When Lightning Strikes

by Kristin Hannah

She let out one final breath and shoved the door. It swung open with a whining creak and cracked against the wall. Dirt rained down from the open rafters. The chicory aroma of coffee hung in the small room, thick and tantalizing.

  Killian sat on the bed, fully dressed, a tin cup of coffee

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  in one hand. The blankets lay bunched up beside him, a tangle of grayed linen sheeting and charcoal wool.

  Lainie swallowed hard, tried to appear rational and calm, even though her heart was slamming against her rib cage and her knees were rattling together.

  She looked at him, knowing her lower lip was trembling but unable to stop it. "I-I need to leave now."

  He cocked one great, winged eyebrow and took a sip of coffee. "Really?"

  She heard the sarcasm in his voice, saw it in the glittering depths of his brown eyes, and surprisingly, it hurt. She told herself it didn't matter. He was nothing to her; less than nothing. One way or another, with him or without him, she was getting back to Fortune Flats. "Really."

  "Want some coffee?"

  "No, I do not want some coffee. I want to get out of here, now."

  He set his cup down on the crate beside the bed. Swiveling to the side, he got up and walked slowly toward her. "You aren't going anywhere until we talk."

  "There's no point in us talking. It won't get me back to . . ." At the thought of Kelly, something inside her seemed to give way. The meager hope she'd fabricated dissolved, left her empty inside. Suddenly and for the first time in her life, she didn't care about her pride or looking good or appearing strong. She was desperate and frightened and she didn't care if he knew it.

  He saw her second of vulnerability and pounced on it like a hunting cat. "Back to what... to who? Your precious Joe?"

  She wanted to have the inner strength to meet his penetrating gaze, but she didn't. "Home." Her voice caught on the word, trembled. "I just want to go home."

  "You're not going anywhere, lady. Not until I get some answers about you."

  "Answers?" She hurled the word back at him, hearing the rising edge of hysteria in her voice. "I don't have any goddamn answers for you, Killian."

  He took a step closer. "You'd better have."

  She spun away from him and backed up, putting as much distance as possible between them. Control was a thin, wavering strand that edged further and further from her grasp. She swallowed convulsively and tried to compose herself, but it was impossible. Her hands were shaking, her heart was pounding. All she could think about was Kelly, her precious Kelly, and getting home.

  "Come here, Lainie," he said in a deceptively soft voice.

  She glanced wildly around, looking for a way out. She had no answers to give him, none that he would believe anyway. Her fear accelerated, her breathing sped up.

  Then, out of the corner of her eye, she saw a glint of silver. A second later, it registered.

  A gun. Power.

  Without thinking, she surged for the pistol and grabbed it. Spinning around, she pointed it at Killian.

  He stopped dead. "Jesus, lady�"

  What now? She needed something to make him vulnerable�just long enough so that she could get the hell out of here. Only one thing came to mind�and she wished it were something else. "T-Take off your clothes."

  He didn't know what he'd expected her to say, but that sure as hell wasn't it. He couldn't help himself. He laughed. "What?"

  "Take off your clothes and throw them to me."

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  A smile quirked one corner of his mouth. "You don't need a gun to see me naked, Lainie."

  "I do not want to see you naked."

  "Now, that's a little hard to believe, given the circumstances."

  "Shut up and strip."

  He started unbuttoning his shirt.

  She stared at his chest as the fabric gaped open. Then she swallowed hard and glanced away.

  "I won't do it unless you look."

  She stiffened. For a second that was her only reaction, and then slowly she looked at him. His fingers returned to the buttons on his flannel shirt, undoing them slowly, one by one. Still staring at her, he eased the shirt off his shoulders and let it dangle from one finger. "Over there?"

  She nodded stiffly. He thought for a second that she was going to speak, but she didn't. Her lips tightened into a disapproving line as he started undoing the copper buttons at his fly.

  Every scrap of color slid out of her cheeks and puddled at the base of her neck in splotches of red. The flesh at the corners of her eyes flinched, and he could tell that she wanted to look away.

  He unhooked the last rivet and slid his pants down his long legs. When they puddled around his ankles, he stepped aside and kicked the fallen jeans into the pile.

