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Also Available

from Second Wind Publishing

A Love Out of Time  Mairead Walpole

A Spark of Heavenly Fire  Pat Bertram

Badeaux Knights  Suzette Vaughn

Carpet Ride  Norm Brown

Colored Waters  Brad Stratton

East Light, and Charlie Cherry  Lazarus Barnhill

False Positive  JJ Dare

Fate and Destiny  Claire Collins

Hand Me Down Bride  Juliet Waldron

Images of Betrayal  Claire Collins

Indian Summer  Dellani Oakes

Lacey Took a Holiday  Lazarus Barnhill

Loving Lydia  Amy De Trempe

Mortals, Gods and a Muse  Suzette Vaughn

More Deaths Than One  Pat Bertram

Murder in Winnebago County  Chris Husom

Night and Day  Sherrie Hansen

Nora's Soul  Margay Justice

Pure is the Heart  Amy De Trempe

Redstone  George Wright

Safe Harbor  Sherilyn Winrose

School of Lies  Mickey Hoffman

Sonya Recovered  Janette Rochelle Lewie

The Medicine People  Lazarus M. Barnhill

The Runaway, and Flycatcher  George Wright

Yaweta  George Wright

White Lies  Brad Stratton

Love Is On The Wind

An Anthology of Romantic Short Stories

From the Authors

of Second Wind Publishing

at Smashwords

(and Special Guest Writers)

edited by Lazarus M. Barnhill

Published by Second Wind Publishing

Kernersville

Second Wind Publishing, LLC

931-B South Main Street, Box 145

Kernersville, NC 27284

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, locations and events are either a product of the author's imagination, fictitious or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to any event, locale or person, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Copyright Ó 2009 by Second Wind Publishing, LLC

All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or part in any format.

First Second Wind edition published January, 2009.

Running Angel and all production designs are trademarks of Second Wind Publishing, used under license.

For information regarding bulk purchases of this book, digital purchase and special discounts, please contact the publisher at www.secondwindpublishing.com

Cover design by Tracy Beltran

Manufactured in the United States of America

ISBN 978-1-935171-39-3
To Jan Linton

with appreciation

from all the Second Wind authors.

Thanks for the inspiration!

Table of Contents

Love Transcends JJ Dare

A Good Day Suzette Vaughn

A Weeping Moment Christine Husom

The Magic of the Season Sarah Bartash

Fractured Dellani Oakes

High Court of Love Amy De Trempe

Not the Last Jessie Weis

Only for Her Sherilyn Winrose

The Perfect Kiss Jerrica Knight-Catania

Puppy Love Claire Collins

100 Word Drabbles Pat Bertram

A Hunt & a Kiss Juliet Waldron

A Time for Dreams Mairead Walpole

The Best Intentions Janette Rochelle Lewie

Love Bites & Dark Knights Crimson Kildare

Message in an Oyster Shell Sam Irwin

Stormy Weather Sherrie Hansen

Love Transcends

By JJ Dare

[She writes, "True beauty blinds us and makes us helpless. It takes your breath away and leaves you gasping for air." JJ Dare is the author of False Positive, the gripping story of a simple man seeking justice and truth—the first novel of the Joe Daniels trilogy. Love Transcends reveals the scope of her literary abilities even as it lifts the reader to spectacular, moving new vistas.]

Annie's black hair whipped around her face as she stood waiting along the edge of forever. Looking toward the endless horizon, she kept her feet firmly planted as the cold wind teased her and threatened to topple her over the steep cliff.

She used to be afraid of heights. She could not re-member the exact time she had overcome this fear – one day it was there, the next day it was gone.

She used to be afraid of many things. Loneliness and abandonment topped the list. Her life up until she met him had been a series of unhappy relationships that left her feeling unworthy and undeserving of a higher plane of love.

It had all changed with a chance meeting outside of Annie's favorite gift shop. The tiny little store specialized in angels of all types: figurines, wall hangings, pictures, books – everything one could imagine incorporating angels.

Angels always soothed and comforted her. When life pushed her down into a bottomless pit of despair, the thought of angels always rescued her. Thinking of angels lifted her up, but at the same time, made her feel slightly wistful and melancholy. For as long as she could remember, the winged guardians had struck joyous and sad chords deep within her soul.

Annie was peering at the angelic figurines in the window display of the little shop when she sensed someone beside her. As she started to move away, a soft voice with a hint of sadness spoke to her.

"Do you think angels appreciate their own beauty?" the stranger asked

Annie's face flushed and her palms started sweating. She had always been incredibly shy and insecure, and talking to people left her tongue-tied and nervous. This was no different, yet ... something in the stranger's voice made her stop.

The stranger continued to speak. "We try to capture what we can only imagine, but I think we fall very short. True beauty blinds us and makes us helpless. It takes your breath away and leaves you gasping for air...like you're doing to me."

Annie could feel the blood creeping back up her neck and her face grew the bright crimson color that always betrayed her feelings. She was not used to men flirting with her; typically, she drifted into overbearing and authoritative men who believed they were doing Annie a favor by having a relationship with her.

She cautiously turned her head to see the stranger better. His gentle smile calmed her and as he held out his hand, she could not stop her own hand from meeting his.

"I'm Jack," he said as he gently took her hand in both of his. "And you are?"

Annie cleared the shy choke from her throat. "Annie. Annie Walker."

"It's nice to meet you, Annie Walker. Why don't we stop staring at these angels and go inside?"

Annie nodded as Jack opened the shop's door for her. Inside, angels surrounded them and before they left, Jack had purchased two of the most serene figurines for her.

She protested that she could not accept them, but he gently told her that it would cheer him up immensely if she did. She was used to taking orders from men, so she accepted the gift without further hesitation.

As they left the shop together, Jack asked her if she would like a cup of coffee. Stuttering slightly, Annie de-lined, citing a prior commitment.

Annie had no prior commitments. She was in between controlling men, she worked at home, and her time was truly her own at this point in her life.

She declined Jack's invitation because she was too scared she might have a slight chance at true happiness. She was afraid she would discover and experience contentment only to have it either devolve into the same type of relationships she was used to or, worse, to have it taken away. She did not want to have just a taste of something she might never have again.

As Annie walked away, a part of her wondered if she was walking away from her soul mate. How strange for her to wonder such a thing, for she had never felt that way about a man before.

Annie was in a turmoil of emotions throughout the week after her chance meeting with Jack. She kept wondering if she had made the biggest mistake of her life by not accepting his simple invitation to coffee. It gnawed at her.

He was a stranger, he could be a thug underneath his gentle manner, maybe even a criminal of the worst sort. Annie's mind raced through all of the possibilities before finally realizing that she would never know. She had missed her chance.

Or so she thought. A week after that chance meeting, Annie stopped at the tiny shop where they had met and was peering in the window like she always did. As she turned away, the door opened and the shopkeeper came out with a big smile on his face.

"This is for you. That man you were in here with last week told me to give this to you the next time you came by," he said as he handed her a small, wrapped package. "You take this, now. He paid for it and asked me to make sure you take it," he continued as Annie shook her head and backed away.

The shopkeeper placed the package firmly in her hands and quickly walked back into his shop before she could stop him. As she stood on the sidewalk debating whether or not to give the shopkeeper the package back, her curiosity got the better of her.

She unwrapped the package and stared at the pair of embracing angels. The message was clear even without the attached note.

Taking back her chance, she called the number on the note. The man with the gentle voice answered. Annie began to talk. Then, she began to listen.

Annie learned Jack had been deeply wounded by a woman who had taken advantage of his gentle, caring nature. The woman had used Jack to make another man jealous and when that man came after him, Jack had no choice but to defend himself.

Unaware of his own strength, Jack had landed a punch that sent the bigger man reeling. Shaking his head like a stunned bull, the man charged Jack again. The punch Jack sent into the man's chest stopped his heart.

Officials told Jack it had been a lucky strike that brought the big man down. They said Jack had had to protect himself; what they said did nothing to ease the remorse he felt eating away at his own heart. Because of what he had done, he felt undeserving of any possible happiness.

The damage to Jack's gentle soul had been immense and time had done little to ease the burden and guilt. His despair had been deep and his revival had been little more than a sad dream.

Jack listened for Annie's reaction. He wanted to be truthful and open from the beginning with Annie, but he was afraid he would frighten her with his honesty.

He did not have to worry. Annie was a kindred soul with her own demons to bear. The more Jack talked, the more he realized Annie might be the one to save him.

Jack needed saving. He had been heading down a frightening road of passive self-destruction. His soul was brittle and his heart was wasting away. He had just about given up.

Then he met a soul who was as wounded as he was – Annie. He recognized the tatters of her psyche in the sad wistfulness of her eyes. Before he could stop himself, he began talking to her outside a tiny shop with angels in the window.

Like a skittish colt, Annie had run from him. Tracking her down had been simple, as they both lived in the same mid-sized town. He found out where she lived, but he did not want to scare her, so he went back to the angel shop and talked to the owner.

The angelic shopkeeper was a romantic at heart. His shop was full of love and angels because the man believed in the trueness of a love-filled heart. He willingly and enthusiastically agreed to help Jack the next time Annie walked past his shop.

Like an answer to a prayer, Annie walked by a week later and the shopkeeper started the ball rolling with the package Jack had left for her. The rest became the history of their lives together.

Two fallen souls met and became one, and they found the happiness both had been missing throughout their entire lives. Over time, Annie came to know what true love meant.

More than just a feeling, Jack taught her that true love was a total encompass for another person. True love was a mutual giving and receiving, a balancing between two people who genuinely wanted the best for the other person.

It was not hard for Annie to give the best to Jack; it was much harder for her to accept the best from him. She was not used to being on the good receiving end of a relationship, so it took her a little time to accept that someone could love her totally and completely.

They found bliss and comfort in each other's arms. A joy that had been missing in their lives was now filling their souls and they felt as though the angels themselves rejoiced.

They were both content to live together forever in their own small heaven. Jack made his furniture and Annie painted her beautiful art. The most alluring and endearing painting was of a woman, not unlike Annie herself, perched on the cliff beside their home with hair blowing in the wind and arms spread out like wings.

Although she could have thought of better pictures to love, Jack was crazy about this one. He insisted, gently, of course, that Annie hang the picture above their mantel. Every night, Jack would stand for a few minutes looking at the picture with a contented smile on his face.

Life continued at a pace with which they both were comfortable. They were not rich, but they did not require a lot of money. Their needs were simple and as long as they had each other, nothing else really mattered. The years passed, but time did not diminish the love and passion they felt for each other. Life was good.

Annie had been with Jack for twelve years, twelve wonderful years. The day of their twelfth anniversary dawned bright and cold as Jack left to deliver the furniture he had created the week before. He had a special surprise planned for Annie and his excitement was such, he could barely contain himself.

Annie waved to Jack as he left. Like she did every morning, she walked to the edge of the cliff and looked out over the ocean.

She could not remember when she had overcome her fear of heights – one day it was there, the next it was gone. Instead of trembling when she was raised far above the solid earth, now she trembled to go higher and higher.

Jack came back from town while Annie was still standing and looking out over the ocean. He watched her for a moment and was transfixed by her peaceful expression. A glowing circle of morning light surrounded Annie, giving her an ethereal glow that opened up a long closed door within Jack's soul.

Jack walked toward Annie with a wrapped gift that he placed in his soul mate's hands. Annie carefully opened it and stared at the pair of angels. They were beautiful and serene with their arms wrapped around each other.

As Jack took Annie into his arms, he whispered, "Do you feel it?" Annie nodded. The film had been clearing from her eyes as she stood on the solid ground above the water. She could tell Jack was feeling the same thing.

The veil had finally lifted. Love had forgiven them and was welcoming them with open arms.

At last, Jack understood. Finally, Annie realized. Together, they were exhilarated to know the truth after so long.

Jack gently touched her face as he released her from his embrace. "It's time," he said as he took Annie's hand.

Together, they stared at the endless horizon as they stepped off the cliff's edge into forever. Their feet never touched the earth as they rose to their true destinies. The fallen angels were going home on enlightened wings.

Love had lifted them above the crashing waves and jagged rocks below, because, even those who were cast down are transcended through the power of love.

A Good Day

By Suzette Vaughn

[Suzette Vaughn is the author of Badeaux Knights, a novel of a love triangle among Renaissance re-enactors, and Mortals, Gods And a Muse, a story of an ancient love that becomes a modern passion. A Good Day is the epitome of an amazingly minimal story—two characters, one (very close) setting, a handful of days—with an astonishing emotional impact.]

Ryan sat in his truck, waiting. She would be here in about one minute. She was set better than a Rolex. He watched the little white car, just like everyday. Her dark head of hair popped out of the car and she was off toward the door. She never looked rushed, she was never late, but she also never looked behind her. He knew because he was always there.

He wasn't a stalker, just followed Abby into the building everyday. All right, that sounded bad but he did work there too.

Considering how late she arrived each day, they were always the last ones into the office. It also allowed the elevator ride to be private. Not that he ever used it to his advantage. It was just another Monday after all. She pushed the up button and he stood by her watching the red neon number change over the doors.

It would be so easy just once to allow himself to at least say, 'How are you today?'. Instead, he couldn't seem to get his mouth to work. He'd even had daydreams of grabbing her in his arms, like they did in the movies, and kissing her. The full arms wrapped around, head pushed back, leg bent kiss, that he couldn't get himself to do. Each time he pictured it, she slapped him when he released her. That in itself stopped him.

The doors opened and she stepped in, his hand over the opening so the doors couldn't close until they were both on. He pushed the number fifteen button and the door closed them in together. Then the fragrance would over take him. He'd love to know what that perfume was, then he could buy her a bottle every month, just to make sure she continued to wear it.

He glanced her way, she stared at the floor like normal. Either she was actually shyer than he, or she really liked the design of the carpet in the elevator. Of course, it was a flat brown, so he assumed she just didn't wish to speak, at least not to him.

The elevator dinged. The doors slid open. She walked out and went left. He stepped out and went right. Tuesday the same would happen.

Abby pulled into the parking lot, spotted the truck a row closer than where she parked and smiled. Too bad she couldn't seem to do that when she was near him. Ryan was tall, cute, and utterly not interested in her. He shared the elevator ride up with her everyday but never spoke to her. Not that she was any better. Then again he didn't understand that.

She walked up the path to the door, three steps inside to the elevator and pushed the button, of course all she was thinking about was concentrating on breathing. The doors opened before her, she stepped into the little box.

At least he was here everyday to distract her from the door shutting. Fifteen floors wasn't bad. Not for most people, only for her. She wanted so many times to stop him from pushing that button but she didn't even have the nerve to speak to him, let alone grab his hand.

The doors closed. He had a good aftershave, strong but not over done. Manly, really. She closed her eyes, taking deep breaths, that's how she first noticed that alluring scent. As long as there was someone in the elevator with her, the space didn't feel so small. Ryan had been sick two months ago, she'd taken the stairs up all fifteen flights and thought she would pass out around the twelfth floor.

The doors opened while she was still thinking about his clean-shaven cheeks. She stepped off and went left, he went right, and she would see him again tomorrow.

Wednesday Abby stepped onto the elevator humming to the last song on the radio. Today was going to be a good day, she didn't know why but felt it. Maybe the guy next to her would finally say, something, anything.

The doors closed, she had to look at the floor and concentrate on breathing. Even a good day couldn't stop that. The scent was softer today, but at least it was there. She added it to her focusing on the wide-open spaces she could picture in her mind. Standing on a mountain, looking over the sea, maybe a true high rise. She'd been stuck in this little town and worked in the tallest building, on the highest floor. Her imagination was her escape from the elevator walls.

The elevator made an odd noise. Her breath caught. No, this was not happening. She willed her eyes to open and saw Ryan pushing on the button.

"We stopped." His voice was calm as could be.

"What do you mean?" She was frantic but at least it was all still inside. She reached over and pushed the door button herself. Nothing happened. She pushed harder.

"No matter how many times you push it, it's not going to change the fact we are stuck."

"Can't... be... stuck." She moved back to her side of the elevator, trying to put the serene picture back in her mind.

"That's why you always look at the floor."

She looked at him. How had she missed how blue his eyes were? "I'm claustrophobic."

"Well you're not alone in here, if that helps." He smiled.

"That's normally what gets me through this part of my day." She leaned against the wall. "Not helping right now though."

He took both her hands in his, gently pulling her off the wall. "Close your eyes."

She took deeper breaths as her lids closed. His hands were strong, soft, and very warm.

"Did you know on a good day, you can stand on top of the mountains over Denver and see over the entire city? You can see all the way to where the city ends."

She pictured the view. Skyscrapers, traffic, miles of city skyline.

"When you look out over the sea, there's nothing to stop your view. You can see for as far as your eyes will let you. With soft white sand and rolling waves. Seagulls over head mixing with the sound of the water."

She breathed easier realizing his thumbs were rubbing over her wrists. Such a simple motion, like the waves of the sea.

"From the mountains in Arizona, you can look up at night and see the satellites over head. They look so close but they are way out there in space."

The elevator lurched, her eyes popped open.

"It's alright, we are going up again."

She let out the breath. "Thank you."

"Not a problem."

Her hands slipped from his and she picked her purse up from the floor. The doors opened, she went left, and he went right. She glanced back to catch him doing the same. Today was a good day.

Thursday she slowed and let him catch up to her on the sidewalk. Today, he was trying to catch up too.

"How are you today?" She asked, her soft pink lips formed a smile.

"It's a good day."

"I'll second that."

He held open the door for her and she pushed the up button. She stepped on and he pushed the fifteen. Fifteen floors, all he had to do was speak.

The doors closed and so did her eyes. He spoke.

"You never take the stairs?"

"Did one day. It's a long walk."

"Good point."

Floor five went by.

"Am I interrupting your concentration by talking?"

"No actually you're helping."

Her lips curled. Floor seven.

"I'm tempted to push the stop button."

She looked at him, the gold in her eyes flashing. "That's just mean."

Floor ten, and she was still looking at him hiding the laugh.

"If I asked you out would you say no?"

The laugh lines disappeared. "Ask and find out."

Floor twelve.

"If I kissed you would you slap me?"

She paused. Floor fourteen. "Try and find out."

The doors opened, she went left. He took a deep breath then went right.

She was biting her lip when she looked back today.

Friday they were both quiet but walked up the path side by side. She wondered if he would keep talking. Maybe ask a few more questions.

She pushed the button, very aware of him standing so close. Close enough she watched his hand go out for the space to make sure it didn't shut on either of them. Today, she watched the doors close trying not to look his way before her eyes closed.

He touched her back and she instinctively looked up at him. He stole her breath, as his lips pressed against hers.

The elevator disappeared; she could hear the clicking lights on the satellites over head. She could feel the mountain breeze. She could smell the salt air carrying the unique fragrance of Ryan.

He let her go and stepped back. Her eyes opened to find him looking at the brown carpet of the elevator.

The doors opened and she looked out at the hallway. She stepped forward and pushed the button for the first floor, watching as the doors closed.

A Weeping Moment

By Christine Husom

[Christine Husom is the author of the bestselling novel Murder in Winnebago County, a twin tale that follows a young detective and the killer who stalks her. The same attention to detail and character development the reader finds in her novels are equally apparent in the tender love story A Weeping Moment.]

She worked at the library.

She lived at the library.

She lived to work at the library. She lost herself among the books and sought refuge from the outside world inside their covers. But, she was growing restless in the cocoon of their protection.

Katelyn glanced around the nearly deserted room, if you didn't count the characters who lived in myriad of books. An older man sat at a computer, slowly nodding as he read the words on the screen. A pair of teenagers were pulling books from a shelf in the Biography section. A young mother sat between her two children, quietly reading them yet another book.

"The library will be closing in ten minutes," Katelyn announced. The mother glanced at her and smiled.

Katelyn picked up the novel she had been looking at off and on all day: A Weeping Moment by Adam Reiland. It was Reiland's third book and Katelyn believed it was, hands down, his best. His other books had reached out to her and held her captive from the first page to the last. But, A Weeping Moment was written for her. For her heart, her soul, her healing. She read the first few lines.

"There may be a time in your life when your grief has you bound so tightly you can't move, you can't think, you can't feel, you can't even cry. Then, slowly, ever so slowly, somehow, the burden begins to ease. Grief eases its grip little by little and something touches your heart. Released, freed at last, you get your weeping moment... ..."

Katelyn closed the book and flipped it over for another peek at Reiland's photograph. His dark eyes held the same emotional intensity as his written words. Katelyn was looking forward to meeting him. She glanced at the clock. Reiland would be at her library in twenty-three hours and five minutes for a book-signing event.

"The library will be closing in five minutes. Please bring your selections to the desk for check-out." Katelyn turned to put a reference manual on a cart behind her.

"Excuse me," a deep voice said.

Katelyn turned back to see him standing there—at her counter—in the flesh.

"Ahhh, Mr. Reiland. Umm, we weren't expecting you until tomorrow night."

Katelyn blushed, understandably. He was standing no more than two feet away from her and was even more striking in person. But his eyes were different—sparkling, teasing, almost. Not at all the way he looked in his photos.

And Reiland was examining her in a way that would make any girl turn red.

"And you are Katelyn Boyle?" he asked.

Katelyn nodded, momentarily panicking about having the wrong date and time for the signing. No, couldn't be, she assured herself. She had checked and rechecked ad nauseam.

The older man carefully rose from his chair and waved at Katelyn on his way out the door. The mother and her children followed closely behind. The teenage boy plopped a stack of books on the desk and the girl with him pulled out her phone to send a text message for the minute it took Katelyn to scan the books.

The only people left in the library at 8:01 p.m. were the author and the librarian.

"A case of mistaken identity," Reiland said, his full lips curving into a charming smile that highlighted his laugh lines.

"What?" Katelyn lowered her head slightly to the left, russet curls dropping lower on her shoulder.

Reiland reached across the desk and lightly brushed her hair with his fingertips. Katelyn jerked slightly. It had been a long time since a man had touched her and it was the last thing she had expected from famed author Adam Reiland.

"Ah, sorry," Reiland said, adding an apologetic grin.

Katelyn shrugged. "What mistaken identity?"

"I'm not Adam Reiland—"

"You look just like—"

"I'm his brother, Andrew. Drew."

"Oh." That explained it. Andrew Reiland seemed playful, fun-loving, certainly not as ardent as his brother.

"You could be his twin."

Andrew nodded, "So we've been told."

"Why are you here tonight, Mr. Reiland?"

"Drew," he corrected. "My brother likes to know the lay of the land before a book signing and since I don't live far from here, I said I'd do the dirty work for him."

"Dirty work?"

"You know, check out the room size, escape routes, the librarians, that sort of stuff."

"Escape routes?" Katelyn was feeling more confused each moment.

"You know, if people start booing and throwing banana peels at him."

"You're kidding, right?"

Andrew shrugged. "Let's just say my brother has become an overly cautious man the last ten years. He used to actually be fun, spontaneous. Not anymore. You've read his books?"

Katelyn nodded.

"A Weeping Moment?"

"Yes."

"He finally tells the story that changed his life. I mean it's not a true autobiography, but close. His loss changed my life, too. He lost his wife. I lost my sister-in-law and my brother. At least the brother he used to be."

Andrew paused. "Sorry. I don't know why I'm telling you this. I guess it's that serious-but-trustworthy expression you wear. Reminds me of Adam."

Katelyn looked down and pulled a piece of fuzz from her sweater.

Andrew tapped the desk. "Hey, I guess you're trying to get out of here. So, if you could show me the room and any escape routes, I will be out of your hair. Your very tantalizing, wavy, reddish-brown hair."

The way Andrew lowered his voice when he spoke the last sentence coaxed a smile out of Katelyn.

"Do that again—it transforms your face." Andrew said.

Katelyn ignored his suggestion. "I'll show you the meeting room we're using tomorrow night."

"Back to business. Any idea how many people might show up?" He followed her across the dividing hallway to a large gathering area, decorated in earth tones.

"We're hoping for a least a hundred."

"Good. Nice-sized room. No back door, but I'll tell him a beautiful librarian and I, personally, will hustle him out the front door if the crowd gets rowdy and starts throwing things."

Katelyn smiled for the second time that night.

Snowflakes landed gently on her hooded jacket as she walked the short distance to her vehicle. "Brrrr," she said, grateful her aging Buick started on the first turn of her key. It was nearing the middle of February with temperatures in the mid-twenties. Warmer than it felt that damp winter evening.

Katelyn slipped into flannel pajamas, warmed some leftover chicken and rice soup in the microwave, turned on the gas fireplace in her den and settled on the couch to watch the flames while she ate. She treasured her den. The gray and navy décor and being surrounded by shelves of books on three walls gave her the same comfort she felt at work. Dickens, Austen, Alcott, among others. And her new favorite, Adam Reiland.

Katelyn set her bowl aside and picked up A Weeping Moment for the umpteeth time that week. Reiland stared at Katelyn and she stared back. He made her want to know everything he was thinking, everything he was feeling. She wanted to look into his soul. She felt like he was looking into hers.

"I'm going nuts," she said aloud as she curled her legs under her and pulled an afghan onto her lap.

"Adam Reiland, what is it about you?" Katelyn took a last look at the author's photo and pulled the book to her chest for a moment. She opened it to the last page. Reiland had started and ended his book with the same paragraph.

"There may be a time in your life when your grief has you bound so tightly you can't move, you can't think, you can't feel, you can't even cry. Then, slowly, ever so slowly, somehow, the burden begins to ease. Grief eases its grip little by little and something touches your heart. Released, freed at last, you get your weeping moment. That's what I've been told. That's what I'm waiting for."

"That's what I'm waiting for, too, Adam Reiland."

After finishing Reiland's first novel, Katelyn had read everything about him she could get her hands on. He was born on June 5th, thirty-eight years before. He had one brother and one sister. He was on his way up the corporate ladder when tragedy struck: his beloved wife of three years was struck by a vehicle while bicycling. She died instantly. Adam never seemed to recover. He finally quit his job and started writing fulltime.

Like Reiland, Katelyn had loved and lost—Adam his wife, Katelyn her fiancé. Katelyn's fiancé had suffered a slow and painful death. Justin was only twenty-four when he was diagnosed with amyotrophic lateral sclerosis. ALS. Lou Gehrig's Disease. It was very rare at his age and an unbelievable blow to the hopeful young lovers. Katelyn begged to go through with their wedding plans, but Justin refused. He died three years later, Katelyn faithful to the end. Katelyn faithful still, eight years later. She was afraid, terrified, to look for love again and then Adam Reiland's words spoke to her. His passionate stories wormed their way into her heart and made her want to find love again—someday. Perhaps Adam never wanted to love again, but after reading A Weeping Moment, Katelyn knew she did.

She was bone tired from grieving.

She was weary from the burden of guilt of being angry at God for letting her Justin die.

She was tired of being alone.

She was sad and irritated that fear prevented her from looking for love outside of her books.

Katelyn stretched out on the couch and fell asleep clutching A Weeping Moment.

By 6:30 p.m., the library meeting room began to fill. Katelyn's heart pounded in anticipation of meeting the author she had only read and read about. She was in the hallway greeting people when Andrew Reiland came through the main door, smiling and stomping the snow from his feet. She didn't even realize she smiled back.

"Hi." He glanced in the meeting room. "Hey, great crowd already!"

Katelyn nodded, "Your brother has a lot of fans." She looked up to see Adam Reiland standing at the entrance, inspecting her. His brown eyes were so dark they looked black. The ever-present solemn expression was in place.

What is so appealing about this man? Katelyn wondered.

Andrew slipped an arm under hers and pushed her toward his brother.

"This is Katelyn ... ."

"Boyle," she finished, barely able to speak.

Adam Reiland took Katelyn's hand and stepped toward her. She was so surprised, she stepped back. Reiland's eyebrows rose in question. Apparently no one ever did that to him and why in the world did I? Was it his strong grip, his penetrating stare, his fame, his countenance? Katelyn wondered.

Andrew introduced his brother to the gathered crowd and after Adam had answered twenty or so questions, he began signing books.

Katelyn recognized most of the people at the signing, pleased Adam had drawn a standing-room-only crowd. The assistant librarian snapped photos for posterity and for an article in the local newspaper. Katelyn could not keep her eyes off Adam for more than a second at a time and he must have felt her watching him because his eyes found her at least a dozen times in turn.

Andrew moved to Katelyn's side. "Can your assistant lock up?"

"Yes, but why?"

"As soon as Adam signs the last book, we'll thank everyone and make a beeline out the door. We want you to come have a drink with us. You will, won't you?"

Katelyn was momentarily stunned. "Okay. Sure."

They met at a nearby coffee house/wine bar. Katelyn wondered what Adam would do without Andrew. Andrew kept the conversation going while Adam sat, nearly silent, observing Katelyn and Andrew chat.

For a man with an amazing command of the English language, it sure would be nice if he would spit a few of those words out of his mouth, Katelyn thought, then smiled.

There she was sipping wine with her favorite author, the man whose written words had touched her in a way nothing else had since Justin died and she was annoyed he wasn't talking.

"What is it, what are you thinking? What made you smile?" It was actually him. Speaking and smiling. At her.

"Umm... ." She couldn't say more. She was lost in the beauty of his dimpled grin.

Andrew watched the two of them with interest, for a while. He didn't want to break the moment, but finally said, "So ... . I hate to be the party pooper, but early day tomorrow." Andrew rose and Adam did the same.

Katelyn looked at her watch. "Oh, it is late. Thank you, Mr. Adam and Mr. Andrew Reiland for being at the library tonight ... and for the wine." She shook Andrew's hand, then Adam's. That time, she didn't step back when he moved toward her. "I can't tell you how much I love your books. A Weeping Moment really touched me and has given me hope."

Adam held Katelyn's hand and explored her face with his eyes, "I appreciate that."

It was Katelyn's Saturday to work and it was a long day. She couldn't wait for six o'clock, closing time on Saturdays. A few people wished her a "Happy Valentine's Day" and she politely returned the greeting, trying not to feel sorry for herself.

There was not a single customer the last hour, so Katelyn had time to catch up on some paperwork. She came out of the office behind the front counter at 6:00 p.m. just as he, the real he walked through the door. A sliver of a smile threatened to change his sober expression.

"Hi," Adam said

"Hi," Katelyn returned.

"I hoped you were working."

"Just about to close."

"I know. I read the hours on the door last night."

"Oh."

"Are you going somewhere? Have a date?" he asked.

She shook her head, "Just home."

"Live close?"

"About two miles."

"Can't be far from Drew's. I'm staying with him for the weekend," he explained.

"Oh."

"Want to go for a walk with me? With the moon reflecting on the snow, it's almost like daylight out there."

"Okay."

"No Valentine's date?"

"No Valentine," she shrugged.

They walked in near silence, exchanging small talk about winter sports, book sales, life in a Minneapolis suburb. Adam slipped his arm around her waist and held on firmly. Katelyn's heart pounded against her quilted jacket.

"Would you like to grab a bite to eat?"

"Sure. Actually, I've got a pot roast in the crock pot, if you're interested."

"A home-cooked meal? I'd love that."

Adam followed Katelyn's vehicle to her house. She handed him a bottle of wine and corkscrew to work on while she put a simple salad together. Katelyn could not remember the last meal she had eaten at her dining room table. She pulled red and white candles of various heights and diameters out of her buffet to create a last minute centerpiece. She lit the candles and dimmed the light.

"Romantic," Adam commented, carrying in the wine.

Katelyn blushed. "It's sort of in honor of Valentine's Day. I mean, since neither of us has a Valentine."

Adam sat the wine bottle and glasses on the table and lifted Katelyn's chin with his finger. "Would you like one? A Valentine?"

Katelyn nodded.

"Would you mind if we had a glass of wine before dinner? It won't spoil the meal?"

Katelyn laughed. "A crock-pot meal? It'll be fine."

They settled on the couch with their glasses. "I have a confession to make," Adam admitted.

"What?"

"When I got your invitation to do a book-signing, before I agreed, I went to your library."

Katelyn frowned. "I never saw you."

"No. I mean you did, but it didn't look like me. I have a beard and bushy eyebrows and glasses and a hat with hair sticking out of it that I wear when I don't want to be recognized—which is most of the time," he added.

"And you were in the library like that?"

"Yes." He paused before going on. "And I saw something that made me know I had to do the signing. It was more like a vision."

"What was it?"

"It was you. I could have watched your graceful little body dance around all day and all night. I loved watching your jade green eyes sparkle when you helped a customer. I tried to imagine what your hair felt like, smelled like. I wondered if your skin was as soft as it looks." Adam reached over and played with her hair as he spoke. He moved his hand to the back of her neck under her hair, then slid it to her jawbone, her cheek, then her forehead before landing it on her shoulder.

Katelyn could not have moved if she had wanted to. Every nerve ending in her body seemed to be waking up after lying dormant too many years.

"You are so soft." Adam reluctantly put his roving hand in his lap. "But we should talk. I didn't mean to get so personal so fast."

Katelyn hadn't minded.

They shared life stories and memories. When Katelyn finished talking about Justin, Adam took her hands in his. "I am so sorry, Katelyn. I wanted to ask what you meant when you said you were touched by A Weeping Moment and how it had given you hope. Now I know. You understand, don't you?"

"I think I do."

Adam moved closer to Katelyn, "All I can think about is how much I want to kiss you. Too soon?"

Katelyn shook her head. "No, it is our second date." She smiled, a smile covered a second later by Adam's mouth in a tentative, gentle kiss.

He pulled her into his arms and they held each other for a long, long time. Slowly, Adam eased his grip and pulled his cheek from the back of Katelyn head. A strand of her hair caught on his ear and he reached up and tucked it behind her own. With a hand on each of her shoulders, Adam held her away from his body, just far enough so he could see her face, taking in the minutest details, like how her right eye was a shade darker than her left and how the small scar on her cheekbone added to her beauty, somehow.

Katelyn studied Adam's face in return. His frown line gave him the look of a thinking man rather than an angry one. His chin had a small cleft and his full lips invited kisses. Adam's face was flushed and Katelyn knew hers was too.

When Adam's mouth found Katelyn's the second time, there was nothing tentative, nothing gentle about their kiss. They pushed aside the past and lost themselves in the present in kiss after kiss after kiss.

"I don't remember it feeling, being, this good," Adam whispered, tears gathering in his eyes.

"Me either." Katelyn felt a tear run down her cheek.

"Katelyn, put your hand on my heart."

She gently laid her hand on his chest, easily finding his heart with its rapid, strong beats. Adam laid his hand on top of hers.

"This is my proof. You are the something that touched my heart. You have helped release me, helped free me," he said.

"Adam, I feel like I'm dreaming."

They smiled at each other through their tears. They cried together—tears of joy, tears of hope, tears of release, tears of hoped-for love. No matter what the future held: that night, dinner forgotten and after years of wait, Adam and Katelyn shared a weeping moment.

The Magic of the Season

By Sarah Bartash

[With this beguiling story, Sarah Bartash became the grand prize winner of the "True Love's First Kiss Contest, a part of the Genre Creatives Competition on Gather.com in December, 2008. She has lived on both sides of the country, but decided to return to the middle to be closer to family. She currently freelances from Prairie du Chien, Wisconsin and hopes one day to become a goat farmer. In the meantime, she is a splendid author of romantic fiction.]

"When you look into a pool of water, if the water is still, you can see the moon reflected.  
If the water is agitated, the moon is fragmented and scattered.  
It is harder to see the true moon.  
Our minds are like that.  
When our minds are agitated, we cannot see the true world."

— "Zen Shorts" by Jon J. Murth

"He's Making a List"

Nathan Fishbrook wasn't sure who was more ready for Christmas vacation, he or his third and fourth grade students. He looked down at his list, checked it twice, then twelve times more. It was his "To Do" list of all the things he had to get done before Christmas morning, and he hadn't done a one of them yet. This was not good. Why did he always end up leaving things until the last minute?

He gazed out of the ground floor classroom window and tried to take a few deep, calming breaths. They sounded like sucking gasps, and the tightness in his chest refused to go away. There was so much left to do! And here he was, stuck handing out busywork to a group of wiggly fidgety kids who, he noted out of the corner of his eye, had taken his assignments, folded them into airplanes and origami footballs and were currently trying to shoot each other's eyes out.

A tap at the door made him turn, and the small form of the school's charismatic art teacher waltzed in. She was called Rin by the staff and Miss Rin by the students and, to Nathan Fishbrook at least, was swathed in mystery. Nathan had heard stories from his students about her kindness, her generous nature, and how, if her class was really good, she'd show them her karate skills and break a board with her fist. They also told him her second job was of a magician's assistant. He'd said only a few words to her in his time at the school and had not found the courage to ask her about that one.

A paper airplane glided past her nose and she plucked it out of the air easily. "Miss Rin!" a chorus of students called to her and she nonchalantly wiggled her finger in their direction.

Nathan, a look of concern on his face, started to rise and asked quietly, "Is something wrong?" He always thought something was wrong. It was his nature. It saved time to be in a constant state of panic.

An extraordinary range of facial emotions passed over Rin's fine boned face. She looked at Nathan questioningly, then relaxed and smiled. "Everything's fine." She put both hands on Nathan's shoulders, pressing him with surprising strength to sit down again. "How are you?"

What was this all about? There were giggles from the class, but Nathan ignored them. His pen poised over his list, he said, "I'm fine. Is there something I can do for you?" He gestured with his pen at the class. "I wouldn't want to waste the student's valuable time."

"Valuable time?" Rin questioned him as if he wasn't quite sure if he was serious. When she saw that he was, she set the airplane she still carried onto the desk. "Well, this won't take long." She leaned towards him. "What was that? Oh!" Then she turned to the class. "Your teacher has just told me that your assignment is to have a Merry Christmas! You're all excused 5 minutes early! "

The class erupted in happy shouts and cries. The cacophony of shifting desks and chairs, book bags being flung over shoulders and coats being snapped shut drowned out any attempt of Nathan's to regain control. He had to resign himself to glaring at Miss Rin out of the corner of his eye as he acknowledged the children's wishes of "Happy Holidays," and "Merry Christmas," and, from little Rainebow, a "Happy Solstice!"

Once they had left, a snowstorm of paper in their wake, Nathan blew up. "What do you think you're doing? That was very uncalled for."

Miss Rin, apparently oblivious to his outburst, asked, "Can you come help me set up for the séance?"

"The what?"

"Don't you remember the note I gave you last week? You did bring cookies didn't you?"

Nathan looked down at his list. There it was in black and white: bake cookies for teacher cookie exchange. "Um."

Before he could formulate a more eloquent response, the list was snatched from his hands. "Hm," said Rin, rubbing her pointed chin and reading the list.

"Hey!"

"Is this what's stressing you out Mr. Fishcreek?" She began to read, and Nathan felt his face grow hot with embarrassment.."

Present for Principal Parker - Book? Bake fruitcakes for other teachers. Do laundry. Visit food pantry - bring cookies."

"It's Fishbrook actually," Nathan gritted his teeth and tried again to take his list back. Rin barely seemed to move, but every time he reached up to grab the paper, she shifted just enough to obscure Nathan's attempts. Must be her martial arts training. Impressive. And aggravating.

"Here's something for your list," Rin said, and in an instant, the list disappeared in a puff of smoke and flame. "It is my duty to make sure you have a Merry Christmas this year."

Nathan let out a strangled little sound, grasping futilely at the ashes that fluttered down. "No! What are you doing; are you crazy?"

"I won't say 'you'll thank me later' but, well," she grinned again. "It's vacation, relax. Now I'll see you in a few minutes in the lounge. Be there or be square... er." And she disappeared out the door.

Nathan felt hollow. He wasn't sure if it was the empty classroom, the loss of his list, or the sudden appearance and then disappearance of the quirky woman. How dare she, a person he barely knew, barge into his classroom, excuse his class, and destroy his Christmas list? And how did she do that? He rubbed the soot of the old list off his hands and looked around the room; it was a mess that he'd have to clean up. That would be the first entry on his new list. He reached out and picked up a piece of paper and began to write from memory.

He looked up to compose his thoughts and felt a shock run through him at the sight of Rin leaning against the doorframe, her arms crossed over her chest, watching him with a look of disapproval. "No more lists," she said, and Nathan yelped as she incinerated the paper as before. "Besides, too late to start baking a fruitcake now."

And she was gone.

Nathan sat for a moment, unconvinced that he had just witnessed what his brain and the smell of smoke in the air, told him he had just seen. Then his eyes lit upon the card on his desk that had been there since last Monday.

You are cordially invited to a séance to summon the ghost of Christmas Past. Please bring a dozen of your favorite childhood cookies to eat with friends on the last day of school before vacation. Be there or be square!

"So I see you let them out early," came a familiar young voice.

The card leapt out of Nathan's hands and hung in the air for a second until he was able to snatch it back. Tracy Daniels hadn't noticed. She was turning a circle in the pile of unfinished assignments that covered the floor. "What is all this, did you guys have a paper fight on the last day? You should have invited me." She strode forward and set down a stack of tests on the desk. "Here. I'm sorry to say but there is no way I am going to be able to finish these before I leave."

Nathan, trying to refocus his attention to his young student aid, reached over and thumbed through the pages. "These are the tests I asked you to grade?"

Tracy looked apologetic. "Well, not all of them. I finished about a third, but I really need to get going. I'm catching the seven o'clock flight home. Unless you want me to help you clean this up?"

"No thanks. I don't mind. I can handle it, and these I guess" he gestured to the tests. "You should be with family."

"Well, okay. Thanks. Do you have anything planned for vacation?"

"I have a list of things I need to do," Nathan started, then thought, had a list. "Nothing major. You have a happy holiday," Nathan said, and the girl left.

As the door closed, Nathan pulled the card back out and read it over again. "I don't have time for this," he said out loud, thinking about all of those tests to correct.

The teacher's lounge of Edgar Cayce Elementary was heaped with cookies and resplendent with the heady scents of fresh brewed coffee, spicy apple cider and sweet cocoa. Someone had tucked a small CD player in the corner playing Vince Guaraldi's "A Charlie Brown Christmas." The small staff mingled and munched during the annual Last-Day-of-School-Before-Winter-Break-Cookie-Swap. Only there was one conspicuously absent teacher. Conspicuous, at least, to the one person who had pinned great hope on seeing him before she left for the year.

Miss Rin sat at a round table with kindergarten teacher Mrs. Mary Kenner and Mrs. Jane Anderson (second grade). Rin looked up for the third time in as many minutes as the lounge door opened and closed.

"Who do you keep looking for," Mrs. Kenner asked. "Your head pops up like a prairie dog every time someone comes in."

"I know who it is," smiled Mrs. Anderson. "It's Fishbrook isn't it?"

Rin barely batted an eyelid. "I gave him the invite myself. I thought for sure he'd show."

"He didn't come last year either," said Mrs. Anderson. "I think he's just shy."

Rin bit a rosette with such care that not a speck of powdered sugar fell to the holly-embossed napkin she held. She sighed and set the cookie down. "He acts shy, but he's intense."

"Intense or a workaholic."

"I'm interested in thorough people."

Mrs. Anderson laughed. "Miss Rin, you sound like a desperate housewife. I mean, Nathan is a sweetie. Don't get me wrong. I have talked to him probably more than most since he worked with me a lot last year. At first I was, you know, curious as to why a young man was interested in teaching elementary school children." She waggled her brow knowingly. "I don't think it ever entered his mind that anyone would think it strange. He's more than socially inept; he's socially unconscious."

