Carefully she rested her hand on his unharmed shoulder, her fingertips touching the chain about his neck. Un-beckoned feelings were running through her veins, warming her blood and awakening a longing she'd never known. How could just a moment's look into his eyes affect her so? Why was the feel of his hand surveying her body addictive at first touch?

She brushed her fingertips over his skin. Touching him excited and frightened her. Her heart pounded from the feel of his flesh beneath her touch. Though her mind told her she shouldn't, her senses danced with a timeless awakening. Somehow she knew that this time was special, secret and apart from the rest of the world.

Perry had spent many nights dreaming of how it would feel to have a man by her side. She pressed her body against Hunter's full length as her hands continued to brush his skin lightly. She could feel his smooth muscles underneath the warm flesh. A tear drifted down her cheek as she thought of the bandaged shoulder, already stained anew with blood.

Hunter mumbled, and Perry leaned closer to understand his words. "Hold on, Abram!" he whispered. "Don't let go. Hold on! The balloon's going down. Hold on longer!"

Pain ripped through him, shaking Perry's heart with sympathy. From the depth of his cry she knew his pain was both physical and emotional. She reached up, cupping his face with her hands and whispered softly, "Hush, Hunter. It's all right now.''

Yet his agonized words tore through her as he continued to call softly, "Hold on, Abram!"

Perry attempted to steady Hunter's large frame in her small arms. She caressed his sweating face, cooing words of reassurance. When her lips brushed his forehead, she could feel the high fever within him. Tears spilled onto her cheeks as she pulled him closer. "Please, please," she begged. "Please, Hunter, don't die." Her words brushed his warm lips as she pleaded.

Then, like a storm that had blown itself at full gale, he relaxed. His body fell against her and he whispered, "Stay near." His uninjured arm pulled her close, as if holding on to life itself.

Perry brushed his hair from his closed eyes. Her lips trailed light kisses across his temple. Dear Lord, she thought, his nearness was intoxicating. Touching him brought her a reckless pleasure, a deep gulp of life when she'd only taken sips before.

Her breath whispered against his ear as his hand slid up to brush the material covering her breast. He pulled her collar open enough for his fingers to caress the soft flesh of her neck. The top button pulled free, making her shirt slip from her shoulder and allowing Hunger's fingers the freedom to slide her camisole strap off her shoulder.

As his hand brushed her warm flesh Perry's mind raced. He might only be holding on to life, but she was living it for the first time. Every part of her was alive. As his thumb traced the lace of her camisole to the dip between her breasts, Perry knew she wouldn't withdraw even if his hand explored further.

Hunter moved his face into her hair. "Don't leave me, my angel, don't leave me." His voice was rich and deep, stirring her no less than his gray eyes and warm touch had.

Tears ran down her cheeks as she whispered, "I'm here." He might only be dreaming, but the memory of this moment would stay within her forever.

Hunter relaxed in sleep, his arm around Perry.

"Live," she whispered, moving her lips against his cheek. "You must live."

The memory of his touch haunted Perry's sleep as she dreamed of a tomorrow that might not come for Hunter.

Chapter 2

As dawn glistened through the cracks and danced on the far wall, Perry awoke with a start. Noma had not returned. Slowly, Perry's groggy mind realized that the constant thunder around her was cannon fire, not a storm. She crawled to the window and looked out. She could see nothing but blackness, but judging from the sound, the fight could be no more than a mile away. Noma was easily frightened. She was probably hiding somewhere, waiting for a chance to get back.

Now Perry felt not only fear but guilt as well. She'd spent the night dreaming of the way Hunter had touched her so tenderly and looked into her very soul with his gray eyes, while Noma had been somewhere outside, hiding. For one night Perry had been removed from the war, with no rules or fears to inhibit her. She'd cherished each moment. Now, in the morning light, she feared their time together might end before nightfall and she would be unable to spend another night in his arms.

The bandage across Hunter's shoulder was a bloody reminder of death's waiting vigil. Some spots along the white cloth were bright red, and others were already drying to a dark purple. The bandage had to be changed before the material stuck to his flesh and caused more damage.

Perry felt bonded to Hunter. Though they'd never talked, his life was as vital to her as her own. She would do whatever was necessary to see that he lived; then she would try to find Noma.

