, soft bed, Reece. You're sick, and I need your cooperation so I can help you get well."

The voice spoke to him again. So soft and sweet. The woman cared about him. She wanted to help him. Was she his mother? His mother had been the only person who'd ever given a damn about him. No. It couldn't be Blanche. Blanche was dead. She'd died years ago.

"Reece, please, take just a few steps. My bedroom is right through that door."

Her bedroom? Was she one of Miss Flossie's girls? Was she trying to seduce him? No. That couldn't be it. Miss Flossie had gone out of business ten years ago, and it had been longer than that since a woman's tempting body had been able to seduce him into doing something foolish. He chose the time, the place, the circumstances and the woman. Reece Landry was always the one in control.

"Take one step. Just one." If she could persuade him to take a step, then he'd realize he could still manage to walk, and she might have a chance of getting him to bed.

MacDatho sniffed around the discarded clothing that lay on the floor, pawing at the coveralls, his sharp claws ripping the material.

"Reece, listen to me. You're safe here with me. No one's going to put you back in a cage. Can you hear me?"

"No cage." He slurred his words, but Elizabeth understood.

"Let's walk away from the cage."

"Away from the cage," he said.

If she couldn't get him to walk soon, she'd just have to lay him back down on the floor and do the best she could for him.

Reece took a tentative step, his big body leaning on Elizabeth for support.

"That's it, Reece. Walk away from the cage."

She guided his faltering steps out of the hallway, through the doorway leading to her room and straight to her bed. He dragged his feet, barely lifting them from the floor, but he cooperated enough with Elizabeth that they finally reached her antique wooden bed, the covers already folded back in readiness. Trying to ease him down onto the soft, crochet-lace-edged sheet proved impossible. Elizabeth simply released her hold around his waist, allowing him to fall across the handmade Cathedral Window quilt she used as a coverlet.

MacDatho stood in the open doorway, guarding his mistress. Pushing and shoving, tugging and turning, Elizabeth managed to place Reece's head on one of her fat, feather pillows. His boxer shorts were as damp as his other clothing, but she hesitated removing them. Feeling like a voyeur, Elizabeth tugged the wet shorts down his hips, over the bulge of his manhood, down and off his legs. With a speed born of her discomfort at seeing him naked when he was unable to protest, and the need to warm his shivering body, Elizabeth rolled Reece over until she was able to ease the covers away from his heavy bulk. Quickly she jerked the top sheet, blanket and quilt up over his hairy legs, sheltering him from the cold. Then she reached down to the foot of the bed where a wooden quilt rack stood, retrieved the heavy tartan plaid blanket hanging alongside a Crow's Foot quilt and spread it on top of the other cover.

Sitting beside Reece, she laid her hand on his warm forehead. As long as he'd been exposed to the frigid weather there was every possibility that his injuries had created serious health problems.

He looked so totally male lying there in her very feminine bed, his brown hair dark against the whiteness of her pillowcase. Even in sleep, his face was set into a frown, his eyes squinched as if he'd been staring into the sun. His face was long and lean, his mouth wide, the corners slightly drooped, the bottom lip fuller than the top. His stubble-covered chin boasted a hint of a cleft.

Mentally, Elizabeth began sorting through her knowledge of herbal medicine, taught to her by her great-aunt Margaret, a quarter Cherokee. If only Aunt Margaret was here now, but she wasn't. The old woman was past seventy and stayed close to home during the winter months. Besides, with the roads in such deplorable condition, Elizabeth doubted she could get into Dover's Mill and back, even in her Jeep.

Reece had so many problems with which she would have to deal. His ears and nose and hands had begun to regain some of their color but still remained unnaturally pale. The best remedy to reverse the hypothermia and possible frostbite would be to keep him warm.

Reaching under the weight of the covers, Elizabeth lifted Reece's hands and laid them on top of his stomach, elevating them slightly. Then she slipped a small pillow from a nearby wing-back chair beneath the cover and under his feet.

Glancing across the room to the well-worn fireplace surrounded by a simple wooden mantel, Elizabeth realized the fire needed more wood. It would be essential to Reece's recovery to keep her bedroom warm. Just as she rose from the bed the lights flickered, then dimmed, returned to normal and suddenly flickered again, this time dying quickly. The warm glow from the fireplace turned the room into golden darkness, shadows dancing on the walls and across the wide wooden floor.

"Damn!" She'd been expecting this, knowing how unreliable the electricity was here in the mountains during a storm. She'd light the kerosene lamps and keep the fires burning in all the fireplaces and in her wood-burning kitchen stove. The generator that protected the precious environment of her greenhouses had probably already kicked on. She would check to make sure the generator was working before she gathered all the ingredients for Reece's treatment.

An antiseptic to clean his head wound would be needed, birch perhaps, along with some powdered comfrey to promote the healing. Mullein would do nicely to help with the frostbite.

Having made her mental list of necessary herbs, Elizabeth double-checked to make sure Reece was covered completely before adding another log to the fire.

"Stay and keep watch, Mac. If he needs me before I return, come for me."

The antique grandfather clock in the living room struck the midnight hour. Resting in a brown leather wing-back chair by the bed, Elizabeth tucked the colorful striped afghan about her hips, letting it drape her legs. She had done all she could do for Reece, cleaning his cuts and bruises, then applying powdered comfrey. The mullein had served several purposes in its various forms of healing aids-as an oil to treat the frostbite, as a bactericidal precaution and as a decoction to calm Reece's restlessness. While he'd been partially awake she had persuaded him to drink the warm mullein brew.

MacDatho lay asleep to the right of the fireplace, in a nook between the wood box and the wall. Elizabeth dozed on and off, mostly staying awake to keep vigil, unable to refrain from staring at the big, naked man resting uneasily in her bed. This man was a stranger, an escaped convict, guilty of some horrible crime. In her mind's eye she kept seeing his large, well-formed fingers dripping with blood. Had he killed someone? Was she harboring a murderer? Obviously her visions of his being caged came from the fact that he'd been imprisoned, locked away securely behind bars.

She had been trying unsuccessfully to break through the mental shield he kept securely in place, even while he slept fitfully. Occasionally Elizabeth caught a glimpse, a glimmer, a sliver of emotion. She simply could not believe Reece was a murderer.

Perhaps she didn't want to believe him capable of murder. After all, the instincts within her feminine heart pleaded with the logical side of her brain to protect him, to heal not only his body but his soul. How could she argue with her unerring instincts? But this was the first time she'd ever been unable to read a person, at least partially. Even Sam Dundee, obstinate, rigid, controlled, self-sufficient Sam, hadn't been able to hide his thoughts and feelings from her all the time. Perhaps it was because Sam trusted her.

Reece was different. He didn't know her, had no reason to give her his trust, to open up his thoughts and feelings to her. Most people had little or no control over her ability to sense things about them, a curse for her far more than a blessing. But Reece seemed to possess a shield that kept her out. Odd that the only man she had ever allowed in her bed was the one man who refused her admittance into his private thoughts and feelings.

Elizabeth dozed in the chair the rest of the night, waking at dawn when she heard Reece groaning. He had tossed the covers off and was thrashing wildly about on the bed. Jumping up from the chair, she placed her knees on the bed, lowered herself enough to grab his flying arms and found herself tossed flat on her back, lying beneath a naked Reece.

She stared at his face, next to hers on the pillow. His eyes were still closed. Where she had held his arms in her strong grip, trying to calm him, he now held her arms over her head, the weight of his body trapping her partially beneath him, her hip resting against his arousal.

His breathing slowed, his raging movements ceased and he lay quietly, his body unnaturally warm. Elizabeth tugged on her trapped arms. Reece tightened his hold momentarily, then when she tugged again, he released her, flopping one big, hairy arm across her stomach. Elizabeth sucked in a deep breath.

How had this happened? She was alone in her bed with a naked man-a big, strong naked man. Reece. The stranger who had invaded her heart five months ago. The stranger who was an escaped convict.

Of all the men she'd known in her twenty-six years, none of them had made her feel the way Reece did. She wanted to console him, to soothe him, to whisper words of comfort. She also wanted to be held in his arms, to be kissed by his firm lips, to be covered with his hard body, to be...

Elizabeth squirmed, trying to free herself. Reece didn't budge, the weight of his body keeping her trapped. What was she going to do? She couldn't just lie there until he rolled over. Stay calm. Don't panic. Think. Once again Elizabeth concentrated on forming a mental link with Reece. Once again his mind denied her access.

Reece covered her breast with his hand. Elizabeth gasped, totally shocked by the intimacy of his action. Although she still wore her clothes, her jeans, sweater and jacket, she suddenly felt undressed. She seldom wore a bra, wasn't wearing one now, and the pressure of Reece's hand cupping her breast made her feel naked. When his finger and thumb pinched at her nipple, it responded with immediate erectness, jutting against her sweater, answering the call of Reece's command.

No man had ever touched her the way Reece was doing now. The few young men she had dated in college had seen her as a freak once they'd found out she possessed psychic abilities, some even ridiculing her as a fraud. Despite her desire to know the pleasures of love and marriage and motherhood, Elizabeth had accepted her self-imposed solitude here in her mountain retreat-here in her grandmother's home where she was safe from the outside world.

But the outside world had invaded her privacy, had indeed burst into her life in the form of one big, angry man... a man now fondling her intimately.

She covered his caressing hand with her slender fingers, gripping his hand, lifting it from her breast. Only partially conscious, Reece moaned and curled up against her, nuzzling her neck with his nose. Shivers of apprehension raced up her spine. Spirals of inner warmth spread through her body.

"Reece?" She had to get away from him, from the power of his touch, the strength of his masculinity. She tried again to move away from him. He pulled her closer.

"Reece, please let me go. I can't stay here with you like this."

She saw his eyelids flicker, open briefly and close. He ran one hand up and down her shoulder, then caressed her waist, her hip, the side of her leg. Tremors racked Elizabeth's body, heat curling inside her, moisture collecting in preparation. This had to stop! It had to stop now! She wasn't prepared for such intense emotions, for feelings beyond any she had ever experienced.

"Reece!"

He opened his eyes, smoky amber eyes, eyes that looked right at her without seeing. She gave him a gentle shove. He turned over onto his back, closing his eyes and groaning softly. Elizabeth eased away from him. Once on her feet she pulled the covers up over his body, but not before she'd taken a good look at the man who had created such wanton desire within her.

She guessed his height at well over six feet, probably two or three inches over. He was muscular but lean, his hands and feet large and well shaped. Curly, dark brown hair covered his arms and legs, a thick mat on his chest tapering down to a narrow line across his stomach and then spreading out to surround his manhood.

Elizabeth swallowed hard, mesmerized by his masculine body, by the perfection, the sculptured beauty. Her fingers itched to reach out and touch him, to caress the very maleness of him. Hastily she pulled the sheet, quilt and blanket over him, covering him up to his neck.

His breathing seemed even, his sleep natural. She thought it would be safe to leave him alone for a while, long enough to fix herself a bite of breakfast, take a quick shower and renew her strength through a few moments of meditation. She'd have MacDatho stand guard. He would be able to sense any change in Reece and alert her.

Elizabeth leaned over, placing her hand on Reece's forehead. He was warm, perhaps a little too warm, even feverish.

She'd just have to rush through breakfast and a bath. Reece didn't need to be left alone for too long. Cradling his rough, lean cheek in her hand, Elizabeth gazed down at the sleeping man. Tiny, almost indiscernible flutters spread through her stomach. So this was what sexual attraction felt like. When she'd been a teenager she'd been so sure she was in love with Sam. He'd known better. Now she did, too. Sam had been comforting, reassuring, safe. Reece was none of those things, and yet...

She left him then, left him to rest, left him in order to free herself from the magnetism he possessed, a magnetism that drew her to him as she had never been drawn to another man.

After a shower and change of clothes, she allowed herself five minutes of meditation before she devoured a bowl of oatmeal and a cup of coffee. Then she bundled up to go outside and check on her greenhouses. During college when she had decided that she could never live in the outside world, she had sought a profession suitable to her personality and life-style and had chosen horticulture. She not only loved flowers and herbs, trees and shrubs, but she had a deep reverence for nature, a respect for all living things. She'd borrowed the money from Sam to install a small greenhouse behind the cabin. Her nursery business had grown by leaps and bounds, so that now she had two large greenhouses and a mail-order business that kept her knee-deep in work. Aunt Margaret and O'Grady helped out occasionally, and in the rush seasons of fall and spring planting, she often hired part-time help from Dover's Mill.

Returning from her outside trek, Elizabeth laid peppermint leaves and elder flowers on the counter. If Reece's fever rose any higher, she would prepare a tea made from equal amounts of the two ingredients. Drinking the tea would cause profuse sweating and hopefully break the fever.

Although early-morning light should have illuminated the house through the many windows, the dreary gray sky obscured the faraway sun, keeping the house in shadows, the only light coming from the fires burning in the fireplaces and the glow from the kerosene lamps. Even though the phones should be working soon, it could be days before electrical power was restored. Thank God the generator worked perfectly, protecting her greenhouses. She supposed she should have opted to hook the house up to a generator, too, but she simply couldn't justify the expense. Despite Sam's efforts to give her money, Elizabeth prided herself upon her financial independence. Her business would sink or swim on her merits as a businesswoman. She wasn't a child any longer; she wasn't Sam's responsibility.

After pouring herself a second cup of coffee, Elizabeth turned on the portable radio nestled between pieces of her prized blue graniteware collection sitting atop the oak sideboard. Picking up the radio, she ventured out of the kitchen and down the hallway. The radio music was country-western, a current Vince Gill hit. Just as she walked into her bedroom the news came on, the announcer alerting people in the Dover's Mill area of an escaped convict, armed and dangerous.

"Reece Landry, convicted murderer, escaped from a county vehicle taking him to Arrendale Correctional Institute in Alto after the car skidded off the highway and hit a tree during yesterday's severe storm. Both deputies were killed in the accident. Landry, convicted of murdering Newell industrialist B. K. Stanton, was being taken to Arrendale to serve a life sentence. Landry is six foot three, a hundred and ninety-five pounds, with medium-length brown hair and brown eyes. He is armed with a 9 mm automatic taken from Deputy Jimmy Don Lewis. Our local county sheriff is joining forces with the sheriff's department in two other counties to help in the search for Landry. The search has been hampered by the severe weather. If anyone has any information, please contact the sheriff's department immediately. Do not approach this man. He is armed and dangerous. We repeat, Reece Landry is armed and dangerous."

Elizabeth turned off the radio, placing it and her coffee cup on a corner desk. She walked over to the bed where Reece lay sleeping. He'd thrown off the quilt and blanket, leaving only the sheet covering him from the waist down.

"Did you kill B. K. Stanton?" Elizabeth whispered, not expecting an answer but hoping she could sense Reece's innocence or guilt. She sensed nothing.

Sitting in the wing-back chair beside the bed, she reached out to touch Reece's forehead. Hot. Burning hot. The fever had risen, but he wasn't sweating. His skin was dry. She went into the bathroom, drew a pan of cool water, took a washcloth from the stack in the wicker basket where she stored them and returned to Reece's bedside. Placing the pan on the nightstand, she dipped the washcloth in the water, wrung it out and began giving Reece a rubdown. If the rubdown didn't cool his fever, she would prepare the medicinal tea.

