ChasetheLightning by Madeline Baker

and
back there with you. I miss you.”
    She hesitated. “Yes, I…I miss you, too.” The words sounded
flat in her own ears.
    Rob noticed it, too. There was a loud silence on the other
end of the phone. Then, “Are you all right, Amanda?”
    “Oh, yes, I’m fine. Really. How’s the weather back there?”
    “Cold,” he said. “Like this conversation.”
    “Rob…”
    “I’ll call you tomorrow night,” he said, and hung up.
    She stared at the receiver, then gently put it down. When
she turned toward the door, Trey was gone. She hadn’t heard him leave, knew she
didn't dare go after him.
    “Oh, Rob,” she murmured. “What am I going to do?”
     
    It was a question that followed her into uneasy sleep that
night, and greeted her in the morning. What was she going to do about Trey?
    Rising, she dressed in jeans, a heavy sweater and a pair of
boots, and went downstairs. The rain had stopped during the night; the sky was
a bright clear blue, the trees around the homestead a vibrant green, their
leaves sparkling with raindrops. The rolling desert lands beyond glimmered in
the sunlight, and she saw random bursts of color where winter-blooming flowers
had responded to the life-giving moisture.
    Trey was nowhere to be seen. Probably still asleep, she
thought as she went out the back door, headed for the barn.
    The big double doors were open. She heard Trey’s voice
coming from inside the barn and after her eyes adjusted to the shadowy
interior, she saw him standing beside the stallion’s stall, one arm draped over
the stud’s neck.
    She didn’t think she had made any noise, but Trey glanced
over his shoulder as soon as she entered the building.
    “Mornin’,” he drawled.
    “Good morning.” He looked every inch the cowboy. The brown
plaid shirt complemented his hair and emphasized the color of his eyes. His
jeans fit well enough, though they weren’t cut as snugly as today’s designer
jeans. Perhaps she would buy him a new pair…
    “Were you looking for me?” he asked.
    “No. I just came out to feed your horse, but I see you’ve
done that,” she replied, and turned to go.
    For a man who was still recovering from a bullet wound, he
was remarkably quick. She hadn’t taken more than a step or two toward the door
when his hand closed on her arm. “Don’t go.”
    Her skin tingled where his skin touched hers. “I need to fix
breakfast.”
    “It can wait.”
    She didn’t resist when he turned her to face him. She tried
not to notice how handsome he was, the way his dark eyes seemed to glow when
they looked at her. She had never liked hairy men, but the beard roughening his
jaw gave him a rugged, sexy look, and she had an almost irresistible urge to
run her hand through his hair, to feel the thick strands slide through her
fingers.
    “You ran away from me last night,” he said. “Why?”
    “I didn’t run away. I had to answer the phone.”
    He looked at her, one brow arched.
    “I didn’t!” she insisted. “Oh, all right, maybe I did,” she
said when he remained silent.
    “Why?”
    She lifted her chin. “Because you scare me.”
    One corner of his mouth lifted in a wry smile. “Really? I
wonder why.”
    “You know why. Now, let me go.”
    “Oh, I don’t think so,” he murmured, and lowering his head,
he kissed her.
    She could have avoided him easily. After all, he was still
weak from his wound. She had taken a self-defense class at the Y. She knew how
to protect herself. But, somehow, all thought of resistance fled the moment his
mouth touched hers. She swayed against him, her arms wrapping around his waist,
her hands moving restlessly up and down his broad back. He groaned low in his
throat. It took a minute for her to realize the sound was edged with pain not
passion.
    “I’m sorry.” She drew away. “Your wound…I forgot…”
    He grinned at her. “You need to cut those nails.”
    She blushed to the roots of her hair, embarrassed by the way
she had melted in his arms. A look, a