There were some giggles at the table, and a smirk from Rin, who'd heard that story before. "What can I say, ladies," she said, "I'm drawn to a challenge."

"Well good luck with him, dear," Mrs. Anderson said. "I think you're going to need it."

"Twas the Night Before Xmas"

A few days later, it was Christmas Eve. Nathan, who had been volunteering at the food pantry, left very late. It had been a long and exhausting day, but well worth it he thought. He had helped prep much of the dinner they would be serving Christmas Day to any and every person who needed a hot meal and a place to be for the holidays. Tomorrow he'd be back, on turkey duty, carving and serving. It was a great thing to do. Especially since he didn't have any family of his own to turn to.

He still felt he had to clean his house, just because it seemed to be the thing to do before a holiday. He wanted to stop at the post office, to pick up some stamps from the machine, and he had cookies he still wanted to decorate to take back to the kids tomorrow morning. And he was tired, and tense from finishing grading his tests earlier. He felt, not for the first time, more like an old lady than a young elementary school teacher. If he were normal, he'd be out partying with old college friends, forsaking sleep for drunken revelry, or he'd have a family to visit like Tracy.

"Yeah, well, I guess that means I'm not normal. No big surprise there."

The snow crunched beneath his feet. His section of town was residential, and most of the houses and apartments were dark. There were very few others people out at this hour; all families snuggled in tight for the night, children trying in vain to stay up and wait for Santa. He looked up at the chilly winter moon, which shone bright and almost full in the black satin sky. The sight of the moon, as beautiful as it was, always made him melancholy; he wasn't sure why. And on Christmas Eve, walking by himself on the silent street, he felt a cold creeping into his heart that had little to do with the actual temperature.

To distract himself, he stuck his hand in the air, closed one eye as he use to do as a child, and looked at the glowing circle between his fingertips. "Look, I can hold the moon. It's not so big." He pressed his fingertips together. "Squish."

"Don't do that," said a smooth female voice. "I like the moon too much to see it crushed with such recklessness."

"Rin!"

"Why didn't you come to the party?"

Nathan swallowed hard. Rin stood casually looking up at the sky. Her features were etched in moonlight like white ink on black paper. She turned to him, and the intensity of her eyes made Nathan struggle to respond. He had no real answer. He could say he had to grade tests, but really, it was because his anxiety level went through the roof when he was invited to any sort of social... thing.

"What are you doing here?" he stumbled.

"I live in Century Terrace just over there." She stood up on her toes and pointed. "And that doesn't answer my question."

"The cookie thing? Well, I didn't have anything to exchange, and, I don't know..."

"Yes you do. You shouldn't have been afraid to come. You would have had fun."

"Afraid? I wasn't afraid," Nathan flushed and reverted to the state he usually did when someone pointed out his faults – one of semi-frustration tinged with anger. Rin's calmness just seemed to make it worse. "I don't have--" he began.

"Time for this. Yes, yes, I heard you say that before." Rin waved her hand dismissively. "What do you have time for? ' Serious Adult Pursuits' like volunteering and working late and giving presents to people?"

"Just taking care of stuff," he said lamely.

"I see." She pointed a finger at him and poked his chest. "But who takes care of you?"

A little electric shock seemed to flow from the spot of her touch and out every nerve in his body. "I... take care of myself."

What else am I suppose to do? Nathan thought.

"Enough chatting. Let's go party."

"What?" The change in tone and topic was so sudden, Nathan, who prided himself on being ready for whatever his young students had to throw at him, was once again caught off guard.

"Have you forgotten?" Rin asked, her eyes glittering mischievously, "It's Christmas Eve!" She threw her slender arms around Nathan and hugged him. The hold was warm and unreserved, and even though he knew Rin was just being ridiculous, Nathan felt himself shiver with a giddy feeling of pleasure.

"I am not going to a party. It's too late," he halfheartedly protested.

"Yes you are. Because if you don't, I will be very depressed. And no one should be depressed on Christmas Eve." She reached into her pocket and handed a candy cane to Nathan. "Now come on."

"Upon a Midnight Clear"

The party...

How the hell Rin had managed this, Nathan wasn't sure. He sucked on the candy cane and tried to decide what to do next. What was he doing here? Why had he followed Rin? What kind of wild Christmas goose chase was he on?

He was at Rin's apartment complex where a party was still well in full swing. She'd run up to her place to drop off some things and had asked him to wait for her in the community center, which was next to the heated pool and the outdoor hot tub. There were appetizer trays, a bar, a TV playing It's a Wonderful Life.

"Well," he tried to answer to his own conscience, "wasn't I just lamenting the fact that I had no one to go out and get a drink with? Maybe this is what I need right now. I guess no one is going to die if I don't clean my house. Plus," and in a way, he found this both the hardest and most exhilarating thing to admit, "Rin really is different than anyone I've meet before. She's pretty darn cute too."

Crunching up the last of the candy cane, he stepped up to the bar. "What'll you have?" asked the bartender.

"Ak. Something that goes with peppermint."

The man laughed and dipped a cup of eggnog from the punch bowl behind him. As he started to hand it over, Rin's bare arm appeared. She handed something made of cloth to Nathan and said to the bartender, "can you make it two, and put them in plastic cups. We're going to the hot tub."

Nathan felt his heart infarct. "No. What? No!" He felt himself do a true double take of his comrade. She wore a black bikini top and pajama pants, the latter of which were black with little green Christmas trees on them. He looked at what she had handed him. It was a pair of men's shorts.

"Come on," she said, linking her arm through his and picking up the two offered cups of 'nog. "Please don't struggle or I'll spill."

Nathan was paralyzed. He couldn't think of a response at that moment that wouldn't, as she pointed out, cause them to dump the eggnog all over the floor thereby making a scene. He let her steer him to the door, but it was there Nathan shied.

"Mind opening the door?" Rin asked him.

"Miss Rin," he started. Shook his head. "Rin. I can't do this."

"Well, I need a good long soak. You can just sit by me and chat if you'd like. Otherwise, I was able to borrow those shorts from a neighbor." She waited, then glanced up at him. "Think of it as therapy. Whirlpools are beautifully relaxing. Or you could just escort me over, shoot your drink and be gone. Whatever would make you happiest."

Animal instinct was overriding his rational thought. Her dark eyes, her shaggy pixy cut. Damn, thought Nathan. Not really committing to anything, he pushed open the door. They slipped out into the frosty night. He felt her shiver at the bite of the air against her flesh, and she exhaled a trembling breath. There was a blur of steam that hung over the whole area like a mystical fog. He could hear low happy voices, but could not see anyone through the dimly lit patio.

They reached the whirlpool and Rin released Nathan's arm. "Have you made a decision?" she asked, passing him a cup.

He shot the drink. Walked back into the pool house. And changed into the shorts.

So the cookies wouldn't get decorated; like anyone would notice. Nathan lowered himself in slowly, gritting his teeth at the scalding water, but then relaxing into it. Demurely, he set aside the towel he'd grabbed from the pool at the last possible moment and slid in up to his neck. He couldn't help savoring the heat as it soaked full through into his bones. He took a measured breath and exhaled in a cloud that dissipated and joined the vapors hanging over the pool.

The pool was large; two groups sat across from him chatting quietly. He swirled his arms forwards and back making little eddies. Surprisingly, he found his mind rather empty. "I guess there's little to do or think about when sitting in a hot tub on a cold winter's night." Instead of being uncomfortable or anxious among strangers, there was a freedom to it. There was no chance he'd be running off to do any chores at the moment. He was able to fully concentrate on the silky smoothness of the warm water, the curling tendrils of steam, and, as he listened, he could hear the gentle notes of Christmas music somewhere not too far away.

"That's better, isn't it?"

Reclined, with her head back against the side of the pool, was Rin.

"Mm." Nathan said, then: "Is this the proper time to ask if you really moonlight as a magician's assistant?"

"Oh. Sorry. No, you have been misinformed." Then she grinned. "See, I'm the magician, and I'm wondering if you'd be my assistant."

He smiled. "Oh yeah. Great Assistant Nathan, the brooding, list-obsessed mothering hen."

"Please," said Rin. "I thought I was with the man who can hold the moon."

The comment was spoken with such outright sincerity that Nathan turned to face the recumbent woman. Rin looked at him and winked. The twinkle was back.

"You have pretty brown eyes, Nathan Fishbrook."

Reflexively, Nathan cast his gaze downward, then decided to take the comment at its cheeky face-value. He met the woman's gaze again. "Boy's aren't pretty, Miss Rin. They're handsome."

Rin chuckled, and Nathan was pretty sure he'd never heard such a warm and pleasant sound. Like the waters surrounding him, or a thick winter quilt, he was pretty sure he could wrap himself in it and be content for quite some time.

They sat quietly then, as the night stretched on. A slight breeze carried the comforting music over them both and dissipated some of the fog. Nathan could hear strains of "It Came Upon a Midnight Clear" He concentrated on the song, its nostalgic charm taking him back to a much simpler time, where there were no lists, no deadlines, no responsibilities. A time when his biggest concern was thinking he might die with anticipation waiting for Christmas to arrive. It was funny how excruciatingly long the days had seemed back then, and how now they flew by so fast, he was barely able to count them.

He stared at the surface of the water, concentrating on keeping as still as possible. An image of the moon, wreathed in the boughs of snow-covered trees overhead, reflected in it like a mirror. He brought cupped hands up through the reflection so he appeared to be holding liquid moonlight.

The moon was always there, the moon was a constant. Why couldn't more things in life be like the moon? Too many people in his life had disappeared forever. The thought caused his eyes to grow blurry. He looked up and blinked to keep the sting from turning into real tears. A fingertip brushed his cheek. "Hey."

Nathan jumped, making a small splash. Rin, her arm outstretched, had moved closer. Nathan forced a laugh and scooted sideways, away from the touch. "This cold air," he sniffed. "It's getting to me. I... I think it's probably time for me to go home."

The reflection of the moon rippled across the pool, broken and scattered. "I can't hold the moon," he thought. "I can't even hold on to those dear to me."

"Wait."

He didn't. With strong arms, he pulled himself out of the pool and tucked the towel around himself. "Thank you, Rin, but I must say good night." He didn't wait for a response and rapidly walked back towards the pool room where he'd left his clothes.

"Comfort and Joy"

"I'm overworked. And overtired. And, ug, over-stimulated."

Nathan's thoughts returned with a vengeance. As the wind blew in, clouds obscured the pensive moon. "It's a bit too late for that," he thought bitterly. He still felt emotion pulling at the corners of his eyes, unbidden and unwanted. "Who knew I was such an unstable wreck?" he thought. "I must be more stressed out than I knew."

He finally reached the door to his small apartment and let himself in. Flipping on the lights, he audibly groaned at the mess that awaited him. "Maybe if I just do a little straightening up before I go to bed..."

The lights went out.

He reached back, confused, to flick the switch again, and felt a hand covering the light switch panel. "God almighty, what are you, a ninja? What is it, did you come to get the shorts back or something?" he asked. Hands gripped his shoulders and spun him around.

"If you want me to, I'll go," Rin said quietly. "But I didn't get a chance to say good night."

"It's my fault. I didn't want to let you."

"Why not?"

His mouth was a straight line. "I... I don't want to get into it."

"Everyone has deep dark secret issues they don't want to talk about," Rin said, her whole body in shadow, "even those who seem most normal. In fact, the normal ones have the worst time of it. Eccentrics can always get away with more."

Rin wrapped her slim arms around him. This time, it was no joke. Nathan shuddered and, barely able to believe it, wrapped his arms around her. She whispered, "You haven't been listening to a word I've said over these last few days, have you? You have to relax a little bit."

Nathan rested his chin lightly on the top of Rin's head. "How?"

"Things change. Even the moon goes through phases. Don't concentrate on the dark nights in between, focus on the light."

Nathan squeezed tightly, trying to hold on to what felt so right. Her warm body, her breathing, even the scent of chlorine that still clung to them both. But Rin began to pull away, and, heart in his throat, he prepared himself to loose the moment forever. His shoulders drooped.

In the dark, he barely caught a glimpse of Rin's face, so very near, before he felt her lips upon his own, and his eyes fell shut to the whole world. All he could do was concentrate on the slow, soft, amazing kiss that followed. It was warm and smooth with a hint of peppermint. It seemed to go on for days.

Rin finally stopped, still holding Nathan as tightly as ever. "So, any items left on that list of yours?"

Nathan could only shake his head. He wanted to laugh, he wanted to cry. He wanted her. He moved forward and met her for another kiss. This one was deeper, stronger, even more passionate than the first, if that was possible. They sank into each other like hot iron through a snowbank.

"No one should be depressed on Christmas Eve."

Nathan shook his head vigorously. "No. Thank you. I didn't know..."

"Sh." She laid a finger on his lips, then lifted it. "Tell me now."

"I... I don't want to be alone tonight. Please. That's all; just stay with me. I don't care if you need to leave before I wake up, I don't care if I have to pretend this never happened, because I will know it did."

She smiled. "Funny, me too. Must be magic."

Rin took one arm from her coat, then the other, letting the garment slide to the floor. She took her hands and slipped them over Nathan's shoulders, removing his own coat. Nathan kissed her lips, her cheeks, her hair, her neck, in small, fluttering patterns, barely brushing her skin.

"Mmm. Thorough. Come here," she said, and they moved to the couch.

They stayed entwined there, holding and kissing each other in a dreamy haze. When at last sleep threatened to overtake them, Nathan wrapped his body like an enveloping wave against Rin's back. Outside the window, Christmas snow began to fall.

Fractured

By Dellani Oakes

[Equally at home in a regency romance or a millennium into the future, Dellani Oakes is the consummate romance author whose first published novel, Indian Summer, deals with the coming of age of a fifteen-year-old Spanish Governor's daughter in St. Augustine, Florida, 1739.]

Blood gushed from his nose, ears and mouth as he hung head first from the seat of the floater cycle. One eye faced the sky, the other ground ward as he felt his life ebb away. It occurred to him that this might actually be the end of him - the idea made him chuckle sardonically.

How ironic, to have walked away from death and survived more battles than most men had ever seen, only to die in an accident not of his making. He struggled, but his legs were entangled. From his position, he could not see what it was, neither could he rise. It was warm, damp and heavily unmoving.

For hours he dangled, his pulse pounding in his ears. The sun blazed white hot in his right eye, blistering his skin, his lips peeling and cracking from dehydration. Most men would already have succumbed, but this was a cakewalk for the Lone Wolf, Colonel in the Galactic Marines. He coughed up blood, which dribbled down his cheek and into his ear.

This was a vacation and sightseeing tour, enforced by Command. He hadn't wanted to leave his team, but he had to get away from the blood and death - the inhumanity. The last mission was a hard one, he'd lost sixty percent of his team and nearly died himself.

General Harthcock was adamant, "You're taking time off, Wil. No protests, the paperwork is done. You have your choice of a three week tour of the New Aussie desert, a hiking trip on Io or a white water rafting on the river of your choice."

He'd taken the desert tour, not because it interested him, but after the operation had gone south in the Solvek Mountains, he didn't have too much desire for hiking and he'd never had any use for rafting.

Shortly after his arrival, he'd hooked up with a pretty native girl named Kirsta. She was funny, coquettish, and willing to try new things; just his kind of woman. Her hair was short cropped, jet black, her eyes sparkling like jasper.

The day drifted to sunset and he continued to dangle from the straps of the wrecked floater. The bleeding had stopped, but his head was throbbing from being virtually upside down. He wondered absently why he wasn't dead. He'd ascertained a few hours ago that the weight on his legs was what was left of Kirsta. He'd been a fool to let her drive, as drunk as she was. It hardly mattered now. Kirsta was dead and all he wanted was an easy death. He'd given himself up for lost by noon, but had continued to linger hour upon hour.

A distant hum reached his ears, his brain automatically decoded and transmitted the information to his throbbing, half baked mind. It was another floater cycle, larger and heavier than the one he was suspended from. It came to an abrupt halt, set down roughly and sprayed sand in his face before the rider cut the compressed air engine.

Too weak to sneeze, he sniffled loudly. The rider threw aside helmet and goggles, rushing to his side. Long blonde hair cascaded down across her face, obscuring her features. He had a fleeting glimpse of silvery blue eyes, pale skin and the golden tresses before he lost consciousness.

Wil woke in semi-darkness, a soft bed cradling his aching body. The injuries must be extensive for him to notice, he thought grimly. He did an assessment of the damage to his body, unknown programming clicking in automatically. He had a slight concussion, bruised ribs, fractured left hand, dislocated jaw and his left eye was gone. The latter was no real hardship, the military would fit him with another artificial eye when he got back... If he got back.

Someone lay in the bed beside him, cuddled up with her back near his left arm. The narrow bed was in the corner and his right arm nearly touched the wall. It was cold in the room, the bone chilling desert night temperatures permeated the rough plastered stone and transferred itself to him. He shivered slightly. The person next to him shifted, turned over and spoke.

"I had hoped to keep you warmer," her voice was deep, melodic with an unfamiliar accent. "The nights grow colder at this altitude and I am low on fuel." She rolled over, placing a long, sinewy arm over him. She smelled tangy sweet, like crushed herbs.

"I'm fine..." he spoke slowly, his tongue slurring slightly over the words and he lacked the energy to finish the sentence.

"You were near death, Stranger. How did you come to be in that predicament?"

"The woman with me - lost control."

"She is dead," she said simply.

"I know."

"You should have died too," the woman said in her odd, abrupt way. "You lost much blood. It amazes me you were not crushed to pieces like your woman."

"I'm tougher than I look." They said nothing for a few minutes. "How did you find me?"

"I saw you in hindersight," she said simply as if it were an everyday occurrence.

"Hindersight?"

"You know, the ability to see elsewhere, other times and places. I saw you and came looking. Among my kind it is common enough, although women with hindersight are both sought after and chastised." A hint of longing crept into her voice.

Wil moved closer to her, laying his hand on her arm. She tensed, then relaxed against him, the warmth of her body comforting in the chill.

"You sleep now, Stranger. We will talk more when the sun rises."

"Thank you," he whispered and patted her arm absently, drifting off to sleep.

In the morning, he woke to the sound of animals moving around; this world's equivalent of cows, chickens and sheep. He had no idea what the people of New Aussie were like, nor what animals they raised. Humans were a recent addition to the planet. The woman did not seem human. There were distinct differences in her voice and scent that set her apart, in a category of her own. His ultra sensitive nose and ears picked up on subtleties.

Slowly, he rolled to his side, gasping in surprise. He hurt! Twenty years ago the military doctors had spliced his genes, manipulating and enhancing him. He was stronger, faster, smarter than any man he knew. He moved with the eerie silence of a jungle cat and killed without remorse. He never thought he'd ever reach the threshold of his pain, but this came damn close! Exhaling steadily, he rose more slowly, holding his side with one hand as he propped himself up with the other.

He heard footsteps outside and the woman dashed in the door, concern on her exotically beautiful face. Her hair was golden blonde, long and silky, with a satin sheen. She had a high, broad forehead, narrow chin and prominent cheekbones. Her eyes were a brilliant blue and almond shaped, but what really set her apart was her skin. It was translucent with all colors of the spectrum swirling beneath a milky surface, like opals.

Dashing to the bed, she knelt beside him, examining his wounds with a medical thoroughness. "You are all right?"

Wil nodded slightly, fighting dizziness behind his eyes. "I need... " He had no idea how to explain his need to urinate.

She smiled, offering her shoulder, helping him rise. Of medium height, but slightly built, she was slim hipped and small chested. She was dressed in a dark olive green, form fitting tank top. Her dark pants were very like his own military fatigues with multiple pockets and a web belt.

Wil put his weight on his feet and shifted his balance, leaning heavily on the woman. Hardly seeming to notice his weight, she rose slowly and smoothly from a kneeling position. She walked him to a small bathroom.

After relieving himself, he examined his face in the bathroom mirror hanging over the sink. His handsome, swarthy face was covered with cuts and bruises, indicative of a brutal impact. His eyes had dark circles around them, his lips bruised and dry. He needed a shave, but the gash along his jaw line precluded that for several days until the neatly arranged stitches were removed.

He opened the door to find the woman waiting for him, leaning against the wall. He cracked a discomfited grin. "You do good work," he said indicating the line of about twenty stitches on his chin.

She smiled shyly, a pale blue tinge flowing up from her neck to her scalp. "Women with hindersight must learn to care for themselves. You will heal well."

Her eyes left his, drifting down his strong, muscular body as if drinking him in like a drought of cool water after a day in the desert. "You must be hungry," she whispered, motioning him to follow.

She didn't offer support this time, but opened a door and rushed down a narrow hall ahead of him. He leaned instead upon the natural stone walls, the texture comforting beneath his fingers. The hall ended in a large, sunny kitchen with a small, potbellied stove, pump sink and roughly hewn table with split bottom chairs in the middle.

The food smelled really good and Wil's stomach grumbled in appreciation. He sat heavily on the nearest chair, resting his head gingerly against the tall back. The woman set a large, dark blue ceramic mug in front of him. It contained something that smelled a lot like coffee, but was clear.

The meal was rather like he'd have had at home; bacon, eggs, biscuits, only all the wrong colors. The eggs were blue, the bacon bright red and the biscuits a light, pastel green. Wil had never been terribly picky about what he ate as long as it wasn't moving. Despite the color, it was delicious. He ate two helpings, trying to conceal a burp when he finished. Instead of looking offended, she smiled, so he conjured up a bigger belch. Her grin grew wider as she cleared the dishes, putting them in the metal sink.

"I am glad it pleased you. I eat simply, what I can raise myself."

"It was very good, filling."

"A soldier like you needs good food to grow strong again."

"How did you know that?" His identification said nothing about his occupation.

"Hindersight," she said as if that explained every-thing.

"I see," although he didn't at all. "Tell me about hindersight, you said it was fairly common?"

"Among men, yes. Women with hindersight are rare, both feared and desired. A man and a woman with the gift produce powerful children. Do you have hindersight?"

Wil shook his head. "If I did, I wouldn't have had that accident."

"It is not infallible, even I do not see all. However, I am more accurate than most men I know."

She studied his face in silence. He felt the layers of his psyche peeled away slowly.

"Do you ever know something is not right, get a feeling just here?" She tickled the nape of his neck. Her touch caused a shiver of delight down his spine.

"Sometimes."

"That too is hindersight," she told him with unadulterated truth.

Wil didn't know how to reply, so he changed the subject. "Why do you live out here all alone?"

She wouldn't look at him for several minutes, busying herself with the dishes. He rose, took up the towel and began to dry as she set them to the side of the sink. His fingers brushed hers. For a moment he saw himself through her eyes, bandaged and bruised. With a startled gasp, he stepped away from her, dropping the dish he held. It clattered to the floor, but didn't break.

"Now you know," she blushed blue again. "It happens when I touch a man. Sometimes much stranger things happen, it is unpredictable and uncontrollable; a curse some women with hindersight suffer from. I will live here alone until I die and never marry, never have children..." She wiped silver tears as they rolled down her cheeks.

Wil's hand rose automatically, brushing away the argent drops, smoothing her hair from her face. "The men of your people don't know what they're missing then. I found it incredibly fascinating, it just took me by surprise. I look like hell, it's not something a man wants to be reminded of, his vulnerability."

"Exactly, to be seen as his woman sees him, might not always be flattering. Most men are not strong enough to handle it."

"I am not like most men." His smile warm and comforting. "It's strangely erotic."

She frowned up at him, her lips pouting, arched eyebrows nearly touching. "I do not understand. What is erotic?"

He leaned forward, kissing her gently on the lips, his hand drifting down to her neck, lightly touching her shoulder. When his lips met hers, he saw himself again, tinged in a soft orange light. Then the image faded and dimmed, replaced by her upturned face. Disconcerting though it was, he was intrigued.

"I don't even know your name," he breathed, his lips brushing hers as he inhaled deeply.

Her tangy scent lingered in the air between them. It made him feel lightheaded.

"Siegra," she said softly, her blue eyes wide with curiosity. Her lilting accent gave a musicality to the name he was not sure he could match, but he put his lips around the word, savoring it.

"Siegra," he repeated. "I am Wil."

"Wilhelm," she corrected.

He frowned, wondering how she knew his full name. It too sounded odd when she said it.

"How did you know? Hindersight?"

Giggling, she tossed her golden hair over her shoulder. "No, your identification has your name. Wilhelm Van Lipsig." It sounded strange when she said it, her accent oddly misshaping the words.

He chuckled, then laughed at himself for being naive. He tossed the dishtowel down on the counter, both hands going to his ribs as he tried not to laugh.

"Would you like to see the rest of the homestead?" She asked excitedly.

"I would be honored to see your homestead, Siegra."

She led him outside, the bright sun lancing through his eye, leaving a tortured, glittering trail behind. She handed him a pair of goggles from a bench beside the door, apologizing.

"I am used to Heriatis' rays now. At first the sky was so bright, I could not stand it. These will help cut the glare."

Nodding, he quickly pulled the goggles over his eyes, noticing a distinct relief. It was still bright, but he no longer felt the intensity of the sun. "How long have you lived here?"

Siegra glanced up at him, considering. "It has been ten seasons." It seemed a subject she preferred to avoid.

She turned abruptly away as if ashamed, leading him to the barn. It was a low, dome-like structure made of whitewashed adobe. The animals and outbuildings were well cared for.

"It is an amazing homestead, Siegra," Wil said with complete sincerity when the tour was complete.

Surrounded by desert, her home was a small, green oasis of lush grass, tall plants and a small pond in the center. Perhaps it was a natural oasis, but Wil suspected it was contrived and built by Siegra. Her flush of pride confirmed his suspicion. She had put much of herself in this place.

"How did you find water here?"

"Hindersight is good for many things. I saw myself finding water beneath the sand, and it was here."

They walked slowly back to the cabin, set in a cleft between two hills covered with lush grass and radiant flowers that augmented the sun's rays through their petals, glowing in a rainbow array. Wil stopped, his hand reaching out to touch Siegra's, seeing the homestead through her eyes. He felt her pride, and sense of accomplishment, her strong determination to survive and be her own woman. What followed next surprised and pleased him. He saw her leaning toward, lips parted, as he placed a soft, seductive kiss on her warm, willing lips.

"Siegra," he said quietly, gently brushing her hand with his thumb, "what do you see?"

"I see ... " Her eyes unfocused, her voice drifted away, and fingers gently brushed his palm. " I see our child running through the grasses, playing with the animals. I see a little one clamoring for a ride on my knee." Her smile faded and her eyes clouded with tears. "I do not see you, Wilhelm. You are not part of the vision, except for... " Her strange, blue blush rippled up her face again, stopping at the hairline, dwindling back down to nothingness.

"You see me with you, making a child?"

She nodded, holding his hand tightly, resting her face against his palm. "I see me raising our child alone, never knowing the father who instilled such magnitude and power in its blood."

"Is it a boy or a girl?" His fingers brushed her cheek, cupping her chin in his large, strong hand.

"A girl child. She is beautiful."

"Like her mother."

She shook her head. "No, like yours. She will not look like me. No one will know she has hindersight. She need not hide away from men as I do."

"You don't have to hide away from me, Siegra. You need never hide from me."

His kiss was tender, passionate, controlled. This woman was not used to the touch of a man, and needed extra care. He selfishly wanted to savor her emotions, feeding off her visions, sensations, as a starving man eats a meal. He felt his lips against hers, then experienced the kiss from her perspective. He was able to gauge his movements to perfectly compliment hers.

Later, he was exhausted, partly from his injuries, but mostly because in all his life, he had never had such an emotionally charged encounter with a woman. He lay curled up next to Siegra, her golden hair on his chest, breathing her aroma as he played with her hair. Wishing he had hinder-sight himself, he wondered if she would conceive a child. She wanted one so badly, more than she wanted a man. She had saved his life, he could repay her in kind by giving her a baby.

Siegra stirred, snuggling closer to him, her naked body warm next to his in the deepening chill of the room. He pulled the blankets over her, holding her closely, kissing her cheek as she slept.

Over the next few days, Wil stayed with Siegra, growing stronger, healing quickly. Already, a week later, his bruises had disappeared, the cuts had healed, his stitches were removed and his ribs no longer hurt him. It was approaching time for him to return to his unit, head home, leaving yet another woman in his wake.

He made no false promises, said nothing consoling like they would meet again or he would send for her, for both of them knew this affair would not end that way. Siegra would have their child, raise her alone and never see him again. The girl would not know her father, but given what Wil was like, it was not a bad thing. He wasn't exactly the stay home and farm kind of man and he could never be proud enough of his violent life to share it with another person. Siegra seemed to accept this, and a tacit agreement lingered between them not to discuss the future.

One morning, Siegra woke, dashed from bed and ran to the bathroom. He heard the door slam, sounds of someone being sick, then water running. When she came out, she did not look ill or distressed, merely pleased, her pale face all smiles. Taking his hand in hers, she placed it on her abdomen. He had a flash of a child in her arms, nursing happily as Siegra sang soothing lullabies.

"You have given me a child, Wil, just as you promised! Thank you! Here, I want you to have this." She ran to her dresser, picking up a small, golden object. It was a tiny charm made to look like a stylized eye.

"This was mine from the time I was a little girl. It represents the hindersight. I had to wear it whenever I went out." She hesitated, looking a little sad. "It is supposed to be passed down to my daughter."

He closed her hand back over the charm, kissing her fingers.

"Keep it, Siegra, it is an heirloom meant for your child, not me."

"No, Wil, you do not understand! It is a stigma, a curse. My child will not have to grow up like that! I want you to have it, to remember us."

He opened his hand, palm upward, and she placed the charm there, curling his fingers around it. She kissed the tips of his fingers, brushing them across her lips as if saying goodbye to a symbol both cherished and despised.

As she dressed and set about fixing breakfast, humming and dancing around the room, he finished packing his few belongings in his rucksack, placing the charm carefully inside. He chuckled as he watched her, thinking how good it was to have a woman around, being domestic, catering to him.

He had fleeting thoughts of settling down, giving up his life of violence, being with the woman he loved. But he wasn't in love with Siegra. Yes, he loved her after a fashion, but not enough to spend the rest of his life with her. It wasn't what she wanted anyway, she was much too independent. He made up his mind to leave the next day, no long goodbyes, no chance of changing his mind and lingering out of curiosity.

"I've thought of a name already," she said proudly.

"Oh?" He pulled himself out of his reverie, focusing on her smiling face.

"Yes, her name is going to be Lena."

"That's a beautiful name, Siegra. Lena, Siegra's daughter."

For the first time in years, he was happy. It was a fleeting sensation, but he treasured that moment for years to come. For once in his sorry, death filled life, he had done something unselfish, and given life instead of taking it.

The next morning, he rose at first light, dressed quickly, leaving without waking her. He departed on foot, taking some water and a little food with him, following her directions to the nearest town.

He never knew what made him turn around, but as Heriatis rose over the desert, he faced it, goggles over his eyes, staring longingly back at Siegra's homestead. Perhaps it was a trick of the desert heat, or maybe the light of the sun, but the outlines of her home shimmered, faded and were gone. The higher the sun rose, the less he could see of Siegra's home. Nothing was left but sand.

Fingers of doubt and apprehension crawled slowly up his spine, making him shudder. Events beyond his understanding had taken place here, and he wasn't sure he wanted to know what they were. Shouldering his pack, shifting its weight to be more comfortable, he put the desert behind him. Siegra's tangy scent lingered in the air, surrounding and caressing him.

After an hour or so of walking, he reached the town she had told him about. It was small, but sophisticated enough to have a station where he could call for transportation. He sat in the pub, one of three buildings in town, and waited for the military transport vehicle to pick him up.

Several locals were taking a break from the hot, blistering sun, enjoying a cold drink over a game of checkers. Wil sauntered over and sat near them, tipping back in his chair. One of the old men looked up at him questioningly.

"Not seen you before, young feller, where do you hail from?"

"Pretty far from here, I came on vacation."

The old man nodded, the tourist trade was burgeoning here in New Aussie land.

"Look like ya got yourself kinda banged up," a younger man put in.

Wil nodded, a smile tugging his lips. "Yeah, a little disagreement between my floater and a cliff," he chuckled at his joke. "I'm lucky I lived. If it hadn't been for Siegra, I don't think I'd have made it."

"Who?" Both men looked puzzled.

"Siegra, she's a lady who lives in a little oasis in the desert, long golden hair and pale skin. Surely you've seen her, she said she came here all the time for supplies."

The two men exchanged a knowing look, turning to face Wil.

"Young man, ain't no one lives out in that stretch of land no more. Ain't been no one out there nigh on," he looked at the other man, "how many years you figger?"

The younger fellow scratched his stubbly chin with a gnarled finger. "Ain't for certain, but I'd say close to three hundred year now at least."

Wil's tanned face paled. "What do you mean?" He whispered, not allowing himself to believe the unbelievable. "I saw her. I slept with the woman for ten nights! She's having my child!" He stood, pacing around the small room, running his fingers through his hair.

"You done seen the ghost of Heriatis Hills, young man," the older of the two said kindly. "She's not seen too often, mostly by young men like yourself, but they don't never experience what you done. Had sex with a ghost?" He chuckled, whistling through his teeth. "Damn interesting that would be!"

"Nope, ain't no body done spent that much time." The younger man added. "Generally, she finds someone hurt and groggy in the desert, patches 'em up and sends 'em on their way." He nodded knowingly

"She can't be a ghost, I'm telling you, I lived with her for over a week! I slept in her bed, ate her food!"

The younger man rose, walking slowly and carefully toward Wil, laying a comforting hand on his shoulder.

"That part of the desert's a funny place, son. It don't follow time like no place else, just kinda swims in and out.

"Maybe she ain't a ghost, but she sure ain't from this time. From what I heard, there was a woman who lived all by herself. Folks back then thought she was some kinda witch, she saw things, like. Peers to me you drifted into her time or maybe she drifted into yours. Anyhow, you could go back there and look forever, and ain't never gonna see it again, I guarantee!"

Wil looked out the window, the military transport had just landed outside. Paying for his drinks, he shouldered his sack and headed toward the door. The pilot of the air car hopped out, taking off his helmet, heading toward the restroom. Wil tossed his ruck-sack over his shoulder again and started to walk out the door. An odd sensation on the back of his neck left tingles up his spine.

Opening his bag, he searched inside it, sure that he would know what caused the sensation. A few moments of digging revealed the small, golden charm that had worked its way to the bottom of the pack. He held it reverently, kissing it fondly, feeling her lips one last time as he said goodbye.

The door to the pub opened and a young, fresh-faced Marine pilot entered looking breathless and expectant, snapping a salute in Wil's direction.

"Colonel Van Lipsig? Weather report, sir, there's a dust storm coming. If we don't want to be grounded for a few hours, we need to go now, sir."

Without a backward glance, Wil followed him out of the pub, the door swinging shut behind him. "Some things," he muttered, "just shouldn't be explained."

High Court of Love

By Amy De Trempe

[Amy De Trempe is an uplifting, refreshing new voice in the stately tradition of regency romance authors. Her two recently published novels, Loving Lydia and Pure Is the Heart, are thrilling and joyous to read—as spiritual as they are passionate, and hold the promise of a long career of stirring literature.]

Being deeply loved by someone gives you strength,

while loving someone deeply gives you courage.

—Lao Tzu

February 14, 1818, Bath, England

"Jared Michael Royce Cedric Stedman Henderson, it is about time you got here."

Jared stopped in the process of removing his coat to look at his Great Aunt Luvena, who stood before him with fists planted on her hips. He couldn't remember the last time she addressed him by all of his names. Perhaps when he was ten, which was almost twenty-years ago. And why was she so upset? Surely the fact that he was arriving this morning instead of last night was not such an inconvenience. "Good morning, Aunt Luvena. You look lovely as ever."

She snorted and turned. "Don't dawdle. We are awaiting you in the parlor."

He looked to Alfred, the butler, for guidance, who simply shrugged his shoulders. "Very well, then," Jared muttered and followed his aunt down the hall. What has her in such a dander?

He was brought up short by the occupants in the room. Besides Aunt Luvena and her sister Edwina, there were five young ladies seated behind a long table, facing him. He knew who each was. His eyes strayed to Lady Deborah Cartwright. He had thought of her often in the past two years. She left London early during her first season and never returned. Today she looked lovely with her honey-colored hair pulled up. A few curls escaped but, if he remembered correctly, her curls often escaped when she danced during her one, short season. It was rumored she left London early due to illness. She still held the ability to make his pulse race, even after not seeing her for almost two years.

He tore his eyes from her light brown ones and looked at the group. He smiled and nodded to each young lady.

"It is good of you to join us, Lord Billingsworth." The words pulled him from his thoughts and he turned to the second gathering. Four bachelors had been seated to face those behind the table. All were friends of his. What were his aunts up to? These gentlemen had nothing in common with the ladies across the room.

An idea began to tickle the back of his brain. He wanted to deny it, but it was fairly clear. But why this particular group? He studied the girls again. They all shared one thing in common. They had all left London early during the spring of 1816, without explanation, except Lady Deborah, and had not returned. Therefore, society deemed the accounted for ruined, without bothering to gather facts. As for the gentlemen, not one of them was so high in the instep to dismiss the young ladies out of hand because of what society may think.

He nodded to the group and took the only empty seat. The question remained, what did his aunts know? Surely one of them was not the infamous gossip columnist, Quidnunc, were they? No. Impossible!

Aunt Luvena banged a gavel against the top of the table. Where did she get a gavel? "The Court of Love can now begin."

The rest of the room seemed as surprised as he. The girls grew pale and the gentlemen began to fidget in their seats.

Jared stood. He had to stop this nonsense immediately. "Dear aunts, while society is well aware of your propensity to play matchmaker during the season, don't you believe you are taking it a bit far to gather unsuspecting victims in your home, even before the season begins?"

"None of our guests are unsuspecting," Aunt Edwina insisted.

He turned to the gentlemen first. "Did any of you know what my aunts planned?"

They stared at him, dumbfounded. A few shook their heads.

"I did not think so." Jared then looked to the ladies. "Did any of you ask my aunts to arrange a match?"

Their faces remained pale, eyes wide with shock.

"I believe I was very clear that I wished to never marry," Lady Deborah voiced.

Her words cut him to the core.

"Dear, you do not really mean that," Aunt Luvena insisted with a sweet voice.

"Aunts, may I have a word with both of you in the library?" Jared suggested through gritted teeth.

Aunt Edwina smiled up at him. "When we are finished, dear. Court is in session."

"This is not a courtroom. This is your parlor." Jared took a step toward them. "I will not allow you to proceed with this farce. If these ladies and gentlemen had any sense, they would march out of this room."

"Ah, but they won't." Aunt Edwina still smiled at him.

"What is to stop them?" Jared demanded. He really needed to spend more time with his aunts before they went so far that he had to admit them to Bedlam.

"Their charities," Aunt Luvena answered.

Jared looked around the room once again. Each person had a charity that was near and dear to them, except for Lady Deborah. And, his aunts had more money than they could possible spend in two lifetimes. "You are blackmailing them to remain here?" This got worse by the second.

Aunt Luvena frowned. "Blackmail is such a nasty word."

"But it is the truth," Aunt Edwina reminded her.

Aunt Luvena waved her hand in dismissal. "It does not matter." She picked up sheets of foolscap. "I am about to read the rules." She glanced up. "Do sit down, Jared."

He spared a glance at the room. He had half a mind to march right out of the house and not return. However, someone needed to remain to protect these poor victims. With a sigh, he settled back into his chair.

Aunt Luvena cleared her throat and began reading. "The High Court of Love first took place on Valentine's Day in the year 1400 in Paris. The judges were selected by women on the basis of the gentlemen reading poetry."

"I am not reciting a poem," Jared insisted and crossed his arms over his chest.

"Hush," Aunt Edwina insisted. "Do continue, dear sister."

"The court dealt with love contracts and betrayals. There is also reference that the tribunals were lead by women, and they heard cases of love and ruled on it based on the rules of love."

Jared snorted and looked away.

"We are unsure as to the rules of love. They don't seem to be written anywhere," Aunt Edwina admitted.

"Then one can't have a court if one does not know the laws." Jared stood.

"Sit down right now, young man," Aunt Luvena insisted and banged her gavel again.

Jared hadn't been spoken to in that tone since the last time she had used all of his names. His faced heated and he obligingly sat. Lady Deborah giggled and brought a gloved hand up to cover her mouth.

His humiliation deepened.

"My dear sister and I have made our own rules, based on what we have observed of the ten of you," Aunt Edwina continued.

"Oh, dear," Lord Ashley muttered. Jared silently agreed. His aunts were tenacious at learning intimate details of others lives. He may need to rethink the possibility that one of them could be Quidnunc.

"I shall draw the first name." Aunt Edwina reached into a small bowl and drew out a slip of paper. She unfolded it and looked down. Her sweet smile turned into a grin. Jared's stomach knotted. He felt sorry for the poor sap his aunt would now focus on.

She looked toward the end of the table. "Lady Deborah, would you be so kind to move to the red chair by the fireplace.

"Am I on trial?" her voice squeaked and her eyes pleaded with the group for help.

"Of course not, dear," Aunt Luvena laughed then focused her eyes on the gentlemen. "However, Lord Billingsworth, our favorite, unmarried nephew, is."

Jared groaned. He was their only unmarried nephew and he should have taken those two in hand long ago. He considered the consequences of simply stalking from the room, but where would that leave Lady Deborah? He could not hoist that kind of humiliation on her. Of all people, she was the last person he would ever hurt and thus he would endure this experience, despite what she had done to him. He tried for years to be angry and bitter toward her, but never accomplished his goal. He also had never married. His aunts blamed him. He blamed her.

"Take a seat next to Lady Deborah, please," Aunt Edwina instructed.

He stood and moved to take the appointed chair. Once settled he leaned over. "I am very sorry," he whispered to the young woman.

She offered a weak, worried smile then focused back on the group.

Aunt Luvena stood and cleared her throat. "Lord Billingsworth, you are charged with toying with Lady Deborah's affection."

"I did not." "He did not." The two answered in unison.

"Both of you will remain quiet until a question is directed to you."

Jared shared a worried look with Lady Deborah.

"The ladies beside me will act as your judges."

The announcement brought relief. As those ladies would be facing the same predicament, no doubt they would be very careful in their judging.

"Lord Billingsworth, you shall tell the truth. If we suspect one falsehood, you will be barred from these proceedings and your fate decided without your presence or defense," Aunt Luvena instructed.

While Jared would love to be anywhere but here, he needed to remain, if only to defend himself against his aunts' accusations.

"Your infatuation with Lady Deborah began the first Tuesday after Easter."

"Infatuation? I don't even recall the day," Jared insisted and brushed a non-existent piece of lint from his sleeve.

"Yes, infatuation, and please quit interrupting me," she warned.

"I apologize," he murmured and gestured with his hand. "Please continue."

His aunt cleared her throat and began to pace before him. "You were accompanying me in the park and if I recall correctly, your exact words were, 'Who is that fetching creature?' Well, there were several fetching creatures about that afternoon so I asked you to specify. You pointed to Lady Deborah."

Jared remembered that afternoon as if it were yesterday. He knew even then not to show an interest in any particular lady in the presence of either aunt, yet he could not stop the words as they formed. He glanced at Lady Deborah. A lovely blush painted her cheeks and she looked down at her hands.

