As he backed his big four-wheel drive out of the parking space, he asked in a stiff voice, “Are your previous brushes with the law for fighting?”

I took a deep breath and forced my tense muscles to relax. “No. I’ve only been in two fights I started myself, and one was with Danni. So thank you for getting me out of that place before I did something monumentally stupid.”

“You’re welcome.” He glanced at me again. “So why exactly do you have a juvie record?”

I sighed and pressed on my temples. “You know, I’d rather not talk about it. Just know it had nothing to do with hurting another person, or drugs, or prostitution, or anything like that.”

To my relief, Bridger nodded, as if he knew how much I didn’t want to talk about it. As if he knew exactly how I felt.…

“Okay, Bridger,” I blurted, feeling really bold all of a sudden—probably a by-product of the adrenaline zooming through my blood. “I need to ask you something.”

“Ask away.”

“There is this … thing … about you that’s bothering me. Something unnatural.”

He pulled the car to the side of the road, turned off the engine, and looked at me as if I’d just admitted I had a forked tongue. “What?” he asked. If I didn’t know any better, I would have said he was scared.

“Are you psychic? Because you keep doing things that make me feel like you know what I’m about to do.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well—” I paused, thinking where to begin. “When we went to your house tonight and you ran in to change. I had my hand on the door, ready to leave, and you ran out and yelled at me not to. And in the restaurant just now. You made me leave when I was about to snap. I might have pounded that woman’s face in for no good reason if you hadn’t pulled me out of there. And you changing your clothes as if you knew I felt—”

“Underdressed?” he asked.

I nodded.

Relief flooded his face and softened the fear in his eyes. “Is that all?”

“No, you do it all the time. Like the day Danni and her friends planned the attack on me. You warned me something might be up. Like you saw the future.”

“It’s nothing like that. I can feel what you feel if you are close to me, like if you’re scared, or happy … or lonely. It’s not just you—I’m like that with about half of the people I meet—though somehow I can feel you almost as well as I can feel my sister.” He shrugged. “I was born with it. It’s sort of a gift and a curse wrapped up in one. I call it my nah-e-thlai, my guide.”

“Can you give me an example of how it works?”

He leaned back and thought for a minute before answering. “Do you remember your first day at school, when Mrs. C. asked me to show you around and I hesitated?”

“Yeah. I remember.” How could I forget? “You didn’t want to be seen with me.”

He laughed under his breath and shook his head. “Wrong. You didn’t want to be seen with me. In fact, you couldn’t get away from me fast enough.”

I thought back to my first day of school and looked Bridger square in the eyes. “I didn’t want to be seen with you because you were looking at my wet hair and torn jeans like you’d die if you had to walk in with me. I was sparing you the embarrassment, and me the insult.”

Bridger shook his head. “Actually, I was checking you out.”

My face started to burn. I looked out the window.

“I learned the hard way not to judge a person by appearance. In elementary school, I could tell a lot of the kids and some of the teachers detested me because I was an O’Connell and wore nicer clothes to school,” Bridger said, his voice somber. “I’d never done anything to deserve their prejudice, yet I felt it all the time. And the two times I took Danni Williams out to dinner, I could feel her greed, and just knew she only wanted to date me because my dad is wealthy. So I never asked her out for a third date. Sometimes …”

I turned to look at him.

“Sometimes I can feel the violence in people,” he continued, “and sometimes it scares me, like tonight. I thought I was the one who wanted to pound our server’s face in, and it freaked me out until I realized your feelings were overpowering mine. I can feel evil in some people, too. That is the worst thing about my ability.” He shuddered and closed his eyes for a minute. When he opened them again, he looked at me. “The first time I saw you, you radiated fear so strongly my knees almost buckled.”

I frowned. “When did you first see me?”

