"Do you think Modesto wouldn't be in as much pain if you'd been shot, too?"

"Yes," he shouted, and slammed his fist into the locker directly beside him. The noise exploded in the silent hallway like a cannon shot, echoing off the sides.

For sure they'd be found now. Brynn closed her eyes and inhaled a deep, calming breath. Emilio didn't want her help, didn't need her.

"I'm sorry this happened to you, Emilio," she said softly. "So very sorry." Knowing he wouldn't accept her help, she turned and started back to her classroom.

"I ran."

She paused. So that was what this was all about. Emilio thought himself a coward because he'd deserted his friend and saved his own life.

Brynn turned back and squatted next to him. Her legs ached before she spoke. "I would have run, too. It was probably what saved you from being shot as well."

Emilio said nothing.

"Do you think Modesto wouldn't have tried to escape had you been the one hit first?"

Again Emilio didn't respond.

"You acted instinctively," Brynn tried again. "You had nothing with which to defend yourself. The option had been taken away from you."

A parched cry worked its way through his throat, and he buried his face in his arms with a muffled sob.

Brynn longed to touch him, but she was afraid that her comfort was the last thing he sought. Because her muscles were cramping, she placed her knees on the cold floor.

"There's no shame in what you did," she whispered.

His shoulders shook, and unable to watch him and do nothing, Brynn braced her hand against the curve of his shoulder.

The pain, the doubt, the fears and self-recriminations, broke like a fire hydrant inside him. His shoulders shook violently with uncontrollable sobs. One after another tumbled from his lips until his cries became those of an injured animal.

Kneeling at his side, Brynn gently tucked his head against her breast and held him. Gently she rocked back and forth, fighting emotion while the pain poured from Emilio Alcantara's heart.

"Will you be seeing Trey this afternoon?" Michelle asked Jenny.

"I don't know." They hadn't made plans to get together, and she had to work later in the day. She'd told him her schedule and had expected to hear from him. Thus far she'd been disappointed.

Michelle wandered into their living room, a plastic trash bag in hand. She picked up an empty wine bottle and tossed it inside. "Your friend certainly generated a lot of interest."

Jenny had noticed that much herself.

"I had to tell Julia Leonard to wipe the drool off her chin."

Jenny smiled.

"That guy's a hunk, girl. How come you never mentioned how handsome he is? It's like he walked in directly from the range. Someone asked me if he'd left his horse parked outside." Michelle ditched a paper plate in the trash bag. "There was something else I noticed."

"What's that?" Jenny asked, tossing a beer can into the accumulated garbage.

"He only had eyes for you."

"I've known Trey LaRue nearly all my life," Jenny explained.

Michelle straightened and studied Jenny for a couple of moments. "By the way, what kind of name is Trey, anyway? It sounds like it's French or something."

"His real name's Mark."

"Mark? How'd his family get Trey out of that?"

"His grandfather's name was Mark and his father's name was Mark, and when he was born the story goes that there were so many Marks floating around, they decided to call him Trey."

"Oh, I get it now. Trey for the third Mark," Michelle murmured.

"Right." Jenny returned to picking up the clutter left over from the party.

"Are you going to marry him?" her roommate shocked her by asking next.

"Marry him?"

"Why not?" Michelle asked flippantly. "It's as clear as melted snow the guy's in love with you. When I first met him I thought it was rather sweet of him to travel all this way to see you. It's a definite boost to a woman's ego to have a man from her past idolize her. I could certainly do with a couple of men like Trey myself."

"He's never once mentioned marriage to me, nor will he." Jenny's reply was defensive, and she knew it.

Michelle's eyebrows flirted with her hairline. "You'd be tempted to accept his proposal if he did, wouldn't you?"

"Don't be ridiculous." But she wasn't nearly as confident as she sounded. She didn't know what she'd say if Trey proposed. One thing was certain: she didn't like the turn their conversation had taken. It hadn't bothered her when Michelle mentioned the open curiosity of their friends toward Trey. It hadn't hurt her pride any to have Trey fend off the friendly advances made by the more aggressive of her peers. Frankly, Jenny didn't blame her friends. Trey had the same overwhelming effect upon her senses.

The few kisses they'd shared before being interrupted had haunted her. She wanted him to kiss and touch her again just so she'd know what they'd shared had been as good as she remembered.

"Can you honestly picture someone like Trey living in New York?" she asked Michelle heatedly. "Within a month he'd go stark, raving mad. Trey's the type of man who needs plenty of wide-open space."

"If he loved you ..."

"No." Jenny wouldn't consider it. Besides, it was a moot point. The very idea that he'd propose was ludicrous. He was in town only a few days, exactly how many he had yet to tell her. When he left she'd ride out to the airport with him and see him off. But the mere thought of Trey heading back to Montana produced an emptiness she couldn't shake.

"Jenny?" Michelle broke into her musings.

She smiled weakly and resumed her task, but her mind wasn't on it.

"Of course if you married Trey, you wouldn't necessarily need to live in New York. There are-"

"Are you suggesting I return to Montana?" Jenny demanded. "What are you trying to tell me, Michelle? That it's time I admitted the truth, that I'm a no-talent wannabe and that I'll never make it on Broadway or, for that matter, any place else?" She was desperate to breathe by the time she'd finished.

Visibly shocked by Jenny's outburst, Michelle stood frozen and stared at her.

Jenny sagged into the chair. "I didn't mean that."