The moment the damp cloth touched his body Reece moaned, then flung his arm out, batting at the air. He hit the side of Elizabeth's shoulder. Grabbing his arm, she lowered it to his side and continued her ministrations. Time and again she dipped the cloth into the water, wrung it lightly and massaged Reece's face, neck, shoulders and chest.

Realizing her rubdown had done nothing to lower his fever, she went to the kitchen, prepared the peppermint-and-elder tea and brought the brewed medication and an earth­enware mug to her bedroom. After pouring the concoction, she sat on the bed by Reece and lifted his head. As she'd done the night before, she placed the cup to his lips, shifting it just enough for the liquid to dribble. When the tea ran down his chin, Elizabeth inserted her finger between his closed lips, prizing his mouth open. She repeated the process. Reece accepted the tea. She kept her arm securely behind his head, holding him inclined just enough so he could swallow the medicine without choking. When he downed the last drop in the mug, Elizabeth sighed. Now all she could do was wait and pray.

Lowering his head to the pillow, Elizabeth turned so that her back rested against the headboard of the huge old bed her great-great-grandfather, a carpenter, had made as a first-anniversary gift for his wife. Their seven children, four of whom had grown to adulthood, had been born in this bed.

Time passed slowly as Elizabeth sat beside Reece, her hand idly brushing his shoulder, her fingers soothing the thick, springy hair on his chest. Moisture coated her fingertips when she touched his forehead. He was sweating. The fever had broken!

By noon Elizabeth had pushed and tugged Reece enough to change the bed linen after he'd stained them with perspiration. He lay sleeping peacefully, warm but not feverish, the flesh on his ears, nose and hands that she had feared frostbitten now a healthy pink. Perhaps he would awaken soon. When he did, he would be hungry. He'd probably want breakfast.

Glancing down at the man the radio announcer had called armed and dangerous, Elizabeth breathed deeply, wondering if she was a fool to trust him not to harm her. Fool or not, she could not deny the way she felt about him, the deep emotions he stirred within her. For five months this stranger had been a part of her. Without even knowing him, she had allowed him into her heart.

Elizabeth leaned over and kissed Reece on the cheek. He didn't stir. She ran her fingertips across his full lower lip.

Suddenly she sensed a desperate need, a soul-felt cry for help. Laying her fingertips across his mouth, Elizabeth concentrated on zeroing in on Reece's emotions. Anger. Pain. Hatred. Fear.

"God sent you to me, Reece Landry. Somehow I'm going to find a way to help you," Elizabeth vowed.

Chapter 3

Warmth. Blessed warmth. Reece lay in the soft warmth, savoring the comfort, his mind halfway between sleep and consciousness. He stretched his legs, which were covered by a downy, heated weight. His muscles ached; his head felt fuzzy. Was he dead? Had he frozen to death in the snow? Was this delicious warmth coming from hell's brimstone fire? Couldn't be, he thought. This wasn't punishment; this was heaven.

Slowly and with some difficulty, Reece forced his eyelids open. He wasn't quite sure where he was, but one thing was for certain-he hadn't died and gone to hell. He gazed up at a split-log-and-plank ceiling, the wood a mellow gold. Looking around the room, he noticed the massive stacked logs of the outer walls and the rustic rock fireplace where a cheerful fire glowed brightly. Across the wooden mantel lay an arrangement of dried flowers intermingled with large pine cones and wide plaid ribbons. Several dried-flower wreaths decorated the walls, along with a few framed charcoal nature drawings of trees, flowers and even one of a wolf.

Wolf! Last night he'd broken into this cabin. No, he hadn't really broken in. Some fool had left the door unlocked. Reece shook his head. It didn't hurt! Reaching up to touch his injured forehead, he immediately realized that the dried blood had been washed away and the swelling had diminished considerably.

Had he imagined that damned black wolf, snarling, growling, threatening, warning Reece not to harm his mistress? The woman! Had he imagined her, too? Big blue eyes. Thick dark hair lying across her back in a long braid. Full, tempting breasts. Strong arms. Comforting voice.

He could hear that voice calling his name. Reece. I want to help you. You're safe here with me. No one is going to put you back in a cage.

How the hell did she know his name? And why would she help him? Why had she taken care of him? Tiny pieces of his memory returned, fever-induced dreams of tender, caring hands bathing his body, stroking his face, doctoring his wounds, pouring some sort of hot, mint-flavored tea down his throat.

Reece sat up in bed with a start, the full implications of his fragmented memories hitting him. He had forced his way into the woman's home, unlocked door or not. And he had threatened her life before he'd passed out. But what had happened after that? Who had put him to bed?

The sudden realization that he was completely naked took him by surprise. Someone had carried him to this bed and undressed him. The woman couldn't have carried him. No way. Did that mean she had a husband? A father? A brother? He didn't remember anyone except the woman and her enormous animal protector.

Had the woman called the sheriff? Were deputies on their way here right now to take him to prison?

You're safe with me. No one is going to put you back in a cage.

Her words had been a promise, but Reece didn't trust promises. He'd found in his vast experience with the human race that most people lied whenever it suited them.

Reece tossed back the covers, slid his legs out of the bed and touched his feet to the floor. Although his body ached with a bearable soreness, neither his head nor his side hurt. Undoubtedly, none of his ribs had been broken in the accident-either that, or the woman who had tended his wounds had miraculously healed him.

He had to find the woman, had to ask her where he was and figure out exactly what his chances of escaping were. But he was buck naked and didn't see anything in the room that vaguely resembled his county-issued coveralls. However, he did notice a stack of folded clothes on the cedar chest at the foot of the bed.

Slowly, tentatively, Reece stood. Swaying slightly, his head spinning, he grabbed the bedpost. The faint vertigo passed as quickly as it had come. Righting himself, he walked around the bed, lifted the stack of clothing off the cedar chest and smiled when he realized he held a pair of men's briefs, a thermal top, a flannel shirt and a pair of well-worn jeans. There had to be a man in this woman's life, probably here in her home. Where else would she have gotten men's clothes? And from the look of them, the items belonged to a fairly large man, someone about Reece's own size.

But why couldn't he remember a man?

Taking his time, Reece put on the clothes, then looked around, wondering if the lady of the house had thought of footwear. Sure enough, resting on the wide rock hearth was a pair of thick socks and leather work boots.

Reece sat on the raised hearth, breathing in the aroma of aged wood burning slowly, and slipped on the socks and boots. Whoever owned these boots had a foot about a half size larger than Reece's, but the minuscule difference was of little importance. The jeans were a perfect fit, the flannel shirt and thermal top only a fraction large. The owner undoubtedly had the shoulders and chest of a linebacker.

Running his hand over his face, Reece noted the beginnings of a beard. He needed a shave, and he could do with a hot shower, even though he felt relatively clean. Memories of his ministering angel bathing him flashed through his mind. A shower and shave could wait. He needed to find his hostess. Reece laughed aloud. His hostess? For all he knew, the county sheriff could be waiting for him just beyond the half-closed door.

Reece inched the door open, peered out into the dim hallway, saw no one, but heard a man singing an old-fashioned tune, something from the forties or fifties. Following the music, Reece made his way down the hallway, noting the huge living room in the opposite direction and a massive wooden staircase leading to the second level of the cabin.

The kitchen door stood open. Bright sunshine poured in through the lace-curtained windows. Harry Connick, Jr.'s mellow voice singing "I'll Dream of You Again" drifted through the cabin from the radio-cassette player on the counter. Reece's vision took in three things in quick succession. A blue-granite wood-burning stove placed in front of a corner brick chimney, a round wooden table set for a meal, and a smiling woman holding a pan of biscuits. The smell of coffee, frying bacon and sweet spices made Reece's mouth water. He hadn't realized how hungry he was.

Then he heard a low growl and saw the big black wolf-dog he'd encountered the night before. That damned animal didn't like him. And why should he? Reece reminded himself that he had invaded the dog's home and threatened his mistress. Threatened her with his gun. His gun! Where was his gun? He'd been holding it when he'd passed out.

"Well, good morning." Elizabeth thought Reece looked rather handsome with a two-day growth of beard and wearing Sam's old clothes. "I'd about decided you were going to sleep away another day."

Reece stopped dead still in the doorway. "Lady, who the hell are you?"

The practical realist in him warned that this woman was a stranger and not to be trusted, but his male libido reacted differently, appreciating the woman's earthy beauty, the ripe fullness of her sturdy body, the basic sensuality that surrounded her like a visible aura.

Elizabeth set the pan of biscuits on a hotpad atop the counter, turned to Reece, took several steps in his direction and held out her hand. "I'm Elizabeth Sequana Mallory. You're in my home, on my mountain, in Sequana Falls."

Reece didn't make a move to enter the kitchen or to take Elizabeth's hand. Why the hell was she being so friendly? She acted as if he were a welcome guest. Was the woman crazy?

"Breakfast is just about ready. Come on in and sit down." Elizabeth turned, busying herself with preparing two plates. "How do you like your coffee?"

"Black." Reece walked into the kitchen, stopping abruptly at the table, grabbing the top of the wooden chair.

"I see the clothes and boots fit you all right." Elizabeth placed two plates of eggs, bacon and hash browns on the two blue place mats.

"Your husband's?"

"No." Elizabeth poured coffee into two Blue Willow cups.

"What did you do with my gun?" Reece clutched the back of the chair.

"It's in a safe place." Elizabeth set the cups on the table, pulled out a chair and sat down. "Aren't you hungry?"

Reece glared at her. What did she think this was, a damned picnic? Although they were total strangers, this woman was treating him like a long-lost friend.

"Don't worry, Mr. Landry, when you leave I'll return your gun to you." Elizabeth lifted the cup to her lips.

Reece watched her sip the hot coffee. Her lips were full, soft and a natural rosy pink. He remembered that those lips had touched his cheek. She had kissed him! Her small hand held the cup securely as she continued leisurely sipping the coffee. Reece noted the delicate size of her hands, but remembered their strength, remembered those slender fingers caressing his face, touching him lightly.

Dragging his eyes away from her lips and hands, Reece suddenly realized she'd called him Mr. Landry. She knew who he was. He hadn't been imagining things when he thought he'd heard her calling him Reece.

"How do you know my name?"

"Sit down, Reece. Your breakfast is getting cold."

What the hell was wrong with this woman? Didn't she have the good sense to be scared? After all, she obviously knew he was an escaped convict, a murderer on his way to a life term in the state penitentiary.

Releasing his death grip on the chair, Reece reached out, grabbing Elizabeth by the shoulders, turning her in her seat. She stared up at him with surprised blue eyes. The expression on her face was a mixture of fear, doubt, hope and supplication. This woman-Elizabeth-wanted something from him. But what?

"What's going on with you?" he asked. "If you know who I am, why haven't you called the sheriff?"

"I know who you are, Reece Landry." You're the stranger in my heart, the man who has invaded my thoughts for five months. "I heard a news bulletin on the radio yesterday morning telling about a sheriff's car that wrecked and the escape of a convicted murderer who was being transported to Arrendale."

"You heard a bulletin on the radio yesterday morning?" How was that possible? He hadn't escaped until yesterday afternoon. "What day is this? How long have I been here?"

"You came here the night before last. You were exhausted, injured and suffering from minor frostbite and exposure. Then you ran a high fever for a while."

"Son of a bitch!" Reece loosened his hold on Elizabeth's shoulders, noticing for the first time that her wolf-dog had moved to her side. "Have you notified the sheriff's department?"

"I can't. The phone's out." Elizabeth hated herself for lying to Reece, but she felt it was a necessary fabrication. The phone had been working since early this morning, but she had unplugged it, preventing anyone from calling her.

Elizabeth laid her hand atop Reece's where it rested on her shoulder. As if he'd been burned by her touch, he jerked his hand away.

"So you're stuck with me for the time being, huh?" Just because she hadn't been able to notify the authorities of his whereabouts didn't mean he was safe. From the looks of the sunshine and blue sky he saw outside the windows, the winter storm had passed. Even if she couldn't telephone for help, that didn't mean a search party wouldn't show up on her doorstep any time now.

"Why don't you sit down and eat. You've got to be hungry. You haven't eaten a bite in a couple of days." Elizabeth didn't think she'd ever seen anyone as wary, as suspicious as Reece. Didn't the man trust anybody?

Reece pulled out the chair, sat down, picked up the Blue Willow cup and tasted the coffee. The brew was warm, rich, full-bodied, with a hint of flavor he couldn't quite make out. He swallowed, then frowned, wondering exactly what the unique taste could be.

"Vanilla almond," Elizabeth said, as if she'd read his mind. "I grind my own coffee beans." She nodded at the counter where an antique coffee grinder perched on a wooden shelf alongside several other antique utensils.

Nodding in acknowledgment of her statement, Reece picked up his fork, lifted a hefty portion of scrambled eggs and put them in his mouth. Suddenly he had the oddest sensation that he'd somehow stepped into the twilight zone, that he had escaped from the sheriff's car and found his way to never-never land. Nothing about this place, this isolated cabin in the woods, or this woman-sultry, earthy and incredibly beautiful-seemed real.

Any woman, alone the way Elizabeth Mallory was, would be afraid of an escaped convict, but Reece sensed more curiosity than fear emanating from the woman sitting across the table from him.

While he continued eating, devouring the tasty breakfast, he watched Elizabeth as she broke open a biscuit, buttered it and fed small pieces to her wolf-dog. The animal ate heartily, consuming three biscuits in quick succession. Elizabeth laughed, the sound piercingly sweet to Reece's ears. There was no pretension, no coy feminine silliness to her laugh. The sound came from her heart-warm, loving and completely genuine. Any fool could see the mutual love that existed between dog and woman.

"Where'd you get him?" Reece nodded toward Elizabeth's pet.

"Mac here?" She patted the animal's back, then scratched behind his ears.

"Mac?"

"Short for MacDatho." Elizabeth sensed a minute loosening of the tension in Reece, barely discernible but evident nevertheless. "My German shepherd, Elspeth, was Mac's mother. His father was a wolf."

"I'd guessed as much. Are there many wolves in these hills?"

"Some."

"Why'd you take care of me?" Reece asked. "You should have tied me up once I passed out on you. Instead, you put me to bed and nursed me. Now you're feeding me. Woman, haven't you got any sense at all?"

Elizabeth smiled. Dear God in heaven, he wished she hadn't smiled at him like that. He wanted to capture that smile, hold on to it, keep it from vanishing.

"The newscaster said you'd been convicted of killing a man," Elizabeth said. "Did you kill him?"

"I was convicted, wasn't I?"

"I know that. But were you guilty?"

Reece finished off the last bite of bacon, downed the remains of his coffee and shoved back his chair. Standing, he stared down at Elizabeth's upturned face. "Would you believe me if I told you that I'm innocent, that I didn't kill B. K. Stanton?"

"Yes, I'd believe you."

Running his hands through his thick, wavy hair, Reece snorted. "Lady, are you that naive? Would you take the word of a stranger, someone you don't know the first thing about?"

But I do know things about you, Reece. Less than I want to know, but more than you could ever realize. "You don't have the soul of a killer."

"What makes you think I don't?"

