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face toward the dancing flames. When she felt Nevada’s hand at her throat once more, she gave him a startled look. Nevada didn’t notice. He was carefully peeling down the mock-turtleneck collar of her top. Gently his hand slid up beneath her chin, urging her to turn more fully toward the fire.
    As Eden turned, a necklace of fine gold chain spilled from the scarlet fabric into Nevada’s hand, drawn by the fragile weight of the ring she wore as a pendant. The shimmer of metal caught his eye. He looked more closely and saw that the ring was made of fine strands of smoothly braided gold. When he realized that the ring was too small to be worn by anyone but a very young child, he tipped his palm and let the gold slide away.
    Firelight revealed no marks on the creamy surface of Eden’s throat. With devastating gentleness Nevada’s fingertips traced the taut tendons and satin skin. The startled intake of her breath followed by the visible, rapid surge of her pulse made Nevada’s body tighten in a wild, sweeping rush that was becoming familiar to him around Eden.
    Even as Nevada told himself he should be grateful that Eden’s response to him came from fear rather than desire, he knew he wasn’t grateful. He wanted nothing so much as to soothe with his tongue the tender flesh he had savaged, and then go on to find even warmer, more tender flesh and know its sweetness, as well.
    But even if he were fool enough to start something he wasn’t going to finish, Eden wouldn’t be fool enough to want him. She finally understood what he was: a warrior, not a knight in shining armor.
    Eden trembled again.
    “Don’t worry. I won’t hurt you now,” Nevada said.
    The subdued rasp in his voice was like a hidden caress, making Eden ache to know more of his touch.
    “I know,” she whispered.
    “Do you? You’re trembling.”
    “I’m not used to
    this.”
    “Take my word for it,” Nevada said sardonically, “nearly being strangled isn’t the sort of thing you get used to.” His fingertips probed lightly at her soft skin. “Tender?”
    Eden shook her head.
    “Does it hurt when you talk?” he asked.
    “No.”
    “Are you sure?”
    She nodded.
    “I don’t believe you.”
    “But it’s true,” Eden said. “You didn’t hurt me.”
    The throaty intimacy of her voice made Nevada burn. Very carefully he lifted his hand from Eden’s warmth. He sat up in a tangle of sleeping bag and blankets, bringing her upright with him. The easy way he handled her weight served to underline his strength and her vulnerability – a vulnerability she stubbornly refused to acknowledge.
    As Nevada released Eden, she reached up and put her palm on his forehead. He jerked back.
    “You were lucky, Eden. Very lucky. Don’t push it.”
    “You should take your own advice.”
    Nevada gave her a narrow look. “Meaning?”
    “You’re running a fever, but you plan on getting up at dawn and riding out of here.”
    Nevada shrugged. “I’ll see what it looks like in the morning.”
    “White,” Eden said succinctly.
    “What?”
    “It will look white. All of it. Even if it stops snowing, you won’t be able to tell. The wind will strip off the new snow and blow it everywhere. White on white, sky and ground, everything and everywhere. If you don’t believe me, listen to the wind. You would be a fool to go anywhere tomorrow, and survivors aren’t fools.”
    Nevada turned and looked at Eden with unfathomable eyes. “Get back in your own bed. Fever or no fever, there’s nothing you can do for me.”
    After a long, tight moment, Eden went back to her sleeping bag, crawled in and shivered until she was warm once more. “Nevada?”
    He grunted unencouragingly.
    “What were you dreaming about?”
    “Was I dreaming?”
    “Yes. That’s what woke me up.”
    Silence.
    “Do you dream like that often?” she persisted.
    “I don’t know.”
    “How can you not know?”
    “Survivors don’t remember their dreams. That’s how we stay sane.”
    Nevada