

Published by Continuation Services at SmashWords

First publishing: 2001 Neighborhood Press

All rights reserved by the author

Other Novels by Jay Greenstein

Science Fiction

 As Falls an Angel

 Samantha and the Bear

Wizards

Foreign Embassy

 To Sing The Calu

 Monkey Feet

 Starlight Dancing

Sisterhood of the Ring – Six linked novels:

 Water Dance

 Jennie's Song

 A Change Of Heart

 A Surfeit Of Dreams

Kyesha

 Abode Of The Gods

Living Vampire

An Abiding Evil

 Ties of Blood

Blood Lust

Modern Western

Posse

Romantic Suspense

 A Chance Encounter

This novel is a work of fiction. All characters and events in this book are fictitious and created by the author for entertainment purposes. Any similarities between living and non-living persons are purely coincidental.

Cover illustration by Ted Bragg

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. It may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

° ° ° °

# Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Author's Note

This book was a gift from a kindly muse. Its appearance was an event I will never truly understand, but is something for which I will be forever grateful.

° ° ° °

March 11

It was the kind of cold that bit at her face like tiny rodent teeth—so intense that the moisture in her nostrils froze each time she inhaled.

As the night deepened Samantha worked her way deeper and deeper into the blankets, but now there was no place left to go. She woke to find herself huddled into a heat conserving ball, shivering.

The breeze huffing around the building at dusk was now the angry hiss of wind overlaid with ice crystals. The cold inside the cabin, unbearable at dusk, was now beyond anything she could have imagined, even wrapped in several layers of bedding.

Until tonight, spending her time bundled up in layer after layer of clothing was an annoyance. Now, it was a matter of survival, and there was nothing left to add. As she gathered her courage to leave the bedding discomfort curdled into fear.

_The van?_ The road was impassible, but its heater would still provide warmth, at least till daylight made a try to reach help possible.

But she had no confidence in its ancient battery, and if the engine didn't start there was little chance of surviving the trip back to the house.

Bracing herself, she pulled the covers from her face, opening her eyes to near darkness. The lantern had gone out, so the only light came from the burners of the stove, their flames reduced to half their normal length by the chill. A glance at the windows showed drifted snow covering half the glass. Sometime during the night a storm-front must have passed through, bringing new snow and an arctic cold.

With an effort, she slid from her bedding, wrapped it around her, and limped toward the stove, to warm her hands enough to change the tank on the lantern. As she waited for dexterity to return she shook her head in frustration. Unlike her Chicago apartment this house had no functioning heater. How can anyone live in a house with no heater? And why had the man not mentioned the problem when he handed her the key? The answer was that he probably didn't know. And as far as survival without a functioning heater it appeared that the answer was that you can't, not on the high plains.

Stupid to have thought that sleeping in the kitchen with the stove as a heater would substitute. Its two small burners helped only a little—now not at all. There was too much house and too little flame to make much of a difference.

Stupid, Samantha, really stupid.

But that was self-pity speaking and she rejected it. As late as yesterday afternoon the cold in the house was annoying, but bearable, as it had been in the week since moving in. Better to focus on how to live though this than whine about what might have been done.

She tried to read the thermometer mounted just outside the window but there wasn't enough light. It didn't matter, though. It was cold enough to kill. Nearly fifteen below when she crawled into the blankets, it must be well beyond that, now.

Ten minutes later she was trying to hold back tears. The new gas cylinder was in place, but the cold was so great the lantern refused to light. Back at the stove once more she huddled as close to the burners as possible without setting the blanket alight, listening to the wind and assessing the chance of survival.

Not good. Definitely not good. There was little feeling in her feet and unless she found a way to warm them she would soon be unable to stand. And if she fell and couldn't get up she would die. That was a given. At a guess, there was, maybe a half hour before that occurred.

If I could curl up in a frying pan like a strip of bacon that would be heaven.

She blinked then, as something tickled at her cold-fogged brain. It was a stupid idea—a desperate solution to a problem that had no solution.

But, if it works...

Praying she wasn't simply hurrying her death, she extinguished the second burner. Then, on legs that were numb, and as responsive as stilts, she hobbled to the table for a chair, one with arms that would support her in sleep.

It took much of her remaining strength to lift the chair to the counter-top and place it over the stove's burner area. Most of the rest she spent in wrapping aluminum foil around the periphery of the chair's legs to keep her blankets from the flame.

Dragging a second chair to use as a step-stool was a task she could never quite recall. But in the end she sat enthroned, high over the kitchen floor, eyes and nose the only thing uncovered, the burner beneath her warming the compartment formed by her tented bedding.

It took nearly fifteen minutes, but it finally came: first the jangling pain that heralded a resumption of feeling in fingers and toes, then blessed, life-restoring heat. Not just warmth, but true heat, spreading through her like a balm, thawing her bones and restoring her soul.

It was an uncomfortable place to sit and a worse place to sleep, but she didn't care, she was warm, and nothing else mattered. Slowly, her chattering jaw unclenched, and slowly the shivering of her body subsided. Slowly, she came back to life.

Just before she drifted off to sleep she imagined a snow sprite peering in through the window, its whiskers quivering in surprise to see the queen of winter holding court in a frozen North Dakota kitchen. The thought pleased. I may look like an idiot, Mr. Sprite, but I won for a change. This time I won!

° ° ° °

May 19

"Don't forget the newspaper, Miss Hanover."

"I won't," Samantha called as she scanned the selection of canned goods. One of the advantages of living in a small town, and shopping in its even smaller grocery store, was that it was hard to forget an item once the shopkeeper learned your habits. The disadvantage was that the choice of brands was limited, especially to someone used to the supermarkets of the big city.

She turned to look longingly at the battered old frozen food box, nestled against the wall and humming noisily to itself. The idea that she'd never thought of frozen, or even refrigerated food, as a luxury before living in a house without electrical power brought a smile.

But longing changed nothing, so with a sigh for what could not be, and a shrug for what was, she turned her attention back to the canned-goods rack and made her selection: corn, string-beans, mixed vegetables, and beets—with several varieties of fruit added in as snacks—and put them in her basket before turning to the rack of reading materials.

"Are you expecting any new books?" she asked, hopefully, frowning at titles she'd rejected on previous visits.

Repeating his promise of previous weeks, he said, "Any day now, Miss Hanover. Any day now."

Another disadvantage of small town life.

The idea that she might think of Solomons Choice as a small town brought a smile. It could hardly be called a town, since it consisted of nothing more than a gas station, a general store that doubled as a post office, a restaurant, a bar, and a dilapidated feed store. All were tiredly gathered around the tongue of dust-covered asphalt that formed a tee with the passing highway. At the end of the paving a dirt road took over, and began its bumpy branching path, bisecting the valley and connecting the local ranches to the outside world.

Lifting her basket onto the counter, she began to empty it in front of the adding machine that served in place of a cash register.

"Charge me for a paper, Henry, and I'll pick it up on the way out."

"Must be lonely out there at night, with no one to talk to," the storekeeper ventured, as he prepared to total her order.

"Not so much now, with full dark coming close to nine, but during the winter it was."

"Cold out there, too."

"Still is, at night." What was he leading up to?

"Uh-huh. Should have a man to talk to—a pretty woman like yourself."

"Why, Henry," she said, with a smile. "Are you asking me to marry you?"

Henry Johanson was nearly eighty years old, and behaved with an old-fashioned formality that often brought a hidden smile. His style of dress was decades out of date, as was the neatly trimmed white mustache, little more than a pencil line thick. A suggestion, on her part, that he was offering anything more than friendship to an unmarried woman would probably have shocked him.

He didn't return her smile, however. Instead, he pointed toward the door, as he said, "I might surprise you and say yes, sometime, but you'd do better with someone a bit younger, like Rob Reiker, there."

Turning to follow his pointed finger, she peered through the dusty shop window. A man was striding toward the front door of the store, a big man. Although his hat brim placed his face in shadow, he had the look of someone to whom one did not say no—a frightening man, one who reminded her of the past. Behind and above him rose the mountains that served to lock Solomons Choice away from the rest of North Dakota. It seemed a fitting backdrop for such a man.

Then, something about the shape of the mountain, and the way the man in the window fit into the landscape struck a chord within her. A feeling of impending danger caused a chill to run through her, as she whispered, "The Bear. He's here for me."

What brought such an absurd thought was unknown, but before she could think about that, the door opened and the man came into the shop, only to stop abruptly, as if surprised to see her there.

She wanted to turn and run—needed to do so almost more than she needed to breathe. Meeting a man, especially one who reminded her so strongly of the past, was something she did _not_ want to do. She tried, desperately, to move, but no longer had control of her body. She could only stare, held rigidly immobile by her own body's refusal to respond, a doe captured by the headlights of a truck.

A bolt of unreasoning fear shot through her as his dark eyes studied her, pinning her in place as surely as though his gaze had physical substance. His lips were pursed in thought, as if he was having difficulty deciding how he would begin his attack.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, she fought a desperate battle to escape this strange paralysis. He was a man, only a man, dressed in faded and dusty jeans. Her argument melted, however, in the face of his continuing domination of her mind and body. His face, visible now in the artificial lighting of the store, should not have frightened her, but it did. It frightened her terribly, and the words, "The Bear," echoed over and over in her head.

They might have stood looking at each other for hours or it might have been seconds. She only knew that after an endless time, a time of certainty that she was about to die, he moved, and a voice—not her own voice, but that of another, equally terrified, woman—cried out in her head.

"Help me! Please help me!"

Then, there was darkness.

° ° ° °

Chapter 2

Samantha woke to find a strange man bending over her, frowning. A momentary flash of terror brought the beginnings of a scream, as the thought that she was back in Chicago flickered through her mind. Then, she was in Solomons Choice, and all that had happened returned with a rush, strangely, without the fear that had caused her to slump to the floor. The man's face, which caused such unreasoning dread only moments before, was just a face. A pleasant face were it not showing concern. Even his eyes, which had seemed to bore into her very soul, were now no more than a pair of brown eyes—a man's, not those of a bear. They were actually fairly nice looking eyes.

"Are you all right?" His voice was a comfortable baritone. About to respond she realized that he was holding her hand, fingertips lightly pressing her wrist and taking her pulse. Before she answered, his eyes flicked to his watch. He nodded, then turned his attention back to her.

Angry at herself, she pulled her hand free and struggled to her feet, ignoring his attempt to assist, embarrassed to have looked so foolish.

"I'm all right." For a moment, she had to steady herself against the edge of the counter, but then she straightened, a trifle dizzy. That was fading, rapidly though, so she assumed that what happened was, in some way, a flashback triggered by the similarity in size and build of the man before her to these who invaded her mother's house.

As she gathered her wits she glanced toward Henry, still behind the counter, a look of concern on his face. She tried to turn to him, to say something reassuring, but that proved impossible. She was held in place by gentle but immovable fingers, their callused tips cradling chin and shoulder.

The man seemed unaware she'd even attempted the motion, and peered into her eyes as though seeking some abnormal dilation of her pupils.

"Have you had something like this happen before?"

"No! Never."

"And you're not...pregnant?"

About to make a sharp reply, she stopped. Obviously, the remark was made out of concern, not curiosity.

"No. Are you a doctor?"

He dropped his hand.

"Well, I guess it might have been caused by something inconsequential like skipping breakfast, or not drinking enough liquids, but I'd get myself checked out, were I you. Certainly, if anything like this happens again, I wouldn't ignore it."

He started to turn away, then, as though remembering his manners, turned back and said, "I'm Rob Reiker, by the way."

"Samantha Hanover," she said, after a moment.

"I know. We're sort of neighbors. I've seen you exploring out by Dead-End canyon, and asked around. You're living in the old Z-Bar ranch house, aren't you?"

"For the next few months." For the past four months she kept to herself as much as possible, as she tried to bring her life back into focus. The writing helped, but it had been a lonely time. Now, she wondered exactly what he'd been asking, and of whom. Other than Henry and Nelson Bobblet, the man who ran the gas station, there were few people in the area that she knew by name. Thinking about it, however, that was reason enough for backcountry gossip.

He thought about her words. "Mmm... Well if you're going to be out there for a while, I live on the other side of the development, on the town side of the opening into White Horse canyon. If you ever need help, or someone other than the coyotes to talk to, just follow the cut-off with the Lazy Eight sign; it's about a mile from your place if you short-cut through the development—a half mile more if you follow the road."

The development he mentioned was one of many retirement communities that had been sold, primarily by mail, during the seventies and the eighties. The brochures extolled the benefits of rural living. They failed to mention that you were buying a tiny and undeveloped lot on North Dakota's high plains, land suitable only for grazing cattle. There was no running water, no power, no sewers and, it turned out, no one willing to live there.

With a noncommittal, "Thank you," for the offer of help, she turned to the counter and motioned for Henry to finish with her order. In the corner of her eye Reiker shrugged, and thankfully, made no further attempt to continue the conversation.

As usual, Henry would not hear of her helping to bag the groceries. Also, as usual, he took an unending time about his business. So much time that though there was no return of the feeling which gripped her earlier, she was on the verge of running from the store by the time the old man bagged the last item. Thanking him, she balanced the bags in her arms, refusing Reiker's offer to help and all but ran from the store.

Outside, the bright sunlight struck like a blow, and she wished she'd remembered to put on her sunglasses. After living in the area for month the sheer intensity of light still surprised each time she ventured out.

With shaking fingers she opened the van's passenger door and placed the shopping bags between the seats, where she could reach over and steady them as she drove the bumpy access road to the ranch house. Then, with a deliberate effort of will, she walked to the driver's door as though the events in the store weren't still echoing through her being.

She had to slam the driver's door three times before the balky door-latch caught. Back East the thing would probably have rusted itself into a pile of scrap long ago, but here, in nearly desert-dry air, it had somehow survived an endless succession of owners, and now was the best she could afford, given her lack of income. For the same money she might have purchased something a little more comfortable, but the high ground clearance of a van, or some other similar vehicle, was a necessity due to the condition of the road that led to the ranch. Still, as usual, the engine caught on the first turn of the starter. She waited a moment before starting out, replaying the past few minutes, seeking sense and reasonability. There was none. A trick of the mountain view, one that triggered an especially intense fantasy then? A glance upward showed nothing there, either. Nor had she skipped meals or allowed herself to become dehydrated.

Probably, she decided, as she put the van in gear, it was a flashback of some sort, to what had happened at her mother's house—nothing more than a reminder from her subconscious that she couldn't let down her guard for an instant. Still, the voice had been real, or seemed so. And the feeling of dread was centered, not on what was happening to her, but on the fear felt by the owner of the voice—the woman who was terrified of the bear.

As she drove past the store, she glanced toward its window. He was watching.

° ° °

"That is one fine looking woman, Rob. What do you suppose made her faint that way?"

The van passed over the hilltop and was gone. He turned back to the counter.

"I'm sorry, Henry. Did you say something?"

"I said she's a fine looking woman."

"Uh-huh... What do you suppose caused her to faint that way? Has she ever done it before, or acted strangely while she was in the store?"

"Not that I can say."

He frowned at the empty vista presented by the window. The man was right. Samantha Hanover _was_ pleasant to the eye. Very much so. What she would look like wearing a dress, and with her hair in something more formal than a ponytail? Something troubling about her, though—a vulnerability, and a feeling that she was more than what she appeared to be, that brought the urge to know more.

His reflections were interrupted by Henry's voice, close by his ear.

"Might just be good-looking enough to warrant a neighborly visit, I'd guess."

"... Maybe."

"So why didn't you tell her when she asked? Some girls might be impressed to know you were a big city doctor."

"Not her," he said, absently. "Besides, that's over. Now, I'm just a rancher."

That brought a snort of laughter in response.

° ° ° °

Chapter 3

Samantha eased the van over the last few feet of road, letting the front wheels settle into the rut that defined its usual parking space. The engine died, and for a moment she sat, thinking of nothing and doing nothing. The events at the store were excluded from her thoughts—deliberately. They were something to think about later—maybe tomorrow, after time had rounded the rough edges a bit. For now, she needed no more worries and no more wondering. There had been too much of both in her life. For now, best to just be content, and live one more day, exactly as she'd been living each day thus far: leaving yesterday to the past. Certainly, there were more than enough things seeking attention; mundane things like cooking dinner and dusting; important things like deciding what to do with the rest of her life. But still, in spite of the voice that whispered that she should begin those tasks, she sat with closed eyes, ignoring everything and forcing herself to relax—to do nothing—to stop thinking and simply be.

For a time that was enough. Then, the thought came that there was a surprisingly strong feeling of coming home, though the house was too little a home and too much a hole in which to hide when she arrived. Now, however, with summer close at hand and the darkest part of the year—and hopefully, her life as well—behind her, it might be time to think of having a place to call home.

That decided, she pushed open the door and slid from the van, intent on getting her packages into the house and using some of the remaining daylight to edit a chapter or two—betraying her decision to not work.

But that was before the sunshine embraced her, before she took a deep breath of spring scented air, and before the breeze began playing across her face in gentle welcome, whispering, "Come and dance with me," into her ear. Then, resolve forgotten, she raised her arms far above her head, stretching, and feeling freer than she had in months. With a cry of, "Yes!" that came from deep in her soul she whirled around in the sheer joy of being alive on such a day. Finally, too dizzy to stand, she allowed herself to fall onto the carpet of range grass, spreading its fresh spears of green in the bright spring sunshine.

For a long time she lay in her bed of grass, eyes closed and listening to the hum of the insects, they, far too busy with their never-ending work to enjoy the day as she was doing. Then, she laughed aloud at their foolishness. So brief a life they led, with so little time for enjoyment. For the barest moment she felt pity for those creatures who would never stop to know the glory of this day, but then she laughed again, this time at her own foolishness, refusing to let the sadness of such short lives destroy the mood that, for now, filled her dark places with light.

Finally after a long and drowsy time in which she thought not at all, and very nearly fell asleep, she yawned and got to her feet, pulling the band from her pony-tail as she did so, finger combing the grass from her hair. She glanced in the direction of the house and thought over what she'd been planning, then smiled and turned away, tucking her hair-band into a pocket and heading for a spot more suited to such a beautiful day. There would be plenty of time for work later. Work was for tomorrow. Work was for days when it rained. Springtime was for living, and for enjoying; and this day cried out to her that she'd been ignoring the season for far too long. It fairly shouted its demand that she spend the day lying in flower-scented grass and watching the clouds drift across the sky.

° ° °

Settling to the pool's bank she leaned over the water, seeking her reflection. But the breeze that summoned her there was riffling the surface, fragmenting the image into golden sparkles.

Turning away from the water, hands clasped around her knee, she looked around the tiny glen, taking in beauty. Flat and desolate rangeland surrounded the house, windblown and bare of trees. A half mile from the house however, a tiny spring had found its way to the surface, in a small depression that, but for that spring, might have been no more than a pond—wet only after a rain. Instead, a small copse of trees gathered around an oval pool, like palms at an oasis, shading it and making it into a tiny jewel. Drawn to the pool by its audience of trees, it was the first place explored.

In winter, with the bare and skeletal branches as a backdrop, it had had a foreboding air that went with her usual dark mood. As the weather lightened, however, and as the new leaves pushed their way into the sunshine, the place brought a feeling of peace that made it a retreat—a refuge from the demons of the past.

Now, with the afternoon sunshine peering through slatted courses of new leaves, the place appeared almost magical. Each slanting sunray was marked by the whirling motes of dust stirred up by the playful breeze, while dancing reflections from the water teased her eyes with diamonds.

Idly, she dipped a hand into the water, only to pull back in surprise. It was warm, comfortably so, rather than reflecting the chill of the night air. That explained why the pool had been liquid during the winter. Apparently, a hot spring supplied the water, a reminder that the high plains were formed when hot lava erupted from the earth, to fill in the spaces between the mountains.

Whatever the reason, the warmth of the water brought a smile, as her fancy took flight. Acting on impulse, she stood and looked around. She was alone. Good. Then she chuckled over the idea that there might be someone else within miles of the pool.

For a long moment she argued with herself, because what she planned was so out of character. She'd never been in the outdoors without clothing, and the very idea seemed vaguely sinful. Then, before she could think about it, and perhaps talk herself out of it, she shed her clothing and stepped into the water.

Unfortunately, what felt temperate to questing fingers was less so to the body. As a result of that error, she found herself stuck with only part of her body wet, unsure as to whether to get all the way into the water or return to the bank. With no towel, when she left the water that friendly breeze would bring shivers. That problem was compounded by the fact that the water, at its deepest point, reached only to the upper thigh, so she would have to sit on the muddy bottom to become fully wet. Perhaps another, warmer, day would be a better choice.

She was in the process of turning toward the bank when the nicker of a horse announced that she was about to have a visitor. She turned—or tried to—hands held protectively, but her feet, caught in the soft mud of the bottom, refused to cooperate. The water, she decided as she went under, was cold.

When she came to the surface again, sputtering and wiping water from her eyes, Rob Reiker sat twenty feet away, relaxed on the largest horse she'd ever seen, watching her with a look of amusement.

"I've always expected a woman to fall for me, someday," he said, a smile strong in his voice. "But I never thought it would be in quite this fashion. You're making a habit of it, too."

He seemed unmoved by her nudity, and added, "Sorry to have surprised you like this, but I do need to talk with you. I was on my way to your place and was going to let Wally stop for a drink. I didn't expect to find anyone here or I would have called out."

"I—"

"Finish your bath and I'll drop by your place after dinner. We can talk then. Okay?"

She lowered herself as far into the water as possible, crossing her arms over her breasts, hoping the mud she'd stirred up obscured her lower body. She hadn't the slightest desire to talk to this, or any other man. But if she refused he might stay to argue about it, or to talk about whatever was on his mind. To make matters even more unsettling, he was neither looking away nor watching her body. He was ignoring her nudity, as though it was incidental, and not worthy of note.

Her mumbled, "I guess," brought a nod, a touching of his hat in the old fashioned way, and a clucking to his horse to help put it into motion.

"I'll bring ice cream," he called over his shoulder, as he was about to pass behind the screening trees. Unfortunately, he did that at the exact moment she stood to reach for her clothing. She was given no time to react to that, but noted that he did raise his eyebrows before turning away and kicking his horse into a trot.

Shit!

And then she was alone, shaking her head at the irony of it. For the past four months there had been not a single visitor, and she'd seen almost no one, aside from when she visited the store. Yet now, at the exact moment when she _needed_ to be alone, the man arrived—a practical joke of Dame Fortune—another reminder to never to let her guard down.

But that aside, the man was interesting, if you discounted what had happened in the store—and that certainly wasn't his fault. Shivering a bit, as the breeze dried her skin, she sat on a tree root while she dried her hair with her blouse.

Perhaps Teal-Eye might know what's going on? She might—

About to slip into her blouse, she froze. A spoor of gooseflesh crept up her back—bringing an uncontrolled shivering—while a sense of terrible emptiness flooded her mind. The land around her hadn't changed, and the sun still shone through the trees, but it was a cold sun and the trees were alien and strange. In all her life, Samantha Hanover had never met anyone named Teal-Eye, nor had she ever heard or read of that particular name. Yet now, with no means to do so, she knew that Teal-Eye was, in some way, her sister—and in danger, as was she; terrible, terrible danger.

° ° ° °

Chapter 4

"So why do you call your horse Wally?" Samantha asked, making small talk as she thought over what to do about Rob Reiker. He'd arrived in a brand new Range Rover, rather than on horseback, which meant that he could well be planning to return home after dark, nearly an hour away.

Rob smiled. "I started out calling him Brown, but changed it to Stupid when I got to know him a little better. Then, I decided I liked him too much to call him Stupid, so he became Wally, because he reminded me of an intern I once had on my staff."

"Then you are a doctor?"

"Was. Now, except in emergencies I'm a rancher."

He certainly didn't look like a doctor. A medic, perhaps, but not a doctor. He stood at least three inches over six feet. More than that, he was broad, in a way that suggested the word burly, and he had bearlike way of moving, far more smooth and controlled a movement than his size would suggest. As he spoke lifted a cooler from the inner recesses of the vehicle.

"The ice cream I promised," he explained, presenting the cooler. "I'm addicted to Dove bars, and since Henry never stocks them I thought you might like a few."

"Dove bars...here?"

"I pick them up by the case-full when I go into the city. It's a major weakness. And I do mean major."

He was being deliberately friendly—with some justification, since she was possibly the only attractive and unmarried woman in the area. But she had to put a stop to his advances as quickly as possible, lest he think he had the right to return, regularly. Aside from the events this day that involved him—events that still reverberated at the core of her being—there must be no friends to wonder about, and to leave worrying when the time came to run once more.

"You said you wanted to talk to me," she said, in a carefully neutral tone.

He'd been about to speak, but stopped, obviously jarred by her words. Disappointment showed on his face when he lowered the cooler to the ground and said, "Yes, I do, if you don't mind." He nodded in the direction of the evening sun, glaring almost at eye level in the western sky, adding, "Preferably someplace where there's better light than here." He must have caught the hesitation in her eyes, because he followed that with a gentle, "I have no intention of forcing my attentions on you, Miss Hanover. This is medical matter."

"A...medical matter?"

He sighed. "Can we sit down for a moment?"

Reluctantly, she led him into the house. The place was clean, but a threadbare sofa, abandoned by the owners, provided the only furnishing in the living room. The kitchen was scarcely an improvement, with only three ancient but serviceable kitchen chairs and a rough-hewn table. Other than for her bedroom, the house was painfully bare; and her bedroom he would not see.

A less primitive place to live would be better, but when asked about a room to rent in the area, this was the only thing offered. The ranch was for sale, and the shopkeeper offered her the option of living free on the old place if she would clean out the accumulated debris and act as caretaker. Desperation to find a place to hide had probably shown on her face and in her eyes, and provided the real genesis of the offer. Thus far there had been no prospective buyers visiting the place and Henry hadn't appeared to inspect her cleaning skills.

Rob looked around the house as they headed toward the kitchen, but said nothing until she lit the propane lantern over the table. Then, he frowned.

"No refrigerator? How can you live with no refrigerator?"

"There's no electricity on the place. I use canned and dry goods, mostly."

"But what about a propane refrigerator?" His brows lowered, as he eyed her sharply. "Is money that tight?"

"Propane? I...I don't understand. You burn propane. How can that cool anything?"

He shrugged, relaxing a bit. "I don't know how it works, in detail, but both my kitchen refrigerator and the big freezer out back burn propane and they keep everything cold through what's called absorption refrigeration. The boiling Freon provides the energy to run the process that does the cooling."

"Oh," was all she could manage. This was a surprise, though it changed little. Living only on savings, money was tight, and would remain so until she either found work or completed and sold the novel. Certainly, she couldn't spare the price of a new refrigerator, electric or propane.

"Most of the people around here have propane units," he continued. "We're on the end of a long string of power lines, and a heavy snow, high winds, or one of dozen other things might leave us without power for a week at a time, so rather than take chances, we all have back-up electric generators for lights and stuff, and use propane for the fridge.

"I have a spare in the shed that I can let you use, if you like. It's old, but I'm pretty sure it still works, so I can have it out and running by the end of the week." He gave an apologetic little smile, adding, "I'd see to it tomorrow, but with the calving and—"

"No!" She hadn't meant to virtually shout her rejection of his offer, but the situation appeared to be getting out of hand. She moderated her tone to say, "No, thank you. I appreciate your offer, but..." She shrugged, unable to think of a valid reason for refusing, then tried to turn the discussion back to the reason for his coming.

"You said you wanted to talk about something medical?"

He stared at her for a long time, face gone deadly serious. Silence hung between them for long enough that she was nearly ready to squirm before he said, "We usually help each other around here, Miss Hanover. It may be because there is no one else but ourselves to turn to in a time of trouble, but we do. There's a saying, common in the area, that says, 'forty-below keeps the riffraff out.' " He studied her intently before saying, "You survived out here on your own, so I don't think you're riffraff. Are you?"

"No. I— I don't think so."

"Well I don't think so either. I think you're a young woman in trouble, and too proud or too stubborn to ask for help, which is why I'm here."

"But—"

He held up a hand. "Wait and hear what I have to say, first." When she nodded, he said, "Among other things, I happen to be a doctor. And my meeting you today wasn't really an accident. When you moved in, Henry told me about you, and said you seemed to be running from someone. He asked me to keep an eye on you, which I did, for a while."

"So you were—"

"Spying on you," he finished for her. "Yes, I was—but not as a peeping-Tom, if that's what's worrying you. I just checked to see if you were okay, and made sure that there were signs of life around the place and light showing in the windows at night. No more."

"Oh... Thank you." The man was difficult to dislike. Before she could do more than reach that conclusion he was speaking again, and she had to pay attention.

"Anyway, I pretty much forgot about you once the weather broke, until Henry reminded me that I hadn't paid a call yet. I think he was really trying to..." He shrugged. "...to get the two of us together." He smiled. "Henry's like that. He's also my great-uncle, and I think he worries about me a good deal."

She tried to interject another "But" into the conversation, but it was ignored, as he turned serious again.

"Your habits are pretty regular, according to Henry, so I stopped by the store to meet you, and to make my own evaluation. You know what happened then...which is why I'm here now."

"But I'm fine," she insisted. "And I'm not running away from anywhere, or anyone."

"And you have no explanation for your fainting, this morning?"

"None."

He digested that for a moment, before saying, "Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?"

"First tell me what kind of doctor you are, and why you left practice."

That generated another period of thought. He wasn't one to make snap decisions, apparently.

"A fair question, but it's one I'd rather not answer in detail, if you don't mind. I'm a cardiologist, though, and I left my practice for reasons that have nothing to do with medicine." He gazed directly into her eyes as he added, "I was a good doctor, Samantha, and I still am."

She took a deep breath before saying, "What do you want to know?"

"You say you never fainted before. Have you had any dizzy spells, either lately or in the past?"

"No. Never."

"Have you been sick, or had a cold within the past few weeks?"

"No, nothing."

"Mmm. Well, I don't want to intrude in a private matter, but have you...are you absolutely certain aren't pregnant?"

She wanted to say that she wasn't, and never would be, but settled for a simple, "I'm certain."

Another long silence, during which she debated telling him about the feeling of danger, and the strange thoughts that had been running through her mind. He was too involved in those events and thoughts, though, so she maintained her silence.

"Well," he said, at last. "Forgive me for mentioning it, but from what I...um, saw of you this afternoon, you certainly aren't suffering from malnutrition, and you appear to be in fine physical shape. I would like to listen to your heart and lungs, if I may." At her look of surprise he added. "With a stethoscope. I have one in the Rover."

For a moment, she had a strong mental picture of him with his ear pressed to her breast, listening. That image, along with the knowledge that he _had_ been paying attention to her body this afternoon served to turn her cheeks a bright crimson, and brought a blurted comment of, "Have you ever heard the name Teal-Eye?"

"Who?"

"Teal-Eye. I heard the name somewhere, recently, and I thought it might belong to someone local."

He shook his head, as she wondered what had possessed her to say such a thing, even to cover her embarrassment at remembering his raised eyebrows at the sight of her body. Hurriedly she said, "Never mind. It's not important. You can get the stethoscope, if you really think it's necessary."

While he was gone she gathered her scattered wits, then began to speculate on if she would have let him listen to her heart, had he not had a stethoscope. The answer was no. She also decided that she would have to get him out of the house as quickly as possible.

"Here we are," he said as he returned to the kitchen, carrying the traditional physician's black bag in one hand. With the other he carried the cooler, which he placed on the table, next to the bag. He opened the cooler first.

"Since I can't leave these, we might as well have one, first. You look like you need a little relaxing." Without waiting for her answer he removed two of the bars from the cooler and peeled the wrapping, handing her one as he took a seat. It appeared that getting him to leave wasn't going to be easy.

With mixed emotions she took the proffered ice cream and regarded it for a moment before taking her first bite. It had been too long. Then, in response to his toast of, "To chocolate lovers everywhere," she nodded agreement and bit down, savoring the burst of sweet milk-chocolate flavor that filled her mouth. _This_ , _is as close to heaven as mortals can get._ She was about to voice that idea when someone—from inside her head—said, [ _Oh, how wonderful this is. What is it?_ ]

_Who are you?_ she all but shrieked in her thoughts. _What are you?_ There was no answer. Only a feeling of confusion, which slowly faded.

"Samantha? Are you all right?"

"What?" His words jarred her back into the kitchen, and reality. She turned to find him standing by her, worry lining his face.

"You seemed to..." He hesitated for a moment, as though deciding what to tell her, then said, "You were in a fugue-like state for nearly a full minute." He took the arms of her chair and forced it around to face him, then knelt and took the ice cream from her and placed it on the table before taking her shoulders in his hands. "What happened? Do you remember?"

Instantly, she rejected the idea of telling him anything, and shook her head, violently. "Nothing. I don't know what happened."

"But it has happened before; this morning, and maybe at other times, too, so cut the bullshit and tell me."

"I can't."

"You can, and you must. We're not talking the common cold, here, Samantha. We're talking something..." he stopped, then his lips momentarily thinned before he said, "We're talking something neurological. Maybe something simple, but it might also be something that has to be taken care of at once."

Feeling as though she was in the grip of a primal force, against which she was powerless to resist, she only shook her head, tears springing to her eyes. She could do no more.

Perhaps it was her frightened expression, or perhaps her tears, but he gentled his touch, then shifted his hands to her waist, lifting her bodily from her seat, to deposit her on the table-edge, facing him.

He placed a gentle hand on her cheek, one that forced her to look at him as he said, "I think there's a lot I don't know, and a lot you should tell me, but you just think about that while I check you out, okay?"

With that his hands went to touch the buttons of her blouse, and there was a momentary wash of panic. But he was only asking her to undo the indicated buttons. He planned to examine, not rape her.

He had her unbutton only two buttons, then slipped the head of the stethoscope in through the opening, respecting the fact that the situation was far from that found in the typical examining room. He was thorough and he was gentle, and the care and speed with which he completed her examination was impressive. He was right. Whatever else he might be, he was a good doctor. By the time he finished, she felt more like herself.

"As far as I can tell you're in absolutely perfect physical condition. Your neural responses are right on the money, and I'd hate to bet against you in any contest that required coordination and dexterity." He waved a hand in her direction. "So tell me what's wrong."

"I don't know."

"Okay, then...tell me how this thing started, and how many episodes there have been."

She hesitated before saying, "Three, I think. You saw two, and there was one this afternoon, after you left the pond."

"Uh-huh. And how did they feel from the inside? What happened as far as you're concerned."

