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  "Dawson, please! Oh, God, please, Dawson, you mustn't

  die!"

  There was no movement at all, no answer. He seemed

  to be pinned. She couldn't tell where in the darkness. Behind her, the ambulance siren came closer. She heard it

  stop, heard voices. Another vehicle pulled up, too. Gentle, but firm hands moved her away, back into the

  care of the deputy. This time she stood silently, unmoving, watching, waiting. She'd thought so many times that

  she hated Dawson, especially since he'd played up to Leslie, but she'd only been lying to herself. She might have

  legions of dates, men who wanted her, but there was only

  one man that she loved. Despite the pain and anguish of

  the past, her heart was lying in that tangled wreckage.

  And she knew then, for certain, that if Dawson died, part

  of her would die with him. She only wished that she'd had

  time to tell him so.

  They had to cut him out of the Jaguar. When they put him on the stretcher, he didn't move. His face was almost white. They covered him with a blanket and carried him to the waiting ambulance. Barrie stared at him, at the ambulance, with dull, dead eyes. Was he gone? He didn't move. Perhaps he was already dead and they didn't want to cover him up in front of her. But her heart was still beating. She was still breathing. Surely if he was dead, she would be, too.

  "Come on," the deputy said gently. "I'll drive you to the hospital."

  "The... car," she faltered numbly.

  "I'll take care of it." With the ease of years of practice, he attended to the car, loaded her into the patrol car and followed the ambulance back to the private hospital in Sheridan.

  Barrie drank five cups of coffee before anyone came to tell him how he was. She didn't think at all. She sat staring out the window into the darkness, praying.

  "Miss Rutherford?"

  She looked up. "Bell," she corrected dully. "Dawson is my stepbrother." Her eyes pleaded for miracles.

  And the doctor had one. He smiled wearily, his green mask dangling from his neck, lying on his stained surgical uniform. Blood, she noticed idly. Dawson's blood.

  "He'll make it," he told her abruptly. "He was unconscious when they brought him in, probably due to the concussion he's sustained. But, miraculously, there was no internal damage. He didn't even break any bones, isn't that... Miss Bell!"

  She came to lying on a bed in the emergency room. She saw the lights overhead and the whiteness of the ceiling. Dawson was going to live. The doctor had said so. Or had she dreamed it?

  She turned her head, and a nurse smiled at her.

  "Feeling better?" she asked. "You've had quite a night, I gather. Mr. Rutherford is in a private room, and he's doing fine. He came around a little while ago and asked about you."

  Her heart jumped. "He was conscious?"

  "Oh, very," she replied dryly. "We assured him that you were in the waiting room and he didn't say another word. He's going to be all right.''

  "Thank God," she breathed, closing her eyes again. "Oh, thank God."

  "You must be very close," the nurse remarked.

  Barrie could have laughed. "We don't have family," she said evasively. "Only each other."

  "I see. Well, what a lucky thing that he was wearing his seat belt. He's very handsome," she added, and Barrie looked again, noticing the nurse's pretty blond hair and brown eyes.

  "Yes, he is, isn't he?" Barrie replied.

  The nurse finished working on her chart. "He's on my ward. Lucky me." She grinned.

  Yes. Lucky you, Barrie thought, but she didn't say anything. She got up, with the nurse's help, and went to the rest room to freshen up. She tried not to think on the way. She'd had enough for one night.

  After she'd bathed her face and retouched her makeup and combed her hair, she went along to Dawson's room. She peered around the door cautiously, but he was in a private room and alone. He was conscious, as the nurse had said.

  His head turned as he heard her step and she grimaced at the cuts on one side of his handsome face. There was a bruise on his cheek and at his temple. He seemed a little disoriented, and it wasn't surprising, considering the condition the Jaguar had been in. She shuddered, remembering how he'd looked then.

  His eyes narrowed. He breathed slowly, watching her approach. "Sorry," he managed to say in a hoarse tone.

  She winced and tears overflowed her eyes. "You idiot!" she raged, sobbing. "You crazy idiot, you could have been killed!"

