Mind Over Matter

his own nerves were starting to jangle. Bending, he picked up a stick. Letting the flowers he’d already picked fall, he took A.J.’s hand in his and dragged the end of the stick along the edge of the rock through a thick clump of bluebells. He heard the hissing rattle, felt the jolt of the stick he held as the snake reared up and struck. A.J.’s hand went limp in his. David held on to the stick as he pulled her back to the path. He wore boots, thick and sturdy enough to protect against the snakes scattered through the hills. But he’d been picking flowers, and there had been nothing to protect the vulnerable flesh of his hands and wrists.
    “I want to go back,” she said flatly.
    She was grateful he didn’t question, didn’t probe or even try to soothe. If he had, she wasn’t sure what idiotic answers she’d have given him. A.J. had discovered more in that one timeless moment than David’s immediate danger. She’d discovered she was in love with him. All her rules, her warnings, her precautions hadn’t mattered. He could hurt her now, and she might never recover.
    So she didn’t speak. Because he was silent, as well, she felt the first pang of rejection. They entered through the kitchen door. David took a bottle of brandy and two water glasses out of a cupboard. He poured, handed one to A.J., then emptied half the contents of his own glass in one swallow.
    She sipped, then sipped again, and felt a little steadier. “Would you like to take me home now?”
    He picked up the bottle and added a dollop to his glass. “What are you talking about?”
    A.J. wrapped both hands around her glass and made herself speak calmly. “Most people are uncomfortable after—after an episode. They either want to distance themselves from the source or dissect it.” When he said nothing, only stared at her, she set her glass down. “It won’t take me long to pack.”
    “You take another step,” he said in a voice that was deadly calm, “and I don’t know what the hell I’ll do. Sit down, Aurora.”
    “David, I don’t want an interrogation.”
    He hurled his glass into the sink, making her jolt at the sudden violence. “Don’t we know each other any better than that by now?” He was shouting. She couldn’t know it wasn’t at her, but himself. “Can’t we have any sort of discussion, any sort of contact, that isn’t sex or negotiations?”
    “We agreed—”
    He said something so uncharacteristically vulgar about agreements that she stopped dead. “You very possibly saved my life.” He stared down at his hand, well able to imagine what might have happened. “What am I supposed to say to you? Thanks?”
    When she found herself stuttering, A.J. swallowed and pulled herself back. “I’d really rather you didn’t say anything.”
    He walked to her but didn’t touch. “I can’t. Look, I’m a little shaky about this myself. That doesn’t mean I’ve suddenly decided you’re a freak.” He saw the emotion come and go in her eyes before he reached out to touch her face. “I’m grateful. I just don’t quite know how to handle it.”
    “It’s all right.” She was losing ground. She could feel it. “I don’t expect—”
    “Do.” He brought his other hand to her face. “Do expect. Tell me what you want. Tell me what you need right now.”
    She tried not to. She’d lose one more foothold if she did. But his hands were gentle, when they never were, and his eyes offered. “Hold me.” She closed her eyes as she said it. “Just hold me a minute.”
    He put his arms around her, drew her against him. There was no passion, no fire, just comfort. He felt her hands knead at his back until both of them relaxed. “Do you want to talk about it?”
    “It was just a flash. I was sitting there, thinking about how nice it had been to do nothing. I was thinking about the flowers. I had a picture of them in the window. All at once they were black and ugly and the petals were like razors. I saw you bending over that clump of bluebells, and it all went gray.”
    “I hadn’t bent over them yet.”
    “You would have.”
    “Yeah.” He held her closer a moment. “I would have. Looks like I reneged on the last part of the deal. I don’t have any flowers for you.”
    “It doesn’t matter.” She pressed her lips against his neck.
    “I’ll have to make it up to you.” Drawing back, he took both of her hands. “Aurora…” He started to lift one, then saw the caked blood on her knuckles. “What the