"I..." She clamped down on the impulse to tell him of her madness—because that was what it seemed she was suffering from, now. She'd been having delusions and hallucinations, but how could she tell him that in some unknown way they involved him? Instead, she said, "I don't remember anything."

"Do you have medical insurance?"

"No."

"Mmm. Well that makes it a bit more difficult, but I want to schedule you for a series of tests at the hospital, to rule out anything that would need immediate surgery, and—"

"No," she told him, flatly. "No tests." Hospitals would ask questions, and would want to contact her personal doctor.

He digested that, but refused to accept it as final. "We'll wait a few days, then, to see what happens." With that he began to gather his instruments into the case, snapping it shut with a loud click.

"I'll let you get some rest, but I'll be back in a day or so with the refrigerator. I'll check you then." He held up a finger, stopping her response. "I'm not blind, Samantha. I can see that you don't want me here, but I'm coming back just the same, because it's not my way to turn my back on someone who may need my help."

He was at the door to the kitchen when he turned and said, "Don't run, Sam. I'm not a threat. I've survived forty-below myself." Then he was gone.

° ° °

She lay in bed for a long time, staring into the dark as sleep eluded her. This had been, by far, the strangest day in her twenty-three years of life. She thought about Rob Reiker, and the way in which he was involved in the day's events. The man was a mystery she would dearly like to solve, but one she couldn't allow herself to become involved in. She wondered, too, if she was going insane, or having some sort of mystical experience. But how do you tell the two apart? Is the man who leaves his family because he hears a voice in his head, insane? Or is he truly having a mystical experience? She never had any use for fortunetellers and spiritualists, but she dearly wished there were one available to talk to. She wished there was _someone_ to talk to.

° ° ° °

Chapter 5

"NO!" With a shriek of pure horror Teal-Eye woke, to find the other women gathered around her pallet. She stared into the circle of faces, dimly visible in the flickering light of the coals that warmed the sleeping house. Gazing from one to the other, she drew strength from the concern in their eyes.

"You were moaning in your sleep," Doe-woman said. "Then you began to shout, using words that made no sense. It went on for a long time, but we were afraid to wake you."

She closed her eyes for a moment, remembering. In her mind lay the image of another place, but that faded, leaving nothing but darkness behind her closed eyelids.

"Teal-Eye?"

She waved a hand in a wait gesture, then gathered herself together before opening her eyes to say, "I had a dream...a vision."

Her words brought a sharp intake of breath among the watchers, and a drawing away from her pallet, lest they be contaminated by whatever spirit had thrust itself on her sleeping body. Blossom made the sign to ward off night-spirits, before saying, "Tell us of the dream, and perhaps we can understand its meaning. Certainly, if you tell it before it fades, you can capture it."

"Yes," said Doe-woman, as she stirred the ashes and added twigs to raise flames with which to add light to the room. "Tell us."

She sat up, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. She brushed an insect from her shoulder and shook her head. "I'll tell you, but this dream will not fade, ever. This was real. This was a sending."

Quietly, so as to avoid waking the others of the clan who slept within earshot of the house of maidens, the women gathered around the fire-pit. Blossom, who, as future wife of the healer's apprentice bore responsibility for the spiritual purity of the maidens, said the blessings and then turned expectantly to her, as did the others.

Feeling a bit disoriented, and still suffering the after-effects of the vision, she sat for a moment, breathing in the familiar scents of home—the woodsmoke tang of the growing fire, the scent of the earth, and the close-by muskiness of her clanswomen. Then, with an effort, she threw off the strangeness of mood and began to speak.

"I'm not sure I can explain this clearly, because so much of it is strange to me. My dream began, as such things do, with me already doing something. I was going somewhere with my mother. It felt right that I should do so, but I found myself in a most strange place. I—" She stopped and shook her head, unsatisfied with her last words. "No," she said, thoughtfully, as she searched her memory. "It was not a place, I was in a...a thing."

"A thing?" someone asked.

There were no terms with which to truly explain, so, after a moment, she settled for, "It was like a huge box, big enough to fit both my mother and I inside."

As she mulled over what she would say next, her eye was attracted to Doe-Woman, looking confused—pantomiming the walls of a box, her hands spread slightly wider than her own body. Before Doe-Woman could speak she shook her head and said, "Much bigger, Doe. So big that both my mother and I sat as we sit now, without our bodies touching." She blinked in thought for a moment, before adding. "It was called...it was called Honda, I think, or maybe Car—it is known by many names, all strange—and it travels from place to place, moving like the wind."

"Carried by a spirit?" Blossom asked, leaning forward in interest.

She held out her hands, palms spread. "Who can say? I saw none, but it obeyed my mother, moving where she willed with no one pushing." It was no surprise that the statement brought looks of disbelief, so she shrugged, saying, "I can't tell you any more than that, because I don't understand it, myself, but the thing was carrying us to visit my sister."

"You have a sister?" Water asked.

"No, but in the dream I did."

"Don't interrupt the telling," Blossom reminded, testily. "Go on, Teal-Eye."

"Thank you... Well, after a time of travel we arrived at the village where my sister lived, and it seemed a wondrous place, with houses all of stone, so that they shook off rain and storm as nothing, and lasted nearly forever. They had no smoke-holes that would let in the cold and rain, as ours do, and had huge openings in the walls, openings that were covered by...by ice that never melted, and was so clear as to be almost invisible." She waited for the awed mutterings of the women to die down before adding, "But I knew that the place where my sister lived was evil—a place where outcasts and cursed people lived, one that often saw death. And it hurt my heart to find it so. My sister had been a loving and dutiful daughter to our mother, a playmate and friend to me for all of my life. Then, with no warning, she'd become rebellious, refusing to follow tradition, and ignoring the ways of our house-gods. She fought constantly with me, and with our mother, and would no longer do her bidding. Before the passing of a single season she left our home to be with those so evil they were despised by the gods—so depraved they preyed on men the way the panther prays on the sheep of the clan."

"And you went to this place?" Blossom asked, in an awed voice, ignoring her own command for silence.

"She was my sister. And my mother was determined. What could I do but go?"

"You had no father? No brother? No clan elders to guide you?"

"No one. My father was...was gone."

"What name did your clan carry?"

"Chicago, I think. I'm not sure there were clans, though, as we know them. The people of my dream did not live as we do, and their names were strange, as was mine. And as often as not the names meant nothing."

"You were called by another name?"

"My name was Samantha."

° ° °

Samantha wrinkled her nose at the stale urine smell that followed them up the stairway. Unable to talk her mother out of this visit, she wished she'd been more forceful in her arguments.

As she climbed she wondered, again, what caused Kate to so abruptly change from a loving companion to a surly stranger. Again, she wracked her brain for some argument that might have kept her at home, and away from the people who had so suddenly become so important to her life—frightening people, who stank of beer and worse, who acted in unpredictable ways, and who had mouths like sewers. Men, and women, too, who wore obscene and frightening tattoos, and whose bodies were pierced in ways that brought bile to her throat.

With a feeling of impending doom she knocked at the apartment door. But the door was flung open by her sister, sounding almost like the old Kate as she shouted, "Samantha! Mom! Boy am I glad to see you."

For ten minutes it had been almost as though the past six months had evaporated, as they hugged and kissed and talked of home, and of what old friends were doing. Then the bedroom door opened and a man hung his torso through it, supporting himself with a hand on the knob, his upper body bare and hairy. He was a man who brought fear to Kate's eyes, she noticed.

He blinked at them with angry eyes. "Knock off the God-damned noise out here, I'm trying to get some sleep."

"I'm sorry, Jack," Kate said, quickly. "We'll be more quiet. I promise."

Saying nothing further—for which Samantha was grateful—the man retreated to the bedroom.

"Come home, honey," her mother pleaded, in a whisper. "Just walk out of that door with us and never look back."

Kate turned toward the bedroom door for a moment, then shook her head and glanced at her stomach, before whispering, "I can't, Mom. Jack's my husband, and I'm... I'm carrying his baby." In reaction to the stunned look on both her and her mother's face, Kate hastened to add. "He's really a good guy, Mom. But he hasn't had much sleep for the past few days. Something went wrong at the business, and we're afraid he might be in trouble."

"Trouble?"

"Big trouble... He...he may have done something stupid. Somebody's working on it and trying to get it straightened out, but..." She trailed off with a shrug.

"Drug trouble?" she asked, afraid she already knew the answer.

"No. Not drugs. It's money trouble. Jack runs a delivery service, and he was ripped off last week. They claim it was a set-up, and that Jack was in on it." There was a pause before her shoulders sagged and she finished with, "He probably was, but I think something went wrong, or they just screwed him."

She could guess what kind of delivery service it was, and for whom he delivered, but before she voiced her opinion, her mother said, "All the more reason for you to get out of here, now."

Kate shook her head. "I love him, Mom. I can't leave."

"So take him with you and both of you get out of here. Go someplace else and start over. I'll help."

Kate sighed, and the sound of longing colored both her sigh and in the words that followed. "You don't understand, Mom. It's not that easy."

"It is. It really is. Just stand up and leave, baby—with or without him. Just come with us... Please!"

Silence filled the room for a time, and Samantha glanced around. How anyone could bring themself to live in such a place—why Kate, of all people, did so—was a mystery. She'd always been fastidious about appearance, so neat about her room. Now, hair indifferently combed, she wore torn and dirty jeans and a top decorated with stains under the arms and food on the bodice. The answer was obvious, but as always, she refused to let herself see the needle marks that were the reason for all that had happened.

Finally, Kate buried her face in her hands, her voice muffled as she said, "Oh, Mom. I want to, but I can't. If we ran, now, they would be sure it was Jack, and assume that he had the money with him."

"So? If they can't find you what's the difference?"

"They can find us, Mom. These guys never give up. Never. It's an honor thing with them, and they would look for us till our dying day, and believe me, that's what it would be when they found us, so I can't leave."

Her mother stood, and began to pace, her face mirroring her thoughts. Finally, she stopped in front of Kate and said, "Okay then, you leave by yourself. Tell everyone you're going home until the baby's born. Make no secret of it. If your husband is killed they will have no reason to search for you because you haven't gone into hiding. Certainly they won't think that you—"

Kate laughed harsh and bitter. "They won't have to search? Wonderful. Then they'll know exactly where to go to kill me. That's not any better, thank you."

"But why would they—"

"Because Jack won't have the money, Mom," Samantha put in. "Because when they don't find it with him they'll be sure she took it with her."

"Which is why I wish you hadn't come here, today," Kate said, her mouth twisting into lines of bitterness "If they find out you were here, they might think we gave it to you for safekeeping, and come after you, too."

"So now I have to worry that a man with a gun is going to invade my home?" She spread her hands. "Samantha, are you hearing this? I—"

Kate shook her head. "That's not a worry, Mom. We actually have a good chance of straightening it out. Jack has a lot of friends who will go to bat for him, and he claims to have a line on who might actually have ripped him off. If he can point his boss in the right direction, or at least convince him that he wasn't involved, I think it'll be all right. I really do."

Jack's chance of success with that seemed small, since it was likely he'd been an active participant. But whatever she might have said was put off indefinitely by, "Knock off the damn racket before I come out there and kick some ass."

Kate bowed her head for a moment before saying, "Maybe you had better go, now."

There was little sense arguing, especially since Kate seldom listened to what she had to say, anymore. She could only kiss her good-by and pray for her.

They went, and that was the last time Samantha saw her sister.

° ° ° °

Chapter 6

Teal-Eye looked up from her berrying to find Blossom studying her.

"What's wrong?"

Blossom shook her head. "It's nothing."

Placing the basket on the ground she stood and stretched the kinks from her back. "Don't tell me it's nothing," she said, letting annoyance show in her voice. "You've been acting strangely all day. Whenever I look at you I find you already watching me. It's obvious that you brought me out here to be alone, so say what you have to say."

The other woman stared for a long moment before gesturing in the direction of Teal-Eye's body. "Even there, you're different from the other women of the clan."

She followed Blossom's eyes and understood. For summer, she, like the other women was dressed only in a crudely woven cloth skirt. Her areolas showed pale, matching the skin-color of her breast, while those of the other women formed darkened circles around their nipples, drawing the male eye to their breasts. Her breasts rode higher on her chest than the other women's, too, making her appear to be deliberately calling attention to the difference.

When she made no response, Blossom pointed toward a fallen tree, some distance into the forest. "Come and sit with me in the shade, Teal, and we can talk."

Mystified, but certain she would not be pleased with what was to come, she nodded agreement and followed, carrying her basket with her, to work at removing the leaves and other debris while they talked.

"You are a strange woman," Blossom began, as though unsure of how to start.

"So I've been told."

"You came to us, not as a babe or foundling...not even as an adoption from another clan. You came of your own choice—as a free child—one who had survived in the wilderness, on her own, for more than a gestation time. My father says there has been no other in the memory of the history-speaker."

"I lived because I had to live, Blossom. Would you have had me die?"

That brought a shake of the head and, "No, Teal-Eye. No one wishes that. The gods must have great plans for you to have permitted such a thing. It's just that it sets you apart, as do your eyes, and your pale hair, and..." She glanced toward Teal-Eye's chest and gave a tiny shrug before finishing, "...and so much else."

Mollified somewhat, Teal-Eye said, "My parents taught me well, before..." She swallowed with some difficulty. "Before they were..." Unable to finish, she waved a hand in agitation, then sat, head bowed and hands resting in her lap, her work forgotten. For all of the years since the death of her parents it had been thus. Mention of her parents' death was enough to bring back the night of her torment with startling clarity, a vision that brought with it a darkness of the soul, one that stole all joy from the day.

Blossom gave no time to dwell on that.

"I think it may be that you have been marked for greatness, Teal, but why did you come to us? Why turn away from your own people and travel so far from the sea? I have never understood why you didn't find kinsmen to take you in. Did you have a vision that told you to come here?"

She dismissed the question with a shrug and a long sigh. Then, because Blossom had always been kind, said, "I was out gathering wood for the cooking fire when six men ran out of the woods and burst into our house. I hid, but before my parents or my three brothers could defend themselves, or even run, the men beat them with clubs, then tied and gutted them as you would a sheep, before setting fire to the house."

Blossom's hand flew to her mouth, as though to cover a cry, and she just stared for a long moment before she dropped her hand and said, "How horrible, Teal. I—" She stopped, and shook her head, her face showing confusion, as she asked, "But why? Why would they—"

"It was a blood-feud, I think. I really don't know why."

"But they didn't kill you."

She was silent, hearing again the shrieks of anguish that had forced their way past fingers pressed tightly into her ears.

With a voice that carried an infinity of sadness within it she said, "I often wish they had, Blossom. I hid behind the woodpile when I first saw the men, but when the heat from the burning house forced me out they caught me and carried me to their leader. That was when he...he..." She turned away from Blossom, once again overcome and unable to continue. As though it was but yesterday, flames showed bright against a dark sky, the heat of fire stung skin, and the stink of smoke overlaid the smell of burning flesh. She knew again the dry mouth and uncontrolled shaking of her small body as that filthy man began, almost gently, to remove her clothing. Then, she knew an echo of hands that were like stone, holding her against all struggle, while gentleness and love ended, forever.

Blossom touched her arm. "Teal-Eye. I'm sorry. I—"

She shook her head, acutely conscious that she'd sagged in body as well as spirit, folded in on herself like a closed flower. Deliberately, she sat up, saying, "I'm all right, Blossom. Just give me a moment."

Refusing to permit anyone see her in such a condition she straightened and forced herself back to the present, re-burying the pain—as she did each time some chance event brought it to the surface. With a deliberate effort of will, and still facing away from Blossom, she resumed her story.

"I don't know how long I lay there after the men left. All I thought of was how much I hurt, and how I couldn't go to my mother for comfort, then or ever again. I remember that it rained, and I think a day passed before one of the neighbors stopped by and found me—it might have been more." Feeling drained, she added, "I lived with them until I was recovered in body, but then I left them and took to the woods."

"But why, Teal?" Blossom asked, looking puzzled. "Were they not of your people?"

"They were," she admitted. "But the family had five sons, and I hated being near them, or any man. That's part of the reason I spent so long in the wilderness. I wouldn't have shown myself to the clan when I did, but winter was coming on and my heavy clothing had been lost. It was that or freeze."

Once again Blossom's hand touched her, so she turned, throwing off the mood that had settled so heavily on her shoulders.

She forced a trace of animation into her voice, once again, as she said, "Besides if I had stayed with them, I would have eventually seen the men who killed my parents and would have lost my life in trying to kill them." Her mouth tightened as she added, "The gods know I should have stayed and watched, so as to lay in wait for the chance to kill at least one before I died." She said nothing for a moment, then gave a shrug of the hands. "I should have, but I'm a coward, Blossom, not one marked for special favor, and if I saw the one who..." She closed her eyes, as she fought to keep the past where it belonged. Finally, she took a deep breath and raised her eyes to meet Blossom's. "So I ran, and so the gods have guided me here, where I am forever an outcast."

Blossom placed her own basket aside before taking her hands in her own. "Not an outcast, Teal, just...different." But the hesitation, and Blossom's tone carried whispers that said she'd originally chosen a harsher word.

She barked a sigh, pulling her hands free, tired of this dancing around the issue. "What did you have to tell me, Blossom? Certainly not this, so tell me what you want. There's much to do before the meal."

"The meal can wait a while longer," Blossom said with an impatient wave of the hand. "I wanted to talk to you about your vision."

She listened to the song of a bird for a moment, wishing to be like the bird and have the ability to fly away when faced with something unpleasant. But Blossom's request was something that might take her mind from unhappy trail it had taken, so she nodded, and said, "I see... It frightened you? The telling?"

"Not me, but Doe-Woman and the others are a little afraid."

"Of me?"

"Of what the vision might mean...perhaps of you as well."

She thought on that, then shook her head. "Tell them there's no cause for fear. What has happened is between my spirit-sister and myself."

"But there is much you left out during the telling. The others didn't see that but I did."

She glanced sharply at the other woman. Most of the maidens, and the other women of the tribe, for that matter, could be dismissed as having no interest in things outside childbearing and the everyday tasks that demanded their attention. Blossom, however, was different. One year older, and the first of the clan to offer friendship, she often questioned the wisdom of the elders, though not to anyone other than herself. She and Blossom talked of the wonders of the world, carried to them on the tongues of travelers. Lately, however, Blossom was absorbed in learning the duties of a married woman, and in the teasing of her husband to be. She missed their talks.

"There is much I didn't speak of," she admitted. "But there is also much that I can't speak of because I don't understand it, myself. My spirit-sister lives a life that is as different from ours as day is from night."

Now that the subject had been broached some of the fire that had been Blossom's in previous years returned. She leaned forward, grasping her arm as she said, "You can tell me, Teal. What is she like, this sister of the spirit-world?"

"Strange," she said after a moment's thought, as she recalled the images she'd seen. "Samantha, like everyone in the spirit world, covers her body from head to toe, as though for the cold of winter, though it was summer-warm in the dream. She wore jewels on her fingers that shone like fire, and dressed herself in strange and beautiful things, made from thread with color and texture that made me ache to have them here, so I might wear such finery."

"And? Did you learn the weaving of such cloth?" There was excitement in Blossom's voice.

"No. I saw no weavers or potters, nor any other craftsmen."

"Well what did they do, spend their time hunting and tending children, only?"

She shook her head, unable to put into words the wonders she'd seen. "I cannot explain because I didn't understand, myself, but though I saw food in profusion, I saw no one hunting or gathering. In fact, the village was so vast that I saw no place where either might be done."

Blossom blinked in thought for a minute, before saying. "Well what _can_ you tell me? You make me feel like I'm asking questions of the fog. What is this sister of yours like, at least. Is she tall, thin, old, young? What?"

"She's young, I think, and tall, perhaps as tall as I, with eyes that are the color of a storm cloud, and hair the brown of your skin in summer."

"You saw her eyes? You said you _were_ her in this dream."

She waved a hand in agitation. "I was her, but I saw her, too."

"But how can that be?"

"That is also one of the things I cannot explain. Samantha had a...a thing. It was smooth, and brightly polished, so that..." She thought for a moment before asking, "Do you know how you can see the spirit that lives within when you look into still water? Well this thing was like that, except that the spirit was as clear as if looking at yourself from outside the body."

"And the spirit looked like Samantha?"

"I had no way of telling for sure, but she seemed not to believe in the spirit world, and believed it no more than a trick of the light. She may even be right. I have to think on it."

Blossom's voice showed irritation as she demanded, "Don't think on anything, Teal-Eye, tell me more. Tell me why you were shouting so loudly."

That request brought an instant frown, as memory brought, again, the night of death.

She shook her head, saying only, "I cannot speak of it, Blossom. It is between my sister and myself."

Blossom studied her friend, thinking that she was more strange than anyone knew, but also that she needed a friend to talk to more than she, herself, knew.

° ° °

As she crested a hill on the trail to the village, Teal-Eye stopped, touching her lips for silence. The bushes ahead had moved in a way that they should not have moved. Something, or someone, was in hiding. In response to Blossom's urgent hand motions, requesting a reason for the stop, she pointed. Again the bush shook, as though something big was moving around in there.

"Bear, maybe," she whispered, seeking a tree suitable for climbing.

Blossom sniffed the air, then shook her head, lips twisted in derision. "No bear, Teal-Eye," she whispered. "Can't you smell man-piss?" Then she smiled. "Let's see if he's doing more than wetting the bushes. If he is, maybe we can steal his kilt."

She shook her head at such foolishness, but gestured her friend ahead, setting her basket on the ground next to Blossom's and easing forward silently. Before they reached the spot, however, the bushes were pushed roughly aside as a man stepped onto the path. He was huge, and frightening, and on sight of them he reacted instantly, swinging an ax the size of a small tree into the air. Before he could attack, however, he stopped his swing, with the ax held above his head.

They stood that way for a long moment, before Blossom made the open handed gesture of peace and welcome, though she took a step backward as she did so, pushing into Teal-Eye and jarring her out of her own stupor.

The man lowered the ax, and in an unexpectedly mellow voice for one of such stature, said, "I bid you peace." The stranger's words were oddly pronounced, but understandable.

Blossom had apparently reached the limit of her conversational powers, so she said, "Who do we have the honor to have encountered? We are of the High Mountain clan, and in their name I bid you peace on our land." A formal welcome, but it also carried warning that he was under obligation, should he remain in the clan's territory.

He ignored the warning, and made a humility before her, one at odds with his threatening appearance. "I am honored to be guest of such a respected people. I have heard nothing but praise for the wisdom and generosity of High Mountain." He formally bowed, concluding with, "I am called Miona, which means One Who Would Learn, in my language."

Both his voice and his manner were gentle, but he was too smooth for a stranger traveling alone. No one traveled alone through the lands of another clan through choice. To do so was virtually an open invitation to be taken as a slave. He was big, and well muscled, too, and the confidence with which he carried himself troubled, as did the hungry way he was studying her. It was a certainty that he had a band nearby, and she breathed a prayer that someone from the village would come by before any mischief could be attempted.

Ready to run, but unwilling to back down before this man, she answered false humility with arrogance, "And what is it that someone like yourself would learn from the Mountain clan, Miona-who-would-learn?"

"I would learn your name, first of all, woman. I have never seen one such as you."

"Nor will you, again, if I can avoid it." The sharp retort hadn't been intended, nor was it the most sensible thing to do in the present situation, but his presence jarred her, as did the lazy smile with which he was regarding her. An elbow to the ribs showed Blossom's opinion of such diplomacy.

Surprisingly, the man didn't return the discourtesy. He nodded, as though they were exchanging pleasantries, then said, "Until today I have been a trader and a seeker. I have traded my own skills for those of my host. Both have gained by it, and I have seen many lands and many strange sights."

"Until today?" She had the overpowering urge to run from this man, but the words were said, and his answer was in her mind before it departed his mouth.

"Until today I have been seeking a special woman. Until today I have not found her. Now I have." The words were spoken with such calm certainty that her knees weakened, and nearly buckled under her. She fleetingly wondered if the morning's vision related to this meeting.

No time to chew on that, though. The words had been said and must be responded to. She gave thought to claiming an existing marriage, or at least the promise of one, but he would learn the truth, should he visit the village. In any case, such a claim might well result in his throwing her bodily over his shoulder and stealing her.

Squaring her shoulders she glared at him and said, "I have not been seeking a man, and I am Teal-Eye, who will be given to no man, and will be taken by no man—ever." She stood her ground, trembling inside, but showing only anger at his presumption.

For a long moment he stared unblinking into her eyes, unruffled by her anger. Finally, he laughed, and pointed in the direction she'd been traveling. "Lead where you will, then, Teal-Eye-who-will-soon-be-my-woman. And I will follow...forever."

° ° ° °

Chapter 7

Samantha leaned back against the kitchen chair, pen in hand and lost in the past, but the sound of an engine growing closer brought her back to the present. A glance at her watch showed it was nearly eleven, so that would probably be Rob, bringing the refrigerator he promised.

She sat for a moment, trying to clarify her feelings. Although she hated to admit it, she wasn't terribly unhappy over his return. Certainly, in spite of his threatening size and her aversion to beginning any sort of relationship with a man, he was surprisingly likable. She would, she decided, be civil and offer lunch, at the least. Given that he was letting her use the refrigerator a bit of neighborly behavior was mandated.

The three days between his making the offer and his arrival, this morning, had served to smooth the edges of what had happened that day in the store and at the pond. Those events, and his role in them, had, thankfully, faded to the point where she could almost—but not quite—treat them as an aberration caused by having eaten something that disagreed with her stomach. On some level she knew it wasn't so, but it was easier to take the position that maybe that's the extent of it.

Deciding to take the day as it came, without forever analyzing it, she gathered her papers and slid them into her case, then headed for the front door.

The Rover was a quarter mile away, moving at little more than walking speed, and she was faced with the choice of standing and waiting for it to arrive—which would take several minutes—or of walking out to meet him and then following back to the house. She resolved the problem by returning to the house and neatening up a bit. It also gave time for lipstick and just a trace of blush—for the first time in almost a year.

With a final glance in the mirror, she headed for the front of the house, arriving with perfect timing. The engine died just as she opened the door. Taking a deep breath she walked to the rear of the vehicle and met him at the tailgate.

"Can I help?" she asked, as he untied the rope holding the refrigerator in place.

"You can hold the rope for a minute, until I get this beast out," he said, pulling the rope free and folding it in his hand. "Then you can toss it on the floor somewhere in the back." He handed her the rope and motioned her clear of the refrigerator, which was far larger than she'd expected. Somehow, she'd been expecting something like a picnic cooler, but this was a full sized kitchen refrigerator of generous size.

Taking hold of the protruding section he dragged the unit most of the way out of the vehicle, then lowered his end to the ground and stood it on end. Finally, he reached into the Rover and retrieved the hand-truck that had been lying next to the refrigerator. After that it was just a matter of horsing it up the single front step and wheeling it into the kitchen.

"Ahh, as I hoped. The old gas hookup is blocked off, but the pipe to the propane tank is still in place. I just have to turn off the gas and hook the fridge up. With a little luck, I'll even have the fitting I'll need."

With that he headed out the kitchen door, leaving her sitting on the edge of the table wondering what would happen when the installation was finished. Yes, she planned on offering lunch, as a thank-you, but what would they do until then—or after?

"Did you know you're very nearly out of propane?"

"What" His voice, coming so soon after he'd left the kitchen, made her drop the pen she'd been idly playing with as she thought.

He smiled. "Sorry. I asked if you knew you were nearly out of gas."

"Gas?"

He laughed. "You really are a city girl. Did you think there were gas pipes leading to town?"

She shook her head. "I've never really thought about it. Is it serious?"

He shrugged. "Well, the indicator is already well into the red, so I would guess you have only a few days supply—if that. I wouldn't waste any time arranging for a delivery, were I you."

"I will, but...where?" Added to that she had no idea of how much to order, or even the price.

"Sorry, I should have realized you wouldn't know. Just stop in the feed store and they'll take care of it. If you like, I can call them. They may even be able to get out here today." He must have seen the lost look on her face, because he said, "Relax, Sam, gas isn't that expensive, if that's what's worrying you." He extended a hand, saying, "As I understand it, you'll be leaving by fall?" At her nod he said, "Since you'll use it only for cooking for one and the fridge, it doesn't make sense to fill the tank. I'll tell them to put in about fifty gallons."

"Gallons? But...I thought they sold propane by the pound. My mother had a twenty pound tank in her—"

"Barbecue. I know. But that's only for little tanks. Think of it as about two hundred pounds, if you like, which should easily hold you for a couple of months." He hesitated for a moment before adding. "That's about a hundred fifty dollars worth of propane. They won't like driving out here for so small a drop, but I'll have them top off the ranch's tank at the same time, so they'll do it for me."

Without waiting for her answer he left the room once more, this time heading toward the front of the house. He returned a few moments later, the handle of a battered toolbox in one hand and a small carton in the other. He placed both near where he planned to place the refrigerator and began searching through the toolbox, extracting several tools, which he placed on the floor near the wall. Then, using a wrench, he removed a plug from the end of the pipe and tossed it into the carton, which contained an assortment of small parts.

The familiar stink of gas came, but with no hissing from the pipe, so she assumed it was only the residue left in the system after he closed the valve.

For a time there was silence, as he worked.

"I get the impression that you're not exactly rolling in money," he said, at last. "Are you so broke that you can't afford the gas delivery?" He was facing away from her and kneeling in front of the pipe, in the process of attaching a fitting of some kind. She didn't respond at once, and he waited, still facing away; hands and body still—waiting for her answer.

"No," she said, at last. "I mean, no, it's not that I can't afford it. Money's not that tight...yet." She hadn't meant to place quite as much emphasis on the word "yet," but it must have satisfied, because he returned to work.

For a time he said nothing, and she watched him work. He seemed skilled at what he was doing, and always took care to have each task exactly right before moving on to the next.

She was lost in watching his hands at work when he said, "Are you okay this morning?"

"Huh? Oh, yes. I'm fine.

"No dizzy spells or lightheadedness? No periods of time you can't account for?"

"No. None of that."

"Mmm." His tone said he was unsatisfied, but he let the matter drop, turning back to the job he was completing. Finally, he began to push the refrigerator into place.

"What about that power cord?" she asked, pointing.

"I've got it," he said, as he tucked it behind the refrigerator.

"But...doesn't it have to be plugged in?"

"Relax, Sam," he said, a smile in his voice. "That's for the light. You can live without it, and in any case, the bulb's been burned out for years."

"Oh." Thankfully, he didn't comment on her foolishness, but only went out to turn the gas back on.

She watched the lighting of the pilot light with interest, and wondered, again, how heat was going to make anything cold. Certainly, it must work; it was, after all, a refrigerator, but she was forced to relegate its operation into the category of technological magic and let it go at that.

"Okay," he said, nodding in satisfaction. "It'll be a while before we know if it's working, so now it's time for you."

"I'm fine," she insisted.

That brought a chuckle, as he said, "I didn't mean that I planned to examine you, I meant that I was going to pay attention to you."

Since she was sitting on the edge of the table, he spun one of the chairs away from the table and sat, in a way that said he had no intention of leaving quickly. "So, now you can tell me why a beautiful woman would want to lock herself away in the middle of nowhere. I've wondered about that since I first saw you."

She couldn't help but flush at his calling her beautiful. It had been a long time since any man had done so. Too long. But best not to respond to that because it would acknowledge his interest in more than friendship. Instead, she said, "I'd rather not talk about it, Rob. I have my reasons, and they're good ones. I'm not hiding from the law, if that was what you were thinking. Not from a husband, either." Mentally, she cursed herself for that. What insane impulse had caused it to bypass good sense and come to her tongue? It would have been far simpler to claim to _be_ hiding from a husband.

He nodded slowly. "Okay, that's fair, but I wasn't prying into your past, I was just wondering what caused you to pick Solomons Choice, of all places."

"I like the name," she said, with a smile. "I'd decided to stop somewhere around here, and noticed it on the map. It sounded... Well, it sounded like someone had made a wise choice of location, so..." She shrugged.

Her remark brought a hearty laugh, and, "You were sure wrong there! Old Solomon Grundy might have made a good decision for himself, given his situation, but the place certainly isn't very special in these days."

"Solomon _Grundy_? Like the Solomon Grundy in the nursery rhyme?"

"You mean, as in: Solomon Grundy, born on a Monday?" She nodded, and he was wearing an impish little smile as he asked, "And if your last name was Grundy, and your son was born early one Monday morning, what would you have named him?"

She laughed. "Not Solomon, that's for sure. So how did the town get its name?"

He leaned back, resting his chin on his hand. "Well, in the first place, about a hundred and fifty years ago this was a lot more desirable a place to live than it is now. People were more self-sufficient, so the long trek to the city wouldn't put off a potential settler. And the mountains that box us in are actually a plus when you're running cattle. They tend to cut off the worst of the winter winds, or at least gentle them a bit, and they act as a natural barrier to the cattle, so it's easier to keep track of them. My ranch, for example, abuts White Horse canyon, which has a mouth only a few hundred feet across, but which widens out inside to nearly half a mile, forming a natural pen for the cattle."

He stopped, then cocked his head a bit and asked, "Do you ride?"

She made wobbling motions with her hand. "I don't usually fall off, but you would probably not consider me a rider."

"Well, as long as you don't usually fall off, I have a fairly gentle old gelding at the ranch who you might like, and a ride up the canyon might be fun, if you've never been there."

Rather than turn him down, or give him an insincere maybe, she said, "You were going to tell me about Solomons Choice."

"Uh-huh..." He rubbed his chin with a thumb and straightened a bit. "Well, the Grundy family owned a good deal of the property around here, and when old man Grundy died, his children divided up the ranch among themselves. Solomon chose the parcel closest to the mouth of the valley, and gave it the name Solomons Choice, for obvious reasons. Some years later, because of the location, my uncle Henry's grandfather bought an easement, and enough land to set up a store along the road, which ran through the middle of the ranch. The deal included having Henry's granddad carry the ranch's name on the store's sign, just as it does now. That store became the place where the mail and freight were delivered, and the rest, as they say, is history."

He stood. "Come on, it's too nice a day to be sitting in the house."

Caught by surprise she stood, asking, "Where are you going?"

He shrugged. "I don't know. How about the lake? It's a nice day. Or put on a pair of walking shorts and we'll wander up to the notch."

She stood, straightening both her shoulders and her spine. "I don't think so, Rob. I thank you for asking, but I—"

She would have said more but his hands were on her shoulders pressing her back into her seat on the table.

