“That would be a novelty,” she said with a shaky laugh. “I don’t think you’ve ever asked anyone for permission to do anything.”

“Then this will be memorable.”

Ginny’s eyes widened. He sounded so serious. If it was anyone but Steve…

As if sensing her skepticism, his mouth quirked upward in a faint smile. “A new beginning, Ginny. Don’t you think it’s time we tried something different? Nothing else had worked in the past.”

Firelight was reflected in the deep blue of his eyes, diffusing the shadows. Drawn by powerful emotion, trembling with the need to be close to him and the fear that still lay just beneath the surface, Ginny put out her hand.

Steve’s fingers were warm and solid as he curved his hand around hers. He held her firmly but not tightly, and when she withdrew her hand he didn’t try to hold on.

“Ginny, fear won’t end until you face it, until you conquer it. I know.”

“You can’t know! You can’t know how terrifying it is to feel so vulnerable, to feel as if it could happen again at any time! That I’m helpless to prevent it.”

He studied her, his eyes dark and unfathomable. “Tomorrow I will teach you how to use a gun.”

“I know how to shoot.”

“Yes, but you should know how to hit what you’re aiming at. There’s a difference.”

Despite her nervous confusion, she smiled. “Trust you to put things in perspective.” She paused, then added, “Do you think knowing how to shoot will make me feel safer?”

“It will make me feel safer,” he said dryly, and when his eyes crinkled slightly at the corners, she found herself laughing at him.

“If improving my aim makes you feel better, then I’ll make the sacrifice, I suppose.”

“Ever the martyr, green-eyes.”

This was safer ground, a familiar banter that put her back on solid footing. Ginny’s tension eased.

By the light of the fire, with blankets spread upon a cushion of moss, they ate their evening meal, the customary beans replaced by a delicious stew Steve had thrown together in the huge iron pot over the open fire. Fresh vegetables were scarce, but there was usually an abundance of fresh meat. Ginny had learned long ago how to cook decent meals over an open fire, usually frijoles and corn tortillas.

Relaxed, she sat with her legs curled beneath her, leaning on a thick wad of blankets propped against a rock. The night sounds grew louder, only slightly muffled by the constant din of falling water. The air was crisp and damp enough for her to pull an edge of the blanket around her shoulders.