"I know what you mean," he said gloomily. "Cynthia will never change. I don't know if there's a future for us after all."

"Jeremy..."

"But that's not why I followed you down here. You're the one I'm worried about," he said, his voice earnest. "I don't trust that man, Laura. I don't like the fact that he showed up here out of nowhere. I don't like the fact that he's been stalking you."

"Stalking me? Don't be ridiculous—no one's stalking anyone. Aren't you letting your feelings about Cynthia cloud your judgment?"

"Don't you think it's a little strange that he showed up just when we got cut off from the outside world?"

Laura managed a hollow laugh. "He doesn't control the weather, Jeremy."

"Something strange is going on, I can feel it. Something very odd. Those news reports, about people not dying. I don't like it."

"Don't like the fact that people aren't dying?" Laura echoed. "You're not making any sense." She stared at her stepbrother for a long, troubled moment. "Is there something else going on, Jeremy? Something you want to tell me?"

His own laugh was suddenly hearty, and annoyingly false to her ears. "I'm just being melodramatic," he said. "That's what comes of being trapped up here, then staying up all night. Lack of sleep will do you in."

"Maybe you should take a nap," she suggested quietly.

"Maybe I will. But I want you to promise me something. Keep away from him. I have a very bad feeling about him. He's trouble, Laura. Trouble for you, trouble for all of us."

"You're being ridiculous, Jeremy. He's harmless. A French ski bum with a lot of charm and not much money. He isn't going to hurt a soul."

"You find him charming? I don't."

Laura thought about it. The cool, mesmerizing power that flowed from him, that seemed to travel directly to her. The feel of his mouth against hers. He made her feel alive, she thought again. Pulsingly, heart-poundingly alive, as she'd never been before.

"The weather will clear, Jeremy," she said, in a deliberately calm voice. "Alex will be on his way, and you and Cynthia can try to work things out. Don't worry about me. I've already accepted the fact that I'm only going to have a limited life, and that doesn't include passionate interludes with strangers any more than it includes grandchildren or little country cottages with white picket fences. I've learned to accept what I have and leave it at that. When Alex leaves, everything will be as it was."

"What if he asks you to go with him?"

The flash of anger that swept through her shocked Laura. She wasn't used to rage, to fighting against the inevitable. "He's not going to," she snapped. "There's no reason why he'd want to burden himself with a woman who's dying."

"When that woman stands to inherit a third of her father's estate, he would."

"Flattery will get you nowhere," she said dryly. "It is possible for someone to be attracted to me, you know."

"Is he attracted to you?"

"No," she lied, remembering the kiss.

"And you don't look like a woman who's dying," Jeremy added with unusual frankness. "You look better than I've ever seen you. Your color's good, you've got more energy."

"Must be something in the air."

"It's keeping Father alive."

"It's keeping everyone alive, Jeremy. But it's not going to last, and you know it. I'm not going to last, either, but flirting with a stranger isn't going to make me die any sooner."

"You admit it?"

"That I've been flirting? Just a little bit. It's fun," she added.

"I want you to promise me you'll keep away from him. I don't trust him."

"Jeremy," she said with great patience, "I'm not going to promise you anything except that I'll take care of myself. That's all you really have a right to ask."

"If you don't keep away from him then I'll have to do something about it."

She stared at him, and it was like looking at a stranger. The bluff, cheerful man she'd known all her life was nowhere near the pale, angry man who stood before her, eyes bulging, veins standing out. He looked like a man on the edge, and it wouldn't take much to push him over.

"Jeremy," she said gently, "get some sleep."

"I'm warning you." His voice trailed after her as she started back up the steep path. She wanted to run, and yet she knew she didn't dare. Running across a relatively level surface last night had almost killed her.

Even making her way slowly up the steep hillside would put untold strain on her heart.

She turned a corner, which put her out of Jeremy's view, and quickened her pace. She waited for the breath to catch in her chest, waited for the dull, omnipresent pain to sharpen. But she could feel no pain. The air was pumping through her lungs, the blood pumping through her heart, as if they weren't the damaged organs she knew them to be.

She moved faster. The wind rippled through the trees, tossing her long hair behind her, and she could feel the dampness of autumn on the tail of the breeze. Faster still, the energy spiking through her, soaring, faster and faster, until she was running, freely, effortlessly, up the steepest part of the incline, and a laugh rippled out of her throat, dancing over the countryside.

She saw him then, standing at the edge of the clearing, watching her. Waiting for her, as the restless light reflected off his dark glasses. He waited for her, alone, Cynthia nowhere in sight.

She came to a halt a few feet away from him. She was out of breath, flushed, and feeling dangerous herself. She thought of her stepbrother, with his threats and warnings. She thought of her shortened life, and she looked up at the man who stood there, waiting for her.

Again she felt that odd shiver of memory. She knew him. But she couldn't remember where or when she'd seen him before. He was a part of her life, a part of her, and yet she couldn't say how.

She knew only one thing about him. There was nothing to be afraid of. He wouldn't harm her.

Whether that extended to everyone, she didn't know. But the man in black, standing there in the storm-tossed shadows, would never hurt her.

"Do you believe in love at first sight?" she asked him, her breath caught in a small gasp.

"You might as well ask whether I believe in love at all," he countered softly.

"Do you?"

"I'm not sure. Perhaps for some creatures. In some circumstances. If one is very lucky."

"Are you one of the lucky ones?"

"No," he said gently. "And neither are you."

It was like a slap across the face. She stared at him for a long moment and saw the trace of Cynthia's coral lipstick on the side of his neck. The sudden clenching pain in her chest had nothing to do with her damaged heart and everything to do with her soul.

"True enough," she said brightly, after a moment. "In the meantime, I'd better check on my father." She moved past him, concentrating on maintaining a calm grace.

He reached out a hand to stop her, to touch her, but she managed to avoid him. He didn't pursue the effort, just followed her at a secure distance. "Are you worried he might have died while you went for your walk?"

She paused at the French doors that led in from the rough-hewn deck. "No," she said, staring at her reflection in his sunglasses. "No one's going to die for the time being. Are they?"