"Sit," he ordered. "Just sit for a minute and listen, okay?"

Mystified, she nodded. "Okay."

Satisfied that she would stay put he straightened, then backed off a pace and held up his hands, palm out. "Okay. I can see that we have to clear the air here."

"I don't think I—"

"No, you don't, Sam," he said, interrupting her and bringing her to a halt "You _don't_ think. Not where I'm concerned. You react, instead. And you react, not to what I do, but to what you're afraid I _might_ do. You seem to expect me to make a pass at you, and so you read that into everything I do or say."

She opened her mouth to deny his accusation, but he beat her with, "And don't say it's not true, because I may be many things, but I'm _not_ stupid. You look at my size and you become defensive. I make an offer of help, of friendship— _just_ _like_ _I_ _would_ _make_ _to_ _anyone_ _else_ _in_ _this_ _valley_ —and you immediately assume that it's more than that."

"You're not being fair," she countered. "I didn't ask you out here. You invited yourself, remember?" Then she remembered his reason for coming, that first time. Certainly, seen through his eyes, she must appear cold and distant, rejecting each overture of friendship. Yet she couldn't explain herself. How could she say, "I'm sorry, Rob, but I've had to run three times, already, and I don't want to either endanger you or tie myself to you." Instead, she finished with, "I didn't mean to give you that impression, but if it helps, it's not you, and I really can't explain any better than that."

For a moment he just stared, his expression that of someone who had just reached for a step that wasn't there—surprised and off balance. Then he turned as if to leave, but he'd taken only a step before turning back to face her.

"Look, Samantha," he started. He sighed before going on. "Look, I'm sorry I snapped at you. The thing is, I wanted to get to know you better, and reacted to the fact that you obviously don't want that." He took a deep breath, then added, "But the offer of friendship was real, and the refrigerator wasn't a bribe for your friendship in return." He smiled, then, and drew a smile from her when he said, "Well, maybe it was, a little. But you are welcome to use it while you're here. Without strings."

He was nearly to the door when she heard herself say, "I've never been to the lake, Rob." It was hard to decide which of them was the more surprised.

° ° °

"You know, Sam, I—" He stopped, frowning, then glanced over at her before returning his attention to his driving. "I'm sorry, I never asked. Would you prefer to be called Samantha? Or would—"

She touched his arm. "Sam would be fine, Rob. It's what I've been called for as long as I can remember."

He nodded. "Good. I happen to like Samantha as a name. It has a...well a smooth feel on the tongue. And it shortens to Sam, which fits you well."

"But which always made people think I was a tomboy."

"Were you?"

"No."

He nodded, slowly. "I wouldn't think so."

"Thank you," she said, pleased.

"Names are funny things," he said, thoughtfully. "One James may expect you to call him Jim, and the next demands nothing but James. You never know what to expect."

"True. And Robert can be Robert, Bob, or like you—Rob."

"And S-e-a-n spells Shawn, which makes no sense... My name's not Robert, by the way, it's Robin."

"Really? I've never met a Robin before."

"Yes, it really is. I've had a... What's wrong?" She'd burst out laughing.

Waving a hand to tell him to wait, she struggled to stop.

"I'm sorry," she finally apologized. "I wasn't laughing at your name. I just followed a kind of a strange train of thought, and ended up visualizing you in a Big-Bird costume... I'm sorry."

He took his eyes off the road for a moment and flashed a smile. "Don't be sorry, I loved Big Bird, and you're not the only one to make that suggestion. Just don't call me Birdie, like they did in grade school, and, for God's sake, don't mention worms and me in the same breath—especially if you see me eating spaghetti. That's something I've had to live with for my whole life."

For a time she studied the man driving the Range Rover. She could not, in a million years, picture anyone calling him Birdie. What had he been like as a child? He was a hard man not to like; a very hard man not to like.

° ° ° °

Chapter 8

The two men shuffled in a circle, taking the measure of each other before joining in battle. Miona was the bigger of the two, but Catmar was quick and lithe, and that might count for a lot. With luck, Catmar would teach the stranger a lesson in humility.

When she and Blossom led the stranger into the village he was received as an honored guest. Especially after gifting the healer with the seeds of a plant that magically followed the sun with its flowers, and which also, he claimed, provided tasty seeds. He was fussed over at the evening meal, as were all guests, but his claim to have traveled the entire world, and the promise of endless stories, insured a larger than normal commotion over his arrival, attention that brought the twist of scorn to her mouth.

Now, with the sun just set, the evening worship complete, and the triple fires of hospitality pushing back the darkness, the men were noisily anxious for their turn to wrestle with the stranger, who had proclaimed himself possessed of great skills at that art.

Although she hated to admit it, he did present an impressive figure as he half-crouched by the fire, neither attacking nor retreating. Tensed and ready, the muscles of his body rippled as he shifted position slightly—turning to face his opponent—as Catmar, eyes narrowed, sought an opening. Miona, like Catmar, was nude, and his shoulders and arms glistened with grease, as did those of all the combatants, to make it more difficult to grab and hold. Strength would be important, but skill would decide the issue.

Like a snake striking, Catmar's arm snatched at Miona's wrist, intent on straightening the man's arm and twisting it—to turn him to lock the arm behind the stranger's back and, thus, immobilize him. Instead of the expected resistance to the move, however, Miona allowed his arm to be taken, offering no resistance at all. In fact, he aided the taking. A surprised Catmar, off balance, found himself sitting on the hard ground when Miona stepped forward and placed a foot behind Catmar's, so he tripped as he stepped backward, trying to keep his balance. That brought laughter, even from Catmar, who got to his feet, red-faced and shaking his head.

Blossom's father, Panther, who hadn't been bested at wrestling for as long as anyone remembered, lasted only moments longer, and needed the space of ten long breaths before he extended his hand to Miona to be helped to his feet.

The contest should have been a serious, angry thing, but it wasn't. The stranger's laughter and his obvious enjoyment of what he was doing so infected the men that rather than a contest, the thing quickly became a game, with the men vying with each other, not to best this huge stranger, but to see who could last the longest, or to induce him to send them flying in some new and interesting way. It was infuriating, positively infuriating.

Even the women, she noted, were fascinated with the stranger, and when she found old Tosca's young wife, Morning's-Light, leaning forward in the darkness, eyes glittering and thumb caressing her breast, she turned away in disgust. Tosca, she mused, would soon have a new child, though not of his body. As she walked away from the fire and toward the house of the maidens she speculated on how many of the other woman were having the same thoughts as Morning. Probably all of them.

Damn him.

Sitting in the darkness she wondered why the gods had singled her out for such unhappiness. Unlike the other women, who thought only of cooking and gathering, and having their husband fill their body with child after child, she wanted more, so much more that it hurt to think about it.

"Why?" she whispered into the darkness. "Why is my body different from that of all other women? Why does it not serve the goddess Eia and call out to a man?" She waited, but no answer came. There was also no response when she experimentally stroked her nipples, as Morning's-Light had, though she'd expected none. Long ago, Blossom, in the first rush of womanhood spoke of what she'd discovered of the touching of herself, and how much it pleasured her. She badgered her to do the same to herself, and even helped—or tried to. But it had been no different than touching any other part of her body—worse, even, because touching herself in such a manner raised memories of the night her parents died, and of the endless pain, as the leader of the men satisfied himself with her six-year-old body.

When she returned to the gathering the wrestling was finished, and the smaller children had been sent off to sleep. The clan had gathered close to the primary fire's light, with the stranger in a place of honor, and addressing them.

"... skin as black as the night, and bodies as tiny as a child's. I stayed in that country for three moons, and they guested me as well as any since I started my travels, though I spoke not a word of their language when I arrived."

"So how did you get along?" someone asked.

He frowned for a moment, before saying, "Well now, that's a good question, because it's something that gave me quite a bit of trouble when I started traveling. But since then, I've learned to get along without words, when I have to, and I've learned which words are the important ones to know. You might be surprised at how few you really need, and how much good a smile and a soft manner does." He seemed to be lost in thought, but smiled when Old Muddy Foot said, "Looking like you can tear the guts out of the one you're smiling at helps, too, I would guess."

That generated a round of laughter, and a question of "What made you start on such a life, Miona? It must be a harder one than staying put."

"Ah well, why, indeed? It's not an easy life, that's for true, though the adventure makes up for the hardship. I've been known to say that my feet are too big to stay in one place, but there's more to it than that."

A woman's whisper of "His feet aren't the only thing that's big," made her wonder if other women _ever_ thought of anything but how long it would be until a man bedded them again. Then, as it occurred to her that he just might announce his intention to take her, she turned her attention back to Miona's words.

"...so, with no family or clan, I left home to see the world, and to find myself a special woman. So far I've seen the world, at least most of it. As for the woman...well, that's a story for another day."

His restraint came both a surprise and a relief, though why he'd said nothing was unknowable.

She let out the breath she'd been holding and listened, as he continued to mesmerize the clan with, "It's been a good life so far, though. Satisfying." He waved an arm around the circle. "I get to meet people like yourselves, and have the chance to see things and learn things I never knew existed—and to teach others what I've learned, so I leave a little bit of myself all around the world. I've walked my way through a lot of sandals, seeing places that left me standing open-mouthed in wonder." He leaned forward, his voice quiet, forcing those listening to lean forward, themselves, to hear, "I've seen cities so big it took half a day just to cross from one edge to the other, with so many people you needed choose each step with care to avoid other walkers... places where there were so many people that families had to live one-atop-another, in stone houses that connected one to the next, and were of a length that a man might tire before reaching the end." He sat up, and his face turned grim, as he said, "And I've seen wars so fierce that whole rivers ran red with blood."

He said more, as he talked of the lands he'd traveled through, but she heard none of that. That he said nothing of what had gone between them was a relief—though Blossom had surely seen that none were ignorant of the encounter—but she was struck speechless by his statement that he'd seen houses of stone, where people lived one above the other. He'd seen Samantha's home!

° ° °

Teal-Eye woke in a foul mood. The days of confinement to the house of the moon, as her monthly cycle played itself out, had her reeking of sweat, bringing a longing for release, and the bath that awaited after the morning's time of prayer. The good side of it was that within the confines of the house she'd been shielded from Miona's attentions. The bad was that she couldn't ask about the city in which Samantha dwelled.

Small and cramped—a log-hut barely four woman-paces across, with only a single tiny and windowless room—the House of the Moon provided shelter on those days when the goddess accepted the monthly blood offering from those women who were not pregnant. What little light crept in entered via the gap in the roof thatching that acted as a smoke-hole, and around the leather hangings that served to block the doorway. The dim light was deliberate, creating an atmosphere in which contemplation, and an examination of one's closeness with the goddess would be made easy. The house was kept scrupulously clean by the women to whom it was a temporary home, and its walls were whitewashed, paradoxically, to maximize the effect of what light there was. Above, at barely more than head-height was a tiny sleeping loft, used when there were too many dwellers there for the straw pallets placed against the mud-chinked log walls.

Over the days of her imprisonment she worked at preparing the clan's clothing for the coming winter. Carefully, she mended rips, sewing in patches of soft leather where the material had worn. As she worked, Miona's boasting was a constant companion, making her long to bolt from the building and into the deep woods. She seldom heard his words directly, the house was set outside the village proper, but his stories and exploits were all the women who came to visit would talk about. Had she been alone in the house she would have refused to speak at all, but she wasn't alone, and the two women with her would hear of nothing else.

Unfortunately, they said nothing of what she really needed to know: if he spoke of her, and was attempting to sway the elders to give her to him against her will.

Should Miona choose to stay with the clan he would be welcomed. A strong and skilled pair of hands was always a blessing. A male, especially one who fought as well as Miona, and who would provide many strong children for the clan, would be a prize of incalculable value. For the children, alone, he would be courted, even should he not stay—and gossip said that more than one man had already suggested that Miona grace his wife's sleeping mat. The woman who reported that particular piece of news, a childless second wife, made no secret of the fact that she hoped he would favor her with his attentions.

Miona's arrival could hardly have come at a worse time. She was fast approaching an age when, if she wasn't married, she would at least be promised. Only her sharp tongue and the fact that she made no secret of being smarter than most of the men in the clan, coupled with her unusual appearance, had kept her free so far. But that would end if he asked for her. Even should he express a wish to take her, it was a virtual certainty that the clan would rid itself of the problem of Teal-Eye by accommodating his wishes. Her desires would not be a factor in their decision.

It especially chafed that the others of the clan obviously adored the man, and not see the falseness that lay beneath the surface as clearly as did she. From what the visitors said, he played the role of the humble seeker after wisdom. But she knew the arrogance of the man. With his honey-tongued words he flattered the artisans until they all but fawned all over him. "But Flint-Hand," he might say, in that so humble, so smooth voice. "There is little to show one such as you, who has devoted his life to the shaping of tools. Let me watch, only, and learn from you, that I may gain skills to teach others as I travel. Then, perhaps I may be able to show you a trick or two I have seen others use in their work."

Never, did _he_ take credit for the gifts of skill he gave. He was too crafty for that. "I have seen a man do this," he would say, mildly. Or, "A woman once told me that a slice or two of this root would add an interesting flavor to a stew. If you find it pleasant, I will show you where I gathered it."

On the second day of her confinement, as he passed the house of the moon he was asking about her—deliberately, she was certain. That act of cruelty brought seething rage, and made her beat her fists against the earth again and again. The others in the house tried to give comfort, and insisted that she was fortunate to be so favored, but she only turned away from their words, more alone than had the house been untenanted but for her.

For all of the past year she'd given thought to leaving High Mountain before a husband was chosen for her. But should she attempt to seek sanctuary with another clan, they would simply give her to a womanless man.

Living a solitary life in the woods was an option, but doing so would mean being forever alone. Still, given the situation, living on her own was beginning to look better and better.

° ° °

Lying back and letting the cool water flow over her body, she let the feeling of rebirth and peace that followed her purification and re-entry into the clan flow through her. No matter what her cares, or how serious her problems, each month the goddess unfailingly renewed the bond between them by accepting the blood of her body, as she accepted the offering of all who shared the bond of womanhood.

Lost in the sound of the waterfall and the soothing flow of water, she missed the noises of Miona's approach. Stretching luxuriously, she opened her eyes to find him sitting on a rock, watching her.

"You cannot be here," she told him, contentment replaced by shocked anger.

"I can't? Why-ever not?" As always, he ignored her anger.

Damn him.

"Why? Because this is the holy place of the goddess Eia, and a man may not profane it with his...his presence."

"Or?" His voice was mild, and there was a hint of amusement there that filled her with frustration.

"Or you will..." She trailed off. What she could say? That he would be struck dead? That he would sicken and die? What she finally said, was, "...or you will incur what you will incur. You anger the gods at your own peril."

"That's true," he agreed. "Which is why I try to keep out of their business, and why I stay away from priests and temples."

"So leave."

"But why?"

"I just _told_ you. This place is holy to the goddess Eia, and no male may be in her presence."

"But we are alone, Teal-Eye. There is no goddess here."

"Her _presence_ is here." The man was impossible.

He looked around, searching, as she tried to control her temper.

"You cannot see the goddess, but she is here," was received with a look of cynicism, and it was clear that he would answer any argument she might make with ridicule, so she said, "I want you to leave, Miona. I don't want you here."

With that he stood. "Ah, at last a reason I can understand." He turned to follow the trail back upstream, but just before he disappeared into the trees he called, "I'll wait for you at the bathing pool after I take my morning run. We need to talk."

With him gone she hurried through the final ritual of purification, its joy and meaning ruined for her by his visit. Always, the presence of the goddess brought comfort, and always she knew that, no matter how others might think of her, and treat her, she wasn't forgotten by she who was the mother of all women. Today, however, she was mouthing meaningless words that were heard only by uncaring trees. Damn him for that.

° ° °

If only there was a direct route down the mountain from the pool, so as to avoid meeting Miona. A futile wish. Just below the pool the creek poured over the lip of a drop that ended in jumbled rock, some fifty feet below. She was forced, therefore, to climb nearly a quarter mile up a steep and rocky trail to reach the lake he'd mentioned—from which the trail then descended. He wasn't at the lake but she met him on the trail to the village, coming up.

Unlikely that he would let her walk by—not him—so she stopped, waiting. As he approached, she studied him, careful not to let him see that. Were he less insufferable, she could do worse in choice of a man. True to his word, he'd been running, she guessed, because his body glistened with sweat, which served to highlight the play of muscle under his skin. Big and broad, he had the glowing skin that spoke of perfect health. Other than a scar that puckered a thin line across one shoulder not a mark marred his body. Looked at, not as an opponent but as a man, she had to admit to attractive, perhaps even handsome. As a protector and a provider, he would be more than desirable; he would be a prize, and should she agree to be his, she would surely never know want. But in spite of any possible advantages she had desire for no man—especially him.

He smiled. "Peace and happiness, Teal-Eye. I'm sorry to have upset you at the pool. They told me you were there, but didn't tell me it was a holy spot."

"You didn't seem bothered to learn it was."

He shrugged. "I don't have much to do with gods and goddesses, myself, but I forgot for a minute that you do, and I upset you. For that I apologize."

She had her mouth open for a sharp retort, but closed it before she said something foolish.

"Walk with me," he requested. "I need a swim to cool me down a bit. Then perhaps we can talk."

She thought of refusing, but that would only result in another confrontation. If they talked, perhaps she could ask about the city of tall buildings.

"Why did you run," she asked, as she started back up the trail. "Is it a ritual of your people?"

That brought a laugh, and, "No, it's a ritual demanded by me."

"I don't understand."

He looked over at her, and when she refused to meet his eyes, turned back to the trail. "It's quite simple, really. Those who work hard are strong and those who do not are not. Those who run can run, and those who do not, puff at the slightest hill."

"And?" He didn't answer, and after a moment, she said, "Oh, I see. You run so you will be able to run when it is needed." She thought for a moment, then pointed to his body, "You lift heavy loads, too?" Given his build it seemed he must.

"They told me you were smart," he said, sounding pleased. "I'm glad to see they were right. Yes, I take time each day to work my body. It has saved my life more than once, I think."

They had come to a narrow spot in the trail, rocky and steep—almost steps. He led the way, then turned and offered his hand. She ignored it and climbed by, striding the few feet to the lake in silence.

"Will you tell me something?" she asked.

He'd removed his kilt and sandals, laying the belt that supported his ax and knife on top of them before diving into the water, to swim strongly to the other side and then return. He was presently lazing in the water near the rock on which she sat.

"Anything. What would you like to know?"

"You once spoke of a city. One with tall houses. Houses made of stone. Was that real, or just a story?"

He paddled closer and steadied himself with a hand on the rock. "It was real enough. What about it?"

"The houses, did they...did they have large openings in the walls, to let in the light? And did the way to the rooms above have..." She hesitated. She had no word with which to describe steps. Ladder was as close as she could come, but ladder wasn't the word she needed. Frustrated, she tried, "...a steep trail, like a ladder, yet not a ladder?" She pantomimed the shape of steps by drawing them in the air.

"You mean..." He used an unfamiliar word, which she assumed meant steps.

Excited, now, she asked, "And the openings in the wall, they were closed off with flat pieces of...of..." Once again, she was without the proper word.

He caught her meaning, though. "Yes," he said, excitement in his voice. "You have been there, too, then?"

"No, I...I've have heard of such a place, though." Best to be careful until she knew if they were truly speaking of the same place. She picked up a small stick and began tapping it against the rock, so she would not have to look at him as he spoke.

"Ahh. Well I, too, was impressed by the arrangement. The windows were sealed against the strongest storms, yet when the weather is good you can put your head out and talk to your neighbor, and to passers by. I was most intrigued by the ease with which the shutters were closed. There was a pin that..." He trailed off, frowning, as she angrily threw the stick out on the lake, almost reaching the other side.

"What's wrong," he asked, worriedly.

Controlling the disappointment that filled her, she asked, "Those covers...what were they made of?"

"Why wood, of course," he said, sounding mystified. "What else could they have been?" His eyes narrowed and he pulled himself onto the rock, carrying a splash of water that wet the part on which she was sitting.

"Teal-Eye, what's wrong?" His voice hardened "What is it that we're really speaking about?"

She looked up at him, and, unable to keep the desolation from her voice, said, "You mentioned things used to move goods. You said they had..." She fumbled with the unfamiliar word he used. "You said they had wheels, and that they easily carried great weights. Did they...did they move of themselves?" She held her breath.

"Move by themselves? No, of course not. They were pulled by animals or men. What is this all about, Teal-Eye? You aren't making any sense."

"Then it was only a dream, after all." The shards of her dream fell all around her, leaving her empty and cold. Deep in her heart, she had believed she might find the place where Samantha lived, and go there to join her.

"A dream?" He knelt before her, his voice concerned. "Teal-Eye, tell me about this dream."

"It's not important," she said, dully.

"Of course it's important," he said, taking her shoulders. "Everything that happens to my woman is important to me."

All her anger and all the frustration and disappointment congealed into rage; rage at a world in which she was powerless and alone; rage at those who had killed her family, and had destroyed her life; rage against the god who had sent the dream to torment her; and most of all, rage against Miona.

"I am _not_ your woman," she flared, throwing his hands from her shoulders. "I am not your woman and I am not any man's woman. Not now, and not ever! Can you understand that? Can you get it through your thick, stupid, masculine head that I don't want you now, and I won't want you tomorrow, or ever?"

For a moment, he stared. Then he stood and turned away, snatching up his clothing and ax in passing. For a moment she stared at place where he'd been, sustained by anger. Then it drained from her, leaving her empty, and more sure than ever that the time had come to leave.

° ° ° °

Chapter 9

"Samantha? Are you all right? You were shouting."

Samantha struggled up from deep slumber. "Miona?"

"Who?"

She shook her head, trying to determine where she was, and whose voice had brought her back into the world. Disoriented, and not fully awake, she pushed herself up to rest on an elbow and look around. For a moment she was in a strange place, with the mountains of home shrunk to mere rounded hills and the forest reduced to scattered trees. Then, with a rush, reality settled on her and confusion vanished. The platform beneath her was normally floating in the center of the lake, now ashore for maintenance. She and Rob had gone to the lake after a stop in town to order a propane delivery. As promised, the lake was pretty and the trails around it provided a pleasant setting for a leisurely ramble; a place for talk on neutral, "getting to know you," subjects. He spoke of his childhood in the valley, she of hers in suburban Chicago. Then they stopped for a rest and, surprising herself, she seemed to have fallen asleep.

She sat up, then took a deep breath while she rubbed the slumber from her eyes with a tissue. "I thought you were someone else for a minute, Rob. I'm sorry. How long was I asleep?"

"Maybe fifteen minutes. You looked so peaceful that I just let you rest. Was it a dream?"

"A strange one, but so real I could swear it truly happened." She remembered, now, that Rob had walked back to the Rover for the iced-tea they picked up in town. She didn't remember lying down, though, nor had she been tired when he left for the short walk to the road.

"And? Do I get to hear about it?"

"I'm not sure," she said, thoughtfully. "I have to think about it, first."

That brought a smile, and "Ah. One of _those_ dreams. They can be the best kind." Something about her expression, in response to his words, must have made a connection in his mind, though, because his eyes narrowed and a harder tone crept into his voice as he said, "It wasn't just a dream, it was connected to what happened before, wasn't it?" When she didn't answer, he spread his hands, expressively, as he said, "Look, Sam, I would like, very much, to be your friend, but I also happened to be a trained physician. My specialty isn't psychiatric medicine, but that is part of a medical education, and I can't help you if you won't trust me. And, believe me, things like this don't go away of themselves."

She refused to meet his eyes for a moment. Instead, she searched the low hills that ringed the lake, as though there might be an answer there. There was nothing. But the dream had been real—so real that the texture of her fear still rested uneasily in her mind, more memory than dream. Telling him about it would be a bad idea, for obvious reasons. The first being that he would think her insane. The second that she actually _was_ insane. But what troubled most was the certainty that he would tell her that what was happening would continue, and that it would grow worse, and would eventually take over her life. But good idea or bad, what choice did she have?

"I don't understand this, Rob," she finally began. "...but in my dream I was near a high mountain range. The mountains began fairly abruptly, only about a half mile from where I stood—in a meadow at the edge of dense woods. There were burned out stumps of trees scattered across the meadow, and it wasn't the neat, green-grass kind of thing you might expect when you think of a meadow. Certainly it wasn't the kind of grassy field shown in...well, in Disney's Bambi, for example. This field was overgrown with grass, and there were sapling trees here and there. My impression was that there had been a forest fire, and now the area was returning to woods. I knew, though, that there were quite a few deer in the area, and that they often grazed the meadow, making it a good place to hunt.

"I stood at the edge of a stream, gathering berries, sassafras leaves, and anything else that might be edible."

"And?"

"And I wasn't myself—not Samantha. It seemed perfectly normal, even though I've never had a dream in which I wasn't myself. In this dream, though, both my height and weight were different. I was shorter, and thinner, and I looked...well, I was blond...and young, less than..." She thought for a moment, eyes unfocused as she tried to recover the self-image she held while in the dream.

"I was just sixteen, though I thought of myself as a woman." And then it came. "I was crying, and my name was Teal-Eye."

° ° °

Teal-Eye's mood darkened through the day, as the world closed in on her. Until the beginning of the previous summer the clan was the center of life, and life, comfortable and secure. Then, as her menses became regular, and she was inducted into the sisterhood of the moon, she begun to receive instruction on the art of being a wife and mother, and the world changed. The future, which had always been a distant and unreal thing, became the present. She was soon to be an adult, and being an adult meant having a man, and serving the needs of a man. It meant catering to him, and submitting to him, as she'd been forced to submit to the man who raped her.

The women of the circle of Eia were kind, and did their best to allay her fears. Certainly, she was aware of the enjoyment other women obtained from sex with their men. But for her, no matter how many reassurances were given that sex between husband and wife wasn't like what happened to her, she could not accept it in her heart. And now, a year later, in the worst possible way, it had come to a head. Now, she would have to leave. Not because of Miona. Her problem with him had been taken care of by their last encounter. It was what would happen _because_ of that outburst that would make it necessary for her to leave. When Miona told the elders he no longer desired her, and spoke of his reasons for that decision, they would be forced to take action. What that action would be was uncertain, but it would result in a major change in her life. Of equal certainty, she would not be happy with it. Perhaps she would be driven from the village, or perhaps, traded to another clan. In any case, life with the High Mountain clan was over. A gathering basket rested in her hand, but it was nearly empty, even after an hour of foraging.

The sound of a twig snapping caused her to whirl around, to find Miona headed in her direction. So there was to be another duel.

"I have to talk to you," he said, as he stopped before her. "I don't want to leave with you angry, and I don't want you to remember me with those." He pointed to her eyes, which were red-rimmed, and still wet with tears.

She wiped her eyes with the back of her arm, feeling empty. In reality, and in spite of her convictions, he was a decent person, and she'd hurt him, hardly the action of an honorable woman.

"You don't have to leave, Miona. The clan honors you, and wants you to stay." It was more formal a thing than she wanted to say, but formality was safe, and easy.

He sighed. "I was staying only for you, Teal-Eye. Without you one place is much the same as another."

She turned away, unable to face him—unable to face his constant assertion that she was, somehow, tied to him. She'd vowed that she wouldn't become angry, but couldn't keep herself from saying, "You keep saying things like that, but you don't know me, and I am _not_ the woman you take me to be."

His hand touched her shoulder, gently, but still she flinched and took a step forward. His hand remained on her shoulder, however, and he turned her to him, saying, "I have had a dream, too, Teal-Eye; a dream in which you were my wife; a dream in which we had four strong sons, and a daughter as beautiful as her mother—you."

"What!" Shocked out of her self-pity by his words, she stood blinking at him in disbelief, shaking her head. "What do you mean, a dream?"

"Just that, a dream. And it's something I've never spoken of until now. It came when I first left my home, as little more than a child. And as I said—you were my woman, and my reason for drawing breath each day. I lived only a single day with you in that dream...and with our children. But that day has stayed with me as clearly as if I lived it yesterday."

She walked away, rejecting his words. But when she turned, minutes later, he stood behind her, as though she'd never moved.

"It was a dream, only," she said, angrily. "Or a dream of someone who looked like me."

He slowly nodded. "Perhaps...perhaps. But, whoever I dreamed of looked exactly like you, and she spoke with your voice. She had the same small scar on her hand, and the same long stride as do you—and there are few women who can match mine. I will admit that she was a lot friendlier, though."

This was beyond reason, and if he wasn't lying, could be nothing but a sending from a god, and thus, unarguable.

About to ask him more about the dream, her eye caught motion behind him and she stiffened. A bear was coming out of the woods, moving quickly in their direction, probably bound for the stream.

Miona's reaction was instantaneous. He spun in place, the ax held ready before he fully faced the bear. Then, when he caught sight of the danger, he shifted his grip to the center of the ax shaft and raised it over his head, while assuming a threatening posture and swelling his muscles until he looked like a god. The bear stopped. Then, with a roar that shook the mountains, Miona shook his arms at the bear, who abruptly backed up a step. The bear was small, massing less than Miona, and to it, he must have appeared a fearsome apparition, because it stopped, backed up rapidly for a few steps and then turned and headed back toward the woods, at an angle to the way it had been traveling.

The smile he wore when he turned back to her contrasted strongly to the shocked surprise her face must be showing, because in reaction he assumed the pose that had routed the bear, though this time he twisted his face in a way that brought a snort of relieved laughter.

"You just have to be a bigger bear," he explained, laughing. He would have said more, but the new fear in her eyes told him they were not yet safe. She'd been frightened by the bear he'd driven away, but next to the one now approaching, the other had been a cub.

The color of cinnamon, this bear massed more than four times that of Miona, and wasn't to be driven away by mere growls and posturing. Perhaps the other bear had been its cub, or perhaps a rival who was being driven out of a hunting territory. Whatever the reason, this bear arrived angry, and the sight of two humans did nothing to dispel that anger.

His arm tightened around her waist, as he moved backward, toward the creek, half-lifting her from her feet, saying, "If we can get across the creek that might be enough. If not, when it attacks, you run. I'll keep it busy enough for you to get away."

Allowing him to guide them, she moved backward, cursing the wind, which had been blowing toward the woods and which had kept the scent of the bear away from her nostrils. Bears were not plentiful near the village—they had been hunted until the trails were relatively safe for travel. Those remaining had respect for the High-Mountain clan, and avoided humans. This one, however, was different. With the bear directly between them and the woods there were no trees to climb, and Miona couldn't defeat a bear of that size with a stone ax, no matter his skill. The bear would be too strong and too fast.

The chill waters of the creek were welcome as she stumbled from the bank to the streambed. If they made it across perhaps the bear wouldn't follow? A foolish hope, perhaps, but foolish hopes were all that remained.

Unfortunately, walking backward as she was, she couldn't see to place her feet, and wedged her foot between two rocks, tripping her and pulling free of Miona's arm. She tried to get up, but the leg was trapped at the ankle and held at a painful angle. She could free the leg, given time—but time was something she didn't have.

"Run, Miona," she said, closing her eyes and preparing for death.

There was splashing, then: "I've always wondered if this would work. It made sense, but I've never had the courage to try until now. I suppose I should thank you."

She opened her eyes, then gaped. The man was insane. He stood over her, balancing several small rocks against his stomach with his left hand, while with the right he was hefting another. From the rounded look of the rocks, he'd taken them from the creek-bed. The ax was gone—probably dropped when he tried to keep her from being hurt as she fell—and he was wearing a smile.

She turned from Miona to the bear and back, several times, before she frantically began trying to free her foot, with no success. For that she would have to be standing, and she wasn't able to stand without his help. The bear had stopped a dozen paces from the creek, seeming confused.

"What are you doing," she hissed. "Run away. If you stay we both will die."

That brought only a shake of the head, and "Die? How can we die? We both must live for my dream to come true." There wasn't the slightest trace of fear in his voice, convincing her that he was either truly touched by a god, or insane.

Before she could think more on that, however, the bear began to move toward them, apparently deciding that they posed little threat, but would make good eating. Before it had taken more than a step in their direction, however, Miona whirled his arm over his head and unleashed the rock he'd been holding. It struck the bear close to the eye, bringing a shriek of pure rage, but slowed it not at all. Miona had already transferred another rock to his throwing hand, muttering "Shit," as he did so. The second hit close by the first, adding to the bear's anger, but seeming not to have seriously hurt or slowed it. The third, however, struck the eye directly, bringing a howl of pain, and a momentary halt to its charge. Unfortunately, her prayer that the bear would leave, rather than face another such stone, was denied. With a roar that caused her to lose all hope, it leapt forward, and into the fourth and final missile, hurled, it appeared, with all the strength Miona had. Its flight a quick blur, the force of this, the final stone, was such that she _heard_ the crack of breaking bone.

The bear stumbled, and Miona bent to seek more stones, while she breathed another prayer of hope—this time an answered prayer. His aim had been true, and the bear blundered by them snarling and striking out in every direction—close enough that she might have touched it—but blind, and unable to find them. Had the bear been permanently blinded? It didn't matter. What mattered was leaving that spot as quickly as possible.

"Help me up," she gasped, clutching at his leg. "My leg is stuck and I have to stand to get it free."

Miona followed the bear with his eyes for a moment, before turning his attention to her, quickly freeing her leg. When she attempted to walk, however, the pain in her ankle caused her to limp heavily, and lean against him for support.

"Wait," he ordered, helping her to balance on her good leg. He left her for a moment, to retrieve his ax, which he slipped into a pair of loops on the carrying belt, so it hung behind him. Then, he returned to sweep her from her feet, to be carried to a point close to the edge of the woods.

"Stay here," he ordered, turning away.

"But..." But he was gone, headed toward the bear, still blundering its aimless way through the meadow, roaring its pain and anger while swiping at its muzzle with a paw, as though trying to rub something from its eye.

She could only watch, muttering prayers, as he removed the ax from its belt, then approached the bear, seeking an opening. Like the striking of a snake, he stepped in and struck an overhand blow against its head, then was gone before the bear whirled to attack. Three times more he struck, and each time the bear moved more slowly after the attack than before. Finally, the beast reared up on its hind legs, huge and fearsome, presenting the opening that Miona had apparently been waiting for. He reversed the ax, so the shaft-end aimed at the bear's body, and, using a point she'd not even been aware the thing possessed, ran forward, one hand guiding the shaft, the other on the head, pressing it forward with a force that drove the shaft into the creatures body nearly to the head of the ax. Then, before he fell victim to the bear's flailing claws, he dove away, to strike the ground in a compact ball and roll forward, only to spring to his feet once more. After that he had but to wait until the bear's struggles subsided enough to let him step close and crush its skull with a rock.