  He stood there, wearing only a pair of old linen drawers, and scratched his naked chest. "Far enough ... or do you want to see more?"

  She sighed impatiently. "Don't you understand that I've got a gun on you? I could kill you, for God's sake, and you're acting as if I'm seducing you."

  "I've heard of women who liked the power of a gun. Why, once�"

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  "Shut up!" She took a deep breath. He could see the effort it took for her to speak calmly. "Take off your underwear, please."

  Slowly, making every movement count, he leaned over and started peeling off the wrinkled linen drawers. Naked, he kicked the underwear and straightened.

  The look on Lainie's face almost made him bust out laughing.

  She was standing as stiff as a switch, her white-knuckled hands fused on the pistol's grip. Her face was pale, her eyes bulged. A nervous swallow slid down her throat. "Get over there. In the corner."

  "The bed's more comfortable. ..."

  "Move."

  He meandered in the direction of the corner, loosing a quiet whistle as he walked.

  "Stop that. This is serious."

  He backed into the corner and crossed his arms. Legs spread, naked, he grinned at her. "It doesn't feel serious."

  "It will if I fire at you." She kept the gun trained on him while she gathered up all his clothing and threw it out the window.

  He surged toward her. "Hey�"

  "Back off."

  Suddenly it wasn't funny anymore. It wasn't a seduction, and it wasn't a game. Not to her anyway.

  His cocky grin fizzled. He studied her, looking for a tremble in the barrel of the gun, or a sheen of sweat on her brow. But she stood curiously calm, legs spread, both hands locked on the gun's grip.

  All at once he understood what was happening, and it started a slow, burning anger inside him. "You are Joe Martin's spy."

  She laughed bitterly and put on her boots. "Hardly."

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  "Joe's not out there anymore, you know. He left right after we got here. Ask the lookout if you don't believe me."

  "Then I'll find my way back alone." Keeping the gun pointed at him, she grabbed his half-full canteen and bedroll.

  He frowned. "You saw it out there, Lainie. You'll die."

  "Maybe." She backed to the door and opened it behind her. Slipping through, she banged it shut.

  Then, as quickly as she'd appeared in his life, she was out of it.

  Lainie hurtled down the road, trying to look inconspicuous and failing miserably. Men were everywhere. They slipped out of their tents and cabins and milled about, watching.

  She came to the mouth of the tunnel and skidded to a stop. A shudder of fear and revulsion moved through her, made it hard to take another step. She stared into the blackness, smelling the dank odor, remembering the twisting labyrinth that lay beyond. Her heart was pounding so hard, she couldn't think or hear. She could barely breathe as she took her first step into the darkness.

  Behind her, a gun clicked. Lainie froze. Cursing beneath her breath, she slowly turned around.

  A bearded man stood about ten feet away. His gun was drawn. Men curled around him in a dirty, menacing horseshoe. "Hello, little lady," he said in a
scratchy voice.

  She swallowed hard. "You're the lookout, I suppose."

  He used his gun to tip the hat back on his head. "I am. And you ain't�"

  Raucous voices cut him off. All the men started talking at once. Booming, hacking laughter spiked the air, echoed off the mesa walls.

  Suddenly Killian shoved through the crowd of men. Stark naked, he strode toward her.

  Lainie's knees went weak. "Oh, no ..."

  He gave her a cold, predatory grin. "Never count on an outlaw's modesty."

  Before she could answer, he slung her over his shoulder. Her face smacked into the hard curl of his butt. A firm globe of pale flesh filled her vision.

  Male voices clamored to be heard above the laughing din.

  "Hey, boss, poke her one for me!"

  "Reckon that's one piece you oughta tie to the bed!"

  Lainie slammed her eyes shut and clenched her teeth together.

  Killian shoved through the crowd and marched back to his cabin. Lainie bounced against his back with every punishing step. He didn't stop at the door, just kicked it open and pushed through, slamming it shut behind him.

  Before she'd even realized he'd stopped, he flipped her over his shoulder again. She stumbled backward and hit the cabin wall, wincing as pain bit through her shoulder blades. She closed her eyes, blocking out the sight of him.

