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  “True, but needlessly squandering my capital doesn’t make good business sense.”

  “It’s dead you’ll be if you’re behind the wheel of a car when a sicht veesion blinds you!”

  Aislinn MacDuff had lived in the States for most of her adult life and had lost nearly all her Scottish accent. She backslid only when she grew extremely upset or angry. The fact that she’d used the phrase sicht vession, a Scottish term for vision, suggested just how agitated she was.

  Loni sank onto a chair. “Maybe I’m overreacting and it won’t happen again.”

  “Nonsense. This man, Clint Harrison—”

  “Harrigan,” Loni corrected.

  “Harrigan, then. He’s clearly someone you were destined to meet.”

  “Gram, you need to calm down. Getting upset this way isn’t good for your heart.”

  “My heart is perfectly fine.” Even so, Aislinn took an audible breath and released it slowly. She sounded calmer when she continued speaking. “You’ve dreamed of this man for years. It only stands to reason that you’re linked to him in some way we can’t comprehend. I think that’s why you’re having visions without touching anything to bring them on—because the spiritual bond between you is so strong and a paranormal force of some kind is at work.”

  A paranormal force? Loni cupped a hand over her eyes and barely stifled a groan. Her grandmother was a wonderful person, but sometimes she got a little carried away.

  “You’re getting worked up again, Gram.”

  “I love you, child. When I think you’re in danger, I can’t help but get worked up.”

  “I know. But I won’t be in danger. I’ll be very careful.”

  “The way I see it, you have only one choice. And I’ll tell you right now, you aren’t going to like it.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “You have to go to this Harrigan fellow and tell him what you’ve seen. Chances are he won’t believe you, and he may even toss you out on your ear. But at least you’ll have done your best to save the child. Once you’ve done that, I’m guessing the visions will stop.”

  Loni’s hand clenched on the phone. “I can’t just knock on his door, Gram! He’d see my face. There has to be a way for me to contact him anonymously.”

  “He won’t pay any heed unless you confront him in person.”

  “He probably won’t pay any heed then, either.”

  “In that case, he isn’t likely to tell many people, and you will have fulfilled your obligation to the child. Having the sight doesn’t come without some measure of responsibility, you know.”

  “What about me, Gram? I know that sounds selfish, but what about me? What about my having a life?”

  “I know you went through hell the last time you tried to intervene. I also know that your mother wants you to bury yourself down there in Crystal Falls and never acknowledge your gift to anyone again. But I disagree with her. You can’t run from who and what you are, sweetness. This situation is proof of that.”

  “So you think I should track Clint Harrigan down, tell him my story whether he wants to hear it or not, and let the chips fall where they may?”

  “That’s my advice. You’ll never have any peace otherwise. The little boy is in grave danger. When your visions are glazed with red, it always means blood. You know that as well as I do. If you do nothing and Trevor dies, how will you live with it?”

  Tears rushed to Loni’s eyes. “If I do intervene and Trevor dies, how will I live with it? I failed last time, and I still wake up in a cold sweat from nightmares about poor Cheryl. Even if I go to Clint Harrigan and he believes me, no one will be able to find the child tonight. He’s in a wilderness area somewhere. In my last vision he was wet and shuddering with cold, his only source of warmth a wet dog. If he’s in central Oregon, and I think he is, it may drop below freezing. How will he survive until morning?”

  “Leave that to God,” Aislinn replied. “You have only to believe in the gift that He’s given you and follow through, doing all that you can.” Aislinn lent emphasis to her statement with a brief silence. “God doesn’t make mistakes, sweetheart. You were born with an extraordinary ability. Don’t you think He wants you to do good works with it?”

  “A lot of people believe a gift like mine is from Satan, that I’m innately evil.”

  “Balderdash. You’re a child of God. I baptized you myself right after you were born, and then you were formally baptized later. A sweeter, dearer person never breathed, except for the Virgin Mother, of course, and she’s an impossible act to follow.”

  “The catechism of the Catholic Church clearly states that fortune-tellers, psychics, clairvoyants, and all paranormal activities are strictly forbidden.”