"I can sense it. I'm very good at sensing things." Did she dare try to explain her special gifts, her God-given psychic powers? Would he believe her if she did?

"You live up here in these hills all by yourself?"

Standing, Elizabeth began clearing away the table, stacking the dishes in the sink. "Just Mac and me. My great-aunt, Margaret McPhearson, spends a lot of time up here with me in warm weather. She lives in Dover's Mill."

"How do you support yourself? Do you have a job in Dover's Mill?" Reece couldn't imagine anyone with no income being able to afford such a luxurious two-story cabin.

"I operate a nursery. I have a degree in horticulture." Elizabeth turned on the water faucet and squirted dishwashing detergent into the sink.

"What sort of nursery? Flowers?"

MacDatho followed Reece to the back door, watching him intently when he opened the door and stepped out onto the porch. The dry, frigid air cut through Reece’s clothing, but the sun warmed his face when he stared up at the sky.

Walking out onto the porch, Elizabeth waited for Mac to run outside before she closed the door. She turned to Reece, instinctively reaching out to touch his arm, but she suddenly remembered his aversion to being touched and withdrew her hand.

"Look over to the right and you'll see my greenhouses. I grow roses and a fairly large variety of flowers as well as herbs and spices and a few specialty shrubs. I sell in nearby towns to both florists and gardeners, and two years ago I started a mail-order business, which has grown by leaps and bounds."

"So, you're a successful businesswoman, huh?"

"I guess you could say that."

"How are you keeping the temperatures in your greenhouses regulated without electricity? A generator?"

"Yes. The generator kicks in automatically when the electrical power fails, which is fairly often when we get a winter storm."

Reece glanced at her. The sun streaked reddish highlights in her dark brown hair and gave a golden glow to her olive skin. With the log cabin, the blue sky, the snow-covered forest as a background for her beauty, Elizabeth seemed as much a part of nature's perfection as her surroundings. Her calf-length, rust-colored corduroy skirt swayed in the cool February wind, revealing a pair of flat, plain, tan ankle boots. Her breasts swelled invitingly, not quite straining the buttons on her hunter-green-and-rust-striped blouse. Her baggy green sweater hung down past her generous hips.

Reece forced himself to look away, unable to deny his body's sexual urges. He wanted this woman. She was beautiful and sexy and caring. But who was he kidding? The last thing on Elizabeth Mallory's mind was sex-and it should be the last thing on his mind. All he should be thinking about was getting the hell away from here before the authorities showed up looking for him. He had to find a way to get back to Newell, to hide out until he could discover who had really taken his .38 revolver and blown B. K. Stanton to hell.

MacDatho ran down the steps and into the backyard, the snow coming up to his belly.

"I wouldn't hurt you." Reece spoke the words in a low, deep voice, not much more than a whisper on the wind.

Elizabeth heard him; her heart heard him. "I know."

He saw her shiver, and realized she must be cold. "Why don't you go back inside? I didn't realize how cold it still was. The sun had me fooled."

"Are you staying out here?"

"For a few more minutes." Reece leaned over the porch railing, curling his fingers about the top wooden round.

Elizabeth laid her hand over his where he gripped the railing. When he flinched, she squeezed his hand gently. "Do you want to tell me about the murder? About what really happened?"

"What really happened was I had a motive for killing Stanton and a lifelong reputation as a town bad boy. Once they arrested me, they stopped looking for any other suspects. That's about it."

For a split second Elizabeth picked up the intense rage burning inside Reece, then suddenly he shielded his emotions, almost as if he had felt her probing.

"There's a lot more to it than that, isn't there?" Elizabeth asked. "I want you to know that I'm here for you, willing to listen when you're ready to talk, willing to do whatever I can to help you. I know you can't bear the thought of being caged again."

He stared at her as if he'd never seen her before, as if she'd appeared out of nowhere, a blithe spirit sent to taunt him. "Caged? Yeah, caged. That's exactly what it's like in jail, what it would be like at Arrendale. I nearly went nuts being locked up so many months."

"You couldn't post bail?"

"The district attorney persuaded the judge that I was a poor risk. The Stantons were generous supporters during the D.A.'s reelection bid. He owed the family a favor."

Elizabeth clutched Reece's hand. She longed to put her arms around him and comfort him. Something told her that it had been a long time since anyone had comforted Reece Landry. When she glanced at him, he was staring off into the distance.

"You won't be caged again, Reece." Tears sprang into Elizabeth's eyes. "I promise I'll do whatever I can to help you find the real murderer."

"Lady, why the hell would you do anything to help me? How can you believe that I'm innocent when you don't even know me?"

"I feel as if I know you, as if I've known you for months."

Reece turned sharply, staring at Elizabeth again. Her eyes were filled with tears. Was she crying for him? No one had ever cried for him. No one except his mother. Hesitantly, almost fearfully, Reece touched his fingertip to the corner of her eye, brushing away the tears.

"Elizabeth?" A tight knot formed in his throat.

"I'm all right."

"You're crying for me, aren't you?" He gripped her chin in his big hand, tilting her face upward. "Why?"

She gazed at him with such undisguised concern, such genuine human compassion. "Because you can't cry for yourself."

He kissed her then. He hadn't thought about it, certainly hadn't planned it. But nothing on earth could have kept him from tasting those sweet, rosy lips. Nothing short of being struck down dead would have prevented him from pulling her into his arms and devouring her with the heat of his passion. He had never wanted anything as much as he wanted to lift this woman into his arms and carry her back inside the house and to her bed. His body ached with the need for release, for the ease he knew he could find in Elizabeth's loving warmth. There was a passion inside her equal to his own. He felt it when she returned his kiss with enthusiasm, opening her mouth for his invasion, as surely as she had unlocked her door for him the other night.

He ended the kiss when the realization hit him that she had, indeed, left her door unlocked for him. How he could be so certain he didn't know, but certain he was. He grabbed Elizabeth by the shoulders, pushing her away from him and at the same time holding on to her.

"You left your door unlocked the night I came here."

"Yes."

"Do you usually leave your door unlocked?"

"No."

"Why did you leave it unlocked that night?"

Would he believe the truth or would he prefer a lie? she asked herself. "I left it unlocked because I was expecting you."

Reece glared at her, confused by her admission, wondering how the hell she could have known he was headed in her direction and why she would have left her door unlocked for an escaped convict.

"I don't understand you, lady. How could you have been expecting me?"

"Reece..." When she reached out to touch his face, he dropped his hands from her shoulders and backed away from her.

"What the hell are you, some sort of hillbilly witch?"

"Some people would call me a psychic. I was born with special abilities."

Reece looked her over from head to toe, his perusal stopping when he reached her face. "What sort of abilities?"

"I can sense things, see things. Sometimes I know things before they happen. I'm clairvoyant and precognitive. However, my telepathic abilities are limited."

''Are you kidding me?"

"I'm trying to explain why I knew you would be coming to me, and why you need me to help you."

"This is a bunch of bull, lady. If you think for one minute that I'll buy into this crap, then you've got another thought coming."

"Five months ago I began having dreams about you, then brief visions. I could see your face, sense your pain and anger and bitterness. I knew you were caged, that you were being punished for something you hadn't done. These dreams, these visions continued up until you arrived on my doorstep the night before last."

Reece stood rigid and silent, staring at Elizabeth, astonishment in his amber eyes. "Are you trying to tell me that you've been messing around inside my head?"

"I'm telling you that I can help you, that I want to help you." When he didn't respond, she went on. "Don't you see that you were sent to me because-"

"Cut the crap, lady. I told you I don't believe you." Reece held up a hand in restraint as if warning her off.

"Stay out here as long as you need to," Elizabeth told him. "I have things to do inside, then I'll have to make a trip out to the greenhouses. Make yourself at home."

Reece watched her disappear back inside the house. The frigid air began to chill him through his thermal top and flannel shirt.

He heard the back door open, then close again and realized MacDatho had followed his mistress inside. There was something damned strange about Elizabeth and her MacDatho. They didn't seem to belong in this century. Were they real or were they ghosts from some bygone era? Reece wondered if he was hallucinating. Could it be that he was actually lying out in the snow on the mountainside, dying slowly, freezing to death, and he had imagined the beautiful woman and her wolf-dog? Was Elizabeth a figment of his imagination? Had he dreamed her, as she claimed she had dreamed him?

If she and the wolf-dog and this cabin were real, then maybe she was a little bit crazy, living up here in the woods all alone. That would explain why she didn't lock her doors and why she didn't seem afraid of an escaped convict. Whatever the truth might be, Reece knew one thing for sure and certain-he had to find a way to get off this damned mountain and back to Newell. He wasn't going to get caught. He wasn't going to prison. Whatever he had to do to stay free, he'd do it. And if that meant using Elizabeth Mallory, if she even existed, then so be it.

Elizabeth had successfully avoided Reece Landry for most of the day, keeping busy with light housekeeping chores and necessary work in the greenhouses. His attitude toward her psychic abilities was nothing new. People who didn't know her tended to be skeptical; then once they accepted her unusual powers, people often treated her like a freak. She could never adjust in the world outside Sequana Falls. She'd learned that when she'd gone away to college.

She knew Reece had searched the house for the 9 mm belonging to the deceased deputy. He'd never find it. After sealing the gun in a plastic bag, she'd taken it with her when she'd gone to the greenhouses, finding a perfect spot for it between her two compost bins.

When Reece left, she would return the gun to him. She didn't like the idea of his using it, but knew it would offer him a small sense of security. If only he would accept her help, would open up to her and allow her to discover any possible knowledge of which he might not be aware.

Elizabeth removed the homemade beef pot pie from the oven, placing it atop the hotpad on the counter. Spooning generous helpings of the pie onto two Blue Willow plates, she laid the plates on a large tray already set with silverware and cloth napkins, piping hot coffee, small green salads and slices of made-from-scratch pound cake. Aunt Margaret had baked the pound cake before Christmas, and Elizabeth had frozen it for future use.

Picking up MacDatho's bowl from the floor, Elizabeth filled it with the remainder of the pot pie, then set it back down on the floor.

"I spoil you shamefully, you know that, don't you?"

MacDatho gazed up at her, his look telling her that he was worthy of being spoiled, then he wolfed down the warm meal.

Using her hip to shove open doors, Elizabeth carried the tray from the kitchen to the living room. Reece sat on the overstuffed plaid chair to the right of the fireplace. The sight of him sitting there, looking so at home, sent a fission of awareness through Elizabeth. A premonition? Or wishful thinking? Did she want her home to become Reece's home?

The radio-tape player, which Reece had apparently brought into the living room, rested on the floor beside his chair. The music playing was an old tape Elizabeth dearly loved, a mixed bag of cool jazz tunes. The soft, bluesy tones of saxophone and horn blended with piano, giving the listener a sensually romantic rendition of "Who Would Care?"

Reece looked up from the magazine he held in his hand, a recent copy of Archaeology. "I hope you don't mind, I borrowed your cassette player. Music helps me think. When I was a kid I used to sit out on my porch and listen to Willie Paul playing the piano over at Flossie's. He knew all the great jazz tunes."

Elizabeth set the tray atop the six-foot-long coffee table in front of the sofa. "Who was Willie Paul? And who was Flossie?"

Reece tossed Archaeology atop the pile of magazines in the big wicker basket beneath a nearby table. "Willie Paul was a black man who doubled as piano player and bouncer at Flossie's, a local night spot that also served the men of Newell as a brothel."

"Oh, I see." Elizabeth sat on the sofa, patting the cushion beside her. "I thought supper would be nice in here."

"You've been avoiding me all day, haven't you?" Reece got up, walked over to the sofa, but didn't sit down. "I guess I acted pretty ungrateful to you this morning. I've had time to think about things, and I realize that without your help, I might have died."

"Sit down and eat your supper." Elizabeth didn't look up at him, sensing the sexual arousal in Reece, knowing she wasn't ready to deal with the unnerving emotions he had created in her this morning, with nothing more than a kiss.

Reece laughed. "You sound like someone's mother. Are you always so maternal?" Sitting beside her, he lifted the coffee cup to his lips.

"You really grew up across the street from a... a house of-"

"A cathouse?" Reece tasted the coffee, then set it down on the tray, picking up a plate and fork. He wondered what she'd think if he told her that his first sexual experience had been with one of Flossie's girls. Misty, a very experienced redhead only five years older than he'd been at fifteen. "Yeah, Lilac Road was the most notorious street in Newell."

Picking up the folded white linen napkin from the tray, Elizabeth spread it across her lap. "I grew up here in Sequana Falls. My mother and stepfather brought me here when I was six, and we lived here together in my grandparents' home until my parents were killed in an automobile accident when I was twelve."

"You didn't live here on your own after they died, did you?"

"No, I lived with Aunt Margaret, my grandmother's sister. We divided our time between Sequana Falls and Dover's Mill." And Aunt Margaret taught me to accept my special abilities, not to fight them, and never to abuse the power.

Reece ate heartily, savoring every bite, and Elizabeth ate just as ravenously. Neither of them had eaten lunch. The hardwood logs burned in the fireplace. The cool jazz music filled the room, creating a mellow mood. Empty dishes lay stacked on the large tray. MacDatho snored softly on the braided rug before the hearth. Turning toward Reece, Elizabeth crossed one leg beneath the other, her entwined fingers cupping her knee. Reece rested his arm on the back of the sofa, then turned slightly, crossing his legs, his hand on his thigh.

"I'll have to leave in the morning." His words sounded loud in the peaceful stillness of the room.

Elizabeth shook her head. "You won't be able to leave."

"I'm all right. No permanent effects from the wreck or from my long trek in the snow. Just a few fading bruises and a little soreness." Reece leaned toward her, wondering why she wouldn't look at him. She had deliberately avoided any eye contact with him since their altercation on the back porch this morning. Had he hurt her feelings by not believing her claim to be psychic?

"It won't be safe for you to leave the mountain tomorrow."

"It won't be safe for me if I stay," he said. "I've been listening to radio newscasts all day. They're mounting a pretty big search for me. Since the weather seems to have cleared up, they'll be combing Dover's Mill and Sequana Falls."

"They won't be able to do anything for another day or so. There's another big snow coming. It's already started. It's snowing again right now."

"How do you know?" When she didn't reply, he realized she didn't want to tell him that her powers extended to predicting the weather because she was afraid of his ridicule. "Okay, so it's snowing now. Being snowed-in here won't keep me safe, and it isn't getting me any closer to proving my innocence."

"Be patient, Reece." Elizabeth looked at him then, her eyes pleading. "Your body and mind need rest, and you need time to think, to plan a strategy for when you return to Newell."

"All I need is a means of transportation. I guess I'll have to try my hand at hitchhiking or stealing a car. Somehow I'll have to elude the manhunt and steer clear of any roadblocks."

Elizabeth reached out, her hand hovering over his where it rested on the back of the sofa. Lowering her hand, she covered his, squeezing tenderly. "I have a Jeep you can borrow. I don't keep much cash on hand, but I have a couple of hundred I can give you."

"You'll loan me your Jeep and some money?" Reece stared at her, wondering if he'd ever be able to figure her out. "Why would you do that?"

"Because I believe you're innocent. Because someone has to help you." Holding his hand firmly, she smiled at him. "Because five months ago you came to me in my dreams because you needed someone. You needed me."

