Part 14 (2/2)

”If that's hate, I want lots of it,” he said.

”Me, too.”

Again, she pressed herself against him.

Thurlow felt his blood pounding. He pulled away with an abrupt, defensive motion.

”Sometimes I wish you weren't so d.a.m.ned Victorian,” she said. ”But maybe I wouldn't love you then.” He brushed a strand of the red hair away from her cheek. How faintly glowing her face looked in the light from the bridle trail lamps behind him. ”I think I'd better take you home . . . to Sarah.”

”I don't want you to take me home.”

”I don't want you to go home.”

”But I'd better?”

”You'd better.”

She put her hands against his chest, pushed away.

They got into the car, moving with a sudden swift embarra.s.sment. Thurlow started the engine, concentrated on backing to the turn-around. The headlights picked out lines of crusty brown bark on the trees. Abruptly, the headlights went dark. The engine died with a gasping cough. A breathless, oppressive sensation seized him.

”Andy!” Ruth said. ”What's happening?”

Thurlow forced himself to turn to the left, wondering how he knew where to look. There were four rainbow glows close to the ground, the tubular legs and the green dome just outside the grove. The thing hovered there, silent, menacing.

”They're back,” he whispered. ”Right there.” He pointed.

”Andy . . . Andy, I'm frightened.” She huddled against him.

”No matter what happens, you don't hate me,” he said. ”You love me. Remember that. You love me. Keep it in your mind.”

”I love you.” Her voice was faint.

A directionless sense of anger began to fill Thurlow. It had no object at first. Just anger. Then he could actually feel it trying to point at Ruth.

”I . . . want to . . . hate you,” she whispered.

”You love me,” he said. ”Don't forget that.”

”I love you. Oh, Andy, I love you. I don't want to hate you . . . I love you.”

Thurlow lifted a fist, shook it at the green dome. ”Hate them,” he rasped. ”Hate b.a.s.t.a.r.ds who'd try to manipulate us that way.”

He could feel her shaking and trembling against his shoulder. ”I . . . hate . . . them,” she said.

”Now, do you believe me?”

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