Annie Mayall was a young bride, brought to Montana in 1940 by her new husband to start their new life together…as soon as he struck it rich in the promised silver mines. Abandoned for three long, desperate and lonely years, Annie was forced to survive by herself in the wilds of the mountains. Until one stormy night brought a severely wounded stranger to her tiny one-room cabin. A stranger both mystical and fascinating. A stranger who not only brought her happiness, but a kind of love she never knew existed.

A stranger who was not of this earth.

*****

Chapter 1
The Marriage

The storms in Montana were often unpredictable and vicious. A pure blue sky waxing from mountain range to mountain range could darken within an hour. Clouds as inky and velvety as moldy bread would fold themselves over and over until the air became foul with the suffocating smell of ozone. And then the thunder would come.

Thunder louder than winter avalanches would growl and boom until ears were deafened by the noise. Lightning, like thin, silver knives would slash the blackness, stabbing through the heat and the sound like a lunatic hunter gone mad. Stabbing and slicing until the ground was pierced, and huge chunks of earth were rent in the soil.

During these storms, Annie Mayall would be curled up into a tight, frightened ball in the corner of the tiny one-room log cabin that had been her home for the past three years. She would press the palms of her hands to her ears as tears coated her face. With every shock wave of sound, she would jump. With every flash of light, she would squeeze her eyes tighter, all the while praying the storm would soon be over.

The storms were the only thing she ever truly hated about living in such a lonesome and isolated place. But she had to admit that afterwards, after the clouds had skipped back over the Talosota Mountains, Dry Lick Valley was more verdant and beautiful than anything out of a fairy tale dream.

Well…almost the only thing.

Like the rest of the country, Montana in 1940 was thin on possibilities. America was trying to stay out of a war with Japan. Unemployment was high. But unlike the rest of the country, if a man owned a bit of land and had the grit to work long, hard hours, he and his family could become self-sufficient.

In Montana, it was easy to become self-sufficient. Land was cheap, especially in the more wooded places far away from populated areas. This was where Foster Mayall brought his naive young wife. This was where Foster Mayall built the tiny log cabin with its pump handle washbasin and the big stone fireplace, and then left his bride of four months to seek his fortune in the silver mines.

That was three years ago. Three long, difficult, isolated years ago.

It had only taken her a few months, however, to get accustomed to life in Dry Lick Valley. She had been raised on a small farm in rural Ohio. Her father had raised her and her two younger siblings amid fifty-two acres of corn. Being the oldest, Annie had become mother to her brother and sister. She had done the cooking, the cleaning, the washing, and the tending of both livestock and family. She had gone to school long enough so that when she had to bow out in order to help with the farm, no one questioned her decision.

Her days had been filled with hard work. Her nights had been equally filled with dreams and wishes of a better life. Saturdays were for dressing up and going to town in the family truck—all four of them ready for a movie and perhaps an ice cream afterwards.

Which was probably why she fell for Foster Mayall like a hammer on an anvil. He hadn’t been much older than she was, but he already wore the ways of the world on him like a fancy coat. He talked fast and moved faster. He was from Connecticut. To a country farm girl like Annie, he was a knight in shining armor.

The night of August sixth, the Prichard family had gone into town for their usual Saturday escapade. Mabel and John Ray Junior each begged for a nickle to see the next installment of the serial showing at the Palisades. Their daddy had gone over to Ruby’s Diner to make eyes at Dorie Fines over a piece of apple pie. Rumor around town had it that John Prichard would be taking the petite, redheaded waitress to wife pretty soon, and wouldn’t that be a tremendous burden off of poor Annie’s shoulders?

The Bellflower Dance Hall was having a “single’s only” dance, and Annie had opted to go there. That was where she met Foster Mayall, with all his high talk about silver mining in Montana. Maybe his clean-cut, pale, good looks might have been enough to sway her judgment. Yet, with all his promises about having a life “out there,” away from dusty Ohio, away from the tedium and drudgery that came with running a farm, Annie realized he was the man she wanted to spend the rest of her life with—as long as it wasn’t anywhere near Dirkins, or in Ohio.

So, a little over six weeks from the day she’d met him, Annie Prichard became Annie Mayall. They left for Billings, Montana that very afternoon, with barely enough time for her to say goodbye to her family.

Annie spent her honeymoon on the road, what honeymoon there was. Foster didn’t want to waste his money on motels along the way, so they slept in the front and back seats of the car, and used gas station restrooms to take a quick spit bath before continuing their journey.

Once they reached Billings, Foster brought out the map and the title to the piece of land he’d bought through the mail. He sold the Ford, bought a wagon, a cow, a horse, and a mule, and then filled the wagon with an assortment of food and dry goods before they set out again. It took them another three days to find the exact spot, and Annie knew she’d died and gone to heaven.

Despite its name, Dry Lick Valley was as lush and full of trees and wildlife as she’d ever seen. The overall beauty of the place was more than breathtaking. Annie found herself immediately falling in love with the place, despite its remoteness.

“We’re gonna build us a place and live here the rest of our lives,” Foster announced. And that night they made love for only the second time in their marriage, with just two thin blankets to keep them warm under the sparkling night sky.

And he did build them a place. Although the cabin was small compared to the farmhouse where she’d grown up, it was beautiful to her. Annie was amazed by her new husband’s abilities with an ax and awl. From sunrise to sunset, she helped him select and fell the trees. She showed him how to hitch the mule she’d affectionately named Murphy to the chained logs and drag them back to the site where Foster had plotted out the groundwork for the cabin and a barn. And while Foster planed and cut the logs to fit, she cooked over an open fire.

It was the middle of summer. The days were tolerable, but the nights still grew chilly. Too often he would drop onto his bedroll and fall fast asleep, leaving her awake and aching, to watch the night sky and the moon travel through the stars, flowing from new to full and back to new over the course of the months.

As the season melted into fall, the cabin was finally finished. In two more weeks Foster cobbled together a crude but functional off-the-floor bed, a table, and two chairs. He spent another week getting a suitable barn raised.

“It’ll last the winter, but not two,” he told her. The wind blew through the cracks between the boards, and rain managed to sneak around the roof, but at least the animals would be able to survive in it until spring.

Now the trees were beginning to turn. Annie woke up one morning to find Dry Lick Valley spread out in a quilt of colors that took her breath away. She also discovered her husband and the horse gone. Left behind was a note.

I’m afraid I’ve spent too much time on the farm as it is. If we’re gonna get rich, I need to get to the mines. I should be gone until spring. You should be fine until I get back. I left you some money to help tide you over. If you run short, you can butcher the cow. Your loving husband, Foster.

That was three years ago. Annie hadn’t heard from him since.

It was a cold and impersonal law, but it worked.

When StarLight and Master Hunter heard their names called out to be HandFasted, their neat, orderly lives were turned upside-down. Gone was the comfortable companionship and brother-sister working relationship. Now they were forced into an intimacy neither had wanted, nor expected.

Neither were they prepared for the overwhelming passion they would find in each other’s bodies, as well as in their hearts.

But things would only get more complicated and dangerous, because someone had deliberately placed their names in the lottery as the first step in destroying their world and every Guardian living.

*****

Three seats were still empty.

Master Hunter watched in silent amusement as Deceiver glanced around the meeting room. It was obvious the Guardian leader was irritable, which he had every right to be.

One empty seat in particular drew his attention, and he forced himself to tear his eyes away from the gleaming padded chair to check the clock. Eighteen minutes. They were cutting it too damn close. No wonder Deceiver looked fit to be tied.

The man uttered an obscenity and slammed his fist on the communications toggle in the panel before him. The suddenness startled everyone already gathered in the room.

“Dammit, Disaster! Where are you?”

“Don’t get your tights all in a twist.” A sultry feminine voice laughed in response. “We’re less than seven minutes away.”

Hunter’s eyebrows went up in surprise, but he managed to keep his smile hidden behind one hand. This was Deceiver’s battle, not his.

“StarLight? What are you doing piloting? I didn’t assign you to pilot that mission! Will someone please tell me she’s not piloting?”

A second voice replied. Even through the slightly fuzzy transmission Hunter could hear the man was mortified. “Uhh, sorry, Deceiver. Star’s piloting.”

“Dammit!”

A soft, warm laugh reverberated over the speakers just as the Guardian leader closed the comm.

Deceiver’s rise in anger was too much. Hunter chuckled in spite of himself. The flushed face of his superior immediately turned to confront him. “I fail to see what’s so funny about the situation,” he almost barked. “If StarLight’s at the helm, you know as well as I do that she’s going to put some kind of damage on the ship. And that’s another headache we don’t need at this time.”

In a way, the man was probably right. StarLight’s piloting skills were not among the best, even if her reflexes were acute. And a damaged spacecraft was the last thing they needed at the moment.

