And Kate, whose moods usually flash across her features as gay as a spring day or as dark as a thunderhead, is still quietly reserved. She watches him evenly, doing little more than blink when he gets to the recounting of his conversation with Voodoo.

Looking at her, he might have the feeling he could dig and dig for the next one hundred years and never see light.

"It ain't much of a compliment if y'wouldn't say it t'a lady's face."

She shivers, sweat cooling in the small of her back. She unconsciously draws closer, etching absent patterns across his chest with her fingertips. Her attention drops to his collarbone.






"D'you talk 'bout all the women you're with like that?"