She found the horse first. It was lying on its side, trembling all over, drenched with rain and lather.
As Holly ran toward the horse, it groaned and heaved itself to its feet. The animal took a few tentative steps, then stood docilely, not even flinching when lightning sizzled across the ridge. For the moment, the Arabian was too stunned by its fall to be afraid of anything.
Holly clawed up the last few feet of the slope to the boulder that had so brutally stopped Linc’s fall.
Lightning forked across the sky, revealing Linc. He lay on his back, motionless.
She skidded to her knees beside him, shaking with fear.
“Linc!”
Her voice was hoarse, no match for the thunder boiling through the night. She crouched over him, sheltering his face from the downpour.
Bursts of lightning outlined him harshly. A cut beneath his hair was bleeding. The blood looked black in the white light. His shirt was shredded down his right side, but beneath the ribbons of cloth his chest rose and fell in even rhythms.
Alive.
For a moment Holly was too dizzy with relief to do anything but put her hand on Linc’s chest and savor the strong beat of his heart. Then she shook herself and looked around.
Linc was alive but far from safe. If he was injured, she wasn’t strong enough to carry him to the tent. Yet she had to get him out of the chilling rain.
Lightning came again, followed slowly by thunder. The center of the storm was moving away. Rain still fell hard and steady, but it no longer qualified as a cloudburst. The first, most violent minutes of the storm were over.
Gently, very carefully, Holly ran her hands over Linc’s arms and legs, searching for obvious injuries.
She felt nothing but the resilience of his muscles beneath his soaked clothes. She moved her fingertips lightly over his chest, searching for any swelling that might tell of cracked or broken ribs.
Linc groaned, startling her.
Holly snatched back her hand before she realized that her light touch wasn’t what had caused him to groan. It was the pain he felt as his body returned to awareness.
While Linc struggled out of unconsciousness, his head moved slowly from side to side. Holly let out a sigh. The motions eased a fear she had been afraid even to acknowledge.
Thank God, Holly thought fervently. His neck isn’t broken.
Suddenly Linc rolled onto his side and tried to sit up. He grabbed his head and groaned again.
“Take it easy,” Holly said quickly. “You’ve had a fall.”
He shuddered.
“Linc?”
As he turned toward the sound of Holly’s voice, lightning burst. His eyes were dark, dazed.
“What . . . ?” he asked, then said no more.
“Your horse fell,” Holly answered loudly, trying to make Linc understand between bouts of thunder. “Your. Horse. Fell.”
Linc started to nod in acknowledgment, then grimaced and held his head again. When his right hand dropped, it was streaked with blood.
Holly stared anxiously into the darkness that divided violent bursts of lightning. The worst of the storm might be letting up, but it was far from over.
“Can you move?” she shouted.
His only answer was a stifled groan and an attempt to get up.
“Just sit up at first,” Holly said.
Painfully Linc pulled himself into a sitting position, helped by Holly.
She touched the right side of his head with gentle fingertips. There was a small swelling at the base of his skull. Blood seeped slowly.
Holly had no way of knowing whether Linc had a concussion or simply a cut.
“Do you hurt anywhere else?” she asked.
She had to repeat the question several times before Linc’s head moved in a slow negative gesture.
“Then you must stand up,” Holly said urgently. “I’ll help you, but I can’t carry you. Please, Linc. Stand up!”
Using the boulder and Holly, Linc managed to lever himself to his feet. When he stood, dizziness nearly overwhelmed him. Anxiously she supported him.
Then Linc started to walk with the same grim determination and strength he had used to save his horse.
After a few false starts, Holly adjusted to Linc’s uneven stride. Together they reeled and staggered down the slope toward her tent.
A small battery-powered lamp filled the tent’s interior with yellow light. For the moment at least, everything was still dry.
As Holly eased Linc onto the floor, she realized that he was shivering uncontrollably. She had to get him warm, quickly.