Miona still breathed deeply with the effort of the battle when she limped across the stream to where he knelt by the bear.

"You should have waited," he told her. "I would have returned as soon as I finished here."

She stared at the bear, speaking of mundane matters, rather than saying the words that wanted to come to her tongue.

"My leg hurts, but it's undamaged, I think. What will you do with the skin?"

A pause, then, "I would use it to make a warm cover for our bed." He sighed. "If you would have me." It was the first time anything but total assurance showed in his voice.

Her eyes were downcast as she said, "How can I argue with the will of a god?" That was as close as she could come to saying yes. Giving herself to him was still a terrifying concept, but how could she not? How could she deny him anything after what he'd done? He might have left her to die—should have left her—but he hadn't. He stayed, and stayed for love of her, or so he claimed. Denying such a man, especially after what he said about his dream would be to deny the gods.

Having voiced the words of acceptance, surprise flowed through her as she realized that she'd _already_ made her decision. She had, without knowing it, said yes when first she saw him, when he first made his claim on her. She'd fought against this moment with every fiber of her being, but had known, as surely as had he, that they were destined to be together. She had no idea of how she knew, but she could no longer deny the truth of it. And now, with her recognition of that fact, came a change deep within. Perhaps it came because he'd saved her life, or perhaps because it was her fate to change. Whatever the reason, she found herself looking towards to the future, where, only moments before, she'd been dreading it.

He nodded thoughtfully, accepting her surrender, and as he did she remembered the words he spoke when chasing away the smaller bear: "You just have to be a bigger bear." They were words spoken in truth. He _was_ a bear—the bear of all bears. And he would be _her_ bear, because he would be given the name Bear, she would see to that. If he was to stay with the clan he would have to be given a tribal name, and after she told the tale of this day's battle she, herself, would suggest it to the elders.

But another matter needed to be settled, and while he worked on skinning the bear she settled to the ground nearby, to watch, and to think. Finally, she said, "There is one thing of which I would speak, if I am to be your woman, Miona."

"Mmm?"

"It is...it is..." She bowed her head, unable to bring herself to speak of it.

But he only nodded, and said, "You would speak of what happened to you as a child. It makes you afraid of me, and of sharing my bed."

"Yes."

"It will pass," he said, as though it had little importance.

"But—"

"It will pass. Give it time."

"But... The elders told you of what happened?"

He shrugged, busy with his cutting. "They did, but I already knew."

"But how? I— Oh, your dream." Then, in wonder, she asked, "What was in your dream that will change my fear?" Tendrils of hope grew and spread warmth within, a hope abandoned long before meeting this man.

He stopped his work to sink back on his haunches and look at her, as he said, "I know of what happened when you were a child because the husband who was in the dream knew of it. He also remembered a time when you and he..." He stopped, then started over. "Not you and he. There came a time, when _you and I_ slept, only, in a bed—when you cared for me in sickness. I am content to accept that, if it will lead to what I knew in that dream."

His eyes bored into hers, forcing her to accept. She would marry her Bear, and someday, if the gods were willing, she would love him. Until then she would be his wife in all things—even that, should he ask it of her. Even that.

° ° ° °

Chapter 10

"And that's when you called my name and woke me."

Rob stared for a long time, his expression unreadable. Finally, he shook his head and said, "That has got to be the strangest dream I've ever heard—and one hell of a story, be it true or dream."

"It wasn't a dream, though, Rob. It was real."

"How real?"

"Real enough that I can tell you things about my...about Teal-Eye's life—even things from her childhood. Real enough that I could probably make you a meal out of what I found just wandering around the woods—if we were in _her_ woods."

He digested that for a moment, chewing on his lip, before asking, "And where _are_ her woods? From what you said of their dress and life style I got the impression, perhaps from the name, that she's a member of an Indian tribe, or living with one."

She thought about that while playing with a lock of hair, before saying, "I don't think so. As I said, after Miona skinned the bear he took me...or at least he took Teal-Eye, to the village. I was only there for a moment or so, though, before I..." She searched for a word that might fit, but came up with only, "Before I woke." That term didn't fit what happened very well, but was the best she could do.

"Samantha?"

"What?" Apparently, she'd been lost in thought for some unknown length of time. With a distracted shake of her head she hastened to tell him, "I'm sorry, I wasn't gone again. I'm just...I'm still pretty confused by this, Rob."

"With reason." He held out a hand in question, prompting her with, "You were telling me about Teal-Eye's people."

Gaining some measure of control, she nodded and said, "I would guess they were European, and probably Southern European at that. They had Caucasian features, and allowing for the tan their outdoor life-style gave them, had olive skin. She, though, from what I saw, was more a Nordic type, and her skin had tanned to a shade I would die for."

"And?"

"And she's bigger than most of the women in her village, too. It's not in my memory, but from the name, I would assume her eyes were teal-blue, or at least some shade of blue. Theirs, at least the few I saw, were brown or black." She took a deep breath and asked the question that most troubled. "Am I...am I crazy, Rob? It certainly seems so."

He waved that away. "Crazy? You? Of course not."

"Then what am I? And what's happening to me?"

He hesitated, then glanced at his watch and stood, motioning her toward the lot where the car was parked. "As for what's happening to you, I have no idea, yet. I do know that it's getting late, though, so you have to make a choice. Number one is that I take you home to cook your own dinner. Then at some time in the future, ranging from after dinner to...well, to whenever you like, I come back and we talk."

Taking the bait she asked, "And number two?"

"Number two is one I like better. It says that we drive over to The Hunter's Inn and have dinner, while you and I talk."

"And number three?"

"Number three is a fantasy of mine, and you have no right to know."

That brought a smile and relieved the tension a bit. It also brought a question.

"What do we talk about?"

"We talk about you, of course, Sam. If this is a message coming out of your mind—an attempt by your subconscious to tell you something important—we have to go into your past and see where it comes from."

"And if it's not?"

"It is. It always is."

"But if it isn't?"

He shrugged. "In that case we burn incense and cast spells, because we have to find out who's haunting you, and why. It may..." he stopped, and his eyebrows raised a bit as he said, "I hate to say this, but it might make sense for you to spend some time out of that house you're living in. I'm not much on the occult, and I don't believe in ghosts, per se, but..." he spread his hands. "Why take chances?"

Certain she knew where he would suggest she stay, she rejected moving. As for dinner, she wasn't yet ready to tell him of her past. First, she had to think, for herself, if there was anything in the past that might have caused the events of the past few days, and most especially, the dream that still reverberated through her.

"I'm afraid it's going to be option number one," she finally told him. "I'd like to go to dinner with you, but right now I need to be alone...and to think."

He reluctantly accepted her decision and drove her home, lost in the same silence as she. She briefly wondered what he thought of her story, but the events of the afternoon claimed most of her attention, She had, after all, been attacked by a bear. Of more importance, she seemed to be engaged to be married. And she would never tell Rob of the impression she had, throughout it all, that she was no more than a pawn, an actress, performing for the benefit of some unknown and unknowable audience.

He dropped her at the house. Before he left, however, he handed her a leather case, saying, "It's my cellphone. Keep it in case of emergency. You can also use it to call me when you're ready to talk. My house number's programmed into the speed-dial. Just hold down the number two till it starts to dial."

She thanked him, and before slipping out of her door leaned over and kissed him on the cheek, as she said, "I'm glad to have a friend like you, Rob. I will call, just give me time."

° ° ° °

Chapter 11

A stray sunbeam, bouncing off the wall-mirror and teasing her cheek with warmth, brought Samantha back into the world. For a moment she lay in her bed, breathing in the smells of morning, almost afraid to open her eyes; unsure if she would see the bedroom of a ranch-house or a hut in the woods. Finally, laughing at her own foolishness, her eyes opened on familiar scene—the smallest bedroom of three, in the house in which she'd lived for nearly four months.

Tossing a towel over her shoulder she took her toilette kit and headed for the kitchen door. The kitchen sink boasted an old-fashioned hand pump, but it didn't work. The one by the corral did, however, and supplied her water.

As she worked the squeaky old pump, she turned her thoughts to the happenings of the previous day. All through the preparation of dinner, and through the rest of the evening as well, she chewed over the events of the dream, trying to relate them to her life, either present or past. She could not. Nor could she relate them to anything she'd read or studied in school—or even to a film or television drama she'd seen. Finally, she drifted off to sleep, unsatisfied and confused. This morning life was good, but that, with certainty, was due to the brilliant sunshine and the glorious view of the mountains.

Wetness underfoot announced that the old tub was finally full. It had served most of its life as a horse trough, she assumed, but now it was her bathtub, as well as a laundry tub. As a bathtub it was cramped, and the water cold, but still, a vast improvement over the sponge baths taken before the weather warmed. Certainly, it was an infinite improvement over the lack of bathing the winter demanded of her.

Hissing with the shock of the cold water, she lowered herself into the tub. As she slid the soapy washcloth over her skin she reviewed what she knew of Teal-Eye, her alter ego. She was far different a person—more direct, and more self-sufficient. Unsophisticated and ignorant, she believed the world to be inhabited by spirits and divine beings who took a constant and capricious hand in the lives of mortals. In her world, it was taken for granted that every act she performed, no matter how small, might possibly be influenced or directly controlled by a creature of the spirit world.

Yet she and Teal-Eye also had much in common. Both had fled their home, and both were haunted by their past. Both had a man interested, one who tended to intimidate them. Perhaps that was the common thread? Perhaps she created Teal-Eye and her man, Miona, out of some attraction for Rob—an attraction she rejected, just as Teal-Eye rejected Miona? Was the dream her mind's way of announcing that it liked Rob, and that she and he should become involved? If so, it was certainly using a drastic method.

As her thoughts drifted back over the previous day, and over Rob's role in it, she remembered his appearance at the pool, and, with a curse, hurried from the tub, certain that if she turned her head she would see him sitting on his horse. When she reached the safety of the house she turned to look through the window but there was no one there.

With a sigh, and a resolution to be more careful in the future, she headed to the bedroom to dress.

° ° °

"Afternoon, Miss Hanover. You have some mail, I think—a magazine. It's not addressed to you, exactly, though. It's for a Miranda Hanover. Is that you, too?"

The arrival of the magazine pleased immensely. The book was going well, and took up great chunks of her time, but something to read other than the newspaper would be a welcome change.

"Thank you, Henry," she said, as he presented it to her. "Miranda was my mother's name, and the subscription is hers." Explaining further seemed necessary, so she added, "She died last year."

"Sorry to hear it," Henry said. Then with typical small town courtesy, he asked, "Would you like me to run a check on why your mail hasn't been forwarded? You've missed quite a few issues by now, I expect."

She gave him what she hoped was a disarming smile, as she said, "No, thank you." Having the mail forwarded from Kansas would be nice, but too great a risk.

Turning away, she took a bottle of milk from the cooler, then looked over the selection of fresh meat available, choosing boneless chicken breast for her dinner—adding packages of lunchmeat and pre-sliced cheese for sandwiches. Having a refrigerator was more of a blessing than expected, she decided, as she placed a bottle of orange juice in the basket. She thought about stocking the refrigerator more fully, but best to wait a day or two, to give a bit more confidence in its reliability.

"Got yourself a refrigerator, did you?" Henry asked.

"Uh-huh," she said, with a secret smile. Everyone who passed through the store that day would probably learn of her acquisition.

"Titus Molner is looking to sell a living room set, if you're interested."

For a moment she wondered why the old man was being so friendly. Then it came. With the arrival of mail, and her assumed purchase of a refrigerator, it might appear as if she was thinking of settling in the valley, and thus, might be interested in becoming a part of its social life. Her appearance in the store the previous day, with Rob and bound for the lake, might also have a lot to do with it.

"Thank you," she said. "But I'm not ready for that, yet."

"Uh-huh." He said nothing for a time, content to watch her at her shopping, then ventured, "Rob's a fine boy. Did he tell you he was a doctor? He worked in one of those big city hospitals, fix'n people's hearts."

About to make a non-committal answer, she turned, instead, and asked, "Why did he leave the city?"

The old man settled a hip against the counter. "Funny story, that. I'm not sure I should be the one to tell you, but Rob was married, once."

Her, "Oh," of surprise brought a nod, and a quick comment of, "He's not anymore, though. She was a pretty thing—a city girl all the way through. I think that was part of it—the divorce, that is." He looked as though he were about to spit, then said, "Once heard her tell Rob she thought I was quaint...like I was hard of hearing, or like I didn't count enough for her to watch her tongue."

"So...what happened?" she asked, turning back to her shopping and trying to sound only casually interested. Obviously, Henry had little use for the woman Rob had married, and with good reason, from the sound of it.

He snorted. "What happened was that she treated him like dirt and acted like less than a lady." She assumed he meant his wife had been unfaithful, but before she phrased the question, the man was speaking again.

"Rob married her sudden like. Never even brought her home to meet his folks before the wedding. I think maybe she was in a family way, but that's just a guess... They did have a kid right off, though." He shrugged. "I do know that when he brought the woman home to meet his folks it didn't go well at all. It was like oil and water between her and them, and she only stayed but a few days. Took Rob with her when she left like he was wearing a nose-ring."

"So how long were they married?"

He thought for a minute. "I would guess maybe two years. Jodie is six, so that would mean they were married about seven years ago."

"Jodie is his daughter?"

"His daughter, and the apple of his eye. Mine too, for that matter. That kid's the best thing ever happened to Rob, and was what turned him around after he came apart."

"After the divorce? Or was there something else?" In spite of herself she was interested. This was an unsuspected side of Rob.

He shot her a look of speculation, as though evaluating the effect of his news on any relationship she might have with Rob. Finally, he shrugged and said, "I don't know what happened between them, but I think he was pretty broken up by it, because he lived like a hermit in one of the outbuildings on his daddy's ranch. On top of everything else, his mother died that year of a heart attack, and there wasn't a blessed thing he could do about it."

"Oh, how terrible, to have that happen on top of the divorce." She pressed a hand to her mouth. Having known the grief of losing a loved one, her heart went out to him.

"That it was, and there wasn't a soul in this valley who saw him for more than a year. Then, one day he showed up here with Jodie riding his shoulders. She had hold of his hair, but I think she had a tighter hold on his heart, because he was grinning fit to bust something. She's been here in the valley ever since."

"Well." She mentally shook herself and brought her basket to the counter to have her order totaled. "Well, that's quite a story—thank you."

The old man hesitated, with his hand on the carton of milk. "He's a good man, Miss Hanover. A real good man. You might do a lot worse."

"I know. Thank you again, but I don't think I'm in the market for a man, good or the other kind."

"Uh-huh." He began adding up her order, then stopped, to say, "You look like her, you know."

"His wife?"

"No, Jodie. You ought to stop out there and meet her. She's quite a little girl."

° ° ° °

Chapter 12

Samantha stopped the van and debated the wisdom of what she was about to do. Just ahead a small sign, one of a cluster of signs, showed what she'd always thought of as the sign for infinity, but which to the ranchers represented an eight lying on its side, a lazy eight. Three other signs pointed in the indicated direction.

In the three days since visiting the store she'd reached for the cell-phone endless numbers of times, but always stopped short of dialing. Now, after another shopping trip, and for reasons she couldn't quite define, she was facing a decision: Go home or yield to curiosity and visit Rob's ranch.

She argued with herself for a moment, then turned the steering wheel toward the Reiker ranch. It wasn't time to talk about her past, as yet, but knowing more about his might be nice.

The road led around a small hill, then branched again. A smaller road, little better than a one lane track, carrying the sign of the Lazy Eight, swept in a curve to the left and toward the hills. She continued in the indicated direction, finally passing under a gateway that displayed another lazy eight sign—this one larger, and with a happy-face in each of the loops of the eight. She smiled as she passed through the gate, wondering if the little girl had been the reason for the sign. She assumed so. Rob did not seem to be the type for such whimsy without it serving a special purpose.

The ranch house, visible in the distance, sat at the top of a small hill, situated almost against the edge of a rocky cliff that led to a tabletop mesa. Since the hillside carried no fencing, and no cattle were visible, she assumed they were within the canyon, blocked from view by the hill leading to the house.

The house looked exactly like what it was: the headquarters for a working ranch. Its age was uncertain, but the style, a mixture of stone and rough-hewn timber, was far out of the current fashion—though its weathered appearance blended well with the rock wall that towered behind it. Several smaller buildings gathered by the house, and a larger one—a barn she assumed—stood beyond them.

The road wound its way to the top of the hill, and as she followed it a man came from one of the outbuildings and watched her approach. He appeared older than Rob, and though his beard made it difficult to tell for sure, she assumed he was Rob's father. Certainly, they had the same assured stance, and way of holding their head while they studied something. In this case, the thing being studied was her. Suddenly, the idea of visiting wasn't quite so attractive, and she had the urge to turn around and drive out. But she was committed, so she gathered her courage and pasted on smile, one that didn't feel altogether at home on her face.

"Morning. Can I help you?"

"Good morning. I'm Samantha Hanover and I'm looking for Rob." Judging by his features, the man appeared to be in his fifties. Thinner than Rob, he was unmistakably of the same family.

Her name, alone, didn't generate enough of a reaction to indicate if Rob had told the story of what had happened when they met and the events that followed.

"I'm afraid Rob's not here," he said, with a shrug. "He had some ranch business to take care of and left early this morning. I don't expect him back till maybe seven or eight tonight."

"Oh, I'm sorry. I should have called."

She looked behind her to make sure the way was clear to back up, but before she could do anything toward leaving, he said, "Wait! You can't just say howdy and good-by, like that. Rob tells me you're a neighbor, and I'd be a pretty poor neighbor, myself, if I let you just ride off without at least inviting you to share lunch with us."

"Thank you, but—" She might as well have been talking to herself, because he opened her door as if she'd just said, "Thank you. That's wonderful. I'd love to stay."

"Rob tells me you're living on the old Z-Bar all by yourself, so I'm pretty sure we have something more interesting in the pot than whatever you've got planned. I'm Paul, by the way, Rob's dad."

With a mental shrug, and an unvoiced, "What the hell, this is what you came for, isn't it?" she killed the engine and stepped from the van, allowing herself to be led toward the house.

"Thank you, Mr. Reiker," she said, as she studied the house.

"Paul. Nobody but the tax-man calls me Mr. Reiker."

"Then thank you, Paul. It will be nice to eat someone else's cooking for a change. I—" She stopped, as she remembered something important. "I'm sorry. I nearly forgot. I have things I have to get home and into the refrigerator before they go bad, so I—"

That brought a grin, and, "So that old thing still works?"

About to turn back to the van she hesitated.

"It does so far. Rob tells me it's yours, so I have to thank you."

"No thanks needed. I'm just glad to have someone get some use out of it. That old box was the first thing I bought for the house, and Reba used it till the year before she died, when I bought her one of those fancy new models as an anniversary present." For a moment his face went soft with memory, and his voice turned warm when he said, "It's kind of nice to know it's not just sitting in the shed and rotting. She would really like that."

Coming back to the world, he gave a little shake, then turned and headed back toward the van.

"You just stay right there. I'll get the groceries and we'll toss them into the box in the kitchen till you leave."

She studied him as he retrieved her packages and carried them to the house. What would it have been like to be raised by such a man? In some ways, he seemed more a force of nature than a man, and arguing with him when his mind was made up was probably as futile as trying to stop a flow of hot lava.

Carried along in his wake, she followed him into the house. He continued on toward what she assumed must be the kitchen, but she stopped, just inside the door, unable to go on, frozen in place by the single most fascinating room she'd ever experienced. It appeared more a movie set than a real house. On the rough stone wall to her right were the mounted heads of a pronghorn antelope, a mountain goat, an elk, and several other creatures she couldn't identify. A set of wide steps clung to the wall, without benefit of a railing, leading to a small landing, which, in turn, fronted a doorway that probably led to the bedrooms. But that wall, as interesting as it might be, paled when compared to the view through the living room windows. The room extended from the front to the rear of the house, and the rear wall—two full stories high and virtually all glass—took advantage of that fact. It showed a breathtaking view of the canyon beyond, one blocked by the house and the hill it stood on, on the way in.

At one time the canyon had possessed a mouth nearly five hundred feet across. One of the walls framing that mouth had collapsed, however, forming a jumbled slope of jagged boulders, tumbled one on the other and leaving only a narrow opening into the canyon. Above the rockfall, and relatively unweathered, the strata of the ages wound their multicolored way through the rock. Situated as the house was, nearly forty feet above the floor of the canyon, the scene left her open-mouthed in wonder.

"A great view, huh? You should see it in the early morning, when the sun highlights the colors."

She had no idea of how long she'd stood, mesmerized, but Paul no longer had the packages in his hands when she turned to find him standing near.

"I can see why you live here," she said, her voice hushed by the grandeur before her. "The view is magnificent."

"Sure is. I bought the place for that view. Reba fell in love with it the first time we came to look at the ranch. I had the window installed before we moved in. It cost a fortune, but it was worth every penny." He laughed. "You can't eat in here the first time you see it, though, or you'll spill your soup down your shirt-front for sure."

That generated a laugh, and, "You're right about that. I can see why Rob loves living here so much."

"Sit for a spell," he said, gesturing toward a sofa. "Lunch is about fifteen minutes from being ready and we have to wait until Tom gets back from the canyon." At her frown he clarified his words with, "Tom is the single hand we keep full time. We don't run a large herd—the canyon won't support one—and between Rob and myself we can handle most of what there is to do."

She took the indicated seat and Paul settled onto a chair that faced it, as if to be there only temporarily. She had the thought that this man seldom sat. Strange that two men, cut from the same genetic cloth, were so different. Rob was careful and methodical, his father more the kind of person who just jumped in and _did_. There was something that had been bothering her, though. She hesitated to ask, since it was fairly personal, but she reminded herself of why she was there. So, before her courage failed, she said, "I don't like to pry, but Rob gave me the impression that you had a fairly small operation. Can you really make a living with only a few—"

He laughed, hearty and long. "Make a living? I should say not."

"Then—" As usual, he gave her no chance to finish what she'd begun to ask.

"If I had to, now, I'll grant you that I could keep myself alive the way the settlers did, by making everything I need myself, by eating the cattle I raise, and by selling only enough to pay for the things that have to be bought." He smiled, adding, "Thank God I don't have to. That's a hell of a life."

"Then you have—"

"Money," he supplied. "I was a plumber when I met Reba. Knew I was going to marry her the first time I laid eyes on her, and she felt damn near the same. Thing was, my Reba had a rich daddy who hated my guts, and when he found there was no way to stop us from getting married, he was willing to do almost anything to keep me out of his hair." He laughed, fairly bouncing on his chair, as he said, "I screwed up his business good when he made me join the company, and he couldn't _stand_ the idea of my being a plumber, so here I'm, doing exactly what I always wanted to do."

Though she was at a loss as to how to respond, Paul apparently wasn't yet finished.

"So, my darling Rebecca's gone now, but I stay on because I love the place, and I raise cattle because I love that, too. Hell, as a kid I always wanted to be a cowboy, and that's what I am. I just don't want to be in the cattle business, which is what it is, nowadays, a business."

He appeared to have run down, and she had the urge to say, "Whew," but instead, asked, "So her father bought the place for you, and paid your expenses. It sounds like a nice arrangement. Most people dream about that sort of thing."

Paul snorted a laugh. "Oh he bought the place all right, but he made sure the title was in Reba's name, just in case. He gave us an allowance, too, but we never hit it off, him and me, no matter how I tried. Hell, the man hardly ever talked to me...doted on Rob, though. He couldn't spend enough time with him."

"Is her father still alive?" The father-in-law's reluctance to speak to his daughter's husband seemed justified, since trying to do that seldom resulted in a completed sentence.

"No, he died about ten years ago. I figured that was it, and I would have to go back to being a plumber. I had hopes he might have left us a bit of money, so as to take care of Reba and Rob after he died. Me, of course, he would have taken with him to the grave."

"And did he? Leave anything, that is?"

"Did he ever!" he said with a grin. "That old bastard left the whole damn thing to Rob, with a trust fund to take care of Reba and keep the ranch going as long as she wanted it to. Me, he left a dollar, for all the good it did him."

"So you won, after all?"

Paul scratched his chin in the same way Rob did when thinking. "I wouldn't call it winning. I did that when I found Reba. And I think I would have taken pretty damn good care of her without her father's money. No, Sam, I've just been lucky enough to do what I wanted with my life."

"I envy you," she said, almost overwhelmed with information. She'd met the man only minutes ago, and already possessed his life story. Certainly, it was more than she'd been expecting. The question now, was how to bring the conversation around to Rob, and his marriage, without being obvious about it.

But Paul was responding to her comment, and that came first.

"Uh-huh. So if you envy me, and you'd rather not be poor, tell me why you're not working, and why in the hell a good-looking woman like yourself is hiding herself at the end of the world. Rob says you claim not to be hiding out, but I know better."

She shrugged. "I write. That's work. And if I can sell what I write I might not be poor, either. In any case, you love it here, don't you? Can't I feel the same?"

He gave her a look that clearly said, "Don't bullshit me, lady," before saying, "I had my Reba, and I had this place. You're squatting on a played out old dump that the owner hasn't sold because there are no buyers, and never will be. If you had a man, or if you had money, I might believe you came here because you love the country, but you haven't sold anything, and you damn near froze your tail off out there this winter because you couldn't afford to have the heating system fixed."

"I did okay," she said, defensively.

"The hell you did," he growled. "I know better. When we had that bad spell in January I went over there to check on you and found you squatting over the gas stove like a damn circus act. If I hadn't snuck over and pumped in about a hundred gallons of propane when you went out to the store you would have been stone cold dead before the winter ended."

"What?" _So that face in the window wasn't a fantasy?_ She snorted. _Some snow sprite!_

"I thought that might surprise you," he said, crossing his arms and looking pleased. Then he nodded and added, "But I will give you credit for sticking it out when most would have turned tail and run."

Why, she wondered, staring at him in puzzlement. Why was he telling her this now, and in such a fashion? Why had he so quickly told her the story of his marriage, and of the ranch? Perhaps he was about to order her to leave Rob alone? Then she thought over what he said and the pieces of the puzzle fell into place. He was both smarter and a lot harder than she'd given him credit for.

"You want me for your son."

"Smart, too," he said, nodding. "Yes...I want you for my son."

"I'm not for sale."

"Good, that's important. I wouldn't want you if you were."

"But—"

"Listen, Samantha. I don't know if Rob has told you about his marriage."

"He hasn't, but I've heard."

That rated a smile.

"Good old Henry. He never does keep his mouth shut. He was the one who convinced me to move out here in the first place." The smile faded, however, as he said, "Rob was married to the most miserable bitch who ever slithered out from under a rock pile. She wanted him at first because he had a good medical practice, one that made him a satisfying amount of money, but which also kept him busy enough that he wouldn't get in her way. Then, when she found he was wealthy, and working as a surgeon because he felt the same way about doctoring as I feel about ranching, she set out to clean him out, good."

"Did she?"

"Almost. Rob is a big stupid boob about women, and he believed her pack of lies. I think he was tickled to feel like he was part of the society-page crowd. I saw through her, though, and paid a man to follow her around for a while."

"A detective."

"The kind who specializes in that sort of thing. The pictures he took stopped her crap, but they near to killed Rob."

He stopped and sighed heavily, then stood and went to the window, turning his back to her while he talked. "He came back home not giving a damn if he lived or died. For almost a year he just moped around the ranch. He'd do chores, if I asked him to, but he moved like a zombie."

"And his daughter pulled him out of it?"

He turned to face her, and for a moment it seemed he'd been carved out of the same rock that rose behind him.

"It took me nearly a year to get custody of Jodie. That woman has friends in the government and on the courts. I showed she was an unfit mother. Hell, I showed she was an unfit human being. But it didn't help. I was on the verge of having her shot when I got lucky. The woman found another sucker, and Jodie became a liability. That's when Rob came back to himself."

She sat in silence for a long time, before asking, "What has this got to do with me?"

"You're a lot like Rob. I thought the two of you should get together."

"But you don't know me. You don't know anything about me."

He stared at her for a moment, as though making a difficult decision, then nodded and said, "Your name is Samantha Estelle Hanover. You were born in Ohio, but your mother moved to Chicago when you were five, when your father died. Your mother and sister are now dead—your mother of a heart attack, while your sister was murdered by drug-dealers—both in the same week. When it happened, you were a technical writer for an electronics firm, and you appear to have come apart the same way as Rob, and have found the same hole to crawl into."

Her mouth hung open but she couldn't help it. The man had had her investigated. The investigator had been slipshod, though, and had returned only half the story. He hadn't learned that she'd witnessed her mother's heart attack, the direct result of a home invasion by the men who had killed her sister—and that she, herself, fled into the night in the tatters of her clothing when the men decided to entertain themselves at her expense. Only the fact that they underestimated both her strength and her desperation allowed her to escape. The detective also hadn't learned that it wasn't yet over, that the men who killed Kate were still hounding her, and had, somehow, learned of the two places she stopped before reaching Solomons Choice. He missed the man she pushed down a flight of steps, and perhaps killed, in a frantic battle to escape. And he also missed her flight from Kansas when chance permitted a glimpse of a face at the window of her apartment; a face she knew; a face she feared and despised.

"So you see I do know you," he said, unaware of how little he knew. "I know you had the guts, and brains, to get through the winter, and I know you're someone who needs a man like my son to heal the wounds."

"So what are you offering?"

"Nothing."

"Nothing? I don't understand. You just—"

"Nothing now. Just Rob...and an offer to stand out of your way if you choose to...to do more than become a friend."

Once again she understood. "You've come to the conclusion that I won't... That I wouldn't be bad for your son, and you want me to know what I would have if I were to fall in love with him, so I won't either leave Solomons choice, or avoid him."

He came and sat on the chair once more, leaning toward her, as he said, "There aren't many free women out here, Sam. And Rob...well, he was hurt enough that he will never go to the city just to meet a woman. Certainly, he'll never play the mail-order bride game. So what's left?"

"Me."

"You."

She stood. "I better go. I respect your dedication, but I'm not interested."

"You don't like Rob?"

She turned to face him. "Like him? Of course I like him. He's a decent caring man, and any women would be a fool not to like him."

"So?"

"So I'm not for sale! And I'm not in the market for a man—any man." With that she headed for the front door.

As her hand closed on the knob he said, "That's okay. Stay for lunch, anyway."

Angry at the treatment she'd been receiving, and angry because she was in the debt of this man for her life, she snapped, "Why? What reason would I have to stay?"

He leaned a hip against the back of the sofa she'd been sitting on, not threatening her by coming closer. Finally, he shrugged. "Well, I've just mentioned that my son is rich, in case that might mean something to you. I don't think that's a reason to be upset, do you?"

"Well—"

"And I told you that I checked up on a woman my son is interested in, to be sure she wasn't the kind of person who hurt him so badly before. Is that such a bad thing?"

"You checked on me long before he met me, but...no, that isn't a reason to be upset." She hated to admit it, but the man was right. Wrongheaded and interfering he might be, perhaps, but scarcely someone to become angry at. He had, after all, made an offer many women would be thrilled to hear. But with everything that had been happening, this was a step too far.

But he wasn't going to let her leave without a battle, and he had a bit more ammunition, which he now used, as he said, "So now that you know what kind of bastard I am, stay for lunch anyway, and meet Jodie. You'll like her."

She stared at the man, before saying, "You're absolutely shameless!"

He only nodded his agreement. "That's true. It's why my wife loved me, and why my father-in-law hated me."

She didn't want to laugh, but in spite of everything—or maybe because of it—she couldn't stop herself from falling into peals of helpless laughter.

° ° ° °

Chapter 13

The room was garishly over-furnished, as though a barbarian had been given unlimited funds and then had used the money to run amuck through the finest of home-furnishing stores. Pictures of the crucifixion painted on black velvet hung next to reproductions of masterpieces by the finest artists, and all were centered around a spotlighted likeness of Elvis Presley. The style of the furniture pieces—if such a word could be used in the context of that room—varied wildly, with gaudy being the operative word.

The man sitting at the desk dressed to perfectly complement the room. He sat behind an obscenely expensive desk, and had a pair of eight hundred dollar shoes resting on the polished rosewood desktop. He also had bad skin and a perpetual sneer.

"Hey, Skin, I got news," the man coming through the door said, as he puffed his way up to the desk. With rolls of fat that began at his forehead and continued their way down his body, he resembled the Michelin-Tire-Man, though not quite so handsome as that.

"What? Can't you see I'm tryin' to get some fucking rest?"

The man before the desk stopped, blinking, as he thought about if his boss was growling because of anger, or because it was just his way. It was often hard to tell the difference, though knowing which was which _was_ important. Deciding that the news he carried had an interest factor high enough to override any annoyance, he said, "It's about the bitch that ran. The one we lost track of."

The shoes dropped to the floor and the man leaned forward. "The bitch that kicked Franco's balls in?"

"Yeah, that one. We got a line on her again. She's somewhere out west."

The man behind the desk scowled, though such an expression did little to make his expression more fearsome. His voice derisive, he said, "Well take care of it, then, asshole! Tell me when you've got the fucking money, not when you just think you know where it is."

"It's got, Skin. The money's as good as got. I'll see that somebody goes after it before the week's out." He hurried to leave the room.

"Fats?" the man at the desk called, as the fat man waddled toward the door.

"Yeah?"

"How the hell did such an easy job get so fucked up?"

The man shrugged. "It wasn't anyone's fault, Skin. When Franco and Ramon went to get the money, the girl's mom grabbed her chest and started flopping on the floor, soon as they put some pressure on the girl."

"And"

"And the girl starts screaming, so they have to finish, fast-like."

"Without my money."

"Yeah, without the money," he agreed. "From what he says, Franco quieted her down pretty quick, but they couldn't stay—the old lady's dead and the neighbors might have heard the screams. Anyway, Franco let her know what would happen if she didn't keep quiet and hand over the stash, but that was when she kicked him in the balls and went out the window...like in the movies."

The bad skinned man leaned back in his chair. He said nothing, so after a moment the fat man said, "She cleaned out her bank account and headed out of town. We were waiting for her to come home after the funeral but she never did."

"And it's taken you most of a fucking year to find her?"