  "Barrie," he said softly, holding out a hand.

  She ran to him. The walls were well and truly down, as if they'd never existed. She all but fell into the chair beside the bed and lay across him, careless of the IV they were giving him, shivering as she felt his hands on her shoulders, holding her while she wept.

  "Here, now," he chided weakly. "I'm all right. Lucky I hit my head and not some more vital part."

  She didn't answer. Her body shook with sobs. She clung. She felt his hand in her hair, smoothing it, soothing her.

  "Damn," he breathed roughly. "I'm so weak, Barrie."

  "Weak is better than dead," she muttered as she finally lifted her head. Her red, swollen eyes met his.

  92 MAN OF ICE

  "You're going to have a dandy bruise," she told him, sniffing, dabbing with her fingers at her wet cheeks and eyes.

  "No doubt." He moved and winced. "God, what a headache. I don't know if it's the whiskey or the wreck." He frowned. "Why was I driving?" he added, struggling to regain complete control of his faculties after the concussion.

  Her heart jumped. "I don't know, exactly," she said evasively. "You.. .got angry and stormed out to the car."

  He whistled softly through pursed lips and smiled halfhumorously. "Nice epitaph—dead for unknown reasons."

  "Don't," she said, dabbing at her eyes with a tissue from the box by his bed. "It isn't funny."

  "Were we arguing again?" he asked.

  She shook her head. "Not really."

  He frowned. "Then what... ?"

  The door opened again, and the pretty blond nurse danced in with a clipboard. "Time for vital signs again," she informed them. "This will only take a minute." She glanced at Barrie. "If you'd like to get a cup of coffee...?"

  She didn't have the heart for an argument. "I'll be back soon," she said.

  Dawson looked as if he wanted to say something, but the nurse popped her electronic thermometer in his mouth and he grimaced.

  Later, Barrie went back to the house and phoned Antonia to tell her what was going on. She'd called Corlie and Rodge the night before, and they were waiting for her when she arrived. She took time to fill them in on Dawson's condition before she phoned her best friend in Bighorn.

  "Do you want me to come over and sit with you?"

  Antonia asked.

  "No," Barrie said. "I just needed someone to talk to.

  He'll be in for another day or so. I didn't want you to

  worry in case you tried to get in touch with me and wondered where I was. Especially after I'd told you I'd be

  back in Tucson today."

  "Can we do anything?"

  Barrie laughed. "No, but thanks. I'll keep you in mind.

  He's getting plenty of attention right now from a very

  pretty young nurse. I don't think he'll even miss me when

  I go."

  There was a pause. "You aren't going to leave before

  they release him?"

  "No," Barrie said reluctantly.

  "You don't know why he was driving so recklessly?" "Yes, I think I do," she said miserably. "It was partly

  my fault. But he'd had too much to drink, too. And he's

  the one who's always lecturing people about not driving

  under the influence."

  "We can blackmail him for years on this," Antonia replied with a smile in her voice. "Thank God he'll be alive

  so that we can."

  "I'll tell him you s
aid so. If I can get his attention." She hung up and went into the study, because she felt

  closer to Dawson there. She hadn't told him the truth

  about last night. She had a suspicion about why he'd gone

  out. He'd said it himself. He was only capable with one

  woman... the one woman he'd scarred too much to ever

  want sex again. And he couldn't bear the thought of it.

  How horribly ironic.

  It did make sense, somehow. She went to the window

  to look out. The sky was gray and low with dark clouds.

  It was going to snow. She needed to get out before the

  roads became impassible, but she couldn't leave Daw

  94 son. What was she going to do? The first thing was to go back to the hospital.

  But Corlie refused to let her. "You need food and rest. You've been up all night. Rodge and I will sit with him until you have a little rest."

  "You don't have to do that," she began.

  "Barrie, you know better than that. He's like our own child, mine and Rodge's. You eat something and we'll stay until you get back to be with him tonight."

  "Okay."