Hunter let his eyes rove over to the vidscreen. He and Deceiver were good friends as well as fellow workers. Deceiver would sometimes open up to him, knowing Hunter would keep what he heard in confidence. The man had admitted to him not too long ago that their coffers were becoming dangerously low, and they would continue to be that way until the Hall of Magistrates met at the end of the year to renew their yearly allotment. In the meantime, they had to count every bean and stretch every credit as far as they could. Unless some grateful client or wealthy patron decided to bless them with a monetary thank you for a job well done before then.

Sighing, he stretched his legs underneath the big oval table. Star shouldn’t be piloting, plain and simple. Yes, Deceiver would forgive her for a few dents and dings, but not if she managed to put a sorely-needed transportation ship out of commission for any extended length of time. Worse still, StarLight was not known for her promptness. The woman couldn’t even make it to their morning meetings on time. Hell, Hunter grinned, she would probably be late for her own funeral.

This time, though, she had to get the rest of the crew here before the announcements were aired. Missing the broadcast, which was mandated by law, was unforgivable, even for a Guardian.

“Who did you order at the helm?” he asked Deceiver.

“Bruiser.”

“Well, that explains everything.” Hunter spoke for them all. If there was a fan club for StarLight, Bruiser would be its president. The big man worshiped her.

“Just you wait, Hunter. One of these days you’ll be facing the burden of leadership, and you won’t be smiling during that interim, I guarantee.”

“I just find it hard to believe you never thought she’d try to put herself in the pilot’s chair and take Transport Two for a spin.” Hunter chuckled. “Besides, she said she’d be here in less than seven. The announcements won’t be for another…” he glanced at the chronometer above the huge screen on the opposite wall, “eighteen minutes. They’ll be back in plenty of time.”

“Speaking of having plenty of time, care to join the pot?” Time Merchant called from across the room. “Odds are good we might recognize someone on the roster.”

Hunter waved off the man’s offer. Deceiver shook his head. “As long as it’s not me,” the leader muttered.

Hunter agreed. “I second that. It’s rather a blessing that Guardians are exempt from the lottery.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure of that,” a voice piped up from down the table. Hunter had to sit up to spot Morning Fire. The petite woman was normally subdued and often quiet, rarely volunteering any information. But when she did speak out, her observations were almost always correct. To Hunter, as well as to the rest of the group, Fire was like a younger sibling, teased and often taken for granted. Until something occurred that reminded them how potent her laser-bright powers could be.

Corona swiveled around in her chair to stare at the redhead. “Why would you say that? Do you know something?”

Hunter saw the tiny woman press her lips together. So did everyone else.

“Oh, Fire, you know something!” Animator leaned across the table. “What? What have you heard?”

“Fire, are you keeping secrets?” Sender joined in. Hunter watched Sender throw a glance at her sister as the twins exchanged unspoken communication. Seeker could delve into another person’s thoughts, but wouldn’t without that person’s consent. However, Fire must have been giving off pronounced brainwaves because Seeker grinned and nodded her head. “Fire’s keeping secrets!” Sender announced jovially.

Morning Fire shrugged while a smile tickled her lips. Immediately the other Guardians gave her their undivided attention. Hunter found himself leaning over the table and straining to hear what she would say next. Fire couldn’t stay mum for long. Having a propensity for shyness, she didn’t like being in the spotlight.

“It’s nothing definite,” she murmured as her face turned as red as her flaming hair. “It’s just the word I’ve heard out on the street.”

“You’re stalling, Fire,” Corona crowed. “Give! What’s the word on the street?”

“That there might be a Guardian drawn in the HandFast lottery this month.”

Hunter was unaware of falling back into his seat as stunned silence blanketed the group gathered around the onyx table. Several pairs of eyes flickered from one of their number to the other. Hunter locked gazes with Deceiver. A Guardian HandFasted? Not only was it preposterous, it was impossible. Maybe Morning Fire had heard wrong.

No. Fire never said anything unless she was one hundred percent certain. The woman’s intuition was almost psychic.

It was Seeker who tried to put things into perspective. “Why is everyone acting so surprised? Aren’t all of us graded as Supreme?”

“Yeah, but considering the type of work we’re involved in…” Provoker fingered his small goatee, a habit he had whenever he was thinking. Turning to face their leader, he wondered aloud, “Think it’s possible, Deceiver? I mean, even though we deal with life and death circumstances on practically a daily basis, would the Committee allow our names to be placed in the lottery?”

Corona gave a snort of derision and leaned back in her seat. “Unless they placed that Guardian on inactive status, there wouldn’t be any sense in it. Besides, do you honestly believe the Committee would be so stupid as to lock one of us into a HandFast? I mean, think about it! The first two weeks alone you have to mate with your partner at least once a day. And then a minimum of three days per week for the remainder of the year until the woman conceives. Heavens, we’ve been on missions that would throw that little requirement law right out the porthole the first week alone!”

“Not to mention the danger factor,” Hunter commented. Already his mind was racing, wondering if the Guardian chosen would be a man or a woman. There was no doubt in his mind Fire’s prediction would come true. It was just a matter of trying to outguess the Committee’s decision. “We all know the lifespan of a Guardian isn’t exactly conducive to parenthood.”

He glanced up at Deceiver who had gotten back on his feet. The leader threw up a hand and attempted to quell their growing worry. “Well, whether or not there’s a grain of truth in the rumor, I say let’s not even consider such a possibility. I’ve been a Guardian for almost eighteen years, and there has never been one of us included in the HandFast lottery.”

A warning bell went off, signaling the return of the transport ship. Hunter glanced at the doors leading to the bay as they waited for some sound or notice that the woman piloting Transport Two had touched down with more enthusiasm and less finesse than was needed. He was as surprised as everyone when the last three members of their group came striding in a couple of minutes later, wearing big smiles and no contusions.

“Well, will wonders never cease,” Deceiver grumbled. “You’re late. You said seven minutes. You took nine.”

StarLight gave a flippant shrug of her shoulders. The movement made her long black hair gleam under the recessed lights. “Hey, I knew you’d be worried if I came in too fast. You’d also worry if I took too long. So I split the difference and pulled her back. Put your precious transport number two back into her chute with more care than you take when you bathe your tush, Deceiver.”

The remark made Hunter grin in amusement, which he was careful to keep concealed. StarLight really did care about Deceiver’s opinion of her. But why the young woman continued to parade such a devil-may-care attitude puzzled him.

Beside him the Guardian leader chose to ignore her last remark and turned on the vidscreen as he asked, “Any further problems with the Bedorsians?”

“They’re doing well,” Bruiser offered. “They saw our…reasoning.”

Hunter immediately narrowed his eyes at the giant taking his seat. Deceiver chose to make no comment. The lottery results would be announced soon, and the entire planet’s populace was required by law to listen to the names of the twenty couples being HandFasted that month. As soon as the announcements were over Deceiver would get a full report on their mission. It was standard procedure.

So why did StarLight give him a mock salute in reply?

Hunter chewed absentmindedly on the knuckles of one hand as he kept track of the lithe figure dressed in midnight black. StarLight was the only female member of the Guardians who chose to wear a full-length body suit as her uniform. And she filled it out to a perfection that was almost too painful to observe. But the ebony costume, with its ever-changing pattern of stars running over its surface, did its job well in camouflaging the woman against the darkness of space. As well as the thick flow of raven hair she wore loose down her back. He’d seen her just once in regular clothes, with her hair pulled back into a long tail thicker than his wrist. The woman was intimidating no matter what she wore.

What if she was the Guardian to be named in the lottery? Instantly his mind and his body rebelled. No. It wasn’t possible. Not StarLight.

With a cold, grim purse of his lips, Hunter beat down that thought with mental fists. Star was untouchable, despite her reputation. The men in her past he could overlook. They were before he met her, before he got to know her. Before he got to feel her shivering and cringing in his arms, against his chest, as she cried for the children they’d left to die on Follusia.

Those other men he could overlook. He could even forgive her dalliance with Provoker. But the idea of knowing another man would have permission to touch her, even if she didn’t want him to…

Touch her. Caress her. Make love to her. Create a baby inside her.

He shook his head to clear it and concentrated on the screen overhead. When he had entered into Guardian training a little more than two years ago, along with Time Merchant, Star had joined a day earlier. The three of them had finished their training and first mission together. Since then, Hunter had lost count of how many times she had saved his butt in the heat of battle, and he hers. But that’s what Guardians did. They watched out for each other with even greater care than they did for the worlds they were sworn to protect.

Sixteen Guardians. Ten men and six women with extraordinary powers and abilities who were honor bound to give their lives to defend their little corner of the universe from whatever and whoever chose to threaten it.

Snorting softly, Hunter tried to ignore the woman sitting a few seats away as the screen flickered to life. Fortunately the announcements were always short and to the point. Afterwards Deceiver would call their meeting to order.