"Yeah...I guess so. But that's because she got smart and stopped forwarding her mail, so we had to hire somebody with brains to dig out her trail." The man brightened. "But we got an address now, and I'm sending somebody we can trust."

"Okay, but this thing's taken too long. Just be sure you make her pay good for what she did to that shithead she shoved down the steps. For what's-his-name."

"Marty."

"Yeah, for him. Make her pay real good." He pursed his lips for a moment, then added, "Let me know when you're sure of the place. Maybe I'll go with."

The fat man waved a hand as he disappeared through the door. "You got it, boss. You got it."

Eight hundred dollar shoes began to scuff the desktop once more.

° ° ° °

Chapter 14

Samantha stared into the bathroom mirror, almost afraid of what she would see. But her own face frowned back at her; the same face that had been returning her gaze for all of her years. The same gray eyes looked steadily into hers, and the same brown hair, bleached by its exposure to sunshine, brushed her shoulders as she leaned forward to study her reflection.

She never claimed to have a beautiful face, but always, there was a look of serenity there, and of honesty—a face that smiled easily, and made friends easily, a good match for her outgoing nature. Now, however, it was a troubled face, that outgoing nature suppressed, perhaps forever, and now she was lost and adrift in a sea that had no horizon.

° ° °

Lunch started easily enough. Paul escorted her to the kitchen, where she met Rose, the wife of Paul's hired man, Tom. Her age was difficult to determine. The woman had reached the point at which each year added wrinkles to a face on which new wrinkles were lost amid a topographical map of the sorrows she'd known. She appeared to be Native American, though if her features indicated a particular tribe or area of origin it was a message she couldn't read.

But Rose proved to be warm and friendly, and having someone other than Paul with whom to talk, was a blessing. Rob's father would hardly let her get a word in during a conversation, and, with what had already passed between them, she wasn't quite sure of what to say, in any case. A chance remark on her part might elicit some new revelation—and there had been quite enough of them for one day.

For his part, Paul seemed content to allow them to become acquainted, and made little comment. He probably wanted to observe her in such a situation. It made things a little difficult, though, with him hovering in the background, and he must have realized that, because he soon excused himself, claiming he had to finish up some work before lunch.

After Paul's departure she chatted with Rose, mostly about cooking and the weather, for fifteen minutes, before the kitchen door was flung wide by the passage of a small body, as a shrill voice shouted, "Rose, you'll never believe it. There are three new calves, and I got to see one of them get borned. It was—"

A tiny girl, dressed in denim, skidded to a stop just inside the kitchen door, her face a mixture of excitement and surprise—the surprise a result of having caught sight of Samantha. Then, with the comical dignity that only the very young are capable of, she straightened her shoulders and turned to address her, directly.

"How do you do?" she said, coming forward and extending a tiny hand. "My name is Jodie." With equal dignity she added, "Yesterday it was Queen Jodie, but today I'm just Jodie."

Suppressing a smile, she took the girl's hand and shook it, returning an equally formal, "Good morning Jodie, I'm Samantha."

"I know." The formality was gone. "Daddy told me about you. He said you were pretty, and I think he's right. Are you going to marry him?"

She hadn't had a great deal of experience with six-year olds, since most of her relatives lived in Ohio, and were seen only at the holidays. She was, therefore, unprepared for the tendency of children to say whatever came to mind. She was powerless to keep a look of surprise from her face, but ignored Rose's bark of laughter to say, "I don't think so, but I think you're very pretty, too."

"Daddy didn't think so, either—the getting married."

"No?"

"No, but it's okay, I already have a mother, and she's pretty, too."

She had no idea of how to respond to that, but was saved by Tom's arrival. Moments later, Paul returned, and said, "So tell me, little missy, how did it go?"

It was reassuring to note that the interest on Paul's face wasn't feigned. He obviously adored the girl.

"It was great, Grandpop, I got to see a calf get borned, and Tom found two more calves that were borned since Tuesday." The little girl fairly bounced on her chair with excitement, as she bit into the peanut-butter and jelly sandwich she'd been served.

"Born," her grandfather corrected. "Calves are born, not borned, okay?"

"Okay, but it was neat. There was a kind of skin over the calf, and Tom peeled it off so it could breathe. I wanted to take it with me, to show you, but he said no." She shot Tom a look that clearly said, "I told you I'd tell on you."

Paul nodded, gravely. "That was probably a good idea, kitten, it would have been messy to carry, and I've already seen one."

Balked, Jodie suddenly brightened and turned toward Samantha, to ask, "Would you like to see it? I'll show you the new babies, too."

Before she could answer, Paul interjected, "You can't do that, today, Jodie. Tom and I have some work to do out back."

"But I know the way," the little girl insisted. "And Samantha can ride Thunder. Daddy said she can, so it's all right."

She hadn't the slightest desire to climb on an animal that carried the name Thunder.

Paul shook his head. "The answer is no, honey. Samantha doesn't know how to behave around cattle and neither do you, so you'll have to wait until another day."

"Well I don't think it's fair," Jodie said, crossing her arms in almost comical indignation. "I know very well what to do, Grandpop. You're just being mean."

Samantha leaned close, to tell her, "I'm sure you do, Jodie, but I don't, and your grandfather doesn't want me to be hurt." She had the urge to add, "Because he has other plans for me," but held her tongue.

Tom, who, except for acknowledging his introduction, had said nothing, put down his fork and said, "You two might take a ride over toward Samantha's place, if you like, and show her around the ghost town."

This time Jodie _did_ bounce on her chair. She ended up on her knees and facing Samantha, saying, "That's a great idea. Would you like to go there? It's a real neat place. Daddy says they were going to build a town there, but the ghosts scared them off."

"It's not a real ghost town," Paul interjected.

"I know, I've been there." She looked from Jodie to her grandfather, several times. The feeling was growing that she was no longer in charge of her life. No matter what she planned, she always ended up doing something else—something unexpected. The only thing she could say, however, was, "The horse's name is Thunder?"

Both Paul and Tom grinned at that.

Jodie essayed a hopeful, "You'll like him. He's _big_ ," which did little to instill confidence.

Tom laughed at that, saying, "Thunder lost any lightening he might have had quite a few years ago, Miss Samantha. He's a gelding, and gentle enough for a novice rider. Used to be Rob's, before he went off to school."

No one had ever called her, Miss Samantha, before, and both the man's courtesy and his explanation went a long way toward defusing her fears. Still, was she being pushed into doing this simply so she would come to love Jodie, with an eye to providing her with a mother? Were Rose and Tom part of the Paul's plot? Possible but unlikely. Even she hadn't known she would visit the Reiker ranch on a day when Rob was gone—or even that she would visit.

Undecided, she thought about whether to leave, while watching Blossom stitch her wedding dress together.

What?

She went rigid with shock. In front of her the kitchen and those with whom she'd been having lunch was unchanged. The same birds sang outside the kitchen window. But equally clear were the crude log walls and dirt floor of the house of maidens. To the left of the kitchen table, the woman Teal-Eye knew as Blossom quietly hummed as she sewed.

For a moment, she stared in horror. Then, with a feeling like none she'd ever known, she was no longer alone in her mind. There was another, who felt what she felt, and heard what she heard—someone who shared her thoughts, as she shared Teal-Eye's.

[ _Samantha?_ ] Wonder, question, and exultation were wrapped together in that single word.

"No!" She lurched to her feet, eyes tightly closed.

"Samantha? Are you all right?"

For a moment, she remained where she was, frozen. Then, abruptly, the alien presence was gone and she opened her eyes to discover herself the center of attention. Once again the world had returned to normal. Good news, perhaps, but not terribly reassuring.

No time to even think about what had happened, though, because Paul and the others were waiting for her to respond. But what to say to salvage the situation after such an outburst? Rob might understand, or at least accept. But Paul? The thought came that if she actually did try to explain, the problem of his unwanted matchmaking would be solved. Who would want their son married to a lunatic?

But explaining wasn't an option, so she allowed herself to slump back into the chair, saying, "Damn. I even wrote it down, but I _still_ forgot to buy sugar when I went to the store." She looked up as if surprised to see the concern on their faces, and said, "I'm sorry, it's just that this is the third time I've forgotten, and I wanted to bake cookies this evening."

"Well that's no big deal," Paul said, as he relaxed into his own chair. "Rose'll just toss a bit into a baggie and put it with the rest of your groceries."

She smiled a thank you, but quickly excused herself and headed toward the powder room.

° ° °

Staring at herself in the mirror seemed to be a particularly stupid way to spend time, so she straightened and began to pace the tiny room.

I am not going insane.

But to that she was forced to add, _But if I'm not, what the hell is going on?_ No answer to that, except that each time she experienced a period of strangeness, it seemed to become a bit more real. Would she eventually find herself living as Teal-Eye, while a stranger took over her body?

Unknowable. Shaking her head, she totaled up the list of her problems. First came the men who were doing their best to kill her, and worse. With luck she'd seen the last of them. Certainly, she had had no contact with anyone from her past life, as she'd done the two previous times.

Next came the seeming connection between her and Teal-Eye. But given that she hadn't the slightest control over that, ignoring it till she could focus on it without distraction seemed reasonable, if such a term as reasonable applied. Perhaps it might even be best to wait till Rob was available as a sounding board.

Then there was Rob, himself. Yes, it appeared that he was to be a friend, but what had happened in the past hour would certainly have an effect on any relationship she might have with him.

_Do I really want to become involved with a man who has baggage to bring to the relationship? Baggage in the form of a child, and a father like Paul—who also comes with the relationship?_ That last might be much more of a problem than Rob's having a child, though. Jodie, wasn't a liability; the little girl was fun.

And what about what she and Paul had discussed—Rob's money? How would that news affect the way she viewed Rob? It might be comforting to believe it made no difference, but the knowledge that Rob could provide security in a life gone berserk couldn't help but have an effect. Still, that, like Teal-Eye, needed to be tabled as a subject for later reflection.

Now, she had to make a decision. Claim to be too busy to go riding, or spend the afternoon with the child? A ride would be fun, and Jodie was adorable—a bundle of enthusiasm wrapped in a little girl's skin. But as attractive as an afternoon of play might be, good sense said to make excuses and leave.

She left the powder room firm in her resolution to do that—to spend the afternoon trying to think of how to either eliminate the effect of whatever was happening to her, or reach an accord with it. She was less than surprised, though, when Paul told her, "Jodie and Tom are out back, saddling Thunder."

Jodie was nowhere in sight, but Tom was in the corral behind the house, tightening the saddle on a huge black horse. Thunder was, quite simply, the largest horse she'd ever seen—bigger even than the horse Rob had been riding the day she met him. And long, immensely long. There seemed no end to him as Tom led him through the gate of the corral.

Tom smiled at the shocked expression on her face and said, "Yeah, he's a big'n, that's for sure, Miss Samantha, but he's as gentle as a lamb, and he'll be glad someone's gonna take him out for a change. Besides, Thunder's too old to give you much of a problem. If he tried to run away, he'd be tuckered out in no time."

With misgivings, she accepted the reins from the ranch hand, who then made a step with his hands, to aid her in mounting. She hesitated, but only for a split-second, because her eye caught sight of Paul, watching from the porch, waiting to see if she would fall, she assumed.

_Damn him._ And damn his "I know everything about you," attitude, too. With a flash of anger, she ignored the extended hand. Grasping the pommel of the saddle she threw her left foot into the stirrup and swung herself upward. By their standards, she might not be much of a rider, but she'd spent many happy hours riding with friends at a local rental stable, and wasn't going to let herself appear hesitant now.

Settling into the saddle, she found the other stirrup and experimentally stood. Then she sat, and stilled the horse's fidgeting with a gentle pull on the reins.

She reached out to stroke the silky coat of the gelding's neck as she said, "Will you raise the stirrups one notch for me, please, Tom? They're a little lower than I like them."

"Glad to, Miss Samantha. Glad to."

That taken care of, it was time to find Jodie. But Jodie was nowhere in sight. She opened her mouth to ask, but with the clatter of hooves, the little girl came trotting out of the barn on a pony that matched her size almost perfectly. The animal was a nearly perfect miniature Appaloosa, and she wondered what breed it was. The forequarters were dark—as was most of the hindquarters—but a blanket of white covered the pony's rump, dotted with the distinctive Appaloosa pattern.

Paul stepped off the porch at Jodie's appearance, his face clearly showing his adoration for the girl. As she caught sight of him, she hurried to give her grandfather a kiss on the cheek before whirling her pony and cantering toward the corral. Samantha smiled to see that, mounted on the pony, Jodie was of a perfect height to kiss her grandfather. She also noted, with interest, that the bond between horse and rider was so complete that it almost appeared that the little girl was a part of the horse. Jodie was in charge, though. No doubt about that, because the pony moved almost like an extension of her body—with the same enthusiastic darting from place to place that was Jodie's way.

"It's this way," the girl said, pointing.

"She knows, Jodie," Tom said, taking the pony's reins so Jodie had no choice but to stay and listen. "But you can't run that pony of yours to death. Do you understand me? You have to let him stop to breathe now and then." He turned his eye toward Samantha, warning, "Jodie'll run his legs off if you don't keep an eye on her."

"I'll take care of her, Tom, don't worry." With that, she turned Thunder toward the gate, thinking that it had been a hell of a day, thus far.

For ten minutes they rode across the grassy hills surrounding the ranch, heading in the general direction of the valley's central road, while Jodie kept up a steady chatter of information on everything they saw. She'd forgotten how satisfying a thing it was to travel on horseback, and made a mental note to take Rob up on his offer to go riding.

When they were clear of the ranch, and, in response to both Jodie's and Thunder's urging, she allowed the horses to stretch their legs a bit. As promised, Thunder was both gentle and responsive, seemed pleased to be out of the corral and covering ground at speed. He had a smooth and easy gait, she discovered, and a canter like swooping over the grass on the back of a huge black bird. Easy to see why Rob loved the old horse. In deference to Tom's request that the pony not be run excessively, however, she kept the run short and then slowed to a walk, allowing the shorter legged pony to catch up. A few minutes later, as they rode side-by-side, she said, "Tell me, Jodie, do you know the short-cut your father uses to get over to my place?"

"You mean the trail that runs by the little pond where my dad lets the horses drink?"

"That one. Can you lead me there?"

"Sure, easy...it's the same way as going to the ghost place, just a little further."

"Okay, then, Little Missy. Let's go there."

"Why?"

"Well, have you ever gone swimming in that pond?" It was unlikely she had. Who would take her?

"Swimming?"

Samantha smiled.

° ° ° °

Chapter 15

"What's the name of this street, Samantha."

Directly before them the fading track of the bulldozer that had gouged a path through the range grass extended, faintly visible. Because it was on the way to the pool, and because Jodie had insisted on giving a tour of the place, they stopped at the faded remains of the failed development. For fifteen minutes, she and Jodie had been pacing off the tract—traversing its streets, as Jodie pointed out the highlights of a town that existed only in her fertile imagination—features such as the school, the movie house, and the many playgrounds. The street naming she left to Samantha.

"Well, the last street was Jodie Highway," she said, furrowing her brow in simulated thought. "...so I if I remember rightly, this one is Jodie lane."

Jodie giggled. "Are there ghosts living on Jodie Lane, too?"

"Well of course. This is a ghost town, isn't it? But there's only one, and his name is, umm...Billy Bumpkin. He's really ugly."

"How ugly? As ugly as a toad?"

"Uglier. Even worse then you with peanut butter and jelly all over your face." In response to Jodie's giggle, she added, "In fact, he's uglier than anyone you might know. His face looks like it's been stepped on, and he has hands where his feet should be."

"Yuck!"

"Double yuck, and he's searching for someone like you, so you better be careful, or he may haunt you."

Jodie laughed. "How about you? Aren't you afraid of him?"

"Oh, I'm not beautiful enough. Besides, I'm haunted, already."

Jodie kicked her pony into motion, and brought him alongside, looking up into her eyes as she asked, "Are you really haunted?"

"I wish I wasn't, but I am." A particularly stupid remark, but it slipped out and it was too late to take it back. Jodie clearly didn't know what to make of her statement, so she to put a stop to any questioning by pulling Thunder's head in the direction of the little grove of trees where the pool lay.

"Come on, Jodie," she called, as she started Thunder moving. "It's time to get you wet." Then, as Jodie caught up, and to head off further questions, she asked, "Why did you name your pony Ladybug? I would think he might feel insulted."

"For your information, Samantha," Jodie said with great seriousness. "A ladybug can be a he _or_ a she. I named him Ladybug because he has spots, just like a ladybug."

She decided not to point out the fact that the coloration of ladybugs wasn't remotely like that of the pony.

This time she made sure there no one was within viewing distance before removing her clothing. Because she had no idea of how Rob or his father would feel about such things, or how Jodie would react, she removed only her outer clothing before going into the water; and this time took more care entering the water. Jodie had no such inhibitions. She shed her clothing into an untidy heap, fairly leapt into the water, then charged from one end to the other, making great splashes, claiming to enjoy the sensation of the mud squishing between her toes.

For the next fifteen minutes, Samantha thoroughly enjoyed herself, chasing Jodie and battling her wild splashing with splashes of her own, until the water, crystal clear when they entered, had turned mud brown.

"You," she told Jodie. "Are going to have to sit under the pump at my place before I take you home. Your hair is the color of mud."

In response, Jodie picked up a handful of mud and wiped it across her head, saying, "I like mud, cause I'm a piggy." She then proceeded to make oinking noises until Samantha picked her up and threw her across the pool, where she landed with a huge splash. Unfortunately, that only generated the request of, "Again, please," and a face-stretching grin.

Fifteen minutes later, Samantha lazed in shallow water, body lightly afloat, head resting on the pond's edge. She, too, would have to use large quantities of shampoo to take the mud from her hair. Jodie sat by the pond's other edge, using a stick to draw a town of her own, naming the streets as she placed them.

Without warning, a voice in her head, said, [ _A delightful child, Samantha._ ]

What?

She was halfway to her feet before she could take control of her shocked attempt to flee. With an effort, she eased back to her previous position, so as not to attract Jodie's attention. Running wouldn't solve this problem. Whoever and whatever had invaded her mind at the ranch house was back.

_Who are you?_ she asked, adding, _Please...why are you doing this, and what do you want of me_?

The answer came in quiet and conciliatory tones, as though the owner of the voice recognized her distress, and was being especially careful to avoid upsetting her further. [ _I have no idea of why the goddess has done this thing. I am called Teal-Eye. I have been watching your world through your eyes for some time, and have wondered, myself, why this has happened._ ]

With an effort, she controlled the panic that threatened to overwhelm her, surprised to find that Teal-Eye appeared as confused as was she. Then a question occurred.

_You've been looking through my eyes? For how long_?

[ _I don't know._ ] She sensed confusion in the other's mind. [ _For me it has been happening for a few days, only, but I was with you when you visited your sister, and when your mother died, and that was some time ago, I think._ ] Added, almost as an afterthought, and feeling like a plea for understanding, was a wistful, [ _I think we may have much in common._ ]

A few days? The claim of having been in contact for such a brief time matched her own experiences, but the time-frame of the events she claimed to have witnessed was nearly a year, which made no sense at all.

She informed Teal-Eye of the gap in time between her first experience and the present, but Teal-Eye dismissed that as, "the will of the goddess."

There followed a time of wonder, a time that she would never be able to describe in mere words. It was a sharing, and a growing closer of two women who found they had a great deal in common, though they came from vastly different backgrounds. Teal-Eye seemed as mystified about the cause and mechanism of their strange bonding as was she, and as surprised to learn that Samantha had been sharing periods of her life as she was to learn of Teal-Eye's involvement with her own. Tentative and frightened, at first, Samantha finally began to enjoy the exchange, now that there appeared to be little danger that Teal-Eye was, in some manner, trying to take over her life.

They talked over experiences and viewpoints, as women have always done, and it seemed that there was a good deal about Teal-Eye to admire. Unsophisticated, yes, but she was also strong, resourceful, and witty. And though her society was technologically primitive, socially, it was surprisingly rich.

The death of her parents, and her night of hell at the hands of her parent's murders was far more traumatic than her own experience with the thugs who invaded her mother's house, especially when viewed through the lens of memory.

Finally, Teal-Eye said, [ _I must ask something of you, sister of the mind._ ]

What is it?

Teal-Eye's mental voice seemed hesitant, as she asked, [ _If it should come to pass that the goddess should chose you to be the wife of Miona in my stead...replacing my spirit with your own, I ask that you will honor my commitment. He is a good man, and he will treat you with honor._ ]

It hadn't occurred to her that Teal-Eye had been worried, herself, over exchanging identities, but it made sense and served to reassure. Still not fully certain that this wasn't the ravings of a mind with no true hold on reality, she had, at the least, lost her fear. If Teal-Eye was no more than a personality created out of a fragmenting of her own mind, it was one that she liked and respected, and that, she supposed, was all she could hope for.

I can't promise, since I know so little of him. Should it occur, though, I'll to try to explain to him what's happened, and to give him a fair chance. But what if he doesn't want me? It's you he loves, remember.

[ _Agreed, but you might be better for him in any case_ ]

Why?

[ _Because you have known the love of a man, and you have pleased him. Your memory of that time has helped a great deal, but, still...I am afraid. He says it will pass, but I am still afraid._ ]

She sighed. There was little to say, except to offer her support and re-assurance.

"Samantha!" She was being shaken. She blinked back to the world. Jodie sat on her stomach, with her palms on her cheeks. "Samantha wake up!"

Taking Jodie's wrists in her hands, she pried the little girl's hands from her cheek, saying, "What's wrong?"

"What's wrong?" Jodie crossed her arms and scowled. "You were all weird. Your eyes were open, but...but there was nobody home."

[ _A perceptive little girl, Samantha. I would hope to have such a child, one day._ ]

_You will. You'll make a fine mother...and a fine wife._ That last had been added as reassurance. Apparently, she was going through a classic case of pre-wedding jitters.

"Samantha! You're doing it again!" Jodie bounced on her stomach, in frustration, then stopped and peered into her eyes, as though trying to look into her head.

"Are you being haunted?"

Taking control of herself, she sat up and moved Jodie to her lap. "As a matter of fact, I am. Would you like to talk to her?"

The prospect of a new game brightened Jodie's features with a grin, as she said, "Neato, what's its name?"

"Not it, Jodie. This is a lady. Her name is Teal-Eye, and she says you can ask her anything you want. Just ask me, and I'll tell you what she says."

Jodie settled herself on her lap, idly splashing water on the two of them as she thought of what to ask.

"Okay, what tribe does she belong to?"

After a moment's consultation, she said, "She's not an Indian, Jodie. She tells me she belongs to a clan called the High-Mountain people. She lives in a place that has great forests, and tall mountains."

What she was doing was probably stupid, but lost in the rapport she'd been experiencing, her judgment was a bit biased. In any case, Jodie believed it no more than a game.

As Jodie asked her simple and direct questions, a curious thing began to happen. At first, Teal-Eye would give her response, which she would pass to the child. In a short time, however, she could echo the words as she heard them, only slightly behind what Teal-Eye said. That, in moments, progressed to Teal-Eye's speaking directly to Jodie. At first, it brought fear that doing such a thing yielded control of her body, and that she might not be able to regain it, but an experiment showed that it was entirely at her volition, stopped at any time.

Jodie responded with delight to the change in pacing of her speech, and the fact that Teal-Eye tended to speak with a higher pitch to her voice. How it was possible that she spoke and understood English was unknown, but such a paradox, alone, proved her a creation of her own imagination. Teal-Eye insisted that the goddess Eia did as she wished, and if she wished Samantha to understand her people's language, and vise-versa, it was so. As an explanation it did little to reassure.

Nearly an hour later, when no response came to a questing thought on her part, she didn't know whether to be relieved or unhappy.

° ° °

"I really like you," Jodie said, as they dismounted at Samantha's place. "You're the neatest lady I ever met."

"Oh? And why is that?"

"Because you aren't afraid to get dirty. Rose yells at me if I get dirty."

"So you like me because I get dirty? I don't think—"

"That's not all, silly. I like you because you play great games, and because you have invisible friends, like I do."

A cold wind blew through Samantha's brain. Closing the gate to the corral, where they left the horses, she turned to Jodie and casually asked, "What kind of invisible friends?"

Jodie's brows lowered, and she placed fists on her chin as she thought. "Well, there's Ellen-Sue. She's my best friend, because she stays with me when there's no one else around. Her mother's not nice to her, though."

"No?"

"No. She went away, and she won't come back. I have to cheer Ellen-Sue up a lot."

Without conscious intent, she gathered the girl into her arms and lifted her from the ground, holding her close and whispering, "I'd never leave you alone, Jodie. I'd never leave a sweet lady like you alone."

She said it so quietly that no one but herself could hear, but tears came, and came again, when Jodie wiped them away with a finger, then said, "I love you Samantha."

"But why can't we get washed in the house?"

"Because the pump doesn't work. The handle goes up and down but nothing comes out. Unless you want to get washed with air, we have to use the one by the corral."

Three feet of pure stubbornness stood blocking the door, arms tightly folded, and lip extended. "I won't. It's not nice to take your clothes off outside the house."

"But Jodie, you just took a mud bath with no clothes on, and that was outside."

"It's not the same," she insisted.

"Well, the same or not, I can't bring you home in this condition, so march out there and let's both get ourselves cleaned up."

"No!"

"Jodie."

"I don't want to, and you're not my mother, so you can't make me."

"Can't I?"

The "no," that Jodie gave wavered a trifle, but put her into a position she did not relish. About to make an angry response, she stopped and scooped the girl up, depositing her to sit on the table in front of the chair that she, herself took, so their eyes were on the same level.

"Listen, Jodie... Suppose I took a girl like you for a walk. And suppose the girl wanted to walk out on a rock at the edge of a high cliff. Should I let her?"

"Yes."

"But suppose I knew the rock was loose, and that if the little girl stepped on it she would fall down the cliff and be badly hurt. Should I tell her to stop?"

Jodie's eyes shifted away, and she had the look that said she knew that she, herself, was standing on a loose rock, and might be about to fall. At last she said a reluctant, "Yes."

"And suppose that little girl said, 'You're not my mother. I don't have to listen to you.' What should I do?"

Jodie's eyes were on the floor, her lip was quivering, as she said, "You should make her stop."

She tipped the tiny face toward her. "Okay, then suppose it wasn't a big fall, but just a little one? Or maybe just something that has to be done?"

Jodie's "I'm sorry," resulted in her being swept from the table and into her arms, so the girl couldn't see the grin her teary declaration brought. She then tossed Jodie over her shoulder like a sack, for carrying out to the pump. She'd only reached the halfway point, however, when she suddenly turned and headed back to the house, in response to Jodie's question of, "Are you sure you remembered to prime the pump in the kitchen?"

° ° ° °

Chapter 16

The pork was sizzling nicely, and would be ready for the sauce in a moment or two. Samantha sprinkled a pinch of basil into the savory juices in the pan and was rewarded with a burst of aroma that had her mouth watering. The sound of someone knocking on the front door wasn't a welcome interruption. She moved the pan to a cold burner and turned off the fire.

"Who is it," she called, through the closed door.

"It's Rob, Samantha."

Not certain she was ready for company, she opened the door part way and stood blocking the opening, rather than inviting him in, or at least stepping outside,.

His smile wavered as he said, "I'm sorry if I'm interrupting, Sam, but I got home earlier than expected, and I had to come over and thank you for taking Jodie this afternoon. You were all she wanted to talk about when I came into the house."

He seemed about to say more, but hesitated, as though unsure of whether he should continue, so she said, "It was my pleasure, Rob, she's a sweet little girl, and I'd forgotten how much fun kids that age can be."

He grinned. "She is, isn't she? And she truly adores you. She says you're "neat," and when she heard I was coming here she begged me to let her come, too. When she couldn't make me change my mind, she asked me to—and I'm quoting: 'Ask Samantha if she can come over and play again tomorrow.' "

She joined in his laughter, but said, "Tell her I'd love to, but I really do have to get some work done, tomorrow."

"I'll tell her." He hesitated for a moment, and his eyes sought hers before he added, "But I hope it's not because my dad scared you away."

At her sharp look, he said, "He told me what he did, and I can't say I'm surprised. Dad can be a little overpowering at times. Personally, I find it best to not argue. I just agree with whatever he says, and than do what I damn well please. Dad can be pretty intimidating, at times." He cocked his head, and raised his eyebrows in question, as he said, "Does it bother you?"

"Your dad? No, he came on pretty strong, but he meant well."

"I meant the money. I'll give it away, if you like."

She almost believed he was serious, until she noticed the smile playing around the edges of his mouth and swung the door fully open, waving him inside.

"Have you eaten?" Suddenly a solitary dinner wasn't as attractive an idea as it had been only moments before.

He shook his head, then followed as she guided him toward the kitchen. "No, but I was planning to eat when I get home. I can't ask you to share your dinner, though. Not when you weren't expecting company. That's not fair to you."

She went to the stove and slid the frying pan back over the burner, snapping the gas valve to high. She thought of echoing Paul's words, about not being neighborly to say howdy and good-by, but, instead, said, "You wouldn't be taking my dinner, Rob, I was celebrating my newfound ability to keep leftovers fresh by cooking enough for two days, so there's plenty for two. Dessert is canned fruit, though."

"Well..."

Rather than arguing, she pointed. "You'll find dishes in the end cabinet and glasses in the one next to it. You can earn your dinner by setting the table."

"Okay," he said, after a moment. "You have a deal, but you have to let me buy you dinner tomorrow, to replace the one I'm about to take away from you."

"Ask me again later, Rob."

He stopped, his hand on the plate he was about to lift from the stack. Then he gave a tiny nod and continued setting the table, taking napkins from the holder on the counter and folding them before placing one next to each of their plates.

"So what am I eating," he asked, as he searched through the drawers for silverware.

She directed him to the proper drawer, while saying, "Pork cutlets over rice. I hope you like them."

He shrugged.

"I eat nearly everything." He frowned as she poured sauce over the cutlets and reduced the heat to simmer. "What kind of sauce is that? It smells good, but it looks pretty strange."

"You don't want to know, yet," she said with a smile. "I'll tell you after you taste it."

"Fair enough." He took a seat and leaned back, then, after a moment in which he watched her work, asked, "Do you like to cook?"

"When there's someone to cook for. When you live alone it gets to be a chore."

He made no answer to that, other than a grunt, so she turned her attention to what she was doing.

For several minutes silence filled the kitchen. There was really nothing to do but wait for the chops to absorb the flavor of the sauce, but while she waited, she kept her attention on the pot, unsure of what to say. Not knowing exactly what his father had told him of their conversation, or what he might think about her arriving, unannounced at the ranch made it difficult to even begin a conversation.

Finally, turning off the fire under the pork she took the plates from the table and began to spoon rice into them. Then she added a ring of snow peas, and finally, a cutlet on each. Completing the dish, she ladled on sauce, then placed the plates and a loaf of bread on the table.

"Now, don't feel obligated to eat it if you don't like it," she warned him. About to sit, she remembered and went to the refrigerator to get the butter and the pitcher of iced-tea.

"Wow!" he said, as he tasted a mouthful of food. He savored that for a moment, chewing slowly, before saying, "This is _really_ good. What are the crunchy things on top of the rice? I've never had them before."

"Snow peas."

"Really? Well, I like them, and I like the gravy, so you can tell me what I'm eating."

She laughed as she poured the tea. "Would you believe it's ketchup and wine?"

"You're kidding?"

She placed the pitcher where he could reach it for refills and held up her hands, palms out. "Scout's honor. Ketchup, wine, mushrooms, and a few spices. It takes about twenty minutes to make—less if I had a microwave."

"Huh," he said, sounding pleased. "I'd marry you for your cooking alone, if you can do something like this for every meal."

Feeling like she'd been hit in the face with a wet towel, she looked away, wishing she hadn't invited him in. Then she noticed that he was leaning to the side, deliberately placing himself in her line of vision.

He waved a hand at her, saying, "It was a joke. It's my dad who's trying to marry me off, remember, not me. So relax and enjoy your dinner."

Embarrassed, she waved a never-mind, and rubbed her forehead, telling him, "I'm sorry, Rob. It's been a rough few days, and after what your father did today, I'm a little..."

"Upset?" he supplied.

"No, I'd say a little...well, uncomfortable." A stupid remark, given that she'd invited him in to eat. If only he wasn't so damn _male_.

He stopped eating and pushed his plate away, then wiped his mouth with his napkin as he pushed back from the table.

"I'm sorry, Sam. I shouldn't have done this. I did tell you I would wait until you called. Tonight was both a thank you for what you did for Jodie and a trip to bring you the charger for the phone, so when you do call the phone won't be dead." He fished in his pocket and pulled out the charger, which he laid on the table. "It'll plug into your truck." When she said nothing, he essayed, "If you'd give me a chance, though, you might find I'm a nice guy...in spite of my money."

That brought her eyes up to meet his. He really was hard not to like, she decided, for the umpteenth time. There was a guileless honesty about him—an openness she'd seldom found, and which touched something within her. At any other time, it would have been a blessing to find such a man. He liked her. And though he professed only friendship, he gave all the signals that said he wanted more than just friendship between them. Still, he'd been nothing but a gentleman, and there was really no reason to be uneasy in his presence.

"You're right, Rob," she finally admitted. "I guess I'm being silly, but I've never had anyone try to _buy_ me before, and I never expected anyone to hire a detective to investigate me."

"He was impressed that you told him to go to hell."

She laughed. "I wasn't trying to impress him. I was telling him to go to hell. Plain and simple."

"Well you did—impress him—and I'm pleased to hear it. He was also impressed by the fact that you got up on Thunder, even though he sprung him on you with no warning. I'm _not_ pleased to hear that his big mouth has made you feel uncomfortable around me, though."

"It's not you, Rob," she hurried to assure him. "Or even Paul. It's just that it's all too much and too sudden. You, Jodie, your dad, and the business with Teal-Eye. It's got me on edge, and sometimes I don't think I can handle it."

His voice was quiet as he said, "Jodie told me about Teal-Eye."

_Shit._ One more thing to worry about. The depression that had been hovering around her all afternoon returned to roost on her shoulders.

"Jodie said she and Teal-Eye had a long talk. She swore me to secrecy, and told me that it was a secret just between the two of you. I don't think she's old enough to really understand what a secret is, though."

She turned away, feeling as though she were talking to him from a great distance.

"I'm sorry, Rob. I hope I didn't upset her. I just thought it best that you didn't know. I..." She stopped, wishing she had had the good sense not involve Jodie.