  But even blinded, she felt his presence, was achingly aware of every step he took, every creaking snap of the floorboards. Heat brushed against her face, the air rustled, carrying with it the now familiar scent of dust and smoke and man.

  "Open your eyes, Lainie," he whispered, and he was so close, she could feel the movement of his breath against her lips.

  She cracked one eye open and immediately wished she hadn't.

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  He was a hairsbreadth in front of her, his naked body so close, she could feel the heat of him against her clothing. Arms framed her head, fists pressed against the wall on either side of it. His face was tilted down to hers, filled her field of vision so completely that the cabin faded to nothingness behind him.

  "You don't learn very quickly. Where were you going?"

  She forced herself to meet his gaze. "I asked you for help," she said. "You said no, so I was going alone."

  He drew back from her, just enough so that he could look into her eyes. "Alone." The word was a curse. "You don't get it, do you? There is no alone for you, Lainie. You belong to me."

  "Dream on."

  Softer. Closer. "You belong to me, Lainie. I could do anything to you in here and no one would stop me." His lips almost touched hers. "Anything . .."

  "There's nothing that can make me belong to you, Killian. Believe me, I know. I can survive anything. No matter what you do, I'll escape. You can't watch me every minute of every day."

  "Oh, really? I could tie you to the bed."

  Fear spilled through Lainie in an ice-cold wash. She stiffened, tried to pretend the threat meant nothing, that it didn't frighten her. She looked up at him suddenly, caught his gaze, and saw in the narrowing of his eyes that she'd failed, that he saw her fear.

  He pulled back, frowning. "You can't leave here, Lainie."

  Can't leave. The two words scared her more than she would have thought possible. She thought of Kelly coming home to an empty house, and she started to shake. With great effort, she lifted her heavy chin and

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  stared up at him. Her eyes glazed with tears. "I want to go home. Is that so impossible for you to believe?"

  He stared down at her, and she thought for one insane moment that he was going to touch her. But he didn't, he remained still and stiff. Then he grabbed her arm and led her toward the bed, shoving her down on the lumpy mattress.

  "Please," she said again. The word came out throaty and harsh.

  He flinched and grabbed a pair of pants. Stabbing his legs into them, he buttoned the fly and sat across from her. The mattress sagged and the bed creaked beneath his weight. "Who are you?"

  She stared down at her hands, unable to meet his gaze. "I'm no threat to you or the men. If you take me back to the Flats, I'll never say a word about this place."

  He leaned back against the skinned log bedpost and studied her. When he finally spoke, his voice was soft. "Everyone knows where this place is. Our safety is not in the secrecy, but in the defendability."

  "Oh." It was all she could manage.

  "Look at me."

  Reluctantly she looked up into his face. He was staring down at her, his eyes narrowed and dark. There was an intensity in his look that pulled the breath from her body and left her feeling strangely exposed.

  His hold on her eased slightly. He drew back, watching her closely. "If you've got a story to tell, lady, you'd better tell it now."

  "You wouldn't believe me," she said softly, depressed by the truth of her words.

  "Are you so sure?"

  She gave a sharp, bitter laugh. "Believe me, I'm sure. / don't believe me."

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  He let her go and walked to the table. Pulling out a chair, he sat down and crossed his arms. Then he looked at her, and this time there was no compassion in his gaze, no softness or caring or concern. There was only a searing coldness that seemed to cut through the distance between them. He looked every inch the outlaw, the man used to getting what he wanted with a loaded gun.

  "Tell me," he said, and Lainie knew in that second that she would lose. Whatever battle she waged with this man, she would lose. Her only hope lay in telling him the truth, and hoping that the man she'd seen on the ledge really existed. That deep inside the outlaw was the remnant of the lawman he'd once been.

  She swiped at her tears, hoping he hadn't noticed, but of course, he had. He noticed everything. "It started two days ago. In 1994."

  Chapter Eleven

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  "What?"

  She gave him a weary look. "Sit back down. It gets worse."

  Killian stared at her. She sat on the bed, hunched over, her hands clasped in her lap. The ridiculous sweater hung off one shoulder, revealing a curl of pale skin. There was no trace of laughter in her bright eyes, no hint that she was toying with him. The look she gave him was pathetic and earnest.