This is the Committee’s list of Handfasting participants for the month of Ordoris, in the year eighty-four sixteen. Announcing pair number one…Julath Cavadar and Piel Forsham. Pair number two…

On the other side of the table he could see Corona making a bet with Time Merchant and Bruiser as to whether any of the names called out today would include someone they knew or associated with outside of the Guardianship. In the past there had been one or two surprises, but so far no one Hunter could claim to know personally. In fact, there was a very little chance he would since he wasn’t originally from this world.

…Vandrath. Pair number eight…Ovella Weslitt and…

From the corner of his eye Hunter caught Star shifting in her seat. She crossed her legs, and from his vantage point he could see the long, lean line of her calf and booted foot. Despite her bravado, despite the fact that she often came back with a smartass answer every time she was chewed out for something she’d mishandled, and despite the fact that she put on a very nonchalant air to her fellow caste members, Hunter always suspected the true StarLight remained buried from prying eyes. She was damn good at her job. Screw that. She was better than good. She rivaled Bruiser and Condemner when it came to sheer ability.

…Collan Forbes. Pair number thirteen…

Hunter knew he secretly nursed a private wish to get to know her better. It was almost a fond desire to be close friends. Maybe closer than friends. Once, he tried to block any further ideas from his mind. Guardians were like an enlarged family with multiple siblings. Not that there hadn’t been any romantic interests developed in the past. There had been, but those had quickly died back into a comfortable working companionship. The few Guardians who eventually married had found their mates outside of the enclosed group, not among those they practically lived and worked with every day of the year. It was easier that way, he had been told several months ago. Nothing could be more dangerous or distracting for a Guardian involved in a life or death struggle than to have to worry about a spouse equally in danger.

Guardians were comrades. They relied on each other. Trust was their greatest strength. And although Hunter knew Star would readily give up her life to save any one of them if she needed to, that didn’t stop him from dreaming of a time when they could have a quiet walk together in the botanical gardens and just talk about things. Things like their past. Their families. Anything, as long as it didn’t involve what they did on the job, or any one of the thousand problems they dealt with day in and day out.

Pair number nineteen…Satall Tru and Vista Forde. And finally, pair number twenty…

The Committee Chairman paused to nervously lick his lips. The act instantly had Hunter sitting on the edge of his seat. Around him the others had ceased to breathe as they also leaned forward. The Chairman never paused like this. He never stopped to glance nervously aside. And he never looked as if he was contemplating the impact of his next words. But at that moment Hunter could see that the man’s face had gone a shade just short of doughy as he swallowed hard and read the last pair of names from his list.

Terrin Dilyric and Udo Vosstien. Remember you have three days to report to the Hall of Magistrates for the Handfasting ceremony, or be held in contempt and face possible banishment. This announcement is now closed.

The screen went blank but the silence that filled the hall thickened to the point of choking. It was as if an unseen presence reached into the room and began to throttle every person sitting in total shock.

Somehow Hunter’s eyes locked onto the form seated four chairs away. His entire body refused to respond, unable to pull itself out of the frozen void encasing him. From a distance a high-pitched shriek tore into his ears, and Star slid from her seat to collapse onto the floor.

Beside him Deceiver breathed aloud the words he would remember for the rest of his life. “By all that is holy…StarLight and Master Hunter? HandFasted? Oh, damn them! Who gave the Committee the right to put our names in the lottery?”

Hunter was vaguely aware of how hard he was gripping the table. All of his blood seemed to have rushed out of his body until he felt he would pass out at any moment from the enormity of what he had just heard.

And he had heard it. They all had. It wasn’t a trick of his imagination. Neither was it a cruel joke. No wonder the Committee Chairman had nervously licked his lips before announcing the last pair of names. The Committee had breached that barrier no man dared to cross before. In all the centuries that had passed since their world had suffered through the gaseous nebula, in all the years there had been Guardians, the lottery had always exempted its defenders. But that was to be no more.

Hunter managed to take a shaky breath. Even as his heart continued to pound, it felt as if his blood was pooling into his stomach where it churned nauseously. If he got to his feet he doubted he would be able to remain standing.

Today not one but two Guardians were condemned to the impersonal answer to the survival of their people. Two of them, he and StarLight, would be HandFasted for the length of one year for the sole purpose of procreation.

Deep, wrenching sobs came from the black-clad woman bent over on the floor. Morning Fire hovered over her closest friend and tried to console her, but nearly everyone’s eyes were turned on him. Accusing eyes. Expectant eyes. Provoker sat back with a big grin on his face. Bruiser paled in shock as Hunter knew he would. The expression on the big man’s face was like that of a small child who had seen his favorite toy crushed beyond recognition. Everyone was aware that the giant had placed Star on a pedestal the first time she had saved his hide from the Turaki Abevians. And since then he adored her with undisguised passion.

Remember you have three days to report to the Hall of Magistrates for the HandFasting Ceremony, or be held in contempt and face possible banishment.

Hunter tried swallowing but his throat remained hot and tight. There would be no leniency from the Committee. No asking for an exemption. No changing their minds. Heavens knew enough people had tried in the past. The Law was the Law, and it was absolute.

Worse still, it was his life and duty to uphold those same laws that had suddenly made his future a total mockery of all he once believed in.

Unable to bear another second inside the room, Master Hunter winked out of existence, removing himself from their sight as he used his power to teleport himself directly to his private chambers. If the team was smart, they wouldn’t try to approach him for the remainder of the day. And if Deceiver had any news to impart, or assignments to pass out to them at the meeting, at that moment Hunter couldn’t care less. He just needed to get away from their stares.

It was difficult enough not to think about what the coming year would mean.

Seven years ago they landed on Earth—thirty-one aliens, fugitives from a lifetime of slavery and cruelty. Now they were dispersed among the populace, unidentifiable because of their shape-shifting abilities.
Simolif knew when his brother Jebaral found his life’s mate. The blood lines in his arm had increased by one, and the sight of it had thrilled him like nothing else could…unless he, too, could find someone who could accept him for what he was, and who would not scream in fright to see his true self.
He never expected to find Professor Sarah Drumman. As an astronomer, she suspected there were creatures from another galaxy now walking the Earth. And she planned to prove her theory to the world.
Their meeting would forever change their lives. Too bad hers meant nothing to the creatures who had landed on Earth looking for their missing cargo.

*****

“Oooo! There he is! There he is! Oh, my God, isn’t he the hottest?”

Oh, my God, they’re at it again.

Sarah got up and kicked her office door. It closed with a loud rattle from the window inset in its upper half. The frosted glass would at least keep the curious and nosey from seeing what she was doing, but it was piss-poor insulation against the noise.

More squealing and the sound of a dozen or more hoof beats from the herd stampeding to the far window wall in the empty office next door wasn’t just distracting. It was as irritating as hell. With a loud groan, Sarah gave up trying to concentrate on her computer screen until the oohing and ahhing was over.

Well, if she couldn’t fight them, she might as well check out the guy whom over half of the department was lusting after. The windows on the east side of her office overlooked the construction on the new wing of the medical building. From there she could watch the workers, especially between nine-thirty and ten when the crew began taking their requisite fifteen-minute breaks. She gave her computer screen a searching look. What were the chances she could tune out the Hunk Herd just this once?

“Oh, Gawd! He’s going to take his shirt off already? I think I’m going to faint!”

“Hey, pretty baby! How’s your taste for chocolate, sugar! I could definitely use some of your cream filling on my Oreos!”

Sarah winced. Sometimes the women got a bit too raunchy. But, damn it, men did the same thing when ogling women. Fair was fair. “But if I had my druthers, I wish they would do it somewhere else,” she groused. Her deadline was approaching fast, and she had at least eight more chapters to finish on her presentation, not to mention arranging the layout for the photos, scanning in her data, getting the typeface set—

“Somebody catch me when I fall. I get all squidgy just looking at him!”

“Do you think the man realizes how utterly delicious he looks?”

“Sweet cheeks, my guess is he’s had his biscuits buttered as recently as last night.”

Biscuits buttered? Oh, give me a freaking break!

Throwing her ballpoint at the wall in frustration, Sarah got up from her desk and walked over to the window. The new six-story medical wing would eventually dwarf the three-storied sciences department building next to it. But right now the steel frame was no more than a skeleton, a giant rough outline in painted metal beams.

The object of feminine lust was on the second floor, just below where his fan club was congregated. All he had to do was look up to see them, and Sarah wouldn’t be a bit surprised if a couple of the girls lifted their skirts just for his benefit. Sans panties, of course.

“And one of those panty-less hussies would probably be Philla,” Sarah muttered as her gaze latched onto the Greek god getting a drink from the cooler.