  Corlie seemed to take it for granted that Barrie was going to stay the night with him. Of course. Everyone still thought they were engaged. She grimaced. Dawson wasn't going to like that one bit. When he was back to himself he was going to hate her all over again. She was his one and only big mistake. He'd been furious at her when he'd stormed out. He seemed to actually hate her because he was aroused by her.

  But he was subtly different. When she arrived back at the hospital, he watched her come in with eyes that were alert and searching.

  "Feel better?" he asked quietly.

  "That's my line," she murmured, smiling at Corlie and Rodge.

  Corlie got up and hugged her warmly. "Honey, you're freezing," she chided. "Don't you have something heavier than that windbreaker to wear?"

  "It doesn't exactly freeze in Tucson," Barrie reminded her.

  "Go to Harper's and buy a coat," Dawson said. "I've got an account there."

  "I don't need a coat," she said on a nervous laugh. "And I won't be here long enough to use it. Anyway, it's just a little nip in the air. It's spring."

  He didn't reply. His eyes were watchful, curious. "Corlie, you know what size to buy?"

  "Yes," Corlie said, grinning.

  "Get her one."

  "I'll do it first thing tomorrow."

  "But...!" Barrie began.

  "Hush, child. He's right, you'll freeze in that thing you're wearing. We'll be back early in the morning." She hugged Barrie again.

  "Might as well not argue," Rodge said with a grin. "I haven't won an argument with her in thirty-five years. What chance would you have?"

  "Not much," Barrie sighed.

  They said their goodbyes to Dawson and went out the door, waving.

  Barrie edged toward the chair beside the bed, feeling vulnerable now that they were alone. He was much too alert to suit her.

  He watched her sit down, his eyes following her. He caught her gaze and held it relentlessly until she flushed and looked away.

  "I've remembered," he said.

  She bit her lower lip. "Have you?"

  "And apparently you've realized why I lost my temper."

  The flush got worse. She looked at the floor.

  He laughed bitterly. "That's right, Barrie, try to pretend it didn't happen. Run some more." His hand shot out and caught her arm. "Stop that," he said curtly. "Your lip's bleeding."

  She hadn't even felt the pain. She pulled out a tissue and held it to her lip. It came away red. "It's a habit," she faltered.

  He let go of her arm and sank back against the pillows. He looked older. There were new lines in his face, around his eyes. He looked as if he'd never smiled once in his life.

  She clutched the tissue in her hand. "Dawson?"

  His gaze came back to hers, questioning.

  96 MAN OF ICE

  "Why is it that you weren't... cold... with me?" she asked hesitantly. "I mean, all those other women, like Mrs. Holton... and she's a knockout."

  He searched her eyes. "I don't know why, Barrie," he replied. "Maybe it's because I hurt you so badly. Maybe it's what hell really is. I want you and you're physically afraid of me. Ironic, isn't it? Do you have any idea, any idea at all, how it makes a man feel to know that he's impotent?"

  She shook her head. "Not really."

  "All these long years," he said, brushing the unruly hair back from his broad forehead. His eyes closed. "It makes me sick when women touch me, fawn over me. I don't feel anything, Barrie. It seemed to be like that with you. That's why I pulled you against me that way, I wanted to show you what you'd done to me." He laughed with bitter irony. "And I got the lesson, didn't I? It was the most violent, raging arousal I've ever had in my life— with the one woman who shudders at my touch." His eyes closed.

  She clenched her teeth as she studied him. She'd loved him all her life, it sometimes seemed. And then in one short night, he'd destroyed her love, her future, her femininity. If his life was hopeless, so was hers.

  He glanced at her. "It's been that bad for you, too, hasn't it?" he asked suddenly, with narrowed eyes that seemed to see right through her. "All those damn men parading through your life in a constant, steady stream, in threes and fours. And you've never let one of them touch you, not even in the most innocent way.''

  She shivered. It was too much. It was too much, having him know that about her. He might as well have stripped her soul naked.

  She started to jump up, but he caught her wrist with surprising strength for a man in his condition and jerked her firmly right back down into the chair again.

  "No," he said, glaring at her. "No, you don't. You aren't running this time. I said, you've never let anyone touch you, in any way, even to kiss you, since me. Go ahead. Tell me I'm lying."