She tore off what was left of his shirt. His soaked boots and jeans were harder to remove. As she struggled to drag the denim down his legs, she was divided between frustration at the stubborn cloth and admiration for the powerful lines of Linc’s body.
The sleeping bag Holly had rented was large, loose, and lightweight. It would not radiate back body heat very efficiently, but it was all she had. She unzipped the slippery nylon bag with three quick strokes, rolled Linc inside, and zipped the bag shut again.
Linc’s eyes opened. When he realized that he was inside a tent, he started to sit up.
“No,” Holly said firmly. “Don’t try to get up.”
He ignored her.
She held him down with her hands on his shoulders and the force of her whole body.
“Lie down,” she commanded. “You have to get warm.”
“Horse.” Linc’s voice was barely a whisper. “My horse.”
“It was on its feet before you were.”
Lightning bleached the interior of the tent. Thunder came like a falling mountain.
Linc sat up, sweeping aside Holly’s hands with a strength that frightened her. Even dazed and injured, he was far stronger than she was.
Dizziness struck Linc again, chaining him for a moment. Holly knew that he was too stunned to realize his own danger and not rational enough to argue with.
Linc was a horseman through and through. He would see that his horse was cared for and to hell with the consequences to himself.
“I’ll take care of your horse,” Holly said urgently. “But you must stay here. Do you understand? Stay here!”
With an effort, Linc nodded.
She helped him lie down again, grabbed a pocket flashlight, and went back out into the storm. For the first time she really noticed the rain. The drops were almost icy, for they had condensed at high altitudes.
The Arabian was standing where Holly had last seen it. The horse’s head was held low. It was still breathing rapidly. The animal’s body heat steamed outward, draining warmth into the chill air.
Holly shivered repeatedly as she worked over the horse, checking for injuries. Other than a few scrapes, she found nothing. She led the Arabian down to the partial shelter of boulders and chaparral. The horse followed without limping.
A barrage of lightning made the Arabian shy violently, jerking Holly off her feet. She scrambled upright again, tore off her blouse, and blindfolded the animal.
After that, the horse stood absolutely still, ignoring lightning and thunder alike. Holly loosened the cinch and rummaged in the saddlebags, hoping to find a hobble. There was only a hatchet, a large folding knife, and a ball of rough twine.
“Not good enough,” Holly muttered. “At the first yank, twine will either give way or cut the horse’s legs to the bone.”
She took a deep breath, peeled off the blindfold and quickly twisted it into something that resembled a hobble.
As Holly bound the horse’s front legs with her blouse, the Arabian sniffed her wet hair.
Then the animal snorted wearily and gave up all thought of fear and flight. The horse didn’t even object when Holly threw a flapping tarp over its back. She laced the waterproof cloth onto the animal as best she could with twine.
By the time Holly got back inside the tent, she was shaking with cold. Her chilled fingers were clumsy, making hard work of peeling off her own wet clothes.
; Finally she managed to get rid of the last cold, dripping piece of cloth. She dug out dry jeans and a jacket, yanked them on, and crawled over to check Linc.
He was neither awake nor quite asleep. His skin was cold.
Holly knew just enough about hypothermia and shock to be afraid for Linc. Yet there was nothing more she could do to help him. Even if she could get him to the Jeep, Antelope Wash would be in full flood.
“Linc,” Holly whispered. “What can I do?”
She looked at the dark hair curling down over his forehead, framing the strong face that had haunted her dreams. His eyebrows were thick, dark arches spiked with gold. His mouth, usually generous with laughter, was drawn with cold and pain. Drops of water gleamed in his mustache.
How many times Holly had dreamed of seeing him again, touching him and feeling his touch, hearing his laughter and tasting him on her lips. Helplessly she wondered what had changed him from the gentle, passionate man of her memories.
What did I do to Linc that I deserved being cut off from him all these years?