Okay. At least she had to give the women credit. They knew prime beef when they saw it. The man couldn’t be sculpted more perfectly if he’d been special ordered. And he was golden. Even plastered down with sweat, the man’s hair was thick enough to make a woman’s fingers ache to run through it. Not to mention the thin trail of tiny golden hairs dusting his pecs, swirling around his nipples the color of newly minted pennies, and finally disappearing down inside the waistband of his jeans. Exactly above the zipper, Sarah noted. I wonder if he ever got any of those little hairs caught in the teeth of that zipper? The naughty thought blushed her to the roots of her hair.

“Get a grip on yourself! Jeez, you’re getting as bad as the heifers!”

But she didn’t move from her little perch. The man, whatever his name was, was too beautiful not to watch. Every muscle moved with precision, silkily and smoothly. His back and arms were unblemished by even a mole.

Even his lower body left little to the imagination. Although no one she knew had seen that portion without his pants, his fitted jeans looked like they had been tailored to his specifications. Sarah blinked. Yep. Mr. Greek god dressed to his left. Noting the size, she wondered if his flag was at rest or at half mast. Because if that was at rest….

A sharp knock on the door startled her. She started to rise from where she had been half-leaning, half-sitting on the narrow sill when Philla Caldwell stuck her head inside the office and gave Sarah one of her “I knew it!” grins.

“Want in on the pool?”

“What pool?”

“Brooke’s going over to check with some of the guys to see what Mr. G’s marital status is. I’ve got five bucks riding that he’s a homo.”

Sarah felt the little lurch in her heart that left her puzzled. The palpitations had started occurring these past few weeks. Around the same time the construction started on the new wing. The incidences were nothing major, but they were enough to get her attention. At first she hadn’t been alarmed about them, believing they were due to the stress of getting her presentation ready for the board of regents. But now they were happening more often, without any warning or pattern. And it was starting to worry her.

Frowning, she echoed, “Mr. G?”

“Mr. Gorgeous. Hey, you have to admit any man that looks that sumptuous can’t be straight, right?”

Sarah waved Philla off. “No, thank you. Just keep me out of it. I’d rather keep my fantasies to myself, all right?”

Philla shrugged her expensively covered shoulders. “Suit yourself, Professor. But I still say you need to let your hair down sometimes and admit you’re a woman. With womanly needs and an eye for good real estate.” She tossed a nod in the direction of the window. “Like Mr. G.”

“No, thank you,” Sarah told her again. Unfortunately Philla’s persistence was dragging a smile out of her, damn the woman.

Philla caught the grin and flashed one back. “We’re meeting downstairs at the Bedrock for happy hour. Word is a bunch of the construction workers gather there, too. Wanna come? I’ll even pay for the first round.”

“No, thank you,” Sarah repeated a third time. But it was too late. She giggled despite her attempt to look adult and determined.

“Mr. G might be there,” Philla taunted.

“Then I’m going to have to be disappointed, aren’t I? Look, Philla, I have a ton of work to do and very little time to get it done. Let me have my fantasies, and you have yours. And if you and Mr. G meet and hit it off, be sure to send me an invitation to the wedding, okay?”

“You’re sure?”

She gave a determined nod. “I’m sure. Now, shoo. Go away.” She made a backhanded motion toward Philla to make her leave. There. Her heart did the little lurch thing again. Sarah clamped her jaws together and prayed it wasn’t anything serious. She promised herself that as soon as Philla left, she would call and schedule an appointment for a physical.

“Okay. But it’s your loss.” Philla tossed her a wink and finally shut the door.

Mouthing an expletive, Sarah went back to staring at the dark-blond hunk standing no more than a dozen yards away. If the glass weren’t there, and if she leaned out a little further and tumbled out of the window, they would meet on her way down.

Mr. G’s break was over. He had had his water and a chance to wipe the sweat from his face with his shirt. Now he was pulling it back on. She could see the ripple in his abs when he tucked in the tail.

Out in the hallway she could hear the Hunk Herd giving little boos and catcalls. Several times they tried tapping on the glass to get the man’s attention. Sarah was positive he heard it but chose to ignore it rather than glance up and give the ladies a smile or a little wave back like the other workers did.

She breathed in deeply, letting out a muscle-relaxing sigh. A quick glance at her watch told her it was nearly ten. If she could have two hours of uninterrupted time, she was sure she could get this current chapter she’d been struggling with completed. That in itself would be a blessing. Then the next seven outlined pieces would be child’s play.

She gave a final glance out the window. She only wanted to watch him leave. That was the best part, in her opinion. She had a weakness for men’s rears, and Mr. G’s was as spectacular as the rest of him. Maybe more so.

But instead of seeing his departing figure, she found herself staring straight down into the man’s upturned face. The sun was slanting over him at just the right angle, giving him an almost ethereal glow. She could see right into his strangely turquoise eyes.

Her heart somersaulted and landed flat on its belly. Oh, Jeez…. He wasn’t looking up at the window. He was watching her.

No. Not watching. Studying. Like he was trying to get a firm idea of what she looked like but couldn’t get a clear enough view.

For nearly a full minute, her gaze remained locked on his face. On the perfect, chiseled features. The full lower lip with the slightly thinner upper lip. The high cheekbones and almost almond-shaped eyes. The man was pure male. Not a thing about him screamed femininity, or even hinted of the slightest tilt toward effeminacy.

If that man’s gay, I’m a lesbo.

Then, as if he had read her mind, he opened his lips to reveal two dental-model rows of pearly whites. The smile left her numb. To add insult to injury, he gave her a little salute off the rim of his construction hat, turned, and strode away. Sarah watched that molded backside sway with absolute precision.

She melted against the window frame. The guy had acknowledged her. He had smiled at her, and it had been like the sun coming out of hiding.

But why her? Why, of all the svelte, drop-dead stunning women working on this campus—not to mention the bosomy coeds who dressed as if partial nudity were their minor—why would he single out her?

Pulling off her glasses, Sarah rubbed her eyes, taking extra care not to smudge her makeup. She had to be imagining it. She was tired. Yeah, that was it. Just jot it down to wishful thinking. She was worn out from all the ass-kissing and hobnobbing she was forced to put up with just so the board would listen to her theories and treatise, and thus grant her tenure at the college.

Of course everyone thought she was a fruitcake from the get-go. A dull, drab, fruitcake of a woman with a few too many pounds on her from spending too much time sitting on her butt in front of a computer screen, typing. Or from being hunched over a table loaded with books, taking truckloads of notes.

There was no way the most spectacular-looking man on the face of the earth would seek out her face in the window, then smile at her as if she were an old acquaintance. The man must have mistaken her for someone else. Either that, or he needed glasses for those bedroom eyes of his.

“Hey, girl! What was that all about?” Philla burst into her office without knocking and rushed over to her desk. “Have you been holding out on me?”

Okay. That did it. Now she had a certified headache, on top of everything else. “What are you babbling about, Philla?”

“Mr. G. We saw him smile and wave at you!” Philla gave her a look that spoke volumes.

Sarah groaned softly. “He must’ve thought I was someone else. I’ve never met the man, much less spoken to him.”

“Uh-huh.” The word meant one thing. Its intention meant just the opposite.

“If you don’t believe me, go downstairs and confront the man, for Pete’s sake!” Sarah gave her look that let Philla know she was treading on her very last nerve. Sarah was pissed, and now she was getting angrier. Although they were co-workers in the same department at the college, Sarah’s professorship ranked quite a bit higher than Philla’s internship.

Philla raised both hands in surrender and began backing out the door. “All right! I believe you. I believe you. It’s just that the girls wanted to know if you had any juicy tidbits to share after we’d seen you two converse with each other.”

“We didn’t converse!” Sarah countered a bit too forcefully. “I’ve only seen him a few times out the window, just like you have. Maybe he recognized me or something. Or, like I said, maybe he mistook me for someone else. Hell, I don’t know! But if you’re trying to pry anything out of me, you’re S. O. L. So go back to your little cubicle and let me have some peace so I can finish this presentation.” She shot the woman another dark look. “Please?”

Philla paused in the doorway. Beyond her Sarah could make out one or two of the others still hanging around, trying to catch a word or two of their conversation.

“You sure you don’t want to come down after work for a drink and some heavy breathing over the work crew?”

“Positive. Thanks for the invitation, though.”

Nodding again, Philla departed, this time for good. Leaving the window, Sarah dropped into her seat in front of her desk. The computer monitor had gone into screensaver mode during her break. Fifteen minutes. The screensaver was set to come on after fifteen minutes of non-activity. That meant she had wasted fifteen valuable minutes she should have been using to work on her latest chapter.

Her eyes involuntarily drifted over to the window. From her desk she could see the framework of the third floor, but the majority of the construction work and crew were on the second floor.

Face it, Sarah. There’s no way a man like Mr. G would ever want anything to do with a plain little Jane Eyre like you. No way. Not when he could have just about any woman he wanted to butter his biscuits as nicely as he pleased, thank you.

