Wyoming Strong

Yes.

Holding each other together, he added, with another lol.

She returned the laugh, and smiled to herself. BRB, she wrote, gamer’s slang for “be right back.” I need coffee.

Good idea. I’ll make some and email you a cup, he wrote.

She chuckled to herself. He was good company. She wondered who he was in real life, if he was a man or a woman or even a child. Whatever, it was nice to have someone to talk to, even if they only talked in single syllables.

He was back before the queue popped. We should get one of those chat programs like Ventriloquist, he commented, so that we can talk instead of type.

Her heart almost stopped. No.

Why?

She bit her lower lip. How could she tell him that it would interfere with the fantasy if she brought real life into it? That she didn’t want to know if he was young or old or female.

You’re frightened, he wrote.

She hesitated, her hands over the keyboard. Yes.

I see.

No, you don’t, she replied. I have a hard time with people. With most people. I don’t... I don’t like letting people get close to me.

Join the club.

So in a game, it’s sort of different, she tried to explain.

Yes. There was a hesitation. Are you female?

Yes.

Young?

Yes. She paused. Are you male?

There was no hesitation at all. Definitely.

She hesitated again. Married?

No. And never likely to be. Another pause. You?

No. And never likely to be, she replied, adding a smile.

Do you work?

And now, time for the lies. I cut hair, she lied. What do you do?

There was a hesitation. Dangerous things.

Her heart skipped. Law enforcement? she typed.

There was a howl of laughter. How did you get there?

I don’t know. You seem very honest. You never try to ninja the loot when we do dungeons. You’ll stop to help other players if they get in trouble. You’re forever using in-game skills to make things for lower level players. Stuff like that.

There was a long hesitation. You’re describing yourself, as well.

She smiled to herself. Thanks.

Damaged people, he mused. Holding each other together.

She nodded. She typed, It feels...sort of nice.

Doesn’t it?

There was a new warmth in the screen. Of course, they could both be lying. She didn’t work, she didn’t have to, and he might not be in law enforcement. But it didn’t matter, since they were never likely to meet in person. She wouldn’t dare try. She’d had too many false starts in her young life, trying to escape the past. She would never be able to do it. This was all she could hope for—a relationship online with a man who might not even like her in the real world. But it was strangely almost enough.

Time to go, he said, as the Join Battle tag came up.

After you, she typed back. Which was a joke; since they were a group, they entered together.

* * *

SHE WAS SITTING in the park, feeding the pigeons. It was a stupid thing to do, the birds were a nuisance. But she had bread left over from a solitary lunch, and the birds were comfortable, cooing around her feet as she scattered crumbs.

She was wearing a green V-necked pullover sweater with jeans and ankle boots. She looked very young with her long hair in a braid down her back and her face clean of makeup except for the lightest touch of lipstick.

Wolf Patterson stared at her with more conflicting emotions than he’d ever felt in his life. She was two different people. One was fiery and temperamental and brilliant. The other was beautiful and damaged and afraid. He wasn’t sure which one was the real Sara.

He’d felt guilty at the way he’d snapped at her at the ballet. He hadn’t meant to. The memories had eaten at him until he felt only half-alive. Just knowing Ysera was out there, still plotting, made him uneasy. With the memory of her came others, sickening ones, that Sara reminded him of.

She felt eyes on her and turned her head, just slightly. There he was, a few feet away, standing with his hands in his pockets, scowling.

It fascinated him to see the way she reacted. Her lithe body froze in position with crumbs half in and half out of the bag she was holding. She just looked at him, her great black eyes wide with apprehension.

He moved closer. “A deer I shot once looked just like that,” he remarked quietly. “Waiting for the bullet.”

She flushed and dropped her eyes.

“I don’t hunt much anymore,” he remarked, standing beside her. “I hunted men. It ruins your taste for blood.”

She bit her lower lip, hard.

“Don’t do that,” he said in the softest voice she’d ever heard him use. “I won’t hurt you.”

She actually trembled. She managed a faint laugh. How many times in her life had she heard that from men who wanted her, hunted her.