Afraid of seeing the searing pain in his eyes again, she pulled off the soiled dressing as slowly and gently as she could. Blood oozed from the torn tissue on his right shoulder, calling an abrupt halt to Perry's progress. She took a deep breath, fighting to control her nausea. She knew that the hot redness, spreading like scarlet weeds beneath the skin from the bloody injury, meant infection.

Hunter slept, unaware of her touch. She slowly bathed his shoulder, remembering how he'd touched hers in the darkness. Whether he lived or died would depend on her keeping the wound clean until a doctor could be found. The jagged rip in his skin and muscles stood in sharp contrast to the other smooth shoulder. Perry watched as his chest rose and fell slightly with each breath. In the light his undamaged skin shone golden to his waist.

She wrapped his arm where sections of the skin were rubbed away. Hunter moved in pain, clenching his teeth, yet made no sound. Perry finished her work as rapidly as possible, binding him with clean strips. She lifted his head gently as he accepted the water she offered. Even as Hunter's fever raged, anger boiled in her own veins. Dear God, how she hated this war! How she hated not being able to help him. She longed to see those gray eyes filled with something other than pain.

Hunter held out a hand toward her. "Angel, where's the Star?" he mumbled. "Angel… my angel, was the Star captured? Is Abram alive?"

Perry grabbed his long fingers and pulled them to her cheek, wishing she could answer his questions, but they made no sense. "I'm here," she whispered as she moved his fingers along her face.

Hunter looked up, his eyes half closed, his mouth tight with struggle. His hand slowly crossed her cheek and circled to the back of her neck, as though touching her were the medicine he craved. His ringers caressed her flowing black hair as he pulled her face near his own. "My angel, you are so…"

Pain clouded his eyes. Perry lowered him to the hay and reached for a scrap of cloth to bathe his feverish face. She wrapped the only blanket around him, softly whispering words of care, though she knew he could no longer hear her.

She sat, chin resting on her knees, watching Hunter for most of the morning and wondering what he'd been about to say. She was lost in thought and didn't react at first to the creaking sound of the old barn door. In her mind the sound seemed faraway, unreal. When the noise did register, she would have bolted to the edge of the loft to welcome Noma, but panic's cold fingers gripped her. It might not be Noma, and the visitor might not be welcome.

Pulling her hat down securely, Perry inched her way to the loft's edge. Lying on her stomach, she slid over the stored ladder and pulled herself close enough to peer down at the intruders below.

Three soldiers milled around beneath her. They poked, inspecting the hay, searching every corner of the dusty floor. Luckily not one bothered to look up. With the ladder removed, the tiny loft rose unnoticed in the late-morning shadows. Perry stared at the three blue uniforms moving beneath. Blue! They were wearing blue. Her mind raced. Somehow, since dawn, her haven had changed hands. She was no longer in Southern territory but in Northern-occupied land.

Perry glanced at Hunter, then back at the men below. He had to have a doctor. If she couldn't tell which side he was on, neither could they. The fact that she'd found him hiding should be strong evidence to any Southerner that he was a Yankee.

Scrambling like a mouse at daybreak, she moved across the loft and shoved a small pouch of valuables between two rafters. Her tiny treasures would be safer in this loft than on her body. Then, with a sigh of resolution, she lifted the ladder and shoved it through the opening before she had time to change her mind. Blue or gray, Hunter needed help.

As the ladder hit the floor with a thud, the three men bolted into a defensive action. They moved swiftly and cautiously, with catlike grace. Each showed the skilled training one obtains only with years of practice and war. They wielded their weapons as if the metal were an extension of their arms. The trio seemed more like animals of prey than men. Perry pulled her hat low and set her mind to enlisting their help.

All three were staring, guns cocked, as Perry slowly descended the ladder. Her own personality vanished like an actor's must as he steps into a role with each curtain's rising. "You dirty Yanks haven't started killin' kids yet, have ya?" Perry's voice was low and rough. "Y'all wouldn't want to kill me, anyway. I've done you blue bellies a favor."

She reached the bottom of the ladder, squared her shoulders in the oversize jacket, and faced the men with all her mustered bravery. She kicked at the dust, as she'd often seen young boys do when they spoke to their elders around the churchyard. Perry didn't look the men in the face for fear one might suspect her gender. She cleared her throat. "Like I say, I done you boys a big favor, and I'm hopin' you'll be grateful."