  “You’re not a fortune-teller, and the word psychic is a very broad term that covers everything from charlatans with tarot cards who charge by the hour to true clairvoyants who were simply born with second sight. Have you ever once used your gift for financial gain? Have you ever once participated in a séance, trying to communicate with spirits? Do you own a crystal ball or wear crystals on your person? Do you draw hexagons on the floor and mix potions in a cauldron, or make voodoo dolls and put curses on your neighbors?”

  Loni couldn’t help but laugh. “It’s a pentagram, not a hexagon, and no to all of the above. Of course I don’t.”

  “Precisely. You’re simply different, sweetie. You were fashioned from a very special bolt of cloth by God’s own hands, and He had his reasons for giving you this gift. It’s your responsibility to put it to good use.”

  Loni mulled over her options, but in the end she had to accept that her grandmother was right. If little Trevor died, she would regret her failure to intervene for as long as she lived.

  “Okay,” she said, straightening her shoulders. “I’ll find Clint Harrigan, and I’ll tell him what I’ve seen. Just know this, Gram: If it all blows up in my face again, you have to move with me to Idaho. I’m not going someplace new with no family anywhere near me. When I left Lynwood, where you and Mom are, that’s why I came to Crystal Falls, because Deirdre is here.”

  “Idaho? Why Idaho?”

  “It’s as good a place as any. Do you prefer California?”

  Aislinn laughed. “I’ll take Idaho. It’s closer to your mother.” Aislinn had lived only a few blocks from her daughter for as long as Loni could remember. “No hick towns, though. With Lynwood being so close to Seattle I’ve grown accustomed to all the great shopping, and couldn’t give that up.”

  “Boise is a good-size community. I’m sure you could shop there to your heart’s content.”

  “Let’s just hope it doesn’t come to your having to move again,” Aislinn replied. “Do what you must, and if it all goes sour, we’ll deal with it then. Just be sure to call your sister, Loni. It isn’t safe for you to drive yourself anywhere right now. In the meanwhile, my rosary beads will be clacking.”

  As she broke the connection, Loni was smiling. She always felt better after talking to Gram.

  Thirty minutes later Deirdre arrived at Loni’s house. She breezed in without knocking, her short, dark hair tousled from the wind, her blue eyes snapping. Loni glanced up from where she sat at the kitchen table.

  “I can’t believe Gram talked you into this.”

  Loni had briefed Deirdre on the situation over the phone. “She didn’t talk me into anything. She only reiterated what I already know. I can’t run from this. I can’t deny who and what I am. This is something I have to do.”

  “Does Mom know?”

  Loni had just found Clint Harrigan’s address and number in the Crystal Falls phone book. She jotted down the information and tucked the folded paper into her purse. “Of course Mom knows. She has the eye, remember? There’s not much that gets past her.”

  “Has she telephoned?”

  “No.”

  “Then she doesn’t know. She’s probably busy cooking supper. Later tonight, just about the time Daddy starts snoring in the recliner, she’ll touch something of
yours, tune in, and have a fit of hysterics. You know how she’s going to react.”

  “You’re right,” Loni acknowledged wearily. “I do know, and that’s precisely why I’m not calling her. We’ll only argue, and I can’t handle that right now.”

  Deirdre held up her hands. “You need to talk to her before you go through with this. Once it’s done there’ll be no turning back. You have a right to a life, Loni. Think of yourself for once.”

  “It’s my decision to make, and I’ve made it,” Loni replied. “Nothing Mom says will change my mind. There’s a little boy out there who’s going to die if I don’t talk to his father. How would you feel if it were Kirk or Kinnon? Would you want me to turn my back on one of them?”

  “That’s not fair.”

  “If I think only of myself, will that be fair to Trevor?”