Only silence answered Holly’s painful question. Despite Cyn’s appearance with Linc yesterday, Holly knew that he hadn’t been dating anyone six years ago. His motives for not keeping in touch with Holly at first were as much of a mystery to her now as they had been when she had wept over unanswered letters.
Why did Linc become cruel and sarcastic, his cold eyes watching me, his words slicing me?
No answer came to that question, either.
Slowly Holly bent to brush her mouth over Linc’s. For a long moment she kissed him, warming his cool lips, tasting the raindrops beaded in his mustache, trembling with memories.
Part of Holly was ashamed of stealing back a piece of her dream while Linc slept, unable to protest the caress. Yet she couldn’t help herself.
Nor did she really want to. It was little enough to warm the emptiness in her.
When Holly lifted her head, there were tears caught in her lashes. She watched Linc for long moments, forgetting her own chilled body. The strong heartbeat and the easy rise and fall of his chest beneath her hand reassured her.
Then she began to dread the coming morning, when he would wake up, realize she was Shannon, and stare at her with cold-eyed contempt.
But there was nothing Holly could do about that. Tonight she and Linc needed each other on the most primitive level.
Sheer animal warmth.
Without hesitating any longer, Holly unzipped the sleeping bag and crawled in. There was barely room inside to breathe, for the bag hadn’t been designed to hold two people. Especially when one of them was the size of Lincoln McKenzie.
Shaking with cold, she switched off the lamp and managed to zip up the sleeping bag once more. After a long time, their shared warmth heated the bag enough for both of them to sink into troubled sleep.
Holly dreamed that she woke up in Linc’s arms, his lips against her neck, her body pressed along his. The tip of his tongue teased her mouth until she sighed and smiled, giving herself to his kiss with the sensual abandon that only he had ever drawn out of her.
She felt his breath against her ear and shivered with delight. His hand slid over her thin jacket, caressing her breasts. The touch was more vivid than any dream of him she had ever had before.
Then Holly realized that she wasn’t dreaming.
Her eyes flew open. Daylight glowed in the tent, but not half so warmly as Linc’s eyes.
“Holly,” he murmured, tracing her lips with his tongue. “My sweet Holly. I thought I had only dreamed you.”
Five
“You recognize me,” Holly said, suddenly nervous.
Linc smiled.
“It would take more than a rap on the head to make me forget you, Holly.”
“But yesterday—” she began.
“All I remember about last night,” he interrupted, “is that it was dark and a mountain fell on me.”
Linc’s tongue slid between Holly’s lips and moved slowly. She made a small sound as she touched the tip of her tongue against his, tasting him delicately, hungrily.
“If you had kissed me before you dragged me into your bed,” Linc said, “I’d have known you no matter how dark it was.”
Holly couldn’t speak. His eyes were golden, passionate, tender . . . her dream made whole and radiant again.
“Linc,” she whispered.
He kissed Holly again, thoroughly, drinking her response. When he finally lifted his head, his pulse was beating visibly in his throat.
“You taste the same as you did six years ago,” Linc murmured, “sweet as a desert spring.”
His voice had changed with the long kiss. The tone was husky, intimate, as male as the powerful arms wrapped around Holly.
She drew a shaky breath, remembering the stolen kiss last night and the kisses before that, six long years before. She looked into Linc’s eyes again, studying him in a silence that shimmered with dreams and possibilities.
Nowhere did she see the harsh contempt that had been on his face yesterday.
A relief as intense as last night’s storm swept through her, shaking her. She reached up and kissed Linc again with lips that trembled.
“You taste the same, too,” Holly whispered against his mouth.
He lifted his head and smiled down at her.
“Like water?” he asked whimsically.
“Half right,” she teased.
“What’s the other half?”
“Fire.”
Linc’s arms tightened until Holly couldn’t breathe. She had forgotten how strong he was, strength enough to make or break a world.
Her world.
“Firewater, huh?” Linc teased.
He laughed against Holly’s neck, sending shivers of delight over her skin.
