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Wendy looked around. “How can you tell? It’s o-dark-thirty out here.”

“We’ve crested the hill above Gothic, and Bill’s headlights have disappeared. I can’t see them looking back at Gothic or looking ahead on the road. He stopped somewhere. But where?”

“Let me think.” Wendy rubbed her forehead and mapped the road as it existed outside her dream. “Is he ahead or behind? Where would he find a building to keep Hazel until Maeve coughed up a ransom?”

“Do you know the area?” Hugh sounded surprised and curious.

“Yes. Sort of. The landscape is different and most of the ranches and properties have been turned over to the state of California, but the closest private holding to Gothic has to be the old Flores family ranch. They raised sheep, but I think the Depression did them in. There should be some buildings standing empty on the property . . .”

“Where?”

“Turn around. Go back. Can you try to drive without your headlights?”

“We’ll find out.” Hugh doused the lights, waited for their eyes to adjust to the starlight and made a 180. “Now what?”

“There’s a driveway not too far from the summit.” In her time, the summit was a rest stop and viewpoint. No need to discuss that. “Let me get out and walk ahead.”

“In your heels?” Hugh asked.

“No, my friend. I need to keep my balance.” And anyway, the shoes were rattling around on the floor. She groped the interior of the door, seeking the handle, but she couldn’t find it.

Hugh reached over and magically let her out.

“Thank you.” She didn’t waste time worrying about old technology she didn’t understand. Instead, she started walking into the darkness, her hand on the fender, and Hugh drove by starlight, keeping up with her.

After two steps, her silk stockings shredded and as she walked, she unhooked her garters and stripped them off. Her instinct was to hurry, to run, to find Hazel as soon as possible.

But if she hurried, they might miss their target.

So she walked. Above them, the olive trees whispered in the breeze. Behind her, the tires crunched on the gravel . . . She took one step after another . . . and suddenly it wasn’t the main road there anymore. The ground sloughed off; her bare foot found a concrete drainage pipe. “Hugh . . .” Her voice was not more than a breath. “Turn right here.” She gestured.

He turned right and killed the engine, leaped out of the car and came around to join her.

“I think it’s not far. An old barn. An old farmhouse. I don’t know where he’s taken her, but I’ll bet he’s here.” Doubt niggled at her. What if she was wrong?

But this was the best bet, and when they rounded the corner and came out of the olive grove, they saw Bill’s car parked beside the abandoned, sagging barn.

Torn between joy and relief, Wendy started forward.

Hugh stopped her with a touch of his hand. “No. Bill could use the child as a shield. I’ll draw him out. You get Hazel.”

“Right. A plan.” She should have thought of that. “I’ll step over to the side into the darkest shadow . . .”

“Yes.” Hugh stared deeply into Wendy’s eyes. “Together, we can save the child. Together . . . we’re a good team.”

“Yes,” Wendy breathed. She was afraid. Afraid for Hazel. Afraid to wake from her dream. Afraid to be stuck in this hallucination. But Hugh felt so real, and she didn’t feel stuck. She felt as if she was alive, really alive, for the first time. Staring back into his eyes, she found herself caught up in the moment.

Sliding his hand around the back of her head, Hugh pulled her close and kissed her. Nothing fussy, nothing intrusive, but this kiss made the kiss onstage seem feeble. Since the onstage kiss had been her best kiss ever . . . weak at the knees was a phrase she now understood. This kiss brought the stars crashing down. This kiss was the beat of her blood in her ears while behind her eyes, fireworks exploded in heat and passion. This kiss made her glad to be a woman who would tonight take this man as her own.

Hugh stepped away and left her standing there, on tiptoes, head tilted up, eyes tightly closed, lips slightly open. “Here we go,” he told her, and yelled, “Bill!”

Wendy jumped to attention. Right. Let’s get this show on the road! This show business thing was getting to her. She slipped into the shadows. She waited until Bill slunk out of the barn, then headed inside, stepping carefully because—she didn’t care how long this barn had been abandoned—she was barefoot and the prickly straw was the least of her worries. She followed a single flashlight’s dim illumination. Bill had left it burning in a closed stall where, when Wendy peeked over the door, a small voice demanded, “Wendy. Pick Hazel up!”

“You bet, honey.” Wendy opened the stall, scooped Hazel into her arms, grabbed the flashlight—who knew they had them in these days?—and headed back toward the car.

They came out of the barn in time to hear Bill say in his most insulting tone, “What are you going to do about it, pretty boy?”

“He shouldn’t have said that,” Wendy told Hazel.

She was right, because even in the starlight she and Hazel could see Hugh’s fist connect with Bill’s face. Blood spurted, Bill staggered backward and righted himself in time to encounter an uppercut that knocked him flat to the ground.

Wendy chuckled.

Hazel clapped her little hands. “Bad man,” she said to Bill’s prone body. “Bad man!”

They all waited to see if Bill stirred.

Out of wisdom or because he was really unconscious, he stayed down.

Moving with prudent caution, Hugh knelt beside the body, rifled Bill’s pockets and found his car keys. He stood, walked up to Wendy, shaking his fist as if the knuckles ached. “C’mon. Let’s get this little girl home.”

“Hazel will kiss Hugh.” With the confidence of a child who had never been dropped or disappointed, Hazel projected herself out of Wendy’s arms and into Hugh’s.

Surprised, he caught her. “Be careful, kid!”

She put both of her hands on his face and gifted him with a sloppy kiss.

His body language said it all. He’d invested everything in his own son, and his son had died. Hazel, too, had been in danger, and he’d been fierce in her defense, but that didn’t mean he wanted to hold her, receive her affection, become part of her life. So he tried to do what he always did around the little girl; he tried to back away. He pried Hazel off him and held her out. “Here. Wendy, you take her.”

“No!” Hazel managed to whip around, wrap her arms around his neck and cling with all her might. “Hugh will carry Hazel,” she proclaimed.

Life is fragile, he’d said, and now in the starlight, he looked almost . . . frightened of the little girl, as if she might break his heart, too.

“Hazel’s not fragile, Hugh,” Wendy told him. “That kid is tough as nails and you don’t stand a chance.”

He began, “I don’t want—”

“Hugh will carry Hazel.” Hazel glared at Wendy as if Wendy was the usurper.

Hugh sighed and gave in. “Hugh will carry Hazel,” he agreed. He stood for a moment as if still fighting to somehow keep an emotional distance when Hazel’s cheek was pressed against his and her chubby arms hugged him with all the affection of a child for the man who had felled her enemy.

Wendy saw Hugh give in. All his defenses crumbled, he relaxed and set Hazel on his arm, as he started for the car.

“Fine.” Barefoot, Wendy limped behind them shining the light ahead to guide him. “Grab the cute guy, Hazel. You’ve got good instincts.”

Looking over Hugh’s shoulder, Hazel gloated with a large grin.