Brad plunged into the dark, calling for Zoe. He couldn't see, though he tore frantically through briars, he couldn't see anything but that unrelieved veil of black.

He couldn't find her, would never find her. And what was in the dark would kill them both because he hadn't held on to her.

She only wants your money. A rich father for her bastard son.

"That is such crap." Exhausted, sick, he fell to his knees. He was letting himself get roped in, letting himself believe the lies.

It had to stop.

He threw back his head, bunched his fists. "It's not real. It's not happening. Goddamn it, I am home. And so is she."

He woke, gulping in air, with the last tendrils of the mist fading and Moe standing on the foot of the bed, snarling like a wolf.

"Okay, boy. Christ." Still a little shaken, he started to reach out for the dog, but felt the pain shudder through his hand. Turning it over, he saw the blood smeared on his palm, welling fresh from several punctures. "Well, some of it was real."

On a long breath, he shoved his bloodied hand through his hair. And the next instant was leaping out of bed. Zoe . If the blood was real, her screams might be.

He raced to her room, threw open the door. In the soft morning light he could that see her bed hadn't been slept in. Pushed by panic, he whirled to Simon's room, shuddered with relief when he saw the boy curled up with the puppy.

"Stay with him." Brad ordered Moe into the room. "You stay with him," he repeated, then tore downstairs to look for Zoe.

Shouting for her now, he burst into the great room just in time to see her stumble in from the deck.

* * *

When she opened her eyes, Zoe saw Brad's face, pale, with his hair tousled around it.

"You need a haircut," she mumbled.

"Christ Jesus, Zoe." He gripped her hand hard enough to rub bone against bone. "What the hell were you doing outside? What happened? No, quiet." He snapped himself back from the line of utter terror. "Lie still. I'll get you some water."

He hurried to the kitchen, filled a glass, then just braced his hands on the counter while he fought to steady his pulse.

Ordering himself to take slow, deep breaths, he washed the blood off his hands, then picked up the glass of water and went back to her.

She was sitting up now, and the color was back in her cheeks. He'd never seen anyone so white as she'd been when she'd come through that doorway.

"Take it easy," he ordered. "Sip slowly."

She nodded, though it was hard to obey when her throat was on fire. "I'm okay."

"You're not okay." He didn't shout it, but there was a slapping edge to his voice. "You fainted. You've got a bruise on your face and blood on your hands. You're not fucking okay."

It was amazing how he did that, she thought. How he never raised his voice, but managed to have the temper and the authority crush you into dust.

"It's not my blood. It's his." It steadied her to see it again. To know what she'd done. "I scratched his goddamn face. I have good, strong nails, and I tore that bastard's cheeks open with them. It felt great."

She handed Brad the empty glass, and because she thought they both could use it, kissed his cheek. "I'm sorry I scared you. I was… oh!" On a sound of distress, she snatched his hand. "You're all scratched and cut."

"I had a little adventure in the woods while you were… whatever you were doing." "He worked on both of us," Zoe said softly. "But we're here, we're right here, aren't we?" She lifted his wounded hand to her lips. "Let's go clean up these cuts, and you'll tell me what happened to you. I'll tell you what happened to me, but first I want you to know something."

She took his face in her hands, looked into his eyes. "I want you to know it's going to be all right. Everything's going to be all right. Let's go in the kitchen. I want to wash my hands, bandage yours, and make some coffee."

She drew a breath and got to her feet. Her legs were steady, she noted with some pride. And her mind was set. "We'll talk about the rest while I work."

"Work?"

"I've got a turkey to stuff."

Chapter Nineteen

"I don't know how you can be so calm." Malory washed fresh cranberries at the kitchen sink.

"Oh, I've roasted turkeys before." Zoe shot a grin over her shoulder and continued to prepare the yams.

"I don't know how she can be such a smart-ass," Dana commented, scowling at the mountain of potatoes she had yet to peel. "You'd think a pissing match with an evil sorcerer god, a fainting spell, and cooking for an army would spoil her mood, but oh, no, our Zoe's in some form today."

"It's Thanksgiving."

"Which forces me to broach the question." Dana frowned at her paring knife. "Why are the three of us doing all the work in here while the men laze around like kings?"