Gazing directly into her pure blue eyes, Reece realized she truly believed what she was saying-there was no doubt in her mind that he had been appearing in her dreams, that she had seen visions of his captivity.

"You don't believe me, do you?"

"Elizabeth, I... Hell, I'm a realist. I don't believe in anything I can't experience with my five senses."

"It's all right. I understand. It's not necessary that you believe me in order for me to help you."

Reece lifted her hand, turning it palm up. "You're a very unusual woman, Elizabeth Mallory. And if you're willing to help me, I'm not fool enough to refuse. Maybe God has finally decided to give me a break. Maybe he did send me to you. Maybe he gave you to me as a guardian angel."

Lowering his head, Reece brought Elizabeth's hand to his mouth, kissing the center of her palm. "If your predictions about the weather come true and we are trapped up here in this cabin together for a couple more days, then you may be in real danger from me."

She gave him a startled look, her eyes widening in surprise. "What sort of danger?"

"Man-woman sort of danger."

"You want me? Want to make love to me?" The very thought warmed Elizabeth's insides, tightening her nipples and moistening her femininity. What would it be like to make love with Reece Landry, to lie in his arms and know his complete possession? Elizabeth shivered.

He'd never known a woman so brutally frank. Most females he knew were experts at playing games, saying one thing and meaning another, lying when it served their purpose.

Grinning, Reece pulled her hand to his chest, laying it across his heart. "Yeah, I want to make love to you. You're a beautiful, desirable woman, and I haven't been with anybody in nearly a year."

"We're not ready to make love. Not yet." Removing her hand from his chest, she stood and walked across the room, halting in front of the wide expanse of floor-to-ceiling windows spanning the south wall of the living room.

Reece followed her, slipping his arms around her waist, drawing her back against his chest, positioning her buttocks into his arousal.

"Oh, I'm ready. I'm more than ready." He nuzzled the side of her neck with his nose.

Elizabeth loved the feel of him. His big, strong arms draped around her body, his face buried in her neck, his lips spreading kisses up the side of her jaw, his throbbing arousal pulsating against her, beckoning her to succumb to temptation. She wanted Reece. She'd never wanted a man before. Desire was a new emotion to her, one that she realized had been growing steadily within her since her first dream of a tormented, caged man in desperate need of her help.

"You're ready to have sex, Reece." Elizabeth knew she should withdraw from his embrace, should free herself from the chains of their mutual passion, but she couldn't bear the thought of ending such sweet pleasure. "You aren't ready to make love."

He chuckled, lowering his hands to cover her stomach, then the tops of her thighs, running his palms up and down, in and out, closer and closer to the apex between her legs. "Is there a difference?"

She covered his hands where they cupped her femininity. "Yes, there's a difference between love and sex. A big difference for me. I won't have sex without the loving. When we're both ready, I'll know."

Huffing loudly, Reece released Elizabeth and walked away from her. "Another one of your psychic talents, knowing when a man is ready to make love instead of just screw?"

Elizabeth swallowed the knot in her throat, emotion creating a physical ache inside her. He was angry. Not with her, not really. Reece Landry was angry with fife. If only he would let her, she would teach him to release his anger, to free himself of its destructive hold. She had another day, perhaps two, to persuade him that she could do more to help him than lend him a Jeep and some money. Maybe a day or two would be enough time.

"It's snowing," she said as she looked out the window. "It will snow all night."

"Thanks for the weather report." Reece wanted to hit something, anything that would smash into a thousand pieces and release some of the tension inside him. Sex would have worked just fine, but his hostess wasn't a woman who had sex. She made love. Sex and making love meant the same thing to him, and he believed any fool stupid enough to think there was a difference was deluding himself-or herself. He'd had sex with his share of women over the years, and there had never been much difference in the experiences, regardless of who his partner had been.

"There is a difference, Reece. Someday you'll understand."

He didn't respond, not even with a nod or a grunt. Elizabeth watched him walk away, entering the hallway; then he stopped, but didn't turn around. "Where do I sleep tonight? I assume I've been sleeping in your bed the last couple of nights."

"Take the stairs. I built a fire in the fireplace in the first bedroom."

"Fine." He headed for the stairs, took several steps upward, then said, "Thanks."

"You're welcome."

Elizabeth hugged her arms around her body, the chill of Reece's anger and frustration issuing her a warning. She didn't know this man, despite his invasion of her mind, her home and her heart. She had hoped that once they came together she would be able to get past the shield protecting his thoughts and emotions. But she caught only fragmented glimpses inside his mind. Not enough to trust her body to him. Her heart was another matter. She feared it was already lost.

Chapter 4

Reece guided the razor down his cheek. Sam Dundee's razor. For two days he'd been wearing another man's clothes, a man whose shoes he didn't quite fill, and now he was shaving with that man's razor. He'd even slept in the man's bed last night.

Elizabeth had told him that Sam was her stepfather's brother and had acted as her legal guardian when her parents had been killed in an automobile accident when she was twelve. Reece didn't like this Dundee guy, and he wasn't quite sure why. He didn't even know him, but Elizabeth knew him. Elizabeth loved him!

Hell! He had to get off this mountain. Away from Elizabeth Mallory, away from her unnatural concern about his welfare, away from her all-too-knowing blue eyes and away from the way she made him feel every time he looked at her. It had been hell keeping his hands off her. He couldn't remember a time in his life when he'd wanted a woman so badly. He'd told himself this gut-wrenching hunger eating away at him was due to the fact he hadn't been with a woman in over a year, but he wasn't so sure.

He'd been alone with Elizabeth for three nights, two of them in a semiconscious stupor, but even on those two nights he could remember her gentle touch, her soft voice, her kindness and concern. He liked Elizabeth far too much, and he didn't want to like her. Caring about her would be dangerous for both of them. He'd only wind up hurting her if he allowed her to become involved in his problems. Besides, he didn't quite trust her. He'd never completely trusted another person-not even his own mother. Blanche had betrayed him from the moment she'd conceived him, bringing him into the world a bastard, a social outcast, giving him a stepfather like Harry Gunn, then dying on him before he was old enough to defend himself. No, he'd learned early that it didn't pay to trust anyone, not even the people who professed to love you.

The snowstorm had died sometime during the early morning hours. He'd awakened to the sound of silence, to the eerie quiet left once the wind had ceased its savage moaning. The search for escaped convict Reece Landry would be on again. It was only a matter of time before someone came snooping around Elizabeth's cabin. The electricity had been restored around nine o'clock. Things were beginning to return to normal. He couldn't risk staying much longer. He'd have to leave soon. He had no other choice if he wanted to stay free.

The jarring ring of a telephone echoed through the house like a sonic boom. The razor in Reece's hand stilled on his throat. If the phone was working again, then Elizabeth could call out. She could call for help. She could turn him in to the sheriff.

Dropping the razor into the sink, Reece picked up a hand towel, wiped the streaks of shaving-cream residue off his face and ran out into the hallway. When he reached the top of the stairs he heard Elizabeth's voice, but couldn't make out what she was saying.

He took the steps two at a time, halting just before reaching the living room entrance, bracing himself against the wall. His heartbeat accelerated; the pulse in his head throbbed.

"You didn't have to worry about me, Aunt Margaret. I'm fine. Really," Elizabeth said. "Mac and I weathered the storm without any problems.''

Reece glanced around the corner, watching Elizabeth while she talked. Something was bothering her. Reece noted the way her hand clutched the phone, the way she stood, her feet shifting nervously as if she couldn't stand still.

"No, don't do that!" Elizabeth's voice sounded shrill. "I mean, don't send poor old O'Grady out in this weather. I don't need anything."

Reece eased around the corner, walking silently toward Elizabeth. When he was within two feet of her, she jerked around, her eyes widening, her mouth forming an oval of surprise. She draped the palm of her hand over the bottom half of the telephone.

"Who are you talking to?" Reece asked.

"My aunt Margaret."

"Who's this O'Grady you're talking about?"

"He's-" Elizabeth removed her hand from the telephone. "Oh, Aunt Margaret, you shouldn't have done that. You're wrong. There is no one here with me. I'm not in any danger."

Reece grabbed the telephone out of Elizabeth's hand, slamming it down onto its cradle. She glared at him.

"Just what do you think you're doing?"

"What made her think you weren't alone?" Reece grabbed Elizabeth by the shoulders. "What did you tell her?"

"I didn't tell her anything." Elizabeth struggled to free herself from Reece's biting fingers.

He tightened his hold. She cried out in pain. Releasing her shoulders, Reece grasped her around the waist, jerking her into his arms. "If you didn't tell her about me, then how does she know you're not alone? Why does she think you're in danger?"

"Dammit, Reece, you're the most distrusting man I've ever known." When he pulled her closer, his face only a breath away from hers, she squirmed in his arms. "Let me go."

"I have reason not to trust people, believe me." He pulled her so tightly against him she could barely breathe.

She looked up into his eyes, those searing amber eyes so like MacDatho's. He was as much a lone wolf, as much a wild animal as Mac. But with her, Mac was a gentle beast, confident and secure in her love. Reece didn't trust her enough to be tamed. A man as hard and tortured as Reece would have to trust a woman completely, would have to love her with his very soul before he would give her the power to tame him.

"Aunt Margaret has psychic abilities. That's the reason I'm here in Sequana Falls. My mother and stepfather brought me here so that she could be my guide, my teacher."

"Are you telling me that your whole family is a bunch of gypsy fortune-tellers?"

"Believe what you will. I'm telling you that Aunt Margaret sensed I wasn't alone, that there was danger lurking about." Elizabeth wasn't sure she could make Reece understand; in the three days he'd been with her, she hadn't been able to convince him of her psychic abilities. There was no point in explaining that she had felt Aunt Margaret's worry and concern, and had plugged in the telephone so her aunt could get in touch with her without the elderly woman delving into Elizabeth's mind and discovering Reece's presence.

"What's your aunt done to upset you?" Reece asked.

"She's sending O'Grady up here just as soon as the roads clear a bit."

"O'Grady?"

"He's Aunt Margaret's gentleman friend. He works for me. Helps me around the greenhouses. He drives my nursery van and makes deliveries into Dover's Mill and surrounding towns."

"When will the roads be clear enough for him to get up the mountain?"

Elizabeth hesitated momentarily, then told Reece the truth. "By morning if he drove the van. The weather's changing pretty quickly. A warm front is headed our way. O'Grady won't try to come in the van. He'll either borrow his grandson's Explorer or he'll get the boy to drive him up here today."

"If O'Grady can make it up the mountain today, then the sheriff's deputies can make it up here." Reece shoved Elizabeth away from him. She staggered slightly, then regained her balance.

"Now that the storm is over, they'll start checking Dover's Mill and the area around Hunter's Lake again. They're setting up roadblocks at all the major intersections and will be going to all the towns close to Dover's Mill, doing door-to-door checks. O'Grady will come up the mountain today because Aunt Margaret sent him. The local authorities won't start combing this side of the mountain until late tomorrow. They'll be looking for your frozen body."

"They think I'm dead?"

"They know that if you stayed in the mountains your chances for survival were slim. Once they've checked the few places you could have found shelter, they'll be convinced you froze to death."

"Are all these great revelations coming from shrewd female intuition or from your hocus-pocus abilities?"

"Would you believe me if I told you the truth?"

"Which is?" he asked.

"That I'm clairvoyant, precognitive and have limited telepathic powers."

Reece's gut tightened into a knot. Damn, but she talked a good game. She had him half-convinced she was a witch. After all, she had left her door unlocked for him, and she seemed to believe in him, in his innocence, with no proof whatsoever. She had nursed him back to health with astonishing speed and without the aid of modern medicine.

"Well, if you know all and see all, then you're aware that I'm planning on getting the hell off this mountain today. Before your aunt Margaret's boyfriend comes calling or before the deputies get within ten miles of this place."

"There's no need for you to leave yet." She knew he would be safe with her for another day. If only she could persuade him to stay until she'd had a chance to call Sam. In his business, Sam had contacts all over the world. It shouldn't be any big deal for him to run a check on Reece and get all the details about the murder, the trial and the possibility of other suspects.

"If you think you can persuade me to stay, then your soothsaying abilities just went haywire. No way am I hanging around here long enough to get caught. I'm not going to prison."

While they'd been talking, Reece had unconsciously backed himself against the wall. He balled his hands into fists, his whole body tightening into a rigid statue of fear and anger.

Elizabeth took slow, even steps, moving toward Reece with the unwavering certainty that she had to get through to him, she had to reach his mind, convince him that she wanted to help him, that he could trust her.

Reece glared at her. She came closer and closer. He wanted to warn her to stay away from him, but he didn't say a word. He simply watched as she stood in front of him, reached out and placed her warm hands on each side of his face. She shut her eyes.

Reece swallowed. A sensation of tender concern seeped into his mind. What the hell? She held his face, tracing his bones with her fingertips. He didn't know what she was trying to do, but he wanted her to stop.

When he wrenched his face out of her grasp, turning his head to the side, Elizabeth opened her eyes and smiled.

"I can't read your mind, Reece. You won't let me."

"Good for me!"

"But I can sense things. Just little things."

"Like what?"

"I can sense your loneliness. You're completely alone. Or at least, you think you are." Reece's inner turmoil stirred within Elizabeth, the great sense of bitterness almost overwhelming her. "You resent others. Your mother. Your father. Everyone who has touched your life in any meaningful way. You won't let anyone close to you for fear of being hurt."

"Shut up, dammit!" Reece turned his back on her and walked away, out into the hallway.

Elizabeth followed him, placing her hand on his back when he braced his open palms on the wall and leaned his forehead against the wooden surface.

He tensed at her touch, but she did not withdraw her hand. "You've been locked away for five months. All I could sense was a cage. But now I know it was a jail cell. The first time I saw you, I saw the shock and pain on your face. I saw the blood on your hands."

Reece whirled around, grabbing her by the shoulders, his eyes wild with the realization that Elizabeth knew things she couldn't possibly know.

"How the hell did you know I had blood on my hands? That was never in the newspapers, never on television or radio. How did you know?" He shook her soundly.

"Reece, stop it!"

He stared into her pure blue eyes, and the truth came to him as surely as if he'd been struck by a bolt of lightning and survived the ordeal. "I didn't kill him. I heard the gunshots. I ran into the library and found him. I tried to stop the bleeding, but it was too late. He died. Damn him, he died and his blood was all over my hands."

"It's all right, Reece. I believe you. I understand."

"How the hell could you understand? I'd hated him all my life, prayed for his death, but when the moment came, I didn't want him to die. I tried... I tried___"

Elizabeth felt the tears inside Reece, choking him, constricting his breathing, squeezing his heart. But his eyes remained dry, his face set in tense agony. She reached into his mind, but he shut her out. He wouldn't allow her entrance, refusing to accept her mental comfort.

Elizabeth slipped her arms around his waist. He was rock solid, his body rigid with control. "You're right, I don't understand. But I could, if you would tell me about him. About B. K. Stanton."

Reece felt her strong, supportive arms around him. Elizabeth Mallory was as sturdy and solid as the rock-and-log cabin in which she lived, as hardy and vigorous as the mountain she called home. He'd grown up mothered by a weak woman. Reliability and responsibility hadn't been Blanche's strong points. She'd been a fragile, needy woman who hadn't been able to take care of herself, let alone a child.