  Slowly he lowered himself back into the chair. "Go on."

  "My name is Alaina Costanza." She held up a hand before he could interrupt. "I know you know that, but I wanted to start at the beginning. I'm Alaina, and I was born ... in 1958."

  He stared at her, blank for a second. When he realized what she was saying, he started to laugh, but the sound died in his throat when he looked at her stricken face. "Jesus Christ, you expect me to believe that?"

  She sighed quietly, a sorrow-filled sound that somehow touched his tired heart. "I don't expect anything. I'm just telling you my story." She attempted a smile. "It gets weirder, in fact."

  "Go on."

  "I've tried to sort through it, make some sense of it, 129

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  but I can't. All I know is, two days ago I was sitting in front of my computer, writing this book, and now I'm here in 1896." She wet her lower lip, then bit it hard.

  He shook his head, completely at a loss. He wanted to laugh and throw her out of his life, but something about the way she looked right now, the vulnerability and pain in her eyes, made him hesitate. He felt a spark of compassion for her, and it pissed him off. "Jesus, Lainie�"

  She was on her feet and kneeled in front of him in a heartbeat. "Look at me, Killian. I'm wearing ratty old Levi's, a sweater that can't possibly be in style, a bra that won't be invented for one hundred years, and my ears are triple-pierced. How often do you meet women like me?"

  Never. The answer came out of the blue, surprising him. He stiffened and drew back. The look in her eyes, so needy and vulnerable, set off a chain reaction of memories. He winced and gritted his teeth, forcibly looking away from her.

  "Look at me, Killian. Please ..."

  He didn't have the strength to ignore her, but sw
eet Christ, he wanted to. The soft, tremulous way she said please, as if he�he�could help her, sucked him into a cold, frightening darkness.

  "Killian .. ."

  He made a sharp sound, half desperate groan, half angry growl, and forced himself to look at her. For the first time, her bizarre clothing suggested something else, something impossible.

  He rolled his eyes. Jesus, she was making him lose what little mind he had. He had to get some perspective here. "Viloula wears pants, and if you called her a man, she'd smack you one."

  "And my hair?"

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  "Your barber shouldn't have been given scissors, let alone been allowed to cut your hair, but it hardly means you're from the future. Hell, Arizona's hair looks like a rabbit's been gnawing at it�he isn't from 1994."

  Her voice dropped to a whisper. "And my clothes?"

  He shrugged. "Women disguise themselves as men in the West. It's safer sometimes."

  She held up her hands and gave a weary sigh. "Okay, okay, I get your point. How can I prove it to you?"

  He laughed, but it was a hollow, empty sound. "Tell me my future."

  She gave him a disarmingly honest look. "How could I? I could tell you who the next president will be, what year we first send someone to the moon, anything�but how could you check it? Why would you believe it?"

  "I wouldn't."

  "If I'm not from the future, how did I get here? How do I know so much about you and your men?"

  "You're a spy for Joe Martin. He sent you here to get evidence against me so that you could help him lock me up. Joe's been looking for a witness against me for years. Only he didn't count on me kidnapping you."

  "And who told him when you were going to rob the bank?"

  "An information leak from my side." He shook his head. "I don't like the idea, I'll admit. But it's a damn sight easier to believe than time travel."

  "I'm not Joe Martin's spy, Killian. I swear it." She looked up at him. "I know it sounds crazy, but I've got to get back to Fortune Flats. Nothing else matters. If you could just take me there ... please ..."

  Suddenly, and for the first time, he was scared of her. Scared shitless. What he wanted to do was shove her away and run, run far and fast and put as much as he could between him and her pathetic eyes.

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  His jaw tightened at the quavering desperation in her voice. It flung him back in time, made him remember what he hadn't remembered in years. Maybe he had been the kind of man to help people, but that was ages ago, a lifetime. And there was no going back.

  Since then, he'd made a choice with his life; he wanted to be alone, without responsibility for anyone except himself. That's why he was here, in The Ridge, living with ruthless outlaws and fools. No one expected anything of him here, and he never let them down. He never wanted to be responsible for someone else's life again. He wasn't any good at it, wasn't any good, period. People�women�who entrusted their lives to him ended up dead.