"However, you did not seek an introduction for a week," Aunt Edwina accused. "What took you so long?"

He opened his mouth to answer but no words came out. What could he say? The truth? No. He would never admit that he feared a meeting and thus feared her rejection of him. No female had ever rejected him before, but he knew if Lady Deborah did, a part of his soul would be crushed, and he had been correct. "I was simply not granted the opportunity."

Aunt Luvena snorted. "If I recall, you attended the same functions as Lady Deborah every night for a week. You also attended the same church service. Surely several opportunities presented themselves."

Jared resisted the urge to adjust his collar. It was getting rather warm in the room. Maybe if he wasn't sitting so close to the fire. "If I recall, Lady Deborah often had a crowd of gentlemen around her, as well as her friends. It was near impossible to get close enough for an introduction, let alone request a dance."

His aunts both raised their left eyebrow in disbelief. It was a weak excuse, but far better than the truth.

"Lady Deborah," his aunt turned to the young lady, "you did make yourself available to my nephew, did you not? Yet he did not approach?"

Another beautiful blush spread across Lady Deborah's cheeks. "I am sure I don't recall. That was a very long time ago."

Aunt Luvena narrowed her eyes. "Then let me refresh your memory." She did an about-face and turned to the other young ladies seated. "Lady Beatrice, would you please stand?"

The woman in question visibly swallowed but did as ordered.

"Did Lady Deborah not seek your counsel in how to obtain and introduction to my nephew?"

Lady Beatrice's stole a glance to Lady Deborah, apology in her eyes. "Yes, ma'am."

"And didn't this conversation take place during that very week my nephew claims he did not have the opportunity to meet the lady in question?"

"Yes, ma'am." Lady Beatrice looked down at her hands.

"So, you took matters into your own hands, did you not?"

The woman remained silent and toyed with the ribbon at the front of her gown.

"Please answer the question," Aunt Luvena prompted in a softer tone.

"Yes. I spoke with a relative to arrange a meeting."

"Oh, not just any meeting," Aunt Edwina announced. "You had Lady Jersey insist that Jared ask Lady Deborah for a waltz her first night at Almacks."

Lady Deborah's face burned brighter and she seemed to sink into the chair. Jared recalled being reprimand by Lady Jersey when he entered that night and told if he did not dance with the lady in question he would be banned from the assembly hall. Had it been anyone other than Lady Deborah, he would have left and never looked back.

"Lady Deborah, you looked so lovely in your pink gown," Aunt Edwina sighed.

"It was yellow," both Jared and Lady Deborah answered.

"Then in the following month, Lord Billingsworth called on Lady Deborah three times a week."

"Four," the two corrected.

"He brought her violets," Aunt Edwina gushed.

"Daffodils," Jared and Lady Deborah responded.

"There were picnics, rides in the park, dinners, waltzes, an obvious courtship," Aunt Luvena summed up.

Jared glanced at Lady Deborah. She in turn offered a shy smile. He could not recall being happier than when he was courting her. Then the family up and moved from London. They did not even return to their country home. He had sent letters to both addresses and even visited. It was if her family simply disappeared.

"What happened? Where did you go?" he asked her in a quiet tone. His aunt thankfully took a step back.

Lady Deborah glanced at the others in the room and then back to Jared. Her eyes pleaded with him not to ask any more questions.

Aunt Edwina stood and clapped her hands. "I think it is time we took a break. Refreshments are in the dining room."

Everyone stood and followed her. Jared offered his hand to Lady Deborah.

"Not for you two," Aunt Luvena insisted and sailed out the room. The door closed behind her.

"She can't keep us in here, can she?" Lady Deborah asked, panic in her voice.

The click of a key turned in the lock.

"Apparently she can," Jared answered. He should be angry with his meddlesome aunts, yet could not summon the emotion. He had waited almost two years to find out what had happened to Lady Deborah and he wasn't about to let her leave this room until he had some answers.

"Quidnunc claimed your family left because you were ill. I recall you were the very picture of health the day before you disappeared."

She glanced away. It was a day he remembered well. He had taken her for a ride in his curricle away from London. Oh, he knew he should not have been so bold and had anyone learned, she would have been ruined, but he planned on asking for her hand anyway, so he did not see the harm. He just needed to be alone with her.

A sudden storm left them drenched and they were forced to take refuge in an abandoned, one room cottage. He had to use an old table as kindling for a fire and they dined on the picnic he had brought along while seated on the blanket that somehow had remained dry when they ran into the structure. It was as they sipped the wine that he asked her.

"Will you marry me?"

She opened her mouth to answer but he rushed forward. "I know I should speak with your father first, discuss and settle contracts before anything else. But I need to hear your answer first. Will you marry me?"

Tears glistened in her eyes and spilled over her cheeks. Yet, she didn't respond. Jared's gut had tightened. He feared she was about to say no. His heart beat a fierce tattoo, afraid of her rejection.

She lifted a hand to his cheek. Looked deeply into his eyes. His pulse calmed. "It would be my greatest honor to become your wife."

Elation burst inside and he brought his lips to hers. The afternoon was spent in pure bliss. They kissed, cuddled, shared and laughed. He professed his feelings. "Lady Deborah, I've never felt this way about anyone ever before. I do believe I am utterly in love with you."

Once again her tears came and a smile dimpled her cheeks. "And, I love you as well."

It was long past dark when he returned her home. He would have spoken with her father then, but he was out. Lady Deborah's mother accepted his apology and seemed to understand as they were hit with the same deluge of rain. He thought she understood his meaning when he wished for an appointment with Lady Deborah's father at the earliest convenience.

When he called the following morning he learned the occupants had moved.

Lady Deborah walked away from him and looked into the fire. He came up from behind and placed his hands on her shoulders. "I believe I do deserve an explanation," he insisted in a calm tone.

She sighed and turned to look at him. "I am glad I have a chance to explain."

He waited. She searched his eyes and then turned away once again. Her eyes held pain, if not devastation. She was the one who left him, not the other way around.

"My father was a proud man. He could not bear for society to learn what had become of him. My mother feared what would happen if they learned the truth about her."

"I don't understand. Your family ancestry goes back generations and is ranked as one of the influential in society."

"Until my grandfather," she corrected him.

"I don't understand. I know your father did not spend much time in London but that does not take away from your lineage."

She turned and looked at him. Her disposition was a mixture of anger and somberness. "My father gambled away what coffers my grandfather and uncle did not."

"Surely, I would have heard of this." One's financial security, or lack thereof, was common knowledge among society. If they were paupers, he would have known.

"My mother's father often saved us from ruin. The day we were caught in the rain my mother was visited by yet more creditors and she visited her father for financial help."

"I was not aware your other grandfather still lived."

"You wouldn't, he wasn't anyone by the ton's standards."

"Pardon?" This conversation confused him more instead of clearing up the one question of why she had abandoned him.

"My other grandfather is in trade. He is a vintner."

The fact that her mother was common surprised Jared, given her father was an Earl, but it did not bother him.

"His stipulation in paying off my father's debts, one more time, was for us to move to his villa in Italy and I would marry a nice man. One who knew the value a good day's work and not someone titled. To him, the higher one is in society, the more worthless they were."

"Did you by chance tell your mother that I wished to marry you?" Given he was a marquis, he would have been cast to the ineligible list.

"Yes," she answered and looked up into his eyes. "My father came home shortly after you left. When my mother informed him of grandfather's dictate, he wasted no time in having our belongings packed. While he was angered at having to leave society, it wasn't as strong as the possibility of humiliating you or of society learning. We were completely broke and there would be no dowry offered by my grandfather if I married a titled man."

"I don't care about funds. I loved you," Jared insisted.

Tears sprang to her eyes. "And I loved you. I wasn't given a choice."

"You could have sent a note, or gotten word to me somehow," he argued.

"To what purpose?" she cried. "Had I still married you, the scandal would have been horrendous. Not only would it ruin my family but it would taint yours as well."

"You, nor they, even gave me a chance. I could have assisted your father."

"Which would have humiliated him to no end. Nor would it have solved his gambling problem."

Jared paced and tried to understand. Why hadn't she come to him? Her words made sense, but it tore at him that she had so little trust in his ability to protect her and her family.

"And did you?"

"Did I what?" she countered.

"Marry a nice man who understood the value of work?" He couldn't bear the thought of her being married to another, but he needed to know. Perhaps then he could move on with his life. It had been in limbo since she abandoned him.

"No. Grandfather introduced me to more men than I care to recall, but I did not want to marry any of them."

"Why?"

"How could I marry another when I was still in love with you?" she cried out and turned away.

Hope surged in his breast. "Why are you back in England now?"

She wiped a tear from her cheek. He fished a handkerchief from his pocket.

"It is silly." She turned away once again.

He put his hand under her chin and turned her face to look at his. "Tell me."

"I confessed to my grandfather six months ago why I could not accept any of the suitors."

That didn't explain why she was back here. If anything, her grandfather would have stood firm in not allowing her to return to the country of her birth.

"He had you investigated."

Jared considered everything and anything her grandfather could have learned about him. Other than he did not gamble, he could not think of anything redeeming to change the man's mind.

"One simple act impressed him."

Jared racked his brain. He had done nothing impressive with his life. "I am at a loss," he finally admitted.

She smiled up at him. "Actually, it was a few things that changed his mind."

"What?" He wished she would tell him what made him suddenly appealing to the vintner.

"You assisted in mending the roofs of the crofter cottages, you assisted in sheering your sheep, you fired your steward when you suspected him of cheating you, the only time you gambled was to placate Lady Malbry, and you intentionally let her win, and you were willing to kill to defend your sister's honor."

All warmth drained from his face at the mention of his apparently last good deed. How did she know about that?

As if reading his mind, she placed her palm against his cheek. "I don't know how he learned, but neither of us will ever speak a word of it." Pity and heartache shone in her eyes. He brought his hand up to cover hers. It was not something he was ready to speak of, nor did he know if he would ever be ready.

"I also informed my grandfather that it was too late."

His heart ceased beating. "Too late for what?"

"Us. I assured him that you had probably moved on, and even if you hadn't, you would no longer wish to marry me."

"Is that what you believe?" A smile pulled at his lips.

"It is the only thing I have allowed myself to believe. It was safer that way. I am sure that once we explain the situation to your aunts ... ."

Jared didn't want to hear any more and brought his lips to hers. She melted against him. His arms drew her close and her arms snaked around his neck.

"See, I told you it would work," Aunt Luvena announced.

He hadn't even heard the door open. Jared broke away from the kiss and looked up. In the room stood his two aunts and an older gentleman he did not recognize.

"I assume by the way you are holding my granddaughter, you still intend to marry her?" The man demanded and thumped his cane.

"It would be my pleasure, sir."

Not the Last

By Jessie Weis

[In this gripping love story, based upon actual events, Jessie Weis weaves a story of love transcending generations, interruptions and even death. This bittersweet tale took Second Place in the "True Love's First Kiss" contest on the Genre Creatives Competition on Gather.com.]

1

The beauty of the northwest coastline can usually hold my attention for hours. The shifting blues and greens of the river rushing by, the rusted old ships slowly moving in or out of the port, and the forested green hillsides I can see out my window here in Astoria cannot hold my focus today, though. Only after a minute, my eyes are pulled back to the plain, white printer paper I hold in my hand. The nondescript font in dull, black ink should not be able to cause the terrible tornado of mixed feelings that my benumbed mind is trying to make sense of. If I read the letter one more time, will I be able to take in the meaning. Will I be able to process the way my life has changed in the few moments it took me to read the words? My fingers trace a crooked line down the trail of Samantha's tears wishing she were here at this moment, that she could have told me in person, and that we could share each other's grief.

But, that's the thing. It's not just grief I feel. Reassurance. Faith. Love. His hand on my back, just at my waistline, as though he is telling me to trust what I know. I look away from that sad note, telling me of Lee's death in Iraq as I focus on that feeling of his hand on my back.

There's another paper I hold with the new letter, but this one is very old. Years old. On blue paper, which has been handled so many times that the creases are falling apart. I'm not sure why I retrieved this blue letter from my keepsake box when I learned of Lee's death, but I guess the words on it comfort me still. I look out again at the serene sight of the river as life there continues going on and close my eyes before the letter pulls them back to the unbelievable words, words that seem to break a promise. But, as I close my eyes and focus on the impression of a gentle touch at my waist, I am transported back to that time two years ago when I learned that love was not what I expected at all, a time when I found out love was boundless.

2

Samantha and I had been friends for four years, more than friends really. We were sisters of the heart. At a time when I needed a family and a place to live, Samantha's family reached out to me and gave me a place to stay and so much more. Her family was Samoans and she said they didn't believe young women should be out on their own. They wanted me to come stay with them as long as I wanted to.

I came from a devastatingly broken family. The man whose name appeared on my birth certificate, who was the father of my older brothers and sisters, had been gone for over a year when I was conceived. I guess none of a string of boyfriends that my mother moved in and out of her life wanted to claim me as their child because my mom decided to make her ex-husband financially responsible for me. I grew up never having anyone that I could call daddy. I even called my first stepfather by his first name rather than daddy even though he came into my life when I was just three months old. Over my first 16 years, there were three stepfathers that my mom married and divorced before finally finding the "man of her dreams," a sweet man who was able to put up with her controlling nature.

Violence had raged through our home more often than childhood disease did. With five children in the house, you can imagine how often that was. All of us kids were strong. We had to be. If we were hurt or scared and we cried, we were hit, or if it was a bad day, beaten. By the time I was four, I had learned this lesson so well that I walked into a doctor's office on a broken leg. The doctor took one look at me and said, "It can't be broken or else she wouldn't be walking on it." I didn't have the words to tell him that it was a survival skill to be able to ignore the pain and do what I had to do. I'll never forget how he looked at me when he came back from seeing the x-rays. He obviously couldn't make sense of it.

I never could make sense of our lives either. I re-member from the time I was little I wanted a loving family who may not always be happy, but would always be there for each other. I knew that kind of family had to exist and I kept waiting for a miraculous event that would turn our fragmented family into a loving, supportive unit. Survival of the fittest meant each member of the group fending for his or her self. Each child in our family competed to be the one who avoids the berating words or the beating. If you care too much about another person, you will want to protect them, not turn negative attention onto them. To maintain the ability to deflect slaps, hits, and kicks, my older siblings learned to build walls between themselves and other members of the family in order to be able to continue to protect themselves. I didn't see any way that all of this negativity could be changed and in the end, it didn't have to. I had the answer to my prayers in a totally unexpected way and that was Samantha's family.

Daddy and Mama (what I called Samantha's parents) became my parents. Daddy disciplined me along with the rest of the kids, and there were lots of kids. Mama insisted on letting any of her eight children along with their kids come home whenever they needed to. At the time that I moved in with them, there were 15 people in a three-bedroom house. I always used to marvel that even though it should have felt crowded, it didn't. It felt warm, cozy, and safe. I joined in the chores with everyone else and brought home groceries with my paycheck like everyone else. If I went out on a date, Mama and Daddy insisted that the boy come in and meet them first. If I was sick, I was waited on until I was better. I learned to speak the Samoan language and dance the dances. I had finally found the loving, united family I had dreamed of throughout my childhood and was sure that life couldn't get any better.

Do you remember the old cliché: "It's always darkest before the dawn?" Well, life did have some amazing surprises waiting for me, but first, there was a toll to pay. Someone once told me that death is the taxes you paid for having love in your life and I found out what that meant when Daddy got sick. He was diagnosed with cancer in his kidneys and life became a series of hospital visits, each longer than the last. Samantha and I didn't know how to handle this new situation. We did what we could to take care of the younger kids to take some of the burden off of Mama so she could spend more time with Daddy. But, watching the two of them as they awaited the inevitable was so strange for me.

Up to that point, my birth family had been the only example of family members leaving that I had seen. A stepfather would leave or one of my siblings would be sent away and the general attitude toward the person's departure would be that they no longer existed. Ties were forever broken. The departure was more of a disappearance; it was as if the person never existed. Now, watching Mama and Daddy preparing for Daddy's impending death, it became apparent to me that they weren't planning on never seeing each other again. They truly believed that their love would outlast time and they would be together again someday! They hurt because they knew they were going to miss each other, but they rejoiced because their love was the enduring kind, the eternal kind.

To be honest, I thought they were just trying to make it easier on themselves. I didn't believe that anyone could know that they would be together forever. "Until death do us part" was a phrase that I had always heard and believed in. But, I also didn't think most people made it that long. I wondered how anyone could believe that they would be together forever. I wondered what it would be like to look into someone's eyes and see eternity.

In planning for the future, we all realized that Mama would need to move closer to her older son in order for him to help support the kids she had taken on and, since I had a good job and was ready, I moved out into an apartment. Still, Mama and Daddy kept tabs on my life, making sure I was behaving myself (not that there was anything to worry about) and had whatever I needed. Knowing I had their love and support, I felt ready to learn to deal with the world on my own. Mama and Daddy both continued to reassure me that I was loved no matter where I went.

Daddy eventually worsened to the point that there was no hope he would leave the hospital. Calls went out to all of the extended family. Samantha and I made trip after trip to the airport, train and bus stations, picking up family members who came to say their final goodbyes. Brothers and sisters whom I had never met were coming from all over the country. Aunts, uncles, and cousins poured in. Daddy died while the flock was gathering. I was on my way to sing in a choir performance when I got the word that he was gone and because I wanted to honor him, I went ahead and sang that night. I knew that somehow he was hearing me and I felt his presence near me and I was in awe.

Sometimes during the darkest hours, you will see a small light and its brightness is beyond what would be expected because of the contrast. My first sight of Lee was like that. I had not actually met Lee yet, but showed up at the house to take one of the kids shopping for funeral clothes. As I came in the back door to get the young one, I glanced a man standing across the living room, talking to someone else. I can't tell you anything about the other person, but when I saw that beautiful young man, something deep inside of me came alive. I was in mourning because of death, but something came to life within my soul at that moment, something that hadn't existed before. It was a glance, nothing more and then I was off again.

For the next few hours, his face stayed in my mind. I had literally met hundreds of relatives in the last few days and none of them had touched me the way Lee had. I asked the niece I had taken shopping who he was and where he had been. He was in the Army, she said, and had not been home in about seven years. He had actually been raised by a white family rather than by his own family. You see Polynesians often give the gift of a child to someone they love and respect and Lee was one of those gifts. Because of this, he didn't stay as in touch with the family as did some of the other siblings, so I had not seen nor heard of him before. But, now, after having seen him across the room, I knew that I would never have him out of my mind or my heart again.

The next day, I was talking to Carolyn, a neighbor friend who had also seen Lee. She was wistfully telling me she was hoping to get some time alone with him because she wanted to get him to ask her out. He was the most handsome man either of us had ever seen. At that point, I hadn't thought of going out with him because I thought of him as a brother. Besides, I had had my miracle for this lifetime. My Samoan family, so kind and loving, was the answer to my prayers and you couldn't expect two such awesome miracles in one lifetime. So, I truly expected nothing more out of life than to just enjoy being amongst them.

Later that afternoon, Samantha came over for a get together and told me that Lee wanted to see me. To this day, I don't know why that affected me the way it did because we had not even spoken to each other yet, but when she said he wanted to see me, my dancer's body took over and I took flight, jumping up and kicking my feet out, throwing out my arms to touch my toes and yelled "Whoo hoo!" Carolyn, who was with us punched me in the arm and said, "I wanted him!" I laughed from my very core and the smile that spread across my face was the biggest of my life. I tried to contain it and told Carolyn that Lee just wanted to talk to me, not take me out. He didn't even know me, I protested and so he couldn't want more. Besides, he was only going to be there for a week, so he wouldn't be thinking of any romantic ideas.

Still, there was a certain something that could not be squelched again growing in my soul. Something I could not deny even though I didn't understand it. I told Samantha to tell Lee I'd be over the next day and then spent the rest of the night thinking about him and trying to figure out what the heck was going on inside of me.

I knew he was mine and I was his and I had no idea why I would think that. There were plenty of guys in the group of young adults that I hung out with who I had been attracted to. Many of them were absolutely wonderful and really good friends. Yet, with no one had I felt that certainty that I was his and I would be with him someday. I knew this for a fact with Lee and wondered what he would think if I told him. Was it all my imagination? Wishful thinking? Would Lee think I was a nutcase if I told him? I decided I should put first things first and go talk to him without spilling my guts to him on the first meeting.

The next day, I went to the house and there he was. When I looked into his dark brown eyes, it was as though joy and peace filled me to the brim. I didn't worry about what he would think any more. We just hung out and talked about plans for the coming funeral. He wanted to know how I came to be with the family and I told him my story. I wanted to know why he hadn't been around the family and he told me his.

Throughout our conversation, I wanted to touch his face, hand, or his shoulder, but I did not trust myself. I had the feeling that once I touched him, I'd have to tell him what I was feeling. Although I could see in his eyes that he was feeling something too, I didn't trust life that much yet. My rational self kept telling my feeling self that I was wrong, that I should not trust what I thought I saw.

Lee was repainting the house, getting it ready to sell, while we talked and after about 15 minutes reached out with the paintbrush and painted my nose. I laughed at his silliness and decided that I shouldn't fight the impulse to touch him. Though there were many people right around us, when I first put my hand on his arm, stillness descended in our private world and we just looked at each other. I no longer wondered how I would tell Lee what I felt. I knew he wouldn't think I was nuts because he felt it too. And, suddenly, I felt the same thing. He said, "It's so weird that this would happen at Daddy's funeral" and I agreed that it seemed rather a strange time.

Lee decided to stay an extra week so we could get to know each other, but he had to go back to his job and his other obligations. Lee's past life included being in the Army and having girlfriends and an ex-wife. He had not wanted to get married, but he had gotten one of his girlfriends pregnant when he was stationed in Germany and the Army expects you to take care of your obligations, so they married.

When he came back home, she didn't want to come back with him, so they divorced. Still, he hadn't expected to ever meet anyone else he wanted to marry either and couldn't see staying celibate for the rest of his life, so his life also included a girlfriend that he had to go break up with. He had tried doing it over the phone, but she insisted they talk in person, so that was on his agenda.

I had not planned on getting married any time soon, either. I had seen too many bad marriages and wanted to work to buy a house before I got married and had kids. But, now, Lee and I had been thrown into a different world than either of us had imagined. Weknew we belonged to each other in a way neither of us thought was possible before. I can't explain to you how, but we knew we would eventually be together no matter how long it took us to get our lives in order. There was no question, no doubt, just a certainty.

Lee and I supported each other through the funeral and spent the next week together as much as possible. When I sat with him and he wrapped his arms around me, it was though I had found the safest place in the world. And when the day came that he had to leave, I was a bit sad, but not devastated as I had thought I would be.

I drove him to the airport and parked out front. He had worn his army uniform to travel in and it was the first time I had seen him in it. As our last moments together for a while approached I realized how proud of his service to our country I was. In the next moment, I marveled that only two short weeks ago, I didn't know Lee and now, I was feeling proud of him and loving him. Now, I knew what Mama and Daddy felt. I knew how it was to know that I'd belong to this man forever.

I drove up to the drop-off point and he got out of the car. I got out and went around to him. For long moments, we just looked at each other, our hearts saying what our words couldn't express. He reached out and touched my face and suddenly I realized that in all our time together, we had never kissed. It just had not seemed necessary. Our mouths had been busy sharing stories, I guess. But, now, there was silence and I knew that I was about the experience the most important kiss of my life. Lee bent forward slightly and I reached my face up to his. I could feel his breath slightly tickling the space just under my nose and we stayed for just a moment breathing in the other's exhalations. We were one, we always had been and always would be, and we both savored that knowledge. Then, slowly, Lee lowered his lips to mine and his soft lips pressed into mine. We moved deeper into each other's arms and pressed our bodies against each other, each feeling the other's heartbeat. That brief moment stretched out through infinity in my mind. I could see two souls dancing together, forever connected, moving in and out of future and past lives and I knew it was all true. Then he was gone.

Two weeks later, the letter on the blue paper came. In it Lee broke my heart and at the same time, reassured me. The girlfriend had wanted to talk to him in person because she had gotten pregnant. She wanted him to be there for their child and she knew that if she raised a fuss and went to his commanding officer, she could cause all kinds of trouble for him. He said he was torn. He knew he belonged with me, but he also felt like he needed to be there for his child. I agreed. The hardest thing I ever had to do was tell him that I did not want my soul mate running out on his child. Lee was part of me and that made me love the child, no matter who the mother was. At the end of the letter, Lee wrote something that made the broken heart not so unbearable. He wrote, "I know you know that I love you. But, I want to write it here. Throughout the next few years, read those words. Know that we will be together again and our first kiss is not the last. Trust what we know. Somehow, somewhere we will be together. We are one."

Samantha and Mama supported me through my loss for a year or so, but eventually they and the rest of my family said I needed to let go. Everyone encouraged me to date, to get married. I believed they were wrong, but I was afraid that my sadness and loneliness over my separation of Lee affected my ability to think. I knew they all cared about me and decided I should try to do what they asked me to do, that it would be good for me and put their minds at ease. I married the first man to ask me. I knew that if it wasn't Lee I was marrying, then it wasn't going to be right and if it wasn't going to be right, it didn't matter who I married.

My new husband was a violent man and I thought that was my fault because somehow he must know about my secret love for Lee. He was jealous of my love for Mama, so eventually, I broke off communication with her and Samantha. By the time I divorced him and was able to contact Mama again, she and Samantha had also moved away. For several years I looked for them, but didn't find them. Lee called me several times throughout the years, but I couldn't go to him because I was married.

Two weeks after my divorce became final, I received an early morning phone call. Half asleep, I spoke with the caller and as I awoke, I realized that it was Lee! He had been keeping tabs on me and found out I was divorced. He had decided that he could no longer live a lie and was coming to get me. "I'll be there to get you in a week," he told me. Have you ever had that feeling of "rightness" when your life has been off track and suddenly, something happens and you can literally feel it shift to the right track? I felt all was right with the world. The week passed quickly and the big day arrived. Lee, however, did not. He didn't call. No letter came. I never found out why he didn't show up.

This time though, I knew that he was determined to be with me and I knew something must have gone terribly wrong to keep him away. I looked for him on the internet and couldn't find any information. I looked for Samantha and Mama found no news. I had been looking for them for almost two years, but 10 days ago, I finally found Samantha, just her address. I quickly sent a letter to her asking how they were and asking for news of Lee. I told her that I have never stopped believing we would be together and I would never again make the mistake of giving up.

3

Now, here I stand with the letter Samantha sent me a few days ago. Her tears blur some of the words, but they are legible, too legible:

"I don't know how to tell you this. Lee didn't come to you because he had been deployed suddenly and was killed with several other members of his crew during security operations. He isn't coming home ever again. Back then, he said he was going on a short trip and was going to bring back a surprise for us that we would love. That night, though, he got the call and had to be on a plan within hours. He told us not to worry, he'd be back in a few months and he told us that his surprise was that he was going to go bring you home to us, but he'd call you from the base and he knew you'd understand. We didn't know that you guys were going to get married until they sent us his personal effects from his locker and a ring was in it."

Samantha went on to apologize for breaking my heart with such awful news and told me to come home anyway. She wanted me to be with the family to handle this sad news and to heal.

But here's the thing, I don't really need to heal. I am sad that he has gone on and I am going home, but I don't feel as if I have lost Lee. I feel that he's closer to me than ever. He has been appearing in my dreams the last few years and those dreams were different from my regular dreams. I've told several people that it's as if he is really there now. It's like he's visiting. As a matter of fact, I had never dreamt of Lee up until about 16 months ago. It seems he died 17 months ago. Last night, before I got Samantha's letter, Lee told me that I shouldn't worry, no matter what I heard. He said he'd be there and I have to trust in what we know. Once again, he looked into my eyes, touched my face, and told me, "Remember what I told you. It's still true. Trust what we know. Somehow we will be together again. Our first kiss is not the last."

Only for Her

By Sherilyn Winrose

[In a few masterful lines, Sherilyn Winrose takes several of the characters from her romantic thriller, Safe Harbor, and develops a story that is as intriguing as it is delightful. It makes us wonder what happened to these folks between the end of the book and the beginning of Only for Her.]

Bryan stared at his reflection in the mirror. He'd showered, shaved, dressed and he still looked pissed. He'd done everything he knew to vent his anger, and nothing worked. All of the farm work was done. There wasn't anything on the place in need of repair. He'd considered breaking something, just so he could fix it. Bryan couldn't remember ever being this angry.

She was his everything; there was nothing he wouldn't do for her. When she took a job in California, he figured she'd come home. He'd been a fool to let her go. His cell phone buzzed across the vanity. Casting it a glare, he snatched it up. It was her. Bryan drew in a deep breath and blew it out. "Jamison."

"You're coming, aren't you?"

There was so much hope in her voice. Bryan clenched his teeth to even his tone. "You know I wouldn't miss it." I'd rather run naked through a blizzard, but I'll be there.

"Look, I know this is hard. I just can't imagine you not being here. It means a lot; it really does. Aaron is a really great guy."

"Don't mention it. I'm sure he is." I'll shoot him later. Living in the least populated state had perks, like lots of places to hide bodies. "Look Brenna, it's a long drive. I better get going or I'll be late."

"Okay. I'm sorry it happened this way. I never meant to hurt you."

Bryan leaned his forehead into the mirror. "I know. I'll see you later." He snapped the phone closed with a groan and straightened. Be the bigger man, Jamison. If he turns out to be a jerk, you can shoot him later. A grin pulled on his lips, and he shook his head.

"Suck it up, buddy. What's done is done. She chose him," he said as he marched through the house on his way to the back door. A picture of her on top of the piano caught his attention. Her smile was as bright as the sun. He rolled his neck to loosen the muscles. I'll put it away later. He snatched the keys from the hook by the door and trotted toward the Quonset.

The smell of the Missouri river mingled with ripening grain as he approached the large steel, outbuilding. The frost yellowed leaves in the cottonwood trees rustled in the breeze. He loved this time of year; it was the lull before the push to harvest. The season offered little comfort. Bryan put his shoulder into the tall steel door, ignoring the pain in his chest. The door screeched on its upper tracks, while the lower wheels spit dust onto his boots.

He slid into the leather, bucket seat of his red '68 Mustang. The top was down, there wasn't a cloud in the sky and when the four-hundred horsepower engine roared to life, he could pretend he didn't have a care in the world. His foot went to the floor a couple of times just to feel the rumble vibrate through his body. A drive to town might just be the ticket, or not, but hey, it was worth a try.

He spotted Kevin waiting for him as he pulled into the parking lot. Bryan never liked this hotel, modeled after an alpine ski lodge. It only stood to reason Brenna would choose it for her reception. He waved at his brother-in-law and slipped into a parking spot not far from the door.

"You okay? My sister called and she's worried. She tried to reschedule, but it was no can do," Kevin said as Bryan approached the carved, Bavarian wood doors.

"We knew she couldn't make it on such short notice. She's a worrywart, and so are you if you listen to her. I'm fine. I'll be fine." If another person asked how he was, they were going to get their teeth knocked down their throat. The center of his universe had eloped. How the hell did they think he was doing?

He rubbed the toe of his boots on the back of his new jeans to brush the dust off and entered the main banquet hall. The damned thing was cavernous. Deep burgundy and forest green carpet spread out in front of him. Low lit crystal chandeliers hung high over head. The gentle rumble of conversation filled his ears. He scanned the room and came to a dead stop when he saw her.

Rich, brown hair was swept away from her heart-shaped face and tumbled over her shoulders. Brenna's blue eyes sparkled as she gazed at the man she'd married. Damn it, she was glowing. There was no denying he'd never seen her so happy.

"You knew this day would come," Kevin said over his shoulder.

"Yeah, but I figured I'd be giving her away. This arrogant bastard stole her. A Marine no less."

"Daddy!" Brenna called, releasing herself from the other man's embrace.

All of the ire he'd held onto for the last week melted in an instant. How could he possibly remain angry when his baby girl was glowing? He wrapped his arms around her middle and pushed his face into her hair. "I've missed you."

"I've missed you too, Dad. Please don't be angry with Aaron. We would have waited if we could have. He wanted to ask your permission, like you did Grandpa, but he ships out in two days. Dad there just wasn't time."

A knot formed in his throat as the young private first class walked toward them in his dress uniform. "Sir?"

Bryan moved Brenna to his side and grasped the hand offered him. "Private."

"I'll take good care of her sir. I promise."

"I'm going to hold you to that." Bryan tossed his head in Kevin's direction. "Her uncle and I will make sure they never find your body."

"Daddy!" Brenna swatted at her father's chest.

The young man cast an uncertain gaze at his bride.

"He's kidding. Tell him you're kidding. Honestly Dad."

Bryan cut a side long look at Kevin and then to his new son-in-law. "Of course I'm kidding. I'd never kill my daughter's husband." I'll shoot you if you ever hurt her. Inflicting pain works too. A smile pulled at Bryan's lips.

The Perfect Kiss

By Jerrica Knight-Catania

[Her prose historically accurate, sprightly and joyous, Jerrica Knight-Catania lyrically transports her readers back to Olde England in this marvelous regency romance tale. The Perfect Kiss took third place in the "True Love's First Kiss" contest on the Genre Creatives Competition on Gather.com.]

Sevenoaks, England

February 8, 1816

"Kat, are you all right?"

Lady Katherine Wetherby turned from the window to find her best friend regarding her with great concern.

"Fine, Melinda" she said evasively as she strolled back to the sitting area.

She plopped down on the settee opposite Melinda and picked up her needlepoint again, praying her hands wouldn't give away her sudden nervousness.

They sat in silence for a moment, both concentrating very hard on the projects before them, but it wasn't long before Kat's mind began to wander to the man pulling up in the drive. She could throttle Benjamin for inviting him here for the week. Didn't he know what that man did to her?

No, of course he didn't. How could he? Kat had kept that secret for years and she wasn't about to reveal herself to anyone. Especially not her older brother. He would tease her endlessly for her childish crush on his friend.

Well, perhaps he's changed since I saw him last. Perhaps he's a horrible man now and I won't want a thing to do with him!

That was a probability. She hadn't seen William Hart, Duke of Weston, in well over two years. She had been a silly girl of nineteen then, smitten with the older man, eight years her senior. Now she was twenty-one and so much wiser. She had a good head on her shoulders and would not be swayed by good looks and a bit of charm. And she certainly wouldn't chase after him like some ninny and make a cake of herself.

No, she would be calm and mature. She would not wear her heart on her sleeve and she would not allow her emotions to radiate through her eyes.

"Ow!" Kat looked down at her finger, now throbbing from a solid stab.

"Oh, dear, are you all right, Katy?"

"Yes, I just wasn't paying attention." She tossed her needlepoint aside and stuck her finger in her mouth to catch the blood before she soiled the settee.

"Have you been dipping your fingers in the pudding again, Lady Katherine?"

***

William Hart, Duke of Weston, watched as Lady Katherine's dark head swung to face him. Her brown eyes were open as wide as they could go, and she didn't even blink as she stared back at him. Clearly he'd startled her, but he hoped she wouldn't hold it against him. She was such a pretty little thing and he'd hate to see that exquisite face contorted in anger.

"I'm sorry," he continued. "I hope I'm not interrupting anything. Your brother sent me here to wait for him."

"Not at all, Your Grace," said the mousy brown-haired girl on the other side of the coffee table. He hadn't even noticed her until now. "We were just working on our needlepoint, see?"

The mousy girl cleared her throat and cast sidelong glances to her friend as she procured her needlepoint to him as a distraction. She obviously thought her friend should remove her finger from her mouth, and William had to agree. Though, not for the same reasons, he was sure.

The sight of her sucking on her finger did things to him he hadn't been expecting. Self-consciously, he pulled his jacket closed and fastened the button at the front.

Finally, the dumbstruck Lady Katherine pulled her finger from her mouth with a suck and pop, before not-so-discretely wiping it on her skirts. William held back a laugh. Good Lord, she was an unexpected delight.

"I...um...forgive me, Your Grace, I...needlepoint..." She held up her finger as she picked up the needlepoint from the settee. Did she think to play a game of charades with him? "Ow!"

Oh, good god. "It's all right, Lady Katherine, I under-stand. You pricked your finger, and it appears you've done it again. Perhaps needlepoint is not the best activity for you at this moment. May I?"

He took the needlepoint from her and placed it carefully on the table, noticing the horrific pattern on the ring. Perhaps needlepoint wasn't ever the best activity for her.

"It's a cat," he heard her say, her voice somewhat dejected.

Trying not to laugh, he turned to her. "Well, of course it is, Lady Katherine, and quite a lovely one at that. I was simply admiring your...choice of color."

She eyed him skeptically and he fought to keep his lips from twitching upward. He cleared his throat and reached into his pocket for a handkerchief. The simple task helped him gain control of his faculties before he turned back to her.

"Here," he said, handing her the white linen.

She didn't take it. She didn't even move. "You're teasing me."

William tried to look affronted. "Teasing you?"

"Anyone can see that's not a cat. I only said that to see what you would do."

"You...what?" William couldn't quite believe the little chit had tricked him, and now caught him, in a lie.

"I know it's horrid, but I was...distracted, if you must know. I'm usually quite accomplished at needlepoint."

Did she think he cared one way or another how her needlepoint was? William almost laughed but figured that wasn't such a good idea at the moment.

"I've no doubt of it," he said, his tone as somber as he could make it under the circumstances. "I will not hold this particular piece against you, Lady Katherine. Now, will you please take my handkerchief for your finger, give me a proper greeting and introduce me to your friend?"

***

He made a great many demands on her in a short amount of time, but there was a glimmer of amusement as he did. Kat had to admit she'd not been a very good hostess and he had every right to tease her now for her behavior. But she couldn't help it. His voice had startled her, even though she'd seen him drive up. Even though she knew he was in the house. She just hadn't expected to have to face him so soon.

And good heavens, he cut quite a dashing figure in their drawing room. His wavy blond hair swooped over his left brow and his pale blue eyes reflected the white snow just beyond the windows. His expression continued to be one of good humor as he waited for her to say something.

Say something.

"Oh, yes, of course! Welcome, Your Grace," she said as she dipped into a curtsey. As she righted herself, she took the handkerchief from him and wrapped her finger. "And may I introduce my dear friend, Miss Melinda Millbury."

He bowed first to Kat, then to Melinda. "Thank you for your warm welcome, Lady Katherine. It is indeed a pleasure to meet you, Miss Millbury."

"Ah, here you all are!"

Benjamin strode into the room, a broad smile on his face. Her brother was quite dashing in his own way. His features were similar to Kat's - thick, dark hair and chocolate brown eyes. However, her three brothers seemed to have stolen all the height in the family, leaving Kat with a rather petite frame.

"Have you all had a chance to reacquaint yourselves?"

"We have indeed," His Grace replied, turning amused eyes on Kat. "However, the dinner hour approaches and I do not wish for your parents to see me in these travel-weary clothes."

"Right this way." Ben stepped aside and gestured for the duke to precede him into the hall.

With a slight bow and a smile, the two men disappeared from the room.

***

Once he was safely ensconced in the privacy of his chamber, William began to undress and prepare for dinner. As he did so, he reflected on his brief encounter with his best friend's little sister.

She'd grown up quite a bit since last he'd seen her. Kat had always been what he thought of as a silly ninny, following him and Benjamin around, trying to be part of whatever they were doing. She was a horribly nosy girl, prone to butting in to others' affairs without a second thought.

But as he pictured her as she'd been today, her jet-black hair falling in ringlets around her face, her wide brown eyes blinking in consternation, he didn't think he'd mind her butting into his affairs.

He shook his head as he made yet another failed attempt at his cravat. What was he thinking? He could never have her. She was Benjamin's little sister \- off limits, as far as he was concerned. He'd once courted a friend's sister and when it ended badly, he never heard from his friend again. William valued Benjamin too much to allow that to happen.

***

Katherine pinched her cheeks for the hundredth time in three minutes. Good heavens, would Melinda never be ready? She needed her to leave so she could execute her plan. But Melinda continued to flit about the room, doing heaven knew what, to prepare for dinner.

At long last, Melinda announced she was ready. "Shall we go down?"

"Um...I'm not quite ready, Mel. Perhaps you should go on without me."

"Without you?" Melinda gaped at her. "No, no, I can wait. Can I help?"

"No!" Kat shouted and then shook her head. "No, I mean, actually...I'm not feeling very well." She gave her friend a grimace and covered her stomach with her hand.

"Oh," Melinda replied with a sympathetic grimace of her own. "Of course...I'll just see you downstairs, then."

And with an embarrassed blush, Melinda darted from the room and closed the door firmly behind her. Kat didn't waste a single moment. She immediately turned the lock in the door and then set to her plan.

In the course of the afternoon, she had decided the only way to get over her silly infatuation with the Duke of Weston was to match him up with another woman. Another woman that would deem him off limits to Kat for all eternity should he court her. All she had to do was convince them they had a tendre for one another and viola! She could cease her obsession and find a real husband. A husband who was quiet and not too handsome, who was a good match for her station, but not so high that she would feel inadequate as his wife. A husband who didn't have a reputation in London as a rake. A husband who didn't give her heart palpitations whenever he was in a fifty mile radius or make her lose her very refined powers of speech.

Her resolve set, she marched to the escritoire, dipped the quill in the ink and began to write on a fresh piece of foolscap.

When she was done, Kat dabbed the letter with a bit of Melinda's perfume and then drew a large heart around the seal. She held the folded foolscap straight out in front of her and smiled. Time to set the plan in motion.

***

William returned to his room that night, exhausted, but with a certain raven-haired princess on his mind. Kat had been just as delightful over dinner as she had been earlier in the day. She seemed constantly flustered, which caused her mouth to run away with itself and she ended up saying the most absurdly amusing things.

He chuckled now as he recalled some of her ramblings. And poor Miss Millbury seemed to be the topic she most wished to discuss. She'd given a list of Miss Millbury's accomplishments over dinner and they continued to flow into dessert and had a prominent place over their game of Whist as well. William was sure there was nothing he didn't know now about Miss Millbury from Hampshire.

He quickly divested himself of his clothing, eager to meet with his large four-poster, but stopped just as he was about to collapse to the mattress. A smile came to his lips as he regarded the folded up letter with the heart sitting on his pillow. He hadn't expected Katherine to be so forward so soon, but...

He plucked up the letter, broke the seal and began to read.

Dear Lord Weston,

I hope you do not think me too forward in writing this, but I must share with you what is in my heart. Ever since I saw you this afternoon, I cannot stop thinking of you. You are handsome and kind and I fear I have developed a sort of affection for you. I know we are not well acquainted but perhaps we can become more so over the next week of our stay.

With all my affection,

Your Secret Admirer

Well, this was unexpected. He had anticipated the little magpie would have left the note, but looking closely, he determined it could not have been. Katherine lived here - she wasn't just staying here as the writer indicated. Was it possible that mousy Miss Millbury had developed this affection so quickly?

William sighed and folded the note up again with a smile. No use speculating. His admirer would show herself soon enough, and he was far too tired to try and decipher which of the little ninnies had snuck into his room that evening.

