A man in a navy uniform tried to shield her from the small prone body…as if anyone could possibly keep her away from Gram! Bree threw herself down, feeling her knee scrape raw through slushy cement, not caring, not believing the terrible blue-gray color of Gram’s lips, the way she was clutching her heart. “I’m afraid it’s a heart attack, miss,” someone said, and Bree said fiercely, “No!”

Gram’s face was ashen, her hand far too cool and weak in Bree’s. “The cabin,” Gram whispered. “It’s for you, Bree, when you need it. Remember…”

“You’ll be fine,” Bree said desperately. “Don’t talk, Gram. Don’t…”

“Fight for what you want, darlin’,” Gram said. “Nothing halfway. Don’t you settle for halfway, Bree…”

Nothing could have hurt more than that machete slash of pain as Gram smiled one last time. The whine of a siren in the distance became a shriek, augmented by a terrible silent scream in Bree’s head that no one else could hear…

“Wake up. Now, honey.” Bree’s eyes flew open as a strong hand shook her shoulder and a pair of intense navy blue eyes fastened on her own. For a moment, she was totally disoriented to see a stranger’s face peering at her with such fierce concern, but then she recognized Hart Manning. And before she was fully awake, his lips had curled into an immediately relaxed smile. “Whether you know it or not, sweetheart, there isn’t a thing wrong with your vocal cords. You can scream like a banshee-in fact, you just did, in your sleep. And since you’ve deprived us both of any possible rest, you may as well buckle up. We’re landing.”

Bree’s lips parted to deliver a rejoinder, failed to produce any sound and formed a thin line to stop their trembling. Tears had collected in her eyes during the dream; she blinked them back, ducking her head to fumble with the seat belt-only to find she was draped from neck to toes in a blanket.