In Sight Of The Enemy. Kylie Brant

a decided lack of success. The two got back in their pickup, the woman driving. With a casual wave, she backed up the vehicle and drove away.

      Cassie swung the door shut, a bit relieved. More than likely the new arrival would be Jim. He’d probably decided to drop off the supplies tonight rather than waiting until tomorrow as she’d suggested. If that was the case, it was doubtful he’d even come up to the house.

      As she headed back to the den, she considered the spell she’d had prior to the strangers’ arrival. The unexpected lapses in thought and activity had worried Hawk enough. But when they’d been followed by these flashes into the immediate future, he’d been driven to act. Had her mother possessed psychic ability, too, she wondered, or had she used the tea recipe only as a means to alleviate the other symptoms they shared? She was eager for Hawk to return home so she could get the answers to these and a multitude of other questions that had plagued her since their last conversation. Her brother wasn’t exactly a chatterbox under the best of circumstances, but on the phone he was even more reticent than usual.

      She’d lived with precognition all her life. But always before, her ability had manifested itself when her defenses were down and her subconscious took over. The dreams she had foretold events days, weeks or, in the case of the most frequent one, years in the future. She didn’t understand why that would change now, and other than Hawk, there was no one she could discuss it with.

      Cassie gave a little laugh as she imagined sharing that little tidbit with the medical staff at Greenlaurel Community Hospital. They’d have her fitted for a straitjacket and safely ensconced in a padded room in record time. Her brother had been right. No one else could know about her ability. Other people didn’t, wouldn’t, understand. She’d discovered that the hard way.

      The doorbell rang again, and Cassie turned back to the door, puzzled. Jim always went to the side door, so she must have been wrong in assuming her visitor was her foreman. With a sliver of apprehension she went to the door, opened it. Then stood frozen in shock when she recognized the man standing before her.

      Shane. A dizzying wave of joy hit her, followed by relief, concern and then apprehension again. Her stomach clenched, tying into tight, neat knots, and her mind went abruptly blank. Now that the time had come, she had absolutely no idea what to say to him.

      “Are you going to let me in?” His voice was perhaps the most familiar thing about him. Certainly there was nothing in his hard expression that reminded her of the tender lover who had held her in his arms. But given their acrimonious parting, she shouldn’t be surprised.

      The memory of that final scene was enough to have her spine stiffening. Shoving aside any softer memories, she unlatched the screen door, held it open.

      “I heard you just returned. I didn’t expect to see you so soon.”

      She stepped aside as he walked into the house, careful to avoid touching him. She didn’t need to be assailed by familiar memories, to have old feelings rushing back to taunt her with what had been. She didn’t need to realize that the attraction burned just as brightly as it had three months ago. And every bit as futilely.

      When she turned from closing the door, he was facing her, one hand jammed in his jeans pocket. Hungrily her gaze moved over him, taking inventory. He was leaner, harder. She looked at his chest, but could see no signs of the injury she knew was hidden beneath his clothes. The jagged scar that worked down the side of his throat made her heart lurch. And then her gaze rose, to rest on his eyes. The eyes of a stranger, one who’d been to hell and back and hadn’t yet adjusted to the journey.

      “I don’t know why I came,” he said harshly. “We said all we had to say before I left.”

      Anger, a quick violent surge of it, flared through her, like a comet blazing a path through the night sky. “Your brush with death obviously didn’t teach you tolerance.”

      He stared at her for a moment, then shook his head. “You talked to Simon at the hospital?”

      “All he said was that you were coming home,” she said simply.

      He considered her for a moment longer. His friend Simon Thurson was the only person Shane had given even the sketchiest details of his experiences to. Finally he shrugged. “I don’t know what you heard about my injuries, but I’m fine.” At least he would be, once he’d slept for about three days and regained some more mobility in his shoulder. With any luck, he could be back in the operating room within a couple weeks.

      Her mouth twisted. “You’re far from fine, Shane. But if you’re convinced, who am I to argue?” She went past him to the couch and sat. He remained where he was. With the remarkable clarity of hindsight he realized he shouldn’t have come. It wasn’t like him to entertain himself by pulling scabs off barely healed wounds. And the wound caused by their breakup was every bit as painful as the injury in his shoulder.

      His free hand clenched into a fist. No, he shouldn’t have come. They could have said anything that needed saying in a terse phone call. He’d told himself that the entire time he was in the drugstore. At the hospital. But still he found himself making the drive out to the ranch, calling himself a fool with every passing mile.

      “Why don’t you sit down?” Cassie suggested.

      “I won’t be staying.” He was far more comfortable keeping a distance between them. Even if he sat on a nearby chair, he’d be able to smell the shampoo in her hair, something fresh and lemony. He’d be able to see the softness of her skin, so at odds with the denim shirt and jeans. He’d remember all the times he’d stripped her and possessed every inch of that softness. Explored it by touch and sight and taste. The nights he’d lain awake with her in his arms, unwilling to sleep and miss a single moment of that magic.

      And he’d remember anew the agony of their parting.

      “Let’s not do this again, Cass.” His voice was raw. So were his feelings, though he’d half convinced himself he no longer possessed any. “Nothing’s changed, and there’s no reason to put ourselves through hell. It’s over between us.” The words burned his throat as he uttered them. But if they affected her, there was no sign of it on her face.

      “You’re right—it is over.” She’d made the biggest mistake of her life when she’d trusted him with her secret. When she’d expected love to mean acceptance. It wasn’t a mistake she’d repeat. And it had been an act of supreme self-indulgence. She knew what the future held for her. She’d dreamed it all too often in excruciating Technicolor detail. It would be hideously unfair to put a loved one through the pain caused by her death. It was better, far better, to limit the number of people it would impact.

      She quieted the inner voice jeering at that thought and concentrated on the man before her. “I won’t pretend I wasn’t tempted to avoid this meeting. But you deserve to know the truth.”

      “The truth?” A corner of his mouth pulled downward. “I’m not sure you and I can ever agree on exactly what that means.”

      His words stung like tiny angry bees. “This has enough scientific evidence to satisfy even you. I’m pregnant. You’re going to be a father.”

      Chapter 3

      The news punched through him like a fist to the solar plexus, leeching his lungs of oxygen. Senses reeling, Shane shook his head a little, as if that would help him make sense of the incomprehensible.

      “But…we were careful.” As soon as he managed the words, he winced. As a doctor, he knew better than most the limitations of birth control. But shock was hazing his thinking, making logic difficult to summon. Cassie was pregnant. And the baby was his. He never entertained a doubt about that.

      Raking her still slender form with his gaze, he demanded, “How far along?”

      “Fourteen weeks.”

      “The bed-and-breakfast,” he murmured.

      “Probably.”

      For a moment their gazes caught, an unspoken sea of memories