~ Excerpt ~
"How the hell can you claim to know this place and not
understand the risk you're running? Personally, I expect you'll be
gone before Thanksgiving. It doesn't take a genius to see that
you're not even vaguely prepared to survive a winter alone. Stop
kidding yourself, why don't you?"
Every word, every question was battery acid poured over her
skin. Into her heart, opening it up to the terror that never left
her.
No one was more aware than Roan of just how unfit she was. No
one. She could very well not survive here, and she knew it. She'd
come back to this place understanding that she was dead if she
stayed out in that world, that sooner or later she'd fall back
into the life that would burn out like a Roman candle...or merely
fizzle into the outer reaches of purgatory.
Maybe she wouldn't make it through the first winter, but at
least she would die in the only place she'd ever truly been alive.
Somehow, that insight steadied her, and an odd thing happened.
Roan found the first hint of the warrior within her. With no
one to live for and nothing left to lose, she had little to fear
but loneliness, and loneliness was an intimate acquaintance. It
had been her most reliable companion for most of her life.
Along with the warrior came its sidekick, pragmatism. There was
a strong, healthy man right in front of her who, for whatever
incomprehensible reasons, felt bound to help her. With his
efforts, for however long he'd stay, she could accomplish more
than twice as much as by herself.
There was a time for independence, but there was never an
excuse for stupidity.
"All right." She had herself in hand now. Understood the path.
"Let's make that list."
"What?" He goggled at her as if she'd grown an extra head.
She shrugged. "You've got some misguided Galahad complex and a
strong back. I'm determined to make it through the winter after
getting a late start. You want to help, and I'm saying yes. Let's
get to it." Amazingly enough, she found that accepting his help
made her feel better, not worse. Not weaker.
She was the one doing the choosing.
Meanwhile, he looked poleaxed. "I don't get it."
"I'm not crazy." She smiled. "Not that crazy, anyway. Stubborn,
yes, and maybe too proud, but since I can't seem to get rid of
you, I might as well be practical."
"So you want me to stay."
"Not really, but...yes."
"You don't want my money."
"Forget it. No more charity. I can't afford to pay you now, but
I'll figure out a way if you can be patient. We'll keep track of
your hours, and I'll sign a note with you to repay every cent you
spend and every hour you work, if it takes me a lifetime."
He appeared ready to argue, but he stilled the protest
unvoiced, and she saw a glimmer of something that just might be
respect rise in his eyes. He held out a hand for a shake.
"Agreed."
She slid her own into it, smiling back with a lightness inside
her that she hadn't felt in more years than she could count.
He got an odd expression on his face. "What about the, uh—the
physical attraction? How do we handle that?"
"It won't be a problem." She wouldn't let it. "I told you I
don't like sex."
He grinned then, that smile that was wide and white and would
make any normal woman's heart flutter. He burst out laughing. "You
are so wrong about that, and maybe if you're lucky, I'll be the
one to show you why."
Her heart wasn't fluttering, damn it. She wouldn't let it. "You
wish." She turned away, hunting for paper and pencil.
His chuckles trailed along behind her. "You know, babe, I think
I just might."
A REAL HERO