***

Over the course of the next few days, Katherine did everything in her power to push Lord Weston and Miss Millbury into one another's paths. She insisted Melinda show the duke the fir trees at the edge of the garden. And when Melinda had declared Kat should be the one to show him, she pleaded a headache that prevented her from going in the sun. She asked Melinda to trade places with her at meals, claiming she was getting a stiff neck from having to turn to her right all the time to address her. And she played waltzes every evening, insisting they dance together.

But as the time passed and her friend became more smitten with the duke, and the duke paid closer attention to Melinda, she couldn't help the little twinge in her heart. It wasn't jealousy, of that she was sure. She'd been jealous before. Once. When she'd happened upon Lord Weston canoodling with a widow on the terrace of the Sherwood's London townhome. Shock and horror had filled her at once when she'd seen his fingers graze places they ought not have been. Then the jealousy had settled deep in the marrow of her bones when he'd lowered his lips to hers.

Oh, how she wanted to be that woman. How she wanted to smell him and taste him as that harlot did. To feel his hands splayed across her back. And his tongue! Oh, dear heavens, to see their tongues mingle made her whole body shiver with need.

"Are you cold, Katherine?"

Katherine's head snapped up from the cards she held in front of her. They'd been playing Whist all evening and she and Benjamin hadn't won a single hand against the happy couple.

"No, no, I'm fine, Your Grace. I think I'm a bit tired, though. I shall retire, if no one minds."

***

The next morning, as William sat down to breakfast, Katherine, in all her exotic splendor, burst through the door. She wore a broad smile, but William could not be fooled. She always wore a smile for him, but she never quite met his eyes anymore. Not the way she had on that first day. And he caught her staring at him and Melinda quite often when they would bend their heads to whisper to one another.

"Lady Katherine," he ventured as she sat down to toast and tea, "I wondered if you might take a turn about the gardens with me this morning." He watched as her eyes turned round in her face.

"Me?" she cried. "I mean...that is..."

Her gaze skidded to Melinda.

"I'm not feeling well this morning," Melinda admitted. "A bit of a sore throat. But please, don't let me stop the two of you from taking in the fresh air."

"Oh, well..." Kat looked back to William, a question in the chocolaty depths of her eyes.

"It would please me greatly, Lady Katherine. That is, if you don't mind the cold."

Katherine shook her head. "I don't mind at all."

***

Kat couldn't understand why in the world Lord Hart would want to walk with her. Clearly, he was smitten with Melinda, so what could be the purpose of such a solitary walk? If Melinda wasn't feeling well, he should stay inside and entertain her in a game of cards. Or read to her!

"I meant to have a talk with you, Lady Katherine," he said as they made their way down the snow-dusted steps to the garden.

"Oh?" She cast him a sidelong glance and tried to calm the resulting flutter in her belly.

"Yes, you see, I have a little situation I may need your help with."

Oh, heavens. "Go on."

"It has to do with a...female."

"A female," she confirmed.

"That's right. One for whom I've developed quite a tendre. One that makes my heart leap and my skin prickle. Who lights up any room she enters..."

Katherine listened as he droned on about her friend. She would not be jealous. She would not envy her friend! It was all her doing anyhow. Wasn't this what she wanted? For the two of them to fall in love so she could move on from her silly, girlish obsession and marry a respectable man.

If he's not respectable, why have you matched him with your very best friend?

"Oh, shut up!" she wanted to yell at her conscience.

"I beg your pardon?"

Oh, blast. "Um...not you, of course. Goodness, I'm sorry. Will- I mean, my lord - perhaps this was not a good idea. I think I feel a sore throat coming on as well. I don't think the cold air is good for me."

"But I haven't finished telling you about my dilemma," he insisted.

Katherine couldn't listen to anymore, though. "I'm sorry," she called as she retreated to the house. "I'll see you at dinner."

***

William watched her go, wondering if he'd made the right decision. But he was knee deep in the mess now, and tomorrow was the day. Valentines Day.

Right now, she was about to arrive in her room to find Melinda mooning over another love note from him. A note telling her to meet him at the gazebo at the back of the garden at sunset tomorrow.

Clearly, she was upset by his intentions toward Melinda, despite the fact she'd been the one to encourage them. His stomach turned, his heart was heavy, as well as his loin. Tomorrow could not come soon enough.

***

"Oh, thank heaven you're back!" Melinda said as Katherine burst through the door to her room. "I must speak with you, Katherine."

Kat regarded her friend with great concern. Mel rarely referred to her by her full name, even in polite company. "What's wrong, Mel?"

Melinda's face twisted into anguish and she plopped down on a chair by the fire. "This," she said, holding out a piece of folded foolscap.

Reluctantly, Kat crossed to her friend and took the note. She didn't want to read it. She didn't want to know anything about what was going on between William and Melinda, for surely her heart couldn't take anymore.

In the short time William had been there, she came to realize the silly, girlish crush she'd had for him so long ago, was not nearly as such now. It was much more than that. It was love. She was irrevocably in love with William Hart, but now he was in love with Melinda, and there was naught she could do about it.

So, bearing it as if she were Joan of Arc, Kat took the letter and bravely opened it to read.

My dear Melinda,

I would ask that you would meet me at the gazebo tomorrow at sunset as there is something very important I wish to speak with you about.

Yours,

William

Kat's heart sank as she read and reread the note. He was going to ask her to marry him.

"Kat, what do I do?"

Kat looked up from the letter. She'd almost forgotten Melinda was distressed over the note, but why, she couldn't fathom. She was going to marry a duke, and go from being a simple miss to a wealthy duchess. And she was going to be married to the most wonderful man alive.

"Do?" she repeated.

"Yes! What if he asks me to marry him? What do I say?"

"Well, I think you say...'yes'," Kat choked out.

"But I can't! I'm not ready to marry. I hardly know William. Oh, goodness, this is a disaster!"

"I thought you liked him." Kat knelt down beside her friend and took her hands in hers. "What of all your love letters and such?"

Melinda's head nodded up and down absently as she stared into the fire. "Yes, I know. I thought I liked him...oh, Kat, you must go to the gazebo! You must tell him that I've taken ill and cannot meet with him. That his question will have to wait for another day."

"No, Melinda," Kat began, feeling sick to her stomach. What had she gotten herself into? "I cannot tell him that! He wants to marry you. This is not some childish game. You must act like a grown-up and tell him yourself how you feel."

Melinda stared at her for a moment, her expression blank, as if she'd suddenly found herself in a far away place. "Yes, you're right. This is not a game."

Kat sat back on her haunches, as she heard her words repeated to her. This is not a game. It wasn't, though it had started out that way. And now there was nothing she could do. Unless...

"Melinda," she said, taking her friend's hands in her own. "Do you love Lord Weston?"

Mel's eyes grew wide. "Love? Goodness, no! Of course, he is handsome and kind enough, and I like him very much, but didn't I just finish telling you I wasn't ready to marry him."

"Yes, but will you be? Will you one day want to marry him?"

"I...well, no. I don't think the life of a duchess is one I wish to embark on, especially if the duke is not someone I love."

Kat's heart thumped hard against her chest. Perhaps there was a way to salvage the damage she'd done. Perhaps cupid could take back his arrow and, dare she hope, find another target in her.

"Kat? What's going on in that head of yours?"

She turned to her friend, knowing her eyes shown with tears. She just couldn't help herself. "I love him, Mel. I've loved him since I was a girl. I thought it was merely infatuation, but it's not. I was afraid of loving him, afraid he would hurt me or reject me, or...Oh, I don't know! I've been a fool and a ninny. With your permission, I would like to make things right. If you do not love him, and do not wish to marry him, then may I tell him so? May I take the opportunity to tell him how I feel?"

Mel stared back at her, a stunned expression marring her plain features. But a smile lurked there. "Of course you may, my dear friend. Go to him."

"Go to him," Kat repeated. "Or bring him to me."

"What?" Mel blinked at her.

"Will you deliver a note? On my behalf this time?"

***

William made his way to the gazebo just as the sun was about to dip below the horizon. He wasn't sure why, but he'd been summoned there, and not by Melinda. No, his little magpie had insisted he meet her there tonight. She had something important to discuss with him, she said.

He wondered what it was, but he wasn't one to speculate, so he put the thoughts from his mind and picked up his pace.

As he approached the gazebo, he could see her there, kneeling in the middle of the floor. She wore a red velvet cape with the hood brought up to frame her exquisite face. Loose tendrils blew in the winter breeze, and a tentative smile lit up her chocolate eyes.

"Lady Katherine, why on earth are you out here kneeling on the floor of a gazebo?" he asked, climbing the few steps to meet her. "I'm sure whatever you needed to say to me could have been said just as easily in front of a cozy fire."

She cleared her throat. "Certainly you don't believe that," she said. "For you asked Miss Millbury to meet you here tomorrow evening so you might say...something important to her."

William couldn't stop the smile that tugged at his lips. "Indeed, Lady Katherine."

"Kat. Please call me Kat. We've known each other for years. You're practically part of my family."

"Kat, why have you called me out here?" he asked again.

"I-I...I have been a fool, Your Grace."

William laughed. "You insist I call you Kat and yet you still use such a formal title with me? I think not. William will suffice."

"Ahem...all right, then. I have been a fool, William," she said, putting more gusto behind her words this time. "I made a grave mistake and now I fear...I fear..."

Taking pity on her, William knelt down in front of her and took her hands in his. He kissed her knuckles and then gave her a wide and sincere smile. "My darling, Kat, you don't need to say anymore."

Her eyes widened in shock as he continued to kiss her fingers. "What do you mean? What are you doing? You're in love with Melinda! Why are you kiss-"

Unwilling to hear anymore about Miss Millbury, William pressed his lips to Kat's in a searing kiss. A kiss he'd been waiting to give her for days. Maybe even years. All he knew was he couldn't wait another moment to taste her, to show her how he felt about her, and only her.

She didn't question the kiss. She didn't even pull away. She welcomed him in, opened when he reached out to tease her lips. It was perhaps the sweetest kiss he'd ever known. Soft and innocent. Pure, but full of need.

He pulled her to him and her body molded against his. The world fell away – the cold and the snow, the strong wind that picked up as the sun made its descent below the horizon – and all that was left was the two of them.

When finally they broke their kiss, Kat stared up at him with wide, searching eyes. "What...how..."

"Shhh," William cajoled as he ran a thumb over her pink cheek. "We knew all along, you silly magpie."

"You did?"

He nodded in answer. "I've known since the day after my arrival, darling. I confronted Melinda about her note and she, of course, denied having left it."

"But how did you know it was me?" she asked, her eyes wide and confused.

"You're not the most discreet matchmaker in the world, you know? But your brother had an inkling and told me so. I wanted to wait until tomorrow to tell you how I feel about you. And to tell you that I've spoken with your father."

"My father!"

"I love you, Kat," he continued.

"But you...me?"

William laughed at her inability to form a coherent thought. It was quite an accomplishment on his part, to render the Lady Katherine Wetherby silent. "Yes, you and me. Together. Forever."

Kat apparently didn't need any more details as to the how or why he'd come to claim her and love her, for she threw herself into his arms and met his lips in yet another perfect kiss.

Puppy Love

By Claire Collins

[Puppy Love is another example of a master at work. Claire Collins possesses the remarkable ability to weave heart-rending subplots and hair-raising thrillers, all the while making readers wonder how things will work out for the couple who find love in the midst of life's turmoil. She is the award-winning author of Fate & Destiny and Images of Betrayal.]

She slammed her fist on the desk. If her computer crashed one more time, she wouldn't be able to stop herself from throwing the whole thing out the window. Lisa pushed away from the heavy mahogany desk and left the office after rebooting the computer for the third time that morning. She carried her coffee cup, intent on infusing more caffeine into her system. Passing through the living room from the office on the way to the kitchen, she stopped. A scratching noise came from the front door. The sound was accompanied by yipping.

Lisa put her cup on the coffee table and opened the front door. A blast of cold March morning air entered the house. Lisa shivered and wrapped her flannel shirt around her tighter. On the other side of the security screen, a little pile of fur looked up at her with doleful eyes. It wagged its tail.

"Look how cute you are." Lisa said. "You must be lost." The tail wagged and the dog scratched at the door again. A pink bow adorned the top of the dog's head, tied securely into the mounds of soft, fluffy, white fur surrounding the inquisitive face. Someone took very good care of the little dog. Lisa couldn't see a collar through the screen. It must be hidden under the layers of fur. She could make a quick phone call and get back to dismantling her computer with a sledgehammer in no time. She opened the wrought iron security screen.

Lisa didn't know little dogs could be so quick. The dog bounded past her legs and straight into the house. Lisa's cry of surprise didn't stop the dog that leapt onto the couch and curled into a ball, her sad eyes watching Lisa.

"Okay Pup," Lisa crooned from the front door she still held open. "You need to go home. You can't get comfortable here. Someone will be very worried about you."

The dog tipped her head and listened, but didn't bother to get off the sofa. Lisa let go of the security door. She took a step closer to the dog.

"C'mon girl," Lisa kept her voice cheery. "Let's go home." She opened the screen door and pointed outside. The dog didn't move. Lisa's mouth quirked, maybe the dog wasn't used to the soft approach. Lisa assumed she belonged to some little old lady, but maybe not.

"Down!" Lisa commanded. The dog's ears came up, but she didn't move. Lisa let go of the door again and strode to the couch. The dog crouched, and when Lisa got close enough, the little fur ball snapped at her. Then it barked. Lisa jumped back.

"Oh no, you didn't just try to bite me, did you?" The dog barked again, put her front paws straight out, her back end up in the air, and wagged her tail. Her little mouth opened and her head moved back and forth.

Lisa laughed. "Oh! You're playing aren't you?" The tail moved faster. Lisa extended her open hand, palm up, to the dog. She received a lick and a happy yip for her efforts. The dog wriggled on the couch as Lisa scratched around the furry ears, her fingers rubbing against the collar.

"I knew you'd have a collar on, you cute little thing." Lisa smiled and petted the dog under her chin with one hand while the other lifted the heart shaped tag hanging from the center front of the collar.

"Cuddles, huh?" Lisa eyed the little dog that barked and jumped with excitement when Lisa said her name. Lisa resumed petting the dog so she could grab the tag again and find the dog's owner.

"Phone number on the back," Lisa smiled at Cuddles. "I love responsible pet owners. That's why I don't have any. I don't need the responsibility and you need to go home."

Lisa wrote the number on the scratch pad on the end table by the couch. She peeled the paper from the pad and carried it to her office in search of her cell phone. Cuddles followed, her paws softly padding across the tile. With her pretty bow, trimmed hair, and clipped nails, Cuddles spent more time primping than Lisa did.

Her cell phone was charging on her desk. Tucking her feet under her, Lisa curled into her office chair and dialed the number. After the first ring, a recorded message came on the line.

"U-t-o-h, Cuddles," Lisa looked at the little ball of fluff on the floor. "The number's been disconnected. I guess your owner isn't as responsible as I thought."

Cuddles stood on her back legs, her front paws on the seat of the chair. Lisa scooped her up, putting her in her lap.

"I guess I'm going to have to call the pound to come get you. Your owner will probably call them when they can't find you."

Lisa moved the mouse on her computer to look up the number. The computer didn't respond, the image of a partially created and unsaved design plan frozen on the screen.

She emitted a bad word under her breath. Somewhere around there, she had a real paper phone book, but she had no idea where it was. She picked up the phone again to call Information for the number. Before she could flip the phone open, Cuddles jumped from Lisa's lap, barking furiously as she raced down the hall. Lisa unfolded from the chair and went after the dog. She arrived in the living room in time to see Cuddles scratching at the security door and barking. An angry-looking large man strode up the sidewalk. Lisa reached the front door before the man could rap his thick knuckles against the unlocked screen.

"Can I help you?" Lisa's voice was firm even though she was shaking on the inside. The man was huge, at least six foot five inches tall and solid as a brick wall. His dark brown hair showed red highlights in the sun and sunglasses hid his eyes. His unshaven square jaw was set with anger.

"Yeah, you can help me by giving me back my dog." He spit the words out, putting his hands on his hips and tip-ping his head.

Lisa held her hand on the lock, ready to flip it closed if the man made an aggressive move. She looked down at Cuddles. The little groomed dog with her pink bow, a spray of fur spreading out from it, and her playful personality belonged to the gruff man on her porch? Lisa imagined that someone like him would own a more suitable pet, like a rabid pit bull.

"What's her name?" Lisa wasn't quite willing to give this man the dog without knowing for sure that she belonged to him.

The man shifted on his feet and looked around before studying his shoes. "Her name is Cuddles."

Lisa smiled at his embarrassment. Not so tough now, are you buddy?

"I'm sorry," she said sweetly. "What did you say her name was?"

The man looked directly through the screen even though he couldn't see her through the holes in the thick metal. "Her name is Cuddles. Happy now? Can I have her back, please?"

Lisa pushed the door open and Cuddles ran out. The man scooped her up with one hand, holding her wriggling body against his chest while she licked his face. His other hand held the screen open. Lisa leaned against the doorframe.

The man's face softened and he smiled, his teeth in an even row except for one on the side that was just crooked enough to keep them from being perfect.

"Cuddles, you're a bad girl. You aren't supposed to leave the yard." He spoke softly to the dog, seeming to forget Lisa was watching. He stopped smiling, his face turning in her direction.

"Why do you have my dog in your house? I've been hunting all over the neighborhood for her."

Lisa crossed her arms across her chest, holding the flannel shirt against her. "I didn't let her in. She let herself in. I called the number on her tag. If you had an updated number on there, you would have known exactly where to find her."

The man looked down at the dog. "Yeah, I need to do that." He spoke softly again for a moment, then his voice turned to steel. "Well, thanks for letting her in, I guess."

Without waiting for a reply, the man turned and walked down the sidewalk, tucking the little dog inside his jacket as he went.

Lisa's house returned to normal for the rest of the day. Early the next morning, scratching and barking at the front door stopped her on the way to the kitchen to make coffee. She opened the door. Cuddles greeted her with a bark before sauntering into the house and getting comfortable on the couch.

"The sun isn't even up yet," Lisa said to the white fluff on the couch. "Why me?"

The little dog didn't answer, only yawned and stretched. Anticipating the knock on the door, Lisa started the coffee pot, before going to the bathroom to shower. The dog followed her. Lisa put her outside of the bathroom door and shut it. She didn't even get the water started before Cuddles started howling in a pitiful little voice from the other side of the door. Lisa threw the door open and the dog trotted into the room, watching every move Lisa made. The man could arrive at any minute. Lisa turned to the mirror. A shower could wait. He wasn't that important that she had to be clean and fresh to give him back his dog. She splashed cold water on her face so her green eyes didn't resemble Christmas. Then she combed her long straight auburn hair into a ponytail. She was sitting on the couch in a pair of lounge pants and an oversize sweatshirt with a cup of coffee in her hand and Cuddles curled up in her lap when the knock came at the door.

"C'mon in," she said as she opened the doors. "Your runaway is on the couch."

He didn't wear sunglasses since the day was starting out overcast. His brown eyes had a guilty look in them.

"Thanks. I thought I found where she got out and I fixed it. Guess I better look again." He entered the house and Lisa shut the door behind him. Cuddles jumped around at his feet.

Lisa resumed her position on the couch. "Maybe this time you should give me your name and number and I'll call you if she shows up again." She handed him the paper and pen from the end table.

He scribbled on the paper. "I'm going to watch and see what she does the next time I let her out. She probably won't bother you again."

Lisa waved her hand in dismissal. "She really isn't a bother. I actually like her."

The man handed back the paper and Lisa read his name and phone number. Ben Welsh. He stood in the center of the room, the little dog watching her from the safety of her owner's massive hand.

"I do have one question though," Lisa said. "Why does a big ole' guy like you have a Pekingese? I would think you would want a big manly kind of dog."

Ben's eyebrows went up. He laughed. "What? Are you saying my dog isn't 'manly'?"

Lisa grinned. "Cuddles isn't exactly a masculine name either, but the pink bow in her hair really screams feminine. I'm guessing she's your wife's dog and you keep getting elected to fetch her."

Ben's smile faded and his eyebrows dipped to a frown. "She's a Peekapoo, not a Pekingese and I'm not married. She was my mom's dog."

"A Peekapoo?" Lisa asked. "Does your mom live around here?"

Ben gently rubbed the silky fur on Cuddles' ears. The dog closed her eyes, her chin resting on Ben's arm that held her.

"A Peekapoo is a mix between a Pekingese and a Poodle. My mom died last week. I live three blocks behind you. I brought Cuddles home two days ago. My sister was taking care of my mom after she got sick, but my sister has a Rottweiler and he didn't like Cuddles much."

Lisa didn't speak for a moment. She couldn't think of a word to say to the big man holding the tiny dog.

"I'm sorry," was all she could manage. It didn't seem enough.

Ben looked up at her. "It's okay. Really. Mom had breast cancer and it was too far along when they discovered it. She was really sick and in a lot of pain at the end. I'm grateful her suffering is over."

Lisa studied him for a moment. Although he was in pain, his eyes were dry and accepting.

"Well, maybe Cuddles will get used to your home and settle in soon."

Ben shrugged. "At least she keeps coming back here. I spent a couple of hours yesterday going through the neighborhood calling her name until I heard her in here barking. Today I just came straight here, hoping she did the same thing." He turned and placed his hand on the knob. "Anyway, we've taken enough of your morning. I'll let you get back to whatever you were doing."

Lisa laughed and rose from the couch, placing her coffee cup on the table. "All I'm doing is fighting with my computer. I want to work and it refuses to let me."

Ben's hand dropped from the knob. "What's it doing?"

"It keeps locking up when I try to use this new pro-gram I installed." She glanced over him and lifted on eyebrow. "Why, are you a computer tech?"

Ben laughed. "No, actually I'm a tow truck driver, but I know a thing or two about computers. I dabble in repairs in my spare time. I don't really want to drive a truck forever, so I've been taking classes for a couple of years."

"If you can fix this thing, I might actually get some work done. In trade, I'll become your permanent dog sitter if you ever need one."

His eyes sparkling, Ben agreed with a nod. "You're on. I bet I can fix it in less than five minutes."

"We'll see," Lisa laughed as she showed led him to the office. He handed Cuddles to Lisa as his fingers flew nimbly over the keyboard accessing parts of the computer Lisa didn't even know existed. In just a couple of minutes, he rebooted the computer and loaded the dreaded program. It started up much faster than it used to. Ben moved so Lisa could sit at the desk with Cuddles in her lap. It effortlessly opened her latest room design without a hiccup or glitch. She moved around a few items and added others and it still per-formed perfectly.

"So what are the designs for?" Ben asked.

"I create office layouts to utilize space effectively. See here," Lisa pointed to the reception area on the screen. "They used to have the front receptionist in this doctors office too far away from the front door. The patients would have to go clear across a usually crowded room and then go back across the room to find a seat. With the new plan, the receptionist is closer to the front door and the waiting rooms are divided. There's a play area for children over here."

She used her mouse to point at a different location. "This office has several different specialists. Some deal with mostly elderly patients and others deal with children. With the new layout, the patients are separated instead of all being lumped into a large room, and the nursing assistants open a door directly into the appropriate medical suites. I was working on the designs in my old program, then they came out with an upgraded version that just didn't work right at all, but it seems to be working great now."

Cuddles was curled up in Lisa's lap, sleeping. Lisa absentmindedly rubbed the dog's soft ears as she spoke to Ben.

"Well, I need to go home and get to sleep," Ben said, looking at the sleeping dog. Lisa stood, lifting the furry bundle and handing her to Ben.

"You haven't slept yet? Has she been missing that long?" Lisa asked.

Ben shook his head. "I work nights so it's past my bedtime. I let her out when I get home before I go to sleep."

Lisa nodded. "That explains why she's been showing up so early."

With a final good-bye, Lisa walked Ben and Cuddles to the door. She watched as he climbed into an enormous truck parked in her driveway. Then she went to take her morning shower and get to work.

The next morning, her visitor was back. Lisa let Cuddles in on her way to the coffee pot. The knock on the door came this time before she made it back to her room to comb her hair and splash water on her face. She stopped in the living room, glancing down at her flannel pajamas before she sighed and opened the front door where Cuddles was already doing her happy dance and barking. So he would see her in her pajamas. No big deal. She could just give him the dog and he could go home and go to sleep. She picked Cuddles up and unlocked the door.

Ben stood on the other side smiling. "Aha," he exclaimed as he came into the house, oblivious to Lisa's apparel. She stood at the front door watching his excitement as he continued speaking. "She's not getting out where I thought she was. She's so little that she goes under the fence. I saw her this morning. I tried to grab her before she got through, but it didn't work. By the time I got around and in the truck, she was already running through yards in this direction." He stopped and took a breath, his eyes scanning over Lisa's attire.

The corner of his lip quirked. "Cute jammies. The little snowmen are a nice touch."

Lisa didn't smile. She crossed her arms over her breasts. The cold outside made it apparent that she wore no supportive undergarments under her pajamas. "Can you let her out just an hour later? At least then I could get a shower in and be dressed before I had visitors."

Ben's eyes lifted back to her face. "Sorry. I think I'm going to take her out on a leash until I can get around the bottom of the fence where she's been digging to get out."

Lisa nodded. She felt bad for snapping at him and she was disappointed that she wouldn't see Cuddles or Ben anymore. She didn't know what to say. They stood awkwardly for a moment.

"Tell you what," Ben said suddenly. "I don't have to work tonight. To thank you for putting up with us so early in the morning, how about if I take you out to dinner?"

"I'd like that." Lisa looked at the tiny bundle curled up in Ben's arms. "And to be honest, she can come visit me every morning if she wants to."

Cuddles never again showed up at Lisa's door first thing in the morning. Instead, she arrived in the afternoons and she brought Ben with her. It wasn't too long before Lisa would wake up and Cuddles would be sleeping in the bed between Ben and Lisa. Ben landed a job with the design software company that Lisa used to do her room layouts. He showed them how to work out the kinks in their upgrades. The company became incredibly successful and took Ben along with them. Several years later, Ben, Lisa, and their three young children mourned when they woke up one morning to discover that Cuddles had passed away during the night. They spread her ashes over Ben's mother's grave. On the way home from the cemetery, Alice, the oldest child who was named for Ben's mother, leaned from the backseat. Her face looked from one parent's tear streaked face to the other.

"Mom?" she asked. "Tell us again how you and Daddy met."

Lisa smiled through her tears.

Drabbles

By Pat Bertram

[A drabble is a 100 word story and Pat is a genius at them. Pat Bertram, author of the newly released duo of suspense novels, More Deaths Than One and A Spark of Heavenly Fire, is a writer who defies categories, a literary maverick whose stories transcend genre and transport readers to beguiling worlds filled with compelling characters.]

The Kiss

When Jack entered her flower shop, all Jen could do was stare. It had been years since she'd seen him, years she'd spent regretting their final quarrel, yet she still felt the same attraction. His heavy-lidded gaze told her he felt it, too.

He held out a hand, and she let him draw her close for a kiss that spanned the years. She snuggled into his embrace. Everything would be perfect now that they were together again.

"How did you know I was here?" she asked.

"I didn't. I just came in to buy flowers."

"For me?"

"For my wife."
Colorized

The drab little man in the gray suit entered the bar at five o'clock as usual, huddled on the same bar stool he always did, and waited to order his usual martini.

An almost pretty woman perched on the next stool smiled at him as if they were going to be good friends. Then a fellow wearing a loud shirt approached and handed her a rose. As she got up to follow him, a single petal fluttered to the floor.

"Your usual?" the bartender asked.

The man glanced at the rose petal, straightened his shoulders. "I'll have red wine today."

Promises

Their gazes met across a crowded room and, just like that, they tumbled into love. A prince, he made her feel like a queen.

"Why now?" she wondered. "Why not last month before my wedding?" She hadn't believed in true love, thinking it fairy tale stuff, so she'd vowed to honor and cherish a kind and gentle man, a dear friend.

"Will you come away with me?" the prince asked. "For a weekend, a year, an eternity?"

She twisted the gold band around her finger, her heart breaking.

"I love you. I always will. But I have promises to keep."

The Locket

Effie felt like the last woman left alive, and maybe she was -- she hadn't seen another soul since the blizzard began. It had been screaming outside the cabin for more than a month, and all that remained in her larder were a cup of flour and a pinch of yeast, enough to make a small loaf of French bread.

She raised her fingers to her throat and closed them around the locket containing an old photograph of her beloved Jake, who had died in a long ago war before they could wed.

"Soon," she whispered. "We'll be together soon."

The Ring

Heather's eyes grew round as she stared at the sparkling diamond in the ring Dexter had just given her.

All her friends had laughed at her for going out with him. He was older than her father and had even less hair, but she always knew it would pay off in the end.

And now she had the ring.

"That's bad," she said, trying to sound cool and sophisticated.

"It is?" Dexter grabbed the ring from her, peered at it, then tossed it away. "That no-good, lying salesman! He promised me no one could tell it from the real thing."

The Perfect Wife

"Are you coming right home after work?" Gina asked.

"Yes. Why?"

She gave him a sultry look. "I have a surprise for you."

Bob's heart beat faster, wondering what delight she had in store for him this time.

He finished his breakfast, rose from the table, and kissed her. Her lips were warm and full of promise. He ran his fingers through her hair, then pressed the button at the back of her skull. She went still.

"Bye, Sweetheart," he said. He paused at the door and looked back. "I can hardly wait to get home and turn you on."

A Hunt and a Kiss

By Juliet Waldron

[Renowned period novelist Juliet Waldron, author of the lovely Mozarts's Wife and her recently published Hand Me Down Bride, graces our anthology with a sweet, beguiling and all too brief tale, A Hunt and a Kiss that transports us completely, geographically and emotionally. It compels and satisfies, even while leaving us wanting more.]

"Ha! See her coming out of the pines over there?" Chris von Hagen pointed. "She went through the rocky thicket south of the woods. Now she's angling this way, the crafty vixen."

A red mare with the taffy-colored tail galloped across the pasture. The breakneck daring left no doubt that a superbly confident rider was astride.

It was a game, a game played by young aristocrats, a wild and dangerous game of "Fox and Hounds." Several "Foxes," given a head start, must reach the safety of a goal, riding across rough country, while the "hounds" rode in hot pursuit.

The well to do players wagered among themselves on every possible outcome, but the prize for any fox who escaped was largest, particularly because it so rarely happened. Today's prize was a spirited yearling colt.

"But," the speaker went on with a wry smile, "no one will ever catch that whirlwind on the flats."

The two young men had ridden fast, intent upon getting ahead of the hunt and setting an ambush for the last uncaught "fox" at a hill just before the goal. Sitting easily on a powerful bay, Christoph von Hagen was tall, erect, and, under the fine tailoring of his elegant clothes, muscular. His dark curly hair was captured in a black ribbon.

Men and women alike agreed that he was good looking. Men described him as "manly" or "forthright." The praise of women was a good deal warmer, tending towards the classical. "Like some pagan god" was the phrase most frequently whispered behind fluttering fans at winter parties.

Max shaded his eyes with his hand, trying to get a better look at the horse blazing across the meadow. His more ordinary blonde good looks were diminished by proximity to his friend.

"Hers? A female? Riding like that?" Fox and Hounds was considered too dangerous for the "gentler sex." And wasn't this rider astride? And wearing trousers?

"The Devil!" Max exclaimed as understanding came. "It's Caterina and her red mare."

"And you know how well that rascal rides. Besides, there's not a horse around that can catch that mare of hers over the flat, not even mine." Chris gave his mount's sweating neck a pat. "We've got to get her, Max. Now!"

As if he understood, the bay reared. In the next instant horse and rider were plunging down the hill, showering earth behind them.

"Hey, Chris!" shouted his companion, spurring after. "The dike! The dike!"

The big bay, black mane and tail flying, continued straight towards a lethal heap of broken stone. It would have to be taken in one leap, for landing on it would certainly break the horse's legs. No one had risked his mount across VonBeiler's dike in a generation.

As he came to it, Max reined in to watch, swallowing the heart in his throat. First came the gathering of the burnished hindquarters, then the breathtaking leap as the bay tucked up his black socks and rose skyward.

Max gave a whoop as horse and rider flew over the murderous pile. The clean landing on the other side led to a resumption of the charge. Shouting, Max kicked and used his whip, beginning his own hasty circumnavigation of the dike.

As he rode, he could see the fox—Caterina—speeding away. Her mare was fully extended, never more than one foot on the ground. The girl's hat, which she'd worn to hide her hair, was gone. Her thick braid writhed like a red snake against her back.

Riders boomed over the hill. Throwing a glance over her shoulder, Caterina knew she was the only fox left. There was a flash of triumph.

The yearling would be hers! How proud Papa would be!

On the other side of the river she could see the beginnings of the manicured grounds attached to the von Beiler's mansion. Anticipating the bridge—the goal, the other side—Caterina's gaze swung ahead. That was when she saw a rider coming towards her from an impossible direction, the other side of that insurmountable stone dike.

"Damn!"

Cousin Chris! The only one with the horse—and the guts—to come that way!

Their horses thundered towards the bridge. For a moment it looked as if they would meet head on, but Caterina reined hard. An impossibly sharp turn later, horse and rider plunged off the bank, splashing into the river.

It was deep here, deeper than Caterina expected. Swollen by a recent rain, the water was rushing, carrying them swiftly downstream and under the bridge.

"Come on, Star!" She grasped the mare's mane. The bank was lower on the goal side, the water shallower.

I can still win!

As horse and rider swept beneath the bridge, there was a drum roll of hooves followed by a deluge. Caterina was still blind and gasping when a man's hand came out of the water and seized her braid.

"Got you! Got you, Fraulein Fox."

"Ow! Christoph von Hagen! You cheat!"

Furious, struggling with him in the water, she let go of the horse and began to hit him with her crop.

"Hey! Foxes don't carry those." As he pulled it away, he declared,.."And I'm not a cheat, brat. I jumped the dike fair and square." Putting one big hand on the top of Caterina's red head, he dunked her.

When Cat came up, choking and sputtering, the first thing she saw was Star scrambling out, her tail a limp tatter.

Cousin Chris, so tall, soon found footing. With an arm around his coughing quarry, he breasted the rushing water. It wasn't long before he was dumping Cat unceremoniously onto the bank.

"Big bully!" She choked, spit water. "You didn't have to drown me."

Grinning, von Hagen threw his considerable length onto the grass beside her.

"You hit me with your crop, so I defended myself. Don't be a poor sport, Caterina. You were a clever fox, the best ever."

"Why did you have to come back from Vienna? And what are you going to do now that you're here? Tell my sister more lies and then let her down again?"

"Scratch, scratch, Cousin Cat." Christoph pinched her nose. "You know your sweet sister always forgives me. Some day you'll fall in love yourself and then you too will be some fellow's pretty toy."

"Idiot! I'll never be anyone's toy!"

Caterina, in a rage now, threw herself at him. Chris laughed, and warded off her slaps. If she landed one, he laughed harder. In the meantime, riders pounded over the bridge, a whole crowd piling in, out of breath from the pursuit. "Did the fox cross the water?"

The question for money, hunting dogs and pistols were at stake was repeated as each new arrival clattered across the bridge.

"No, the fox was caught by her red hair as she swam," Max explained. He'd made it around the dike just in time to see the watery drama of Caterina's capture.

"A female fox?"

"Well, "female" is debatable. It's Cousin Cat."

"The Valkyrie and her red mare."

"And so the fox's Papa owes me five gulden!"

"Me, too!"

Caterina, shouted, "I'm a better rider than all of you chicken hearts. If this lunatic hadn't jumped the dike, I would have won."

This set off a renewed flurry of excitement.

"Chris jumped the dike? Jesus, Mary and Joseph!" "What a risk to take with that horse!"

"Cousin Chris doesn't take risks." Max declared. "He knew he could do it."

Voices raised in debate. Had it been insanity or luck? Had it been horse's power, the rider's skill, or both?

Ignored now, Caterina got up, water streaming off of her. She was extremely tall. Her eyes, very green, blazed with fury. What would have been fair skin if she'd been a more conventionally housebound female was tanned and dusted with freckles. Her budding womanliness was shown off to advantage by a man's riding habit, jacket, shirt and knee breeches, all of it plastered to her willowy frame.

Christoph, who had been lying on the ground admiring her, decided to remind her of his presence. Seizing one of her long legs, he tumbled her down again.

"By God," he cried, strong arms locking around her, "Come back here, Coz. I'd like to teach you to kiss as well as you ride."

Howls of laughter erupted as Christoph wrestled Caterina close. The whole time he kept whispering that one little kiss wouldn't hurt, that "Your sister won't mind."

Arms locked against his chest, resisting with all her might, Caterina thought that Christoph was just doing what he always did—seeing how far he could get.

As they tussled, witty encouragement was shouted from all sides.

"Give the skinny tomboy a lesson."

"Just what our hell Caterina needs."

"Yes!" Max was laughing. "Kisses, a ring and babies. Then I won't have to worry she's going to show up on that winged steed of hers and lose me a wager."

"Swine!" Cat cried. "Especially you, Christoph von Hagen. Let go!"

"As you wish, Fraulein von Velsen." His grip relaxed—but just for a moment. At the instant her guard dropped, he pulled her close in those strong arms and gave her a full-on-the-lips kiss.

Caterina felt his mouth meet hers, tasted water and warm, persuasive man flesh. It was like the naughtiest dream, the jolt that hit her, pressed to his muscular chest. She felt rage at his presumption; there was also a traitorous, melting weakness, of delight—of desire—Cat had never felt before.

Time stood still.

"Hey, Von Hagen! Get your god-damned hands off my god-damned sister!"

Cat's elder brother leapt from his horse. Square face scarlet, he caught her by the back of the jacket, yanked her upright, and then gave her a tremendous shove in the direction of her horse.

"YOU GET HOME!"

Theo was short and burly, nothing like his elegantly proportioned half-sister. To Theo, Caterina's tomboy nonsense was an ending source of embarrassment.

Muddy chin held high, she reined Star briskly toward the gray stone pile of the house. As she rose to a canter, her wet red braid bounced on her back. Her heart burst with a thousand strange and contrary impulses.

She had been bested by wretched Cousin Chris, losing the wagers her Papa had made. Her mother would have a fit when she saw her, soaking wet and muddy. Lady von Velsen disapproved of her daughter playing fox. She'd spent all yesterday afternoon quarreling with Papa about it.

What would happen when Mama inevitably found out the rest?

Cat could just hear Theo: "There she was, Mama, rolling on the ground like a wild Indian. A disgrace to her sex, not to mention the entire family!"

Cat had a strong premonition that this was the last game of Fox and Hounds she'd ever play.

The horrible sinking feeling that followed this thought was displaced by an even stronger emotion. It had to do with her sister's fiancé, that fellow who thought he was God's-gift-to-women, Cousin Christoph.

It had started with the kiss.

Those strong arms, those brilliant eyes, his white grin—tempting ...

She knew what her sister, what everybody knew, about her cousin's adventures with women. Up 'til this instant Cat had always considered herself immune to his rakish charm. After all, hadn't he been around, in and out of the house, courting her big sister, flirting with the maids, most of her young life? Hadn't they raced their horses, even hunted together?

Hadn't he rudely nicknamed her "Stork Legs" and "Red"? Hadn't he tugged her braids, buried her in hay in the barn, battled with her as if she were a little brother and told her a thousand times to "get lost" when he wanted to kiss and cuddle her sister?

That stupid, joking kiss had ruined everything!

"Damn you, Christoph von Hagen!" As she rode, Cat shouted at the sky. "I'm not like all your others! I don't want you EVER to kiss me again! I DON"T! I DON'T! I DON'T!"

A Time for Dreams

By Mairead Walpole

[To say that Mairead Walpole is an author of timeless romance is a tremendous understatement. Not only has she created a cast of remarkable characters, a series of mysterious and engaging stories, but the tales she tells evolve across various chronological times, geographical spaces and even dimensions. After you enjoy this flight of romantic fantasy, try A Love Out of Time— Mairead's first novel in the Time Walker series.]

Bronwyn Vernon didn't normally get star-struck but she normally was not in scenes with a totally hot super-star like Eamon O'Farren either. Her agent had told her that the small part she had was in his new action thriller. And she knew from reading the script that not only was she in several scenes with him but the final scene actually called for him to kiss her just before a sniper's bullet would "kill" her. So being forewarned, she'd been prepared for the sight of him a month ago at the kick-off meeting. As he stood before the group that day, she hadn't felt any hint of butterflies or awe at being in his presence. Today was different. Today was the day that they would actually be working together and she was a complete wreck, convinced she would flub her lines or worse, fawn all over him like the small army of fans lining the barricades by the section of coastline where they were shooting the water scene at this ungodly hour of the pre-dawn morning.

"Er, Bronwyn?"

She shook her head to clear the stars and refocused her attention on Cassie, the make-up artist. "Sorry, I was thinking about the class I'm starting in a few weeks."

"Yeah. Right. I always drool when thinking about school," muttered Cassie as she dabbed the corners of Bronwyn's mouth and put the finishing touches on Bronwyn's lipstick.

"I was not drooling!"

"Tell yourself whatever makes you feel better..."

"Was I?"

Cassie laughed, "Relax girlfriend, it isn't anything I can't fix. He is something though. First time I ever did his make-up I swear I was shaking so hard it was a miracle I got it on him."

"I never get this shaken by the big name actors," protested Bronwyn. "Do you?"

"Correct me if I am wrong, but you have never been in a major scene with an actor either," replied Cassie step-ping back to survey her work.

Bronwyn felt like such a doofus. "No. This is the first time I have had more than a walk on role. It is definitely the first time I have ever gotten up close and personal with a big name and I am acting like a total nut-job." Sighing, Bronwyn looked around at the other cast members and crew getting ready for the shoot. "Everyone else is so, calm and unfazed, like this is just another working day...I am normally a pretty confident person. I don't get this; there is something about him that turns me inside out."

"Sometimes DeNiro, even though he is a sweetheart, and Sean Connery can still make me nervous," replied Cassie with a conspiratorial wink as she started packing up her stuff. "Eamon is really a nice guy. The 'star-fright' will pass about five minutes into talking with him. Do you want a small cotton roll to tuck into your cheek?"

"What?"

"To absorb the drool."

Bronwyn arched an eyebrow at Cassie and replied drolly, "I think I can contain my salivations."

Laughing with her, Cassie unhooked the protective cape. Before Bronwyn could hop out of the chair Cassie put her hand on Bronwyn's shoulder and leaned in to whisper in her ear. "Hope so, 'cuz guess who is headed this way and his make-up is already done so I am not the target."

Bronwyn looked around for a quick exit out of the make-up tent but there was none and Eamon O'Farren, all six foot three of him was bearing down on her. A huge smile lit up his handsome chiseled face, showing off almost perfect white teeth, and lighting up his aquamarine eyes. She had a moment to take in the slight scar marring his right cheekbone and the stubble along his jaw and neck. Then he was right there in front of her, trapping her in the chair.

"Hi, I'm Eamon. I thought we could spend a few moments talking before we roll with the scene. Hey Cass, could you scare up a cup of coffee for me and Bronwyn?"

"Sure thing. Bronwyn, ya want it black or with anything?"

"Um, black but you don't have to do this. I can get it."

"Not a problem. You sit tight; I'll be back in a second."

