Angels Fall

lake, a thousand lights sparkling on the dark plate of it. And the moonlight cut a dreamy white swath over the gleam. The air was full of scent, the pine, the water, the earth and grass.
    "Sometimes I miss Boston so much it's an ache right down in the bones," she told him. "And I think I need to go back, I want to be back and find what I had there. My busy life, my busy friends. My apartment with the Chinese-red walls and sleek black dining room table."
    "Chinese red?"
    "I liked bold once." She'd been bold once. "Then I stand at a spot like this, and I think, even if I could bury what happened. I don't know if I could find anything there that I want or I need anymore. I'm not Chinese red anymore."
    "What does it matter? You make your place where you are, and if it doesn't suit, you make it somewhere else. You use whatever colors you damn well please."
    "That's exactly what I told myself when I left. I sold all my things. My sleek black dining room table, and all the rest. I told myself it had to be done. I wasn't working, and there were bills. Lots and lots of bills. But that was only part of it. I didn't want them anymore."
    "Yours to sell," he pointed out. But he thought how wrenching it must have been for someone like her to push everything she had away. How painful and sad.
    "Yeah. Yeah, mine to sell. And the bills got paid. And now I'm here."
    She moved closer to the water's edge. "The woman in your book — the one you didn't kill after all? What's her name?"
    "Madeline Bright. Maddy."
    "Maddy Bright." Reece tested the name out. "I like it—friendly, but strong. I hope she makes it through."
    "So does she."
    They stood for a moment, side by side, looking over the lake, through the night, toward the deep silhouette of the mountains.
    "When we were up on the trail that day, and you were figuring out how she'd die—or how you thought she would—and I went on by, did you stay up there to make sure I got back safely?"
    He kept right on looking at the Tetons. "It was a nice day. I didn't have anything else to do."
    "You were heading in my direction even before you heard me running back."
    "I didn't have anything else to do," he repeated, and she turned to face him.
    "You were being a nice guy."
    She took a chance, a big step for her. Like jumping off a cliff into a river. She lifted her hands to lay them on his face, rose up to her toes. And touched her lips to his.
    "I'm afraid I'm going to screw this up. You should know that before we go back. But I'd like to go back anyway. I'd like to go back in, and go to bed with you."
    "That's an excellent idea."
    "I get them occasionally. Maybe you should hold my hand in case I lose my nerve and try to run."
    "Sure."
    She didn't lose it all, and she didn't try to run, but with every step back toward his cabin the doubts crept closer.
    "Maybe we should have another glass of wine first."
    "Had enough, thanks." He kept her hand in his, kept walking.
    "It might be best it we talked about where this is leading."
    "Right now it's leading up to my bedroom."
    "Yes, but…" It was no use balking when he was already pulling her inside. "Um, you need to lock the door."
    He turned the lock. "There."
    "I really think we need to—"
    She broke off, completely stunned, when he simply plucked her up and laid her over his shoulder.
    "Oh. well." There were too many conflicting currents running inside her to let her decide whether being carried through the house was romantic or mortifying. "I'm not sure this is the right approach. I think if we took a few minutes to discuss… I'd just like to ask if you'd keep your expectations on the low side because I'm really out of practice and—"
    "You're talking too much."
    "It's going to get worse." She squeezed her eyes shut as he started up the stairs. "I can actually feel the babbling rising in my throat. Listen, listen, when we were outside, I could breathe, and I thought I could handle it. It's not that I don't want this, it's just I'm not sure. I don't know. God. Does the bedroom door have a lock?"
    He booted it shut, then turned and locked the door. "Better?"
    "I don't know. Maybe. I know I'm being an idiot, but I'm just not—"
    "Knowing you're an idiot's the first step to recovery." He dropped her on her feet by the bed. "Now be quiet."
    "I just think if we—"
    Thoughts fizzled because he made that move on her again. Jerking her up, toward him, closing her mouth with his, with heat, with hunger. All she could do was hold on while fears and