He stood, not leaving, and not approaching, either. A glance showed that his body language fairly shouted that he wanted to take her in his arms and comfort her, but she rejected that offer, straightening and turning away again.

The floor creaked as he changed position, and his voice was a trifle closer: a compromise on his part. "You didn't upset Jodie, Sam. She thinks it's all a game, and that you're the best playmate she's ever had." When she only nodded, he said. "I went to the county offices for ranch business, this morning, but I spent most of the day at the hospital, which was the real reason for the trip. I wanted to use their library."

"And did you find me there in the books on insanity?" In spite of an effort to remain calm, her voice carried the hopelessness she'd been trying to deny. She'd reached an accommodation with what was happening, had even enjoyed the shared time with Jodie and Teal-Eye at the pool. But in reality, there was no magic in the world. Samantha Hanover was coming apart—and would soon shatter into a thousand tiny fragments.

His voice was hard, and there was no pity there as he said, "No, Sam. I did _not_ find you there. I looked through dozens of books on the subject, and I even talked to two different men, one a psychiatrist and the other a neurosurgeon. Neither was able to tell me what's going on, other than that you're probably reacting to stress—which is the same as saying they don't know."

"But..." She stopped, glad she was still facing away.

"But what?"

"But they had to say something more. There has to _be_ something more. You can't expect me to believe that none of the other crazy people think they can talk to..." She waved her arms, unable to come up with a term.

His voice took an edge, and he moved close enough that she could feel the heat of his body against her back, as he said, "You aren't crazy, Sam."

She whirled to face him, demanding, "Than what am I, Rob? And why do I hear disembodied voices in my head? Are you trying to convince me that I'm normal? Because if you are, then it's you who's the crazy one." She was on the verge of hysteria, and that wouldn't help, so she closed her mouth to keep from saying something truly stupid

Standing his ground, he shook his head. "No, I'm not trying to tell you that nothing's wrong, but you are _not_ crazy."

"But I hear voices, and I see things that aren't there. What am I, if not crazy?"

When he finally spoke, there was the sound of careful detachment in his voice, as though shifting from friend mode into doctor mode. He took a step back, waving her toward her chair. "Let's start with what I know, first—what I was able to find out today, okay?"

"Okay." She sagged, giving in and resuming her seat. After a moment's hesitation he took his own, not taking his eyes from her as he did so.

There was a moment of silence, as he studied her before continuing. Then, he started abruptly, as though he'd just shaken himself, mentally.

"Okay, then. There are plenty of people who hear disembodied voices. That's not uncommon, but most of the people who hear voices hear angry voices that order them around or constantly find fault. That's not you, right?"

"No."

"And there are endless numbers who believe themselves to be...oh, say Helen of Troy. But those people are suffering from delusions, and truly believe they have become the person they claim to be. That's also not you."

"I don't think so, Rob, though I really don't know at this point. Maybe I—"

"Well I do, and you aren't delusional. At least not in the sense I understand that condition. And those few who have stories similar to yours are usually not suffering from delusions; they tend to fall outside the realm of science."

She stared at him in sudden disbelief. "You mean I'm...I'm _possessed_? Is that what you've been trying to tell me?" It was difficult to keep her voice from cracking.

He shrugged, expression that of someone who had tasted something unpleasant.

"Possibly. Your experiences sort of fit, though I'm not too thrilled with the idea, and you don't truly fit that category, either."

"Agreed, if for no other reason than my sharing her experiences so intimately. I was there, Rob. Or at least it felt like I was, right down to the smells, and the feel of the breeze on my skin."

He looked unhappy, and waved a distracted hand as he said, "I know. That's why I said I wasn't able to find you. That's not part of what's been called, being possessed. What you had is called an out-of-body experience, but, again, they aren't usually that vivid. And they don't come with the reverse, an out of body experience for the person they become." His lips thinned as he said, "The ability to hold a conversation with the one possessing you is also not part of being possessed, if Jodie had the story straight."

"She did," she admitted, feeling foolish for having done such a thing with Jodie.

"Jodie also said that _she_ was able to speak directly to her, which, unfortunately, _does_ fit into the possession genre. It also fits into the field of medicine. Did you feel that she...that is Teal-Eye, took you over?"

She debated denying what had happened, but perhaps it was time to tell him everything. She certainly wasn't making any progress in solving her problems on her own. Perhaps if someone—an outside observer like Rob—knew all the facts, perhaps he could make more sense out of it than she'd been able to do.

Unable to stand the confining closeness of the house, she stood and walked out of the kitchen. Assuming he would follow, she walked to the corral, to put a foot on the bottom rail, hugging herself against the top rail and looking at nothing in particular. It was near dusk and an evening wind was rippling through the grass, swirling it as her thoughts were swirling—without a focus.

"I am running away, Rob," she began. "I'm running from the men who killed my sister, and who want to kill me." He said nothing, only waited. After a moment, she climbed the fence to sit on the top rail, facing the house and still avoiding his eyes. She leaned against the tall gate-post next to her, pressing her cheek against the weather roughened wood. Then she began to tell him who, and what, she was.

° ° ° °

Chapter 17

"And that's everything, up until the time you arrived, tonight," she said, feeling drained, her voice little more than a whisper. After an hour's worth of talk she was tired, but far more at ease. During the telling, when she began to speak of her mother's death, she was overcome with a wave of emotion so vast, and so overpowering, that it left her with eyes unable to see and a mouth unable to speak. With a sob she turned to Rob and would have crumpled to the ground, but he lifted her from the fence, to cradle her in his arms and wipe away the tears. Somehow, they ended up with her in his arms—he sitting in the dirt, against the old corral's fence-post, as she finished her tale.

The telling acted as a catharsis, removing much of the tension and placing her into a half-awake state, relaxed and safe. His arms were wrapped protectively around her, and the movement of his gentle breathing, as she told her story, brought reassurance—a reminder of when she was very young, and lay cradled in the arms of her father before slipping off to sleep. But just as her father had vanished from her life, Rob began to withdraw, and shift her from his lap to the hard ground.

As though she weighed no more than a child, he placed her so her back was against the fence and got to his feet. Full dark, now, his form was silhouetted against the star-filled sky. Had she lost her only friend?

He stood for a long time, arms resting on the top rail and staring at nothing. It was his way, it appeared, to think a thing through before speaking. So she sat, wondering what his reaction would be, and why that reaction mattered so much. Was it the situation, and that he was, quite literally the only man she knew well? She shook her head. He was far more than just an acquaintance. He was a fine and decent person, who could have, and perhaps should have, turned away from the problem she presented. But he was the kind of man who would never turn away from someone in need of his help. Perhaps it was only because of that—because he perceived her as wounded, and in need of help—but he did care for her. But whatever the reason, she cared for him. It was time to admit that.

She got no further than that in her musings before his voice came, interrupting her thoughts.

"And you've had no contact with the outside world since you arrived?"

"None. I've deliberately kept away from the phone, and I haven't written any letters. Any mail that's in the post office in Kansas City is just going to lay there, because I haven't had it forwarded."

He nodded but said nothing. She waited, while the night wind teased at her hair and brought a shiver.

"Well," he said, finally. "If there's anyone who should know you're safe, you can write to them, and I'll have a friend who lives in Boston re-mail them from there. Just don't include a return address and you'll be okay."

"Thank you." An inane remark, but all that came to mind.

Again silence, and he was still, except for his breathing. His chin rested on his arm, which, in turn, rested on the rail.

Finally, and with a frown in his voice, he said, "A lot of things make more sense, now." He turned his back to the fence, looking down at her. "And I can see that you're a _lot_ stronger than I thought you were. There aren't many who could have done what you've done—been through what you've faced—yet come out of it as well as you have."

"I'm not strong, Rob," she said, shaking her head. "I'm anything but strong. I've simply run away and found a hole to crawl into. I fill my days with writing to keep from thinking about the future, and from remembering the past. I...I..." She stopped, then shrugged, unable to think of anything else, shivering again as the cooling breeze played over her bare arms.

He reached a hand toward her, saying, "Come in the house and put on a sweater. There's a lot to talk about, and this isn't the place."

He helped her up and motioned toward the house, then followed as she led the way into the kitchen. She left him there while she went upstairs. Taking her white sweater from its hanger she slipped it on. For a moment she stood wondering what effect the events of the past hour would have on her relationship with Rob, then shook her head and headed for the door.

When she came downstairs, he was sitting in the darkness of the living room, at one end of the old sofa.

"I thought it might be better in here than the kitchen. I didn't want to end up sitting at one side of the table, with you on the other."

"Thank you," she said, taking a seat at the other end, and on the very edge. Unsure of what to say, and do, she waited for some sign of his reaction to her story.

He solved her problem by sighing, "Oh, Sam, what am I going to do with you?" Then he held out his arms, and she came into them as though she'd always lived there.

For a long time she cried. Not for the past, or even for fear of the future. This time the tears were those of someone who has been away from home for a long time. It was a return to a place never visited, yet a place dearly missed. It was an opening, and a relaxing, and a time of gentle joy, as his arms brought a peace that had long been missing from her life.

She finally began to pay attention to something other than how good it felt to be next to him and found herself cradled in his lap, her arms around him, her head on his chest, soothed by the steady beat of his heart.

She pulled back to find him watching her, his eyes barely visible in the darkness. "Rob," she said, a trifle uncertainly, "I think...I think I'm—" She brought herself to a halt before she could say, "I think I'm in love with you," but his finger to her lips had stilled her words just as surely.

"Shh," he told her, removing his finger, using it to trace the line of her eyebrows. "Don't think. There's been too much thinking, and too much worrying. Just _feel_ , for a while." And with that, he bent to gently claim her lips with soft warmth, a touch that spoke of friendship, not passion, but that touch went through her like a stroke of soft lightening, reaching everywhere, with a warmth that melted her as no man's kiss had ever done.

Forever, and forever, and forever she glowed, drifting through darkness and responding to his strength and warmth, clinging to his lips and bringing him against her with arms that demanded he not leave—not stop—not do anything but continue to fill her with the joy his kiss brought. He'd been right. The time for thinking was gone.

Her eyes finally opened, and she gazed at him in wonder.

"Does it matter," he asked, his voice a sigh.

"Matter?"

"Jodie? My father? The fact that I've been married, before?"

She lay in his arms for a moment, staring into his face, her hand on his cheek and filled with growing warmth. This dear man wasn't asking how she felt about his child, or about his past, he was virtually asking her how she would respond should he ask her to marry him.

"Ask me later, Rob," she breathed, drawing his lips close to hers. "I don't want to think. I don't want to talk. I just want to be kissed."

For a moment he studied her face, then nodded and leaned down, beginning with a kiss to her forehead, then to each of her eyes—kisses filled with loving attention and growing intensity. Her cheeks came next, then her throat, while shivers ran through her entire body. Tremors radiating from her deepest being brought a long hissing "Ahhh," of pleasure from her, and a tightening of the arms that surrounded her. His lips finally touched hers, infinitely soft, and infinitely gentle—but gentle for a moment, only. This time his lips brought a yearning within her that swiftly turned to desire, as the pent-up well of emotion, trapped for so long, literally exploded. This time his mouth burned hers with growing passion, a passion that spoke of a longing that matched her own. With a speed that stunned, need such as she'd never known consumed her, a fire fanned by the hard strength of his body against hers, by his hands, touching her everywhere—dancing on her skin and seeking the secret pleasures that brought pinwheels of light to the screen of her closed eyes—and by the smell, and feel, and heat of him. He moaned, deep in his throat, as her hands matched the seeking and pleasuring of his, and he eagerly helped her turn, so as to lie next to him and to press herself tightly against him. She sought to match, with her own body, the urgent throbbing pressure of his, as the fire in her loins grew to flood her entire being with a need for him, a need that denied all desires but to bring him ever closer, until they would be but a single joined flame, filling the night with incandescence. She gloried in the rasp of his beard on her suddenly bare breast: sang at the feel of his lips burning her skin, his teeth nipping, his tongue tasting. Finally, before she could bear no more—before thought was banished and there existed only the two of them in all the world—she pulled his mouth to hers, to drink and drink, and drink again. Then, with little more than a ragged shaping of the gasping breaths her need brought forth, clutching a trace of sanity to her, she said, "Please, Rob, not here." The couch, small, and cramped, might literally might break apart if she were to make love to him in its close embrace. She slipped from his arms and crouched before him to take his hands, whispering, "Upstairs, my love. I want you more than I can say, but not here."

She melted anew, as he stood, to draw her close for a moment, his body hard and hot against hers, causing a shiver of new desire to go through her.

She turned to draw him toward the stairs, smiling at the realization that her clothing was gone, with no memory of how that condition had come about.

With the realization that she'd never before wanted a man the way she now wanted Rob, she lead him toward her bedroom.

[ _Yes!_ ] a voice said, in her head. [ _Love him, Samantha, love him._ ]

"No!" she cried, sagging in mind and body. " _It's not fair. Please, God, not now._ " The warmth of passion vanished, leaving her cold and naked in a dark and empty room.

"Sam? What's wrong?"

She shook her head, dropping the hand that had been so warm and so loving in hers. It wasn't fair.

"Samantha?" There was worry, now.

[ _Samantha, what's wrong,_ ] echoed the voice in her head.

_Why now, Teal-Eye?_ she demanded. _Why now? Why torment me at a time like this?_

[ _Torment you? But Samantha, I know only joy for you, and for me. Don't you realize what you have done for me, this night? You've shown me how it can be between a man and a woman. You've made me feel like a woman should feel with a man._ ] A pause, before she added, just a little petulantly, [ _At least you were going to._ ]

She shook her head, unable to answer, unable to accept.

Rob's hand on her skin was warm, his voice gentle. "It's her, isn't it?"

She could only nod, and his sigh spoke volumes. She turned then, to press herself against him, arms clutching frantically, pleading, "Please, Rob. Please don't leave me. I didn't want this, and I did want you—do want you—more than I've ever wanted a man. I just can't seem to control this. It just...comes." She buried her head against his chest, weeping, once more. "It just comes."

[ _I'm sorry, Samantha._ ]

Go away.

[ _I can't. I have no more control over this thing than do you. When the goddess wills it, I am with you. When she wills it otherwise, I am not. Who can argue with a goddess?_ ]

_There is no goddess_ , she insisted. _There is only me, and a mind that has_... Unable to say the words, she mentally shook her head, wishing she were dead. That would be preferable to watching sanity dissolve in such a fashion.

[ _But you are not crazy, Samantha. Why would you think you are?_ ]

_Why? Because only a week ago I was me, and I was alone in my head. Now, I'm having a conversation with myself. Because now I'm..._ She took a mental breath, and said, _I'm splitting into multiple personalities._

Teal-Eye's "voice" was thoughtful, as she said, [ _I understand the meaning of your words. That much I get from your memories, but you're wrong. You've lived my life, too, as I have lived yours. Am I to believe that I am splitting as well, and that you are a...a delusion? I think not, Samantha. We have but to wait and the goddess will make her plan clear._ ]

If only that were true. But she stood in a darkened room, with a man who had been about to make love with her, and she was arguing with a voice within her head. It was a voice that insisted she wasn't insane, but a voice that, in and of itself, _proved_ her insanity.

"Sam? Will you talk to me?"

Unwilling to trust herself to speak, she only nodded.

His breathing was returning to normal, as he took control of his emotions. After a moment, in a voice that still carried overtones of the passion they had shared, he said, "Is she...is Teal-Eye with you now...the way she was at the pond this afternoon?"

Again, she nodded. Rob stood for a moment, thinking, his arms still around her, his skin warm against hers, comforting, yet unsettling at the same time.

Finally, he stepped back a pace and waved toward her clothing, saying, "Perhaps you should get dressed and let me talk with her."

After a moment she nodded and silently went to separate her clothing from his, handing him his as she did so. In silence, they dressed.

[ _He is a handsome man._ ] A hesitation, then, [ _Well built to pleasure a woman, I think._ ]

Embarrassed, she said nothing, but wondered if, perhaps, she might find herself sharing Teal-Eye's wedding couch. The prospect of sex in such a fashion wasn't something to look forward to with great anticipation.

[ _But why not, sister of my soul? My joy should be your joy as well, and I would be honored if you would guide me in the ways of love, so I might please my Bear._ ]

Once again, she had no answer—refused to answer—and just waited unhappily for Rob to interview her insanity.

° ° °

Rob equipped himself with a notebook, and placed her at the kitchen table, after removing their unfinished dinner and dimming the lantern to a soft glow.

"Okay, now as I understand it, I'm going to be talking directly to Teal-Eye. Is that correct?"

"Samantha has agreed," Teal-Eye said, placing Samantha's hands in her lap and looking curiously around the kitchen.

Rob took several breaths, before saying, "Okay, then. Can you explain why you're speaking English?"

Teal-Eye shrugged. "It is the will of the goddess."

"What goddess?"

"The goddess of the earth, of course. The goddess of women. She is named Eia."

Rob frowned. "Eia? I don't— Wait a minute. Do you mean Gaea?"

She shrugged. "I don't know that name, but my Bear believes that there are some gods who have authority over more than one people, and I believe that Eia is such a one. Perhaps she is known by other names in far off lands."

Rob clicked his tongue in thought for a minute, then dropped that subject and said, "Tell me about your seventh birthday. Who were your friends, and what was it like where you lived?"

She shook her head. "On my seventh naming day I had no friends but the animals of the forest. I was well started on my journey, and I shunned all human contact. It was only after I watched the High Mountain people for many days that I decided to stay with them, though I did not join them with my heart for another year, when they accepted me as daughter and gave me my clan name."

"Because of your eyes."

"Because of that, and because I was of the water people, as is the Teal Duck."

"And your name before that? When you lived with your own people."

"My name was Franna."

For the next hour Rob quizzed Teal-Eye, trying, Samantha assumed, to find an opening; seeking a place to attack so as to pull the delusion apart. Teal-Eye, in an aside, said that she'd not had such a questioning since she came out of the woods to join the High Mountain clan. She was cooperating, she claimed, only so that Samantha would realize she was in the hands of the goddess, not madness.

Finally, he said, "Teal-Eye, can I speak to Sam, again?"

"Yes?"

He threw up his hands in a gesture of frustration, saying, "I think I'm beginning to understand how you feel." When she didn't smile, he nodded and said, "If it's all right with you, I'd like to perform a little test. Okay?"

"What kind of test?"

"I'd like to have you— Sorry, I mean, Teal-Eye, demonstrate a few skills that you—Samantha—wouldn't know."

"Such as?"

"Well...such as survival skills that a city girl like you wouldn't know. As I remember, you said that you never were a Campfire Girl or Girl Scout, and that you were sent to a day-camp held at a local swimming pool. Am I right?"

"Yes."

"And Teal-Eye agrees?"

"...Yes, she's curious as to what you plan, and says it sounds more interesting than talk, talk, talk."

"Then wait here for a moment. I have to get something from the car."

She gave him her flashlight and took a seat, waiting for him to return.

[ _Have I convinced you, yet, Samantha, that I am truly Teal-Eye, and not just a figment of your imagination?_ ]

She told her no, but it was a reluctant no. Before much of a conversation could be conducted, however, Rob returned, carrying several items, which he placed on the table. As he sorted them, he casually said, "Tell me, Teal-Eye, where would you set up a snare for a rabbit?"

"At a narrow spot. Perhaps between two rocks, or two trees. Rabbits are stupid, and they never back up, so a simple loop-snare will hold them forever."

He only grunted, then turned to face her and held out his left arm, elbow bent and fist up. The other arm he placed in front of it, horizontally, so the two arms formed a cross. "Okay," he began. "I want you to pretend that my arms are two pieces of wood that must be lashed together with the rope lying on the table."

Teal-Eye pursed her lips. "Do you want them held tightly, or should the crossing have the ability to flex?"

"... Tightly," he said, eyebrows raised in surprise.

She took the rope from the table. Then, as she prepared to use it, looked down in surprise, shook the rope out and examined it, closely, before saying, "This is _very_ fine rope. I have never seen its equal. The man who made it is truly a master craftsman. Of what plant is its fiber taken?" When Rob gestured with his crossed arms, she shrugged. Then, placing the midpoint of the rope behind Rob's vertical arm, she began to rapidly lash his arms together, mirroring each action of her right hand with her left, so she worked with the two halves of the rope at once.

"Son of a bitch! You're doing the Japanese square lashing."

Busy with her lashing, she said, "I don't know those words, but this is how I would attach the cross-piece of a roof to a rafter, if that has meaning to you."

For the next fifteen minutes, Rob quizzed Teal-Eye. Finally finished, he sank into his seat. He stared at her for a long time, and referred to his notes for an even longer time. Finally, he looked up and said, "Sam?"

"Yes, Rob."

He took a deep breath, then closed his eyes for several seconds before saying, "I don't know how to tell you this Sam, but she's either real, or you have the most thoroughly complete delusion in the history of the human race. As best as I can determine, you're being haunted by the ghost of a woman who lived some time after the last ice age and before the dawn of civilization as we know it."

° ° ° °

Chapter 18

[ _Ghost! He calls me a ghost? I am not a ghost, Samantha, I am me, Teal-Eye. Please inform your man that I am a living woman, and that you have walked the paths of my mountain, as I have walked the streets of your Chicago. It may be that your home is far distant from my own, but I am not a ghost._ ]

_I know. You're right, but..._ What could she say? How could she accept the impossibility of talking to a living being who had been dead for tens of thousands of years? But at the same time, how could she not, given that they _were_ in contact? Obviously, that was a discussion for another time, when she wasn't both emotionally and physically spent.

Rob's words on her not being delusional should have pleased, but they didn't. For one thing, he had at least one major flaw in his reasoning.

Ignoring Teal-Eye's words for the moment, she focused on a more basic issue.

"What about the fact that Teal-Eye can speak English?"

"A good point," he admitted. "She certainly speaks English as well as you do, though she doesn't always understand a given concept, if it has to do with current thinking or technology. She expresses herself differently, though, uses few contractions, and has a very different point of view."

[ _Perhaps in thought all languages are the same?_ ] Teal-Eye ventured.

"She suggests that all languages are the same, so far as thinking. That wouldn't explain how she speaks to you, though."

Rob shook his head. "No, it wouldn't, and it doesn't work in any case. In general, what we call thinking, at least thinking in words, is actually sub-vocalized speech. Most people even stop to swallow."

He thought for a moment, then shrugged. "I can't explain what's happening, nor can you or Teal-Eye, but it is happening, Sam. And there is no way in which you, or any part of your mind faked the conversation I just had with Teal-Eye, unless you've lied to me about your past, and Samantha, herself, is a created personality."

Before she could react to that, however, he leaned forward and touched her arm, reassuring her with, "But I don't for a minute believe that. For one thing, there's the investigator my father hired. As for the language..." He spread his hands, expressively. "We'll just have to write that off as the will of her goddess."

[ _Which is one of the few smart things he's said, this night._ ] Teal-Eye put in.

And then Teal-Eye was gone. How she knew that was uncertain, but true, so she turned back to matters of more immediacy.

"Rob, what am I going to do?"

"About what? The goddess?"

"About Teal-Eye, and about the way she comes and goes with no warning. I'm not happy with the idea of sharing the inside of my head with a ghost, a living woman, _or_ figment of my imagination."

He waved his hands, indicating that he was helpless to find an answer, finally suggesting, "Does _she_ have any ideas, other than that the goddess has mysterious plans?"

"I don't know, she just left."

"Just like that? No good-by?"

"Just like that."

"... I see your point." He drummed his fingers on the table for a moment, then threw up his hands, saying, "Hell, Sam, I don't know what to do. This is _way_ outside any experience or expertise I might have. I'd probably suggest a priest, but I don't think the Bible covers this particular situation, and I really don't think Teal-Eye can be exorcised with candles and prayer, anyway." He took a deep breath, then, and his voice was gentle as he said, "But I'll be here to hold your hand when you need me." His eyes were warm on hers, and his voice carried a trace of the emotions they had shared only a short time before, as he added "You can depend on that."

She reached out and took his hands, glad they were there to take, and glad they were as strong as they were. At her touch he glanced toward the darkened living room, with its stairs leading to the rooms above. Then, with a little shake of the head, he squeezed her hands tightly and said, "Sam, I...if you want me to stay and hold you, I will. I'll always be there for you. But we..." His eyes locked tightly to hers. "But we very nearly ended up in your bedroom, and it wasn't because we love each other, but because... Well, because of your emotional state, and the effect of your story on us both."

"And?" This was unexpected, and brought curiosity as to what he would say next.

"And I think we should get to know each other better, before we..." He appeared to be unsatisfied with that, and added, "Before we make a decision based only on emotion." Frowning, and looking even less satisfied, he stood and turned away from her, but the tension in his body was clearly visible as he said, "I once made a bad mistake, Sam...a very bad mistake. I allowed myself to be pulled into a relationship with someone who, aside from those emotions, wasn't..." he sighed, before saying, "The point is, I want to be sure...I have to be."

One result of that "mistake" was Jodie, who might well justify all the pain, but his meaning was clear. And memories of being burned by making the same mistake, herself, reinforced his point.

"Of course you need to be sure. As do I," she finally said. The thought came that, given her agreement to aid in an effort to know each other better, she might just have entered into what could only be called a provisional engagement. But that wasn't something to discuss, so what she said, was, "In any case, I'm beyond thinking, now, and I have the beginnings of a headache, so..." She trailed off with a shrug.

He stood, nodding acceptance, then began gathering his things from the table, saying, "Thank you Sam for being so... Well, for being you." He stopped, then frowned, before slapping the table and saying, "I don't believe this. I really don't believe what just happened."

"What?" she asked, mystified.

"You don't see it?" When she mutely shook her head, he said, "Well, what I don't believe is that I've just told the most beautiful and interesting woman I have _ever_ met that I don't want to sleep with her, and she told me, 'Not tonight, dear, I have a headache.' "

That served to bring the world into focus once more, and she joined in his laughter, which prompted him to drop his things and round the table in three long strides, to take her hands tightly. They remained that way for a long time, she locked by the intensity of his grasp, and by eyes that seemed to be devouring her soul. Then he kissed her hard, and on the lips, before abruptly releasing her hands and going back to what he'd been doing.

He left, but not before she agreed to dancing on Friday evening—leaving some time for them both to think over what had happened. Then, she was alone.

For a time she lay in her bed, the ghost of his kisses teasing her thoughts and bringing a deep longing. Sleep took a long time in coming.

° ° ° °

Chapter 19

"Samantha! Samantha, where are you?"

She put down her pen and went to the kitchen window to wave a hello before hurrying through the door to open the corral gate, so Jodie could guide the horses inside.

Jodie rode Ladybug, leading Thunder, who was tied to the smaller horse's saddle by a length of rope. As they passed through the gates, Samantha laughed. The much bigger Thunder looked like an ocean liner being guided to a berthing by a tiny tugboat.

Leaving the gate open she went to kiss Jodie in hello, before she slithered out of her saddle.

"Rose said she would bring our lunch soon," Jodie announced as she handed Thunder's lead rein to Samantha and turned to tying her pony's reins to the corral's rail.

"Aren't you going to take off Ladybug's bridle and saddle?"

"If I did that I'd have to chase him all over the corral to get them back on again, so I'll just loosen the saddle a little. You can do the same thing to Thunder, after you tie him to the fence."

"Okay, your highness, but you'll have to show me how to do that. I've never saddled a horse."

"Really?" By her expression, Jodie believed her to be the last person on Earth who didn't know how to do so. She would have to talk Rob into taking the three of them to the big city for the weekend, to introduce the little girl to the joys to be found there.

On the weekend following Rob's interview with Teal-Eye, he took her to the Hunter's Inn, some twenty minutes from Solomons Choice, for the first meal in months, except for lunch at the Lazy Eight, that she hadn't prepared herself. A heavenly treat—especially the Death-By-Chocolate dessert he insisted she try.

Following dinner, he drove to the bar at Solomons Choice. Although it's parking lot was usually almost empty, Friday and Saturday nights, she learned, was a different matter. Somehow, she'd assumed that the valley was populated by only a few ranchers, leading lonely isolated lives with woman who stoically endured their simple, luxury free existence. Nothing could have been further from the truth. True, there were no paved roads in the valley, but as Rob explained, that was because the residents chose not to pave them. The feeling was, Rob said, "Why spend money best left in our own pockets? And if that decision keeps the land developers away, all the better." In reality, hundreds of people lived and worked in the little valley—ranchers and their families, plus the hired men and women who kept the local cattle industry running. During the week, the nature of the livestock industry kept the people dispersed, but he weekend was another story. Then, although she hadn't known it, the store was bustling and the bar did a steady business, as the local ranchers came in to settle accounts at the feed store and to catch up on gossip.

When Rob guided her into the bar at slightly after ten, it was positively jammed, which made sense. Its location made it the valley's primary social gathering place. For younger folk there were parties and socials, but for the adults, Harvey Wealan's bar was _the_ place to be.

The night began in a whirl of introductions, then dancing, and being chastised, again and again, for living a solitary life and not socializing before then. Although the word quickly spread that she was "seeing" Rob, more than one young hopeful told her that, should she decide to change men, he would be more than pleased to take Rob's place.

"Can I see the picture, Sam? You promised."

She smiled, leaning forward to place her face inches from Jodie's. "Yes, small creature, you can see the picture, exactly as promised."

Jodie rubbed Samantha's nose with her own, before saying, "Cool, is it in your bedroom?"

"Yes, Jodie," she said, as she tapped Jodie on the nose to emphasize her words. "Yes you can see it, and yes it's cool, and yes it's in my bedroom. Yes, yes, yes!" She planted a kiss on the tip of the nose she'd lately been tapping, followed by an equally quick nip, drawing a giggle.

She'd been collecting circus art for as long as she could remember. Not just pictures, but artwork of all kinds, each depicting some aspect of the circus, and each containing a beautifully costumed and glamorous woman as the central subject. Those figurines and paintings had been the repository of her dreams, and as a child she drifted into sleep comforted by the lovely high-wire artists—spangled, glittering, and balancing their precarious way across her room; by beautiful trapeze artists—captured forever in mid-air—smiling, and reaching out to take the hands of the handsome man who would bring them to safety. Her favorite, placed as the first thing seen in the morning, and the last each night, was a Harlequin by Miro. A young woman, sadly beautiful, her huge eyes awash with tears; tears for a lost love, or perhaps tears for the father she'd known all too briefly.

In the bedroom of the ranch in Solomons Choice, were several posters, one of them portraying a young lady balanced on the back of a snow-white horse. The girl, a dancer, was an exquisite and tiny jewel, perfectly balanced, arms spread like the swan she depicted. Her costume was a confection of ice white feathers, touched here and there with gossamer and mist, while a tiara of diamonds sparkled on the mass of shining curls adorning her head. The child had replaced the adult performers of her childhood bedroom, mirroring her child-dreams. The girl also, she'd lately discovered, showed a striking resemblance to Jodie.

"Wow!" the little girl breathed, entranced. "That is the neatest thing I've ever seen. Can I have it?"

"Sure, sweetheart," she said, as she bent to hug the girl. "Since she looks like you, it's only right that you should have her."

Standing, once again, she left Jodie staring at the picture and went to the window. A flash of sun, reflecting off glass or chrome said she was about to have a visitor.

"I think Rose is here with our lunch," she said, trying to determine the make of the vehicle traversing the access road to the ranch. It wasn't Rob's van, or the ranch truck. But who else could it be?

Impatiently, she waited for whoever was arriving to become visible, and after a moment the car passed out of the small hollow that had been hiding it from view. The news wasn't good. The car was a huge black sedan, certainly not one of the vehicles usually found on the Reiker ranch, or even the kind of vehicle favored by the locals. _Another visitor?_ Since Friday there had been two. First, Sue-Marie Shackleton, to extend an invitation to attend a prayer-meeting at the Hostra ranch the following Sunday morning—with or without Rob. Apparently, Rob didn't often show up, and the woman was trying to kill two birds with one stone, so to speak. Next Jack and Mary Magill, the nearest neighbors, dropped by to say hello, and to welcome her to the valley—a result, she supposed, of her introduction into Valley society, and Rob's obvious interest. This was neither of her previous guests. Another neighbor?

Unlikely. The valley's roads were unpaved, but graded regularly, so there were families who owned an automobile, in addition to the ubiquitous pickup truck. Her access road, however, hadn't been attended to for a decade or more, and the many dips and holes reduced travel-speed to a crawl for anything but a vehicle like Rob's Rover, or some other high ground-clearance vehicle. A local, encountering that road, would surely head back for a van or truck better able to handle the ruts and potholes.

As the sedan slowly approached, a chill ran through her. They had, perhaps, five minutes before it arrived.

"Jodie, honey," she said, not taking her eyes from the window, "Do you think you can tighten the saddles on the horses, so we can leave as soon as Rose gets here?"

"Sure," Jodie said, turning her attention to Samantha. "Is she here?"

"Soon," she said, distractedly. "You just hurry down and see how fast you can get it done, okay? And stay by the horses."

"Okay, Sam," Jodie said, cheerfully, as she skipped from the room.

There were two men in the car, at least—probably men she didn't want to meet. About to leave the bedroom, her eye fell on the phone Rob had given her. She took that and her sweater, then, on the way down the steps, opened the case and activated the phone, dialing as soon as it had finished booting up.

"Come on, come on," she pleaded, as the sound of ringing went on and on, finally connecting with Rob's voice-mail. Rose was undoubtedly on her way with the picnic lunch, and the men of the ranch would probably be in the canyon, working. She gave thought to dialing 911, but there was no police force within twenty miles, so the car would reach the house long before such help could arrive. Worry growing, she hung up and tossed the phone onto the counter-top as she passed through the kitchen, then hurried outside, slipping the sweater on as she went.

Jodie was just finishing with Ladybug.

"Did you do Thunder?" she asked, trying to mask her concern.

"Not yet. Ladybug is being a very bad boy, and I had to talk very severely to him to make him understand that he can't just stand around all day."

Normally, she would have smiled at that, but now she had a problem. She had no idea of how to tighten the cinch that held the saddle to the horse, and without doing that any attempt to mount would leave the saddle hanging under the horse and her on the ground.

With no way to keep Jodie in the dark and still get her to move with haste, she squatted and taking Jodie's slim shoulders in her hands, as she said, "Listen, Jodie, there may be some very bad men coming in a car, and we have to leave _right now_. Can you help me get Thunder ready?" Questions were rising in the girl's eyes—questions there wasn't time to answer—so she added, "Don't talk, honey, please, just do it, as fast as you can."