“From an illegal still, no doubt?” Linc asked.
Holly nodded her head solemnly, like a small child.
“The still is hidden way, way up in the mountains,” she whispered.
“What goes into it—cactus and pine cones?”
“Nope.”
Holly smiled and tickled her lips against Linc’s mustache.
“Rocks and ice?” he guessed again.
She laughed. Then she looked at the man she loved and laughter vanished, replaced by an intense emotion that only Linc had ever been able to call from her.
“Lightning and sage and desert rain,” Holly whispered. “I’ve tasted you in my dreams, Linc.”
His breath drew in sharply.
“Holly,” Linc said huskily. “Are you sure you’re not a dream?”
Before she could answer, his tongue probed the hollow at the base of her throat, then moved slowly up her neck until he found her ear. His teeth closed delicately on her earlobe.
When the tip of Linc’s tongue traced the curves of her ear, Holly began to tremble. With eyes half-closed, she rubbed her palms over his back.
His skin stretched smoothly over muscles hardened by work. Silk and steel, the taste of Linc on her lips, dream come true.
“Which is better—this or dreams?” he asked.
“This,” Holly murmured. “This is better than any dream.”
As she spoke, she moved slowly against Linc, savoring his skin with her fingertips and lips.
Holly felt a tremor go through him. Belatedly she remembered how chilled he had been last night.
“Are you cold?” she asked quickly.
“Hardly.”
“But—”
Linc nibbled on Holly’s lips, distracting her from doubts about his health. When he spoke, laughter curled in his voice.
“If you don’t believe that I’m plenty warm,” he said, “run your hands down my front instead of my back.”
Abruptly Holly remembered that Linc was naked. She jerked her hands away from his skin.
“I forgot I’d undressed you,” she said, embarrassed, “but you were wet and—I’m sorry.”
“I’m not,” Linc murmured, rubbing his lips over Holly’s m
outh. “In fact”—his hand slid up to her jacket zipper—“I’m going to return the favor.”
“But I’m not wearing a blouse,” she said frantically.
Linc’s only answer was the ragged sound of his swift, indrawn breath when the zipper slid down to her waist and the jacket fell open.
Holly was so shocked she couldn’t say a word. Linc had kissed her before, even touched her breasts lightly, but it had been nothing like this.
She had never been naked, skin against skin.
Slowly Linc’s dark head vanished beneath the sleeping bag as his mouth slid down Holly’s neck. The tongue that had teased her lips stroked slowly over one of her breasts. As he blew gently, her nipple hardened in a tingling rush.
Holly made a low sound, gripped by feelings she had neither the experience nor the words to describe.
By the time Linc’s mouth melted over her other breast, she was no longer shocked. Pleasure shivered through her repeatedly. Her fingers kneaded his back with sensuous, hungry motions that encouraged his caresses.
Holly had no realization of what she was doing, no thoughts that weren’t as wild and hot as Linc’s mouth. Her body didn’t feel like it was her own. Sensations lanced through her, fine wires tightening her with each caress, each hot movement of his tongue, her whole body tightening until she felt like twisting and moaning beneath his knowing mouth.
“I’ve got to see you,” Linc said huskily.
He reached across Holly, unzipped the sleeping bag halfway down, and pushed it away from her body.
No bathing suit lines marred the smooth flow of her golden skin. Her breasts were swollen with desire and her taut nipples were the same dark rose as her lips.
A slow flush bloomed beneath Holly’s skin as she realized that she was lying half-naked while Linc looked at her, his hazel eyes smoky with desire. She pulled her hands away from his back and tried to zip up her jacket.
He laced his fingers through hers, holding her hands in a gentle vise.
“If I had undressed you six years ago,” he whispered, “I never would have let Sandra take you away.”
Linc’s head lowered again, and again Holly felt his tongue set fire to her skin. Instinctively she arched against him, all thought of shyness or embarrassment consumed by his caresses.