As easily as that, Sarah's pique melted. She dropped the cardboard box and hugged Sage hard. "I'm sorry, too. Oh, Sage, I've felt so terrible about this whole thing. Ever since you came to town, it's been obvious that you're running from something. I'm you're friend and I love you. I guess my feelings have been hurt that it's still a big secret, especially since I told you my deep, dark secret about Lori's father."

"I know. I'm sorry. I love you, too." Taller than her friend, Sage dipped her head and touched it against the top of Sarah's. Quietly she said, "Something bad happened, Sarah. I'm not over it yet. I can't talk about it, not to anyone. I'm trying, but some of my wounds are still b.l.o.o.d.y."

Sarah hugged her again hard, then stepped back and met Sage's gaze. "Maybe rather than b.l.o.o.d.y, they're infected. Maybe you should lance them and let the poison out."

"Ee-yew."

"Just sayin'." She shrugged, then smiled tenderly and added, "I'm here for you, Sage, if you want to talk. Although you do look better. New makeup?"

"Thank you. It's a miracle remedy for baggy eyes. It's called sleep."

Relief and affection rose inside Sage. She was so lucky to have friends like Sarah and Nic. Now she had to figure a way to square things with Ali so she could stop feeling guilty about it. Then all she'd have to do was worry about following through on her offer to babysit for Nic.

Oh, dear. What have I done?

She repeated that question again later on her way back to the lake. She'd been in such a rush to get to the beauty shop that she'd hardly had time to think about Colt Rafferty and last night. Not that she'd put the events of the previous night from her mind-she was reminded every time she moved. She was deliciously sore.

Last night had been beyond anything she'd ever experienced. Maybe because it was the first time in her life she'd allowed herself to indulge in s.e.x with no possibility of a future, but she suspected it had more to do with the fact that Colt Rafferty was incredible in bed.

The man was simply talented, period.

She was going to miss him when he was gone. He'd been good medicine for her this past week, so good, in fact, that she was glad he was leaving. So far he'd been a distraction. Were he not headed back to Washington, she feared he could be a disaster. He appealed to her in so many ways. She could see herself falling for him, and that could only lead to heartache.

She arrived home to find another gift on her porch, a bouquet of red origami roses with sticks for stems.

Grinning like a lovesick fool, she carried the bouquet inside and placed it in a position of honor-on an end table right next to the pink teddy bear. Then she went into her studio, frowned at the nightmare painting she'd left on her easel, and added it to the stack against the wall. She draped the stack with a sheet, not wanting the negative energy in her sights, then she took out a clean canvas and went to work. She chose to begin with a bright, happy shade of yellow. By the time Colt arrived at ten minutes to two, she was well on her way to creating what might be one of her best paintings yet.

"You're early," she said as she opened the door.

"I couldn't wait to kiss you again." So he didn't.

The buzz from his kiss on top of her creative high was almost enough to make her drag him off to her bedroom to have her way with him.

He broke the kiss, sucked in a breath, then stepped away. "Any more of that and I won't get to see Heartache Falls this afternoon, while it's still all frozen over. Celeste told me it's a sight to behold, and I promised myself I'd see it before I go back."

"Hey, you're the one who started it."

"Yeah, and I'd love to be the one to finish it, too. On second thought, if I want to see frozen water, I can look in the ice maker. Why don't we-"

"Cool your jets, Rafferty. Let me wash out my brushes and put on my cold-weather gear. I haven't seen Heartache Falls in winter, either."

He followed her back to her studio, where his gaze locked on the day's work. Sage folded her arms and arched a brow in warning. He grinned, a boyish but s.e.xy flash of white teeth, and said, "I have a new appreciation for fairies. This painting is vibrant. It all but shimmers. It makes me smile."

She waited a beat, then nodded. "Okay. I guess you dodged that bullet."

"When it's done, I have first dibs on buying it, okay?"

For some reason that made her uncomfortable, so she simply replied, "We'll see."

She saw his gaze flick around the room and pause on the sheet-covered stack of paintings leaning against her wall. A shadow crossed his face. "I never intended to insult your talent, Sage. You are a fantastic artist."

"Thank you."

He looked down and away, then rubbed the back of his neck and sighed heavily. "I've heard it said that an artist's work allows a glimpse into his soul. Talk to me about those paintings, Sage."

He pointed toward the stack of nightmare paintings.

Immediately Sage stiffened and everything inside her went cold. How could he ... oh no. Quietly she asked, "What do you know about them?"

He told her how he had spied one of the paintings through the open studio doorway when he came to tell her that Ali was on TV. Her stomach rolled. She felt sick. She wanted to be angry at him, but fairness wouldn't permit it. She had left the door open and the painting in plain sight, after all.

"I've never seen work so powerful. What do they represent?"

She closed her eyes. In her mind's eye, she saw children playing tag and women doing laundry and Peter throwing a baseball to a half-naked boy. When the images were swallowed by a storm cloud of red and black, she spoke past the lump in her throat. "It's private. The paintings are private. You shouldn't have seen them."