"I wanted the three of us to be alone for a while," Zoe told Dana. "This was the simplest way."

Dana set another potato aside. "So you say."

"And Bradley watching me like a hawk makes me nervous."

"A man's entitled when you swoon into his arms," Malory pointed out.

"I don't blame him. It's interesting, too, that he was there to catch me. Don't you think? Romantic, I guess, but interesting, too. He's upstairs asleep, and I'm out there for—I don't know how long. Hours. It felt like minutes, but it was hours."

She glanced toward the doorway to make certain no one was hovering. "Then he's not just asleep—Kane's got him running around in the dark, getting his hands all cut up. He tried to get him to go back to New York in his head, where everything's ordered, everything's normal."

"But he didn't do it." Malory set the strainer of cranberries in the sink. "At the threshold—a moment of decision, and he made his choice."

"He made it, and so did I when I ripped Kane's face. Those are decisions we can both feel pretty damn good about today."

"Wished I'd seen you do it." Dana attacked the potatoes again. "My one regret."

"It was great," Zoe assured her. "I don't know when I've done anything that's made me feel that powerful. But anyway, after all that, Bradley gets downstairs just in time to keep me from falling flat on my face."

Zoe brought her knife down with a thunk. "Kane tried to keep him away, to trap him in that illusion."

"Didn't want a man interfering," Malory said sourly, "while he bullied the little lady."

"No, and I think he didn't want us together while he tried to make me feel like a loser."

"Doesn't sound like you're feeling like a loser."

"He pushed all the right buttons, I'll give him that. But he's not the first one to push them, and I've learned how to push back. He pushed them because he's scared. Because I'm close. Because he knows I can beat him. So he worked on my insecurities and my feelings, then he tried to bribe me. And when it didn't work, he got pissy."

"Pissy." Malory stepped over to touch her fingers gently to the bruise on Zoe's cheek. "Honey, he clocked you."

"Maybe so, but I can promise you, he looks a lot worse." She threw back her head and let out a hoot. "If I'd been thinking straight, I'd've followed up. A good kick to the balls. If he has balls. I hurt him, and Bradley beat him. We've got him running scared. And that just makes my whole damn day."

She saw the flicker in Malory's eyes and sighed. "I know. I know I don't have much time left. Part of me wants to go running through this house like a mental patient trying to find the key. But that's not the answer. I don't know what is, only that isn't it. So I'm going to make Thanksgiving dinner, a wonderful Thanksgiving dinner. Because I do belong. I do belong with all of you, and I'm thankful for it."

Dana set the paring knife aside. "He did get to you some."

"Maybe he did," Zoe admitted. "He hit me where I live. Poor little Zoe McCourt who got herself knocked up by the first boy who smiled at her. The high school dropout scrounging for pennies so she can buy diapers for the baby she'll be raising on her own. What makes her think she can do anything that matters?"

She spooned her yams into a casserole dish. "Because I can, that's what. Let's have some wine."

"Well, now you're talking." Though Dana exchanged a look with Malory behind Zoe's back, she got out a bottle of Pinot Grigio.

"There are things I'm going to do today," Zoe said as she took glasses out of the cupboard. "Besides making this meal with you and eating it. Things I'm going to do, things I'm going to say. I've just got to work them all out in my head first."

She set the glasses down, tilting her head as she looked out the window and spotted Brad and Simon walking along one of the paths that wound through the garden shrubs toward the trees. "What in the world are they doing?"

Dana laid a hand on Zoe's shoulder as she leaned over to pour the wine. "I can tell you what they're not doing. They're not peeling potatoes."

"What's that he's carrying?" Absently, she lifted her glass of wine, shifted to get a better angle. Her son was dancing around Brad, and the dogs raced back and forth, hoping for a game. "It looks like… well, for heaven's sake."

She watched, dumbfounded, as Brad hung the bird feeder from a branch so that it dangled over his lovely ornamental shrubbery. Then he lifted her son so Simon could pour seed into the opening.

"For heaven's sake," she repeated. As if in a dream, she set the wine down and walked to the door. Walked outside.

"What the hell is that about?" Dana wondered.