The Survivors: Book One

Marc wanted to pick up the mic, wanted to tell her how happy he was she'd called, but resisted. This was not the time or place, and not only because of anyone that might be listening. He had to get himself under control first. His mind flashed back to the image of her bathed in firelight, no longer the innocent young girl of his dreams but a full, rounded woman. He felt the pain keenly in his heart. Slender curves, a pale, flawless face, midnight black hair…it was suddenly easy to remember how silky it had felt under his trembling young fingers.

One single, unforgettable weekend fifteen long years ago, and he had never gotten close to it again. The occasional barracks bait he'd succumbed to had been blue-eyed, with long dark hair and he had loved them in the dark. Searching for what he'd lost, he was always unsatisfied and regretful when it was over. Seeing Angie for just these few minutes had reminded him of that, of how lonely he'd been, and unless he could hide it, she would know too. He'd never gotten over her.

Nerves began to settle onto Angela as the miles slowly passed, and she found herself hoping he would keep going all night. She was more than grateful for the rescue, but she had expected to have at least one more day to figure out what to say to him. What she needed was dangerous and she was crazy to think she could guilt him into it with something that had happened so long ago. It would never hold him through all they would face.

"Then just tell him the basics and let him make his own choices," the Witch advised her, and Angela tried to relax. That's exactly what she would do and hope the rest would take care of itself.

"Start with how good he looks," the old Angela ordered, and while she pushed the idea away with a grimace, the image remained vivid.

Her dreams had kept some things alive in her memory - like the shorter, feathered black hair, those dark, sexy blue eyes, an his full, pouty lips - but she had forgotten about his hard, tanned skin and the way a couple days stubble was so attractive on him. He looked like a modern day cowboy now, with wider shoulders and lean hips inside dusty jeans and scuffed boots. He wore a wide-brimmed, faded black hat, and of course, there was the outline of dog tags beneath his shirt and long black trench coat. He also sported a gun on each hip, crisscrossed gun belts accenting the great shape he was in.