"I know." His blue eyes tender and sad, he added, "I almost wish I hadn't."

While she set about cleaning her brushes, he leaned against the wall, his arms crossed, signaling that he had all the time in the world to wait for his answers. When a full minute ticked by without a response from her, he said, "I have my own suspicions. Shall I tell you what they are?"

"Colt ..." She set down the brushes, then turned and exited the studio, turning toward the kitchen.

He followed her saying, "It's possible that the paintings are a new artistic direction you are exploring, and nothing more. That doesn't feel right to me, though. I think the odds are better that this stack of paintings and your change in profession are somehow tied together."

"Look, it doesn't matter." She walked into the mudroom and reached for her coat. "Let's head up to Heartache."

"I think we have heartache right here. Sage, I didn't get the vibe last night that you were afraid of me, but if it's because of a man, something a man did to you ..."

The coat slipped through her fingers. She licked her lips, then bent to pick it up. This wasn't the nosy investigator asking, but the lover. He wanted rea.s.surance. She turned and looked him straight in the eyes. "I wasn't raped."

He studied her for a long moment, obviously trying to judge her truthfulness. "Why those two colors and only those two colors?"

She pulled on her coat and ignored the question.

Colt didn't let that stop him. "Gotta figure some sort of symbolism. Let see ... black could be something positive, like power or formality or elegance. But the paintings don't feel like that to me. I think secrecy or mystery might fit. Or, of course, death."

He looked at her, wordlessly asking, giving her the opportunity to acknowledge the demons, but she couldn't. She simply wasn't ready.

A sad smile played about his lips. "Now, the red has a little more variety, to my mind. Red is energy and power and pa.s.sion. Love. All good. But it's also the color universally used to represent danger. Then, of course, red is the color of blood."

"Stop," she pleaded. "Please, just drop it. It's personal and private and none of your business."

He folded his arms. "Sure it's my business. I care about you. I'm your friend. I'm your lover. What happened, Sage? What the h.e.l.l do those paintings represent?"

"There. You said it. That's it." Her heart pounded. Nausea rose in her stomach. "h.e.l.l. It was h.e.l.l. I don't want to think about it or talk about it, to you or to anyone else. Can you respect that boundary? Please?"

She grabbed her hat and gloves. She needed fresh air, fast. "I'm driving up to Heartache Falls. You're welcome to come with me-as long as you don't say another word about my paintings. Any of them."

She yanked her keys off the hook beside the door. "So. What's your choice?"

For a moment he appeared ready to argue. Then he surrendered with a shrug. "What paintings? Let me get my camera out of the SUV and we can go."

They made the drive up to Heartache Falls primarily in silence. Sage's emotions rolled and swirled and bubbled inside her like a mountain stream at spring melt.

The falls were a half-hour drive from town, followed by a twenty-minute climb along a mountain trail maintained by the Park Service. Sage was so agitated that she made the climb in fifteen, well ahead of Colt, who had lagged behind taking photographs and stopping frequently to enjoy the views.

Arriving at the overlook, she grabbed hold of the safety bar and gazed at the sight before her. Before when she'd visited these falls, water had poured over the precipice, tumbling and spraying and roaring downward. This was an eerily silent waterfall of icicles. It looked like G.o.d had snapped his fingers and frozen time, literally. Abruptly. In an instant.

Like Africa. Like my life.

One minute she had had a full, satisfying, rewarding life. An instant later it was gone. Over. Silent, frozen icicles. Black ice. Ice. Cold. Death.

She stood motionless for a minute-or an hour, she didn't know-her gaze locked on the icicles, her thoughts on a hot, dusty day years ago. She didn't hear Colt approach or notice that he'd taken a position beside her until he said, "Isn't that beautiful? Look at how the sun glistens off the icicles. It's so bright and sparkling-like a river of diamonds, don't you think?"

She hadn't noticed.

"How cold do you think it is right now? I'm guessing around twenty degrees. The sunshine works its magic, though. See?" He pointed toward the upper section of Heartache Falls. "The icicles in the sunshine are melting. Just a little, but they're definitely melting."

Sage stared. Sparkling sunshine and ... yes. Water. Not ice, but a drop of water, sliding down the length of the icicle and falling free.

Liquid. Not frozen. Warmed by the sunshine and released.

Sage let out a shuddering breath and the words tumbled out. "I volunteered with Doctors Without Borders. In the Central African Republic."

He turned his head. His brows were arched in surprise, but he didn't speak. His silence encouraged her to continue.

"It was a lawless place. Dangerous. But Doctors Without Borders treats everyone. That's their mission. Doesn't matter what side of a conflict you are on. That's why they're allowed access. In CAR, our organization broadcast the mission far and wide, so the bad guys left us alone."

Colt listened, his expression interested but not judgmental, not the way her father's expression had been when she'd first told him she'd signed up to volunteer.

