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By Helen A. Rosburg

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It was as if her body, her senses, had shut down completely. There was no sight, no sound, no touch, no smell. Only fear. Paralyzing, heart-stopping fear. Then animal instinct took over and she began to fight for her life. Wildly, Harmony clawed at the hand pressed over her mouth. It was becoming difficult to breathe, and the more she struggled the tighter the hand’s grip became. Harmony felt herself being pulled closer and closer to a lean, hard body. Suddenly the pressure of the restraining arms relaxed.

The burning on her tongue turned into a pleasant aftertaste. She took another sip. “That’s it. ” Anthony rose and refilled their glasses, and Harmony found herself in an increased state of wonder and disbelief. She had been kidnapped, and was now being served an excellent brandy from the hand of her kidnapper. They were going to have dinner and a bottle of wine. It wasn’t real. Couldn’t be happening. She was definitely asleep. Right. Like she had fallen asleep in the coach, and with her back against the tree.

But it seemed better to treat the situation as if it were a dream. Reality was simply too much to contemplate 54 at the moment. If she forced herself to dwell on the details of her current circumstances, she might very well do what she should have done in the woods and run away screaming at the top of her lungs. Then Anthony’s fingers brushed hers as he held the bottle over her glass and Harmony had a whole new problem to worry about. The sensation at the origin of the touch was like the first taste of the brandy on her tongue.

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