In his mind's eye he could see Blanche. Small, frail, her gray eyes looking to him for help, the only color in her pale face were the bruises left by Harry Gunn's big fists. Even though he'd been a scrawny kid, she'd expected him to help her. And God knew he'd tried. But in the end he hadn't been able to help her. All he'd gotten for his efforts were bruises and broken bones of his own.

He'd had no one to depend on, no one to defend him, and he'd learned not to care, to never expect anything from anyone. He'd lived his whole life alone, shielding himself from emotions, priding himself on the fact that he needed no one.

Elizabeth's embrace seemed to surround more than just his body. He felt cocooned in safety. Without thinking about what he was doing, without second-guessing his mo­tives, without giving his doubts and uncertainties time to take control, Reece pulled Elizabeth into his arms, holding her against him, absorbing the power of her generous heart.

He'd been alone all his life, long before his mother had died. He had taught himself not to need anyone, not to depend on anyone. And here was this woman, this beautiful, unique woman offering him her comfort and her trust. Would he be a fool to accept what she offered, or would he be a fool to refuse?

Elizabeth tightened her hold around Reece, easing her hands up his back, stroking him, caressing his tight muscles. He lowered his hands from her waist to her hips, cupping her buttocks, dragging her into his arousal, telling her without words what she was doing to him.

She looked up at him with those trusting blue eyes, eyes that smiled at him, eyes that offered so much.

"You shouldn't look at a man like that. You're liable to give him ideas."

She opened her mouth on a sigh, her lips parting. Her face bloomed with color. Her fingers bit into his neck as she lifted her arms around his shoulders. "I want you to know that I care, that I can help you."

She could not, would not admit that she wanted him as a woman wants a man. The feeling was new to her, far too new for her to accept the desire and allow herself to act upon it. If making love with Reece was meant to be, and in her heart of hearts she believed that it was, then she and Reece would become lovers. But not now. Not yet. He wasn't offering anything except sex; she wanted nothing less than love. When he was prepared to make love to her, she would know. Her heart and her instincts would tell her.

Reece could not resist the temptation Elizabeth Mallory represented. She was comfort and safety and pleasure. He wanted all three. Lowering his head, he brushed his cheek against hers. She smelled like flowers-sweet, so very, very sweet.

"You smell good, sweet Lizzie. Like roses." He nuzzled her neck with his nose, breathing in that flower-garden scent.

"My perfume." She breathed deeply, succumbing to the heady intoxication of his touch. Turning her face upward, she offered him her lips. "I make my own perfume from roses."

Never having been a romantic man, Reece was stunned at his own thoughts. Her mouth looked like a rose, opening its pink petals just for him. And her eyes, half-closed now, were as deep and dark a blue as sparkling sapphires.

His lips touched hers, tentatively at first, and then as she responded, he took her mouth with total possession, savoring the feel of her body molded securely to his. She fit him; he fit her. Their bodies had been formed to entwine perfectly. Her full breasts pressed against his chest, her feminine softness centered on his male strength, her arms claiming him as surely as his did her, and their lips mating with the fierceness of lovers preparing to join in a more intimate fashion.

Reece ran his hand down her hip, lifting up her leg, pressing her to him. Elizabeth moaned into his mouth, clinging to him, squirming against him.

"If you want to help me, Lizzie, then be my woman. Now. For today." He kissed her again, taking both their breaths away.

She held on to him, but broke the kiss, laying her head on his chest. She heard and felt his wild heartbeat. "I can't have sex with you, Reece."

The instant tension in his body notified Elizabeth that he had understood only too well what she was telling him. He released her abruptly, turned and walked into the living room.

Elizabeth waited a few minutes, willing her raging senses to calm. It would have been so easy to give in to his needs and the needs of her own body. For the first time in her life she wanted to be with a man, to offer herself to him. But there was too much standing in the way, keeping them from the union of hearts and souls as well as of bodies.

She found him sitting on the sofa, bent over, his clasped hands resting between his knees. He didn't look up when she walked over and stood in front of him.

"Talk to me, Reece. Tell me about B. K. Stanton."

"You're damned and determined to hear the whole sordid story, aren't you?"

MacDatho, who'd been asleep in front of the fireplace, reared his head, focusing his amber gaze on Reece and Elizabeth. He stretched, then lowered his bead, keeping his eyes open.

Elizabeth knelt in front of Reece, taking his hands into hers. "My knowledge of your life is limited. I really can't read your mind, and I can't help you if I don't know what we're dealing with."

"I don't see how you can help me, anyway, but if you want to hear my version of Reece Landry's life story, then I'll tell you. Once you've heard the truth, you may not be so eager to help me, after all."

Lifting Reece's right hand, Elizabeth sat on the sofa beside him, entwining their fingers, giving his hand a tight squeeze. "I want to know whatever you want to tell me."

Leaning back on the sofa, Reece closed his eyes. He didn't want to rehash all this old misery, but his gut instincts prompted him to share his past with Elizabeth.

"My mother, Blanche, was a beautiful woman. Blond and china-doll pretty. She worked at Stanton Industries years ago. A minimum-wage job. Anyway, to make a long story short, she had an affair with B. K. Stanton himself, who was a married man with children. When my mother discovered she was pregnant, good old B.K. offered to pay for her abortion."

Elizabeth sensed his anger. She tightened her hold on his hand. "But she didn't get an abortion."

"No, she decided to have me. I don't know why. All of us would have been better off if she'd just gotten rid of me."

"Don't say that, Reece. It isn't true."

Opening his eyes, he glanced at her and saw the tears caught in her thick, dark lashes. Sucking in a deep breath, he pulled his hand out of her grasp. "My mother didn't have anyone to take care of me, so she had to quit work. Stanton gave her a little money so he could keep on sleeping with her. But when his wife found out about Blanche and me, she made a lot of threats. I was six years old. That was the last time my father came around. Then about a year later my mother married Harry Gunn."

Silence hung in the room like a threatening black cloud promising a killer storm. Elizabeth shut her eyes, absorbing Reece's pain, a child's pain. In her mind she saw clearly a man's big, broad hand striking a little boy's face. The child fell to the floor, his amber eyes filled with hate.

As suddenly as the vision had appeared, it faded away. Elizabeth knew Reece had closed his mind to the memory. She tried to prize her thoughts back into his mind. She couldn't. He had, once again, safely shielded himself from his emotions.

"Your stepfather was abusive." She made the statement as unemotionally as she could, but she could not conceal the tears escaping from her eyes.

"Yeah, he was a real son of a bitch. Knocked me and Blanche around whenever the mood struck him." Reece placed his knotted fists atop his thighs.

"What a horrible life for the two of you."

"Blanche died when I was twelve, and things got worse. I was fifteen before I grew big enough to defend myself properly. The beatings stopped. I found trouble everywhere I looked, and I was always looking for trouble. I've had problems with the law since I was a kid."

No wonder Reece was such a hard man, such a loner. Elizabeth wanted to know more, wanted him to share all of his past with her. Her instincts told her that he had never told anyone else the things he was telling her.

"All those years, you knew B. K. Stanton was your father?" Elizabeth asked.

"Yeah, I knew the richest and most powerful man in town was my father. And I knew he didn't give a damn whether I lived or died." Reece closed his eyes, shook his head and groaned. "Damn, I wish I'd left that town-his town-before he decided to take an interest in me."

"When was that?"

"When I was sixteen he stopped me on the street one day. Just like that-" Reece snapped his fingers "- B.K. grabbed my arm and asked me if I was Blanche Landry's boy." Reece's stomach churned. A sour taste coated his tongue. Hot, bitter anger rose in his throat. "He offered me a part-time job. I had quit school, and he said if I'd go back to school he'd give me a job after school and full-time in the summer. We made a deal, my old man and me. Then when I graduated high school, I joined the marines, did my time and came out determined to make something of myself. My only mistake was going back to Newell."

"Why did you go back?"

"Damned if I know, unless..." Reece slammed his fist into the sofa arm.

MacDatho rose from the floor, watching Reece intently.

"I'm not going to hurt her, Mac," Reece told the wolf-dog. "You should know that by now."

"He knows." Elizabeth placed her hand on Reece's arm. "You went back to Newell because you had something to prove, didn't you?"

"I guess. I suppose I wanted B. K. Stanton to know I was going to college, that no matter what I'd come from, I was going to be somebody."

"You had a lot of mixed emotions about your father, didn't you?"

"I hated him. Plain and simple." Reece stood, stretching, exercising his muscles.

"Did you hate him enough to kill him?"

Reece turned sharply, glaring at Elizabeth. "I thought you believed me, believed that I didn't murder him?"

"I do believe you."

"Then why ask me if I hated him enough to kill him?" Reece walked to the windows, staring out at the sunshine spreading over the snow, glistening on the velvety white surface as if it were scattering crushed diamond particles everywhere it touched.

"What happened when you returned to Newell after the marines?" She should have known he'd been in the marines. Sam had been a marine. Reece Landry and Sam Dundee shared some common traits.

"I went to college, worked at Stanton Industries in my old job as a machine operator to help supplement Uncle Sam's financial aid. When I got my B.S. degree the old man offered me an office job. That's when I got to know the rest of the family."

"Your father's other children?"

"Yeah, my big brother, Kenny, the heir apparent, and my sister, Christina. Kenny and I hated each other on sight. I liked Christina, and she liked me. She's the one who hired a lawyer for me when I was arrested for the old man's murder."

Elizabeth longed to put her arms around Reece, to offer him the care and support he'd never known. But she knew he wouldn't accept her comfort right now.

"Your sister believed you were innocent?" Elizabeth asked.

"She wanted to believe I didn't kill our father, but she had her doubts. I could tell every time she looked at me, she was wondering if I'd done it."

"Why did the sheriff arrest you? What evidence did they have against you?"

He glanced at Elizabeth and suddenly realized how much he wanted her to believe him. "The gun was mine. I'd reported the .38 stolen a couple of days before somebody used it to kill the old man. They didn't find any fingerprints. Whoever used it had wiped the gun clean. And the usual paraffin test for powder residue was inconclusive because my hands had been covered with dried blood."

"Motive and weapon. You hated your father and the gun that killed him was yours."

"That's right, only there's more. B.K.'s wife, Alice, and the family lawyer found me leaning over my father's body with blood all over my hands and the gun at my side."

76

"Oh, Reece." She touched him then, unable to prevent herself. He tensed at her touch, but when she hugged up against him, he relaxed and slipped his arm around her waist.

"B.K. had called and asked me to come to his home. He said he had something important to tell me. When I arrived, the front door was standing wide open, so I walked in. I called out. B.K. told me to come on back to the study. Then I heard my father arguing with someone, but I couldn't make out the other voice. Couldn't even tell if it was male or female. B.K. was shouting, saying he could do whatever he damned well pleased, that nobody could tell him what he could and couldn't do.

"Before I reached the study I heard gunshots. I rushed inside and someone hit me from behind. They didn't knock me unconscious, but everything went black for a few minutes and I was pretty shaken up. I didn't see who had hit me. When my vision cleared, I staggered over to where B.K. lay on the floor. He was bleeding like a stuck hog. I knelt down, covering his stomach wound with my hands. He called my name. And then he died."

Elizabeth held Reece in her arms, trying to absorb some of his pain, longing for him to accept what she offered, knowing he had never shared as much of himself with another human being.

"Motive, weapon, opportunity." Elizabeth sighed. "They didn't believe you, of course, about the person who hit you over the head. And the authorities never looked for another suspect."

"Brother Kenny and his mother had their lawyer, Willard Moran, use all the influence the Stanton family had in Newell, and believe me, it was plenty. I spent five months in that damned little jail cell, feeling like a trapped animal, knowing I was doomed."

Elizabeth held him. He hugged her fiercely.

"During the trial my lawyer pointed out that if I'd shot B.K., I'd have hardly had time to wipe the gun clean before Alice and Willard found me. And there was no proof that I'd actually fired the gun. I was convicted on circumstantial evidence."

"The Stantons must be very powerful to possess that much control over the sheriff's department and the district attorney."

"The Stantons own Newell, and if the Stantons say I killed B.K., then the town has no choice but to agree."

"You were framed," Elizabeth said.

"You do believe me, don't you?"

"Yes, of course I do. Did you think I wouldn't?"

He buried his face in her shoulder, breathing her sweet rose scent, accepting her loving warmth as she held him.

Abruptly she pushed him away. The sense of loss overwhelmed him.

"O'Grady! My God, Reece, go upstairs and wait. O'Grady will be here in a few minutes."

"How the hell do you know..." Reece grinned. "I've got to get used to this sixth sense of yours."

"When O'Grady leaves, I want to talk to you about our calling Sam to help us," Elizabeth said.

"No way. This guy may be your step-uncle, your family and friend, but I don't know him from Adam."

"Sam will help us."

"I said no." Grabbing her by the shoulders, he gazed into her eyes. "Understand me, Lizzie. I don't want you calling Sam Dundee."

"You can trust him."

"I don't trust anybody, lady, you should know that by now."

"Even me, Reece?"

He hesitated momentarily. "I'm not sure, Elizabeth. I want to trust you, but-"

The sound of a horn alerted Elizabeth to the fact that O'Grady had arrived. "Go upstairs and stay there until I come and get you."

Reece followed her instructions, and Elizabeth opened the front door, stepping out into the frosty wind, waving at O'Grady as he exited the passenger side of his grandson's Ford Explorer. An eighteen-year-old Rod O'Grady waved at Elizabeth but made no move to leave the warmth of his vehicle. The deafening boom boom boom of the boy's stereo system threatened to bring the icicles down from the roof overhang.

Elizabeth gave O'Grady a big hug, then rushed him inside to the warmth of her cabin. "I told Aunt Margaret that there was no need for you to come all the way up here with the roads so bad."

Elizabeth motioned MacDatho out of the open doorway, then closed the front door.

"You know Margaret. She got one of her notions. Thought somebody was up here with you." O'Grady glanced around the hallway before venturing into the living room. "There's an escaped convict on the loose. I think hearing about the man sent Margaret's imagination into overdrive."

"Did you say there's an escaped convict around Dover's Mill?" Elizabeth asked.

"Reece Landry. Young fellow. Killed a guy down in Newell. Escaped after the sheriff's car took a bad spill off the road and into the side of a mountain near Deaton Crossing."

"Are you staying long enough for coffee?" Elizabeth nodded in the direction of the kitchen.

"No, child, I can't stay. Rod's itching to get back home. Got a date tonight, I guess. He's been cooped up during the storm."

"Are the authorities looking for this Landry man?"

"They used bloodhounds, but didn't have much luck. They figure the guy's probably frozen to death in the woods somewhere by now. The day he escaped they tracked him to the falls, but they didn't figure there was much point going on from there since the storm was getting worse. They saw where he'd fallen through the ice in the stream, but had no idea where he went once he got out of the water. Snow was falling so hard they couldn't see two feet in front of them, and the dogs seemed to be losing the scent."

"Do you suppose they'll be coming up this way soon?"

"Why are you asking me? I figure you already know the answer if you want to know."

Elizabeth smiled. "Humor me, O'Grady."