"I loved the work. These people had nothing, Colt, and what we gave made such a huge difference. It was so rewarding."

She couldn't bring herself to tell him about that day, the worst day, but she was able to tell him of the beginning of the end. "We were manning a medical clinic in a remote village. It was a beautiful morning. The heat in the afternoons was a killer, but that particular morning, the weather was lovely and people were happy. I'll never forget this set of twin boys. They were probably two and a half years old and their mother brought them for immunizations. They started playing a game of peek-a-boo with each other and they got to giggling. Soon they had everyone else in the room laughing."

She told him how in midafternoon, the Zaraguinas rode in looking for her. She told him about Peter and how he'd attempted to protect her and how they'd shot him.

"Your fiance," he repeated, the rounding of his eyes betraying his surprise at that bit of news. "They killed him?"

"No." She shook her head. Not that day. "He recovered, but he couldn't stop them from taking me that day." And I couldn't save him later.

She remembered Peter, tall and lean and blond. So smart, so dedicated. Such pa.s.sion for the mission. And for her.

She closed her eyes and when Colt moved behind her, wrapped his arms around her in a comforting embrace, she found the strength to continue. "They took me to another village, their stronghold. My reputation had preceded me because their leader, Colonel Ban Ntaganda, wanted me."

His voice tight and pained, Colt said, "Aw, Sage."

She realized then that he hadn't believed her before. Typical male. Although that wasn't fair. Peter had thought the same thing because, after all, they'd been living in the rape capital of the world. "Not rape. That's not what he wanted. They were kidnappers and-"

"You were a hostage? Held for ransom?"

"Not me." She shook her head. "The children. See, the people in the area were nomads, cattle keepers, and the bandits targeted their children because parents could sell their livestock to raise ransom money."

"That's evil." Colt's eyes glittered with anger and disgust. "Those poor kids."

"What happened that time was that a father had already sold his cows when Ntaganda kidnapped his children. The poor man had no way to pay the ransom and Ntaganda killed the kids. Right in front of their father."

Colt blew out a heavy, heavy sigh. "You saw this?"

"No. But it affected me. You see, the father went crazy. He somehow managed to get hold of a gun and he shot Ntaganda."

"And you were a surgeon," Colt said, finally getting it right.

She turned in his arms. Staring up at him, she confessed her horror. "I saved his life, Colt. He was an evil, evil man. I saved him. I never thought twice about it. I didn't think about those children or their father. I operated on the man, removed the bullet, cleaned the wound, gave him antibiotics, and told him how to avoid infection. I saved him, Colt."

"Ah, baby." He brushed the hair away from her face. "Of course you saved him. You're a doctor. That's what you did. You treated the sick and the injured. You took an oath. You'd have saved anyone who was bleeding to death."

Her throat tight, she murmured, "He was evil."

"Yeah, and he'd have killed you, too, had you refused to treat him." He met her gaze, his smile sad. "I'm sorry, honey. I'm so, so sorry. I know that has to be a heavy burden for you to bear."

And I've only told you part of it.

"I couldn't do it anymore. So I came here. To paint. To try to pick up the pieces."

"I understand. I do." He closed his eyes and held her tight, resting his chin atop her head. "I've seen some terrible things in my work. I deal with the aftermath of horror. You lived it, didn't you?"

"Yes," she whispered. Even more than you know.

He did understand, Sage realized, at least a little bit. That's why he listened and didn't judge. Didn't tell her to forget. He simply let her talk. It was a connection she'd been able to make with him alone.

"You know, honey, even before I got to know you, I knew I'd like you. You're beautiful, talented, smart, witty, so s.e.xy that you make my teeth ache. What I didn't realize was how much I'd come to respect and admire you."

She shrank from the praise. "Why? I quit medicine."

"You didn't quit anything. I suspect Nic Callahan and her babies would agree. Look, you channeled your talents in a new direction. You are still contributing to people's lives and the greater good."

She laughed bitterly. "With b.u.t.terfly paintings?"

"By bringing beauty into the world. That's nothing to dismiss, Cinnamon."

She burrowed her head against him. "I began painting as therapy. Light and bright and happy-that's what I needed to combat all the darkness inside me. Those paintings started out as my anchors so that I wouldn't get lost in the ugliness. Then, well, people liked them and they became my job."

Sighing, she added, "They've lost their mojo. Painting b.u.t.terflies and fairies and rainbows no longer holds off the black-and-red storm."

He hugged her tight. "I'm so sorry. Sometimes, baby, a storm needs to run its course. You just hang on and weather it as best you can and know that someday it'll pa.s.s. You'll know it in your bones. In the meantime ..."

He waited until she looked up at him. "Throw in a unicorn amongst the fairies and the b.u.t.terflies. He can use that horn of his to slay your dragons."

Now her laugh was genuine. Somehow, telling him had made her feel better. "You're ridiculous."