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the woman, slipped the bridle from Cloud’s massive head and ran a rough hand over the animal’s neck. “Go home, boy.” The big horse trotted for the open barn door and Jesseclamped both arms around his unwelcome guest and did the same, running for the shelter of the house.
    Her head fell back; the heavy rain beat down on her upturned face and he cursed softly, cupped her head and brought her face to his shoulder.
    Thunder snarled; lightning sliced through the sky, sizzling like cold water hitting a hot griddle.
    No question, it was going to be a long day.
    He took the wide steps to the porch fast, shifted the woman’s weight to free a hand so he could throw open the massive oak door. Not that there was all that much weight to shift. She was a skinny thing. Okay. Not skinny. The rain, his check of her earlier, the way she’d fit into his arms, had made it obvious she had all the requisite soft, curving parts.
    As if that mattered a damn.
    He stepped quickly inside the oak-floored foyer, kicked the door shut behind him. The sound of the rain lessened, but the thunder growled like a wild beast seeking its prey.
    He went straight for the living room. His unwelcome guest was still out. And now she was trembling. No surprise there. The rain had soaked her to the bone. He had to warm her before hypothermia set in.
    There was a stack of newspapers on the long white sofa. He swept them to the floor and put her down on the sofa, grabbed the old patchwork quilt that hung over the sofa’s back and covered her with it.
    “Hey,” he said. “Cummings. Open your eyes.”
    She gave a low moan. Well, that was a start.
    “Come on,” he said sharply. “Look at me.”
    A faint flutter of her lashes. That was all. Damn it, he thought furiously. Why couldn’t she have climbed somebody else’s pile of rocks? Gone after some other supposedly sacredledge? The pictographs, the legend of the Blackwolf stones, were hardly the only ones out there.
    She moaned again. Turned her head from side to side. Whispered something. He bent closer, tried to make it out. No, maybe?
    “No, what?” he said.
    She didn’t answer. She was still out. And, hell, she looked as fragile as his mother’s bone china dinnerware.
    A muscle knotted in his jaw.
    Where was the tough, don’t-screw-with-me babe who’d faced him on the ledge? He didn’t want her fragile, didn’t want her helpless. He didn’t want to be responsible for her.
    He didn’t want to be responsible for anyone, ever again.
    If only he hadn’t given in to that stupid desire to ride to the canyon and see the solstice one final time. If only he’d stayed here, right here, because what in hell did the canyon or the solstice or any of it matter? If only. If only…
    “Stop it,” he said out loud.
    A man did what he had to do. Life’s great lesson, he thought bitterly, even if you were dealing with a trespasser, a thief…
    Or a woman.
    This one, at least, would be gone by tomorrow.
    Jesse stood straight, headed quickly for the kitchen, grabbed a towel from the rack next to the sink and dried his naked arms and chest. He was chilled, too, his jeans soggy with rainwater, but first things first. Deal with the woman. Get her out of those wet clothes, dry her, get her conscious enough to drink something hot and sweet. The idea was to elevate her core temp, keep it from sliding to the danger point.
    And call the doctor.
    By the time he arrived, the woman would be okay, but the doc could check her over, just to play it safe. And he couldtake her back to town with him. To a motel. To the hospital. Who cared where he took her?
    He grabbed the phone, started to dial the number—and realized the thing was dead.
    “Damn it!”
    Of course the miserable hunk of plastic was dead. Heavy rain, lightning, high winds, for all he knew a grizzly rubbing its ass against one of the telephone poles was more than enough to take down the phone lines. It happened with regularity.
    Besides, what good would a call