No. She would have to be content to live out her life married to her work. If she was extremely lucky, she might find someone with enough intelligence and a modicum of personality that she could marry. Maybe even tolerate him enough to have a kid or two. Maybe.

That was going to be her lot in life. She had known it for a long time. A mediocre life in a mediocre town. If ever she was going to leave her mark in the world, it would have to be through her work. That was her priority, and it had been ever since she was a freshman in high school.

On the computer screen the little multicolored boxes rotated and flipped and gyrated with abandon. Fifteen minutes. She had been idle for fifteen minutes. Well, screw it. It could remain idle for another fifteen minutes. She needed to get up and get a little fresh air and a cup of coffee. Then she could return to her work and hopefully get this one particularly irritating chapter put to bed.

And perhaps by then it would be time to put herself to bed, as well.

Tora was a Sensitive. Her kind really existed, and normal people feared Sensitives because it was common knowledge that all Sensitives were evil and practiced the dark magicks.

Captured and thrown inside Baron Agrino’s dungeon, they discovered a connection between them that defied all reason, and a love that transcended all boundaries.

But is their love enough to stop the baron from accomplishing what he plans to do with every Lupan he hopes to capture? Or, worse, what he’ll do with Tora once he learns what she is?

*****

The bitter cold awoke her. Opening her eyes, she could barely make out the rough stone wall, the pile of rotting straw lying to her left, and the lengthening shadows caused by the coming sunset.

Tora attempted to roll over, but the abusive handling she had endured at the hands of the baron’s men had left her bruised over most of her body. She groaned in pain and ceased her attempts to lie on her back. It was simply too agonizing to move. Gasping a bit for breath, she closed her eyes and chose to wait a while longer before trying again.

There was no need to guess where she was. Stories about the baron’s dungeons had circulated among the villagers ever since Agrino’s well-armed men had torn into the countryside and overran Baron Fuller’s estate nearly twenty years ago. Ever since then, people from all provinces and nearby villages had been disappearing at a regular and alarming rate. Men, women, and children of all ages—it didn’t matter who or what their importance may be. All were targeted.

At first the men of the surrounding area had formed a small militia to try and stop the abductions. But their defenses were useless against Baron Agrino’s nearly unconquerable troops. In addition, their resistence only resulted in angering the new lord and master of their lands. As a result, their taxes were increased accordingly, not to mention the atrocities.

She had known better than to be out after dark. That was a cardinal rule in the village, because it was after dark when most of the kidnappings occurred. From the moment Tora had left her cottage to venture over to Meesom’s place, she’d realized she wouldn’t be able to return home while it was still daylight. Yes, Vester Meesom and his wife had offered her a pallet near the hearth on which she could spend the night, but Tora had refused. She needed to get back home to take care of Basil, and spending even a single night away from her mildly retarded older brother might prove disastrous.

What a total fool she had been. Silently Tora cursed herself. At the same time, a warm tear rolled sideways, past her temple. She never should have tried to go home. She never should have attempted such a stupid stunt. The moment she had heard the sounds of hoofbeats coming down the road, she should have laid flat in the field and prayed the men wouldn’t see her. Instead she started running for the tree line in the distance like a frightened doe.

The rocky floor was unbelievably frigid. Tora tried to curl herself into a ball to preserve body heat. That’s when she heard the rattle of chains before she felt the unresisting tug around her left ankle. Fighting the shivers racing under her skin, she slowly sat up and glanced down at the iron manacle. About four feet of heavy links lay between the cuff and the spike sunk into the rocky ground. Experimentally, she gave her leg a tug. If anything, the manacle was colder than her prison cell.

It took great effort to crawl over to the wall, closer to the spike. Her whole body protested. She ached from muscles too long knotted, trying to preserve body heat. Fortunately, though, she didn’t feel violated or compromised. For that, she was grateful. When the baron’s men had run her down, they had thrown her across the back of a horse before taking off through the meadow. The hard bouncing up and down behind the saddle had knocked her out. Apparently they had brought her directly to this place and placed her immediately in chains.

Tora ran a hand over her face where she’d bruised her cheek. Talk among the villagers about the abductions had been speculative. No one could guess or imagine why the people were being kidnapped. The men, it was assumed, were needed for the baron’s growing army. The children for laboring at the estate. The women, well…Tora’s ears had burned at some of the suggestions voiced. It was well known that Agrino had no wife and no descendants to speak of. He was a man of rather bizarre tastes, if any of the stories passed around were true. So knowledge of women disappearing, all of them young and healthy, was not surprising. Whether or not the women already had husbands or children waiting for them at home was inconsequential.

Still, finding herself locked up and chained in a freezing dungeon was not at all what she had been expecting to find when she awoke. In a bedchamber, yes. But not in this cold, dank cave of horrors.

She managed to curl up as best she could and tucked her long skirt around her legs. Her slippers were still wet, and she debated whether to take them off and draw her feet beneath her to keep them warm. The fact that she couldn’t feel her toes when she moved them made her decision easy. Tora did her best to rub some warmth back into her limbs.

The shadows slid across the floor in front of her. She could hear no sound coming from outside the narrow wooden door that was her only way out. The only window was too high up and too narrow for her to even consider trying to squeeze out through. But at least it provided her with fresh air and a way to keep track of the passing of time.

She was growing hungry. More than food, however, she needed something to drink. There was nothing in the cell other than piles of rotting, moldy hay. There wasn’t even a bucket for her to relieve herself in. Still, if there had, unless it was within her reach, she wouldn’t be able to use it.

Tora squinted her eyes at the fading sunlight. Guessing by the position of the sun’s rays, the window in her cell must face north. That was not good. Tora wondered if the men who had built the dungeon had designed it that way on purpose, so that the blasts of winter coming from the north would act as another form of torture to any poor soul unlucky enough to be locked inside.

A muffled sound suddenly coming from the other side of the door grabbed her attention. Tora held her breath, afraid to cry out. There was no telling what her guards would do to her if she made a scene. Were they expecting her to still be asleep? The unexpected thought came to her, and Tora glanced over to where she had been lying. There was no way she could get back into her original position without the sound of the chains giving her away. But she could lie in a huddle where she was and feign sleep.

Careful not to jiggle her cuff, she managed to raise her knees up to her chest and rest her forehead against them. She had barely lowered her face when the sound of a key turned in the door lock. But instead of hearing the door open, there was a little squeak, and then the sound of something being scooted across the floor. Another key-turning sound was followed by silence.

Tora slowly counted to ten before lifting her face to look over at the door. A bowl and a plate sat inside the cell with her, well within her reach. Getting onto her knees, Tora crawled over to snag them and bring them back to where she was sitting. Whoever had hammered the spike into the floor had measured well. She could reach the food but not the door.

The warm, thin soup in the bowl helped to relieve her thirst. There was bread and dried meat on the tray, which provided a dull but nourishing fare. After she had eaten, she felt better. Still, she couldn’t help but wonder why she had been chosen. Or, for that matter, if she had been chosen at all. Or was she a random target found by happenstance?

How long was she going to remain in this place? What was the purpose of kidnapping her? When were they going to come get her out of here? Where would they take her when they did?

The shadows slid up the wall and disappeared, although daylight remained outside the narrow window. Tora sat and waited for the next thing to happen to her, whatever that may be. Or whenever.

She wondered how her brother was faring. Basil was simple-minded, and he had turned to her for guidance when their mother had died a few years ago. During the day, he worked in the fields with the other farmers, earning his living in food for the table. He could manage well enough on his own, but in so many other ways he was a child. Tora prayed he had found someone to feed him and watch over him during her absence.

As nighttime descended, her cell grew colder. There was no sign of supper. She was forced to tend to her needs by using the furthest corner she could reach, away from where she slept.

Finally, as the darkness removed all light, Tora pulled herself into a tight little knot and tried to sleep.

It was an innocent roll of film she found on the street. But when Jolee Wiley had it developed, hoping she might be able to find its owner from the pictures on it, she came face-to-face with a shocking impossibility.

Mike Owensby was an Archivist. A Dreams Keeper. The roll of film belonged to him. And the woman who found it may be the lover he had been seeking all his life.

*****

A familiar jangle interrupted their conversation. Jolee fumbled in her skirt pocket, looking for the cell phone while Ferra waved a fork in her direction. “Sixty gajillion ring tones and songs you could put on that thing, and you have it ring like a regular old phone. And you call yourself a marketing director?”

“Oh, hush. Ah, here it is.” Jolee pulled out the phone, but at the same time the forgotten canister came out with it. A glance at the window told her the number was unknown. What the hell, she shrugged and decided to answer it anyway. “Hello?”

“Miss Wiley? Stu Dovinsky. I witnessed your presentation today.” The voice was as polished as a freshly waxed car. Bet those two hundred dollar elocution lessons really paid off, didn’t they?

