Nora Roberts - Blood Brothers

Quinn’s eyebrows shot up, and when he didn’t continue, she sat on one of the rocks. “I’m listening.”

“Fox was messing with me. I was a better swimmer, but he was sneaky. Gage couldn’t swim for crap, but he was game. I thought it was Fox again, dunking me, but it was her. I saw her when I went under. Her hair wasn’t short the way you saw her. I remember how her hair streamed out. She didn’t look like a ghost. She looked like a woman. Girl,” he corrected. “I realized when I got older she was just a girl. I couldn’t get out fast enough, and I made Fox and Gage get out. They hadn’t seen anything.”

“But they believed you.”

“That’s what friends do.”

“Did you ever go back in?”

“Twice. But I never saw her again.”

Quinn gave Lump, who wasn’t as particular as his master, a handful of trail mix. “It’s too damn cold to try now, but come June, I’d like to take a dip and see what happens.” She munched some mix as she looked around. “It’s a nice spot, considering. Primitive, but still picturesque. Seems like a great place for three boys to run a little wild.”

She cocked her head. “So do you usually bring your women here on dates?”

“You’d be the first.”

“Really? Is that because they haven’t been interested, or you haven’t wanted to answer questions pertaining.”

“Both.”

“So I’m breaking molds here, which is one of my favorite hobbies.” Quinn stared out over the water. “She must’ve been so sad, so horribly sad to believe there was no other way for her. Crazy’s a factor, too, but I think she must’ve been weighed down by sadness and despair before she weighed herself down with rocks. That’s what I felt in the dream, and it’s what I feel now, sitting here. Her horrible, heavy sadness. Even more than the fear when it raped her.”

She shuddered, rose. “Can we move on? It’s too much, sitting here. It’s too much.”

It would be worse, he thought. If she felt already, sensed or understood this already, it would be worse. He took her hand to lead her back to the path. Since, at least for the moment, it was wide enough to walk abreast, he kept ahold of her hand. It almost seemed as if they were taking a simple walk in the winter woods.

“Tell me something surprising about you. Something I’d never guess.”

He cocked his head. “Why would I tell you something about me you’d never guess?”

“It doesn’t have to be some dark secret.” She bumped her hip against his. “Just something unexpected.”

“I lettered in track and field.”

Quinn shook her head. “Impressive, but not surprising. I might’ve guessed that. You’ve got a yard or so of leg.”

“All right, all right.” He thought it over. “I grew a pumpkin that broke the county record for weight.”

“The fattest pumpkin in the history of the county?”

“It missed the state record by ounces. It got written up in the paper.”

“Well, that is surprising. I was hoping for something a bit more salacious, but am forced to admit, I’d never have guessed you held the county record for fattest pumpkin.”

“How about you?”

“I’m afraid I’ve never grown a pumpkin of any size or weight.”

“Surprise me.”

“I can walk on my hands. I’d demonstrate, but the ground’s not conducive to hand-walking. Come on. You wouldn’t have guessed that.”

“You’re right. I will, however, insist on a demo later. I, after all, have documentation of the pumpkin.”

“Fair enough.”

She kept up the chatter, light and silly enough to make him laugh. He wasn’t sure he’d laughed along this path since that fateful hike with his friends. But it seemed natural enough now, with the sun beaming down through the trees, the birds singing.

Until he heard the growl.

She’d heard it, too. He couldn’t think of another reason her voice would have stopped so short, or her hand would have gripped his arm like a vise. “Cal-”

“Yeah, I hear it. We’re nearly there. Sometimes it makes noise, sometimes it makes an appearance.” Never this time of year, he thought, as he hitched up the back of his jacket. But these, apparently, were different times. “Just stay close.”

“Believe me, I…” Her voice trailed off this time as he drew the large, jagged-edged hunting knife. “Okay. Okay. Now that would have been one of those unexpected things about you. That you, ah, carry a Crocodile Dundee around.”

“I don’t come here unarmed.”

She moistened her lips. “And you probably know how to use it, if necessary.”

He shot her a look. “I probably do. Do you want to keep going, or do you want to turn around and go back?”

“I’m not turning tail.”

He could hear it rustling in the brush, could hear the slide of mud underfoot. Stalking them, he thought. He imagined the knife was as useless as a few harsh words if the thing meant business, but he felt better with it in his hand.

“Lump doesn’t hear it,” Quinn murmured, lifting her chin to where the dog slopped along the path a few feet ahead. “Even he can’t be that lazy. If he heard it, scented it, he’d show some concern. So it’s not real.” She took a slow breath. “It’s just show.”

“Not real to him, anyway.”

When the thing howled, Cal took her firmly by the arm and pulled her through the edge of the trees into the clearing where the Pagan Stone speared up out of the muddy earth.

“I guess, all things considered, I was half expecting something along the lines of the king stone from Stonehenge.” Quinn stepped away from Cal to circle the stone. “It’s amazing enough though, when you take a good look, the way it forms a table, or altar. How flat and smooth the top is.” She laid her hand on it. “It’s warm,” she added. “Warmer than stone should be in a February wood.”

He put his hand beside hers. “Sometimes it’s cold.” He fit the knife back into its sheath. “Nothing to worry about when it’s warm. So far.” He shoved his sleeve back, examined the scar on his wrist. “So far,” he repeated.

Without thinking, he laid his hand over hers. “As long as-”

“It’s heating up! Feel that? Do you feel that?”

She shifted, started to place her other hand on the stone. He moved, felt himself move as he might have through that wall of fire. Madly.

He gripped her shoulders, spinning her around until her back was pressed to the stone. Then sated the sudden, desperate appetite by taking her mouth.

For an instant, he was someone else, as was she, and the moment was full of grieving desperation. Her taste, her skin, the beat of her heart.

Then he was himself, feeling Quinn’s lips heat under his as the stone had heated under their hands. It was her body quivering against his, and her fingers digging into his hips.

He wanted more, wanted to shove her onto the table of rock, to cover her with his body, to surround himself with all she was.

Not him, he thought dimly, or not entirely him. And so he made himself pull back, forced himself to break that connection.

The air wavered a moment. “Sorry,” he managed. “Not altogether sorry, but-”

“Surprised.” Her voice was hoarse. “Me, too. That was definitely unexpected. Made me dizzy,” she whispered. “That’s not a complaint. It wasn’t us, then it was.” She took another steadying breath. “Call me a slut, but I liked it both ways.” With her eyes on his, she placed her hand on the stone again. “Want to try it again?”

“I think I’m still a man, so damn right I do. But I don’t think it’d be smart, or particularly safe. Plus, I don’t care for someone-something-else yanking on my hormones. Next time I kiss you, it’s just you and me.”