Bronwyn had seen the smirk on Cassie's face before she took off and figured that it would be awhile before either she or Eamon saw a cup of coffee. Turning back to Eamon, she tried to contain the butterflies in her stomach. He was absolutely gorgeous in that rugged, slightly dangerous way that she didn't find in her classes or the business world.

"Is Bronwyn really your name?" he asked with a hint of a smirk.

"Yes. Is Eamon really yours?"

He laughed, his eyes twinkling at her. "Sure is. Eamon Patrick O'Farren. Mum and Dad may have left the old country behind but they made sure my roots were obvious. So how did you wind up with Bronwyn instead of a more mainstream American name?"

"Mom had just finished reading Return of the Native just before I was born so the name Bronwyn seemed like a sign to her."

"Lucky break," he said with a grin.

"Why?"

"What if she had been reading The Scarlet Letter? You might have wound up as a Hester."

"Good point," she said sharing a smile with him. Normally, the inevitable conversation about her name would have progressed to being told she looked more like a Heather, Jennifer, or Stephanie – all names in the top 10 for the year she was born. With her love for reading, she had often thanked the fates that her mother hadn't picked up a different book, like The Scarlet Letter or – her personal nightmare – The Great Gatsby. If she'd had to go through high school as a Daisy, she might have turned to serious drugs to cope.

"Do you need to work through anything to get into character for the shoot today?" Eamon asked turning serious. "I like to take the time to get to know the folks I am working with, especially when the person is new to the business to help put them at ease. This morning we are going to be rolling around in the wet sand and surf, and then later rolling around on a rug in front of a fire. I don't know about you but I like to at least know something about the women I roll around with," he added with a wink that sent her mind racing to the reality of him, her, up close and personal.

"Don't you mean that you like to use this opportunity to see if the actress is potential stalker material?" she asked playfully, trying to calm her very over-active imagination. Seeing the play of emotions - amusement, consternation, and wariness - creep across his face, she quickly added, "I am not really 'in the business' or at least I don't intend to be."

"Really," he said with a hint of disbelief. "So you audition for parts and have an agent because...?"

"It is an easy way for me to finance my graduate degree. It is how I paid for part of my undergraduate degree as well."

"I wouldn't say that too loudly. There are a lot of actors and actresses still working day jobs who would argue as to how 'easy' getting an acting job is."

Bronwyn laughed, "True but the difference between me and them is that I just work for the money and couldn't care less if the part winds up on the cutting room floor. Acting has always been fun for me and I see it as excellent training for my career."

Eamon gave her a puzzled look, "And that would be?"

"I want to get into strategic planning and program management for a fortune 500 company. Ultimately, I plan to be running a major corporation by the time I hit 45."

At the stunned look on his face, Bronwyn had to laugh. "Not what you expected to hear was it?"

"No. No, it was not at all what I was expecting you to say. So, you aspire to be on the cover of Forbes rather than InTouch, I have to say this is refreshing."

"Did you aspire to be one of People's 100 sexiest men?" she shot back at him.

"God no!" He retorted. "You would not believe the trouble that has caused me. The stuff they print in what passes for news is merely the tip of the iceberg."

"You could quit. It would certainly cut down on the number of women trying to steal your trash," Bronwyn said, referring to the latest arrest of a crazed fan for attacking the driver of a garbage truck in the alley behind his home in New York.

"Wasn't that insane?" He said with a genuine look of astonishment. "I mean, really. I hadn't even been in town for over a month so god only knows whose trash she would have made off with!"

"I can see the headline on the National Enquirer now, Eamon O'Farren exposed as a cross-dresser. Favors OPI's mother road rose nail polish says source."

"Bronwyn, you have an evil side to you."

"Hey, what do you expect from a future soul-less CEO?"

Cassie returned with their coffee before he could respond. The look on his face told her that he recognized the descriptor as a quote from a recent interview he'd given where he was bashing corporate greed for the emerging rash of corporate downsizing and outsourcing.

"Here you go. Full-leaded-no-additives for you Bronwyn and full-leaded with a packet of sugar for you Eamon. The director says we have about 10 minutes before the light is right for Bronwyn's cue."

Her cue required her to walk briskly down the beach behind a large Newfoundland during the breaking dawn and stumble upon Eamon washed up on the shore and near death. It was a cold December morning and she was hoping she got her marks and lines right because re-shoots were going to be a bitch. Watching Eamon laugh with Cassie she felt a twinge of envy at how comfortable they seemed. Eamon made a point to ask after Cassie's husband, a stuntman who'd been injured, and their three-year-old child. Seeing Bronwyn's interest, Cassie included Bronwyn in the conversation so she spent the remaining time before being called on set in small talk or listening to Cassie and Eamon swap industry war stories.

***

"Bronwyn!"

She turned to see Eamon jogging towards her across the parking lot. Leaning against her car she waited for him to get close, noting some interested glances from some of the other cast members and crew. He slowed to a fast walk while she enjoyed the view. Their scenes had gone well with only a few re-shoots. Blissfully, the re-shoots were not of the water scene because one roll in the frigid surf had been more than enough for her. Her character had found the injured man in the surf and dragged him to the safety of her rented cottage where she tended his wounds. Once they had wrapped on location, everyone had boarded the buses to come back to the warehouse where the interior sets had been erected. The script called for Eamon to wake up with amnesia and mistake her for an enemy, complete with a tackle and tussle on the floor before realizing she was just a Good Samaritan. Those were the scenes they shot again and again. By the end of the fourth take, Bronwyn was starting to think a roll in the frigid surf might be just the thing to help her think of something other the reaction she had to Eamon's touch.

The director had been thrilled with the chemistry between them, especially the sexual tension in the "tackle/tussle" segment. Initially, Sorento worried that it was too much, too soon but when the tension between her and Eamon built with each subsequent shoot, he decided that they would add a few scenes to make it work. There were some writers who were in for a long night. Bronwyn didn't want to admit that the chemistry had not been a result of good acting. Feeling Eamon's body against hers, the hard floor under her back, one of his hand holding hers over her head the other lightly gripping her throat, him half dressed, his mouth inches from hers...talk about an "and they pay me too" career moment. She couldn't wait to call her sister and dish.

"So, I was thinking we should go grab some coffee and talk about tomorrow's shoot," he said when he reached her. "Assuming you don't have other plans," he added with a hint of something that seemed almost vulnerable.

"Um, sure. I was just going to head home to call my sister before settling down to a long night of studying."

"Your lines or schoolwork?"

"A little of both," she admitted. "Not exactly exciting, huh?"

"Oh, I don't know. I can recall some study sessions in school that got rather interesting, biology in particular," he said with a devilish grin.

"Somehow I can't see the same potential in analytical statistics," she quipped.

"Not even when looking at the causes for deviation?"

"That would be variation."

"Ah, but sometimes it is the degree of deviation that makes a variation worth exploring."

Bronwyn felt a flush creep up her neck at the thought of some of the variations or deviations she would like to explore with Eamon. Thankfully, it was dark so she hoped he couldn't see her blush.

"My, my, who would have thought statistics could be so titillating. I do believe you are blushing," Eamon said as he leaned in as though he were going to kiss her.

Bronwyn swore her heart skipped a beat or two and her voice froze. He is flirting with me! Oh my god, is it real or is he acting?

"Coffee? Yeah, I could go for some coffee," she stammered.

Eamon settled himself next to her leaning on the car. "Do you really need to study? We could run our lines and then I can quiz you on your class or I could quiz you and then we could run the lines or talk about how the changes to the script might work."

"You are serious aren't you?" she asked. It was inconceivable to her that he didn't need to meet someone or attend some star-studded industry party.

"Sure. Statistics was actually one of my best subjects and one that I dealt in on a daily basis in my former life."

"Really? This is probably going to sound lame but I just don't think I really got all the concepts from my last stats class and, well, I absolutely hate not 'getting it' if you know what I mean."

"I absolutely understand what you mean. It isn't lame at all, it is a smart outlook and in some professions it could be the difference between making it home on your own two feet or in a body bag."

"Okay. That was a bit grim but I guess you are right. I hadn't thought of it in the context of a Special Forces operative. So, where to?" Bronwyn wondered if he might elaborate on what he did in his former life. She knew he had been military and broke into acting by accident. Everyone knew how he had been "discovered" while serving as a technical consultant on what became his acting debut. The executive producer/director had canned the lead and replaced him with Eamon. The film was a blockbuster and Eamon shot from obscurity to A-list celebrity status.

"It sounds sort of cliché but we would probably have less interruptions at my place but I am up for braving the public eye if it would make you feel better or we could try your place," Eamon suggested, clearly wanting her to make the decision.

Bronwyn considered their options. Running lines or studying with an Oscar winning actor in the local coffee shop was probably not going to work. Her rented apartment was a small carriage house at the back of a week-end home belonging to an acquaintance of her father's and she doubted the home-owner would appreciate the potential stalker factor that might come with a visit by Eamon, particularly since they seemed to have attracted enough attention that someone was sure to have tipped off the paparazzi. Clearly, his place was the best option.

Her hesitation must have shown on her face because he was quick to reassure her. "I promise to be on my best behavior. You won't be completely alone with me either. Whether I like it or not, I sort of have an entourage of folks who go on location with me. The house I am renting is part of a compound that belongs to a local family. They are renting it to us for the duration of the shoot and it has four houses with two guest cottages. I am actually in one of the guest cottages."

"Shall I follow you then?"

"No, why don't you ride with me. Your car will be fine here. Do we need to stop by your place for your books?" He motioned towards his driver who drove over to get them.

"I have them with me," Bronwyn responded, turning to open the door and pull out her backpack. The limo pulled up beside them and Eamon held the door for her as she slid in. Eamon followed and took the seat across from her. He showed her how to open the concealed bar and mini-fridge, told her to make herself at home, then pulling out a pair of eyeglasses, Eamon settled back to read through the stack of correspondence sitting on the console next to his seat. Pulling out her class notes, she watched him review his papers. His cell phone rang and with an apologetic glance at her he answered it. Trying not to eavesdrop, she turned her head to look out the window. The tinted glass and the night beyond turned the window into a dark mirror giving her an opportunity to study him without being obvious about it.

Bronwyn was struck by how the glasses transformed him from heartthrob to something more appealing to her; namely a businessman. With a little imagination, she could picture him as a busy C-level executive; juggling personal and business concerns in the back of a limo on the way to the corporate jet. The glasses also made him look closer to his age, or what the tabloids reported his age to be. She still couldn't believe he was closing in on forty. His call concluded, he turned off the phone and picked up the stack of paper that looked like a contract of some sort and returned to perusing it, a slight furrow marring his brow. Fighting an urge to reach over and smooth a finger across the wrinkle, she shifted and knocked her backpack off the seat. As she bent over to pick it up, the limo took a turn and she lost her balance. Instinctively she reached out to steady herself and grabbed his knee. The contact was almost like a mild but pleasant electric shock. Startled, she glanced up to find him peering at her over the top of his glasses. The smoldering look he gave her sent a shiver of desire through her and she wondered if this was such a good idea.

"Um, sorry, I lost my balance..." she stammered as she straightened up. His hand covered hers trapping it between his knee and the warmth of his hand. A shiver coursed through her and she hoped like hell he didn't feel it.

"It is quite okay. Feel free to brace yourself on me anytime," he purred as he released her hand with a slow caress.

Nervously looking away, she saw his knowing smile in the reflection off the darkened window. Great, I am acting like a star-crossed idiot, she thought. Turning back to her notes, she studiously avoided looking at him. Neither said anything as the car left the town and headed towards the coast.

***

Eamon knew that Bronwyn was attracted to him, as he was to her, but her mix of shyness and sarcasm was particularly intriguing. There was something about her from the moment he had seen her at the kick-off meeting for the film that grabbed his interest and hadn't let go. She was much younger than the women that normally attracted him. In fact, had he been a little less careful as a teen-age boy growing up in Rhode Island, he was technically old enough to have fathered her. That was not a comfortable line of thought, he acknowledged. While he did like to talk with the actors/actresses who had parts opposite him before shooting a scene, it had been more than that behind his urge to approach her.

His mother was a romantic at heart and he had grown up on movies, books and other tales of true love, soul mates and love at first sight. His father blamed it on their Irish heritage but in unguarded moments, Eamon had seen the way his parents looked at each other and knew his father believed as well. In those moments, the world seemed to recede, going still and silent leaving just his mother and father surrounded by a nimbus of warmth and light. Eamon wanted that type of relationship with a woman. He wanted it the way a shipwrecked sailor dreams of home. Over the years, he had brought a number of women home, hoping that his mother with her Fae sight would sense that this one would be his missing half. Each time she had sadly shook her head at his question saying, "Son, it is not for me to see but for you to feel deep in your soul that she is the one. Be patient, you will know when you find her. You will suspect it is her from the moment you see her but as time passes the feeling will grow to a point when you will know it in every molecule of your being. If you have to bring her to me to tell you, then she is not the one."

Until a month ago when he'd walked into the kick-off meeting for this film, he was pretty sure that he'd missed his soul mate in this incarnation. Seeing Bronwyn sitting there, her strawberry blonde hair back in a ponytail, fresh-faced with sparkling green eyes, boot-cut jeans and gauzy blouse, he felt a lightening bolt of recognition. It was as though every fiber of his being sat up and screamed, Mine! The sensation was followed immediately with the thought that fate was a certified bitch to send his soul mate in the form of a barely legal girl. Initially, he had believed her to be one of the mall scene extras.

He'd called his parents that night and both confirmed that what he was feeling heralded the meeting between soul mates. His mother reassured him that woman would be legal if she was his soul mate. "Perhaps she has Fae blood like us and just appears younger than her years," his mother had suggested. Whatever the explanation for her youthful appearance, each time Eamon saw her he was more convinced Bronwyn Vernon was the one. Now, he had her all to himself with an opportunity to explore their connection. He prayed that he wouldn't scare the hell out of her.

The car pulled into the compound and around to the guest cottage he had selected for his quarters. When the driver opened the door, Eamon indicated that Bronwyn should exit first. Gathering his papers he joined her outside the cottage and dismissed the driver. Escorting her inside, he flipped on the lights and dropped his papers and keys on the sofa table behind the overstuffed couch facing the stone fireplace flanked by floor to ceiling windows. During daylight hours these windows offered a spectacular view of both the ocean and the coastline to the North with the old lighthouse; not that he'd been there enough to really enjoy it. Bronwyn walked around surveying her surroundings before flopping down on the couch.

"This must get sort of old, living out of a suitcase," she said as he joined her on the couch.

"It is only for part of the year. The rest of the time I spend at my apartment in New York or my place in the Adirondacks. What about you? How often do you travel for parts?"

Bronwyn laughed, "This is sort of an unusual situation. Normally, I do small parts, commercials, or extra work in Virginia where I live, or near school in Philly. The opportunity to be in a big film like this was too good to resist and the pay is enough that I won't have to do a bunch of commercials next semester. Since I have to work on my thesis, I don't really want the added distraction of worrying about money. I'm 'renting' a carriage house apartment from a business acquaintance of my dad's."

"So, tell me about yourself," Eamon asked, truly interested in what she would share. He liked the flush that crept across her face. Despite her confidence, there was something about her that was uncomfortable with talking about herself, unlike about 98% of the women he usually met.

"What do you want to know? I mean, what would help you with the scene."

"Bronwyn, I don't care about the scene right now. I want to learn who you are," he said leaning forward to take one of the hands with which she was nervously smoothing a pillow. "I'd like to know why you decided to go to Wharton to get a Masters in business and international studies. I would like to know how you got into acting. What were you like as a little girl?"

"Gee, you don't want much do ya? So will this be a mutual sharing of personal stories?"

"Do you want it to be?" he asked, trying to keep the note of hope out of his voice.

"Well, yeah," she replied with the blush creeping further up towards her hairline. Scooting back against the arm of the couch, she kicked off her clogs and drew her legs up onto the couch. Pulling the pillow against her stomach, she leaned her head on the back of the couch. "You first," she said and his heart nearly burst at the sight of her curled on the couch.

They spent some time talking about their child-hoods, hers in Richmond, his in Providence. He learned that she was the next to youngest of five daughters, while she learned that he was the oldest of three children, with a younger brother and sister. They left the couch briefly to make some tea, which they drank while he quizzed her on the material from her statistics class. When she set her notes aside, he took the opportunity to draw her closer to him and snug the fleece throw from the back of the couch around them both. He told her about how he'd gotten his break in film through a former girlfriend who was a production assistant.

"Vanessa convinced this director she was working with that he needed me as a technical consultant on Behind the Lines because the writers were destroying the integrity of the original story. Sorento bought it and I started working. The original lead was a complete idiot. Film is the only way this moron would ever be a SEAL. It came to a head one afternoon when he got into it with Sorento about this one scene where he wanted to go into the POW camp guns blazing, lots of pyrotechnics, and of course plenty of action shots of his face against a backdrop of flames and explosions." Eamon laughed as he recalled the event. Bronwyn's eyes were sparkling with mirth, she had confided that she personally couldn't stand the popular actor and had never understood the hype around him.

"So what happened?"

"Well. Sorento is really into authenticity and I pointed out that it was not how a rescue operation would go down. Tom was livid and started attacking me for being a trained killer, etc. so I quit. I wasn't about to let some spoiled, pseudo-macho, candy-assed punk insult me or the sacrifices I made for my country, but I also wasn't going to be provoked into kicking his ass. Before I had even gotten home, Sorento had sent over a contract via his personal assistant offering me the lead role as well as full control over the script. I accepted, partly out of an 'in your face' Tom Copeland, and partly because the money was more than I had ever made or would make as a technical consultant. I saw it as a way to finance the rest of my therapy and soul-searching."

"From what had happened in the Gulf?" Bronwyn tentatively asked.

"Yeah and please don't ask because I don't talk about it to civilians. Partly because I can't and partly because it's too hard for someone who hasn't been through it to understand. I like you and I really don't want to spoil things."

Bronwyn nodded as though she understood what he was trying to tell her. He really hoped that was the case. Since she rested her head on his shoulder, he felt sure that she wasn't going to push it.

"Wow, so it really was a Cinderella story like the magazine's said except you lost the girl; that must have been hard to take."

"Not really. Vanessa and I had been on the outs for awhile so it made the final break-up easier on both of us. We remained friends and I was actually invited to her wedding a couple of years ago."

She sat up from him to look him in the eyes as though searching for the lie, or the truth. He watched Bronwyn deliberate whether he was handing her a line or not. A strand of her hair had escaped from the hair clip holding it up in a loose bun. Without thinking it through, he reached over to tuck it behind her ear. Their eyes locked and he knew. His parents were right; the knowledge did go straight through the soul. Sliding forward, he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her into a kiss. The touch of her lips to his was better than any of the fantasies he'd entertained. A sensation not unlike a mild electric current was tingling throughout his body, along with flashes of her emotions – excitement, desire, confusion and caution. As the kiss deepened, the flashes of emotion evolved into images, the two of them entwined on the floor before the fire, her long legs wrapped round his hips as she urged him in, love and lust burning in her emerald eyes.

***

Bronwyn couldn't think, couldn't breathe. Eamon seemed to be breathing for both of them. His kisses were setting her on fire, sending pulses of pleasure throughout her body and triggering erogenous zones she didn't even realize she possessed. As his lips left hers, raining a trail of warmth down her throat, she heard herself moan. Images of the two of them together, making love, flashed through her brain. Coming to her senses, she reluctantly pushed him away.

"Whoa, Eamon. Please, I need to breathe."

He released her slightly, leaning his forehead against hers, "Sorry, I have wanted to do that since we met a month ago. Today, shooting the scenes was driving me wild. I guess I let my control slip."

Bronwyn pulled back and placing her hands on his face lifted his head to look into his eyes. She wasn't sure what she expected to see but his words felt real. "Today, that wasn't acting? I felt your desire but I thought..."

"Honey, I am not that good an actor. That was 100% response to you."

"Holy sh...eepdung! Moira was right. I can't believe it." Seeing Eamon's puzzled glance she hurried to explain, "My friend Moira is psychic. Typically she doesn't get involved in predictions with friends but when I hesitated about taking this job she told me if I didn't accept the part I would regret it for the rest of my life." Bronwyn didn't want to mention the whole thing about meeting her soul mate for fear of becoming "crazed stalker" material.

"Mmm, nice to know that missing out on my kisses classifies as something you'd regret for the rest of your life," he said as he lowered his lips to claim hers again.

The moment was shattered by the ringing of the phone. She could tell he didn't want to stop kissing her but the insistent sound of the phone was pulling at him. "It's okay. Answer it. I need to get home anyway," she urged as she pulled out of his arms and stood up.

Eamon reluctantly let her go and answered the phone. His conversation was terse and by the time he hung up she was already donning her coat and collecting her notes and books. She watched him run his hands through his hair and had to force her mind off of what those hands felt like caressing her.

"Bad news?" she asked.

"Er, no. The writers have figured out how to handle our chemistry though," he answered with a strange expression.

"How?"

"They've decided you are my long lost wife."

"What?! How are they going to explain the whole me not recognizing you when I find you in the surf?"

"Amnesia."

"So we both have amnesia now?"

Eamon laughed, "Oh no, I will only have temporary confusion and I will fake amnesia while I am trying to determine whether you are a double agent or an innocent who can be trusted."

"So what does this do for the rest of the script?" she asked, partly hoping it meant more time with him and more money, partly concerned with her schedule for returning to school in a few weeks.

"The rest of the script stays the same, sorry – you still take a bullet meant for me. We'll just have a few more scenes that will be more or less flashbacks and set the stage. So, I think this means you are going to be set money-wise. Your agent will have an amendment to the contract on his fax in about 45 minutes."

"Wow. I don't know what to say." She was indeed speechless. Seeing the warm look in his eyes, she knew she had to get home or she was going to sleep with him and much as a part of her wanted that, she really wanted to be more to him than another actress he slept with on the set. "Eamon, I really need to get some sleep tonight. Especially if this means we are going to be shooting early tomorrow morning."

"Stay in the guest room, or with me, I promise I will behave."

He looked at her with such an expression of longing, she almost agreed but she knew her boundaries, or perhaps lack of them, and shook her head firmly. "No, I really need to go."

Accepting her decision, he grabbed his keys and led the way outside to the SUV parked by the cottage. Holding her door, he waited until she was settled before closing it and walking around to the driver's side door. Bronwyn smiled at his gentlemanly actions. It was nice to have someone open her doors for her like her Dad did with her Mom. Giving him the directions to her apartment, once he was buckled in, she settled back to watch him. They didn't talk much on the drive but he did reach for her hand and stroked her fingers with his own while he drove. Pulling up to the carriage house, he parked the car and unhooked his seat belt to lean over and kiss her. This was not the passionate kisses from before, but still one of possession. Pulling back, he lightly held her face with his hand. She found herself getting lost in his eyes as they bore into her with an intensity that made her shiver.

"You aren't just a conquest to me. You do know that, don't you?"

She hoped that was true but she didn't know it and wanted him so badly that, god help her, she might not have cared if that was all it was. His chuckle at that moment seemed odd to her.

"Bronwyn. You are amazing. Trust me. Trust us, this is real and I think you would care if that is all I wanted from you. I know I care if that is all you want from me."

Stunned, she pulled back, "How did you...? Are you reading my mind?"

Eamon didn't answer her. He got out of the car and walked around to open her door and help her out of the car. Placing a kiss on her forehead and pulling her close for a hug, he left her at the base of her steps. As he opened the door to get back in the car, he stopped and looked at her with those intense eyes.

"Good night love. I'll see you on set. Sweet dreams, with you in them, I know mine will be."

Bronwyn wasn't sure how she navigated the steps up to her apartment that night or how she managed to get through the rest of the filming. It seemed she moved without touching her feet to the ground. After filming was done for the day, she and Eamon spent their evenings together getting to know one another. True to his promise, he helped her fill in the gaps she thought she had with statistics so that she felt confident in the subject. The sexual tension between them was so intense Bronwyn feared being burned or, worse, that she had built it up so much in her mind that the consummation would be anti-climatic when or if they finally gave in. Eamon assured her that he'd fallen in love with her and wanted nothing more than to spend the rest of his life with her. While Bronwyn knew to her bones that this was what she wanted as well, she had seen one too many relationships fizzle once the film or production was over. Who was to say that the female lead in this film wouldn't also catch his eye once the two of them began to film?

It was Bronwyn's last night in town. She would be flying out in the morning for school. Her part in the film had finished the day before so there was no reason for her to hang around. Eamon had convinced her to stay the night with him so that he could drive her to the airport and she was torn between hoping they would make love and fear that she'd wind up just another conquest, in spite of what he'd said. The female lead in the film was due to arrive that afternoon from another shoot. Bronwyn was insecure about how she would stack up to Katara. The woman was beautiful, sexy, and notorious for her affairs with her leading men. This was the first film that Eamon and Katara had been cast together and the media speculations were strong. Unfortunately for Bronwyn, a paparazzi had gotten pictures of her with Eamon that were currently on the covers of several magazines with headlines like, "Who is Eamon O'Farren's mystery woman?" and "Eamon O'Farren caught with underage Lolita." Thankfully, most of the shots of her face were not as clear as they could be and bundled up in a coat, hat and scarf, she could have been anyone. One picture did show her enough that anyone who knew her would recognize her and she did look to be about sixteen in it.

Doing one last check of the apartment, she grabbed the last of her bags, locked up and went downstairs to the limo. She and Eamon had returned her car to the rental agency the day before and his driver had come over to get her once she was ready. Bags stowed in the trunk, he held the door for her as she climbed in for the ride to Eamon's.

"Eamon just phoned. He's running a bit late and will meet you at the cottage around dinnertime. Is there anywhere you want to go? Any shopping you want to do?" said the driver as he got in.

"Thanks. Actually, could you take me to the museum at the lighthouse?" There was a watercolor she wanted to buy as a keepsake that she'd seen when Eamon had taken her up there last weekend.

"Your wish is my command," replied the driver.

***

Eamon was annoyed as he looked at his watch for the fifth time in twice the minutes. Once this film was done, he was instructing his agent that he would never under any circumstances, ever, star in a film that also starred Katara. The woman was worse than a bitch, the only word he could think of to describe her was one that had earned him a smack in the face and a bar of soap between his teeth from his mother when he'd used it as a teenager trying to be a tough-guy. Watching Katara throw a temper tantrum over the brand of water in her trailer, he was pretty sure even his mother would agree that if the word appeared in a dictionary – Katara's face would be beside it.

Motioning his assistant over, he also tried to catch the eye of Sorento's production assistant. "Hey, Bronwyn is waiting on me at my place and tonight's her last night in town. I am out of here since it seems like a meet and greet isn't going to happen anytime soon."

His assistant turned a bit grey, "Eamon, are you sure that's such a good idea? Katara's assistant said Katara came out here from the airport specifically to meet you. She hasn't even checked into her rented place yet."

"Then she should be acting like an adult rather than a spoiled four-year-old. I am not going to keep Bronwyn waiting for this."

***

Hearing the crunch of tires on the gravel outside, Bronwyn put down the book she was reading and met Eamon at the door with a big hug. His arms wrapped around her and he lifted her up for a kiss as he kicked the door shut. Readjusting his grasp on her, he brought her legs up around his hips as he propped her up against the wall. Bronwyn hooked her ankles to keep from sliding and kissed him back matching his passion with her own.

"Bronwyn, this is torture. Have pity on me," he murmured against her throat giving her a jolt of pleasure to her core.

"If it is torture, it is mutual."

Breaking from the kiss, he looked around. "What is that I smell? Did you cook?"

Typical male, Bronwyn thought as she unhooked her ankles and let her legs slide to the floor, the only thing capable of knocking sex off the brain is food. "Yes. You smell food. I am making one of my mother's recipes. You said you like oysters, so I am making an oyster casserole. It "You cooked for me? Wow, you must love me," he said as he swooped in for another quick kiss before releasing his hold on her. Taking her hand he pulled her with him as he headed for the kitchen. "I didn't realize I was hungry but man, I am starving!"

Bronwyn laughed and watched him as he bent to peer in the oven at the bubbling casserole. From there he crossed to the fridge to get a Guinness for both of them. Leaning against the counter, he took a draw from the bottle then sighed contentedly.

"I want this for the rest of my life. Are you game?" He said with a seriousness that had not been there before.

"Game for what?" Bronwyn asked, her heart beating so fast she thought she might faint.

Before he could answer, there was a commotion outside, voices yelling, car doors slamming, and someone pounding on the door and pressing the doorbell.

"Hold that thought," he said as he set down his beer and headed for the front door.

Bronwyn followed, perplexed. She stood by the couch as Eamon opened the door to find Katara, his bodyguards, her bodyguards, and both their assistants on the front steps in the midst of a confrontation. Katara straightened up and flung her long black hair back, then strode into the room like she belonged there.

"Darlin', so this is where you disappeared to. Quaint and cozy, but not to my tastes. The main house will do nicely," she purred as she slunk into the room oozing sex appeal. "Eamon, you were a bad boy to run off before we talked."

Bronwyn was clenching her jaw so hard it amazed her that a tooth didn't shatter as she watched Katara put the moves on Eamon. Relieved, she saw him disentangle Katara's arm from his shoulders and step away.

"You seemed occupied and I had somewhere to be," Eamon replied tersely as he moved to Bronwyn's side.

Katara acted as though she had been unaware of Bronwyn's existence and the look she gave Bronwyn conveyed how little she was impressed. Bronwyn fought the urge to smack the woman and was reminded of her mother's favorite saying, "beauty is as beauty does" - just because Katara was a hag didn't mean Bronwyn would sink to her level.

"Eamon, I hate to impose but my assistant, - who is now fired!" she screamed over her shoulder, "forgot to confirm my rental and I have nowhere to stay for the next 24 hours while we straighten this out. Could I stay in the main house? I understand your parents aren't on location with you and their rooms are free. It will only be for a night or two," Katara pleaded, working her assets for all they were worth.

Bronwyn would lay odds that once in the house, Katara wouldn't be leaving until the filming was done. There was a predatory look in her eyes whenever they landed on Eamon. Part of her wanted him to say no and toss the woman out of his house but she knew that was not something Eamon would do unless Katara really crossed a line.

Nodding his assent to his assistant, Eamon took Bronwyn's hand and faced Katara. "No problem, but I have one condition. You will not behave towards my staff or any of the guests I have staying with me the way you were acting at the set or on my front steps. If something is not to your liking, you have your people fix it without violating my rental contract, or you can leave."

Katara's smile was dazzling. "Eamon, you are a prince!"

Bronwyn wanted to gag. The slight squeeze of her fingers caused her to look up at Eamon and his warm smile put Katara out of her mind for a moment.

"So, what is that wonderful smell?" Katara said as she swept into the room to flounce down on the sofa. "I am absolutely famished. The meal on the plane was sub-standard, as they always are. When do we eat?"

***

Thinking back on the last night with Eamon, Bronwyn mentally kicked herself for the millionth time. A. product of her Southern upbringing, she had automatically offered dinner to Katara, thus ruining any opportunity for she and Eamon to consummate their relationship. She hadn't seen him since that morning over a month ago when he'd taken her to the airport. They had talked on the phone and he had sent flowers but it wasn't the same.

Checking her appearance in the mirror by her front door, she grabbed her backpack and headed out for class. Passing by the newsstand at the corner of campus, she tried to ignore the headlines of the tabloids speculating on whether Eamon was the latest victim of Katara's charms. Eamon complained about Katara's tantrums when he called and had been emphatic that this was the one and only film he ever would make with Katara, on-screen chemistry be damned. It was the "on-screen chemistry" that was tacked onto the end that threw her. She and Eamon had also had on-screen chemistry as well. Truth be told, they had chemistry regardless of where they were. However it turns out, at least I know I wasn't a notch on his headboard, she consoled herself as she saw the ads for last minute deals on Valentine's flowers.

"Bronwyn! Girlfriend, wait up!"

Bronwyn turned to see her friend Gia racing across the grounds towards her. They had not been hanging out much since Gia had gotten involved with a local businessman. She waited as Gia rushed up pulling off her glove.

"Look!! Oh my god, look at this thing! I almost broke my damn tooth this morning."

Bronwyn had to grab Gia's hand to get a look at the three stone diamond ring on the third finger of her friend's left hand. Gia was bouncing up and down like a toddler on a sugar high.

"What, you hit yourself in the mouth with the ring? Hold still, the glare is causing people to go blind."

"He put it in the brown sugar for the oatmeal that he brought me for breakfast in bed. I swear I was so wigged out over the breakfast in bed thing I never even noticed it – just scooped up a big ol' spoonful and mixed it into the cereal. I am such a moron."

Bronwyn had never understood why men liked to hide rings in food. She'd never met a man who examined each fork or spoonful of food before it went in the mouth, why did they assume women did?

"Gia, how did you miss this mineral deposit? This is some ring. All I can say is good on ya," Bronwyn said, giving Gia a quick hug before they went inside to their class.

Gia was beaming as they took their places. "Bronwyn, would you consider being one of my bridesmaids?"

"Uh, wow. I mean, yeah. I would be honored. When are you thinking to make it legal?"

"We are meeting his parents for dinner tonight so we haven't nailed that down yet. I should know something ballpark after tonight. At least I will know whether to plan for summer, fall, winter, or spring."

Bronwyn nodded and the professor's arrival cut off any further conversation. After class, they parted company for their next classes and Bronwyn tried not to think about Eamon. It had been a week since they last spoke. He had called the day the film wrapped to tell her he was going home to see his parents for a few days and would give her a call once he got back to New York to see what her schedule looked like. At least that was what he said he was doing.

It seemed everyone was having a great Valentine's Day except for her. Walking back to her apartment she saw more couples, more flower deliveries, and more "love is in the air" stuff than any other Valentine's Day that she could recall.

"I want to rent an action movie, one that doesn't star Eamon O'Farren, and curl up on the couch with a bag of popcorn and a pitcher of Long Island Ice Tea," she muttered to herself as she turned the corner to her street. A strange car was parked in front of her building and she saw the landlord,

Mrs. Hagan, peering out of the curtains of her first floor apartment. Seeing Bronwyn, Mrs. Hagan gave her a knowing wink and twitched the curtains shut.

Wonder what that was all about, she thought, stopping to check her mailbox in the hope that there would be at least a card from Eamon. Leafing through her mail, bill, bill, card from Olivia, card from Mom & Dad, card from my nieces, bill, junk mail, she didn't notice that her door was ajar until she went to put her key in the lock. She stopped and listened. There did not appear to be anyone ransacking her home but she heard a radio playing and smelled a hint of flowers. Perhaps Mrs. Hagan had opened the door for a delivery of flowers and forgot to pull the door shut completely. That would explain the wink. Reassured that she wasn't about to get mugged, she pushed the door open and entered her apartment, or what now appeared to be a hothouse. Her living room was filled with her favorite flowers and a path of rose petals led down the hall towards her bathroom. Dropping the backpack and closing her door, she followed the trail of blossoms to her bathroom where dozens of candles were lit surrounding a bubble bath.

"I thought you'd never get home."

His deep husky voice was music to her ears. Turning she saw him leaning against the doorjamb.

"How did you get in? How did you get the tub drawn?" she stammered.

"You landlady was my co-conspirator. She let me in and was watching for you to turn onto the street. Once she saw you, she called me and I got busy."

"Eamon, why didn't you tell me you were coming? I thought...hell, I didn't know what to think."

Eamon came forward and pulled her into his arms. "I wanted to surprise you."

Snuggling into his embrace, she whispered, "You achieved your goal."

Giving a good squeeze, he stepped back and dropped to one knee. "Now, picking up where we left off before Katara descended on us – are you game for becoming Mrs. Eamon Patrick O'Farren?"

Looking into his eyes, Bronwyn felt her world click in place. She had no idea how this would work but she knew with a deep and absolute certainty that it would. Laughing, she pulled him up off the floor and into a hug. Feeling his arms tighten around her, she whispered, "Game on."

The Best Intentions

Janette Rochelle Lewie

[With this story, as with her marvelous romance, Sonya Recovered, Janette Rochelle Lewie displays the wondrous ability to find magic and destiny in ordinary life and romance in the most unusual yet ordinary relationships.]

"Tom, the only couple who's been together longer than you and Kate is Oprah and Steadman."

Tom Reynolds, a tall, red-haired investment banker with a smattering of freckles on his handsome face groaned internally as it was brought up again; his relationship with his long-time girlfriend Kate. This was a subject he was well sick of discussing. As always it was Carter, a licensed psychologist, who started it.

Tom and his buddies were taking part in their weekly male bonding ritual, or MBR, as they called them. Tonight, and many other nights over the years, they had decided to play pool and drink beer at their local haunt, The Candy Shop. The Shop was a well-kept sports bar and pool parlor in Edina, Minnesota.

"No, wait. What about Susan Sarandon and that one guy, Tim..."Christopher said, snapping his fingers. Christopher always had something of value to say, but couldn't ever remember what it was. The guys made sure to tease him on a regular basis about loosing one too many brain cells during his partying days in college. Another theory was that Christopher was a genius stuck so deep in thought that mundane details escaped him. The genius theory seemed more likely since he was, in fact, an actual rocket scientist, but the jury was still out.

That's when Kyle, who was sitting at a booth near the pool table with Christopher, piped in with his two cents. "I've got one." Kyle was the director of the Twin Cities Debate League and never missed an opportunity to jump into the fray of any deliberation, casual or otherwise. "How about Goldie Hawn and Kurt Russell; they've been together for a thousand years."

"Wait a minute!" Tom, fed up, finally said, "Since when do you guys keep up with Hollywood relationships?" He really wasn't interested in having this conversation with the guys again tonight. As he waited for his turn at the pool table, he curbed the desire to stomp his pool stick on the floor like a spoiled child. Why didn't they ever talk about anyone else's love life?

Carter held up his hands in a defensive gesture from his position to the right of the pool table, "Look, all we're saying is that you've been dating Kate since the beginning of time. You need to piss or get off the pot, man; it's not cool to keep dating the same woman forever. Let me be the proper example in this. Melissa and I only dated for a year when we became engaged, which was almost a year ago and we're getting married next month. All perfectly spaced."

"He's right, you know." Jim, usually the silent one in the bunch, said. He spent most of his days in silence editing novels for a publishing company; a dream job for a low-key guy like himself.

"Shut up, assholes. You may be a little anal with your perfect spacing, Carter, but maybe, just maybe I'll listen to you because you're getting married soon and speak from experience. I don't, however, see anyone else committing to a woman so I'm at least ahead of you guys."

Kyle responded to this, "Our point is still valid, pinhead. You're giving single men a bad name. None of us can have a one-night-stand without fearing our dates will find out about you and Kate."

Tom replied in a sarcastic tone, "Forgive me for ruining your chance for guilt free one-night-stands, guys. My continued happiness isn't worth the negative side effects you-all are experiencing."

"Smart ass. It's not just one-night-stands that are affected, Tom," Carter said, "Melissa told me your relationship with Kate has weighed in her mind quite a bit. She said she didn't want to be my girlfriend forever like poor Kate yet, during the same discussion said she admired the stability you and Kate have. Not cool, buddy. Dating the same women since preschool while all the time remaining unengaged. What kind of stability is that? I never know whether I should pat you on the back in congratulations or punch you in the balls."

Roger, who had been concentrating on his successful turn at the pool table finally said, "You guys have been together since driver's ed., haven't you? That's like twelve years, dude. There ought to be a law against shit like that. The idea of staying with the same woman for that long breaks me out in hives," He convulsed dramatically and said, "I suppose being saddled that long with a sexy woman like Kate could be worse, but I just don't get it, though. Why would you stay with the same woman for so long if you aren't going to get married?"

"I'll have you know that Kate and I are blissfully happy and fully committed to our non-married status. We have no problems with the way things are."

"Oh, so you like blue balls, then? Or are you seeing someone on the side?"

"No, Roger, I am not seeing someone on the side. I'm not a dog like you; I don't let my dick do the thinking."

"Wow. Low blow. True, but low."

"Carter, tell me why you always start this same conversation. You know it goes to hell every time."

"Hey," Carter responded, "I just don't know what would possess a man who is in his mid-twenties to live the life of a monk, that's all. Unless you've finally tapped that ass since last week."

"Technically, we're in our late twenties and no, I haven't tapped...we haven't made love, but I never said we don't, ah... mess around. We're just waiting until we get married to fully consummate the relationship. We decided we wanted to wait until we got married and I'm committed to that."

Jim spoke again, "Yeah, but you should have gotten married at least four years ago."

Tom, who had been leaning over to strike the red ball into the left corner pocket, stood up and matter-of-factly placed the cue on the ground. In thought, he slowly lifted his hands to overlap the top of the stick before he responded. "I guess I never thought about it that way."

Kyle commented, "Well, you better think about it, brother. Are you sure she even wants to marry you anymore?"

"Or that she's not getting some loving from another man?" Roger added.

"Of course I'm sure she still wants to marry me and no way is she seeing someone else. We love each other."

"Okay, someone grab me a garbage pail. This conversation has gotten my stomach all chewed up and I just might barf." Roger was rubbing his flat belly.

"Shut up, Roger. You need to see a shrink. Marriage is not something to hurl about. It's a beautiful thing and I would love to be married to Kate."

"I can't believe I'm going to say this," Roger said, "but why don't you marry her then? You've defied the odds of an interracial relationship this long. Why not make it legal?"

"I...um...don't know. I guess because I haven't asked her yet."

Carter asked, "Don't you think it's about damn time you asked her? Think about it, man. You could have sex with her any time you want."

"For the rest of your life..." Roger's tone of voice didn't make that sound like it was something to desire.

"Wait, wait, wait. Before we get too far off, I'd like to ask you something, Tom. You know I was late to this party and I don't think I've ever asked you." While the others had been friends with Tom since high school and knew everything there was to know about him, Kyle had just joined their motley crew two years back. "Do you mean to tell me you've never had sex before?"

"Of course I've had sex."

"I thought you said—"

Interrupting him, Tom said, "No, I didn't cheat on her. We broke up for about four months in college and I dated other girls during that time."

Kyle had just taken a swig of beer and this response caused him to choke. He carefully placed his beer back on the table and cleared his throat before he replied, "Wow. If I'd been you, I would have screwed every girl who stood still long enough. You must have gone crazy."

"That's a good way to explain what I did and when we got back together, I felt like I'd cheated on her even though we were broken up at the time."

Roger replied, "Like Jim said, you two should have gotten bands of gold ages ago. If she's kept herself pure all this time for you, she's going to be pissed if you don't ask her to marry you soon."

"Yeah," Kyle said, "no self-respecting female wants be a virgin when she hits thirty."

"First Carter says I'm in my mid-twenties and now you say I'm pushing thirty. We've both got three years before we turn thirty and anyway, she's never complained about being a virgin before. It was her idea to wait until we got married. As a matter of fact, she just said the other day she's happy with the way things are."

"Oh God, did she," Carter asked. "That totally means she's not happy with the way things are."

"You think so? That's not right. They aren't supposed to tell you something different from what they really want."

Kyle replied incredulously, "Are you kidding me? Of course they say things they don't mean. That's what they do. It's like breathing with them." He shook his head and added, "Ingrained from conception."

"Let me ask you something, buddy." Roger took the floor again, "Does she ever initiate things with you? Sexual things?" He nodded his head to emphasize his words.

"No. She's always been shy about that sort of thing. I'm always the one to do that."

