shot him, only there were powder burns on his own hands—" her voice strangled and she collapsed on the bed, huddled over in misery. Nora sat beside her and took her hands.
"You poor kid! And you never told Mack?"
"I—was afraid—"
"Jill, it wouldn't matter to him; believe me. Any more than it does to me."
Jill sat up. "It's nice of you to say that," she said dully, "but you don't have to. I'll go away."
"Go? Go where? Why?" Nora asked. "Don't be a fool. It's too late to make new arrangements even if I wanted to—which I don't. I'm counting on you." She added shortly because she had been deeply moved, "If we have to talk about it—but I don't think it's necessary—leave it till tomorrow."
Jill blinked, her mouth still trembling, and Nora stopped, realizing in shock what she had been about to do; she had been about to take Jill in her arms.
She did not touch Jill. By an act of will she did not.
"Go to bed, kid, you look worn out."
Jill climbed obediently under the covers, pulling up the quilt to her chin. Nora switched out the light and lay down beside her, feeling the girl's body warmth in the cold, dampish sheets. Poor kid. So that was behind her strangeness—her odd distrust of Mack, her sudden silences—as if the first men she had trusted and loved had only been trying to entrap her. Nora reached out and touched the thin wrist.
"Don't you worry about anything."
"Thanks." It was the tiniest of whispers. Soon Nora could tell from Jill's quiet breathing that she had fallen into that heavy sleep which comes on so quickly after hysteria.
Nora found herself too strung-up to sleep. Also, she was still fighting the curious impulse she had discovered in herself—to take the girl in her arms. Her whole body ached, simply for a human touch.
Good grief, she told herself, half amused and half so shocked that she had to cover it up with amusement, you and Pammy.
After a time she dropped asleep and began to dream. She dreamed she was lying in the wide bunk of the cabin at home, Mack beside her, between herself and the fire. And Mack in her dream turned and bared his man's body, his man's sex to her... she woke with an inexpressible start of guilt and shame to realize that Jill, fast asleep, had flung a snuggling arm around her, cuddling herself into the curve of Nora's body.
Carefully, Nora freed herself . Oh damn, she thought desperately. Grow up, Nora, You've had erotic dreams before this. But the tension of self-disgust remained. Mack. Mack, of all people. Your brother…
And then the real memory behind the dream came stalking out of the dark corner where she had buried it, at fourteen. The real camping trip and the long ride over the mountain trails, and the flint arrowheads they had found in the bed of the stream.
They had cooked supper over Mack's campfire, and he gave her a few sips of the beer he had brought for himself. They spread their blankets outside, where they could watch the stars. Near dawn a sudden thundershower drenched them both, and they grabbed their blankets and scooted for the cabin. They had stripped down and rubbed each other dry, and Mack had put one of his shirts on her. They drank what was left of the beer and it warmed them; then they snuggled together into the wide bunk, clinging together under the one dry blanket.
Then she had kissed him good night, and, in play, pulled him down over her bare body. For a while he was only teasing and tickling her; then quite suddenly the laughter was gone and Mack leaned down and kissed her, hard and seriously, in a new way.
"Nor," he whispered, "Oh, Nora!" and, scared and excited, she felt the hard rise of his maleness against her bare thighs.
He was hazily drunk. She felt too comfortable, too warm and happy and loving, to care; and besides, she was not quite sure what it meant. But then, with a gasp like pain, he tore loose from her arms.
"Christ! What am I doing? You're my sister!"
Cold and rejected, her heart bumping, she tried to snuggle