“In the school parking lot, right before you gave me the shaft. You were terrified and didn’t want to get out of Mrs. C.’s truck. But then you got out. I’ve never met anyone as brave as you,” he said, leaning closer. I could feel his breath on my face as he continued. “The morning after prom, I could feel how much I’d hurt you. I’ve never regretted anything more.” He leaned closer. “You like it when I hold your hand. I can feel the heat rise under your skin when I get a little too close to you. And the fear. And the mistrust. And I know that if I kissed you right now, you’d probably kiss me back.” He stopped talking, slid his hand under my hair and against the bare skin on the back of my neck, and leaned even closer. Our noses almost touched. “But I also felt how scared you were in the restaurant a few minutes ago when I said you’re captivating,” he whispered. “And right now fear is your strongest emotion. I don’t mean to scare you.” He pulled his hand away, turned, and started the car. I started to breathe again.

“And now, I feel your relief,” he said and smiled, though his eyes were dark and stormy.

We ended up eating fried chicken from the local KFC. And while I enjoyed Bridger’s company way more than I should have, I worried that I might accidentally give something away to him, like the fact I didn’t want the night to end, or that he made me really happy. Or that I kept wondering what his lips would feel like against mine.

I tried to feel nothing.

When he brought me home, he didn’t turn off the car engine or attempt to walk me to the door.

“Maggie,” he called out his open window as I made my way through the moon-bright yard. I paused and looked at him. “How about I drive you home from work tomorrow?”

“All right.”

“And don’t be afraid of me,” he said, running a hand through his dark hair.

“I’ll try.”

18

I was awake long before my alarm went off, my body too wound up in Bridger O’Connell to go back to sleep. It was like I’d been eating bread and water my whole life, and then one day someone gave me chocolate cake. Bridger was the cake. And I liked how it tasted so well, I never wanted to go back to bread and water. But bread and water was safe. Chocolate cake? Totally dangerous.

What if Bridger could sense how I craved him?

Yesterday had been a big mistake. I was getting attached … again. No, that was a definite understatement. I was beyond attached. I groaned and pulled the pillow over my head, forcing myself to think Bridger-free thoughts, like how much fertilizer the chickens could produce in a week.

A knock at my door woke me. I pulled the pillow from my head, blinked my bleary eyes, and tried to remember why I was thinking of chocolate cake and chickens. Someone knocked again.

“Yeah?” I called.

The door opened and Mrs. Carpenter peered at me. “You’ve slept late,” she said.

I sat up and looked at my watch.

“Crap!”

I sprinted through empty halls to the deserted locker room and put on my running clothes.

Class had been in session fifteen minutes by the time I left the locker room. I pushed through the door to the track and found Bridger staring at me. As if he knew I was coming out at that very moment. A smile softened his worried face.

“Nice of you to join us, Maggie Mae,” Coach said, looking at his watch.

I walked to the gathered students, careful to keep my distance from Bridger, and dug my toe against the track. A pair of running shoes stopped beside mine, but I didn’t look up.

“Are you all right?” Even his voice made me hungry.

“I slept through my watch alarm,” I blurted, not taking my eyes from my foot.

“I guess I kept you out sort of late.”

I dug my toe harder against the track, as if watching my gym shoe rub the dirt from it was the most amazing thing I’d ever seen.

“Maggie?” His voice was so gentle, so full of concern, I had to grit my teeth and dig my nails into my palms to keep my eyes from wandering to his face. He reached out and put a finger under my chin, tilting my face up. When I met his gaze, warmth flooded me and time stopped. So much for not letting him know how much I liked him. “Sooner or later you’ve got to stop letting fear be the ruling emotion in your life,” he said.

I caught my bottom lip in my teeth and stared back at him. And then I nodded.

“Maggie Mae, Bridger, I hate to break up your precious moment,” Coach said. Bridger’s hand left my chin. “But since you were tardy, Ms. Mortensen, you’re running laps.” The whole track team was gawking at Bridger and me, and my face felt so hot it probably glowed. But before I could say a word Coach blurted, “There’s no use arguing with me, Ms. Mortensen.”

I ran.

That night, Yana and I worked the dining room at the Navajo Mexican. It was too busy to talk much, but when we were both refilling drinks at the soda dispenser, she managed to say, “Why are you being such an idiot?”

“What are you talking about?” I asked.

“O’Connell. The story is he practically kissed you in front of the track team—during class—so Coach made you run laps. Have you forgotten he walked out on you at prom? That’s totally unforgivable.”

“I know, but he’s …” As tempting as chocolate cake.

“He’s what? Hot? Rich? Smart? Smells really good?”