"Good. Let's be clear; I am admittedly a Casanova and live my life in as many relationships as my condom supply will allow. You, on the other hand, have been in the same relationship with Kate for twelve years, you say you love her and want to save the relationship. Gag."

"Roger, as a divorce attorney, I can understand why you have a jaded view on love and marriage, but I do love her and want to save the relationship. News flash: there are, in fact, other men out there like me." He paused for a moment before he continued, "Anyway, what does it matter who initiates things?"

"Let me take this one," Roger said, "It's an unspoken rule: Being a virgin with the man you want to marry is different than being a complete, real virgin." The other men nodded and Roger continued, "When a woman says she wants to wait until she gets married to have sex and then promptly throws herself at you, she definitely doesn't plan on marrying you. Its subliminal code that your single-doom is safe. Hump away. If she tells you she wants to wait and doesn't turn into a nympho, your single days are numbered. I am an expert at sniffing out the proper female. For me, it's a finely honed skill."

"Wow. I've never heard of this rule."

"Riiight. Did I not mention that it's unspoken?"

"So, how do you guys know about it?"

"It's just something you glean over time." Jim responded for the group, "When it happened to me and I wasn't ready to get married—"

"Jim, when did you date someone long enough to get married?" Tom cut him off to ask.

"Remember Callie?"

"But you were only dating for, like, six months, right?"

"Yeah, but that's what broke us up. She made a big deal about waiting until she was married to have sex and claimed she wasn't ready to get married. That was fine with me because I sure didn't want to get married. I did, however, want to get her in my bed. Oh, that girl drove me crazy. Anyway, I didn't figure out she actually did want to get married until she broke up with me. She said I was too immature and afraid of commitment. She was right, but I didn't promise her anything either."

Roger added, "Men who are marriage material suffer through sexless nights and those who have been relegated to boy toys are not good marriage material, but can have all the sex they want. This is, as you know, a condition I bank on and once I've sniffed out a woman who isn't ready for marriage, I turn on the heat as soon as I am within range."

"You make it sound like a game."

"A game with an enjoyable end, my friend; I offer fun-filled nights full of pleasure.

"How does sniffing out females relate to me?"

"It's all about signs. If you haven't seen any, you should turn on the charm."

"Okay, Roger, I'll bite. What kind of charm?"

"Yeah, well maybe I shouldn't give you any advice on charm, because my brand of charm gets me laid and you can't slip up and slip it in."

"Alright, so what do you guys think I should do?" He asked and looked around the group.

"Ask her to marry you. I guarantee that if you want to keep her in your life, it's time to give in." This advice came from Carter. "But don't rush things; it could take time to finesse."

"He's right; you can't just pop the question out of the blue. Work up to it slowly. Build her anticipation and then do one of those big, grand things they do in the movies." Roger must have gotten over his attack of the bellyaches because he was warming up to the idea.

"We'll help you, buddy." Jim patted Tom on the back before he took another swig from his bottle.

"I can't believe it's finally time to get married. I'm excited; I know I want to be with her for the rest of my life." Tom wore a bemused expression, "So, you guys think I should build things up, huh? Any ideas on what I should I do first?"

"I know!" All eyes turned on Christopher who had been in his own world for most of the conversation after his one comment earlier. "Robbins. It's Tim Robbins."

Six Weeks Later

Kate Fullerman was a beautiful, mixed race, financial analyst living in Minneapolis, Minnesota. She and her three best friends had graduated from the University of Minnesota together and once their careers had become established, they began a tradition of enjoying weekly, stress-reducing massages. They were lucky to find a privately owned salon called the Being Well Spa-lon that featured a Girl Friends Room. This room allowed up to five ladies to receive massages simultaneously and it was so popular, they had to book several month long blocks to ensure they didn't miss out. It was an indulgence they paid top dollar for and three years later they were still meeting every week.

This time, they had been talking about their respective relationships for most of their two hour session.

Lila, a savvy and well-spoken marketing executive, said to Kate, "What is it that he's been doing to put you on alert?"

Most of her contributions to the topic today had been focused on her feelings about Tom's strange behavior. Lila was the first to actually ask her to explain. "You keep saying you're worried, but you haven't given us any examples." If there was a bottom line, Lila would always get to it first.

"It isn't one thing, really. It's everything. He's changed and I'm not sure what to think about it."

"Surely you can give us one example, sweetie." Tonya, an administrator at a local talk radio station, was the nurturer of the bunch and always full of endearments, helpfulness and understanding.

"It's been a month that he's been acting strange; maybe longer." She paused in thought for a moment and then she said, "Last Monday, he sent two dozen roses to the office with a note that read 'Just because'."

"But that's sweet. I would love it if my boyfriend sent me flowers." Monica, a freelance web designer, continued to find perfectly wrong men who always dumped her.

"Normally I would agree with you, Monica, but Tom has never sent me flowers before. Then all of a sudden he spends a hundred dollars on something he's always said were a waste of money? It feels too much like the kind of message you read about or see in the movies."

"You mean the relationship kiss of death? What else has he done?" Again, Lila was on top of things.

"Let's see. He washed my car the other day."

"I still think it's not right to give a set of car keys to a boyfriend."

"Lila, we've been together twelve years. I don't think he's a flight risk."

"Point taken. What else has he done?"

"He cleaned my bathroom."

"Wow. This sounds serious, but we can't tell if he's going to dump you with the examples you've given. They straddle the line."

"Dump me? You think that's possible? Maybe you should tell me what else is on the list and I can tell you whether that's an issue or not."

That's when the massage therapist working on Tonya spoke up and said, "If you don't mind my intrusion, I've got one that's at the top of the list." The three other massage therapists paused in their ministrations and stared at the technician, surprised.

Tonya responded first, "Go right ahead, honey."

"I remember reading a list containing clues that a man was going to break up with you in Cosmo." Everyone in the room, clothed and otherwise, stared at her as she continued, "Number one on the list said if he's no longer trying to get you into his bed, he's preparing to say goodbye."

They all looked at Kate, who immediately burst into tears. "Oh my gosh! Tom wants to break up with me! He used to make the moves on me all the time, but he hasn't touched me in over a month."

"I told you to jump that man years ago, but you wouldn't listen. He's simply too hot to keep waiting for ever." Lila said.

"We decided to wait until we got married."

"It was a good plan," Monica said gently, "a decade ago, but both of you are twenty-seven-years-old. It's uncustomary to wait that long these days."

"But he had sex when we broke up in college."

Tonya reminded her gently, "Sweetie, that was over six years ago."

Monica who was used to making grand gestures to keep her men said, "You need to jump quickly if you're going to keep him now. Show him what he could have every night in his bed; sweeten the deal."

"Here, here. I concur." Lila added.

"But I don't know the first thing about seduction. What if he laughs at me?"

"Sweetheart, that doesn't sound like the Tom I know. Besides, haven't you ever...messed around?"

"Sure. He usually initiates things, but I've been so busy with my new contract at work, I didn't realize he hasn't tried for a while. I'm probably already losing him."

"We'll help you, sweetie." Tonya's table was positioned the closest to Kate and she reached her hand out to pat Kate's shoulder.

"Thanks ladies. What should I do first?"

Lila rubbed her hands together, "You're in luck, Kate. Seduction is my middle name. First, you need to buy a silk penoir and a pair of crotchless panties—"

***

After leaving the spa two days prior, they all decided to have dinner together to discuss the things Kate would have to do to save her relationship with Tom. She had decided crotchless panties should be number six on the list and not number one. Number one, they finally settled, should be about recapturing Tom's affections through his stomach. No big surprise, this idea came from Tonya and Lila said she could always slip in the crotchless panty part of the scheme later by taking him on a tropical vacation for Valentine's Day in two months. A quick email to Tom had outlined a potential itinerary, but she hadn't heard from him on the topic as of yet.

Kate lived in the coveted Uptown neighborhood of Minneapolis in a comfortable, well-appointed town-house that featured a large kitchen. Since Tonya's idea was to cook his favorite meal to remind him she was a good catch, she put her large kitchen to use. Maybe it would show him she was occasionally willing to work around her busy schedule to pamper him.

Tom had always loved her cooking, so she was thinking tonight's meal of pork tenderloin, crisp asparagus, sweet potatoes and homemade dinner rolls would go over very well. For dessert, she had prepared a simple yellow cake with Bavarian cream filling and chocolate frosting, also his favorite.

"Dinner is delicious, sweetheart."

"Wait until you taste dessert." Kate used a tone of voice that Lila made her practice the other day. It was meant to be sexy and promising.

Tom's Adam's apple bobbed in his throat before he said, "Oh? Did you make my favorite cake? I love that cake. That cake sure is my favorite. Thanks so much for making that cake, Kate."

Again, she used a sultry tone, "I want you to be happy, Tom. I want to spoil you."

Tom cleared his throat and said, "Can you pass the butter, please?"

"Sure, honey."

Okay, it's time to move in for the kill. I may be able to skip steps two through five!

"So, Tom, did you think about what I asked you the other day?" Kate handed Tom the butter and sent him what she hoped was a seductive look. Unfortunately, he didn't look seduced at all. In fact, he suddenly looked nauseous followed by the look a deer makes when it's caught in the headlights.

Dang, that can't be a good response. Is it my lack of experience that has made this attempt at seduction fail or that I tried it over the butter?

"Uh...are you talking about going to the Twins game this weekend?"

Is he purposely being obtuse?

Kate plastered on a smile she hoped he wouldn't see through, and replied, "No, sweetie, I was talking about us taking a vacation together for Valentine's Day. I thought with all the time we've been spending at our jobs lately we could use a little time away. Don't you think?"

"I...uh...well, actually review time is coming up soon and I've got thirty reviews to write. I can't take the time off work."

"How long will it be before you could take the time away?"

"Why can't we just spend time together here for the holiday? Why the sudden desire to get away?"

"I thought it would be nice to go to Cancun. We haven't been on a holiday in so long and I thought a lover's getaway would be nice."

"It sounds nice in theory, but I've got so much going on at the office right now."

"Um...Tom? Can you hold on a second? I'll be right back."

"Sure thing, honey."

Kate got up and calmly walked the distance to her bedroom, closed the door and dialed a number on her cell phone. Lila picked up on the second ring, "Hello?"

"He nearly barfed up his favorite meal when I tried to be sexy, he pretended he didn't know what I was talking about when I mentioned the trip, which he then said he couldn't go on and I feel like a complete and utter failure at seduction. If I can't make it work with him how am I supposed to make it work with someone new? Oh, Lila, I don't want someone new! I want Tom!" Tears streamed down her pretty face.

"Settle down Kate, I'm sure things aren't as bad as you think they are. Tell me what happened. When he nearly barfed up his meal, what had you done?"

"Not much; I used the sexy tone you taught me when I said a couple of double innuendoes. I thought things were going well until he asked me to pass the butter and I mentioned the vacation."

"Is that when he looked sick"

"Yes, his Adam's apple bobbed and then he looked sick—"

"Hold on there, Missy. If his Adam's apple bobbed at any time during this exchange, you've still got time."

"What?"

"That's where a man lives, you know?"

"Okay...what?" Kate was confused.

"Kate, does that happen to him often? No, he isn't one of those skinny, long-necked fellows that make good comedians. He's one of those ultra-sexy, thickly muscled, regular-necked men who make good firemen."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"What it means is that he's not a classic apple bobber and if you see it go up and down like that, he's affected on a very basic and elemental level. It's a good sign."

"You really think so?"

"I know so."

"Well, then what should I do now?"

***

As soon as she closed the bedroom door, Tom punched in Jim's speed-dial number into his cell phone. Jim wasn't the most experienced of the bunch, but when Tom went down his list of friends, Jim was the most level-headed besides Christopher. Christopher was actually more so, but he also couldn't hold a decent conversation to save his life.

"Hey, buddy, what's up?"

"She won't stop throwing herself at me, man and it's hard to resist her!"

"Settle down, Tom! What's going on? Are things that bad or are you just freaking out?"

"She made all my favorite foods in the same meal like some sort of offering, she kept using that Betty Boop voice that drives men wild, she said some sexy stuff about wanting me to be spoiled and happy. It's over, Jim! She wants me to be her boy toy, not her husband."

"Where is she now?"

"I told her I couldn't go on vacation with her and she excused herself to go to her bedroom for a minute."

"Did she nag you about it at all before she left?"

"No, she didn't. I said I thought going away sounded good in theory, but I couldn't take the time off work and she asked to be excused."

"Well, there you go, buddy. There's still time."

"What?"

"A woman never gives up an opportunity to nag and if she gave that up to head to her room it was to cry."

"You think so? That's great! I mean, not that she's crying, but that she cares enough to. Wait. She isn't normally a nagger. Does it still count?"

"Absolutely. Even the least nagging woman would complain about the totally un-cool way you declined her invitation."

"Well, what would you have done? Was I supposed to take her up on her offer? Tell her I would go on her sex-cation and ruin my chances with her?"

"Of course not. I'm just saying."

"You are no help right now, Jim. Maybe I should have taken my chances with Christopher or Roger."

"What? That's not right. You're way out of line. I'm a much better advice-giver than those two yahoos. No offense to our friends, but it's true."

"Okay, O-good advice-giver, tell me what I should do now? I want to bust down her bedroom door and give her what she's asking for."

"What should you do? Run. Run as fast and as far as you can."

"Run?"

"Yes, run. As a matter of fact, check into a hotel for the night so she can't come to you wearing a trench coat, screw-me boots and a smile."

"Please, please, please don't put that sort of illustration in my head right now. I'm already harder than cement and all she did was flirt."

"I repeat! Run, Tom, run!"

"Before she comes back into the room?"

"If you're harder than cement, you can no longer be trusted. Get the hell out of there, man, if you still want a chance at getting married."

***

Kate opened the door and slowly walked back into the dining room in hopes of doubling her efforts of seduction. If she wanted to keep Tom, she would need to do a better job. Steeling her resolve, she plastered another smile on her face and said, "Can I interest you in dessert now, Tom?"

She saw the empty table and walked into the kitchen to see if he was in there. "Tom?" No answer. She walked back into the dining room and went to the bathroom in the hallway. "Tom?"

He was gone. Things were far worse than she thought.

***

The next night after work, the men were attending their weekly MBR at a family restaurant. They were all here for the common goal of saving the longest relationship of them all. The thought of them breaking up was a sobering one indeed. Even Roger, the most confirmed bachelor of the group, was on a mission to make things work for his friend. Maybe somewhere inside each man was the hope that if they could save this relationship, the world could keep spinning. Besides Carter, neither man was ready for commitment, but if this long-standing, secure relationship failed, well then, what luck would they have?

On this night, instead of drinking, playing cards, or pool, they were sitting quietly talking about things... and eating. You couldn't keep a hungry man's stomach empty for long.

Tom had just filled them all in on the events of the night before and Roger was the first to speak when he was done. "I can't believe you left a willing woman's house without a backward glance."

"Without a backwards glance, my ass. I had whiplash I glanced back so fast."

"Okay, fine. I just mean that if it were me, I would have busted down that bedroom door and given her what she was asking for."

"And that's why you aren't married, Roger. You're a cad." He didn't mention that's what he'd wanted to do and shared eye contact with Jim, giving an almost imperceptible shake of his head. Jim winked.

"A cad? Who are you, Ashley Wilkes from Gone with the Wind?"

"Tease me if you will, Roger, but I'm not you and I love Kate. I want to marry her and I don't need you giving me shit about not wanting to ruin my chances with her."

"I'm sorry, Tom. Your goals and motivations aren't mine, thank goodness."

"No worries, Roger. I would love to get mad at you to help let off steam, but it won't make my situation any better. Besides, getting mad at you for your dumb ass comments is like getting mad at a dog for humping a leg or two when it's horny. No offense."

"None taken, now let's get back to the business at hand. Personally, I think things could be worse."

"I guess you're right. She hasn't broken things off with me or made any overt attempts to force my hand, so she may still want to marry me."

"I agree, Tom. If she wasn't still on the edge she would have jumped you by now. There's a vast difference between flirting and jumping." Carter was, for once, not in the mood to tease.

"I just don't know how many more com-promising positions I can handle. It's hard to resist her. I just wish I could know what she's thinking; whether she wants to marry me or not."

"You must resist, Tom. We told you. If she gets you in the sack, brother, you can kiss her goodbye!"

"Damn! This shouldn't be so difficult."

"You know what?" Kyle was excited. "You said you wish you knew what she was thinking and I have an idea that might get you there."

"What the hell are you talking about, Kyle?" Tom wasn't in the mood for riddles.

"If we get a woman on the inside, she could listen in on their hen meeting and report back to us."

"That's not what she calls them!" Tom said indignantly even as the others laughed.

"Is that the point? We could get a lady to go to the massage place and be the fifth wheel, so to speak and she could get the answers you're looking for."

"That won't ever work. They're not going to feel comfortable talking around a stranger."

"You're probably right." Kyle's excitement fell.

"I've got it!" Roger said, "A little mouse in the legal aid pool at my office speaks fluent Greek who's had the hots for me for the past two years. I'll bet if I ask her to listen in, she will."

"That's perfect! We could book the appointment for her and she could only speak Greek the entire time."

"I think that would work, but how can we ensure the time slot. They pay for the whole room at a time, not the four tables."

"Well, Christopher is the rocket scientist. His pockets are deeper than everyone else's. Can you foot the bill and give them an offer they can't refuse?"

"Sure, peasants, I'll donate money to the cause. I think our dear Tom's happiness is more important than money."

"Oh, we do too, but only when it's yours!"

"Ass."

"You know, that's what I've heard."

***

"So, what's the scoop? Is there anything new we should know about?" Lila asked.

"I'm still a virgin, if that's what you're asking."

Tonya responded, "Oh, sweetie, I'm so sorry. This does not look good."

"Since when is it harder to give up the cherry than to keep it? I'm just sad I was so blind all these years. He seemed so patient I thought we had a lifetime to sort out the sexual side of our relationship. If I had known it would end like this, I wouldn't have waited. What good is chastity when it alienates the only man you'll ever love? Worse still, who's going to want to schtoop a nearly thirty year old virgin?"

"Schtoop? I haven't heard a term like that since Laverne and Shirley! I swear! You're both throwbacks from a gentler time." Monica teased Kate, "I couldn't believe you were virgins when I met you a decade ago! It just makes me want to pass out and die twice that you still are! I've lost my virginity at least four times since we met."

"Well, that makes no sense. I thought you could only loose it once." Kate was confused.

"No, sweetie," Tonya filled her in, "it's not a medical phenomenon. It's more of a spiritual thing or the simple matter of a timeline."

"What? You know what, never mind. I think I can only handle my current situation right now. First I need to figure out how to loose my virginity for real, then I'll worry about regaining it somehow to loose it again later."

Monica patted her on the back and said, "I think that's the best plan of action, Kate."

Kate took that moment to lament again, "I'm just so sad. I wish I could be a bug on the wall to hear what they talk about at those damn MBR's. That way, I would know for sure if I still have a chance."

"Hey, hey, hey! That's a great idea, Katydid!" Lila used one of her many nicknames. "We could get a male friend to be near them in The Candy Shop and he can listen in and tell us what's going on!"

"You know what ladies, I think we'll have an easier time getting a woman to listen in and tell us the skinny. I think most women would get a kick out of a job like that."

Kate looked at Tonya in surprise. The sweet- tempered woman wasn't usually approving of such devious plans. "You may be right, but who?"

"Maybe we should place an ad in the paper. That way we can ensure we'll get someone they don't know and therefore would not suspect." Lila's creative, marketing mind was working and she said, "We could try something like this: Do you like mysteries? We don't. Help us piece it all together. If you like Candy and you like to Swim, float over to the Shop and listen to the natives so we can make sure they aren't too restless."

"I like the way you think, Lila," Kate said, "That's perfect."

"Well, of course it is."

***

Tom sat at work and tried to pretend to look busy. The good thing about being in upper management was that he didn't have to pretend very hard because he was both busy and he was the boss.

For the tenth time in as many minutes, he took a piece of scrap paper off the pile he reserved for notes and wadded it up. Lifting his hands in the classic basketball throwing position, he snapped his hand for a perfect two-point throw. The phone rang and he arched his hand wrong causing the paper to land two feet left of the recycling bin.

Tom snatched up the phone and barked, "What?"

"Well thank goodness it's me. What if I had been a client? You better watch yourself, brother."

"Carter, what do you want?"

"Okay, well nice to hear from you too. I was nominated to inform you that we have the plan in motion. The girl from Roger's office has promised to pretend to be completely Greek, get a free massage, a dinner with Roger and report back to us the next day."

"I think we should hold an emergency MBR."

"Yeah, we've already planned it. Meet us at eight pm at The Candy Shop tomorrow night. Roger reserved the pool room.

***

"This is highly unusual, but we aren't really in the market to turn away such a generous offer."

"I'm sure it won't be a problem, Joan. Don't worry. We're all professionals, after all and we understand you're running a business here."

"I appreciate your understanding. I just felt for her situation. Can you imaging being in America for two weeks on business and not speaking a word of English! Oh dear, now I've told you too much. I don't know what's come over me. I apologize."

"Joan, don't waste another thought about it. I promise not to tell anyone else besides the ladies in the room."

"Thank you, dear. I guess you and your friends have been coming here long enough that I see you all as my friends too." They had walked the distance from the front counter to the Girl-Friends Room and Joan opened the door to let her in. "Here you go, Kate. Enjoy your massage, dear."

"Thank you. I always do." A few minutes later when Kate walked out of the dressing room wrapped in a towel, the other ladies came out of their own dressing rooms. "Hey you guys, I wanted to tell you that—" Just as she was about to explain the situation to them, a petite brunette woman came into the room and lay down on the fifth table. Feeling a bit odd talking about someone who was in the room, she filled the others in. "She's a foreigner and is only in town for a very short business trip. Apparently they offered triple the price for her to come during this time slot and Joan couldn't pass it up. She doesn't speak one word of English, so we can still talk about...things."

Monica was the first to respond, "No problem. We always have an empty table and if it helps Joan..."

"I agree." Lila said.

"So do I." Tonya said.

Kate wanted to know, "Okay, so do we have any takers on the ad?"

"No, oddly enough. I'm surprised too. To be honest, if I could spend a couple hours listening to what men really think and say I would do it in a heart beat." Lila sounded disgusted by the lack of interest in her cleverly worded ad.

"If I remember correctly, sweetie," Tonya pointed out, "you never said anything about it being men the person would be listening to."

"You're right, I didn't," Lila conceded, "but still."

"We have to find someone soon because Tom called me today to say he was going to be getting together again tomorrow night with the guys."

"Kate, are any of the other guys ever in communication with you? Have you ever thought about calling one of them to ask them to level with you?" Monica wondered.

"To be quite honest, I'm not sure which one I would call. Definitely not Roger and Christopher is practically a mute, he's so absent-minded. I guess Carter might be a safe one to talk to."

"I think Roger is one of the sexiest men in America. I'd sure like to have a taste of that sweet candy of a man sometime before I die."

"Okay, Tonya, who are you and what have you done with my friend? That's the second or third time you've surprised me in the last couple days."

"Just because I'm the nice one doesn't mean I've never had a wild thought or two."

"Well, I guess not."

***

Kate and Lila shared a brief call the next day, "So, I got a call today about the ad. It was a pretty interesting call, actually. The girl said she didn't want to meet until after she listened in on the guys and she said she would call me later to set something up."

"I guess there's no reason to meet with her beforehand, is there, Lila?"

"Not really, it just seemed like she had a personal agenda, somehow."

"How is that possible? She doesn't know any of us, right?"

"The chances are very slim that she could." Lila rubbed her hands together in her classic show of anticipation and excitement. "Their special meeting should be chocked-full of information! When was the last time they had two MBR's in one week?"

"The only other time I know of was when Carter was getting engaged."

"Well, that's great news, don't you think?"

"I haven't let myself think. As a matter of fact, the only thing I think is that I shouldn't think about things."

"Oh."

***

Natalie, a secretary from Roger's office who spoke perfect Greek, sat in a dark corner of The Candy Shop. To ensure Roger wouldn't recognize her, she'd donned another disguise. This time she wore a spiky-haired blond wig and she wore way too much make-up. She looked hideous.

What she overheard that night was, in fact, interesting and she couldn't wait to get back to the ladies.

As she sat listening to the men's misguided advice, she realized that the two would-be lovers might never get things straight due to the advice the two of them were getting from their well-meaning friends. Before the end of their meeting, Natalie got up and left with a plan forming in her mind and happy thoughts of random acts of kindness.

At the same moment, two couriers delivered envelopes to the offices of Kate Fullerman and Tom Reynolds.

Kate tore the small envelope open and read the typed note inside. A moment later, the note fell to the ground and Kate pushed the intercom and said, "Iris, cancel all my appointments for the rest of the afternoon; I'm leaving for the remainder of the day."

"Yes, Ms. Fullerman.

After picking up the note with shaky hands, donning her coat and racing to her car, she drove to Tonya's office at the station a few miles away. In lieu of saying hello to her surprised friend, she held out the note.

"Kate? What's this?" Tonya took the note from her and read it. "Oh, sweetie! I'm sorry. This doesn't sound good at all, does it?"

"I've lost him. I waited too long and I've lost him."

"The note doesn't say that! It simply says he wants to meet you to discuss things. Don't think the worst."

"You read it, Tonya. You said yourself that it doesn't look good."

"Just go meet with him, Katie. Tell him how you feel. Maybe it's not too late.

"I guess it can't hurt. It's not like we've been fighting or anything."

"That's the spirit." Tonya said with enthusiasm. "It also couldn't hurt to wear that penoir. Oh, and if you have those crotchless panties we were talking about..."

***

Tom walked slowly into the Fairchild Inn with a heavy heart and stopped at the front desk.

"May I help you, sir?" The clerk behind the desk looked expectantly at him.

"Yes, I believe there is a reservation for Tom Reynolds."

She looked down at the computer and typed in his name. "Yes, there is and the room has already been paid for. Your room is on the fifteenth floor," she handed him a card key and pointed across the lobby, "When you leave the elevator, you'll find room fifteen twenty-four on the left."

"Thank you very much." Tom didn't feel very thankful. He felt like he was taking a final stroll down "the green mile". Loosing Kate would be the biggest regret of his life and he actually felt like crying.

Why do things have to end like this?

If he could go back and do it all again he would have married her right after college.

The elevator's bell rang, the doors silently opened and he stepped inside. Tom thought about the note again, took a deep breath and let it out to calm himself. She had typed that it was past time to end things and she felt it was better to meet on neutral territory.

How was he to find someone else when the only woman he had ever wanted was Kate? He wanted to start a family with Kate; to grow old with Kate; to spend the rest of his life with Kate.

What a stupid damn waste.

Tom stood in front of room 1524 for a full minute. His steel armor in place before he slid the card key into the slot, it felt like an eternity before the light finally turned green and he was able to open the door.

He hadn't wanted to break up, hadn't wanted to come here, and didn't know if he could face tomorrow without her, but he was ready to get this over with.

Kate sat in an overstuffed chair in the corner by the large window. Having lived in the cities his entire life, staying in a downtown hotel had never been needed. Subconsciously, he noted the beautiful view of the Minneapolis skyline through the window.

"Kate."

"Tom."

He walked over to the second chair and sat down heavily. Now that he was close to her, the scent of her perfume wafted into his olfactory system and he closed his eyes to commit it to memory. He had always loved her scent. Exotic flowers mixed with musk and her natural smell. She was one of those people blessed with an intoxicatingly wonderful natural scent.

When he opened his eyes, he saw that she was staring at him through wide, hazel eyes. He noted her outfit. She wore her long, black hair up in a loose twist, her favorite calf length, off-white winter trench coat and a pair of high heal boots of indeterminate height because the tops were hidden under her buttoned coat.

She looked beautiful. Her delicate features and caramel skin glowed with a fine dusting of bronzer and she wore a shiny gold gloss on her soft, full lips which were parted slightly and he could see her straight, white teeth.

They both said, "You wanted to see me" at the exact same time. Then, "I got your note." Followed by, "I never sent you a note."

"You go." She deferred to him.

"Look, I'm here to discuss the severing of our relationship, but I would like to get a few things off my chest before we talk about that. I think you owe me that much."

"Okay."

"Kate, I love you. I may not have said it enough, but I love you with all my heart. I have wanted you since we met twelve years ago and have wanted to spend the rest of my life with you. For me, nothing has changed and—"

"But you—"

"Let me finish, please."

"Tom, nothing has changed for me either. I love you more than words can say and I don't want to break up."

"You said in your note that it was time for us to end things."

"I told you I didn't write a note. You did." She looked as confused as he felt.

"No, it wasn't me. I didn't write a note either."

"Then you don't want to break up with me?"

"No, Kate. I want to marry you."

"You do? The girls said I needed to have sex with you or I would loose you and—"

"Oh no! The guys told me I had to avoid having sex with you if I wanted to keep you."

By that time, they were both standing. Tom was the first to shorten the distance between them. He reached for her and she came into his arms and held him tight. "Talk about working at cross purposes. I have been trying everything in the book to get you to make love to me for the past few days."

"And I have taken at least one hundred cold showers and kept myself at a distance and tried every thoughtful thing in the book to make you see I respect and love you. For nearly two months I've stayed clear of compromising positions."

"That's crazy! I want you so much, Tom; in my life, in my heart, in my bed, as my husband and the father of my children."

"You will marry me? I mean, will you marry me? Build a life with me, have children with me, fight with me about our differences in checkbook registry keeping, watch me grow a belly paunch, help me when we're old and wait to leave this world until I'm ready to die peacefully in my sleep holding you when we're one hundred and ten years old?"

"I will marry you, Tom. I will!"

"So, you say you've been trying to seduce me for the past few days?" He was charmed by her sudden shyness. She was so beautiful.

"Yes, I have, but it didn't work."

"Honey, if it had worked any more, I would have had to quit my job. I could hardly see clients in a perpetual state of hardness. It was extremely difficult to resist your considerable charms. You are sexy as hell."

At that moment, her arms wrapped around his neck and she brought his mouth close to hers before she said, "Well if we're finally getting married, then why wait? We both want each other, right?"

With a new knowledge that not only were they not breaking up, they were going to be getting married and that she wanted him as much as he wanted her, he answered her question by pressing against her stomach. His only thought besides how wonderful it was to be holding her and to be held by her was to damn her coat for keeping her from him.

"Damn coat." He pulled his lips from hers long enough to rip at the tie, jerk it open and start on the buttons. "Let's get married as soon as possible. If you get pregnant, no one will have to know."

"Fine, but Tom, I need to tell you about my coat, well not my coat exactly, my—" Her words came too late. He had already found the prize waiting for him beneath her trench coat.

"Oh honey, you're exquisite!"

"You like?" She reached up and removed the pin from her hair and it cascaded down her back. "I was going to try one last time to seduce you."

"Well, if I had seen you in this all my good intentions would have been thrown out the window."

"Tom, I love you. Will you make love to me now?"

Picking her up in his arms, Tom carried her to the bed and laid her down.

"We've waited so long for this moment, Tom. I hope you aren't disappointed."

"Never think that, my love, I could never be disappointed in you."

As much as they had treasured each other for so long, they relearned each other throughout the night. For each it was amazing that they could actually fall in love a little bit more than they had been before.

When they became one in the complete sense of the word, it was truly a miraculous union of souls.

***

In spite of everyone's best intentions, things worked out beautifully. Two months later when they finally did walk down the isle for their shotgun wedding, everyone cheered including the bride and groom.

Love Bites and Dark Knights

By Crimson Kildare

[The fanciful connection between vampires and romance is examined once again in this wonderfully developed story of an ingénue and a (literally) ageless movie star. Crimson Kildare, soon to be published by Second Wind, shares her creative gift for characterization and passionate writing in this fanciful story.

1. Logan

Sidney Butler had driven down from Paris after taking the Chunnel from London. He had decided against coming by plane and had not hired a driver or called ahead. He didn't want to be slowed down or headed off at the pass, either.

He knew what Logan was going to say and he didn't want to hear it. There were times that man was his own worst professional enemy. In fact he'd found over many long years that the best way to motivate Logan was to not let him get a word in edge wise, until after he'd had the chance to drop in the lure. Then he let Logan do all the talking that he wanted and listened as long as Logan wanted him to, because at that point he knew it was just a matter of how long it would take Logan to talk himself into doing whatever Sidney wanted. He knew how to get Logan's attention, how to peek his interest and he never failed. He found it was so much easier on the head and the ears that way.

So he found himself driving down old French country roads at 8 p.m. on a Saturday. No matter, it was a lovely night and he was almost to the farm; another fifteen minutes and he could begin to weave his spell for Logan. Just in the nick of time too, his ace in the hole should be arriving right about now.

When he pulled into the drive he parked under the ancient weeping willow and grabbed his bag from the back seat. He walked up to the large wooden door and knocked as loudly as he could.

There was no answer. After some walking about and muttering to himself, he thought he heard the distant sound of a spade ...

He finally found his oldest and dearest mate in the back yard. Logan was on his knees and up to his elbows in dirt and manure.

"What on earth are you doing?" he asked with an air of very distinct nausea.

"Gardening. I wondered how long it would take you to pace up and down the drive swearing at me for my poor hospitality; never mind that I had no idea you were coming. Which leads to the question, what do you want Sid? You never show up unannounced unless you want something."

"In the dark?" Sid asked him incredulously.

"What? Oh, yes, well you know how easily I burn in the sun Sid; I'm just never going to have that coveted Hollywood tan." He replied dripping with sarcasm and irony.

"Oh yes, well it's highly overrated. I always think those fellows look more orange than Da Vinci bronze anyway. But don't you have a hired man to do this sort of thing? Seriously Logan how can you stand the smell?!"

"Sid, don't take this the wrong way, but if you get any more stereotypical you're going to start glowing."

"Huh! Would that be stereotypically gay or stereotypically breathing challenged?" Sid asked nonchalantly.

"Either, both probably. For god's sake man, suck it up as the American's say. You act as if you're still waiting for your first hunt. For crying out loud, are you really going to stand there and tell me my garden smells worse than London during say, oh ... the plague for example?"

"Ewww, gods Logan, leave it to you to find the single most disgusting thought my long life could possibly have buried deep down in my forgotten subconscious. I might add that buried is where it belongs! Then to add insult to injury you wave it under my poor nose; which has already suffered enough over the ages, thank you sir."

"Poor Sid, so clean, so forthright, so put upon ... try this on why don't you." He said lobbing a big chunk of smelly, manure-laden dirt at Sid's Armani suit.

"Why you freaking tosser! Fine if this is how you want it, I come all the way out here to the middle of nowhere to make you a great offer on a keen career opportunity and all you can do is wheedle and throw dirt at me, eh? I'll show you stereotypical." He said with a laugh as he took off his suit coat and tie.

Quick as a blink he launched himself at Logan. Logan tried to dodge but missed his guess on Sid's speed. Sid caught him under his left arm, lifted him like he weighed nothing and tossed him clean down the hill. He rolled and caught himself just before he would have hit the pond. He picked himself up and charged back up the hill; chasing Sid all the way around the house, across the drive and back the other way again.

Turning to his left Sid led Logan on a merry chase behind the barn and on into the back yard again. Sid was sure he'd led him on a wild enough course for Logan to loose his bearings and go off in the wrong direction, but he was wrong.

Logan crept silently across the lawn and tackled Sid from behind, throwing him to the ground; where they thrashed around kicking, punching and yanking. Both Logan and Sid got a few good shots in at one another, all in good fun of course.

They were like a couple of teenaged boys. The boys didn't pay enough attention to their surroundings and before they knew it they'd rolled down the hill and on into the pond in a big heap of arms and legs all soaked to the bone.

"There then, I still have what it takes to thrash you a good one if you're needing it and don't you forget it." Sid said with mock severity.

"As a favor to you, my oldest friend, I will not mention that this was clearly a draw. No indeed, I will not say a word." Logan offered with great dignity and authority and a smile that gave away his good humor.

They sat in the pond sopping wet, arm-n-arm laughing an old, comfy and familiar laugh together.

After a couple of minutes Logan stood up and wrung out his long hair and took off his t-shirt and wrung that out too. Then he turned and offered his hand to help Sid up.

"Oh, don't stop on my account." Sid said with a grin as he accepted Logan's hand. Logan laughed and rolled his eyes dramatically.

"Allow me to borrow your turn of phrase there Sid, Ewww!"

"Well, thanks a lot!" Sid feigned hurt.

Logan turned Sid and pushed him gently in the direction of the house and continued to talk as they walked into the living room.

"Come on, I was referring to the fact that you're basically my brother; we were fostered by the same family since we were six, Sid. So, I don't see you that way, myth or no myth. Anyway, it's my job as a good brother to yank your chain every now and then.

Sid chuckled, "This is true... just don't forget that street goes both ways. No, I know you've never cared one way or the other; never paid my teasing any mind or objected to my, well, me. Thing is you have a way with deadpan, that can throw a fellow off, I'm afraid. What do you mean by 'myth'?"

"Okay, you prefer men and I definitely prefer women, but are you going to tell me that in all these years you've never once been tempted to drink from a woman? Come on Sid, fess up. It's time to face it; our kind doesn't fit into the human mold. Many of us, like yourself, cling to the way they were born out of habit and ascetics, but in the end it's a lie. Or perhaps it would be better to say it is incomplete. Sex is not only still good, it's a hundred times better, but what makes it so? The blood makes it so. The blood is the thing. In the end it's the only thing. It eclipses everything else. It is much more than food. In fact I would say that while we do need it to sustain ourselves, its function as a food source is really secondary. Drinking from someone is the single most sensual experience we're capable of having and there is nothing else on earth like it. We must do it, we must have it and in a pinch any carafe will do. Won't it?"

"Well, yes, technically I suppose that's true ... So, are you saying you've drunk from the forbidden carafe?"

"No. Like you, I prefer to cling to my illusions. However, the only difference I see between myself and those who claim they've never had the thought, is that I am not lying to myself about that thought. If I ever find myself on a desert island with nothing but men as far as the eye can see, I will not waste away and die over someone's outdated sense of morality, even if it's my own."

"Whew, knowing you is an ever enlightening experience Logan. But since you bring up the subject of sex and clinging to one's illusions; that brings us to why I'm here."

"I thought you said you had a keen career opportunity for me? I appreciate the thought, but I am a theatre actor Sid not a porn star." He said dryly.

"Oh so droll, I am talking about a legitimate film role actually and there's even a girl in it. I knew you'd like that part. And I have just the actress in mind for the part you see—" Logan cut him off.

"No."

"Oh come on, you haven't even heard me out Logan—" again he was cut off.

"Here's a towel, you know where the guest bath is, go take a shower before your skin turns grey with cold. Then take the guest room. You can regale me as to why this is the bestest film role in all the land tomorrow. We'll both be warm, dry, dressed and rested. We'll share a good cognac by the fire. "Agreed?"

"Alright. Agreed. But try to actually imagine that your mind is open to the idea ok?"

"What genre is it anyway?" Logan asked.

"It's a vampire film." Sid said and made a break for the cellar stairs. He knew Logan was going to need a moment to digest that juicy tidbit.

2. Words of Persuasion

Sid came upstairs on Sunday evening to find Logan waiting for him with a glass of cognac and a roaring fire as promised, but he was scowling. He came and sat in the chair opposite Logan, took a long, slow sip, grabbed a cigar and rolled, snipped and lit it. Just as he opened his mouth to begin weaving that spell, Logan interjected.

"I know what comes next you know. Now you're going to tell me why I really do want to make a vampire film, when in fact I know I do not. Then you're going to tell me why the script is so fantastic, so fresh and untried, eclipsing even the very best of a short list genre and then when I shoot all that down utterly unimpressed with your magnificent talent as a spin doctor, you're going to pull the ace out of your sleeve. The ace that in your mind is so good that it brought you across borders to the middle of nowhere without invitation or fore warning. So let's skip to the chase Sid. Let's take all the spin crap as written for a moment; we can always come back to it later if you feel cheated. Right now I want to know what has made you so confident you can reel me in against my own better judgment."

"Paige Talbot."

"What about her?" Logan asked with a careful tone, sitting forward in his seat.

"She's the actress I've had flown in to audition for the female lead tomorrow evening."

"You did what? Why would you do that Sid?"

"For a number of reasons, the first and most import-ant being that she's good. She is green, yes, little known, sure, but damn good none the less. But then given her genes it would be pretty odd if she wasn't. Wouldn't you agree?"

"Sid. I do not think this is a good idea. They're too similar. I can't...damn it Sid. She's already here; you already had her brought here? Where is she?"

"In Paris at the Hotel Royal Saint Honore she is staying in the Lilac Suite with her agent and business manager Juliet Rierdan. You can not keep following the girl's career, nay her entire life from afar, but continue to avoid her indefinitely. You have run from the memory of Evelyn long enough Logan. She made her choice and it was a good choice for her, made for a good reason. Her reason had nothing to do with a lack of affection for you. As a matter of a fact, if you'll forgive my mentioning it, none of this would have happened if you hadn't been so over cautious. She would never have allowed that Talbot fellow near her if she'd thought you were ever coming back. By the time you got your head back on straight, she was pregnant and engaged. What else could she do? You promised her, by the way, that you would be there for Adele, but you never were."

"What would you have had me do? Play the doting uncle that never ages? How could I have explained myself to her, much less her father? I don't know what you think there was to do?"

"No, I can understand why you stayed away then, and its true the child never wanted or needed for a thing, but...How long can you keep this up? You have an opportunity to make good on your promise to Evelyn and to help solidify and energize the career of a very talented young woman. Not to mention the chance to make a truly good film, because you refuse to ever release anything else. You and I both know that the council would dance for joy if someone put out a film that did us justice for once; a film that showed us as something other than fodder for jokes, trash or the terror that stalks children in the night."

"Forgetting Paige for a moment, tell me Sid, what would that leave? What kind of a film is it we're talking about?"

"I was thinking about a kind of Vampire interest piece. Something with a little heart, maybe even some romance."

"A sensitive vampire film, a romantic comedy; Sid I keep telling you that smack is not akin to popcorn topping. You have seriously got to stop drinking from those drug addicts. As for the council, I think they would have us both flayed for being connected to such a project, because doing so could run the risk of granting credence to claims of our kind not being a myth. As for Paige..."

"On the contrary, I say the council will give us both accommodations for giving our community plausible deniability. What's that you say Mr. Reporter man? You think Logan Porter is a vampire? You mean Logan Porter the world famous actor of stage and screen? Tell me Mr. Reporter man, how long have you been off your meds exactly? And as for Paige, stop hiding. You're acting like some callow youth; all the other vampires are going to start calling you a Nancy boy. In fact if you were the least bit interested in telling the truth, you'd be confessing just how dearly you'd like to talk with her and you know it."

"Sid, you make my head hurt. Do you have a script or were you planning to make it up as we go along, like an ad-libbed audition designed to see if someone can think on their feet in a crisis?"

"I have it in my bag, although it's interesting you bring up improve, I thought we might give Paige bare bones to work with and let her fill in the gaps, see what kind of candid feeling we can get out of her on the topic. It might be very instructive for a number of reasons."

"Just stick to the script Sid and keep your nose out of my ... keep it out of the rest."

"Does this mean you'll do it?"

"It means that I will read the script and then I will go for my walk and consider it. I will give you my answer when I return from that walk."

"It's all I can ask."