"Well, your aunt Margaret says they'll be at your door by tomorrow evening. And my guess is she's right. I heard they planned to search the woods for his body tomorrow, and they're already setting up roadblocks on all the major roads and doing a house-by-house search in Dover's Mill. If they don't find his body, they'll keep searching until they wind up in Sequana Falls." O'Grady removed his brown checkered wool cap with dangling earflaps. "Why are you so interested in what the sheriff's doing to find this Landry fellow?"

"Just curious." Elizabeth smiled.

O'Grady scratched his partially bald head, mussing the thin strands of white hair that stuck out around his ears. "I figure I can get back up here with the van in a few days and get deliveries back on schedule. Anything you need me to take down the mountain today? I can get Rod to help me load the back of his Explorer."

"No, there's nothing that urgent. Deliveries can wait a few more days."

"Any message you want to send Margaret?" O'Grady warmed his hands by the fireplace, then turned to face Elizabeth. "She sent you a message."

"Did she?"

"Yep. She said to tell you that you wasn't to leave Sequana Falls without letting her know."

Elizabeth stood deadly still, a chilling sense of foreboding rushing through her body. If Aunt Margaret had seen her leaving Sequana Falls, then there was every possibility that she would be going. She'd made no plans to leave the sanctuary of her home, and had no premonitions about her future travel plans.

"Tell Aunt Margaret that I'll call her if I decide to take a trip."

O'Grady gave Elizabeth a fatherly pat on the back. "Well, I'll report in to your aunt. You sure you're alone here?"

"I'm never alone with Mac around."

As he walked out of the living room, Elizabeth following him, O'Grady glanced at MacDatho, stretched out on the rug in front of the sofa. "Yeah, I guess he's a good guard dog. Don't figure nobody could get past Mac, could they? Not unless you gave him the okay."

Elizabeth opened the front door, waving goodbye to O'Grady as he crossed the porch, went down the steps and got into his grandson's Explorer. She watched until they disappeared down the road, then she turned and went back into the cabin.

Standing at the foot of the stairs, Elizabeth called Reece's name. When he answered, she told him that O'Grady was gone and it was safe for him to come down.

"I'm going to finish that shave I started earlier when I heard the phone ring," Reece told her. "I've still got a lot of beard left."

"I'll put on a fresh pot of coffee. Take your time."

Elizabeth hurried into the kitchen, ground some coffee beans and put them on to brew. Knowing what she had to do and that there was no time like the present, she went back into the living room, picked up the telephone and dialed Sam's Atlanta business number. As soon as she gave her name, she was put through directly to Sam.

Maybe Reece didn't trust Sam, but she did. Sam would never do anything to hurt her, and if she told him she believed Reece Landry was an innocent man, Sam would listen to her.

"Elizabeth, is everything all right?" Sam asked. "I've heard a bad winter storm hit the mountains. I tried to call, but your phone was out. I finally got in touch with Aunt Margaret."

"Did you also hear about an escaped convict named Reece Landry?"

"I'm afraid that bit of information hasn't been on the Atlanta news. What's this Landry guy got to do with your calling me?"

"Reece is here with me, at the cabin. He nearly died getting to me, but I took care of him and he's-"

"Dammit all, Elizabeth, are you telling me you're harboring a fugitive? Have you lost your mind? Has the man been holding you at gunpoint? Get off this phone now and call Howard Gilbert."

"I don't need to call the sheriff," Elizabeth huffed, shaking her head with disgust. Sam wasn't being as reasonable as she'd hoped he would be. "As a matter of fact, I'm trying to prevent the authorities from capturing Reece."

"Elizabeth, tell me what the hell's going on?"

"I've been trying to do that. If you'll just calm down and listen, I'll tell you what I want you to do." Elizabeth told Sam every detail of Reece's life that he'd shared with her up to the point where the sheriff's car had wrecked in the winter storm. "Reece never stood a chance, Sam. The sheriff's department never tried to find any other suspects."

"What makes you think this man is innocent?"

"My instincts."

"You've looked into his mind, is that it?"

"I've had visions about Reece for the past five months, but I didn't tell anyone. Not you or Aunt Margaret, although I think she suspected something." Elizabeth paused, taking a deep breath. "Reece has been in my heart and mind since the day his father was murdered. I know he's innocent, Sam. He needs your help."

"What do you want me to do?"

"Get as much information as you can about B. K. Stanton's death. We've got to prove who killed Reece's father, or he'll be put in prison for the rest of his life."

"Elizabeth, what are you not telling me?"

"I don't know what you mean."

"I asked if you knew Landry was innocent because you'd read his mind. You didn't answer me," Sam said.

"I can sense certain things about Reece, and pick up on some of his emotions, but... well, I can't read him the way I do most other people. He's able to form some sort of shield around his mind, around his emotions."

"Good God, Elizabeth, you're taking this guy on faith? You're risking your life without knowing for sure whether or not he's really innocent."

"He's innocent, Sam. I know he is. Please help us."

"I'll run a background check on Landry and I'll-"

"I thought I told you not to call Sam Dundee!" Reece stood in the doorway, his face flushed with anger, his amber eyes wild with fear.

"Reece, please try to understand-" Elizabeth gazed at Reece with compassion and a plea for understanding in her eyes.

"Elizabeth!" Sam shouted into the telephone. "Is that Landry? If it is, put him on the phone."

"Wait just a minute, Sam." Elizabeth held out the phone to Reece. "Sam wants to talk to you."

Reece stared at the phone as if it were a slithering snake ready to strike, then glared at Elizabeth. "I thought I could trust you, but the minute my back was turned you called Dundee."

Elizabeth shook the phone at Reece. "I didn't betray you. I'm trying to get Sam to help you prove your innocence. Sam has contacts everywhere. He owns a private security agency in Atlanta. His sources are unlimited."

Reece walked into the room slowly, glancing back and forth from Elizabeth to the phone in her hand. She shoved the phone at him.

"Talk to Sam," she said.

Reece took the phone. "Yeah?"

"Landry?"

"Yeah."

"I don't know exactly what's going on there," Sam said, "but I want to warn you that if you harm Elizabeth, you're as good as dead. Do I make myself clear?"

"Crystal clear."

"If Elizabeth believes you, then I'm willing to give you the benefit of the doubt. I'm checking you out, Landry, and if I find out you've been lying, I'll personally cut your heart out."

"And if you find out I've been telling the truth?"

"Then I'll do whatever Elizabeth wants me to do to help you. Now put Elizabeth back on the phone."

Reece handed her the phone. "He wants to talk to you again."

"Sam?"

"I'll call you tomorrow and let you know how much I've been able to find out. Until then, for God's sake, be careful."

Elizabeth breathed a sigh of relief. Sam was going to help them. "Thank you, Sam. You can't know how much this means to me."

"What I want to know is how much Reece Landry means to you."

"I'm not sure, but..." Elizabeth glanced at a scowling Reece. "Just call us tomorrow with whatever information you can find. Reece is going to have to leave soon, and he needs something to go on."

Returning the telephone to its cradle, she faced Reece. "Sam is going to help you."

"I think I should leave as soon as possible." Reece glared at her, the distrust glowing in his eyes. "I don't dare trust Dundee. For all I know he's calling the sheriff to turn me in right now."

Elizabeth grabbed Reece by the arm as he turned from her. "You don't have to leave. Sam isn't going to call the sheriff. He would never break a trust. He's an honorable man."

"I'll stay until morning," Reece said, all the while damning himself for a fool for taking a chance by trusting his beautiful witch. "On one condition."

"What condition?" Elizabeth asked.

"I want my gun back."

Elizabeth nodded agreement. "If I go get your gun and give it to you, you promise you'll stay until Sam calls tomorrow?"

"I'm probably a fool for agreeing, but I agree."

"I'll need to put on my coat. I hid your gun outside, between the compost bins." Elizabeth walked out of the living room, through the kitchen and onto the back porch. When she reached for her coat on the rack by the door, Reece grabbed her by the shoulders, twirling her around. She stared at him, uncertain what he intended to do.

"I would never hurt you. You know that, don't you? The gun is for my protection against the police."

Elizabeth swallowed the knot in her throat, but she couldn't slow the rapid beat of her heart. "I understand."

Reece traced the lines of her jawbone with his fingertips. "I don't want you to be afraid of me."

"I'm not afraid of you, Reece. I'm only afraid of what might happen to you."

Elizabeth pulled away from him, put on her coat and went out into the cold February afternoon alone. It was at that moment she made her decision. When Reece Landry left her mountain, she was going with him.

Chapter 5

We're not going to discuss this anymore!" Reece stuffed cans of soup and sandwich spreads into the duffel bag Elizabeth had given him. "When I leave this mountain, I leave alone."

"But you don't know the back roads. If I'm with you, you're less likely to get caught. We could even get through the roadblocks with me driving. I could fill the back of the Jeep with flowers from the greenhouse and tell the police that I'm on a delivery run. You could hide under a blanket or something." Elizabeth handed Reece a loaf of bread and a carton of saltine crackers.

"You've seen too many movies. This isn't a game. This is for real. If you go with me, you could get yourself killed." Reece eyed the 9 mm lying on the kitchen table.

"And without my help, you could get yourself killed," she said.

Reece looked at Elizabeth, the woman who had saved his life only a few days ago, the woman who wanted to join him in his fugitive's journey. She wasn't small and fragile. She wasn't a whining, helpless female. Mother Nature had put Elizabeth Mallory together like a work of art-round, full-bodied, solid. She possessed an inner strength as well, a strength that attracted Reece as much as her physical beauty. Braless and with her hair tumbling freely down her back to her waist, Elizabeth presented a picture of earthy sensuality.

Elizabeth was the type of woman who could plow a field, cook three meals a day from scratch, shoot and skin her own game, give birth to a baby and be ready to fight off an Indian attack the next morning. Pioneer stock.

"Why are you looking at me like that?'' she asked.

"I was just picturing you fighting off an Indian attack," Reece said.

"What?"

"Just thinking about how much you're probably like your ancestors who settled these mountains." Reece stuffed the stack of clean clothes Elizabeth had given him into the duffel bag. More of Sam Dundee's clothes.

"For your information, my ancestors didn't fight off the Indians. My Scots-Irish ancestors married Indians, they didn't kill them." Elizabeth laid her hand atop Reece's where he gripped the handle of the duffel bag. "If you let me go with you, I can get you to Newell safely, and... and I can help you find your father's murderer."

Reece looked her directly in the eye. "What do you intend to do, go through the whole town reading everyone's mind?" Reece pulled away from her, dropping the duffel bag to the floor.

"I could meet the people who knew your father. Possible suspects. Members of his family."

Picking up the gun, Reece slid it into the pocket of the leather jacket Elizabeth had given him. "I need to check the Jeep." He walked toward the door leading to the back porch. "You said it has a full tank of gas. That means I shouldn't have to stop on the way."

"Reece, please don't leave until after Sam calls." Elizabeth followed him to the back porch.

"I won't, if he calls in the next hour." Reece opened the door. A puff of cold air hit him in the face. Turning, he smiled at Elizabeth. "How will you explain about your Jeep being gone?"

"I'll think of something."

Elizabeth stood on the screened-in back porch, watching Reece until he rounded the side of the house. He would never agree to her going with him. She had to think of an alternative plan. Without her, Reece didn't have a prayer of finding B. K. Stanton's killer.

Reece could never understand the type of sacrifice she was willing to make for him, and it was probably best that he didn't know. Leaving the sanctuary of her home in the mountains meant having to face the world, to be bombarded with people's thoughts and feelings, to see into the futures of strangers. She had spent her entire life trying to control her abilities, and to some degree she had achieved that goal-but only to a degree. Often she had no control whatsoever over the visions, over the intense emotions coming from others, over the premonitions that sometimes only a look or a touch from someone triggered within her mind.

Her special talents were as much a curse as a blessing. Thank God her family had brought her to Aunt Margaret instead of trusting her future to scientists who would have used her as a guinea pig, or to charlatans who would have used her in money-making schemes.

She had chosen her solitary life here in her ancestors' Georgia mountains. Surrounded by nature, shielded from the thoughts and emotions of a town filled with people, Elizabeth found peace and purpose. Nothing and no one had ever tempted her to venture far from Sequana Falls since her college years, except one necessary visit to Sam six years ago to bring him home from Atlanta-a trip she wasn't eager to repeat.

And now she was preparing to go back out into the world, to follow a man she barely knew, to expose herself to the trauma of mixing and mingling with people. How could Reece Landry have come to mean so much to her in such a short period of time? But five months wasn't a short period of time, was it? For some people it was a lifetime. She had known Reece in her heart far longer than the few days he'd spent at her cabin.

A higher power had sent Reece to her. She knew that fact as surely as she knew Reece Landry was her destiny, and she his. No one had ever needed her the way Reece did. Not only did he need her to help him prove his innocence, he needed the warmth and caring she could give him to vanquish the loneliness he had endured his whole life.

Just as Elizabeth heard the telephone ring, she saw Reece coming around the house, heading for the back porch.

"That's Sam calling," she told Reece, then ran inside, racing toward the living room. Breathless and nervous, she picked up the telephone. "Sam?"

"You sound funny. Is something wrong?" Sam asked.

"I was on the back porch. I ran." Elizabeth took several deep, soothing breaths. "What did you find out?"

"You've gone and gotten yourself involved with a real bad boy. Reece Landry's been in trouble since he was a kid."

"I know that. Reece told me all about his childhood run-ins with the law. So what else did you find out?"

"Look, kiddo, there's a possibility that Landry murdered B. K. Stanton. A lot of people who know him agree that he has a real killer instinct."

Elizabeth sighed. How could she persuade Sam that he was wrong? "Reece may have a killer instinct, but he doesn't possess the soul of a killer. You, of all people, should understand the difference."

Sam didn't respond. Elizabeth felt the hesitation, knew he was having difficulty accepting a truth he could not deny. Finally he said, "Point well taken."

Elizabeth sensed Reece's presence behind her before she turned to face him. She mouthed the words "It's Sam." Reece nodded.

"There are other suspects, aren't there?" Elizabeth asked. "You must have found out something."

"Hey, I've had less than twenty-four hours to dig up information," Sam said.

"So tell me what you've found out."

"There's a chance Landry is innocent."

Smiling, Elizabeth glanced at Reece, the trust and confidence she felt showing plainly in her expression. "Go on. Tell me more."

"The whole thing was too neat, too pat to suit me. Landry's gun, no fingerprints on the gun, some of the tests were inconclusive, eyewitnesses who caught him at the scene, a motive of hatred and revenge and the strange coincidence that Landry had been invited to Stanton's home that night, for the first time in his life." Sam paused for a moment. "I'd say the man was framed."

"Who could have framed him?"

"Now, that's the sixty-four-thousand-dollar question. But I'd say other members of Stanton's family are prime suspects. Especially the son, Kenny. Seems he and his father didn't get along, and Kenny hates Landry."

"Sam, Reece is going to need your help. He's planning on leaving today to go back to Newell. I want to go with him, but-"

"Dammit, Elizabeth, you aren't putting your life at risk by going with that man! Do you hear me?"

"The elephants in India can hear you."

Reece grabbed the phone out of Elizabeth's hand. "Dundee, you don't have to worry. I'm not taking her with me."

"Damn right you're not!"