“Yes, Mr. Dovinsky. I remember you. Was there something you needed to ask me about the promo?” Jolee turned sideways in her seat to avoid Ferra’s inquisitive stare.

“Actually, yes, I do,” Dovinsky answered. “But I would prefer to ask over dinner tomorrow. Would that be a problem?”

Her breath caught in her throat. Images of the man with the light brown hair and Jonas Babbino suit rolled around in her mind. How the hell did he get her number? For that matter, why was he even wasting his time asking her out?

“Miss Wiley?”

“Uhh, fine! Yes! It’s not a problem!”

“Excellent! Shall I pick you up around seven-ish?”

Already she could feel the hairs on her neck starting to rise. The man used terms like “seven-ish”? Not a good sign. Nuh-uh, not good at all. Put a tally mark in his negative column. “Works for me,” she somehow replied. “Seven, it is.”

“Excellent!” the man echoed. “Where shall I pick you up?”

She gave him the address of the little corner grocery at the end of her block. For some reason her instincts had begun flashing little warning lights, telling her not to give him her real address. The store was a five minute walk from her apartment and a safe place to rendezvous. Mr. Dovinsky hung up first, leaving Jolee to stare at the CALL ENDED.

“Well? Who?”

Jolee stuffed the phone back into her pocket but the canister remained in her other hand. “Uhh, it was one of the guys from the presentation.” Curiosity was getting the better of her again. She ignored Ferra’s squeal of delight and demand for more information, and shook the can next to her ear again. Yep. It definitely rattled.

Her friend’s attention was momentarily distracted. “What’s that? Film?”

“The can, at least. Wonder what’s in it?” She reached for the lid when another hand slapped hers down.

“You mean it’s not yours?” Brown eyes stared her down. “What are you doing with a can of film that isn’t yours?”

Jolee threw her a smile. “I found it on the street. I nearly broke my neck trying to avoid stepping on it.” She started to open it again, but Ferra stopped her a second time.

“You don’t know what’s inside, and you’re going to open it? What, are you? Senile?”

“What could be inside that’s so dangerous?”

“It could have drugs in it!” Ferra protested.

“Maybe. It rattles.”

“That’s what I meant! Pills!”

“Ferra! Pills can only hurt me if I swallow them. And if it’s drugs, I’ll just flush them down the toilet.”

Okay, but what if it’s a bomb?”

“In this itty bitty thing? You’ve been reading too much Ian Fleming,” Jolee protested, laughing, and quickly popped the lid. Inside was a metal roll of film, just as she’d suspected. Sliding it into her palm, she noticed one important thing. “It’s been used.”

Ferra leaned over the table so far that the blouse stretched across her breasts almost found the ranch dressing. “How can you tell?”

“A fresh roll has a tab sticking out so it hooks into the loader. This one doesn’t have a tab.”

“Where do you think it came from?”

Sliding the roll back into its container, Jolee shook her head. “Oh, anyone could have accidentally dropped it. Some tourist is probably looking for it right now.”

“What are you going to do with it? Put out an ad in the paper’s lost and found? Put one of the pictures on a milk carton?” Ferra smirked at her own joke.

“Nope. I’m going right over there to the drugstore and have them develop the photos. Maybe there’s something on them that’ll give me a clue as to who lost the roll.”

“Yeah, and you’ll probably end up paying a pretty penny for someone’s bad shots of every tourist trap in town.”

Jolee shrugged. “Maybe. Maybe not. But in case there’s more here than I think, I might email one of the pictures to the newspaper. Somebody’s bound to recognize their work.”

“Ooo! What if they’re dirty pictures? You know… porn shots?”

Jolee rolled her eyes. “Girl, you need to get laid. You’ve been lonely too long.” Getting to her feet, the ghost of a twinge reminded Jolee of her earlier misstep. She winced. “Look, I’m heading back to the office. Same place, same time tomorrow?”

“Are you seeing that guy tonight?”

Oh, yeah. She had a date. “No, tomorrow night. Don’t’ worry. I’ll give you all the juicy details over lunch Monday,” Jolee promised before her friend had the chance to beg.

They exchanged quick hugs, and then Jolee crossed the street to drop off the mysterious roll at the nearby drugstore. The technician promised to have the pictures ready by the time Jolee got off work, which suited her just fine. A not-half-bad presentation, a mysterious roll of film, and a bonus date all in one day. She found an extra spring in her step as she started back to work.

Her apartment bell rang and she knew it was him even before she walked to the door to look out the peep-hole. “I don’t have anything to say to you,” she said through the door.

“Well, I have plenty to say to you. Open the door.”

“I’m not going to—”

“Open the door!”

She blinked. Who the hell did he think he was talking to? “If you think you can—”

“Open the goddamn door now, Autumn!”

The air pulsed with the words or else. The unspoken words should have pissed her off. They excited her instead. She unlocked the door.

He stepped inside, slamming the door behind him.

She sucked in an angry breath. “Why the hell do you keep slamming my damn door?”

“I’m going to tell you for the last time that I didn’t sleep with Karen.”

She believed him. If he had, why would he keep coming back to her? But maybe it was time to play a little hard to get. “It doesn’t matter how many ways you say it, Seneka, I know what I heard.”

“Then know what you see as well.” He pushed away from the door and surprised her by taking off his jacket and tossing it on the floor. His shirt and undershirt followed.

Oh, God, what a beautiful torso. A narrow waist danced up to ripped abs and wide shoulders. He could easily pose for Ripped Magazine.

He lifted his arms and turned slowly. “Do you see any damned nail marks on me?”

She moistened her lips. “No, but then she said the marks were on your ass,” she said, amazed at how easily the lie passed her lips.

“She said that?”

Autumn nodded. “She said every time she dug her nails in your ass, you…dug your cock deeper in her.”

“My cock wasn’t anywhere near her damned pussy.”

“And I’m supposed to take your word over hers?”

He kicked off his shoes and unzipped his pants.

Her heart raced as she watched him pull off his trousers.

He wore boxer briefs that clung to his muscular thighs and did nothing to conceal his erection. Lord, he looked big and thick—just as the damned blonde had said.

“Satisfied?”

“How can I be? Your ass is still covered.”

“Are you sure it’s my ass you want to see, Autumn?”

Her cheeks burned. She shrugged. “If you have something to hide or to be ashamed of…”

“There’s nothing under here I need to be ashamed of.”

“No?”

Locking his gaze with hers, he took off his briefs.

Not only had Mark, the Head of the English Department, given the job he’d promised her to someone else, but he hadn’t had the nerve to tell her himself.  But that was just like him.  He’d do anything to avoid confrontation.
What should she do?  Everyone in the department knew they’d been seeing each other, and would hear on the university grapevine that she’d been passed over for promotion.  How could she face the humiliation and the knowing stares?  And how could she work with Mark each day knowing he’d betrayed her?
Anna leaned back in her chair and considered her options.  Could she continue to work with someone she couldn’t trust?  The answer had to be no.  But lecturing posts in Scotland were hard to come by, especially in creative writing, the subject she taught.  And what about their personal relationship?  Mark had destroyed her trust in him, not only as a colleague, but as her lover too.  Did she really want to carry on dating someone she couldn’t trust?  Of course not.
The more Anna thought about her situation, the more she realised she had only one option.  She crumpled the letter into a ball and tossed it into the waste paper bin.
Straightening her shoulders she marched down the university’s wide corridor to Mark’s office.  She took a deep breath and pushed open the door.  Mark sat at his desk, a pile of term papers in front of him.  He must have sensed her presence because he looked up—and paled when he saw her.

“Anna—”

“A letter, Mark?  After telling me the job was as good as mine, you send me a letter saying you’ve given it to someone else.  Couldn’t you have told me face to face?  I’m not just your work colleague, I’m your girlfriend.  Or have you conveniently forgotten that fact?”

Mark held out his hands as if offering an apology.  “I was only following procedure.”  A lock of blond hair fell into his blue eyes and he brushed it away without thinking.

“I see.”  Anna swallowed her hurt.  And rage.  She didn’t want to leave on a sour note.  “Well, you can’t complain about my letter of resignation, then can you?  Either you accept it, or I go over your head and give it to the vice chancellor.”

“Anna, darling, I thought you enjoyed your job.  Sit down and let’s discuss this.”

“I don’t want to sit down, thank you, and I did enjoy my job.”

“Then I don’t understand why you want to leave.  Isn’t this a bit impulsive?  You should take some time and think about it.”

“I think I’m being very reasonable under the circumstances.  You expect me to carry on working in the department while…while your new blonde bimbo sits in what should have been my office, doing what should have been my job!”  Anna felt her blood pressure rising.  She took a deep breath.

“We only went to dinner…”  Mark shuffled the papers on his desk.

“Don’t lie to me, Mark.”

