Nathan's Vow Read Free Page A

ability?"
    She shook her head and pointed to
the supper truck.  They began walking again.  "I don't think I was born
with it.  If I was, I didn't know it until I was ten.  I was sitting on a dock
fishing and a storm came up.  The thunder and lightning hit fast.  The next
thing I knew I was lying flat on the dock, the rain pouring down on me.  My
head hurt and I was shaking all over.  Mom found me that way, took me home, and
put me to bed.  We thought that was the end of it."
    His P.I. had told Nathan that
Gillian was from Indiana and had lived there all her life.  She traveled often
but had never moved from the town where she'd grown up.  L.A. must be quite a
change for her.  "When did you realize something was different?"
    "A few days later.  Aunt Flora
came to visit.  When she hugged me, I saw this picture of her sitting at her
kitchen table crying.  I didn't understand it.  Later, I overheard my aunt and
my mother talking.  My cousin had dropped out of high school and my aunt was
terribly upset."
    "And there was no way you
could have known that."
    "No."
    "Did you tell your mom?"
    "No. I was afraid of the
pictures when they came and uncomfortable with the feelings.  I kept it a
secret until I was sixteen."
    They reached the vending stand. 
Gillian ordered chili and cornbread while Nathan asked for an enchilada.  She
opened her purse, but he closed his hand over hers.  Her skin was soft and warm
and a jolt of desire more powerful than before stabbed him.  "I've got it,"
he said, unable to keep the husky rasp from his voice.
    Her gaze met his.  The sparks of
gold in the brown told him his touch affected her as much as hers affected
him.  She pulled away, and he let go.
    Gillian busied herself pulling
napkins from the holder while Nathan paid for and carried their plates to a
bench.  Picking up their sodas, she joined him.  She'd no sooner settled on the
bench with her soda by her shoe and the cup of chili with a wedge of cornbread
perched on the edge in her hand when the schnauzer she'd seen earlier ran over
to her and jumped up and down, finally landing with her paws on Gillian's
knees.
    Gillian laughed and held her dish a
little higher, out of the dog's reach.  "You might want supper, but I'm
not sure you should have this."
    One of the roller-bladers came
skating over, his helmet under his arm, a leash dangling from his hand. 
"Sorry if she's botherin' you.  She begs from everybody."
    The boy was about twelve.  His
spiked brown hair was matted down from his helmet, his snapping brown eyes
sparkled with amusement.  Gillian asked him, "Can she have a bite?"
    He grinned.  "If you wanna
give it to her."
    Gillian tried to tear off a piece
of the cornbread, but it slid into the chili.  Nathan grabbed the dish and held
it for her.  Smiling her thanks, she took the small bite from the wedge and let
the dog lick it from her hand.  The schnauzer gulped it down and looked up at
her for more.  Laughing again, Gillian scratched the pet behind her ears. 
"I should have known that little bit wouldn't be enough."
    As she touched the dog and rubbed
her rough coat, Gillian felt her gaze pulled to the teenager again.  He and the
dog were connected by a strong bond of affection.  A surge of energy made her
fingers tingle and she automatically closed her eyes for a moment.  A clear
picture of a dark-haired woman on a porch came into focus.  The woman was
worried.  Gillian had the distinct impression she was the boy's mother.
    Opening her eyes, Gillian cast a
wary look at Nathan.  He was watching her closely.  Should she say something to
the boy about his mother?  If she did, Nathan would know what had happened. 
Why had this vision come now?  Since she'd left Indiana, she'd felt normal--no
pictures, no knowledge she shouldn't have.
    Gillian looked at the boy, knowing
she couldn't let the woman in her mind's eye suffer unnecessarily.  "I
think your dog wants a full-course meal."
    "What time is it?"