Or had she…?

Once…

A wave of such dreadful remembrance hit her that Jessie stepped back in horror. Her hands dropped from the gun as if burned.

Jessie’s face drained of what little colour she had left and instinctively her hands came up before her face-to ward off a blow…

It was a futile gesture. This man hadn’t threatened her with a gun-or with a raised hand for that matter-but the fury was there…

And suddenly it wasn’t.

The man’s face changed. The aggression died as he stared down at her and his hand came out as if to touch…

Jess stepped back in panic. ‘N-no…’

‘I won’t hurt you,’ he said harshly.

There was a long silence. The morning sun glimmered through the canopy of leaves above them. Their eyes stayed locked, the man’s harsh stare changing to a look of confusion-as if, suddenly, his aggression was weakening.

Jessie’s fear remained.

How could it not?

The man swore suddenly. He took another step towards her and Jessie flinched again.

He stopped.

And swore again.

And, then, in a gesture of impatience the man broke the barrel of his gun. The cartridge fell out onto his palm and he let it fall further onto the ground. Then he let the gun fall, too.

‘I won’t hurt you,’ he said again and this time he spoke as though he meant it. The blazing anger was gone.

Jessie took a deep breath. The memory receded-a little. This man wasn’t John Talbot. He had no cause to hurt her.

‘I…I guess…’ she said, but she couldn’t make her voice steady.

‘Are you running from someone?’ Niall Mountmarche’s dark brow was creased in sudden concern. Clearly her reaction had him puzzled. He looked around as if expecting to see others. ‘Are you hiding? Who’s Harry?’

‘I told you-Harry’s a dog.’ It was all Jessie could do to get her voice above a whisper.