“I’m not.”

“Think again.  And while you’re doing that you’d better start advertising for a new lecturer because I’m leaving at the end of the term whether you like it or not!”

“But term finishes on Thursday—”

“So it does.  That gives you three days and all of the summer vacation to find a replacement for me.  I’ve marked and returned all the end of term papers to my students.  I have no more classes scheduled, so this is my last working day.”

“Look, can we talk about this tonight?  You can see that I’ve a mountain of paperwork to get through.  I’ll stop at the supermarket on my way home pick up a bottle of that red wine you like and a Chinese take-a-way.”

“Are you serious?  You don’t really expect us to continue our relationship, do you?”

Mark stood and stepped out from behind his desk.  He rested his hands on her shoulders, his face devoid of expression.  “Anna, please, this is business.  Just because you were passed over for promotion, doesn’t mean our relationship is over.  You love me.”

Anna stared at him and wondered why she had ever considered him husband material.

“No, Mark, I don’t.  What’s more, I don’t trust you.  And without trust there can be no love.”

“I see.”  He thrust his hands in his pockets.  “Have you found another job?”

“No, I haven’t.”

“Let me guess.  You’re going to write a book.  Lecturers who give up academia usually pick that vocation because they love books but lack the talent to write them.”

The arrow hit its mark, but she wasn’t going to allow Mark’s derisive comments dissuade her.  “Look, I’ve made my decision.  I’m handing in my notice.  There’s nothing more to be said on the subject.”

“Then I suppose I’ll have to accept your resignation.  But would you mind if I dropped by your apartment now and again to see how you’re getting on?  For old times’ sake?”

“I doubt very much if the new tenant would appreciate that.”

“New tenant?  You’re not giving up your apartment too, are you?”

Anna ignored the question.  “Goodbye, Mark.”  Without saying another word she turned, and left his office.

Later that week as she boxed up the contents of her home she began to wonder if she’d made the right decision.

Her doubts started with the picture.

It was taken at the university picnic.  She and Mark knelt in the grass by a gigantic oak tree, side by side, heads slanted toward each other, arms around shoulders, clearly and disgustingly in love.  When was it taken?  A year ago?  No, two.  Had they been together that long?  She swallowed pain as she took the photograph out of the silver frame.  The frame she would keep.  The photo…she held it in both hands and struggled to tear it, but couldn’t see it through the tears.  She settled for balling it up and letting it fall to the floor.

There was no denying Mark was a complete bastard.  Thank God she’d never asked him to move in with her.  Obviously he had no intention of marrying her.  He’d been adamant that he’d never stoop to such old fashioned sensibilities.  For a time she’d agreed with him.  What was marriage anyway, but a contract that didn’t just bind two parties, but frequently strangled them?

Damn.  She could have been a good wife, would have been a good wife.  But now?

Was she doing the right thing?  While she could never forgive his infidelity, she would miss her job and her friends.  She scrubbed a tear away with the back of her hand.

It was too late now to change her mind, she thought, folding a pair of jeans into her suitcase.  She’d already surrendered the lease on her fashionable Morningside apartment.  The rent, barely manageable on her salary, ate into her savings quicker than a ravenous hyena.

“It’s all for the best,” she told her two Border collies.  Their tails wagged as if they understood.  “Besides, I’ve been breaking the lease with you here anyway.  No pets allowed, remember?”  The younger collie, bright eyed with dappled paws, edged over and gave her hand a quick lick.  Anna ruffled the black and white head.  “You’re a good dog, and I’m doing all of us a favour anyway.  We’re off to the country, my girls.  Peace, quiet, and who the hell knows what else.”

Anna locked the suitcase and placed it next to the door with the others ready to carry down to the old beat-up Land Rover.  She took one last look around the room.  Emptied of its contents, the apartment looked huge now.  She couldn’t take her furniture with her and had arranged to put it into storage.  All that remained of her life—at least the past seven years of it—was a carpet that needed shampooing and places on the wall where lighter paint called attention to where her paintings had hung.

She picked up her handbag.  This phase of her life was over.  She had a book to write.  Apart from her clothes, laptop, printer, and the few books she intended to take with her, the things she most wanted to leave behind were the raw sores of an aching heart.

She knew she’d be taking them too.

Five hours later she coaxed the elderly Land Rover the last few yards down the potholed track toward Tigh na Cladach, her late grandmother’s remote croft on the shore of Loch Hourn, in the rugged northwest Highlands.  She couldn’t afford to breakdown now, not when she was so close to reaching her destination.  There had been times during the drive from Edinburgh when she thought she would get no further than the city limits, but despite the vehicle’s faded green paintwork and battered appearance, the engine seemed sound.

With a sigh of relief she yanked on the handbrake, climbed down out of the driver’s seat, and stood for a moment savouring the silence.  After the bright lights and noise of the city, it felt strange to be so far from civilization.  She glanced at her watch—ten o’clock on a summer evening—yet she could see every rock and bush clearly for it never became truly dark this far north.  Indeed, night itself became no more than a deep dusk.

Ensay and Rhona, the two black and white Border collies, relieved to be released from the confines of the rear seat, chased each other on the lawn in front of the small stone cottage.

The old squat house was small, about forty or fifty feet long, and of traditional one and a half storey height.  A chimney rose at either end.  The walls were at least three feet thick and built of rough, white-washed granite.  The building stood some thirty yards from the water’s edge, nestled in the natural curve of the hillside, as if seeking protection from some invisible force.  Whoever had originally built it had chosen the location well.  It fitted into its surroundings perfectly, its stone walls standing the test of time and weather.

Either side of the bright green door were two small quartered windows, set deep into the stonework.  The one on the right belonged to the kitchen, and the other to the sitting room.  It wasn’t much, but it had been her grandparents’ home.  True, it was miles from civilization, but it was mortgage-free, and now hers.

She collected her handbag, laptop, and a box of groceries from the passenger seat, locked the Land Rover, and made her way over the cobbled path to the croft.  All she needed now was a hot drink and a good nights’ sleep.  The rest of her unpacking could wait until morning.

Inserting her key in the lock, she pushed open the door, flicked on the hall light, and walked into the kitchen.  The scent of lavender hung in the air.  Not only had her dear friend, Morag McInnes, dusted and aired the croft in time for her arrival, she’d also left a bowl of her favourite potpourri on the oak dresser.
Anna filled the electric kettle, put it on to boil, and opened the mail sitting on the table where Morag had left it.  There were two letters.  The first turned out to be a demand for taxes from the local council.  The second envelope was made of heavy parchment, the top left hand corner of which advertised the name and address of a firm of Glasgow solicitors.  Curious, as to why they would be writing to her, Anna slipped a neatly manicured fingernail under the corner of the flap, tore it open, and scanned the contents in disbelief.  It contained an offer—a very generous offer—on behalf of their unnamed client, to purchase Tigh na Cladach.
“Of all the nerve,” she said, as she slumped into a chair.  She read the letter again to make sure she hadn’t misunderstood.  Their client could go to Hell, thought Anna, as she stuffed the letter back into the envelope and propped it up against the pepper pot.  She was too tired to deal with it now.  She’d write in the morning and tell the solicitors the croft wasn’t for sale now, nor would it be at any time in the future.
Stretching to ease the stiffness in her shoulders and neck, she made herself a cup of tea, and carried it to the table.  She fed and watered the dogs, then made her way up the narrow wooden staircase to the bedroom she’d slept in since she was a teenager.
Situated directly above the kitchen, the room nestled under the eaves of the roof.  Light, airy and warmed by the heat of the range below, it was painted a delicate shade of pink.  The window, which overlooked the loch, was bordered by rose-coloured chintz curtains.  A large, brass four poster bed, covered by a hand-stitched patchwork quilt in shades of red, rose, pink and green, stood opposite the door.  Her grandmother’s music box, the key long ago lost, stood on the chest of drawers in the corner.

With a long exhausted sigh, Anna quickly undressed, climbed into bed, and pulled the blankets up to her chin.

Something woke her.  The digital clock on the bedside table flashed two fifteen.  She’d only been asleep for a couple of hours.  Her hands twisted nervously in the blankets as she held her breath and listened for the slightest sound.  Apart from the gentle snoring of the two dogs curled up on the rug at the foot of her bed, there was silence.  She felt uneasy, but told herself it was foolish to feel afraid.  Nevertheless, her hand trembled as she fumbled for the switch on the bedside lamp.  A shaft of light struck her pillow, making her squint but leaving the rest of the room in eerie darkness.

She sat up, let out a long, shuddering breath, and ran a hand down her bare arm.  It was cold, clammy and covered in goose-bumps.  The hairs on her neck prickled, as if touched by some invisible hand.