  “Lonikins, I love you for your kind heart, and I know how you feel. I’d want to help Trevor, too. But at what cost? Do you want reporters and desperate parents breathing down your neck again? Try to look at it from my perspective. You’re my little sister, and I love you.” Deirdre flopped down on a chair, her lightweight jacket parting at the front to reveal her trim figure. “I can’t bear to watch you go through that again. I want you to meet some nice guy, get married, and have a family, not live on the run, trying to piece your life back together again and again.”

  Loni circled the table to hug her sister. “Marriage isn’t for me. You know that.”

  “It could be.” Deirdre returned Loni’s embrace, her body taut with the intensity of her emotions. “Just ignore these visions, Loni. Pretend you didn’t have them. Please, won’t you just try? If you won’t do it for yourself, do it for me.”

  “I can’t pretend I didn’t have the visions. Two people died, and a little boy may yet. Try to understand.”

  Deirdre drew back, tears swimming in her eyes. “Being your sister totally sucks. You know it? Watching what you go through has broken my heart a thousand times.”

  “That’s why your name is Deirdre Lavena, meaning sorrowful joy,” Loni replied. “And why mine is Loni Kendra, meaning lonely clairvoyant. We all have our purpose in life. Mine’s to be psychic. Yours is to feel glad and sad, both at once, because you love me.”

  “See there? That’s a perfect example of how crazy our family is, all of us cursing our kids with names that have a special meaning. Who started that tradition, anyway? I think it’s stupid.”

  “If you think it’s stupid, why’d you do it yourself when Kirk and Kinnon were born?” Loni pushed at her hair, the mussed curls springing back under her fingers with a will of their own. “And I have no idea who started it. Someone in Gram’s family, I suppose, probably generations ago.”

  “You’re hell-bent on doing this, aren’t you?”

  Loni nodded. “I have no choice. A little boy needs my help. Whether I can do anything for him or not remains to be seen. But I have to try.”

  Sprawled on his recliner, Clint was channel surfing and enjoying his third beer of the evening when his doorbell rang. Living on a ranch, he had very few callers come to his front door. A Girl Scout selling cookies, most likely. Every year he was hit up at least twice and always got suckered in for packages of sweets he never ate.

  None too pleased at the interruption, he muted the television, kicked down the footrest with the heel of one boot, and went to answer the summons. Only a little after eight, it wasn’t fully dark yet, and he was startled to see the brunette from the supermarket standing on his welcome mat. She was just as lovely as he remembered, with delicate features, striking blue eyes, and a cloud of dark curls that fell to her shoulders.

  “Well, hello,” was all he could think to say.

  “Hi.”

  Over the alfalfa green slacks, she wore a knee-length red wool coat to ward off the evening chill. Looking down at her, Clint was reminded of the Christmas season, his favorite time of year.

  “I don’t have your credit card, if that’s why you’re here,” he was quick to inform her. “I gave it to the grocery clerk.”

  “No, no, that isn’t it. I, um—” She broke off and laughed nervously. “I’m not really sure how to start. By introducing myself, I guess.” She thrust out a slender, fine-boned hand, then appeared to brace herself, as if she might receive an electric shock from the contact. “My name is Loni MacEwen.”

  “Clint Harrigan.” Clint shook hands with her, acutely aware of how cold and fragile her fingers felt. Then he stepped back so she could come inside, where it was warm. “How did you…?” The question died on his lips. He had never seen the woman before this afternoon and hadn’t given her his name. But it seemed rude to ask how she’d tracked him down. “What can I do for you?” he asked instead as he closed the door behind her.

  She stood in his large foyer, her face pale above the collar of her coat. “Actually, Mr. Harrigan, it isn’t what you can do for me, but what I can do for you.”

  “I see,” he said, only he didn’t see at all. Faintly amused, he asked, “And what is it that you can do for me?”

  Her pale lips thinned. He saw her throat work to swallow. Then she looked up, her eyes so big and blue that he almost forgot what his question had been.

  “I, um…I’m a clairvoyant,” she said unsteadily. “I have the second sight.” She held up a hand. “I know. That sounds really far-out, and maybe even a little crazy, but it’s true. When people touch me like you did today, sometimes I…see things.”

