Hatfield and McCoy by Heather Graham Page B

kiss as his lips suddenly and passionately covered hers.
    Lightning seemed to strike. Julie might have heard thunder crashing across the heavens.
    Heat, startling, sweet, astounding, swept in her and throughout her.
    He started to raise his lips, started to pull away.
    But he did not …
    His mouth settled more firmly on hers, and his arms wound around her. A searing pressure forced her lips to part for his. The amazing fever held her still in his grip, responding almost savagely to his touch, tasting his mouth, savoring the feel …
    Oh, no! This just couldn’t be right. She wanted to go on and on.
    She barely knew him.
    No, she had met him in a dream.
    Demon or lover?
    She didn’t know. All she did know was that the electricity was nearly more than she could bear, that she had never felt like this about any man, anywhere, be it real or in a dream. And it was wrong. He didn’t even believe in her …
    But she didn’t pull away. He was the one to do so, his arms still around her, his eyes a silver fire as they stared into hers.
    â€œNow this—is madness!” he said hoarsely.
    Julie pulled furiously away from him. They were alone with an open grave site and dozens of broken-down tombstones. Voices were growing faint in the distance.
    â€œYes, it is. You don’t even like me, do you?” Julie accused him.
    â€œI never said that—”
    â€œWell, it is certainly extreme madness,” Julie insisted. “The moon is out, that’s my only excuse. Really. A handshake would have sufficed!” Confused, flushed, dismayed, she turned, nearly stumbling over one of the old tombstones. He caught her arm. She wrenched it free. “Good night, Mr. McCoy.” Determined not to trip again, Julie kept walking. She heard his soft laughter behind her.
    â€œMiss Hatfield?”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œAm I going to see you again?”
    â€œNo!”
    Again, his laughter touched her. She spun in a new fury. “All right, McCoy, what is it now?”
    â€œAll right, Miss Hatfield. You’re the psychic. But you’re wrong. I will see you again. I’m very certain of it.”
    And smiling like a self-satisfied cat, he shoved his hands into the pockets of his black leather jacket and sauntered confidently past her.

Chapter 4
    M cCoy was right.
    Julie did see him again, and much sooner than—but certainly not where—she had expected.
    Just five days later she saw him in church, sitting just a few rows ahead of her. He was with a tall, slim woman with dark sandy hair and two children. An uneasiness spread throughout her. She hadn’t thought that he could be married.
    No, she couldn’t be his wife. Not even someone with McCoy’s inborn arrogance could have kissed her the way he did if he had a wife.
    Still …
    When the woman turned enough so that Julie could see her face, she saw that the woman was beautiful. She had bright blue eyes and fine, stunning features. At her side was a little girl, maybe a year or two older than Tracy Nicholson. She had soft, pale blond hair that waved down her back. She must have sensed Julie watching her, because she turned and her eyes met Julie’s. She smiled. It was a wonderful smile.
    Then the boy turned, too. He was about twelve. His eyes weren’t blue. They were that steel gray color, just like McCoy’s.
    So he did have a wife and family …
    No, he couldn’t have. She was certain she would have known.
    Maybe not. Inner sight could be blind at the strangest times.
    The woman, realizing that the two children were staring at someone or something behind them, turned, too. Of course, she caught Julie staring right at her.
    She smiled.
    Well, it was time.
    McCoy turned, too.
    He wasn’t in his black jacket, but neither had he really dressed for church. No one really dressed up in the spring and early summer; they didn’t want the many tourists in the area to feel awkward for dressing