"I'm borrowing Elizabeth's Jeep, but I'll make sure she gets it back, somehow. I don't want her involved in this any more than she already is. If you've found out anything that can help me, I'd appreciate you telling me now."

"From what little I've found out, I'd say there's a good chance you were framed. A smart man would turn himself in to the law before they shoot first and ask questions later. Your lawyer can appeal the case."

"What good would an appeal do if we don't have another suspect?" Reece asked.

"What chance do you have of discovering anything while you're on the run?"

"I'm not turning myself in," Reece said.

"Then you're a damned fool!"

"Would you turn yourself in if you were me?"

Sam grunted. "No."

Reece handed the phone to Elizabeth. "Sam, I'll call you back. Reece will be leaving soon, and I.. .we'll talk later and I'll explain things."

Hanging up the phone, Elizabeth turned to Reece. He stared at her, hoping she wouldn't ask again to go with him. As bad as he hated leaving her, he hated even more the possibility of anything happening to her because of him.

She stood there looking at him, those big blue eyes of hers pleading. She'd left her coffee brown hair loose today instead of French braiding it, and its dark, silky mass hung to her waist. She wore a pair of old, faded jeans that fit her round hips and legs like a second skin. Her nipples pressed against the ribbing of her beige sweater. Her golden skin glowed with youthful vibrancy and good health.

The temptation to scoop her up in his arms and carry her away with him became unbearable. He broke eye contact with her, wondering if she was messing with his mind, sending him subliminal messages of persuasion.

Reece took several tentative steps toward Elizabeth; she moved forward, reaching out for him. MacDatho inched his big body between them, accomplishing his obvious objective of separating them.

Elizabeth reached down, petting MacDatho's head, soothing him with her touch. She relayed a mental message to him that she needed a private goodbye with Reece. Mac nuzzled Elizabeth's leg, then removed himself from between Reece and her. Seating himself by the door, the wolf-dog waited patiently for Reece's departure.

Reece drew Elizabeth into his arms. She clung to him, running her hands up and down his back. "Don't go yet. Stay."

"I can't." He kissed her forehead. "If I stay here any longer, I not only jeopardize my own life, but yours, too. You've done more to help me than I could have ever asked of anyone."

Elizabeth wrapped her arms around his waist. "Since you won't allow me to go with you, to lead you off the mountain and safely back to Newell, I'll draw you a map of the back roads. The police won't have any idea that you'll know about the back roads."

Reece held Elizabeth away from him. "Draw me the map, but do it quickly."

She dashed over to the desk beneath the windows, fumbled inside the middle drawer and pulled out paper and pencil.

"If the deputies find any evidence that I've been here with you, tell them I held you at gunpoint. Tell them I threatened your life."

She held up the completed map, tears forming in the corners of her eyes. "Don't worry about me. I won't have to talk to any deputies. Besides, they'd never believe you held me at gunpoint for four days. Not in the shape you were in, and not with MacDatho around."

Reece took the map out of her hand, shoved it into his jacket pocket, then grabbed her by the waist, drawing her up against him. "Take care, huh, Lizzie. And don't shed any tears over me.'' He wiped the tears from her eyes with the tip of his finger. "I'm not worth crying over. I'm not worth anybody caring about me."

"You're wrong about that." She kissed his chin. "You are worth somebody caring." She kissed his jaw and then his cheek. "You deserve someone's tears." She kissed him lightly on the mouth. "You deserve to be loved, Reece Landry."

"Damn you, Lizzie. Don't do this to me!" His kiss consumed her with his brutal need, with his savage passion. All the loneliness, the pain, the anger that had been building inside him since the day he'd been born verged into one obsession. To have Elizabeth Mallory be that somebody. The somebody who'd care. The somebody who'd cry for him. The somebody who'd love him.

Feeling his desperation, Elizabeth tried to give him what he needed, to respond with an open heart. As her tears clouded her vision, she clung to him, whispering his name over and over again as he buried his face against her neck, his nose nuzzling her hair.

Mustering all the control he possessed, Reece released Elizabeth and stepped away from her. "Say a prayer for me, Lizzie."

More afraid than she'd ever been in her life, she stood motionless. She watched Reece walk to the door, pat MacDatho on the head and pick up the large duffel bag from the floor before opening the front door.

When he walked out onto the porch, Elizabeth forced her legs to move. She lingered in the doorway while he got into the Jeep and drove down the road, away from Sequana Falls.

MacDatho waited patiently at her side, finally circling her as a signal that he thought it was time for them to go inside. Elizabeth glanced down at Mac, nodding in agreement, suddenly feeling the frigid air seeping through her clothing.

Twirling around, she ran inside, MacDatho at her heels. She knew what she had to do. If she hurried, Reece wouldn't have more than an hour or so head start. And it didn't really matter because she knew what roads he would be taking off the mountain, past Dover's Mill and all the way into Newell.

She was not going to let Reece face this ordeal alone. She was going to be at his side, offering him all the support she could give him. And Sam, even if he didn't know it yet, was going to help them uncover the real murderer.

Within twenty minutes she had packed her suitcase, doused all the fires in the fireplaces, checked both greenhouses, sacked a grocery bag filled with MacDatho's food and pulled Sam's antique car out of the barn they used as a garage and parked it in front of the cabin.

She dialed Aunt Margaret's number, mentally preparing herself to lie about her plans. "Aunt Margaret, I wanted to let you know that I've decided to go to Atlanta and spend some time with Sam."

"Is that so?"

"It's been a couple of years since I've been any farther than Dover's Mill, and I think now's the time to test the waters, so to speak, to see if I still have the same problems dealing with the enormous influx of thoughts and emotions I usually get from being around huge crowds of people." This is only a half lie, Elizabeth told herself. Maybe her aunt wouldn't see past the pretense.

"I suppose you'll be bringing that wolf of yours by here for me to take care of."

"I thought O'Grady could take care of him. Mac and O'Grady are old friends."

"Bring Mac by here on your way out of town and I'll see that O'Grady picks him up. And leave whatever instructions O'Grady will need to keep things running smoothly in the greenhouses until you return."

Elizabeth sighed. "Thanks, Aunt Margaret. I'm not sure how long I'll be gone."

"I suppose you'll be gone until you're either arrested for aiding and abetting a criminal or until you've helped the man prove himself innocent."

Why had she ever thought she could get away with lying to Aunt Margaret? The woman's psychic abilities were as keen as they'd ever been. No one kept secrets from Margaret McPhearson.

"He is innocent," Elizabeth said. "And he's out there all alone, with no one on his side."

"Be careful, Elizabeth. I feel great danger for you and for your man."

"Pray for us, Aunt Margaret. Please pray for us."

"I've been doing that since the night he came to you," Margaret told her niece.

"I love you."

"I love you, too, child."

After hanging up the phone, Elizabeth swallowed, wiped her eyes and said a brief prayer of her own. Aunt Margaret had understood. She wasn't so sure about Sam Dundee.

She dialed the Atlanta number and waited to be put through to Sam. Somehow she had to make him understand why she was going to follow Reece, and why it was imperative that he meet them in Newell.

"Elizabeth?" Sam's deep voice was brisk and a bit harsh. "Has Landry left?"

"He left almost thirty minutes ago. I let him take my Jeep."

"Thank God he's gone. You've done some crazy things in your life, but this has to be the craziest."

"Sam, I want you to listen to everything I have to say before you start screaming at me. Promise?" Elizabeth hated it when Sam made her feel like a naughty child. She supposed that came from his having had the responsibility of her guardianship for so many years. He couldn't stop acting like a big-brother protector.

"I don't like it already. What are you up to?"

"I'm going to follow Reece to Newell, and I'm going to have to-"

"The hell you are! Now listen to me, young lady, you are not to leave Sequana Falls. Do you hear me? I don't care what all your special powers tell you about Reece Landry. The man is an escaped murderer, and whether he's guilty or innocent, the police aren't going to take that into consideration if he tries to resist arrest when they catch up with him."

"I want you to meet me in Newell. Tomorrow. I'll call you in the morning and tell you where to meet us."

"Elizabeth, don't do this!"

"My mind is made up. I've already packed my bags, told Aunt Margaret and made plans for Mac to stay with O'Grady."

"If Landry took your Jeep, how do you plan on following him? You aren't taking that old delivery van you let O'Grady keep, are you?"

"O'Grady will need the van for deliveries and to make trips up the mountain to keep check on the greenhouses while I'm gone." Elizabeth sucked in a deep breath, calling forth all her courage to tell Sam about her chosen mode of transportation. "I'm taking your old Thunderbird."

"You're what?'' Sam bellowed.

"You can pick it up tomorrow when you fly into Newell. I promise I'll take good care of your baby."

"You are not going to take my '65 T-Bird down the mountain in weather like this. The roads will still be icy in spots. You could wreck the car and kill yourself."

"I'll call you in the morning and let you know where to meet Reece and me. In the meantime, do whatever you can from Atlanta to get the ball rolling. We're going to discover who really killed B. K. Stanton, and we've got to do it as quickly as possible. Reece can't stay on the run forever."

"Elizabeth, listen to me. Don't do this. It's crazy. You're asking for trouble. You're-"

Elizabeth laid down the phone, cutting Sam off mid-tirade. He'd rant and rave for a while, but he'd eventually calm down, and when she called him in the morning to tell him where he could meet Reece and her, he would come prepared to help them.

"Come on, Mac. You're going to visit Aunt Margaret and O'Grady. And I want you to be a good boy for them."

Reece had followed Elizabeth's map and directions down to the last detail. He couldn't remember a time when he'd put so much trust in another human being, enough trust so that he literally put his life in her hands. She hadn't been kidding when she'd said she knew all the back roads off the mountain and through the surrounding towns. He hadn't run into one roadblock or seen anyone who even vaguely resembled a policeman, highway patrolman or sheriff's deputy. He'd pulled off the road halfway between Dover's Mill and Newell to relieve himself and enjoy one of the ham sandwiches Elizabeth had packed for him, along with coffee from a thermos she had prepared.

The sun eased lower and lower on the western horizon. Reece guessed the time was around three or three-thirty in the afternoon. With clouds building steadily in the sky, blocking part of the sun's last rays, night was sure to fall early today. He was less than fifteen miles from Newell. He couldn't risk going into town, taking a chance that someone might recognize him.

He knew where he'd spend the night. Flossie, the madam who'd once run the local brothel and had been his mother's friend, now owned a sleazy motel on the outskirts of Newell. Nobody would recognize the Jeep, and the type of clientele Flossie got at Sweet Rest Motel wasn't likely to call the police if they did recognize him. He'd be safe at Flossie's motel tonight, and he could make a few phone calls in the morning before he left. He needed to talk to his lawyer. Elkins was bound to be wondering where the hell he was, but he wouldn't risk telling Gary his exact location. Not yet. As much as he wanted to trust the man, he wasn't one hundred percent sure his lawyer wouldn't turn him in to the authorities.

He needed to call Chris. He didn't trust her entirely, either, but she was his half sister and she did profess to care about him and believe in him. She'd paid for his attorney, and would have posted bail if the judge had been willing to set bail.

And he would call Elizabeth. He'd call her tonight to let her know he'd made it home to Newell without a hitch. She'd be worried about him. It felt odd knowing someone actually cared about his well-being.

Maybe he'd give her another quick call in the morning before he went out to B.K.'s hunting lodge. It would be nice to hear the sound of her voice one last time.

Brushing aside the cotton-candy thoughts, Reece concentrated on the drive ahead. He turned off onto a dirt road that led through the woods and some unused farmland. It was the long way around to Sweet Rest Motel, but it was the safest. He'd be unlikely to run into any other vehicles.

He pulled the Jeep to a halt in front of the door marked Office in the parking area of the motel. The buildings were old, built of concrete blocks recently painted a rather nauseous shade of pink, the doors to each unit bright turquoise. Flossie didn't seem to be doing much business. Only one truck and one older model station wagon were parked in front.

Reece reached into his pocket for the money Elizabeth had given him. Two hundred dollars. It was all she'd had in cash, and she'd insisted he take it.

The woman behind the register wasn't Flossie but some young girl with huge breasts and frizzy, bleached-blond hair. He'd never seen her before, and he knew just about everybody in Newell. Hopefully she was a newcomer who wouldn't recognize a face that had been in all the newspapers and on TV.

"You need a room, handsome?" she asked.

"Yeah. Just for tonight. How much?"

"Thirty-five bucks. Local phone calls are free. And there's a TV in your room, with a pay-for-view box. Checkout time is eleven." She handed him a key. "You're in number nineteen."

Reece laid thirty-five dollars on the counter, then turned to leave.

"Hey, mister, you forgot to sign the register."

"You sign for me, honey."

"What's your name?" she asked, smiling.

"Whatever you want it to be." Reece opened the door.

"If you get lonesome later on, Mr. Jones, stop back by. I get off duty at nine. I could show you a real good time." She looked him over from head to toe, stopping to gawk at the way his jeans fit across his crotch.

"I'll keep it in mind." Reece went outside, looked around for number nineteen, then got into the Jeep. He parked in the slot in front of his room, got out, grabbed the duffel bag and locked the Jeep.

Unlocking the door to number nineteen, he flipped on the light switch. Two purple ceramic lamps, one on the night-stand, the other on the right side of the dresser, came on, casting a lavender glow over the mismatched furnishings.

Reece found the room to be pretty much what he'd expected. A double bed with an orange-and-purple flowered spread dominated the small space. A single chair rested under the window, which boasted curtains that matched the spread. Atop the left side of the dresser, an oak-veneer box that didn't match the bed's maple headboard or the metal rounds on the chair, sat the TV.

Reece dropped the duffel bag on the floor, removed the leather jacket he wore, tossing it on the chair, then fell across the bed sideways. The mattress sagged. The box springs moaned under Reece's weight. Within minutes he'd fallen asleep.

The ringing telephone wakened him. For a couple of seconds he wasn't quite sure where he was, then a quick look at the motel room reminded him all too vividly that he was back in Newell, already hiding out. Who the hell would be calling? No one knew where he was. He grabbed the receiver.

"Yeah?"

"Hi, there, Mr. Jones. This is Luanne, in the office. I thought I'd call and remind you that I get off work in about an hour."

Sitting up in the bed, Reece combed through his hair with his fingers. The image of huge breasts and red lips flashed through his mind. He needed a woman, but he didn't need one badly enough to risk having sex with someone who'd have no qualms about turning him over to the law in the morning. Besides, his taste in women had far surpassed Luanne's type years ago.

"Look, honey, I appreciate the offer, but-"

"I could run over to the State Store, get us a fifth and we could watch one of those sex movies on the TV."

"Luanne, I'm bushed. I'm afraid I wouldn't be much fun tonight. Some other time, okay?"

"Sure thing, Mr. Jones. You know where to find me. I work the evening shift here five nights a week."

Reece hung up the phone, crawled out of bed and went into the bathroom. What he needed more than anything else, even a woman, was a shower, a shave and a good night's sleep. Tomorrow his life as a fugitive would start all over again. For a few hours he could relax, here at the Sweet Rest Motel, under the guise of Mr. Jones. In the morning he'd head out for B. K. Stanton's hunting lodge. None of the family ever used the place during the winter months, after hunting season. And now that B.K. was dead, he doubted anyone would ever use the place again. Since Kenny hated hunting, he'd probably sell the place, with no objections from his mother or sister. As far as Reece knew, neither Alice nor Christina had ever set foot in the lodge.