  She swallowed. Her face gave him the answer.

  His lips parted. He exhaled softly. "Damn me, Barrie," he said huskily. "Damn me for that."

  He let go of her wrist and lay back on the bed. "For the first time in my life, I don't know what to do," he confessed dully.

  He sounded defeated. Dawson, of all people. She hated that uncertainty in his deep voice. She hated what they'd done to each other. He was her whole world.

  She reached out, very slowly. Her cold fingers just barely touched his bare arm, just at the elbow.

  As if he couldn't believe what his senses were telling him, he turned his head and looked at her pale hand on his arm. His eyes lifted to hers, curious, intent.

  She bit her lip again. "I don't want you to die," she said unsteadily.

  He looked at her fingers, curled hesitantly around his arm. "Barrie..."

  Before he could get the words out, the door opened and the pretty nurse was back again, smiling, cheerful, full of optimism and already possessive about her handsome patient.

  "Supper," she announced, putting a tray on the table. "Soup and tea, and I'm going to feed you myself!"

  "Like hell you are," Dawson said curtly.

  The nurse started. His eyes weren't welcoming at all. They had a very cobralike quality, flashing warnings at her. She laughed with a sudden loss of confidence and pushed the high, wheeled tray over to the bed. "Well, of course, if you feel like feeding yourself, you can." She cleared her throat. "I'll be back to pick it up in a few minutes. Try to eat it all, now."

  She smiled again, but with less enthusiasm, and went out the door much more quickly than she'd come in.

  Dawson took a pained breath. His head turned toward Barrie. "Help me," he said quietly.

  It was intimate, helping him eat. She watched every mouthful disappear past those thin, firm lips, and without wanting to, she remembered the feel of them on her mouth in passion. She'd been innocent and very frightened. He hadn't realized that. His kisses had been adult, passionate, giving no quarter. She knew that he'd never even suspected that sh
e was a total innocent until...

  Her flush was revealing. Dawson swallowed the last of the soup and caught her gaze.

  "I have my own nightmares," he said unexpectedly. "If I could take it back, I would. Believe that, at least."

  She moved restlessly as she put the soup bowl back on the table and helped him sip some of the hot tea. He made a terrible face.

  "It's good for you," she said stubbornly.

  "It may be good as a hand warmer in a cup on a cold day," he muttered. "If it's good for anything else, I wouldn't know." He lay back down. "If they want to shovel caffeine in me, why can't I have coffee?"

  "Ask someone who knows."

  He chuckled without humor. His eyes searched hers. "Going to stay with me tonight?"

  "It seems to be expected."

  His face hardened. "Don't let me put you out. I'm perfectly capable..."

  She winced.

  He closed his eyes. Beside his thigh, his fist clenched until the knuckles went white.

  She pulled her chair closer. Her fingers spread tremulously over his big fist and lingered there. "Dawson, don't," she whispered. "Of course I'll stay. I want to."

  He didn't say a word. And still, his hand clenched. Her fingers pressed down, became caressing.

  She knew when his head turned, when his eyes opened. She knew that he was watching her. With a long, helpless sigh, she lifted his hand and put it to her lips. And he shuddered.

  She dropped it abruptly, horrified at her own action, and started to get up, red-faced.

  But he had her hand now, turned in his, firmly held. He drew it until he could press the palm to his hard mouth. His eyes closed and he made a sound deep in his throat. When he looked at her again, what she saw in his face made her go hot all over.

  "Come here," he said huskily.

  Her knees became weak. She felt the imprint of his mouth on her palm as if it were a brand. She never knew whether or not she would have obeyed that heated command, though, because the door opened and the doctor, making rounds, came in smiling. Dawson let go of her hand and the moment was lost.

  But not forgotten. Not at all, not through the long night when he slept, because of the pills they gave him, and she lay in the chair and watched him sleep. They seemed to have reached some sort of turning point. Her life lay in that hospital bed now. She had no desire whatsoever to leave him. And it seemed to be the same for him.