"Damn right it is."

3. Paige

Sunday, 14th April, 2008

Juliet Rierdan, my intrepid agent, best in the business; insisted on the isle seat and then promptly fell asleep! Right after giving me the most profound advice a girl afraid of flying could ever ask for. Think about something else. Yes that's what she said, think about something else. Gee thanks, now I can die happy, for I have at last absorbed the great wisdom of the ages, think about something else!

Okay, I'm game, I'll try it. Think about something else...Anything other than the fact that you are hurtling through the air at unconscionable speeds in the velvety plush confines of an upscale tin can! Or the feel of the wind's furious indignation at being defied at this altitude! Turbulence? My Aunt Fanny's...that my friend is sheer (and righteous) cussedness. If in fact the gods had meant for human beings to fly, they'd have given us wings, or maybe teleportation...yeah, now that would be cool!

So, something else...like the audition! I can't believe I am actually going to be auditioning to be in a film, any film, much less one opposite Logan Porter! He is such a fantastic actor, the academy is practically rolling in the isles with multi-orgasmic delight every time he deigns to leave the stage long enough to make one of his very rare screen appearances. And every actor in Hollywood is trying to figure out how he does it!

I mean he doesn't even live in the U.S. much less California. He does all most all of his work on the stage, occasionally he has been convinced to make a brief foray into television, but for the most part he's a live or nothing kind of fellow. However, recently if memory serves, he hasn't even been doing that. There have been rumblings about a death in the family and a rumor of early retirement plans. It's hard to say what's really going on with him, he's so, well, mysterious. I know how that sounds, but it's true.

He's never gone to an award show; he almost never gives interviews, and when he does? Only in the comfort of his home and he absolutely does not allow candid picture taking of any sort. But he does go to the stage door after every performance to spend a convivial hour with his fans, talking, signing autographs and giving away pre-taken pictures to those who ask for them. He is always impeccably dressed (even in jeans and a t-shirt he looks like a Christian Dior ad) and he is never impatient, unkind or impolite, he is delightful and has a hungry, passionate thirst for life. Or that's what those who have worked with him or met him after plays are always saying. The closest I've ever gotten to him, was on the other end of a cardboard ticket. Still, it's worth the money to actually go to the theatre and take in a show, even with the price of airfare thrown in, if you can swing that sort of thing. I've had to settle for that rare film role, but they've all been masterful and drool worthy!

He is tall, broad and muscular; without that meaty over-pumped effect that is so very unattractive! He has long, wavy black hair, deeply piercing bedroom eyes the grey of storm-dark skies and his lips? Well let's just say that they are so enticing, you could cover them in honey and devour them! Everyone seems to fall for him one way or another...Hmmh?

Reading this; it appears, that would in fact, include me. WOW. It's been a long time since I've had a schoolgirl crush. Of course I suppose it might have something to do with my Granny Evelyn dating his granddad before she met my Granddad. She used to tell me stories about him, about Ross Porter, when I was a little girl. About how dashing and funny and kind he was. She used to love to watch Logan's movies with me the last couple of years before she passed. He must really have a lot in common with his Granddad too. It always seemed so difficult for her to watch those films somehow, as much as she loved them. They'd bring tears to her eyes even when they weren't sad. It was all so tragically romantic, like she had lost two great loves in her life, our grandfathers, Logan Porter's and mine. Good thing I'm an actress and not a journalist! I'd hate for anyone to read any of this.

This is going to be a real test of my skill; not only will I have to knock their collective socks off, but I'll have to do it without losing focus, getting awestruck or otherwise making an idiot of myself. Well, I do love a challenge!

What am I worried about? I am a professional after all. I can handle it. I just have to trust myself and him, which is exactly what I would have to do anyway. So there you are.

The plane is landing. Thank the gods! So it's time to thank the divine for this opportunity, take a deep breath and believe in myself and sign off so I can disembark.

Vive Le Adventure!"

'Til next time,

Paige

Her room was a study in elegance and understated decadence. Everywhere the eye fell upon temptations of the senses; in the soft delicate tones of lilac, mauve and palest champagne gold. The bed was big enough for a family of five with its silk sheets, brocade comforter and ethereal organza curtains. She couldn't imagine how the company could afford it; they had put her up in accommodations that would have made Louis the 14th blush. The carpet was velvety soft and enticing against her stocking feet as she paced to and fro before the doors that led out onto the balcony. The balcony overlooked the Seine and the Eiffel tower, the view was breathtaking. She couldn't enjoy any of it as she continued to wear a hole in the carpet. She was waiting for instructions on where to attend the audition. It had been an hour and a half since she'd called the number she was given and left a message saying she'd arrived and checked into the hotel.

Juliet lay sprawled at an angle across the mauve brocade. She watched Paige for another couple of minutes until she couldn't take any more.

"Sweetie, calm down you're going to get rug burn on the bottom of your feet."

"It's just that I really want this part and you have to admit that all along this hasn't exactly gone according to standard procedure..."

"Oh honey what ever does?"

"Heh true, but how long can it take to dial a phone for heaven's sake? I've already taken a shower, changed, unpacked, checked out the cable, I mean that pretty much runs the gamut of filler activities, ya know?"

"Paige, honestly, you're too keyed up. Even a race car couldn't sustain your speed. Try to relax and enjoy the moment! Go out on the balcony and take in the view of the river glistening in the lights from the tower and..."

There was a knock on the door and Paige raced to it and then very carefully and quickly composed herself before opening it.

"Yes?"

"Ms. Talbot?"

"Yes."

"I have a message for you mademoiselle, just please sign here, and here, thank you very much." He said as he pointed to various places on his clipboard.

"Thank you." She said.

"You're welcome Mademoiselle. Bonsoir ladies," he said exchanging the envelope for his tip. Resting his fingers briefly upon the brim of his hat, he bowed slightly and left.

"Oh! I just love French men. They're so...suave. What does it say?" Juliet prompted as she got up off the bed to gaze over Paige's shoulder.

Paige walked away before Juliet could complete her maneuver. "It's directions to the audition, funny I thought they would call. This is odd though, I mean I thought we would be meeting somewhere in the city, and frankly in the morning. But this gives a rural address and says the time is set for 8 p.m. tomorrow. What do you make of that?"

Arching a curious but unconcerned eyebrow she shrugged, "Perhaps it is to accommodate Mr. Porter's schedule I know he has often requested late hours before, something to do with family obligations, a sick relative or something. On the other hand, it could just as easily be for any number of other reasons having to do with the script, shooting availability and on and on. You know that. In this business there are always going to be idiosyncrasies, eccentricities and hiccups, it's anybody's guess which this is. Just smile and roll with it. It'll be fine and so will you."

"Thanks. You're right. I think I'll take you're advice and enjoy the moment. I'll go for a walk along the river. After all I am an American in Paris for the very first time, there has to be some rule about romantic adventure in that somewhere right?" she asked with a wink and throwing on her shoes and shawl, flung open the door and was gone before her friend could take a breath to speak.

"That's the spirit vive l'amour!" Juliet said to the empty room with a smile as she raised her hand in salute and swung the door closed. "Thank goodness, now maybe I can get a turn in the shower and enjoy the view." She walked into the bathroom and gasped in delight. "Oh my, this bathtub has got to be the 8th wonder of the world or the 8th deadly sin, either way, Hurray!"

She filled the tub with bath salts, oils and bubble stuff, why choose when you could have the heavenly triple! She popped the complimentary champagne and sang torch songs as the bubbles grew frothy and white, filling the room with the scent of hibiscus blossoms.

4. The Living Apparition

Logan was walking the streets of Paris as he often did on Sunday evenings, looking for a bit of distraction, good music or a little drink. He was turning a corner into a dark alley, a spot he knew well and often found quite useful for his needs. Tonight was no different than so many others. He could hear the struggle of a cut purse trying to relieve a young woman of her valuables and maybe her virtue if there was time. He was about to proceed in his usual manner of giving assistance without being seen, when his ears picked up something he had not expected. The voice of the young woman was one he knew. It was like someone had walked over his grave, it was Evelyn's voice.

Dear God that could only mean Paige, Evelyn's granddaughter was being accosted. He peered around the corner to confirm this notion that his ears insisted on, but his heart prayed was just a dream. There she was. He knew it was Paige by her modern dress and her added height. Of course he had seen her before, in plays when she was younger and wouldn't know him. Still it had been a long time and she had matured. She had grown into the very image of Evelyn; she even had the same brick red hair flowing out behind her in the wind, like a curtain of burgundy/rust jewels. Her big, liquid eyes were the same deepest blue like the open ocean at twilight. The same delicate features graced her countenance. An arching brow, an aquiline nose, a complexion of flawless cream, tenderly painted with only a few freckles across the bridge of that nose and culminating in that magnificently full but tiny mouth, like a rose at the very peek of bloom. There she was both the child and the woman that had been denied him.

Logan, who was well used to conflict and petty criminals and who was always calm and collected began to see red. He tore around the corner in a blur of speed and sound. It was a scream of rage that strained against the edge of the sound barrier. You could cover your ears but it wouldn't help, because somehow you weren't really hearing it with your ears. He grabbed the man by the back of his neck and flexed his fingers hard, the man began to choke.

Listen to the sound of his soul, when he can find the effort to form thoughts amongst his struggle to keep gasping and burbling. No! He pleads, calling out to God to help him. If you wanted the grace of God you should have lived a cleaner life you little maggot!

He lifted the man off his feet preparing to throw him face first into the brick, when he hears the pleas of another.

"Logan? Is, is that you? What's going on? Put him down; put him down before you kill him, please!"

Paige's voice began to bring him back to his senses. He put the man down carefully on the pavement.

"Go. Seek the attention of a medical professional before I change my mind, run, now." His tone brooked no argument. The man fled as fast as he could while stumbling and choking all the way.

Paige reached out slowly and carefully to rest her hand against the side of Logan's face. He turned more fully into her touch and was caught off guard by the look in her eyes. He was expecting terror, horror, disgust, revulsion. Anything in that vein would be par for the course at this point. Not one of them greeted his weary and astonished eyes. What he found was wonder, dazed wonder.

"Stained glass and moonlight..."

"What do you say?" Logan asked.

"It's something my granny Evelyn used to say. I never understood and she never explained, but I know it now. Stained glass and moonlight, it's you. Your eyes are like the sun rising through stained glass and your skin the silver/white dance of moonlight on the water. You glow Logan, like the angel of wrath, divine and fierce in your passion. What are you? How could my grandmother know this about you?"

All the while she ran her fingers gently up and down along the side of his face and over the curve of his cheek bones, like a blind sculptor seeking inspiration. He took her hand in his and laid a gentle kiss upon the inside of her palm. Then he very gently and cautiously took her face between his hands and looked deep into her eyes.

"She knew, because she knew me. She and I were friends once, long ago. I am sorry I cannot explain more of this to you Paige, but you should not have seen what you have. I must protect you; I must keep my word to Evelyn. Look at me Paige and really listen. It's a dream; a strange, romantic dream about some silly actor. You've had many such dreams over the years. It's nothing and you'll barely recall it when you wake in the morning. You will get into a cab, go directly to your hotel and go to bed. Tomorrow you will keep Juliet close to you. Do you understand me Paige?"

"Yes."

"What are you going to do Paige?"

"I am going to get in a cab and go back to the hotel and go to bed, tomorrow I will stay close to Juliet."

"And this tonight?"

"It's nothing, just a dream, a silly bit of romantic nonsense. I will barely be able to recall it in the morning."

"Good Paige, that's very good. Now let's get you that cab."

"Yes. Cab. Tired."

He put her in the cab and then followed discreetly. He watched from her balcony as she turned out the light and climbed into that enormous bed beside the sleeping Juliet and passed out cold.

Then he silently leapt to the street below and went home to argue with Sid some more.

***

"Paige, how are you doing in there? Do you need anything? Do you want me to help you with hair and makeup?"

"Sure...that would be nice."

"Honey, are you alright?"

"Yeah, why do you ask?"

"Well, it's just that you've been in a bit of a daze all day is all..." Juliet decided to skip the part about how she seemed to be unnaturally glued to her hip the whole day; one battle at a time.

"Oh, well, I'm just a little tired. I didn't sleep very well last night. I had this odd dream. I'm just trying save all my energy for attention and detail for the audition, that's all." Paige said as she came out of the bathroom in her slip and stockings and crossed to the closet.

"What kind of dream?"

"Hmmm? Oh, I don't...I think it was flashes from some old movie, something about a handsome vampire and a girl in distress."

"Oh, Frank Langella?"

"No...someone younger, hmm I can't remember. Does it matter?"

"No."

"What do you think Juliet, the blue or the indigo? What says romantic comedy to you more?"

"Actually the indigo, there's always a bit of melancholy in any good romantic comedy."

"Okay, indigo it is then. Now, what do think about the hair? Maybe up in a chignon with a bit of soft curls tumbling down and around the face?"

"Yes. Perfect, oh and I have just the thing for your colors too..." She trailed off as she went into the bathroom to look for her own make-up bag.

5. The Audition

Sid's production company had long since built a sound stage out of an old stable on Logan's property. It just made everything so much easier. It was one of the things he'd done to make things with Logan smoother. He was a terrific guy and an amazing talent, but about once every other century Logan got difficult. He'd become too cautious for a while, always worried about the world finding out about the big bite. However if there was a sound stage on the property, it wasn't so easy to bow out; after all, it was so convenient.

The way Sid saw it, what Logan never really seemed to grasp was they already knew. They'd had the proof handed to them dozens of times, real and genuine, fabricated and imagined. No matter the source, the world just kept on coming up with excuses to discredit the reports. The truth was they didn't want to know, they would never allow themselves to admit it, because then they'd have to deal with it. It was so much easier to simply dismiss it as stories to frighten children. This time around, was a bad one, this time he'd done it twice in the same seventy years. The fact that those seventy years happened to span across the turn of a century was to Sid's mind akin to cheating.

"Sid, I told you to tell them to pack it up and go home. We are not doing this."

"Yes, we are. As a matter of fact we are professionally obligated to at least go through with the audition. We flew her over here from the states, we've had her set up in a hotel waiting on us for two days, have a heart Logan. The girl deserves her chance."

"I agree and I can help see that she gets it, but it doesn't have to be here on my property or through your production company and certainly not opposite me. It's too damned dangerous Sid."

"For who? You? I think you're just being selfish."

"What? Don't be ridiculous, you know that I..." They both turned their heads at the sound of a car pulling into the drive in front of the house on the other side of the property.

"I guess it's a moot point now, brother, you're just going to have to suck it up as I believe you told me the other day."

"Sid..."

"Hello?" A feminine voice rang out from the direction of the drive.

"Michael..."

"Yes Sid?"

"Go escort the ladies to the stage area, would you please?" Sid replied with an air of tired exasperation.

"You got it."

"...And as for you," he said turning back to Logan, "Could you at the very least do your job and make some small effort not to ruin my reputation or put me in the poor house? Huh? I know you're very busy with your turn of the century neurotic adjustment phase and all, but some of us actually want to interact with the rest of the world."

"Okay, okay put a sock in it Sid! Your reputation is solid and as for the poor house? Pa-leeasse, you make Midas look like a lazy, amateur swindler!" Sid busted up laughing and after a moment Logan couldn't help but join in.

"Sorry we missed it, whatever it was. Never pass up a good chuckle, I always say." The new comer said as she stopped next to them, "Sid, good to see you again. Mr. Porter, it's a pleasure. I'm Juliet Rierdan..." she said shaking their hands and smiling, "...And this is Paige Talbot, Paige this is Sid, he's a gem, but he likes to pretend he's tough and grumbly so don't let on that we know the truth, okay?" she finished with a familiar note of humor.

"Oh, okay...," Paige replied a bit unsure about Juliet's demeanor, but she seemed to know the man so, "Ah, Sid, a pleasure and Mr. Porter I..."

Logan took her hand and lightly kissed the back as he gazed over it into the depths of her eyes and then rested that hand gently against his chest. Then suddenly he flashed a blinding smile and a playful wink, cutting her off with, "My dear, I assure you, the pleasure is entirely mine."

A little too late he realized his mistake; he probably should not have shared such an intense gaze with her so soon after last night. She swayed a little and then looked like she might swoon. Logan put a protective arm around her to make sure she didn't fall.

"Are you quite alright Ms. Talbot?" Sid asked concerned.

"What? Oh, yes, yes I'm fine, I, probably just need an apple, low blood sugar or some such, I'm sure it's no-thing," straightening with a very professional air she looked at Sid with purpose, "Shall we begin then?"

"Yes, by all means I think that would be splendid. Of course you'll want to take a moment to look over the scene, so why don't you come on over here and sit down, take a good long gander and we'll scrounge you up a sandwich, alright?"

"Sounds good." She smiled at Sid who seemed too preoccupied to notice as he turned around looking for something.

"Where is that nit-wit?" he muttered still distracted.

Michael, was not only Sid's right hand, he was also Sid's lover. He was used to the feigned abuse and grumpy behavior. It was Sid's way of dealing with stress. The truth was that like so many indispensable assistants in this business; Michael was the true unsung hero of this and many other productions. He was standing right behind Juliet trying to decide how long to make him wait, finally he tapped him on the shoulder.

"Nit-wit reporting as ordered...Sid."

"Oh, there you are. Yes well, thank you Michael. Could you please get Ms. Talbot a bottle of water and a Swiss cheese and ham on toast, please...Michael?" he said as a flirty look passed between them.

"No," replied Michael with a saucy, dry humor.

"Ah, yes, well good. Thank you Michael." Sid briefly watched Michael walk away before turning back to Paige who watched the whole exchange with open curiosity. He picked up the copy of the script he'd given her, "See now, it's here on page thirty-two that you really want to take a look, this is where their discussion gets really good ..."

A few minutes later Sid had gone off to talk to the lighting director who was conducting a dry run test during the last night of auditions. Paige shook her head, the technical stuff was a good bit different, but the atmosphere was much the same, there was a metaphorical scent of greasepaint in the air and she felt at home here watching them hustle to and fro as Sid pretended his world might soon end over every tiny detail.

"One bottle of Dasani and a ham and Swiss on toast, light on the mayo, pickle on the side six francs and two whatever is French for pennies. By the by, the wry humor comes entirely free of charge Madame." Michael goofed as he put the food down next to her.

She smiled and chuckled lightly, "That's Mademoiselle, thank you sir. That was quite an interesting exchange you had with Sid a moment ago, a little rich maybe?" she asked.

It was Michael's turn to chuckle, "Well, so is he my dear, and so good looking too, but you just have to understand Sid. He talks a good game; in fact he could talk anyone into or out of anything, any time, but the truth is he's a big teddy bear. Don't tell him I tattled, he'll just fire me for like three days and I need all my hours on this check, ok luv?"

She smiled bemusedly at him, "Sure thing kid, mum's the word, now beat it, ya bother me!" she said trying out her W.C. Fields impression.

Laughing, "Hey that's pretty good."

"Thanks." She beamed at him.

***

Michael left Paige to study her script and eat her sandwich and walked on down the hall to the only permanent dressing room they had. He knocked on the door lightly.

"Enter." Logan answered with an air of distraction in his voice.

"Sid wanted me to tell you that he wants to see it in ten. So there, I have performed by professional obligation, now the real reason I came down her was to say, Holy Wow! She is really something, a true keeper I might add, are you sure it's Sid who's on smack?"

Logan gave Michael a gimlet stare, "Is nothing sacred around here? Is there any part of my business that the entire staff doesn't know about?"

"I think that's a trick question, if there is I wouldn't know would I? The thing is I..."

"Thank you for that unsolicited opinion. Yes she really is; I expect she'll go far. I would also like to see her go as far away from here as she can get. Now, don't you have something you should be doing, Michael, like keeping Sid sane enough not to drive the whole crew half out of their minds? I tell you I can not believe he's talked me into another one of his...and another thing I can't believe he let the only standing director we have go on vacation right before he decides to start shooting. Don't get me wrong, Sid's good, but he's not the man to wear two hats." Logan was really more talking to himself at this point, Michael knew, but he still couldn't help himself.

"Thank God. Two hats is a fashion no-no, no matter who you are, I mean yulch! Just imagine hat hair from hell!"

Logan looked up bemused a moment and then roared with laughter; unable to keep it in any longer.

Sid came in on the sound of joy, "To what do we owe this much needed lightening of your mood?"

"The absurdities of life in general, to which I bow, for the moment."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning, I'll read the scene with her, I'll even make the film, but that is not a promise to agree to her casting, it's a promise to consider her fairly with everyone else."

"I hear you loud and clear. I was never asking for anything else."

"Excuse me fellas, I don't mean to speak out of turn here, but this production company is a community sanctioned endeavor. Which means, kiddies, that half the staff are; how shall I put this...members? And some of them are not the genteel folks that we here in the dressing room are. Just how long were you two planning on leaving the tasty little morsel out there on her own anyway?"

"Dear god, Sid! See? He's right; this is just another reason why this whole business is such a bad plan."

"Relax Logan, please; do you really think anyone here is willing to tick you off? It's not a very healthy proposition and I for one am confident they all know it."

"Never the less, let's get this ball rolling, now!"

"Don't have to ask me twice." Sid said as he led the way out of the dressing room and down the hall back toward the stage area.

"Okay folks, let's get a move on, Dylan chat that girl up later and find me the casting director now, thanks."

"Okay Sid." The fair-haired Dylan replied from next to Paige. He didn't miss the look he was getting from Logan.

***

They sat down around a spare looking, but finely constructed wooden folding table. It looked like an antique.

Everyone had a bottle of water, a script and an air of eager focus. It was work time now. It was clear to Paige that these people had all known one another for a long time and worked together like a well oiled machine, never mind the playful and scattered feeling of only a moment ago; just like a good theatre company.

"So, as you no doubt have gleaned from glancing at the script, this is a vampire story. The writer clearly feels the vamps have gotten a bad wrap in our pop cultural expressions and wants to make folks see that they're people too. Sid here agrees with him and here we all sit. Since this is ultimately the goal of the piece, Sid would like you and I to read through the scene on page thirty-two where the hero and heroine face their biggest challenge, dealing with the accidental unveiling of the truth. She walks in on him defending himself from another of his kind, who takes off when she comes in. How will she react to this information and what should he do? Can he allow her to just walk around like nothing has changed and trust she'll keep his secret and so on...now I thought we'd start with line..."

All the while Logan continued to speak, Paige became aware of the very intent gazes of several of the other people at the table; as if there were somehow something more to all of this than first appeared. It nagged at her and her head began to hurt. Something wanted at the front of her mind, but she couldn't pin it down. She just barely managed to follow Logan's prompts as he began the reading...

"What are you doing here Clarice?"

"I...have an appointment to see the house; they said it was for sale..."

"You have the wrong house; it's down the block, the house you're looking for."

"This is your house then?"

"One of many, Clarice. We have a problem here."

"Problem, I don't have a problem, I can walk down the block really, it's no big deal. I'm so sorry to have disturbed you. I didn't mean to trespass. I'll just go and I'll...see...you tomorrow..."

"Don't play dumb Clarice. I'm not talking about the house you know that. You saw what happened; you saw what I can do. I know you did."

"Yes, well, you're very fast and strong. You must take very good care of yourself, Robert; go to the gym a lot—"

"Please, why do you keep pretending? What am I supposed to do now, eh? Just let you walk down the block to your appointment like nothing happened, like you don't know what I am? Just trust that you will keep my secret, because you're my friend?"

As Logan read this last line, Paige's mind was filled with the image of Logan standing in a dark alley softly glowing, her hand resting against his cheek as he came down from the flight of rage that had nearly cost a petty criminal his life the night before. And her heart was filled with stained glass and moonlight. She decided to use the script as a screen. There was a more important message than art she needed to impart to Logan now, but she needed to do it discreetly.

"I understand Robert. I won't say I'm not a little afraid. If I weren't I'd be a fool. I'm not a fool, but neither am I a coward. I am however, your friend, just the same as I was this morning. You can trust me Robert, because I trust you. I know the truth of you, and it's not about what you can do or how you gained those abilities, but about who you are. In one way or another you have been with me all my life, looking after me, seeing to my education and then of course in other ways, like last night..."

"Stop. A lot of romantic nonsense, now you're talking like a child. Have you no thought for the cost? Are you serious, do you know with what you are speaking?"

Logan got up and began to pace in an agitated fashion, trying to convince himself that the trepidation crawling up his legs was Robert's and not his own.

"I am well aware and my faculties are in perfect working order. You assume that I will assume you are a killer. I don't know how what you are really works; I know only what I've read in fictions. However, even if you do take life to sustain your own, then surely it is because you have no other choice?

"I may not know everything, but I know you well enough to know you have a conscience. If I had to hazard a guess I would say you no doubt have personal dictates that you follow in regard to the issue of...eating. That is more admirable than you might think; and if anything we are told in story is true then surely the thirst is truth. Why else would you do it at all? What possible reason could there be, but that there is no other choice, that it is not voluntary?

"Would you condemn a panther for following its primal urge to hunt and feed or any other creature answering to a force beyond their ability to control? Can you control it? How far? How long until ignoring it turns you into some-thing that cannot be controlled at all? What then is the difference between what you are and a wild beast of the jungle? Only that you are sentient, that you have a mind to think with and a soul to feel with. So much more horrible for you than the panther, to know that the same is true of your food, to share in their suffering as they go.

"The weight of such a burden is almost unimaginable to me and I will not judge you for it, I cannot. Who could? Tell me please if you think you can, who would be your jury of peers, Robert? Others of your kind that we would deem as needing the same punishment, that wouldn't work in our system.

"Maybe only your own kind can attend to that then, you must judge yourselves as we must do ourselves. For surely humanity has committed its share of horrendous crimes against the global community and the very earth itself, but you don't see us being dragged into nature's court."

Paige waited with bated breath for Logan to respond with his own line that she'd left proverbial paragraphs back, she'd let her passion carry her away. He came and stood next to her chair and looked down bemusedly at the top of her head.

"That is quite possibly the single most extraordinary thing I have ever heard out of a mortal mouth." Logan answered for both Robert and himself.

"If I were lying I think you'd know it. So, will you trust me or will you kill me?" she asked tilting her head back to look up into his deep grey eyes.

"I think I will kiss you." And he did.

Paige's mind and heart were overcome with joy and pleasure. She'd never been a big fan of kissing before. Now she realized it was matter of two things, skill and the proper inspiration. Because this was definitely Bastille Day!

"Why don't we take five and go for a walk?" Logan suggested when at last their lips parted.

"Sounds good to me, everybody go get some lunch." Sid interjected with authority. Everyone laughed except Logan and Paige who hadn't yet come back to earth, their eyes yet fixed upon one other.

"I like that idea." Paige answered.

Logan took her hand and pulled her up from her chair and out into the yard. They walked across the back lawn and down to the edge of a little wood just beyond the pond. They sat down on the grass and held hands in silence for a few minutes.

"I ah, think you've got the part." Logan said, trying to find a way to begin.

"Which one?" She asked with an inviting grin.

"Both." He said and kissed her again.

Sometime later they lay on the cool grass under a bright moon arms around each other, Paige's head resting on Logan's chest.

"I just have one request. Your word that I will not become le petite dejeuner some day when you are feeling bored or peckish." She teased.

"Mademoiselle, you have my most solemn oath on it." He said with a playful air of solemn dignity. They both laughed, hugged and kissed some more; until Sid started yelling about people resting on their mysterious laurel asses while some of us are trying to make a living and so on.

6. Sixteen Months Later

"Hello, this is Joan Rivers reporting live from the red carpet premiere of Logan Porter's new film 'Love Bites and Dark Knights'; and here he comes now with his lovely new wife Paige Talbot-Porter. Oh Paige honey, can you tell us how did Logan propose, was it dinner and dancing?"

"Actually, it was le petite dejeuner." Logan offered with a big grin and a saucy wink.

"Oh I'm sorry, I don't ..." Joan began.

"He means breakfast; it was breakfast in bed if memory serves."

"Yes, it was just a quick bite." Logan said with another naughty grin.

Paige winked at Joan as the crowd of women behind the velvet rope made a round of soft moans.

Logan took Paige's hand and rested it against his chest and kissed her on the forehead gentle and slow as the crowd turned to Jello voicing their oohs and ahhs.

"Never once since I lost you Evelyn, have I imagined that I could be this happy. I hope you feel I have done right by you, wherever you've gone. I will treasure her always and you will be twice immortalized, first by God's grace and second by love's."

"You alright lover?" Paige asked in a stage whisper.

"Perfectly." He said with a warm smile as they turned and went into the theatre.

Message in an Oyster Shell

By Sam Irwin

[Reading the beautiful, engaging fiction of Sam Irwin for the first time—regardless of the genre in which he's writing—is like meeting someone and knowing he's always going to be one of your best friends. With his splendid ability to capture mood, character and setting, Sam's stories seem to flow effortlessly even as they beguile us readers.]

[Editor's note: In this story, the author has used colloquial, regional language of the mid 20th century in an effort to achieve authenticity, dialect and flavor.]

"Girl, whachu doing? Don't you know you can get two cents for that bottle at Ruggerio's?"

I turned around and saw an old colored man coming out the thicket. He picked up his cane pole and cast a line into the river.

"Yessum, a body can get two-cents for them bottles," he said

I didn't care about two cents. I didn't care about anything anymore. Not since Janey Mae got married the day after Christmas and left Natchez. She and her beau, sorry, her husband moved up to Tupelo last week. His daddy is a big cotton farmer in the Delta.

Janey Mae and I were the only girls from our graduating class from Mississippi Women's College who hadn't gotten married yet. I said "were" the only girls. Now I'm the only one. I could just hear Walter Winchell on the radio, Good evening Mr. and Mrs. America, from border to border and coast to coast and all the ships at sea. Let's go to press... Big News Flash: Susan Marie Beauchamp is not married. I repeat, Susan Marie Beauchamp of Natchez, Mississippi is not married. As we went to press, she still isn't married and probably never will be.

I threw another pop bottle into the river.

Blame Hollywood. You see in the movies, a girl falls in love. I mean they fall full blast into love. It seemed to me that when a girl kissed a boy, she should feel something.

I don't want you to get the wrong idea. I'm not "loose." I will confess that I kissed a few boys in the back row at the Bijou. I even kissed a few boys at the weekend Harvest Dances. When I went to college, the W, as everybody in the great state of Mississippi calls it, I kissed a few boys there. And not one single time did I ever feel a warmth, a tingle, not even a goose pimple.

I went with a Kappa Delta named Billy Ray for a time in college. I was a Tri-Delt. That boy cut a handsome figure in his Confederate colonel's uniform for the Spring Formal. All of my girlfriends said I was the lucky one and how we made such a good couple and all. Billy Ray had everything—good-looks, smarts, a rich daddy, a car. A real Southern gentleman that one, but we'd been holding hands for a year and he never once tried to kiss me. Six months later, under the willow tree at the fraternity house, he finally got the nerve to kiss me. Then he got down on one knee and proposed marriage.

"Billy Ray," I said. "I can't wear your ring."

"Why not," he said. I couldn't tell if he was angry or relieved.

"Because when you kiss me, there's nothing." I was shocked to hear those words pop out of my mouth, but they did.

And then I graduated and went on back to Natchez, apparently to be an old maid forever. That was ten years ago.

And now Janey Mae asked me to be her maid of honor and got married the day after Thanksgiving. I wished Janey Mae good luck when she and her husband jumped into the back seat of the Cadillac. They were going to New Orleans for their honeymoon. She rolled down the car window and handed me her bouquet.

"Marie, you're going to be next. I just know it. I'll call you next week and reveal all the secrets of the honeymoon bed." She gave me a sly wink as the car containing Mr. and Mrs. Virgil Lee Taylor drove off into marital bliss.

That night, after everyone had gone to bed, I left my bedroom and quietly descended the stairs. I crossed the foyer and made my way to the pantry. I had to be extra quiet because Thelma slept in the back room off the pantry and I didn't want to wake her. I also did not want to be caught in my fool's errand.

I opened a cabinet drawer and removed a large paper sack. I knelt to the floor and placed three Coke bottles into the bag. I had a fourth one in my hand when the hanging light bulb overhead clicked on.

"Girl, what you doing with them sodee bottles?"

I was so startled by the sudden interruption that I jumped up and the bottle slipped from my trembling hand. The unruly thing clunked off the flour barrel and rotated round and round in a mocking version of Spin the Bottle.

"Nothing, Thelma."

Thelma stopped the bottle's rotation with her pudgy bare foot.

"It sure look like you doing something. You know your momma gives me them pop bottles. I sell them back to Mr. Ruggerio at the grocery store."

"Why, yes, Thelma. I know that."

"Then why you taking my bottles?"

Horrified, I reached into my chiffon robe and handed her the notes I had written just a few minutes earlier.

She took the stationary and looked them over.

"Mmm mmm," she said as she shuffled the pages. "Mmm mm. Girl, that don't explain nothin'. You knows I can't read. Now you gonna hafta read what you wrote on them paper sos I can understand what you doing in my pantry stealing my bottles in the middle of the night."

Horrified to be accused I said, "I am doing nothing of the sort. I left you ten cents right there on the counter."

"Mmm mmm. Sos I see," Thelma said as she pocketed the money. "Well, I guess you bought them bottles and you can do what you want with them now and you don't have to explain no how to me. I'm just the maid, the one who changed your dirty diapers when you was a baby and cooked you dinner and looked after you. I guess I don't need no explainin'."

"Thelma, I can't tell you. You'll just laugh. It's foolish." And then I began to cry. "It's just that all my friends got married and I'm here in Natchez teaching piano lessons and I'm never going to fall in love. I just can't fall in love with anyone. He has to be the one. Don't you see?"

That's when the old lady came up to me an offered up her fat arms and took me in. I wept as she comforted me.

"Come sit at the table wit' old Thelma and let's see if we can't sort it out, baby girl."

She led me to the table and turned on the stove to heat up some hot cocoa.

"Now, baby girl. What were you going to do with those papers and my sodee bottles?"

"They're not papers, Thelma. They're correspondences to an unknown," I cried.

"Well, what do those corre...uh, corree..."

"Correspondences," I sniffed.

"Uh, to an unknown say?" Thelma asked.

"I'll read it to you. Stop me if you don't understand something."

I pulled my Princess glasses from my robe pocket and began.

"Dear Unknown Gentleman, My name is Susan Marie Beauchamp. I reside at 802 St. Charles Street in Natchez, Mississippi. I am 30 years old and have never been married. I am college educated, smart and know how to cook, clean, read, drive a tractor, cotton truck and a car. I know all the popular dances and enjoy movies and contemporary novels as well as the classics. If these things interest you, please write to me. I promise I will write back. Cordially, Miss Susan Marie Beauchamp. P.S.: If you find this note, consider it destiny. Ha Ha."

I quickly took my glasses off and returned them to my pocket. I retrieved the hanky Thelma gave me and blew my nose.

"Well, what do you think?"

Thelma handed me a cup of hot cocoa.

"Now I see what the correspondences said. But what did that have to do with my bottles?"

"I aim to put my notes in the bottles, seal them up with a cork and throw them in the river."

Thelma put her chocolate down on the table and scratched her head. Her broad shoulders started to shake in small motions as she tried to hold back her growing amusement. Finally her whole body jiggled in laughter.

"Lordie, baby girl. The Lord done delivered Jonah from the belly of the whale once already. You 'spect he got time to send you a man to fish out the river?"

By now I was caught up in Thelma's laughter and forgot how pathetic I was.

"Why, yes, Thelma. That's exactly what I expect. Besides, we're always singing 'Shall we gather at the river.' Why can't a man gather at the river with me and make me feel like a woman?"

"Girl, you better be careful for what you ask for. He might well swim up the river and be ugly like a catfish."

"I wouldn't care if he was ugly, Thelma. If he gives me the right kind of kiss it won't matter."

Daddy came into the kitchen right then. "What are you two women doing up at this hour, laughing and causing all kind of consternation?" His hair was messed up and robe disheveled.

"Why, nothing, Daddy. We're just talking."

"Since when do you have conversations with the hired help in the middle of the night?" Daddy asked. He picked up one of my correspondences and read it. Embarrassed by this turn of events, I fell silent.

Daddy shook his head and threw the note back on the table.

"Marie, you're just too picky," he said. "Maybe it's my fault for teaching you to be so damned independent."

He ran his hand through his gray hair and announced, "Come Monday, you're coming with me to my office."

"Whatever for, Daddy?"

"Well, since you ain't getting married, you're going to have to learn how to take care of yourself. Starting Monday you're going to learn the insurance business up and down, you hear?"

"Yes, Daddy," I said.

He turned and waddled out of the kitchen scratching his backside.

"Well, little girl, I gots to go back to bed. The crack of dawn comes earlier every day for this old soul," Thelma said.

I gathered up my bottles and retreated to the bedroom. I sat on my bed and wondered if I was going to like my new life as an insurance agent.

I rolled up my Correspondences and tightly wrapped them up in wax paper and rubber bands and placed them inside the three bottles. I pushed the corks into each bottle as far as I could and went to sleep.

That night I dreamed I threw the three bottles into the Mississippi. One, the Grape Nehi, sank immediately and buried itself into the silty bottom.

The Dr. Pepper bottle bobbed all the way to New Orleans. I could hear Dixieland music coming from the French Quarter as my note bounced between the hulls of the barges and tugboats. A ferryboat deckhand noticed the bottle and fished it out of the water. The music stopped when he pulled the cork and read the message. Laughing, he put the note inside the pages of James Joyce's "Ulysses" for a long time. He later returned the note to the bottle and threw it back into the water, where it floated all the way to the Gulf of Mexico. It floated in the sea for days and months until a shark swallowed it.

The third bottle floated among the thickets and trees along the river. It lay netted for a year in the branches of a big weeping willow, but the spring flood came and washed it away from the brambled clutches of the tree. It flowed with the current past a huge bridge construction and moored against driftwood on a sandy point. A Brahman cow, followed by two calves, came down the levee to drink next to the log. The mamma waded into the water to drink, but became mired in the mud. After an hour of braying, a colored man threw a rope around the cow's head and pulled her out. As the cow climbed the bank, the bottle pulled free and caught the current to the mouth of the river. It floated into the brackish marshland and came to rest against a shell bank.

In my dream I could hear the chug-chug-chug of a wide bottomed boat and men's voices. They were speaking a language I did not understand. I heard the loud splash and muted clang of a metal object hitting the shell reef. The mud and shell and bottle were dragged up from the bottom and flung into the boat.

A man reached a gloved hand into the muddy mess for my bottle. It felt as if I was inside the bottle and looking out at the man, his face blurred by the irregular contours of the green glass.

When he picked up the bottle I felt a powerful tingling volt of warmth. He uncorked the bottle and....

***

I do not know why I kept the Coke bottle. It was only trash. We always throw the trash overboard. Especially if it is a glass bottle. It provides an anchor for the tiny oysters and helps to build the oyster bed. But I felt different about this Coke bottle.

Ha, a Coke bottle. I did not even know of this Coca-Cola until I came to this country, to Louisiana. Even then, the wealth of an oysterman does not provide for the indulgence of things like Coke. Besides, we Croats prefer to drink a warm herb brandy likeTravarica on New Year's Eve. Ah, Travarica, a taste of my country.

I left the Elafit Islands and immigrated to America. I did not like Tito so I saved my fisherman earnings for five years before I left my home. I found work with an Italian shrimper and learned the waters of the Barataria. After a year I helped Thibodeau build me a lugger to fish oysters.

I saved and brought the second of my seven brothers to this country and then the third. We three brothers soon brought MaMa to Shell Beach and developed our business. I am the owner of a fleet of oyster luggers that are piloted by each of my brothers. All of my brothers are married and have children. Some are married to these crazy Cajuns. One is married to an Italian woman. Another is married to an Isleno.

My mother is always badgering me, "Alen, why you no married? Why you no give me the grandchildren? You are the oldest. You children will be special."

I always reply, "MaMa, I must care for you. I must have the money to provide for your comfort. It is always you I am thinking of."

MaMa always laughs when I say this, but it is true. There is no money with the oysters. Not enough anyway. It does not matter if I live in a communist state. It does not matter if I live in a capitalist state. All I know is the life of an oysterman is hard work and low pay. But here in America, I am boss of my fleet.

I did nothing with the bottle. I merely placed it in the cabin. When we returned home that afternoon, my brother's boat greeted me at the mouth of Adam's Bay.

"Alen," he cried. "You must come home right away. Our mother is sick again. She is asking for you. She is dying."

"Again?" I said. Poor MaMa had been dying for ten years now.

"The doctor says this is definitely her time."

I hurried my boat as fast at it could travel and returned home. The doctor had been summoned and met me at the door to her sick room.

"Mr. Rak, your mother's diabetes is getting the best of her. Her vision is almost gone and there is nothing I can do. This may be her time. She must rest and we will pray."

I rushed to MaMa's side and grasped her tiny hand.

"Alen, is that you? Where is my eldest? Where is my Alen?" she cried softly. Bepo and Augustin, my brothers and their wives were nearby. Their faces glowed in the holy candlelight offerings.

"I am here, MaMa."

"Alen, I am afraid I am dying. There is nothing you can do to help me. But there is one thing you can do to make me rest easier: you must promise to marry. You must marry and have children. You are 35 years old. It is time. You will not have to care for me very much longer. It will be my dying wish for you to have a family."

I tried to protest. "But MaMa."

"No but MaMa. You will marry at Christmas time like your papa and me and name your first born son Bernard, after my father." She wrapped her bony hand around mine and clutched it tight as a vise. "Promise me you will do this, Alen, and I will die happy."

"I promise, MaMa," I said as I kissed her forehead.

I did not know what to say and sat there like a slaboumnik, like an idiot. Perhaps thankfully, my irritating sister-in-law, Colinda, interrupted my confusion by bringing MaMa some moss tea.

"Colinda, are you sure that tea is good for MaMa?"

"Mais, of course," she said. "I wouldn't give her anything that's bad. My grand-mere had the sugar diabetes bad and she drank the tea whenever she felt weak. Grand-mere lived to be 85."

Colinda pointed to her head. "She had it up here. Grand-mere had the power, yeah. She was a traiteuse, a treater."

She lifted the cup to MaMa's mouth and helped her drink. MaMa patted her lips dry with a handkerchief.

"Colinda, did your grand-mere give you the recipe for a love potion?"

"No, MaMa. But even if I did know one, what would he do with it? Bepo says Alen is too picky. This one is too fat, this one is too skinny. This one is stupid, this one is too smart. Bepo said Alen had plenty of chances to marry."

MaMa patted Colinda's hand.

"I am not worried. Alen has promised to marry at Christmas time."

"MaMa, I did not promise to marry at this Christmas," I protested. "It is too soon. I don't know where to start."

But she had fallen asleep and heard none of my troubles.

My brothers tried not to laugh as I left MaMa's sick-room. Bepo followed me out the door.

"Hey, Alen, Madame Broussard is available. She is only sixty-five. I'm sure she will make you a lovely wife."

"Bepo, don't bother me. I have to check on my oyster harvest and get our shipment ready for New Orleans," I replied.

"It's not a problem, Alen. We have already loaded our catch on the truck and iced them down. I told Anto to put yours on the truck."

"Good. I must hurry to New Orleans and deliver them and get back to MaMa."