Reece came out of the shower, dried off quickly, briskly rubbing his hair. He walked out of the bathroom, turned back the covers and sat on the bed. His stomach growled, reminding him that he hadn't eaten any supper. He didn't dare risk going out somewhere for food. Rummaging around in the duffel bag, he pulled out a pimento cheese sandwich and the thermos. The sandwich was soggy, the coffee lukewarm. Finishing both quickly, he lay down and closed his eyes.

He couldn't remember ever feeling so alone. Strange thing was that he'd spent most of his life as a loner, needing no one, wanting no one. Even the months he'd spent in jail before, during and after the trial, he'd never felt such intense loneliness. Anger. Frustration. Hatred. And even pain. But not overwhelming loneliness.

He knew damn well what was wrong with him. He'd spent a few days with a woman who had surrounded him with attention, a woman who'd cared for him when he was sick, who'd fed him and clothed him and shared her home with him. Elizabeth Mallory had pierced the barrier that protected him from loneliness. She'd made him want things he knew he could never have. She'd shown him life's goodness, when all he'd ever known was its evil.

He pictured her in his mind. That strong, sturdy body of soft, feminine curves. That mass of dark brown hair. Those pure blue eyes that looked inside him, as if they could see his very soul.

He heard her voice saying his name. Reece. Reece. Where are you, Reece? I can't find you.

His eyelids flew open; he sat upright in bed. What the hell was that all about? He'd felt her presence inside his head, felt her frustration at not being able to find him. Had he lost his mind? Elizabeth Mallory was over a hundred and fifty miles away, safe and secure in her mountain cabin.

Reece's hands trembled. Sweat beads dotted his upper lip. He found himself thinking about where he was, heard himself repeating the name Sweet Rest. Saw himself driving along the back road to arrive at Flossie's sleazy motel.

He flopped back down onto the bed. Dragging the lumpy pillow out from under his head, he turned on his side, beating the pillow with his fists.

He tossed and turned for what seemed like hours, but when he checked the electric alarm clock on the nightstand, he realized it was only nine-thirty.

He heard what sounded like a soft knock, but dismissed the noise as nothing more than another motel patron in the room next to his. The knock grew progressively louder until he realized that someone was knocking on his door. Damn, crazy woman! Luscious Luanne was no doubt standing outside with a fifth in a brown bag, her motor running and determined not to take no for an answer. He jerked a pair of clean jeans out of the duffel bag, slipped them on and zipped them. He glanced over at the 9 mm on the nightstand.

"I told you not tonight, honey," Reece said as he opened the door a fraction, keeping the safety chain latched. "Why don't you-"

Reece stared at the woman standing outside his motel door. She wasn't some cheap blond floozy carrying a fifth of whiskey. She was a blue-eyed brunette carrying an overnight bag.

"Elizabeth!"

"It's freezing out here. Let me in."

Removing the safety chain, he opened the door enough for Elizabeth to enter the room.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Reece asked, his voice a low growl.

"Well, hello, Elizabeth, so nice to see you. Glad you followed me over half the state of Georgia. Come in and make yourself at home."

"Don't get smart with me, Lizzie. What do you mean, you followed me?" Reece closed the door, locking it securely.

Elizabeth set her overnight case on the floor beside Reece's duffel bag. "I appreciate your letting me know where you were. I'd made myself crazy going all over Newell looking for my old Jeep. If you hadn't shown me how to get here, it could have taken me till morning to find you. I didn't dare ask anyone how to get to Sweet Rest Motel."

"I didn't let you know where I was. What the hell are you talking about?"

"You were thinking about me, weren't you?"

"You read my mind?"

"You let me read your mind, Reece. You opened up. You lowered your shield enough to let me in."

"I don't want you here. I told you that you couldn't come with me, didn't I?" Reece fumbled in the duffel bag, dragging out a pine green flannel shirt.

"Won't you sit down, Elizabeth?" she said in a mocking tone. "Why, thank you, Reece, I believe I will." She sat in the only chair, crossing her arms under her breasts.

Reece put on the shirt, leaving it unbuttoned, then grabbed Elizabeth by the shoulders, jerking her up out of the chair. His fingers bit into the plush material of her heavy wool coat.

"You're getting out of here, right now," Reece told her. "I don't want you here."

"Yes, you do. You want me and you need me." Elizabeth stared him directly in the eye, her look daring him to deny her statement.

"I can't let you stay with me! I'm running from the law, goddammit. If you stay with me, you could get killed."

"And if I leave you, you'll be all alone."

When she tried to touch his face, he released his hold on her and shoved her away from him. "I've been alone all my life. I like it that way. I don't want you around. You'll just get in the way. You'll be more trouble than you'll be worth."

"No matter what you say or do, I'm not going to leave you, Reece." Elizabeth tried again to touch him. He dodged her seeking hand.

"Get the hell out of my life, lady. Can't you get it through that screwy head of yours that I don't want you, I don't need you and I'm better off without you?" Reece saw her face pale, saw her jaw clench, noted the wounded look in her eyes. He couldn't allow himself to feel guilty about hurting her feelings. He had to think of Elizabeth, put her safety first, before his own needs. Every word he'd said to her had been a lie, but he'd lied to her for her own good.

Reece lifted her overnight case off the floor, handed it to Elizabeth and unlocked the motel door. "Go back to Sequana Falls where you belong. Forget you ever knew me."

Elizabeth accepted the overnight case. Reece opened the door. Cold night air swept into the room. Elizabeth quiv­ered. Reece stood by the door, his gaze riveted to the floor.

Listening for her footsteps, he waited for her to walk past him. He waited and waited and waited. Then he heard the bathroom door close.

He slammed shut the outside door. "Elizabeth!"

Chapter 6

She ignored his constant beating on the door, dismissed his ranting words and made no effort to remove herself from the bathroom. Reece gave up, flipped on the television and sat at the foot of the bed. What the hell was he going to do with her?

He had never met anyone like Elizabeth Mallory. She was an enigma to him, a riddle without an answer. He'd left her in Sequana Falls, back where she was safe. He'd thought he'd never see her again. But here she was, in his motel room, locked in the bathroom and not listening to reason.

She was so damned sure she could help him, was determined to stay with him until they found B. K. Stanton's real murderer. Despite the fact that Elizabeth insisted that she possessed special psychic talents, Reece had his doubts. He was a man who didn't believe in anything if he couldn't see it, feel it, smell it, taste it or touch it; she expected him to believe that she could read minds, forecast the future and sense events occurring miles away.

One thing was for sure, she'd found him at this godawful motel on the seedy outskirts of Newell. But that feat hadn't necessarily taken any psychic powers. Maybe she'd simply gotten lucky. That's what he wanted to believe.

But he could not dismiss the nagging sense that Elizabeth had spoken to him from miles away, that she'd called out his name, that she had asked him where he was and told him she couldn't find him. Hell, when she'd showed up at his door he'd accused her of reading his mind. He didn't want to think she'd gotten inside him, that all this hocus-pocus stuff she'd been telling him was true, but dammit, he couldn't get the sound of her voice out of his head.

It didn't matter whether or not Elizabeth was psychic and might be able to use her powers to help him. He could not allow her to stay with him. He was a fugitive on the run, a convicted murderer. If she stayed with him, her life would be in danger. He wouldn't let her take the risk.

Besides, she'd just get in the way, he told himself. The woman didn't mean anything to him. He couldn't allow himself to care. He couldn't indulge in any weakness, and that's what caring about another person was-a weakness. His mother had loved B. K. Stanton. The man had been Blanche's weakness, and her mindless love for another woman's husband had destroyed her. No one, other than Blanche, had ever held a place in Reece's heart. He had never loved anyone, and he never would. That was a promise he'd made himself a long time ago, one he intended to keep.

Elizabeth took her time in the bathroom, dreading the thought of facing Reece again. He hadn't been happy to see her. No doubt he was out there now thinking of ways to make her leave. What he didn't know was that there was nothing he could say or do to make her go away. She had every intention of staying with him and helping him, whether he wanted her to or not.

She'd hung her heavy coat on the door rack, then stripped out of her jeans, sweater and shirt, peeling away the layers until she got down to her thermal underwear. She wasn't a femme fatale by any stretch of the imagination; her experience with men was quite limited. A more worldly wise woman would have come prepared with a slinky black negligee and a bottle of wine. She would have used her feminine wiles to seduce Reece, and thus bring him around to her way of thinking.

Elizabeth glanced down at her underwear. A splattering of tiny peach flowers gave the soft, beige cotton knit material a feminine appearance, but she certainly didn't look sexy covered from neck to ankles in her long johns. Well, it didn't matter how she looked because she had no intention of seducing Reece.

Regardless of what he said or did, she would not allow him to send her back to Sequana Falls. She had risked too much coming to him. No one knew he'd spent four days in her home, no one except Aunt Margaret and Sam, and they weren't going to tell anyone. If she hadn't followed Reece, she would have been safe-safe from the police if they caught him, and safe from the outpouring of emotions that always bombarded her whenever she went out into the world. Coming through Newell had been difficult, sensing random feelings, picking up fragments of thoughts, looking out the window at a middle-aged couple and knowing the woman would lose her husband in less than a year.

Come what may, whether he wanted her or not, she could not leave Reece. He needed her. Even though she couldn't see into his future any more clearly than she could reach into his mind, she knew she was meant to save him. Her own instincts told her that much. Aunt Margaret had sensed the same.

"You must save him, Elizabeth. No one else can," her aunt had told her when she'd left MacDatho in the old woman's care. "Only you can save him from himself."

Elizabeth washed her face, scrubbing away the light makeup she wore. Picking up her clothes, she eased open the bathroom door and glanced at Reece sitting on the edge of the bed. She couldn't hide in the bathroom all night; sooner or later she would have to face him. Now was as good a time as any.

A soft rapping on the outside door halted Elizabeth's first step out of the bathroom. Reece jerked around, his body tense, then he got up, walked to the window and pulled back the curtain. Elizabeth heard him laugh. He swung open the door.

"You're late," Reece said. "I expected you earlier."

Elizabeth didn't see the visitor until Reece moved out of the way, revealing a curvy blonde in a hot pink jumpsuit dotted with rhinestones, and with a white fake-fur jacket hanging around her shoulders. Holding up a brown paper bag, the woman pulled out a bottle of whiskey and offered it to Reece.

"Come on in out of the cold...er.. .uh...Luanne." Reece closed the door behind the woman, then accepted the liquor, slipping his arm around her waist and drawing her up against him.

"Now this is the kind of reception I was hoping for, Mr. Jones." Dropping her jacket on the floor, Luanne rubbed herself against Reece, her dark pink lips curving into a self-satisfied smile.

Elizabeth walked out of the bathroom, took several tentative steps across the carpeted floor and stopped to stare at Reece and the woman in his arms. Who was the woman and why had she come to Reece's motel room? Anger combined with jealousy, totally annihilating Elizabeth's sixth sense.

Elizabeth noticed that the blonde had caught a glimpse of her. Dropping her clothes on the floor, Elizabeth smiled and nodded her head. The woman Reece had called Luanne widened her eyes, staring at Elizabeth as if she thought she might be seeing an aberration.

"Look, honey, I'm interested in spending the night with you, but-" Luanne blinked several times when Elizabeth waved at her.

"And I'm interested in the same thing," Reece said. He knew that sooner or later Elizabeth was going to come out of the bathroom, and if she caught him in a compromising situation with another woman, she was bound to storm out of the motel and get her butt back to Sequana Falls and out of his life.

"Well, I'm not into these threesome deals, honey." Luanne kept staring at Elizabeth.

Without releasing his hold on Luanne, Reece pivoted just enough to catch sight of Elizabeth in his peripheral vision. "I wondered if you planned to stay in the bathroom all night. Come on out and meet a friend of mine. Lizzie, this is Luanne. Luanne, Lizzie."

The two women sized each other up, each taking in every inch of the other's face and figure. Reece tried not to make comparisons, but the obvious stared him in the face. Elizabeth was a bigger, taller woman, with broader hips and shoulders. For all her bustiness, Luanne was small, with a fragile quality, whereas Elizabeth's body proclaimed her vitality and strength. Luanne wore heavy makeup, her hair was bleached almost white and her long fingernails were painted a bright pink to match her jumpsuit. Elizabeth's face was scrubbed clean and her long dark hair hung around her shoulders, hitting her at the waist. Her thermal underwear hugged her body, revealing every round, feminine curve. Her clear blue eyes glared at him, demanding an explanation.

Luanne was smoke; Elizabeth was the fire. Luanne was like a gaudy trinket that could be bought at the dollar store and discarded the moment it turned your skin green. Elizabeth was jewel-studded gold, priceless, and once possessed, the owner would rather die than ever part with it.

"Don't get in a huff, honey." Reece returned Luanne's endearment. "Lizzie showed up a while ago, uninvited."

Luanne grinned, first at Reece and then triumphantly at Elizabeth. "Is that right? Well, why don't you send her on her way? 'Cause I'm not staying if she does."

Reece set the whiskey bottle on the nightstand, then turned to Elizabeth and shrugged. "Well, Lizzie, you see how it is, don't you?"

Yes, by golly, she did see how it was. She saw clearly. Ms. Luanne Evans was a new acquaintance, not one of Reece's old friends. Luanne's mind was quite uncomplicated, and was wide open for anyone to pick up her rather raunchy thoughts. The woman certainly had plans for Reece. Elizabeth had no intention of allowing those plans to come to fruition. If any woman shared a bed with Reece Landry tonight, it was going to be Elizabeth Mallory.

Elizabeth sat on the bed. Reece frowned. Luanne pulled away from Reece, planting her hands on her slender hips.

"Look, Lizzie, maybe you're deaf or something, but the man said he wants me." Luanne glared at her rival.

Elizabeth scooted up in the bed until her back touched the headboard. Raising her arms behind her head, she stretched and yawned.

"Well, the only problem with that, Lu, is sometimes Mr. Jones says one thing when he means another."

Taking a few steps over to the bed, Reece reached down and grabbed Elizabeth by the arm. "I mean what I say, Lizzie. Get dressed, pick up your clothes and get the hell out of here. I've got plans for tonight."

Turning her nose up, Luanne smiled, then shook her head just enough to toss about her thick, teased hair.

Elizabeth slapped away Reece's hand. "I'm not leaving." She glanced over at a smug Luanne. "Besides, Luanne can't stay all night. When her boyfriend gets home from work around one in the morning, she'll have to be there or he'll come looking for her."

Luanne's mouth fell open. "How do you know when Joey gets home from work?"

"He's going to get home early tonight. From his job on the assembly line at Stanton Industries," Elizabeth said. "Around eleven-thirty. He's sick with a stomach virus."

"How do you know where Joey works and that he's going to get sick?" Luanne backed up against the wall, staring at Elizabeth with round, dark eyes. "What are you, some kind of fortune-teller?"

"I'm a witch. Honey." Rising up on her knees, Elizabeth sat in the middle of the bed and pointed her finger directly at Luanne. "And if you stick around here, trying to put the make on my man, I'll cast a spell on you."