Merline Lovelace - Military Heroes Bundle - A Soldier's Homecoming / A Soldier's Redemption / Danger in the Desert / Strangers When We Meet / Grayson's Surrender / Taking Cover

Much to her relief, he didn’t follow. She made the coffee in the dark, waiting patiently for it to perk, thinking it was high time she got a drip coffeemaker. In short, anything that didn’t involve thinking about Sophie and the threat.

Or the man in her living room.

Some kind of preternatural shiver passed through her, focusing her mind on how Ethan had looked standing in the dark. Some psychic part of her clamored that she had business with him, though she couldn’t imagine what.

Oh, hell, yes she could. It didn’t take that big a leap to realize he drew her in some elemental way. Worrying about Sophie had kept her from recognizing other feelings, but here in the dark, they surged to the surface.

She could have turned on the lights, but she didn’t. She didn’t want to rupture the spell. It provided a much needed distraction right now, this yearning and need. This aching hunger that had grown unseen until it sprang from the jungle of her subconscious.

He would be safe, she realized. He would go away and take all the complications with him.

At once shock filled her. She didn’t think that way. She had never thought that way.

The aroma of the coffee filled her nostrils, speaking of hot, delightful, yet bitter flavors. Turning, she switched off the flame beneath the burner and filled two mugs. Strong and black.

Ethan still stood in the living room, looking out through the sheers at the street. She went to stand beside him and passed him a mug when he glanced at her.

“Thanks,” he said.

She didn’t reply. The spell locked her voice in her throat. An aura surrounded him. Holding her mug in both hands, closing her eyes, she sensed an emanation of power, strength and something far greater. For a moment she knew with certainty that if she opened her eyes, she would see him surrounded by rainbows. Crazy.

He spoke, his voice like night, all black velvet. “My people,” he said slowly, “believe that everything is alive, even the rocks.”

“Yes?”

“Yes. My mother was Cheyenne. She taught me some of the old ways and had her brother give me some training in what I suppose could be called the occult.”

She faced him then, forgetting everything else. “Shamanic tradition?”

“Yes.”

“Wow.” She barely breathed the word.

“Of course, it didn’t fit with most of what I was learning elsewhere or with my friends, so I took it all with a large grain of salt.”

“But now?”

“But now...” He shook his head. “I’ve felt the rocks cry out in protest at the blood spilled on them. I have heard the thunder speak. The ways of my mother’s people are as valid as your ways.”

Connie nodded. He did have an aura, she thought. She couldn’t see it, but she sure as hell could feel it, humming around him.

Almost in answer to what he had just said, a crack of thunder rent the night.

Connie bit her lip, waiting. The air around them crackled.

“I’ll protect your daughter,” he said. “But know this.”

She waited, her heart freezing.

“The danger is still there. I sense it. And it’s closing in.”

She wanted to scream at him that he was just trying to scare her, but deep in her very soul his words resonated with truth.

“Are you psychic?” she asked finally.

“Not really. If I were, many of my friends would still be walking this earth. But I am a mystic. I will admit that.”

“And you sense things.”

He looked at her, his eyes glimmering. “I sense things.”

Turning, she put her coffee on an end table and wrapped her arms tightly around herself. “I can’t stand this.”

He astonished her, opening his arms and drawing her close, holding her snugly and comfortingly. Her head rested on his hard chest, and she could hear his heartbeat, a steady thud.

Tension, a tight spring inside her, began to loosen, as if his touch held soothing magic. His embrace seemed like a safe haven, an experience she had never known.

Then his fingers found their way into her hair, stroking and massaging gently.

He didn’t offer any false promises, merely the sense that she wouldn’t be alone. A ridiculous feeling, when the whole county shared her concern. But this felt closer and more intimate, more real.

They stood together for a long time, coffee forgotten, everything forgotten. Another crack of thunder, this one even louder, drove them apart.

Connie jumped back. Then, embarrassed, she reached for her coffee and retreated to an armchair. He, too, picked up his mug, then turned to face the window again, watching the flickers of lightning brighten the night.

Eventually she found her voice again. “What do you mean when you say you’ve heard the thunder speak?”

He turned slightly in her direction. “Just that. If you listen, it can speak to you. Not that I’m going to say it happens all the time. You’re a Christian, right?”

“Yes.”

“Have you ever heard God’s voice in your heart?”

“A few times.”

“Well, it’s the same. Sometimes I hear the thunder in my heart. It speaks to me.”

“And the stones?”

“The stones are alive. Everything is alive, Connie. That’s where we make our biggest mistake, I think, believing that some things aren’t. Or maybe a better word would be aware. Everything is aware. That’s why my uncle taught me to give thanks for even the smallest things. Give thanks to the tree before you cut it, things like that.”

“I happen to think that’s a beautiful way of looking at the world.”

“It could be.”

He returned his attention to the street. Lightning flashed brightly again, followed by a boom of thunder. “Give thanks to the rain, to the food you eat. To the mountains that shelter you. It’s not exactly pantheistic, at least not the way my uncle taught me. But it does recognize the importance of everything in our world.”

Intuition made her say, “You haven’t thought about this for a long time, have you.”

Another flicker of lightning limned his figure against the curtains, and she saw echoes of ancient warriors in the afterimage.

“No, I haven’t. For years now, I haven’t really had time to think about that part of myself except in a general way. I’ve been too focused on external reality. On trying to survive and keep my fellows alive. Not much room for anything else.”

“I wouldn’t think so. But now you have time.”

“I do.” He bent, retrieving his mug and sipping. “You make great coffee.”

“Thanks.”

The voice of thunder spoke again, a deep rolling rumble. Yet no rain fell.

“What I saw earlier today...” He hesitated.

“Go on. At this point I would believe you if you told me that you saw a leprechaun all dressed in green.”

A chuckle escaped him, a sound not unlike the thunder. “No leprechauns. Something else.”

She leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. “Tell me.”

“What I saw wasn’t there. It wasn’t a man. But I didn’t hallucinate, either.”

“Meaning?”

“I didn’t see with the eyes in my head.”

Shock slammed her chest like a semi running out of control. She couldn’t breathe; no air remained in the room. Finally, sucking in something that posed as air, she managed to say, “I don’t understand. Why did you run after it if it wasn’t real?”

“It was real,” he said with certainty. “I hoped to learn more, but I failed. All I can tell you is that the threat has not gone.”

“He’s still here?”

“And looking for your daughter.”

* * *

That put paid to any possibility of sleep for Connie. She drained her coffee mug, then went to refill it. When she returned to the living room, Ethan was sitting on the couch, holding his own mug. He was turned to the side so he could continue to look out the front window.