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Page 42
strapped to his back. His shirt had words and symbols on it: L.A. Rams. She had never seen a shirt decorated that way before. Rams . . . was he a shepherd? But where, here in the desert, could he support his flock?
The shirt clung to every bulge and sinew as if it were wet. A shiver ran through herof fear and of something else. Surely she could not be physically attracted to this man who wore his clothing so indecently snug.
Where had he come from, way out here in the middle of the desert? He did not look Indian. Was he not a shepherd but a prospector? Was he from some other wagon train? She glanced around, but she saw no horsenot even her own, she realized in dismay.
As she turned back to the man, she looked up into the vast depths of his angry gray eyesand beyond them as, suddenly, a premonition of terrible danger stabbed through her. Icy claws ripped at her spine as a drape of fiery red closed over her eyes, her nose, choking her, suffocating her, warning her of . . . what?
She nearly screamed. She wanted to stand, to flee, but she could not move.
In a moment the feeling was gone. She blinked, noting how ragged her breathing had become. She sat very still until she felt more composed, aware that the man, again kneeling beside her, was staring at her.
What had that terrible sensation meant? She knew it was an omen. It had been different from any vision she had ever experienced, yet even

 
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