  A clairvoyant? Clint didn’t put any stock in all that paranormal baloney. “That’s interesting,” he said politely, “but I don’t believe in clairvoyants. It’s against my religion.”

  “Even so, you need to hear me out. Please. I’ve risked a lot by coming here.”

  Clint crossed his arms over his chest, thinking how pretty she was. Too bad her elevator didn’t go clear to the top floor. “Fine, I’m listening.”

  She moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue. “Today when you grabbed my arms, I had a vision.”

  This was more entertaining than anything on television, Clint decided. “Go on.”

  “I saw some people shooting the rapids. I’m not sure which river, but the raft—one of those big orange ones—capsized. The man and woman weren’t wearing life jackets, but the boy, a dark-haired little fellow who looked to be about seven or eight, was wearing protective gear, and he bobbed back up to the surface. The family dog, a big Saint Bernard named Nana, swam with the child to shore.”

  It was all Clint could do not to hoot with laughter. Who in his right mind would take a Saint Bernard anywhere on a river raft? But she was really getting into the tale, and he didn’t want to stop her while she was on a roll. “You know the dog’s name? That’s…incredible.”

  “I know the child’s name, too. It’s Trevor.” She searched his face for a reaction. “Does that mean anything to you?”

  Clint shook his head. “Should it?”

  “Yes,” she said, her voice so faint he barely caught the word. “He’s your son.”

  Clint cocked his head. “My what?”

  “Your son. What’s more, his life is in grave danger. He’s going to be badly injured, and you’ll be the only person who can save him.”

  Clint had heard enough. Grasping her elbow, he gently but firmly turned her toward the door. “As I said, Ms. MacEwen, this is all terribly interesting, but I don’t have a son. I’ve never even been married.”

  She braced against the pull of his hand. “You do have a son, Mr. Harrigan. We both know children can be conceived outside of wedlock, and sometimes the biological father is never notified. I think the mother’s name was Sandra. That’s what came to me, anyway. Did you ever date a woman named Sandra?”

  That was none of her damned business. Tightening his hold on her elbow, Clint drew open the door and gave her a firm push. Once outside on the porch, she swung back around, thrusting a business card at him.

  “Please, at least take this so you can contact me later if you cha
nge your mind.”

  “No, thanks.”

  “You have to believe me,” she cried. “You do have a son, and he’s going to die if you don’t help him. Doesn’t that matter to you?”

  If Clint had had a son, it would have mattered a great deal, but he was a childless bachelor. “Good night, Ms. MacEwen. Go home and take a Valium. If you’re still delusional in the morning, I advise you to call a doctor. You need help.”

  Resisting the urge to slam the door in her face, Clint settled for firmly shutting it. The lady was crazier than a loon. Visions? He had to give her high marks for imagination. That was quite some story she’d fabricated. The checker at the supermarket had it right: There were a lot of weird people wandering around out there.

  Still shaking his head, Clint turned out the lights and headed upstairs to bed. Four o’clock would come early. Even though it was the weekend, his horses still had to be fed and watered each morning, and the stalls still had to be cleaned. An orange raft? A Saint Bernard named Nana? A dark-haired little boy named Trevor? After stripping down to his boxers, Clint flopped onto his king-size bed and stared thoughtfully at the ceiling. He felt absolutely certain that Loni MacEwen was a nutcase. But one small detail bothered him.

  How the hell had she tracked him down? The question was still circling in his mind as he said his prayers and drifted off to sleep.

  Loni slumped onto the passenger seat across from her sister, slammed the car door, and puffed air at her bangs. “What a lowbrow jerk.”

  “Well,” Deirdre mused aloud, “I can see that went well.”

  Loni took a deep breath and settled back, trying to shake off her anger. “Believing in psychics is against his religion. He also says I’m delusional, that I should go home and take a Valium.”

  Deirdre turned the headlights on bright to navigate the country road back to town. “I hate driving at dusk.”

  Loni squeezed her eyes closed. It was so like Deirdre to change the subject, trying to give her a chance to calm down.