Jodie stared, for a long enough time to drive her frantic with the urge to shout, "Just do it now!" before she said, "Sure," and turned to Thunder.

Pointing, Jodie said, "You just pull on this. But you have to do it, Samantha, because I'm not strong enough... After that you have to keep on pulling until he breathes out, because he knows how to swell up and hold his breath, so the cinch'll be nice and loose on his belly. Horses don't like it when the cinch is tight."

"Like this?" she asked, pulling, and praying that there would be time enough to get away. She no longer heard the car moving, and had the uncomfortable feeling that a gun was pointed at her head.

"A little tighter, I think." She pointed at the horse's underbelly. "It might help if you bumped him here with your knee...real hard."

She did as Jodie suggested, while pulling on the cinch, and was rewarded with, "That's it, see?" The horse, indeed, had held its breath, and as it exhaled, the cinch slid a few inches further through the rings.

Jodie slipped in front of her and tucked away the excess strapping, then went to untie her horse, which she did with a single pull of the reins. She, however, not knowing the proper way to hitch the reins to a rail, now struggled to release the knot. She thanked whatever impulse had made her keep her nails short, and breathed a prayer as she fumbled desperately with the knot. The air, which only moments before had been chill, now seemed stifling hot, and her armpits were dampening with nervous sweat.

Jodie, sensing her worry, was thankfully silent, swinging herself onto Ladybug to look worriedly around as she struggled to free Thunder.

"Samantha?" There was a frightened tone to the girl's voice that said they were no longer alone, and further, that now there probably _were_ guns pointed in their direction.

"Hey, lady!" a voice shouted. "You stay right there."

But the knot had come loose at last, and her foot was in the stirrup the instant the reins cleared Thunder's head. To stay would be death. Not only hers, but Jodie's as well. Thunder, reacting to her hurried movements, and probably the smell of her fear, as well, wheeled instantly and broke from the corral at a run, trailed by Ladybug, and headed, of necessity, directly at the men.

Perhaps they might have shot her right then. But the sight of the huge black gelding bearing down on them must of banished such thoughts, because for the few seconds it took the horse to cover the ground between the corral and the place where the men were standing, they stood, open-mouthed in surprise. Then, with a shout, they dove to either side, rolling in the dirt as she and Jodie thundered by. She had a split second's view of a pock-marked face staring up at her, before she was around the house and away.

° ° ° °

Chapter 20

"We're going to your ranch, Jodie," Samantha called, as Thunder rushed onto the road. Whatever else she might have added was cut off by the sound of gunshots. Desperately, she hunched against the horse's neck, trying to minimize the target she presented to the gunman behind them. Then, worried that Jodie would intercept any shot lower than her own saddle height, she attempted to look back. But turning so far while on a galloping horse threw her out of rhythm with the horse's gait. For a long, terrifying moment, she teetered on the verge of falling. Then, responding to her shifting and uncertain weight, Thunder slowed to a canter and she was able to recover.

A quick check showed Jodie's Ladybug frighteningly far behind, in spite of the little horse's efforts to keep up. She'd been about to kick Thunder into a gallop, once more, but that wasn't an option. Instead, she brought him dancing to a halt. It appeared that the pony's best speed was only slightly faster than Thunder's canter. Feeling horribly vulnerable, she waited, crouched in the saddle and breathing a prayer as the shots cracked off.

As Jodie reached her the men turned and ran toward the car, which meant she had to get off the road as soon as possible. Fighting back panic she weighed her options. She should head for wild country, where the car couldn't follow, but would have to know the valley better, to pick such a spot with any certainty. Much of the local area was composed of fairly smooth ground. And though the car might sustain damage to its undercarriage, they could follow a horse across country. The best bet would be to take Jodie and head for the canyon where Rob was working. He'd mentioned that he often carried a rifle with him, to bring home a rabbit for the pot, or to shoot predators who became too troublesome. The rifle, with its greater range and accuracy, might change the odds a bit, and should, at least, drive the men away.

"Climb up here, Jodie" she ordered. Ladybug would have to be abandoned, he was too slow.

Rather than dismounting, Jodie brought Ladybug alongside and stepped from the saddle and into her arms, displaying a balance and poise worthy of the little acrobat in the picture Jodie admired. But she had no time to dwell on such things. Seating the girl before her, she turned Thunder off the road and in the direction of the abandoned housing development. That would save time, maybe enough to beat the car to the turn-off for the Lazy Eight. The car would make good speed on the main road—certainly far more than that of a running horse. But the way to that road was long and bumpy, and they would, hopefully, be slowed by enough to lose the race. They would also lose time deciding whether to follow her or the road. Hopefully, they would try to follow her across country, now, because, off the road they might be able to stay on her trail, but they would never be able to keep up.

"You'll have to stop, Samantha. Thunder can't run anymore. He's too old."

Bad news, but not a surprise. The horse had been slowing, steadily. The graded road was lost from sight in the gentle rolling of the land, but in the distance a dust cloud marked the car's progress. The men weren't far from reaching the road that bisected the valley.

Shit. Now what?

Reluctantly, she allowed the horse to slow, forcing him to continue walking when he wanted to stand and pant.

"How long," she demanded. "How long until he can run again?"

Jodie shrugged. "I don't know. Ladybug would still be running, but Thunder's _old_."

There was more to it than that. The horse _was_ old. But of nearly equal importance, because of inactivity, he was also long past what had been his normal working strength. According to Rob, Thunder had been kept only because of the sentimental attachment he had for the horse. Since his retirement from active work, the gelding had been ridden only occasionally, to make him feel useful and loved.

She scanned again for the dust-cloud marking the car's progress, chewing on her lip as she thought. Rose could probably be discounted as a source of help. When she reached the ranch, she would find them gone, and would assume that they had started out already. That meant there was little choice but to head for the canyon. To do that, though, she would have to be on the far side of the main road, and that meant exposing herself to view as she crossed. Then, she had a flash of inspiration. If she waited until the car _passed_ the place at which she planned to cross, they would do so in safety, while the men headed toward the valley's entrance. As a bonus, Thunder would be recovered.

Feeling better, she brought Thunder to a halt and helped Jodie dismount, then did so herself. Now that they might have some time, best to have the horse conserve its strength.

"What now, Samantha? And who are those men?" Fear tinged the girl's voice, but curiosity showed, too. Before she could answer, Jodie added. "Were they really shooting at us? It sounded like they were. I don—"

She stopped the questions by the simple expedient of placing her hand over Jodie's mouth, as she dropped to her knees in front of her. She removed her hand, then, and said, "Listen, Jodie. Don't talk, and don't ask any questions, okay?"

"But why?"

"Jodie!" she said, exasperated. "You have to listen because it's important, and because those men really are trying to shoot us."

"Really?" Surprised out of her fear, her eyes were wide. "Like on television?"

Given that the best she could do was slow the flow of questions, she said, "Like on television. Now listen carefully, because this is important. I want you to stay here. Or, better yet, walk back to the pond. I'm going to get help and you'll be much safer here than with me. They don't want you, so you'll be safe. Okay?"

Jodie shook her head, violently, as she said, "No, Samantha, I don't want to. I'm too scared to stay here alone. Those men might come and find me and you won't be here."

"They won't come after you. They want me."

"But why?" Jodie wailed, obviously on the verge of dissolving into tears.

"They're bad men. That's all. They're just bad men."

The girl clutched at her sleeve, rejecting that, with, "Please, please, please don't leave me alone here. I'm afraid, Samantha. I'm scared...I'm really, really scared."

Leaving her against her will was an option, and probably a good idea, but leaving her alone and terrified wasn't. Aside from a reluctance to abandon her, Jodie, in her fear, might run home, and be on the road when the men came by.

With a sigh, she said, "Okay, sweetie. We'll stay together, but..." She shook a finger as she said, "But you have to do exactly what I say, with no argument and no questions. Okay?"

The child's eyes were enormous, and she stood so forlornly as she said, "Okay, Samantha. I promise," that she had no choice but to take the girl into her arms and hug her fiercely to her breast.

"It's going to be all right, Jodie," she promised. "It's going to be all right." But in her heart, she didn't believe that for a second.

Ten minutes should be enough time for the men to have passed the place where she would cross the road. Unfortunately she'd made a serious mistake in not bringing the phone. By now, Rose might be back in the house, and could have called the state police. For that matter, she could have called them, herself.

She gave thought to heading back to the ranch, to retrieve the phone, but it was quite possible that they had left someone at the ranch in case she did try to double back. Going forward seemed the only option. The ten minutes were up, and what had to be done now was to get Jodie safely to the Lazy Eight. With misgivings, she kicked the horse into motion.

Stopping short of the road, shielded from view by a small corpse of trees, she sat for several minutes, studying the area and worrying. The valley had few steep hills, but it rippled continuously, as though the land had been gently shaken just prior to solidifying, so she couldn't see much of the nearby area. The trees, too, limited her vision to some extent.

Finally, with a quick, "Hold tight, Jodie," she kicked Thunder into a trot and headed toward the road, mental fingers crossed. Once across, safety lay a short distance away, behind a small rise. Unfortunately, she wasn't granted that distance. With a roar of its engine, the black car, which had been blocked from view—deliberately, she assumed—lurched forward, and toward them. Jodie's scream came in counterpoint to her kick to Thunder's ribs; a kick born of desperation, and one that sent the old horse leaping forward, his first bound covering nearly the entire width of the road, nearly unseating them both in the process. It was also a jump that saved her life, because a bullet snarled through the space where her head had been only a fraction of a second before.

She had no time to dwell on her fear, however, because she had to get herself, and Jodie, out of the range of those pistols.

Urging the horse to greater and greater speed, she prayed that neither she nor Thunder would fall. She angled to the left, heading for the access road that led to the Lazy Eight, less than a quarter mile away But as she approached the cut-off, she found that it might as well have been ten times that distance. The men apparently knew of the access road, because, instead of attempting to follow her through the range grass they took the main road to the cut-off. If she continued as she'd been going, she would reach the intersection leading to the ranch just after the men arrived to block her.

Forced to turn away, she'd gained no advantage. The road that led past the Lazy Eight's cut-off swung in a curve and paralleled the main road for a short distance, which meant that the men chasing her would quickly come alongside. She wondered, briefly, how they had known where she would cross the road, but she'd been following an easily seen trail, one that riders usually followed when headed toward the pond. Perhaps there had been fresh manure there to attract their attention; perhaps the men were simply clever. In any case, it wouldn't take the tracking abilities of an Indian scout to reveal that two horses had recently passed, one a pony, and one especially large.

Desperately, she came up with and discarded ways she might escape. Heading toward the main road would be useless, because they would reverse and catch her there, as easily as they had here. As she racked her brain for something she might do, Jodie pulled at her arm.

"That way, Sam," she shouted, pointing. "They can't turn as fast as Thunder."

"Yes!" she shouted, pulling hard on the reins. The heavy car couldn't maneuver quickly on the powdery dirt, but Thunder had spent his entire life herding cattle, and had been trained to turn in an instant. Now, the horse leaned far over, counterbalancing as he spun left, to pass behind the speeding car.

She assumed that the car's driver would have to stop and turn around, not an easy thing, given the width of the road. She'd underestimated the driver, however, because the car slid to a stop, spinning as it did, so that before it had fully stopped, the tires were in furious motion against the road surface, spouting a gout of dirt and dust as the car lumbered into motion once again—after her.

But she was across, with no other track between her and the cliff that led to the mesa. If she reached that, and paralleled the cliff-face, it led to the canyon, and to Rob.

Again came the sound of gunfire. For how long she could remain a target without being hit? But the shooting stopped, and few seconds later she risked a look behind, to find the car moving across the range grass—following where she led. For a moment despair threatened to overwhelm. But a second look brought a grim sort of elation. The car wallowed like a ship in a high sea, steadily dropping behind.

For five minutes they remained that way, with the cliffs coming slowly closer. She angled toward the canyon, praying for a miracle; for a small dry creek bed that might stop her pursuers—for a rock to pierce their tires—for anything. But there was only steadily flattening land that would aid the men, and leave her with no place to hide.

She had some warning when it happened. The old horse had been slowing steadily, until the distance between them and the car stopped increasing. Ignoring his distress, she drove him on, hating what she was doing, but desperate to maintain the distance between herself and the car. Now, as they reached the rock wall, he began to wander—no longer responding to her guidance—then to stagger, finally falling.

She had time to kick her feet free of the stirrups, and as the horse fell she rode him to the ground, clutching the child and trying to curl herself protectively around her as they tumbled across the ground.

"Are you all right?" she asked, as she rolled free of the rock that had stopped her progress.

"I think so." Jodie, with the resilience of her years, was already on her feet. She searched for a moment, then pointed. "There they are. What do we do now?"

She followed the girl's pointing finger. They had, she estimated, less than five minutes before the car arrived.

° ° ° °

Chapter 21

Cursing under her breath, she took Jodie's hand and headed for the cliff face. As she ran she scanned the area, mouthing a prayer.

Nothing.

She threw a hurried look over her shoulder. Then, fighting a panic that threatened to overwhelm rational thought, she scanned the cliff, seeking a way up. What she saw made her sag in both body and spirit. Perhaps the wall might be climbable, but not without equipment, and not by her even with that equipment. Desperation could never grant her muscles the power, nor fear give her mind the skill needed for such a climb.

Her muttered "Damn," attracted Jodie's attention. The child had been fearfully watching the approach of the car, and now turned to follow Samantha's gaze.

Her small voice overflowed with uncertainty as she said, "Are we going to try to go up there, Samantha? I don't think I can."

"Nor can I, Jodie. I don't—"

[ _Maybe you can't climb Samantha, but_ _I_ _can._ _!_ ]

Teal-Eye? How long have you been here?

[ _From the beginning, I think. I said nothing because you were too busy to talk, and because I know how much my presence disturbs you._ ]

This was no time for conversation, so she pointed upward. _Can you really climb that?_

Laughter filled the thought that answered.

[ _Samantha, among my clan climbing is done for fun and for contest, as your people play at sports. Such a climb is easy._ ]

_But what about Jodie?_ _I can't leave her._

A pause, then, [ _Your loyalty does you credit, Samantha. I will do what I can. Would your pants remain in place with the belt removed? If not, take them off as well._ ]

Without question, she slipped off both her belt and sweater. No need for further explanation, because Teal-Eye's memories told her what was needed.

The sweater had been knitted with a fairly loose weave. Quickly, while Jodie stared at her in confusion, she forced the tip of the belt through the material close to the end of a sleeve. She then continued through the other sleeve, so when she latched the belt and pulled the sleeves apart a loop of leather secured the sleeves together. Holding the sleeves, she flipped the body of the sweater over the neck several times, wrapping it until she had a woolen tube, attached at either end by the looped belt. Fumbling in her haste, she slipped her arms through what she'd made and pulled it over her body, with the rolled-up sweater in front, the sleeves hugging her and wrapping to the rear. Finally, she lifted the section in the front and slipped it behind her neck, so the rolled portion of the sweater rested against the back of her neck, then passed in front of her arms before returning to the middle of her back.

"Oh, neat," Jodie exclaimed, forgetting their plight in the joy of discovery. "Am I going to ride in the belt?"

"No, Jodie," she shook her head, forcing herself to be patient. "Not inside the belt. Sit on both parts, together, it's better that way. Okay?"

"Okay."

"Good, girl. Now climb in quickly, and hold on to my shoulders, not my neck. That way you won't choke me." She squatted and Jodie began to worm her way into the harness.

Finally, she stood, pleased to find the makeshift harness worked well. Jodie was small for her age, and active, so she was as slim as a shadow, which meant her slight weight might be an inconvenience, not a disaster.

[ _An observant child, Samantha. From what I saw of the way she rode the animal, I think she'll work to help us, not just be a dead load. Such intelligence may just make it possible for us to succeed._ ]

But you don't think so, do you?

There was the feeling of a shrug.

[ _It is in the hands of the goddess. Perhaps this is why I have been sent. Now let go of your body and I will climb. Do it quickly, we have little time._ ]

She turned for a final look, then, with a shiver, willed herself to relinquish control of her muscles. They were virtually out of time. The car was seconds from arrival.

[ _All right, sister, mine, it's time to leave this place._ ]

With that she squatted, and the muscles of her leg bunched, driving her upward in a jump. Her right foot sought what she'd previously dismissed as little more than a toe-sized fissure in the rock, while her hand reached out to grasp a tiny outcropping and pull her further upward, and onto the wall. Her other shoe scrabbled against rock for a second, then gained purchase, as her right hand reached upward toward the next point of support.

It had begun.

The act of climbing had a rhythm to it, she soon realized. There was also not the random selection of climbing points she assumed there were. Teal-Eye's practiced eye found places to grasp, and points to avoid much as she selected the proper spots to change lanes when weaving through heavy traffic. She avoided making a comment on that, though, since Teal-Eye was obviously busy.

She had caught the thought, though, and apparently wasn't devoting her full attention to climbing, because she said, [ _To each their own skills, Samantha. I was impressed with the way you controlled the beast on which you rode. It was like being mounted on the wind, and my Bear would give much to have such a beast. As would I._ ]

She would have answered, but the sound of a shot was followed by a spray of shattered rock only inches from her arm, accompanied by stinging pain, as rock shards peppered her skin, bringing tiny dots of blood.

Jodie, who had been frightened and silent until that time, screamed, and Teal-Eye nearly lost her grip in surprise. Samantha prepared herself for death, but was mentally slapped by Teal-Eye's angry, [ _You are soft, Samantha. Your hands are those of one who has never known work, and you give up when you should still be fighting._ ]

With that she leaped to the side, covering a frightening distance in a single bound, to land like a cat on an inch wide ledge. Another shot rang out, and the sound of the ricochet echoed as Teal-Eye moved again, this time slipping around a corner of rock and into a narrow opening that led upward. Safe for the moment, she rested, breath coming quickly, muscles quivering with the effort they had sustained over the past few minutes.

Samantha took control for long enough to reassure Jodie, with, "Hang on, honey, Teal-Eye's helping, so I'm not going to fall...and they aren't very good at shooting." Jodie, who was crying, and clinging to her with a grip born of terror, made no response, other than to pull her body even tighter against her back. But little could be done about the girl's terror, so she concentrated on helping Teal-Eye get them out of the situation, even if it was only by cheering her on.

Thinking about it, her remark about the shooting ability of the men was quite true. They should have hit her long before this, but were probably used to shooting only at close range, at a victim who wasn't dodging. Still, they would improve with practice.

[ _Then I will give them nothing to practice on. I was aiming for this crack from the start. It begins well off the ground, so they can't shoot at us from below. It also means that to see us they will have to move away so far that only a very lucky shot will hit us. I'm also hoping they don't know enough to offset their aiming point to compensate for the uphill shot._ ]

Mentally, she blinked with surprise. _How can you possibly know that? I didn't know it, so it doesn't come from me. Are you going to tell me that your people have guns?_

Readying herself to resume climbing, Teal-Eye gave the impression of shaking her head and said, [ _Gun or spear-thrower, what's the difference? Both throw at a target. Only the distance they can reach changes. Right?_ ]

She made no reply, because Teal-Eye was climbing again. There appeared to be no available hand-holds, but that slowed her not at all. This time, she reached into a vertical crevice and, fisting her hand, she twisted it, so as to wedge the hand into the crevice. As though there had been steps carved into the rock, she proceeded to walk up the nearly vertical wall, using only her hands in the crevice as a climbing aid. They arrived at the next resting point with her hands raw and bleeding, and hurting almost more than she could bear, but the pain slowly faded, a small price to pay for safety—even temporary safety.

Slowly, they inched their way upward, while she prayed that her strength would last. She wasn't in bad shape—she took care of her body—but was hardly in condition for such a climb, especially carrying Jodie, who had settled into closed-eye clinging to her back. The girl was quiet, but trembling, in spite of constant reassurances.

Abruptly, the character of the cliff-face changed. What had been hard, rough rock, weathered and laced with fissures, now began to slope inward, and the rock began to give way to a crumbly sandstone that presented a smooth, almost flat, surface to her probing fingertips. Further progress seemed impossible, but somehow, Teal-Eye continued to climb, using tiny projections that she would never have believed could provide even a bit of assistance, let alone a handhold. Several times her grip crumbled into sand when she attempted to put weight on it, and once, there had been the beginning of a sickening slide toward death, a slide stopped more by luck than skill. Finally, though, with their goal in sight, they reached an impasse. The space directly above was as smooth as if deliberately polished for the rest of the way to the top. To their right were solid handholds, and what appeared to be a ledge, close above, but both were an unreachable ten feet away, with little or no aids to climbing on the slope leading to those handholds, and nothing but a sheer drop-off below. If she jumped for the slope, and the projections along the way to her destination were too small to keep her from sliding downward she would fall to her death.

[ _We have no choice, Samantha. We cannot go down, and there is no way up from here. If we remain, I will tire and fall, or the men will begin shooting again._ ]

She was right. The shooting had probably stopped only because the men believed she would soon fall, and were conserving their ammunition in case it appeared she was going to be successful. From the ground, this portion of the cliff must appear to be a dead end.

With a quick, "Hold on, Jodie, we're almost there," she said, _Go for it, then. And Teal-Eye?_

[ _Yes?_ ]

_In case we don't make it...thank you for getting us this far. You've been a true friend._ She caught the fragment of a thought in which Teal-Eye told herself that she had to make it, for Samantha and Jodie, or be haunted by that failure for the rest of her life. Then she was in motion, with time for nothing but the rock-face and the climb.

Teal-Eye crouched as far as she could, then launched herself up and to the side. There was no chance of covering the distance in one jump, Samantha's muscles were too tired, Jodie was to heavy a load, and the tenuous grip she had on the cliff-face would not support the force necessary to begin such a jump. But a jump wasn't what she was planning. Instead, she gained as much height and side movement as possible, then used palms pressed to the rough surface of the rock as friction points to slow their drop, as she scrambled like a crab toward safety. She didn't look down, for which Samantha was eternally grateful, because she hadn't the slightest interest in knowing how close they were coming to the drop-off.

Her right foot encountered only air, and she was readying herself for the fall, when her hands seized on a projection of rock and brought them to a stop. Muscles trembling uncontrollably, Teal-Eye began to inch upward once more, as Samantha gave a prayer of thanks.

Her thanks were premature, however, because as it became clear that they would reach their goal a fusillade of shots rang out, and a burning pain, one that almost caused her leg to buckle, informed her that the men were learning from their experience. The pain was bearable, however, and before she could be hit again, Teal-Eye rolled over the edge of the ledge to find blessed shelter.

Samantha lay there for a moment, then, without standing, slid the harness from her shoulders, freeing Jodie. She was about to turn to check on her when, without warning, her strength deserted her, while a voice which made not the slightest sound, said, " **Well done, Samantha. Well done Teal-Eye. Very well done.** " Then there was nothing but a great windy darkness—a darkness that claimed her very soul.

"Samantha?" Jodie gave her shoulder a shake, her voice petulant and still showing fright. "Samantha, please wake up, you're all bloody."

She would much rather have stayed where she was, but as usual, had no choice but to do what had to be done. The pain in her leg had eased, so the first thing requiring her attention was Jodie.

With a groan, she struggled into a sitting position, taking the girl in her arms. "It's okay, Honey," she said, stroking Jodie's hair. "Nothing serious was hurt, and we're safe now." She pulled away and peered into the tiny tear-stained face before her, forcing a smile. The voice that had thundered its silent jubilation in her head was gone. It was the one she'd sensed when she first met Rob, though, and perhaps, was that of Teal-Eye's goddess. But that was an imponderable, and there were things that demanded her attention here and now, so she tabled the subject until she had the time to discuss it with Rob. Teal-Eye would, of course, accept what had happened as evidence of their being in the hands of the goddess—and probably take comfort from it.

"I was scared Samantha." Jodie, complained. "I thought you were going to fall. And when we got here I couldn't wake you, so I thought you were dead." She looked up into her face, her own expression showing worry, as she asked, "You're not going to die, are you?"

That rated another hug, and, "No, Jodie, I'm not going to die. And neither are you, okay?"

"Okay." There was no confidence in her voice, however.

They were resting on a fairly level ledge, wide and deep, with a shallow cave at its inner end. From the stack of crumpled tissues, and the old blanket gracing the cave's floor, it had been a lover's trysting point. Good news, since it meant an easy climb to the mesa-top.

The pain in her leg reminded her that it had to be attended to, but a close inspection revealed that she'd not been hit with a bullet. A piece of rock had been driven against her leg by the shot, producing a shallow cut, perhaps half an inch long. Not a danger, so treatment would have to wait until she was safe.

Next, she turned her attention to the valley below, and the men there. Warning Jodie to stay where she was, she crept to the edge and looked down. The men appeared to be arguing about something, and she assumed they were trying to decide if they should remain there or try to find a way to intercept her on the way down from the mesa-top.

She moved back to where Jodie sat, and for several minutes comforted her, not thinking at all. Bruised and abraded by the climb, her muscles complaining, she ached everywhere, and her abraded hands were claiming a good deal of her attention. She should begin searching for a way to the top, but had no choice but to rest and gather strength. In any case, even if the men left at once, the way to the mesa was long, and she estimated that it would take them nearly fifteen minutes, even assuming they could find the proper road. More than long enough for her to find a hiding place for herself and Jodie.

She was nearly ready to start when the sound of a running horse came from below. She crept back to the edge of the ledge and peered over. The hoofbeats continued, but no horseman was visible. Then she saw him, coming from the direction of the canyon. It could only be Rob, coming in response to the sounds of shooting. She glanced at her watch, but it couldn't be right. It had been less then fifteen minutes since beginning her ascent? But apparently, though it felt like hours, the time was accurate. Now, Rob was coming to her rescue, and riding into danger.

Without thought, she stood and began waving her arms, calling, "Rob, stop! I'm up here, and I'm okay!" The sound of a shot, and a burning pain in her arm, reminded her that what she was doing was foolish. Cursing, she dropped to the ground. The arm hurt but there were more important things to focus on. About to hurry to the edge and see what was happening, she focused instead on Jodie, who was waving, and trying to attract her father's attention. Grabbing the girl's legs she pulled her down. Then, admonishing her to stay put, she belly-crawled to the edge.

Rob sat shading his eyes and looking up, apparently seeking them. Before she could call out, however, he wheeled his horse toward the two men, and with a shout of "No!" drove his mount toward them, heels raking the horse's flanks and demanding more speed, seeming not to care if they were armed or not.

Horror-struck, she could only watch as Rob charged the men, who, this time, weren't frozen in fear. This time they began to fire, and this time the range was short enough that they would not miss. It was impossible to know if he was hit, but she flinched as though shot herself, each time a pistol barked.

Slowing not at all, the horse plunged straight on, directly toward one of the men, who, at the last moment, attempted to run. He might as well have tried to fly, as to avoid nearly half a ton of solid bone and muscle by running. He only served to trip the horse, so it fell directly on his body with awful force, crushing it into the dirt before rolling on and coming to a stop. Neither he nor the horse made a move to rise when it was over.

But Rob wasn't on the horse when it fell. Before it struck the man he was in a flat dive that took him directly into the second man, knocking him to the ground. He struck his man with less force than had the horse, however, and when he rolled to his feet, the man was getting to his own.

For a moment, she was afraid, but then, with a roar of pure rage, Rob literally snatched the man into the air, raising him over his head to _throw_ him against the rock wall, with force enough that she could hear the terrible sound of impact. She assumed the man was dead, because after peering at him for a moment, to assure himself that he presented no danger, Rob backed up and began to search the cliff-face with his eyes.

[ _Truly, Samantha, your man is a mighty bear, as is my Miona._ ]

She should have been sickened by what had happened below, but she wasn't. Only grim satisfaction, and worry that Rob had been badly hurt washed through her. With no horse to carry him to safety, he could well die.

"Rob!" she shouted, standing. "Up here."

His eyes found her and he held cupped hands to his mouth, shouting, "Are you all right?"

"Yes. You?"

"I'm okay, were you hurt? I saw you drop and thought they hit you."

A wave of relief weakened her knees. He was safe. Apparently, the shots had hit the horse, not him.

[ _He must love you very much, Samantha, to have attacked men armed with such weapons, without thought for his own life._ ]

For a moment she glowed over that, then remembered that she _had_ been shot. In her worry over what had happened to Rob, she'd literally forgotten. Of course the fact that she hurt in so _many_ places contributed to that forgetfulness. She inspected her arm, as Jodie, her fear forgotten in the joy of seeing her father, waved and shouted, "Hi Daddy. Teal-Eye helped Samantha carry me all the way up here on her back. It was really scary."

The arm was bleeding, but once again she'd been lucky. An angry red line ran along the soft flesh of the inside of the arm. The bullet had traveled from elbow almost to armpit, tracing its passage on her arm, but not breaking the skin except where it had passed from her arm. There, a thin trickle of blood trailed its way toward her elbow. It was as painful as a blister might have been in the same place, but again, not serious. Other than the abrasion caused by that grazing contact with her arm, the bullet had done no damage.

Little sense in shouting up and back from mesa to valley floor, so she called, "I'm going to walk to the road. Get a car so you can pick us up."

In answer, he waved, and turned toward the car the men had arrived in. For a moment, she stood at the cliff edge, watching him, then turned and took Jodie's hand.

"Come on, kitten," she said. "We better start walking."

The climb to the top of the mesa presented no difficulty at all. The men with guns, waiting there, did.

° ° ° °

Chapter 22

The sight of the two men, resting against a large rock and waiting for her, came as a surprise, but their presence explained a lot. They were the men she'd seen at the ranch when she rode from the corral. Beyond them, parked nearly a quarter mile away at what was probably the end of the road that snaked its way up from Solomon's Choice, their car waited. It was the same model car that had been chasing her. There were two cars, and two groups of man—perhaps more—so finding her as she crossed the road hadn't been the unlucky break she'd thought it to be. They probably had several cars spotted along the road, and were in communication by phone the entire time. Those who chased her to the cliff had probably been able to give a foot-by-foot description of her climb to those on their way to intercept her. Even their apparent lack of skill, was explained. Those shots weren't meant to kill, only frighten. They'd probably been amusing themselves at her expense.

That guess was confirmed when one of the men, the one wearing the expensive clothing and who had skin that looked as if his face had been peppered with fine buckshot, snarled, "I want my fucking money, lady, and I want it right now!"

This was the final straw. Her sister had been killed. She, herself, had been forced to watch her mother die by the heart attack caused by the invasion of her home. She'd been driven from her home, her job, and her friends—and had been hounded halfway across the country. She'd been harried and hunted, and had been forced into a climb that, by all rights, should have resulted in her death. Now, after all that, the total stupidity of this man drove her beyond all reason. She would die, and Jodie would probably die with her. She would not die, however, without telling this man exactly what she thought of him. That much she would have.

"You unutterable moron!" she snarled, her face contorted with rage. "You ignorant, barbaric, brainless...asshole! How can you _possibly_ be so stupid as to ask me for your money?" She advanced on the man with eyes that blazed their anger, not caring if she was shot at that moment or later. In fact, now would be preferable, because she knew well the methods these men would use in an attempt to extract the information they believed she possessed.

"Does that pea-brain of yours think, for one single second, that if I had your money, I would be living here at the end of the world?"

The man took a half step backward, intimidated by the unexpected passion that radiated from her entire being.

She threw her arms upward in disgust, as she demanded, "Don't you have one single brain cell capable of realizing that if I had your money, I would be living in Rio, or in Paris, and that I would have four goons, as dumb as you, and with guns bigger than yours, protecting me? Are you too abysmally stupid to see that?"

She stopped and glared, hands on hips, while the man opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again, looking uncomfortable. Twice more he started, only to subside into silence. At last, he straightened his suit, shifting it on his shoulders with a twitch of his body. He moved his head as though wearing an uncomfortable collar, and said, "Well where the hell is the money, then?"

Anger drained from her, leaving her empty. This man didn't think, he reacted—usually, she was sure, with violence. He was probably a bit smarter than his men, but still, she would have to reason it through for him.

"I have no idea where the money is," she told him, tiredly. More than anything else, she wanted to find someplace dark—a place where she could lay down and sleep.

"My sister, my mother, and I _all_ told the men who came after us that my sister's husband was part of a plan to make it look like he was robbed. He was supposed to get a part of the money, but apparently, they not only double-crossed him they made him look like the one who planned it." She locked the other man's eyes with her own, her face twisted in disgust, as she said, "If any single one of your men had an ounce of brains—if they had a total I.Q. greater than ten, they would have realized that neither my mother nor I could be a part of something so...so stupid." Her anger returned, at the unfairness of it all, and she pointed a finger at him, matching the gun he had pointed at her, saying, "And if you had the sense to find me here, I would think you'd have figured that out for yourself."

There was silence for a long time, before the man said, "Yeah, well, maybe they forgot to tell me that part." He was silent for a moment more, then asked, "So, who?"

"Who?"

"Who was it took the money?"

She silently counted to five before she said, "How the hell should I know? My sister's husband knew, but if he told her she never mentioned it to me. She only said her husband had done something stupid, and that he was in trouble."

"Stupid. You can say that again. He always was a fucking asshole."

"That's a bad word, mister," said a tiny piping voice. Jodie had probably understood little of the conversation, but she clearly understood that these men were connected with the bad things that had been happening to them, and she knew which words were bad and which were good. At his glare, however, her tiny hand sought Samantha's, and she hid behind her legs, with only her eyes showing.

The man looked down, then turned his attention back to her. "Well he was, from the first day I met him. I always figured he'd step in shit and end up dead."

She hadn't the slightest desire to engage in conversation with this man. She hurt in mind and body, and would not waste her remaining time in a useless plea for her life. She knew these man, or at least their type. Pleading would be seen only as an invitation to toy with her, and to degrade her—to lead her on with false promises to allow her to live should she cooperate.

If there were a way of gaining enough time for Rob to reach the ranch, he would come for her, but that would take an hour, at least. When she left the cave Rob was walking in that direction, because the car the men arrived in was, for some reason, unusable. That meant he had to, first, walk to the ranch. Even then, he would arrive unarmed, believing the threat abated, which would help not at all, and only permit him to share her fate. She gave thought for a moment on the possibility of wrestling the gun from the man, but dismissed that idea nearly as soon as it occurred, since there was another, equally lethal pistol, pointed at her by the other man. The game was over, for her. There would be no miracles, and no last minute rescues. She feared only for Jodie.