There wasn’t a sound; not even the pitter-patter of the mice that inhabited the roof space of the old croft.  Yet something had wakened her.  She shivered, and chewed on her lower lip, as she stole a look at the dogs.  Odd—they were her early warning system and reacted to the slightest noise, but neither seemed alarmed.

She sighed and rubbed her forehead wearily.  Had she been dreaming?  She thought not and yet the feeling that something was wrong persisted.

Unable to settle, she pulled back the blankets, swung her legs over the side of the bed, and went barefoot to the window.  She drew back the curtain and peered into the twilight.  A ghostly silhouette moved across the lawn.  The curtain slipped from her fingers as sheer black fright swept through her.  For once she wished the croft wasn’t quite so isolated and that her grandparents had installed a telephone.  But they hadn’t, and even if they had, it would take the police the best part of an hour to reach her.

She tried to ignore the creaking and settling of the old house, but the strange sounds only added to her nervousness.  She shook her head in an attempt to clear the fog of sleep from her brain and searched for a plausible explanation.

Had she seen a figure?  Or had it been a shadow caused by a cloud crossing the moon?  Summoning all her courage she parted the curtain once more.  To her relief there was no one there.  Her heart still pounding, she tugged on her green candlewick dressing gown, tied the belt tightly around her slim waist, and crept downstairs.

The front door was locked and bolted.

Still fearful, she padded into the kitchen, starting when the floorboards creaked beneath her feet.  Her hand shook as she made a cup of cocoa and crawled into the old oak rocking chair next to the Aga.  Tucking her feet beneath her for warmth, she let the steam from the cup warm her face and thought about what she’d seen.

Was her imagination working overtime?  Had living in the city made her so soft, she wondered, that she jumped at every foreign sound?  Even the floor scared her, for God’s sake!  In town, the only noises she heard at night were ambulance sirens and traffic, while here in the glen only the occasional bark of a fox or hoot of an owl broke the silence.

Few people bothered to drive this far, even in daylight, so the chances of someone doing so in the early hours of the morning were slim.  It couldn’t have been a man, she reasoned.  It must have been the shadow of a roe deer crossing the lawn.  They often came down off the hill to drink in the loch at night.

Anna swallowed the last of her cocoa, rinsed her mug, and left it on the draining board.  Stifling a yawn, she pulled the cotton blind back from the window and looked out on to the hill behind the croft.  Nothing moved.  Not even the leaves of the rhododendrons that surrounded the croft.  She tucked a strand of her tousled, copper-coloured hair behind her ear and went back to bed, pausing to give the dogs a gentle pat.  Sleep was a long time coming, and when she finally succumbed, it was into a restless and fitful slumber.

It was a little after eight when she woke the next morning, and after showering she dressed in her usual well-worn jeans, check shirt and nutmeg-coloured Aran sweater.  She made her way down the narrow wooden staircase, to the kitchen.

After breakfast, she left the dogs playing on the front lawn, and retrieved the first of two suitcases from the rear of the Land Rover.  She half carried, half dragged it into the croft.
On her way back for the second case, she noticed a boat had moored in the loch during the night.  Strange; it was still a little early in the season for tourists.  She shaded her eyes and appraised its size.  It wasn’t just a boat; but a large yacht.  And was that an American flag flapping in the breeze?
Only a few intrepid sailors ventured this far down the loch.  The channel was narrow, twisting, and sheltered by steep, rugged mountains, with few places to land.  If the crew were looking for hot showers and breakfast, they were way off course and should have sailed west to the Isle of Skye instead.
Two hours later, hot, tired, and thirsty, she finished unpacking and helped herself to a can of soda from the fridge.  She sat down at the kitchen table and picked up the solicitor’s letter from where it rested against the pepper pot.  While it was common to receive offers on a property following a death, she couldn’t understand why anyone would want to buy the croft when it was so far from the modern conveniences of life.
The money being offered for Tigh na Cladach far exceeded its true market value.  And would certainly be sufficient for a deposit on a small house in Edinburgh, but she couldn’t understand why anyone would want to pay that much for a piece of infertile land and a tumbledown cottage.
The croft had been in her family for years and Anna had no intention of selling it.  She pulled her laptop toward her, switched it on, and started to draft a suitable reply.

Her concentration was broken by the shriek of frantic barking.  She tore her gaze away from the screen and looked out of the kitchen window.  A tall, dark-haired man was making his way up the crescent-shaped beach, doing a weird twisting dance, holding his right arm above his head.  With his left he pushed off the two boisterous, snapping collies.

“Oh hell,” she groaned.  She threw open the door and shouted.  “Ensay!  Rhona!  Heel!”

The dogs instantly stopped snapping at the stranger’s ankles and ran to their mistress.  Anna leaned against the door frame and waited while the figure strode confidently across the grass towards her, his well-muscled body covering the rough ground with long, purposeful strides.  His jet black hair showed a little grey at the temples, the cut slightly longer than was considered acceptable for a man she judged to be in his forties.  But somehow it suited him.

He stopped a foot from her door, close enough for her to smell the lemon spice of his cologne.  Now that she could see him more clearly, she noticed the laughter lines around his eyes and mouth, hinting at a softer side to his character.  His body was lean, the outline of his muscles visible through the shirt he wore.  A faint white scar creased his right cheek, and she thought it gave his face a handsome rugged look.  He gazed at her with dark brown eyes and smiled, slow and warm, and for some reason her breathing quickened.

With just one look she knew he was trouble.

“Hi, there.  I know I’m trespassing, but do you think you could ask your dogs not to rip off my thigh?”

Anna drew herself up to her full height, which was barely up to his shoulder.  “They’re guard dogs and only doing their duty,” she said stiffly.  The dogs sat at her silent signal, but their eyes remained fixed on the stranger.

“I’m sorry to bother you, but I’m having engine trouble and I can’t get a signal.”  He indicated his mobile phone.

“That’s because there are no transmitters.”

“Oh, then could I borrow your phone?  I need to contact the nearest boatyard for some advice.”

“I don’t have a phone.”

He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck.  “Look, I haven’t slept for twenty-four hours and I’m beat.  Sandpiper, that’s my yacht, developed a problem soon after I left Stornaway.”  He paused as her words registered.  “Did I hear right?  You don’t have a phone?”

“No, I don’t, so I’m afraid I can’t help you.  I suggest you weigh anchor, turn your boat around, and head west out of the loch.”

“Perhaps I should’ve introduced myself.  I’m Luke Tallantyre, from Cape Cod, Massachusetts.”  He offered his hand.  She didn’t take it.

“Anna, Anna MacDonald.  Yachts are always straying into the loch at this time of year.  Their crews seem to think this is some sort of hostel.  Well, it’s not, and I still don’t have a phone.”

“Okay, so where do I catch the bus to town?”  His eyes lingered on her face.  “Oh, no.  You’re about to tell me there isn’t a bus either.  Aren’t you?”

Anna nodded.  The motion sent sunlight gliding through her auburn hair.  “That’s right.  Welcome to Kinloch Hourn, otherwise known as the Loch of Hell.”

“The name fits,” Luke muttered.  “What sort of place doesn’t have a phone or a bus service in this day and age?”

“How about the remotest glen in the Highlands?  Up here, one man and his dog constitute a crowd.  And before you ask, there are no shops either, unless you count Mrs McCloud in the village, but she only opens on alternate days.  The butcher’s van calls every Thursday afternoon, and the library service visits once a month.  I think that about covers all the local amenities.  Oh yes, there’s a mobile bank too, but that only comes once a fortnight.  The school closed last year.  But you’re in luck…there’s a hotel and it has a phone.”

“So there is a God after all.”

“However, its twelve miles down the road in that direction,” she replied, pointing vaguely to some distant place.

The line of Luke’s mouth tightened a fraction.  “How do I get there?  Walk?”

“Well, you could, but it might rain.  And then again it might not.  You can never tell for sure.  The glen has its own eco-system because the mountains are high, and the valley floor is narrow or something like that. I don’t fully understand the reasoning behind it—” Anna’s words trailed off.  She felt herself blush.  What on earth was she rambling on about?  The guy didn’t need a science lesson, especially from her, but he was so good-looking that every time he gazed at her with those compelling brown eyes, she lost control of her tongue.

Distractions of his type she could do without, especially after her disastrous affair.  Still the way he looked at her made her feel uneasy in a pleasant sort of way.

“I suppose I could offer to take you…”

“You don’t have to.  You’ve been kind enough.  I’ll just walk.”

“You could just pull up anchor as I suggested, and sail round to Fort William.  There’s a boatyard there with facilities for visiting yachts and their crews.”

“Which I could call if I had a phone.  Thanks again,” he said turning to leave.

She shifted her feet.  She wasn’t normally unhelpful, but there was something about his attitude which put her on the defensive.

“Wait!”

He stopped in midstride and turned.  The dogs looked at him, then at their mistress, as if waiting for some clue as to what they should do with this stranger who was invading their space.