"Perhaps you will find a wife on the highway, eh? A wife on the highway? Ha ha ha ha!"

I gave him the evil eye until he shut up.

"It is wise for you to mind your older brother. I can still take you down and give you the beating you now deserve," I said. "Do you want to try and test me?"

He shook his head.

"Now stand aside. I must check my boat to make sure your idiot son has cleaned it properly."

As I walked to the dock to give the boat a final check, I thought about my father. He died fighting the Nazis. When he left to join the guerillas, Da told me to always take care of my mother. I thought I had done a good job of that. I brought her to America and built her a house. But I could do that because I was always vigilant about business, on guard, checking my business partners--even if they are my brothers. You can never be idle for a minute. The oysterman must always be working. There is extra burden on me because I am the eldest. I don't have time for such foolishness as wives and children. I must be strong and take care of the others.

Satisfied the boat had been properly stowed, I put one foot on the gunwale to step up to the dock. Clunk! What was that? What did my brother's son break now?

I opened the door to the cabin and the Coke bottle I retrieved from the oyster bed rolled toward me. It stopped at my feet and I picked it up. As I peeled a barnacle away from the glass, the strangest feeling came over me. I put it in my pocket and went to my house to get my suit. Why I did this, I don't know.

I quickly showered and dressed in my good brown suit. I fingered the buttons on my double-breasted jacket when, for a just a brief, crazy minute, I felt something that can only be described as happiness. A thought flashed through my head — a picture of me in my suit getting married on New Year's Day. There I stood in the St. Louis Cathedral with a priest and my bride, but for some reason, I could not see her face.

"Alen!"

I recovered from my idyll. "Bepo! What is it? What has your good-for-nothing son broke now?"

"Nothing. I have been calling you for five minutes. You have just been standing there like a deaf budala."

"What is it you want? Can't you see I'm busy?"

"I've come to tell you that I put petrol in the gas tank," Bepo said. "Alen, you are going to New Orleans to sell the oysters at Teebaugh's, no?"

"Yes. That is what I am doing."

"Then why are you wearing your good suit?"

"It's none of your business why I am wearing my good suit," I said. "Now shut up and get out of my way." I brushed past him and jumped behind the wheel.

Bepo came up to the door. "Alen, I hear that Tony Primo's club is a good place to meet women. There should be a lot of people in the French Quarter tonight. It will be New Year's Day tomorrow. Many will go to the big football game. You know, the Sugar Bowl."

"That is hardly my concern. I merely want to make a novena for MaMa at St. Louis. Now I will be back late tonight. Prepare the boats for tomorrow. The holiday season is the best price for oysters." I gunned the engine and drove to the city.

I reached the French Quarter by dark and found my way through the back alleys to Teebaugh's Oyster House and Restaurant. Antoine, the head chef, greeted me warmly. A Frenchman from Marseille, he lived in a small apartment above the restaurant for more than ten years.

"Alen, Merry Christmas and Happy New Year's. I trust all is well?" he asked.

"No," I answered. I told him about MaMa and her crazy request that I marry during the Christmas. Boo, the headwaiter burst into the kitchen with a tray of rejected raw oysters and interrupted my tale of woe.

"Mr. Alen, did you bring some big oysters this time? There's a customer who say the oysters too small. And she say they not salty enough," he says to me.

"Impossible! This is the best time to fish the oysters in Louisiana. They should taste their best. Who is this woman?"

He opened the kitchen door. "There she is. The brunette at the large table of twelve. She with her father's party. Mr. Beauchamp be a very good customer from Mississippi. He brought his office staff to go to the Sugar Bowl. I hear she an old maid."

Antoine looked her over. "She does not appear like the old maid. She is quite a beautiful lady, no? She look like she would be a handful for her husband. No wonder she is not married."

Antoine gave me a sly wink. "Alen, why don't you bring her a dozen of your oysters?"

***

Daddy, a loyal and fervent supporter of the Ole Miss football team, immediately made plans to take the office staff to New Orleans when the Rebels were invited to the Sugar Bowl. He also planned to entertain a few customers in the French Quarter.

For the last three years he patiently taught me the ins and outs of the insurance business and I did well. Still he longed for grandchildren and every now and then he tried to fix me up with a beau. He introduced me to his key client in New Orleans, a Mr. Crappanza, at Teebaugh's. Mr. Crappanza owned a sizable auto dealership. His wife died two years ago and for reasons I cannot fathom my father thought we'd hit it off. We didn't.

I suppose the run in my nylons set me into a bad mood. I stepped into Mr. Crappanza's car, caught my stockings the sheer fabric pulled. By the time we reached the restaurant the run advanced past my calf above the knee. I'm afraid I took my frustration out on that poor waiter. I told him his oysters were inedible.

I excused myself to go to the ladies room and made my way through the narrow hall when a tall, dark man carrying a tray of iced oysters on the half-shell exited the kitchen and knocked me flat on my, excuse the expression, fanny.

***

"You clumsy oaf," she said to me. "Can you not see I am in a hurry?"

I found this disrespectful talk from an American woman most unattractive. First, she criticized my oysters. Now I was an idiot?

"I beg your pardon, my Gospođica," I replied. "It is apparent to me that you have no consideration of the working oysterman or anyone else for that matter. But since I am a gentleman I will help you to your feet." I bent down to help her up and slipped on the ice just as she was regaining her footing. My head struck hers in the process and she fell to the floor again. I fell on top of her.

"I am very sorry for this accident. I will help you," I said.

"No, you've done enough damage for one night, sir," I said. "I can find my way up and away from you." I was regretting having two whiskey sours before dinner and now I had been knocked to the floor of Teebaugh's Restaurant, not once, but twice, by this clumsy foreigner. A handsome foreigner, but still a clumsy one. I removed several oysters from my soaked blouse.

I saw a knot rising on his forehead. He rubbed his head and backed away and bowed slightly. "As you wish," he said. He said something else, like gospogoda, but I don't know what that meant. He pronounced wish like weesh.

"I am not your, gos...anything." I turned and walked to the ladies room.

***

Bah! I thought. American women. They would not last one day in the Adriatic.

I turned and went back into the kitchen, but not before watching her shapely figure walk away from me. "I hope Mississippi to lose!" I called after her.

Antoine met me at the kitchen's swinging door. "My dear Alen, I saw everything. It appears as though you has been shot down."

Not to be outdone, Boo added, "Oh, yeah, brother. You done crash landed."

What did it matter if I was shot down? What did I care if I crash land? I contemplated entering the priesthood. Yes, I would present myself to Manressa on New Year's Day.

"But no, Alen," Antoine pleaded. "There are plenty of fishes in the sea. Promise me before you make a rash decision, that you will go to Tony Primo's club and have a drink."

"Yes, my friend," I agreed. "That is an excellent suggestion. I will have a final night of freedom, like the fools on Mardi Gras, and drown my sorrows."

"That's a boy, Tiger," Boo said. "Nobody gon' hold that tiger tonight."

I collected my money from Antoine and returned to my truck. I put the truck in gear and quickly left the building. Without looking, I entered the traffic on Decatur Street.

***

"Great balls o' fire! That fool didn't even look at the road." Daddy sounded his custom a-oo-gah horn prompting a belly laugh from Mr. Crappanza. His fatty neck shook as he wiped a tear from his eye.

"Jesus H. Christ, Beauchamp. You should have just hit the bastard. You've got insurance," which caused my father to laugh like a hyena.

I saw the truck clearly pull out in front of us. The faded lettering on the door read Rak's Oysters, Shell Beach, Louisiana. The man driving the old truck was the man who knocked me down at Teebaugh's

"Watch this, Mr. C.," my father squealed. "I'm gonna show that boy."

My mother bowed her head and said, "Must you, John?" Daddy pretended not to hear.

He steered the Chrysler directly behind the stopped oyster truck as we waited for the light to change. We were in front of the Café du Monde.

***

It was all clear to me now. My future was set. I would become a priest. MaMa would have to understand. But something happened. When I turned onto Decatur, the Coke bottle I carried with me from Adam's Bay rolled off the seat onto the floorboard and shuffled noisily about the gearbox and door.

I stopped for the red signal light in front of St. Louis and grabbed the bottle. It felt very warm. Barnacles crumbled in my hand as I lifted it. There was something inside—a rolled up piece of paper. I pulled on the stopper, but the cork crumbled in my hand.

I stared at the bottle and tried to understand my feeling.

***

AAAAAHHHHH-OOOOOOO-GAAAAHHHHH! Daddy slipped the Chrysler around the left side of the old truck and bellowed out, "Give 'em hell, Ole Miss."

He pressed another button on the dashboard and a few notes of Dixie tooted from the horn.

As we passed, I caught a glimpse of the man sitting behind the wheel. His dark eyes met mine and an electric flash went through my bosom.

"Oh my," I said as I fanned myself with my handkerchief.

"What is it, Marie?" Mamma asked.

"It's nothing, Mamma," I said. "Just remind me not to have another whiskey sour."

"John, Darling. Where are we going? I'm afraid Marie is not feeling well."

"Great balls o' fire, Marie. I got us an A Number One table at Tony Primo's. Don't you want to see him?"

"I'm fine," I told Mamma. I most certainly did want to see that sexy Italian singer. "Yes, Daddy. Let's go. I'm ready."

The maitre d' sat us right in front of the stage as Tony began his performance with "Oh, Marie."

Daddy leaned over to me and said, "It going to be a fun night, Marie."

After a few songs, Tony said he was going to start rockin' and rollin'. Mamma blushed at those words, but Daddy just egged Primo on.

"Okay, okay, okay. We nows a gonna have us a good time. We wants all the young lovers to know how to rocks and rolls so we's gonna have a little contest," Tony shouted.

"A-one, a-two, a-three," he counted and the band started into "Hey, Mambo."

"We's needs some volunteers up here to play a little game called "Grab the Orange. It's not as fun as "Hide the Salami."

The crowd laughed at Primo's joke, myself included. Mamma didn't get it.

"What's he talking about, Marie?" she asked.

"I'll tell you later, Mamma," I said.

"Pick her, pick her," Daddy shouted and pointed at me. And Tony Primo grabbed my hand and yanked me on stage. Mr. Crappanza also waddled onto the stage.

"It takes all kinds to make a world," laughed Tony Primo as he put his arm around Mr. Crappanza. "Tell me, Sir. What's your name?"

"Niccolo Crappanza." When he said Crappanza, Primo kissed him right on the forehead.

"Hey, paisan, from the old country, eh? You know you could change your name. A lot of the old Italians did."

"To what?"

"Joe Crappanza." The crowd roared.

"Are you married to this pretty lady?"

"No sir."

"Well, you will be on her team then."

"What is your name, Miss?"

"Marie," I said and Tony Primo did a little dance and the band began to play "Oh, Marie" once again.

***

I broke the Coke bottle and unrolled the note inside. I read it—Dear Unknown Gentleman...That girl! Was she the one who wrote this note? I must ask her. I recklessly drove through two red lights to catch up to the fancy Chrysler. I caught them as they drove into a parking lot. I stopped my truck on the street wondering what next to do. A red neon sign flashed above and caught my eye. It was the business of Tony Primo's. I watched as this beautiful woman went into the nightclub with her parents and the fat man. Something told me to go inside. I stood at the bar as Tony Primo performed, but my eyes did not leave the beautiful creature. Primo brought her onstage and said her name — Marie, bella Marie. I did not understand Primo's game, but when he said the fat man would help Marie's team, I knew I had to do something. What I did not know exactly, so I said a brief prayer to St. Lucy for guidance.

By now Tony Primo had chosen three more women and two men from the audience.

"I needa one more man," Primo shouted as he juggled two oranges with one hand. He held the microphone to one of the other women, a fat one, and begged her, "Please, darling. Help me out. Tell the crowd what we need."

"I need a man," she shouted. Of course the people laughed. What could they do? It was funny.

"I am a man," I said. I ran to the stage and tripped on the step. There I was. A novice priest and fallen on the stage of Tony Primo.

"What service! You need a man and you got one," Primo said. "Whatsa you name, Sonny?"

I mumbled Alen, but Primo didn't hear it. He just called me Sonny.

"Okay, ladies and gentlemen. Here's how you play Passa the Orange. You put the orange under your neck and your partner must take the orange away from you, but he or she can not use-a the hands. Everyone capice? There's gonna be a nice prizes for you so here...we...go!"

The musicians played the Blue Danube waltz as I tried to take the orange from the fat lady's neck. I was much taller than she, so I must bend down. After I try to take the orange three times, it roll down her bosom, but I thrust my chin onto her breast and catch the orange!

Now I turn with orange under my neck to Marie, the most beautiful woman I ever laid eyes on...

My mother told me later the entire house laughed and laughed. She said Tony Primo was especially funny that night, but I didn't hear any of it because as soon as the oysterman came on the stage, I could not stop looking at him. I didn't catch his name. I only heard Primo call him Sonny.

His hair was thick, black and wavy, his skin very tanned. He looked taller than six feet and had broad masculine shoulders. He reminded me of Clark Gable.

My oysterman was very comical trying to extract the orange from that woman's neck. When it was my turn to play Sonny turned around and faced me. I moved closer to him as he stooped down to pass the orange. I moved my chin up close to his, but the orange fell between our chests. It slipped lower, but we managed to press ourselves close enough to keep the orange from hitting the floor. A strange feeling came over me, a promising wave of static electricity. Goosebumps erupted on my arms as we wrestled with the infernal fruit.

In a last ditch effort to keep the orange from falling, I threw my arms around him. My eyes met his as our cheeks connected. His warm breath whistled in my ears and I felt as though I would burst! Then he kissed me! Right on the lips! Startled at first, I kissed him back. Oh, what a kiss. I found the man of my dreams, but who was he?

***

I remember that first kiss. I'm not sure what possessed me, but I could not help myself. Of course, as soon as I kissed her, her father rushed onto the stage and socked me upon my nose.

"Hey, Mister! What do you think you're doing? That's my daughter."

Primo danced about as the band broke into "Young Love." The crowd laughed and cheered, but I did not hear them. I could only look at Marie. But the punch broke the spell. I fell to one knee. Tony Primo ran in front of me as if to protect me from another blow.

"Zowie! He punched you right on the old snozolla," he said. "What do you say, folks? Shall we have a rematch?" I realized I acted in an impetuous manner, and not wishing to draw any more attention to myself, I stayed down. I reached into my pocket for my handkerchief, but pulled out the note from the Coke bottle instead.

***

My father defended my honor, but there was no need. This tall, dark European, this common oysterman, was the one for me. I still didn't know his name. I only knew him as Sonny. It didn't matter. He was Mr. Right. Mr. Crappanza held Daddy back to keep him from doing further damage to Sonny. Tony Primo stood between my father and Sonny and milked the situation for all it was worth. Looking back, I suppose it was very amusing, but all I felt was passion. Primo moved away from the oysterman and raised my father's hand above his head declaring Daddy the new heavyweight champ. When Primo moved to the front of the stage, I saw that my oysterman had pulled something from his coat pocket. It looked vaguely familiar. My bottle note. More than three years had passed and I had not thought about my pathetic message in a bottle since I threw it in the river.

Tony Primo shouted, "A bottle of our finest wine to the Champ's table," and he ushered Daddy back to his seat. He took me by the hand and beckoned the oysterman to stand up. "Marie, you like-a this man?" I nodded my head. "Sonny, you like-a this girl?" He nodded his head. "Do you know-a this girl?" Sonny shook his head. The crowd gasped.

"Folks, you have-a just witnessed love at first sight, the thunderbolt of passion in action. Tell me Sonny, whatever possessed you to jump on the stage like-a that and kiss this beautiful woman?"

All I could do was hold up the note.

"Whatsa that you have in you hand, Sonny?" He snatched my note from my grasp. He read it quickly, then clutched his chest and made big movements like his heart was beating greatly. He looked at Marie.

"Do you know something about this piece of paper?" he asked. Marie nodded. I smiled.

"Folks, this is truly la forza del destino, the forces of destiny, A Christmas miracle! You want to know what it says on this piece of paper?"

"Yes, Yes. Read us the note. Tell us, please," the crowd shouted.

The band played an old Italian love song I remembered from my childhood. Tony Primo read the note in a serious manner.

"Dear Unknown Gentleman, My name is Susan Marie Beauchamp. I reside at 802 St. Charles Street in Natchez, Mississippi. I am 30 years old and have never been married...

***

Tony Primo wiped an imaginary tear from his eye and handed me the note.

"Susan Marie Beauchamp, is that you Marie?" he asked.

I smiled. "Yes, I wrote that note three years ago. I threw it in the river and it floated away, but I never thought about it again until I saw this gentleman holding it in his hands a few minutes ago. I don't even know his name."

"You don't know his name?" Primo said. "Why his name is Sonny. Isn't that right?

Sonny shook his head no. "You name is not Sonny?"

"No, Mr. Primo," my oysterman said.

"Well, what is your name?"

"It's Alen."

"Well Alen, you sure made an impression on Marie's folks." The crowd laughed and Tony Primo properly introduced us.

"Marie, this is Alen. Alen this is Marie. Alen, this is Marie's parents. Alen, this is Marie's father's fist." The crowd laughed again. "Now Julio, set up Alen and Marie at a quiet table in the back and bring them a bottle of our finest champagne."

The crowd applauded. Somebody hollered out, "Tony, it's ten seconds to the New Year." The crowd the counted off the final seconds of the year, but I did not hear them. I was too busy kissing my future husband on the stage of Tony Primo's.

***

Marie and I married on New Year's Day. A justice of the peace conducted our ceremony on the levee in front of St. Louis Cathedral. Tony Primo stood as my best man. A year later, we had a full Catholic wedding for MaMa's sake in Shell Beach on the day after Christmas. MaMa did not die that year. Nor did she die the next or the next after that. In fact, she lived to be ninety-three.

My beloved MaMa held our first baby boy in her arms while Marie said "I do" all over again. Our baby's name? His name is Bernard Anthony. We call him Sonny.

Stormy Weather

By Sherrie Hansen

[Sherrie Hansen possesses the remarkable ability to write fluid, beguiling stories that draw the reader in with their pure beauty, while simultaneously dealing with the most bittersweet and grown up realities. For a taste of more, enjoy her new romance novel, Night and Day.]

The City Council quarters were full to the brim. The air inside and out was so thick you could cut it with a knife. Add to that the body heat of the hundred or so spectators crammed inside city hall, and you had a regular steam bath. Mac caught Rae's eye from across the room and motioned for her to smile while he snapped a picture. He fiddled with the camera for a moment, trying to find an angle that didn't include Luke in the background, gave up, and snapped the shot.

He refocused his camera on the mayor, who had gathered at a table with the other city council members to look at a rezoning proposal Wilbur Putt and some guy named Hernandez had submitted. Wilbur was puffed up like a peacock, obviously assuming he'd already won. Mac raised his camera and got a shot of Hernandez wearing the same hot, uncomfortable look he'd worn all night.

He tried to get Rae's attention again, but she and Luke had their heads together. The mayor chose that moment to call the room to order, so when Rae looked up, it was at the front of the room, not at him.

"Okay, ladies and gentlemen," the mayor said. "Thank you for your patience. As you know, I have before me a proposal submitted by Mr. Raul Hernandez. Mr. Hernandez is requesting a certificate of condemnation that would allow him to bulldoze the Armerding house at 618 N. Rose and build a twelve-unit, assisted living housing development on the site."

Mac took a few discreet shots of the crowd - a pair of teenagers taking notes, probably for their civics class, a throng of people he knew to be neighbors to the Rose Street property, and a group of old ladies who were darn near buzzing with excitement.

"While everything looks to be in order," the mayor said, "the council has reviewed this matter in chambers and, on the advice of our city attorney, we have concluded that we will not grant any variances until the requester has a signed real estate agreement contingent on acceptance of the re-zoning proposal, and a detailed business plan providing the council with the specifics of the intended use of the property."

Rae looked so disappointed it almost broke his heart. It was all he could do to stay away from her at times like this when she obviously needed a little bolstering up. He saw Luke give her hand a quick grasp. Damn, he hated this.

"It would appear, Mr. Hernandez, that all you need now is a real estate agreement signed by Mrs. Armerding," the mayor said. "Which brings us to the requests recently made by Mrs. Gladys Armerding and Ms. Rae Jones."

Every eye in the room focused on Rae. Well, at least he could look at her now without fear of being noticing. Seriously, Mac didn't envy her being the focus of attention. Seeing the way everyone was gawking at her made him think the relative anonymity he enjoyed was pretty nice.

Up until now, he'd been ambivalent about his status as an outsider. He hadn't expected any different when he'd decided to move to a small town - he wasn't from the area, wasn't a churchgoer, a Mason, or a veteran. He had no family in Iowa. He'd always been shy, and had been told that his reticent personality gave him a mysterious air that some found off-putting. He hadn't cared until now.

"So, Ms. Jones," the mayor was saying, "we will not be granting any variances or doing any blanket rezoning based on conjectured usage of the Armerding properties. Each proposal will be considered individually, once a potential buyer has a signed sales agreement and a detailed business plan to present to the council. Requests will be reviewed based on the merits of each specific case. Is that clear?"

"Yes, sir," Rae and Luke answered in unison.

Mac looked around the room. Small towns could be so rigid and judgmental. He would have committed to Rae in a heartbeat, but if she wanted to have a no-strings-attached, pure-and-simple-sex relationship, that was her business, wasn't it?

Yeah, right. He and Rae's actions behind closed doors might be the type of behavior the folks of Osage would expect from an outsider like him, but never, ever, would they condone such a thing from someone whose grandma they had known and loved, someone who had been brought up in the local church, someone who was supposed to know better.

Mac looked at Rae again and tried not to be obvious about the fact that he adored her. Rae cared what people thought of her. Maybe she had to, given the probable repercussions to her business. Maybe it was just the way she was knit together. But underneath, he felt sure they wanted the same thing - to be accepted for their true, naked, unadorned selves. Which they did quite well every time they made love. He smiled and clicked another snapshot. At least he had that.

***

Rae arrived at Mac's house a few minutes before eight -- on foot so as not to arouse suspicion. When she reached the edge of his yard she slipped behind a large arborvitae growing on the north corner of the property, followed a narrow sidewalk to the rear of the house, and entered the back yard via a side gate.

The perimeter of Mac's yard was overgrown with old lilac bushes that grew in a dense arbor on three sides of the shady square. The hedge gave them privacy and provided a perfect hiding place for Rae. But much as she'd grown to love the peaceful sanctuary of Mac's yard, it was too hot and humid to sit at the picnic table and wait for him like she usually did.

The air was so heavy, so oppressive. Her grandma had always said that she could feel tornadoes in the air at least two days before they hit.

She shuddered and tried not to think about the weather. She was so tired. The last thing she needed was to lay awake all night listening to the eerie sounds of the wind like she usually did when there was a storm brewing.

The back door is always open. Next time just go on in where it's cool if you get here before me. Mac had always urged her to make herself at home in his absence. It was undeniably very hot. And Mac had said he didn't mind.

She opened the screen door and touched the doorknob. The door swung open.

"Mac?" She called out as she entered. She had peeked in the garage and knew his truck was gone, but she had been a Realtor for too long to ignore the standard etiquette upon entering another person's home. "Mac?" She repeated. The sound of her voice echoed through the empty rooms.

It looked like he had been home for lunch. A stack of dirty dishes filled the kitchen sink and several envelopes were torn open and strewn about the table. She didn't mean to be nosy, but a magazine renewal form caught her glance, then a telephone bill. She re-focused a little to the left and caught sight of a neatly typed letter on the crisp letterhead of the Minneapolis Courier. A chill that had nothing to do with the air-conditioning washed over her as her eyes followed the text.

We are in receipt of the resume you submitted on July 1. Thank you for responding to our request for more information in regard to your past employment history. Your expertise as a photographer comes highly recommended and your portfolio is most impressive. As I said on the telephone, we would welcome the opportunity to discuss the possibility of a future relationship between you and the Minneapolis Courier. I understand your wish to remain in a smaller community, but I can personally recommend several areas that, while only minutes from our offices, are pleasantly rural in nature.

Rae shuddered as the impact of the words hit her. Was Mac thinking of leaving Osage? Why? Why now? Her eyes swept back to the date of the letter. It pre-dated their affair. Would he still consider leaving now that she was a part of his life? She thought back to the last time they had lain in each others arms and remembered the way Mac had clung to her, the way he had adored her with his lips, his mouth, his body.

Oh, God, she pleaded silently, please don't take Mac away from me, too. But then she remembered that hers were not the wishes God took into consideration when doling out love. In fact, He was more likely listening to someone from the church she had grown up in right this very minute.

God, Rae could imagine any one of them pleading, I pray that you will keep Rachael pure. And if she never has sex again from now until she's old and shriveled up like a prune, so be it. Just keep her pure, Lord.

Oh, God ... I am sorry it's come to this ... I'm sorry I feel so sarcastic, Rae begged desperately. But I need Mac. I know what I'm doing with him is sin in your eyes, but I need him. I need to be touched and held. I need to be appreciated. I need it in a way that even you can't provide. It's not only my spirit that yearns to be loved; it's the very human part of me. Do you understand that, God? Do you? Can you?

Her breath caught in her throat and she blinked back tears. What was wrong with her today? She'd felt like crying from the second she had crawled out of bed that morning, as though she had known what this ungodly hot and humid day would hold.

Her eyes continued to rove. Could the day get any worse?

The last paragraph of another letter leaped out from the kitchen table and caught her full in the face like a hard slap.

Please remit $878.95 immediately or respond with the name and address of your insurer upon receipt of this notice. If we have had no response within ten days of today's date, this account will be turned over to a collection agency.

"Great." Her payment on Mac's behalf and the letter from her parent's insurance agent had crossed in the mail. What next? She had hoped when she mailed the money that her parents would be content with the smaller sum and that would have been the end of it. And why couldn't it have been? Why couldn't anything ever work out the way it was supposed to?

She should have stopped to think about the ramifications of her decision to mail a money order on Mac's behalf, but she was too hot and tired to try to comprehend the pitfalls of her actions now. Besides, if she had enough energy to contemplate anything, it would be how could Mac not have guessed James and Rebekah Jones were her parents -- or related to her in some way at the very least. Especially now that he had gotten to know her. The car had been parked in the same block as her house and there weren't that many Jones in the area. What a mess.

Not that it mattered much beyond the personal stress it had caused her. She would never be able to introduce Mac to her parents anyway. Or any of her family for that matter. Well, maybe Sherry. But the rest of them would never understand or accept a thing like the relationship she shared with Mac. It went against everything they believed in.

She was staring out the window when Mac's truck pulled in. She went to the back door and stood half in and half out while Mac climbed out of his truck and pulled the garage door shut.

"Hi, beautiful." He greeted her with a second-long flash of a smile so wonderful it was as if a cool breeze had blown through the kitchen. "Sorry you had to wait. Been here long?"

She shook her head no and stood on the tips of her toes to kiss him on the cheek.

"I picked up some supper."

"Thanks. It was so muggy outside... "

"I know. I was going to grill steaks, but I went to Plan B when I heard it was still ninety-six degrees." Mac laid his cameras on the kitchen counter and pushed aside the mail on the table to make room for two small paper bags of food and a six-pack of diet soda.

"Rough day?" Mac wrapped one hand around each side of Rae's waist, pulled her towards him, and touched his lips to hers.

"How could you tell? Do I look that bad?" She joked.

"You look great. But your eyebrows are scrunched up just a teensy weensy bit like they always are when you're tense."

"I'm that obvious?"

"I'm paid to be observant."

Rae smiled.

Mac rinsed his fingers off at the sink, motioned for Rae to join him, and reached for a sub sandwich. "So, what's making you tense besides the obvious?" he said, alluding to the city council meeting. "Does it have something to do with what was going on between you and Luke earlier today?"

"Luke?" Her hand froze in mid air. "What do you mean?"

"He was fairly rude when I stopped by the office. He looked none too happy with you either. Does he know about us?"

"No. I haven't told anyone."

Mac looked at Rae intently. He almost wished Rae had told Luke. He understood the general logic behind Rae's reasons in wanting to keep their relationship private, at least those she had shared with him. The rest, he could only wonder about.

God, she was a beautiful creature. Intriguing as hell and passionate as... He was so proud of her that he wanted to rave about her from every mountaintop, interject her name into every conversation he had, and flaunt the fact that he and she were an item to everyone he knew.

"So, what was the problem with Luke?" Mac persisted.

"I don't know," Rae said unconvincingly. "We're together a lot. I suppose it's inevitable that we would get on each other's nerves once in a while."

He hadn't thought anything of her going to hear Luke play at the Shady Lady when she'd mentioned her plans earlier, but now, listening to her express her concerns, he thought it odd that she had gone. "Do you see Luke much outside the office?" Mac had never asked if there was anything between she and Luke.

Rae hesitated a moment before answering. A knot started to form in Mac's stomach while he waited for her response.

Rae lowered her eyelids and looked away from him. "We were friends before Luke started to work at the office. I like to think we're still friends, but our relationship has certainly undergone some changes as we've gone through the transition from friends to co-workers."

"Boss and employee, you mean." He corrected her, noting the startled expression that flitted over her face. "The article Pete did for the paper said you're the sole proprietor."

"I am. I just don't think of Luke as an employee."

Mac laughed. "You pay him, don't you?"

"Well, yes. Of course I do."

"You trained him?"

"You know I did," she conceded. "Who else is there?"

"The article said you're the broker, the primary decision-maker when it comes to policy, money, and management issues."

"I guess so. I do routinely ask for Luke's opinion."

"Yes," Mac said, feeling smug.

"Yes, what?" Rae asked, her eyebrows knit together defiantly.

"He's your employee."

"You're right," she said, deflating before his eyes. "He wouldn't stick around for a second if I didn't pay him to be at my beck and call."

Mac looked at her, thinking he would pay far more than a penny to be privy to her thoughts. "I'm a good listener if you want to talk about it."

Her eyes filled with tears and started to blink furiously.

Damn. He wanted her to trust him. Didn't she know by now that he would be there for her even when she felt blue? Sure, he liked it when she was smiling, confident and carefree, but he also knew her well enough by now to know that there was an insecure, vulnerable, sometimes melancholy little girl who lurked just under her skin. Why couldn't she trust him enough to let him glimpse that part of her, too?

"Go ahead and cry if you want to, sweetheart," Mac took Rae in his arms and pressed his face to hers with a gentle caress.

A second later she did. She cried because Luke didn't love her. She cried because she was sleeping with a man her parents hated. Most importantly, she cried because although she didn't love Mac the way she loved Luke, she didn't want to lose him.

Mac didn't say anything at first, thankfully, because she was crying so hard that she couldn't speak. All he did was hold on tight. That was the nice thing about Mac. He had no idea what was wrong, but he held on like whatever was hurting her hurt him just as much.

"You know, Rae, I've never before in my whole life gone to bed with a woman before we even... the way we..." Mac eventually stammered. "What I'm trying to say is that I would like to get to know you better. I'd like to be there for you when you need this just like I'm there for you when you need... well, you know what I mean." He rocked her back and forth, his strong arms enveloping her. "You can talk to me, Rae."

"Oh, Mac." A fresh round of tears poured from her eyes. "I don't deserve you."

"I'm the one who hasn't done anything to deserve you." Mac said. "But I will. I promise you I will." He rubbed her temples and touched his lips to her cheeks and forehead, to cool her where she felt flushed. "Now tell me why you're so upset. You can talk to me about anything. You know that, don't you, sweetheart?"

She sniffled. "It's nothing. I'm just being a baby."

"Rae," he said, seeming content just to hold her, "you know it's something."

She sighed. She couldn't tell him she had been snooping through his mail. She couldn't tell him she knew he had hit her parent's car. And she couldn't tell him about Luke. No matter how many times she had bared her body to him, she wasn't ready to reveal her soul to him. Not yet. Maybe never.

She took a step back and turned her face to avoid the persistent gaze he was leveling at her. She had to tell him something.

"I've had a falling out with my best friends, that's all." She wasn't really lying. It was one of the things that was upsetting her. "Luke is friends with them, too, and the four of us used to... and now it's causing tension between us at work."

She fell silent and stared off into space, thinking not only of the Brody's but of Luke's rejection, her mother's lack of understanding, and the possibility that she could lose Mac.

"And?" Mac said, almost afraid of her response. Her description of their close-knit little foursome left him filled with trepidation. How did Rae and Luke's relationship figure into all of this? Had she and Luke...? Mac tried to push his new awareness and the futile speculations that went along with it from his mind. "I'm still listening."

"Oh." Mac exhaled loudly and looked down. He felt a quick stab of pain as he wondered what Rae really felt for Luke.

"My mother thinks I'm being overly sensitive... I told you it was nothing."

Mac caught his breath again. Before now, Rae had never mentioned her family to him, never said their names, or even acknowledged their existence. He had a myriad of unanswered questions he wanted to ask her, but now didn't seem like the right time to press her for answers - not when she was so tired and discouraged. It was better just to be there for her and hope she would share more of herself with him in her own time.

"Have you ever heard the saying, When God closes a door, He opens a window?" he finally said.

"Yes." Rae looked surprised. "I haven't thought about it in a long while. Do you believe that, Mac?"

"Sure. I'm not very religious, but I've learned over the years that things tend to unfold the way they're meant to."

Rae appeared deep in thought. She lifted her head and looked directly at him. "What about you? Are you happy with the way things have unfolded in your life? Do you think all the things that have happened to you were meant to be?"

Mac froze for the briefest of seconds. For a moment he was tempted to tell her about Laura and Maggie. A wave of the now dull, but ever-familiar pain he felt when he remembered them washed over him. He flashed Rae a smile that was somewhere between a grin and a grimace. "I often wonder at the time they're happening. But eventually, I can always look back and know that everything worked out the way it was supposed to."

"All things work together for good..." Rae said softly.

"What?"

"All things work together for good. It's an old saying I heard a lot when I was a child."

"Isn't it from the Bible?"

"Yes," she whispered. "Yes it is."

Half of the food he'd brought for dinner was still in the bag. The mail lay shoved to one side of the table. The dishes sat untended in the sink. Mac stood with his arms folded around Rachael in the midst of the homey chaos of his little rental house and loved her more than anything on earth.

Her legs were suddenly so weak she could barely stand up.

"Do you mind if we don't do anything tonight?" Mac was saying. "I'm just not sure it would..."

"No. I don't mind. I understand," she said, leaning against him. And on some level, she did. On another level she was very confused. "I'll go," she offered without moving.

Mac made no effort to loosen his grip. "Why don't you stay here and sleep with me? I'd love to just hold you. All night long if you'll let me."

The very thought sounded like heaven. It would be fine just as long as she was up early enough to slip back to her house, shower, and dress for work before Luke or anyone else saw her in the same clothes she'd worn to the courthouse the day before. Half the town had seen her after all.

She lifted her face and looked into Mac's eyes. With his lips, he touched her forehead, then the bridge of her nose. She felt his eyelashes brush against her cheek, the faint stubble of his beard on her jaw, his lips moving softly over her face and her neck.

"I'll be right back." He broke away from her and headed towards the bathroom, stepping with ten times more energy than she felt.

"Where are you going?"

"I'm going to run a warm bubble bath for you," he said, poking his head out from behind the door. "Not hot. Tepid. To cool you off. When I was a kid, my mom always drew baths for me when it was hot outside."

Rae heard the rush of water pouring from the faucet of his claw-footed bathtub.

"I'll make us some popcorn," Mac said. His voice sounded like a little boy's, full of excitement. "We can watch a movie. I have a few oldies but goodies. How about Paint Your Wagon?"

She laughed. His enthusiasm was catching.

"I was bo-orn under a wandering star..." Mac started to sing in a beautiful baritone voice.

"I talk to the trees, but they don't list-en to me, I talk to the stars, but they don't hear me..." she replied in a timid soprano, rounding the corner to join him.

"Hey - another old movie buff. I hope I can find the box. I haven't unpacked all my stuff yet."

"I've never seen the movie," Rae admitted, leaning against the doorframe of the bathroom, "I wasn't allowed to go to movies when I was a kid. I saw the play when I was in college."

"Then you'll really enjoy it." He added some scented oil before he turned off the water. "Your bath awaits you, Madam," he announced with a flourish, looking very pleased with himself.

He flashed her a quick smile. "May I do the honors?" He ducked his head shyly and reached for the top button of her blouse.

"But you said you didn't want to... and you know how I get when you..." Rae murmured, suddenly drowsy from expending so much emotion.

"Yes," Mac said in a low voice, "but I can see how tired you are already, and after you soak in a warm bubble bath you won't be able to walk much less do that."

He went about undressing her as though she were his wife and not his lover. The tips of his fingers lingered soothingly over her skin as they moved down the row of buttons lining the front of her blouse. He massaged her shoulders gently and let her blouse slip to the floor, then picked it up, folded it, and laid it on a white, ladder-backed chair beside the tub.

Her breasts fell free when he loosened her bra; the tension in her shoulders started to dissolve. He kissed her once in the cleft between her bosoms, looking like he wanted to devour her. She stood perfectly still, feeling so docile and dreamy-eyed that she could hardly move. Mac slipped one hand under each side of the waistband of her skirt and pulled it down over her hips.

He repeated the motion a second time to remove her panties, slowly cupping her hips in his hands as though he were a blind man learning the shape of a fragile vase. Mac knelt before her on the tiny black and white tiled floor and lifted each of her feet off the floor to remove her sandals. He stared, transfixed, as the shadow between her legs deepened and stretched with her movements. He was precisely at eye level with the wispy curls covering her mound. How he longed to bury his face in her. But he didn't. He didn't understand why, but it seemed very important to be with Rae just this once without having sex.

"Get in the tub," he ordered in a gruff voice.

She steadied herself on his shoulder and lifted one leg over the edge of the deep, old, claw-footed tub, her toes hugging the smooth porcelain finish as she lowered herself into the frothy water. He watched as the lukewarm bubbles lapped at her ankles and then her shins until at last, the soothing softness enveloped her.

"Perfect," she said.

"Lay back and get your hair wet, Rae."

Her bottom slid half the length of the claw foot tub in one effortless motion as she raised her thighs to meet her calves.

Mac rolled his eyes. "Do you know what you're doing to me?"

"You try getting your head and shoulders wet without looking like a duck in a pond."

He laughed. "You do not look like a duck."

"Fine. A drowned rat then." She sputtered, ducking the back of her head into the water, then tilting it to one side and the other. Her breasts pointed upward as she arched her neck to wet the top of her head. The silken, rosy-tipped flesh shifted alluringly as she twisted a final time and righted herself in a wave of bubbles and foam.

Mac groaned and shook his head. "God help me."

He took a bottle of shampoo from a wire basket that was curled over the edge of the tub, poured a little into his hands, and rubbed his palms together to work up a lather. He followed the slope of her neck upward with his hands, sliding his fingers through her tangled locks. He traced the curve of her ears and stroked her temples.

"Lean back again," he said, and rinsed her hair with a hand held sprayer until it lay in silken strands. Beads of water clung to her eyelashes and water pooled in the hollow of her bellybutton. She lifted her face to him like a tulip unfolding its petals to the sun, leaning this way and that to receive the soft caress of the spray.

God, she was beautiful. "Do you want me to wash your back?"

"Hmmm." She nodded her assent.

"Lean forward."

She lifted her knees, tucked her legs close to her body, and clasped her hands around her ankles. He ran a terry cloth over her shoulders, skimmed the sides of her breasts, and dipped into the hollow at the base of her back.

"Open your arms now."

Softly, gently, he bathed her from head to toe, enjoying himself so much that he didn't want to be done.

"Time to go to bed." He tried to sate himself by gazing, unabashed, as he toweled the moisture from her and slowly, sensuously tucked her into his bed. He slipped away to shower himself, then curled up beside her, fresh and clean with herbal shampoo and Irish Spring.

Rae was nearly asleep, the idea of a movie long forgotten in their drowsy state of content. Mac molded his body to Rae's, holding his hip slightly separate from her so she couldn't feel how hard he was. His arms coveted her nakedness but he kept his hands tucked at her elbows in a light touch that barely connected them. I'm here, his fingers said.

He lay beside her without moving, feeling the swell of her rib cage moving up and down, hearing her soft sighs. Her lashes lay against her cheek, her hair in wisps at the side of her face. The tension between her brows had disappeared. A sweet tenderness like he had never known welled up in Mac's heart.

His photographer's eye saw the two of them from an overhead angle; shot in black and white for heightened contrast save Rae's rosy cheeks. Black and white with a blush of color on her face, so soft that an unsolicited viewer would look and look again, thinking,Am I imagining that hint of color? There, on her cheeks. Do you see it? Is it there, or am I dreaming?

In his mind's eye Mac could see the two of them as clearly as if he were shooting a layout and not posed beside her, spread out on the sheets in effortless disarray, their limbs entwined, the bedding falling around them in soft, tangled folds. How he wished he could be two places at once, here in her arms, and capturing this sweetness for all time through the body of his camera.

"I love you, Rae," Mac whispered, snuggling her from behind.

"I love you, too, Luke." Rae responded from her semi-sleep, never even realizing that she had thrust daggers into his heart.

The storm crept up on them little by little, first soundlessly, then with low rumbles, and finally with sharp crashes that split the air like a battery of cannons being fired at close range. The light show that preceded the gale illuminated Osage in a ghostly glow for two hours prior to the storm's arrival.

Mac could see each flash of light as it arched across the sky, flickering wildly and tossing jagged shadows across Rae's peaceful face. Mac didn't know if Rae was afraid of thunderstorms, just as he didn't know most things about her. All he knew is what he saw - that she laid unmoved and unworried, sleeping as soundly as a newborn babe.

The storm hit town shortly after midnight. It came from the southwest the way most storms did, simmering across the corn fields that stretched out on all sides of the village to follow the Cedar River valley in from Spring Park on the south.

Mac lay listening to the wind as it battered the house, rattling the windows and whipping the tree branches into a frenzy. He held his breath during the still, eerie silences that separated each squall like a pause between staccato notes. He thought about Laura and tried to recall the features that had first drawn him to her. He remembered the sweet, trusting innocence of Maggie's face and could almost feel the softness of her skin as he'd held her in his lap and told her bedtime stories, the smell of her auburn curls fresh with baby shampoo against his cheek.

Mac ran his finger down the slope of Rae's right breast to the spot where it met her rib cage. She was put together so perfectly. For the second time that night he wished he were looking at her through the lens of a camera. Objectively. From the outside looking in. From a distance.

That's the way he'd planned it to keep it until some recent moment that he couldn't quite pinpoint. He'd planned on keeping her at arm's length, not for any particular reason but because it was what he did. He loathed the very thought of being in love again, the vulnerability it entailed, the weakness it implied.

Mac winced and then shuddered as a chill ran down his spine. Even from inside the house he could tell the temperature had dropped. Hail, he surmised, glad he had taken the time to pull his truck inside the garage and shut the door.

The wind whistled eerily. Mac wasn't afraid for himself, but he plotted the quickest course to the storm shelter just in case he needed to waken her and whisk her downstairs to safety. The weather had been hinting at tornadoes all day.

Mac finally admitted the obvious as he lay mulling in his bed and listening to the storm. Rae was in love with Luke. It explained a lot of things. But it sure as hell didn't explain why Rae was here in his bed. It didn't explain why she was asleep in his arms, naked as a nymph beside him.

