The squirrel sat up on its haunches, hoping for more.

Stone tossed some more food, then laughed in spite of himself when the greedy thing tried to eat it all on the spot.

“Oh…my God.”

At the soft gasp Stone shifted on the large rock and looked over his shoulder.

A woman stood on the sand of the deserted beach, covered from head to toe in black. Black trousers, black hooded wool coat, gloves and boots. The early-morning spring sun spilled over her, bathing her in a golden glow, and for an instant she looked so familiar his heart all but stopped.

Jenna.

A shaft of pain sliced through him, neatly destroying his calm. For a moment he’d thought she’d come back, but he knew now that was impossible.

Jenna Loggins was gone. Long gone.

And he was glad.

The woman standing before him appeared rigid, practically unbreathing. All he could see of her was her nose, but somehow it was enough to know she was deeply troubled.

Great. For the past ten years Stone had made it a habit to stay away from women in distress. Far away.

The woman, medium height and willowy as a reed, suddenly swayed on her feet as though feeling faint.

Dammit. “Are you all right?” His voice was rougher and grittier than he would have liked, but sitting here, in this precise spot, where he hadn’t been in an entire year, was tearing his guts out.

She nodded, then raised a glove-covered hand to her face. Behind her mirrored sunglasses he sensed her intense unwavering stare, which he returned.

She didn’t look all right, although he couldn’t see her well at all, just a vague impression of porcelain skin, carefully painted lips and shuttered eyes. “Maybe you should sit down,” he suggested, shifting over on the large rock. There was ample room for two.

Slowly, as if in a trance, the woman walked around the rock to face him. For a long minute she said nothing, did nothing, just stared at him.