She nodded in the direction of the child, still clinging to her leg. "She doesn't know you, or where you come from. There's no reason to hurt her."

"No?"

She sagged, and closed her eyes, as she said, "At least make it quick for her, then." She bowed her head, and tried to keep the tears from her voice as she said, "If you do that I won't fight if you..." She trailed off, unable to finish, wanting to have no more words with this man. If he accepted her offer he would, soon enough, learn that she'd lied, and that she would die with her teeth locked on his throat, if she was able. Instead, she turned inward.

Teal-Eye?

[ _I am here, Samantha._ ]

If you have any ideas, I'd like to hear them. If not, and you have some way of leaving, I suggest you do so now, the rest of this may not be pleasant.

[ _I have no ideas, Samantha, but I will try to comfort you as best I'm able._ ]

"You're a gutsy bitch, I'll tell you that."

"What?" Her eyes snapped open at the sound of a voice that came from nearly ten feet away, not that of a men within reaching distance as it had been when she closed her eyes.

"I said you're a fucking gutsy broad, and I'm gonna make a deal with you." The man was half turned—stopped in the act of walking away.

"A deal? I—" She cut herself off before she said something stupid. If this man wanted to leave, best to do nothing that might give him second thoughts.

"Yeah, a deal. You can have the whole fucking world. Go anywhere you like, long as you stay out of Chicago. Cause if you come to Chicago, you're dead meat. And don't think no cops are going to keep you alive. Okay?"

_Okay?_ _Is the man serious?_ It made no sense, but still, his brainless display of machismo was her salvation, so she nodded agreement, reaching behind her to touch Jodie and reassure herself that this was real.

The man took a deep breath, then blew it out. "Okay, me and my guys are gonna leave. I'll stop in the store and tell them you're up here, after the other guys are out, cause I know you don't want me giving you no ride."

Before she could respond, Jodie's voice came, with, "You can't take the men from the other car because my daddy squished them. He squished them good." The words were spoken with the overflowing disdain found only in the voices of the very young.

The man turned back to her with question in his eyes, and she dearly wished that Jodie would have chosen to remain silent. Lying was an option, but if she denied Jodie's words the man would only drag them both along as he verified the truth of Jodie's taunt.

"It's true. Her father heard the shooting and..." She shrugged.

The man turned to more fully face her, and took a step in her direction, holding out a hand in inquiry.

"How?"

No way to place a favorable slant on what she was going to tell him, so she said, "He ran one man down with his horse, and threw the other against some rocks. I'm not certain, but I think they're both dead."

"Son of a bitch!" he exploded. "A fucking cowboy runs my best guys over with a fucking horse? Son of a bitch!" With that he turned and stalked away, trailed by his man and muttering "Son of a bitch! Fucking son of a bitch!"

Quickly, she put her hand over Jodie's mouth, muffling the spiteful comment she knew would emerge. She turned and picked her up, then strode in the other direction, toward the ledge where they couldn't be seen. No sense in tempting fate.

When Rob found them they were asleep in the cave, Jodie held fast in her arms.

° ° ° °

Chapter 23

Samantha lay for a long time, eyes closed—letting the present wash over her as she cataloged her various aches and pains. Not an easy task, because there were so _many_. She could count the bruises decorating her legs—trophies of her climb—and count individual ribs through the pain brought by taking a breath. Those bruises, and the deep-down ache in her breasts, were the result of pressing her body against the rock as she'd slithered over the edge of the various ledges and outcroppings on her way to the top. She made an abortive attempt to turn over, but sagged back into the pillow at the complaints erupting from sore muscles.

Lying in the darkness, she wondered where she was, then remembered. She'd opened her eyes to find Rob in the cave with her, kneeling and gently shaking her, his face lined with concern and unspoken question. He helped her to her feet—handling her as though she were made of glass—then held her tightly in his arms for a long moment. He said only, "I'm glad you're all right," but his sigh, and the way he held her said far more than words could ever begin to communicate. When he finally released her, to turn and lift a sleeping Jodie into his arms, her cheek was wet with his tears.

The girl didn't stir when he lifted her to press his lips to her throat, other than to clasp her arms around her father's neck. For nearly a minute he held her, eyes closed and rocking her, as one might an infant. Then with a shuddery sigh, he opened his eyes and settled Jodie against him, in order to carry her with one arm. He put his other around her, holding her tightly to him and supporting her as they made their way up the rocky trail to the mesa-top.

The walk to the car, and part of the trip to the Lazy Eight was given over to telling him of her flight, and what had transpired between her and the man with the bad skin. Rob spoke little on the way home, other than to give reassurances that he was all right, and receive hers in return. What had happened left her, and him, it appeared, somber and subdued. She wasn't sure of how the killings affected him, but her own conflicting feelings, both a desire for vengeance, and revulsion for killing, troubled. The men who had been firing at her deserved what they had received, and more. When they were after her, she would gladly have condemned them to death, and when she saw them trying to kill Rob, she would have pulled the trigger herself, without the slightest hesitation. At the same time, however, she was against killing of any kind, and in the past, had argued forcefully against the death penalty. One of her arguments had always been "Would _you_ be willing to pull the switch?" Now that the shoe was on the other foot, so to speak, she would have to do some deep thinking on what she truly believed.

But that was a subject for another time—a time when she wasn't bone-weary, and beyond thought. For now, she let relief, and pleasure over the fact that Rob had survived, as well, sustain her.

Looking backwards to the trip to the ranch, she recalled holding Jodie on her lap, envying the child's ability to place all trust in others and fall into safe and comfortable sleep. As she gently stroked Jodie's cheek, her other hand stole out to take Rob's, and she found it surprisingly peaceful to just be with him.

She remembered reaching the house, and being surprised to find that Paul and Tom were still out working in the canyon, unaware of what had happened. When she mentioned it to him, Rob told her that they had probably dismissed the shots as no more than someone popping away at a target, as he would have, had he not known of her past. In fact, he himself, thought it nothing more than target practice, until a premonition of danger, perhaps triggered by her story, and history, sent him riding for the canyon mouth to check.

She also recalled going to the couch, to sit and wait for Rob to return from putting Jodie to bed. Nothing more lay in memory, so she must have fallen asleep, and had been carried to a bedroom in the same way Jodie had been, because the softness beneath could only be a mattress, while a pillow supported her head.

About to slip back into slumber, a tiny creaking, as if someone had shifted position on a piece of furniture, said that she wasn't alone.

She opened her eyes to near darkness, wondering how long she'd been asleep, searching for the source of the noise. The only illumination was moonlight stealing through the curtains. Still, it was enough to make out the bulky form of a large leather-covered chair—a man's kind of chair—next to the bed. It was placed close enough that she guessed he must have dragged it there. It was Rob, of course, asleep but watching over her with such concern that he stayed within touching distance. A small act, but perhaps the most precious gift she'd ever received.

She sent a questing thought. _Teal-Eye?_ No reply. She was alone once more.

Turning her head more fully, she checked the bedside clock: ten PM. She studied the man in the chair. In repose, his face seemed almost boyish, and a lock of hair had stolen down to curl against his eyebrow, in a way that made her want to gently brush it away. Definitely a good face, one that smiled easily. But there was strength there, reflecting a core of steel. She remembered the way he charged against virtually certain death, because he thought her hurt, and her heart melted within her.

A glance around the room showed she was in his bedroom, and in his bed. For a moment she wondered why. There were guest rooms, all made up and awaiting the arrival of someone to give them purpose. Apparently, though, he hadn't wanted her to wake in aseptic formality, as if in a hotel. He'd given her his room as a gift of himself, as she would give the gift of herself when the opportunity presented. But more than that, by taking her to his room, in front of his father and the others, he'd made a statement of intent, saying she belonged there, with him. Another gift, equally precious.

That decided, she wormed her way to the edge of the bed and took his hand in both of hers.

"Rob?"

"Mmm?" He stirred, then settled back into sleep, and she called his name twice more before his eyes opened. He blinked several times, before whispering, "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," she said, leaning toward him so as to kiss his fingers. "I just wanted to thank you."

His other hand joined hers, and his mouth opened, as if he were about to speak, but closed once more.

"You look uncomfortable," she told him.

"I'm good."

"Here would be better." She motioned with her head toward the other side of the bed. She would have moved away, to allow him to slip from the chair to the bed, but wasn't quite certain she could.

That brought a nod, and a kiss to her own fingertips before he left the chair, stretching, to walk around the bed.

It took several tries, and a bit of grunting before she convinced her body to turn over far enough to face him; long enough that he noticed.

"Is there much pain? I can give you something that might help, if—"

She shook her head. "Nothing that can't be cured by a combination of time and rest."

He only nodded, and turned on his back, hands behind his head and not meeting her eyes as he asked, "Did they tell you how they traced you here?"

She studied him for a time, before saying, "Do I have to _ask_ you to come over here? I also notice that you're very carefully lying on the top of the blanket, rather than underneath. Are you afraid of me, or is it that you would just...would rather not be near me?"

He chewed on his lip for a moment before he said, "I'm sorry, Sam. It's not something I want, but..."

"But? But what? I don't understand, Rob. I want to, but I can't, so you'll have to tell me. If it's because you're afraid of making my injuries worse, and hurting me, I can understand, because I'm too stiff to do anything more than holding. But holding would be nice, and a little kissing might not be a bad idea, either—assuming you wouldn't mind being thanked for coming to my rescue, today." That last had been added in case she might have read his signals wrong—in his bringing her to his room, and his bed—and that he had a change of heart.

"No, Sam, its far from that," he assured her, as he turned to face her. "Far from that." His eyes reflected moonlight as he gently took her cheeks between his palms and drew her lips to his for a most satisfactory kiss. Gentle and deep, it lasted an eternity, erasing all her aches and pains, igniting a glow that brought her palms up to cover his, and urge him to never stop.

But then, too soon, ages too soon, he drew back and released her. His voice hesitant, he said. "It's not because I don't want to, believe me. It's just that...that..." He sighed and rolled back onto his pillow.

Silence. Then, "Sam?"

"Yes?"

For the space of several breaths he said nothing, obviously choosing his words with care.

"Sam, I've known you for just a few days—for not even a month, yet I'm already in love with you. I don't know about you, but I find it a bit frightening—maybe a lot frightening."

"But why?" Hearing him say he was in love with her filled her soul with warmth, but his second statement made little sense. Rob was anything but timid.

"Because I've never had anything remotely like this happen before. Because I walk around in a daze all day, just thinking about you, and missing you, and planning the excuses I can use to see you again." He turned toward her, saying, "And at the same time I'm afraid something will go wrong—that I'll do something stupid and drive you away, or—" He clamped his lips on the words.

"Or what?"

"Or I'll find I..."

"Made a mistake?"

Silence stretched out, so she said, "Rob, I—"

"Wait," he said, interrupting her as he turned to face her once more. "Let me finish. I planned to tell you this in the morning, anyway, and I'm trying to get it to come out right."

That brought a tiny smile. It was so like him to carefully plan what he would say, and how he would say it. When necessary, Rob acted with the speed of a tiger, as he'd so amply demonstrated. But when he had the time, he carefully planned every facet of what would be done. Glowing inside at his declaration of love, she waited.

He took her hands in his, then took a deep breath. "All right. First of all, I suppose you already knew I'm in love with you, I'm pretty obvious about such things, but I thought it best to tell you about that, first." He met her eyes. "Does it disturb you...that I know you for such a short time, and yet say that?" Before she could speak, he added, "Because I don't mean I'm infatuated, or that I'm physically attracted to you, though I certainly am. I mean it in the old fashioned sense, as in wanting you for a friend, but also as...as everything else. Everything."

Going directly to the root of the problem made sense, so she took a breath and said, "I won't ever hurt you Rob, if that's what's worrying you. For what it's worth, I think I fell in love with you the moment I saw you, and nothing that's happened since has changed that." She stopped, and then, surprising herself, added, "Or ever will."

His, "Thank you, Samantha," was a whisper, filled with more emotion than she would have believed the human voice could carry. He gathered her against him, then, and held her, wordlessly but with gentle strength, and with more feeling than words could have expressed. Finally, he pulled back a tiny bit, still tightly holding her, to gaze into her eyes for a long time before rolling away and leaving the bed.

In a moment, however, he'd slipped off his shirt and pants, then slid under the covers and back to her, to take her in his arms once more.

That, she decided, was more like it.

° ° °

She woke to a room bright with daylight. She turned to where Rob had been laying but found only an empty pillow and rumpled bedclothes. Still, she reached out to touch the place where his head had lain, as if to touch some essence of him remaining behind. They had done nothing more than cuddle—gently, at that—because her bruises and stiff muscles would bear no more. But with that cuddling came contentment and a feeling of security never before known. Passion was something familiar; passion for him, especially, and for the heat his kisses invoked. This, though, was different. This was a feeling of belonging, and of sharing, and of lazy afternoons and quiet togetherness. It was a feeling she recalled, now, one that filled her with joy, and which set her to getting out of bed to find him.

At least that was her goal. Achieving it was quite another matter. As soon as she tried to move, her muscles set up a chorus of complaint that had her back on the pillow, puffing out her cheeks as she blew out her breath in surprise. More careful, now, she wormed her way backwards and up, to lean against the headboard, studying the room and learning more about the man she might be spending the rest of her life with. She wasn't in a great deal of pain, but she was also, not moving.

A good room, though not what she'd seen in her mind, based on the rest of the house. She somehow, expected the room to be on the order of a mountain lodge, rustic and masculine to the extreme, with pictures of cowboys and outdoor scenes on the walls. This was a warm and comfortable room, one that showed a sophistication of taste beyond what she expected. She'd forgotten that Rob spent many years in the city—first as an undergraduate, and then in earning his medical degree and in practice. The walls were a light tan, complementing the warm earth-tones of the furniture, and were decorated with works of art of which she approved—reproductions of such works as Sunflowers, by Van-Gogh. There were several small oils, gathered into a grouping on one wall, obviously the work of one artist. Perhaps the sure hands of a surgeon had painted them?

She stretched, gently, as she thought over the events of the previous night, exploring the extent of her stiffness. It wasn't so serious that a bit of rest and some gentle exercise wouldn't work the problems out. That decided, she eased her way to the edge of the bed and stood, then hobbled to the dresser, smiling to find pictures of Jodie tucked into the mirror hanging above it. In all, he had good taste, and if it did become her room, as well, there was little she would want to change—except perhaps for the addition of a circus picture. Maybe one by Georges Seurat to stay within the fine arts theme of the room.

Standing with her back to the dresser, eyes drifting around the room, but in reality, dreaming of what might be, the swift tattoo of tiny feet on the stair brought her back to the present, and announced that she was about to receive a visitor. Apparently, her footsteps had been heard below.

"Samantha!" a small voice cried, as the door burst open, to fly back against the stop. "Samantha, I've been waiting _forever_ for you to wake up. Daddy wouldn't even let me watch television, or anything."

While shouting her greeting, Jodie literally launched herself into the air, flying the last few feet into her waiting arms. With her back braced by the dresser she kept from falling, but still, paid a price measured in pain. Well worth it, though, and she hugged the little girl fiercely to her for a moment, before placing her little bottom on the edge of the dresser and turning to face her.

"And Grandpop is here, and Rose is here... But Tom is out digging a grave for poor Thunder. And daddy told me— Mmmph."

That last was a result of her hand placed over Jodie's mouth. It helped little, though, because the instant she removed the hand, Jodie went on as though she'd not been interrupted. "Daddy told me he was going to find you a new horse if you say okay. Him, too, and he said maybe it would be today...so is it okay?" With that she placed both palms on Samantha's face, squeezing her face out of shape and radiating such enthusiasm that she had to laugh.

"Okay, small but cute one. We can go horse shopping if you like, but tomorrow, not today. Today I have to rest." She kissed Jodie's small face on the nose, then pressed her forehead against Jodie's, blinking her eyes so her eyelashes brushed Jodie's, saying, "And that's a butterfly kiss for being so nice."

Jodie pulled her back in surprise, then said, "Do it again. I like butterfly kisses even better than daddy's purple kisses."

"Purple kisses?"

"I'll show you," Rob told her, striding through the bedroom door and lifting Jodie from the dresser. With that, he took a step toward the bed and literally threw the child, so she flew several feet before landing on her back, on the bed. Before she could move, he threw himself at her, landing with his face pressed to Jodie's cheek. While Samantha stood, laughing, the pair rolled over and over, accompanied by Rob's lip-smacking kissing noises and Jodie's wild giggling.

They ended up with Rob sitting on the edge of the bed, cradling Jodie in his arms and saying, "Those purple kisses are fierce. Three of those in one day and you're dead meat for sure." He soundly kissed his daughter and placed her on her feet, to come and take Samantha in his arms, sending quivers through her whole body with a kiss that left her tingling and warm, swaying toward the place where he'd been when he finally released her.

"So how is the mountain climber feeling today?" he asked, turning back to the bed. He bent to lift Jodie once more, and as he turned back to Samantha, Jodie leaned out to claim a kiss of her own, saying, "Me, too, me too."

Somewhat overwhelmed, she said, "I'm much better, I think, though I'm going to take you up on your offer of something to ease the stiffness."

Rob immediately lost his smile. "Of course. I'm sorry if it hurt you when I—"

"You didn't." The pleasure of his touch, and the warmth that his kiss brought, more than offset any discomfort.

Rob shifted Jodie, and she clambered from his arms to his back with the agility of a monkey, as he said, "You never did answer, last night. Did they tell you how they were able to find you?"

"No, but a month or so ago I changed the address on a magazine subscription, and had it sent to the ranch."

"So how did they find you before this?" Rob asked, as he swung Jodie to the floor and sent her downstairs to wait for him. He lifted the chair she found him in the previous night and carried to where it belonged, saying, "Keep talking, Sam, I'm listening."

"Well, the first time was my fault, because I did something dumb. I had my mail forwarded, and apparently the mail clerk at the post office gave them the forwarding address." She leaned back against the dresser to ease her aches a bit, but it wasn't much help. Only time, or a less vertical position could cure that problem.

Rob lowered the chair and straightened, his look telling her that he'd been surprised by her admission. Feeling stupid, she added, "I didn't realize that the post office would give out your new address, I thought they only forwarded the mail."

"And the second time?"

She shrugged. "I'm not sure, but since it happened a week or so after I took a job, I assume that had something to do with it—that or my newspaper subscription. That's why I'm here, and using my savings rather than living in the city and working."

"Well I'm glad you're here," he said with a grin, as he moved the legs of the chair in the indentations in the carpet that marked its usual home. He waved her to a seat then went to sit on the edge of the bed, facing her.

She returned his grin. "Me too," she said as she gingerly sat, then sank back into the chair's embrace, enjoying the scent of leather that surrounded her as she did so. She closed her eyes for a moment, as the aches eased, saying, "So as I said, it must have been the magazine. I have no other connection to the outside world."

Rob nodded thoughtfully. "Sounds reasonable, I suppose, but since we won't be seeing them again, it doesn't really matter."

His words had served to remind her of the events of the previous day, and of an unresolved problem. "Rob," she began, tentatively, sitting up a bit. "I sort of hate to ask, but what did you do with the, ahh..."

"That's been taken care of. Tom is going to bury the horses, which will take a _deep_ hole. He borrowed a backhoe from one of the neighbors, so by now it might already be done. From what you told me it makes more sense than involving the law in this."

"And the car?" She relaxed back into the chair.

"Tom and Dad moved it to the parking lot of a hotel out on the main highway this morning, so there would be no connection between the car and the valley. I feel sorry for the rental company, though. From what dad says, it was pretty bunged up by what it had been through. Other than the flat tires that kept me from using it, yesterday, the muffler was gone, and he said it steered pretty funny."

"Oh." She could think of nothing more to say.

Rob could, however, and a grin lighted his face, as he waved a hand toward her body, clothed in only pants and a bra, saying, "I'd love to spend forever with you dressed like that, Sam, and treasure every second of it, but Dad and Rose are waiting for you to come down and be recognized as a hero, so why don't I go down and tell Rose to make you some breakfast, while you clean up? A long hot shower, will do you good...or you can soak in the tub, if you can make it to the guest bathroom."

"A shower's fine, Rob."

In response, he came and kissed her on the cheek, then headed for the door. When he reached the doorway, he turned and pointed. "Your clothes are on that chair. I had Rose mend the rips in the jeans and wash them, as well as the rest of your stuff. I also put a new toothbrush in the bathroom for you, and the towel on the rack is fresh." Then he was gone and the door was closed. She stood and stared at the blank wood of the door for a moment, feeling a bit like a chip in a whirlpool, but immensely pleased to find him so thoughtful, and so concerned over her. Such a good feeling to have someone else worry over her after so much time in which the only attention paid was something to be avoided; a very good feeling, indeed.

And such happy discovery to find the unshakable anticipation of doom that had colored her every waking and sleeping moment for almost a full year was gone, replaced by a sense of rebirth and anticipation. The past was just that: past. The future? Unknowable. But the present was as beautiful as was the day that peered in through the bedroom window.

Before too long, a talk with Rob about contacting the police and doing something about the men who had killed her sister and her husband needed to be on the to-do list. The man with bad skin might have made a grand gesture because she'd made him look like a fool, but how long would it be before he decided she was a loose end that needed trimming?

But that wasn't for today, and as she walked toward Rob's bathroom she had the thought that, just perhaps, the future wasn't totally unpredictable. Perhaps her future included a man and a little girl, and maybe even babies of her own.

For the first time in what seemed forever, she knew the luxury of a shower, with unending quantities of delightfully warm water pulsating against her body, soothing her aching muscles. Now, she finally washed her hair to a cleanness that satisfied. And as she rinsed her hair she found herself quietly singing. Surprised, she stopped, and cried, then threw off her tears, to sing louder, wanting Rob to hear; wanting the entire world to hear.

° ° °

Samantha looked up from her book.

"Come in, Paul, I'm awake."

Following a hero's breakfast that she found a little overwhelming, she headed back to the bedroom to ease her aches with rest while Rob went out to help Tom, then check the stock. The work on a ranch, she was discovering, knows no holidays. Stock must be tended to and small emergencies were the norm, not the exception.

Rose was with Jodie, on the way to the Plumstead ranch, where a pre-school center gave the ranch children experience at social behavior before they were thrown into the public school system.

Now, as if testing the waters, Paul peered around the door. "Up to some company for a few minutes?"

She lowered the book, placing it on the bed, then pointed to a chair.

"Sure. Have a seat." His expression said this was to be a serious not a social call. Hopefully, Jodie hadn't been regaling him with stories of Teal-Eye.

He sat, silent for so long that she was about to prompt him, when he started abruptly.

"Sam, I...well I owe you an apology, first off."

"Apology? For what?"

"For doing a half-ass job of digging into your past, for starters, and for misjudging you so damn badly."

Before she could respond, he held up a hand, stopping her, so she leaned back against the headboard and reached for a sip of the water sitting on the nightstand.

"It's what I get for picking a detective out of the phone book, I suppose."

"You're kidding," she said, as she replaced the glass. "You picked your detective from the phone book?"

He shrugged, ruefully. "I'm afraid so. When I decided to check up on you, Chicago was the logical place to start, and since we don't have too many private detectives living in the valley, I had Nate Silberman use his computer to search the Chicago yellow pages via the Internet. He gave me a list of detective agencies and I called till I found one that sounded competent. From what Rob tells me I should have hired the one the drug dealers used, instead."

She laughed. "You're probably right, but you didn't hurt me, so no apologies are necessary."

"But I didn't help, either, Sam, and I should have. Had I known, this would never have happened. So apologies are in order."

"Thank you," seemed the only sensible response. "And thank you for your help over the winter."

Looking a bit uncomfortable, Paul shook his head. "You don't owe me thanks, Sam, I owe you...for Jodie...for keeping her safe. I know I would never have made it to the top of that mesa—even were I not carrying her."

Now it was clear why he was there. Had anything happened to Jodie it would have destroyed the man. But she could take no credit for Jodie's safety. Forgetting that it had been Teal-Eye who had done the climbing, Jodie had been in danger only because she was at the ranch when the men arrived. But he knew that as well as did she, so she said, only, "We do what we have to, Paul."

He studied her for a long time, then nodded. "I suppose we do." After a moment he added, "Well, I'd better get moving. I just wanted to let you know, among other things, that I'm glad you and Rob..." He stopped, held out a palm in a gesture that completed the sentence, then headed toward the door. Before he closed it, though, he smiled back at her and added, "Had I known how much grit you really have, lady, I might have courted you for my own self." Then, he was gone.

What would his reaction would have been had she told him the real reason she was able to climb that mesa?

° ° °

"Samantha."

"Mmm?" Too comfortable to say more, she moved her head a trifle on Rob's shoulder, to let him know she was listening.

"If I tell you something you're not going to like very much, will you promise to listen...before you get angry?"

That rated her sitting up, and turning to face him directly, the beauty of the sunset they had just watched forgotten.

"I think that depends on what you say."

For a moment he avoided her eyes, then nodded, as though accepting her condition. He stood, and gazed at something in the distance for a time before starting with, "Yesterday was a pretty busy day."

"Not one I'd like to repeat." She hesitated a beat, then went directly to the heart of the matter, his concern that their emotions were clouded by the situation, saying, "You want to start over again...to pretend we just met. Right?"

That brought him back to take her hands and sit facing her, evening shadows painting his face in somber hues.

"No, Sam, not that. I'm in love with you, and that hasn't changed. Nor will it. I just think we should make the effort to get to know each other...before the honeymoon, so to speak. It's..." He stopped himself.

"It's what?"

"Nothing." He gave a tiny shake of the head, looking down and avoiding her eyes.

Then she understood. "It's Teal-Eye, isn't it?"

He met her eyes for a moment, then turned away with a dismissive shrug and a sigh. Obviously, it wasn't as trivial an issue as he tried to make it.

"You're afraid that if you make love to me it'll happen again...her joining the party, so to speak."

His eyes met hers once more. "Have you...I mean, has she contacted you since..."

"No."

He slumped, saying, "I'm sorry, Sam. I really am, and that really is only part of it." He stopped and met her eyes for a moment before adding, "But it's an important part, because it's you I want, not her."

His words weren't as upsetting as they might have been, because on reflection, he had a point. They really didn't know each other, not in all the little things that made day-to-day living together possible. Although she'd made her choice, and was sure nothing would change that, Rob had reason to be uncertain, and that had to be respected.

"So what do you want to do?" she asked, interested, now.

He gave an eloquent shrug of the hands, a mannerism she found endearing. "Just take a few days to be together while we see if the Teal-Eye thing is over now that both your problems are pretty much resolved. You might even want to go back to Chicago to tie up any loose ends, there...and see if you want to come back again once you're away from here."

"No!" She gentled her tone and reached out for his hand, pulling it to her lips for a moment of warmth. "No, Rob. I'll never leave here again. This is where I belong...with you."

His, "Thank you, Sam," caused her to press his hand to her cheek as she asked, "Do I avoid you, now, or what?"

"No, of course not. What I want to do is go on seeing you...every day, if that's okay. I'd like it if you'd take dinner with us, and maybe spend evenings here, too."

"But not nights."

He shrugged, again.

Thinking about what he'd said, this made the most sense, because there was Jodie to think about, and moving into her daddy's bedroom without preparing the girl wasn't in Jodie's best interests.

That settled, she patted Rob's hand and stood, wincing as her muscles reminded her of her plan to avoid sudden movement.

"What?" Rob had, obviously, been taken by surprise by her movement.

"Nothing serious. It's just that, given what we've been talking about, it's time to be getting me back to my place."

"You're not angry?"

She kissed him. "I'm not angry, Rob. You may even be right. So kiss me like you mean it and then drive me home before I change my mind."

The kiss was satisfying, but too short. Hours too short.

° ° ° °

Chapter 24

Samantha kissed Jodie on the cheek, then pressed a finger-tip to the girl's nose, as she said, "And there will be _no_ wandering downstairs pretending to need a drink of water tonight...understand?"

In response the girl only giggled, so she touched her cheek one final time before leaving the bedroom. How she could have missed knowing how much fun life with a six-year-old could be?

As she walked down the stair to the living room she thought back over the events leading up to being in this house at this time in her life. A few short days ago she'd been in headlong flight, certain she was about to die, and concerned only with keeping her tiny charge from harm, protected only by the link with Teal-Eye.

The previous morning she woke to find Teal-Eye in her mind, filled with terror for Miona, who, she claimed, had been wounded by an ineptly thrown spear while on a hunting trip. With Rob's help she cared for the wound—which was deep and ugly—even to the point of participating: performing surgery to repair his perforated colon, then stitching the wound and protecting it with raw honey, something Rob claimed been used for centuries as a guard against infection.

The memory brought a shudder, for the blood and the fact of what she'd done to another human being. It also brought the thought that if Bear survived—and it appeared he would—she'd performed the world's first successful abdominal surgery; and no one would ever know other then Teal-Eye and Rob. Somehow that seemed unfair.

She stopped at the bottom step, nodding. _Maybe I missed my calling. Samantha Hanover abdominal surgeon._

But that was silly. "More like abominable surgeon," she said, aloud, laughing.

Perhaps there was now a kind of balance between Teal-Eye and herself—one that would bring an end to what had been going on between them. Only time would bring answers to that, though, and after a week of sharing her evenings with Rob it was more satisfying to think of him, and what was to come between them.

That brought memory of the decision she'd come to that morning: it was time to talk about the future, and about their relationship. Since the night of their discussion he avoided touching her—with reason, perhaps—but if that situation continued for any length of time it might become habit.

It was time to resolve some romantic issues, which was reason for her best slacks, rather than jeans, a trace of perfume and a modicum of eye-shadow—enough of both to make him want to get closer—hopefully, without being obvious about it. Thus far it hadn't worked, but perhaps later, when the sun had set and moonlight was added to the equation?

She walked past the den, with its television, waving at Paul and Tom as she passed, then stepped onto the porch. The sun hadn't set, so perhaps there was time to resolve another troubling issue, first.

"Rob, do you believe in re-incarnation?"

"Mmm?" he said, looking up from his magazine.

She cocked her head to read the title of the magazine, and he turned it so she could more easily see. It was a medical journal. Interesting. Was he displaying a renewed interest in medicine, or had he always kept up his reading? Interesting, but a subject for another time.

"I asked you if you believe on re-incarnation."

He shook his head. "I'm afraid not."

"Well that ends this conversation."

He smiled. "Not necessarily. What did you have in mind? Are you...or at least were you anyone famous?"

"Not that I know of, but I was wondering if...if just maybe, I was once Teal-Eye?"

Rob grunted, then looked thoughtful. Finally, he said, "And you think your 'conversations' were just your mind's way of fitting in her memories? That wouldn't—"

"No. Not that."

"Then what?" Rob shifted in his chair, placing the magazine on the table and turning his attention fully on her.

She took the chair next to his, shifting it to face him and leaning toward him as she said, "I once read where your..." She waved her arm for a moment, searching for a concept, settling on, "Well, call it a soul, for a want of a better word... I read where your soul is independent of the conscious part of you, and that it sometimes gives you ideas, based on experiences in your past lives. Maybe that's what's bridging her time and mine." Saying it out loud, it didn't have the ring of truth it had in thought, when she came up with the idea.

"This really has you upset, doesn't it?"

In answer, she stood and walked to the edge of the porch, gazing out over the expanse of range grass that rolled on to the horizon. The light breeze, with its scent of spring, should have calmed her, but the dust in the breeze was a tickle that went better with her current mood. Seducing Rob had been, for the moment, pushed from her mind.

She turned and leaned a shoulder against a porch support post, her hand resting on the rough wood of the railing.

"Yes. Rob, it's been bothering me for days, because if it's not me that's doing it, there's someone, or some _thing_ , involved—an intelligent someone who scares the hell out of me."

Rob patted the seat she'd been using, saying, "Sit, Sam, you can talk just as well from here, and you smell especially nice tonight. You talk and I'll sniff." He hesitated for a moment, then grinned and added, "I'll even listen, now and then."

That brought a smile, and warmer thoughts. She sat and took his hand for a moment, then deliberately placed it on his lap and said, "Rob, there is no possibility of this all being a random happening...not the connection between us."

"Us? As in you and I?"

"No, my connection with Teal-Eye."

"Ahh."

There had been a hint of a smile at the corners of Rob's mouth, indicating that his misunderstanding had been intentional, and that he, too, had been thinking about their relationship. A good sign, certainly, but best to finish with the subject under discussion first.

"Think about it Rob. She learns about me and I learn about her. Then she just happens to contact me when I desperately need a skill only she can supply."

"And she contacts you when she needs something I can supply, through you. You have a point."

"Exactly."

"Then where does it lead?"

She sagged and took his hand again, absently playing with it as she spoke. "I have no idea Rob, but I dearly want to know, even though it scares the hell out of me."

"Teal-Eye thinks it's her goddess," Rob ventured, without any real conviction.

"Teal-Eye thinks everything is controlled by spirits." When he didn't respond she brought his hands to her lips for a kiss, holding them there for a long moment, savoring the male scent of him. Leaning her cheek against his fingers she said, "You have no idea of the power in the voice that spoke to me when I reached the mesa, Rob. I thought, at the time, that I had heard the voice of God."

She took a deep breath and lowered his hand to her lap. "I really did."

"And now?"

Once again she lifted his hands for a kiss, this one more perfunctory, before returning them to his own lap and releasing them. "And now I have no idea." She put hands to his shoulder, returning to the evening's agenda. She was about to tell him, "But right now I want to be kissed," but he had a far-away look in his eye, as though he was seeing and hearing things beyond her ability to comprehend.

She dropped her hands and sat up. Rob was nodding, slowly...listening.

"What is it, Rob?"

In response he held up a hand in a wait gesture, then, after a moment, said, "I need to check on something, Sam. Give me a few minutes and I'll be back."

With that he went into the house, still looking distracted. She watched him go, head shaking.

What could have caused that?

Abruptly, she knew, and a wave of pure terror went through her, anchoring feet that suddenly yearned to carry her from the porch. The man passing through the screen-door was Rob—her Rob; but she knew, suddenly, and with perfect certainty, that he'd been terribly and permanently changed, in ways that hid deep within. In the blink of an eye she was transported back to the first second in which she'd seen him, outside the store. Once again she knew the same terror. She'd been wrong in thinking she'd been given a foreshadowing of Teal-Eye's Miona. What she'd been given, then, was a taste of something far larger, and much darker. It was The Bear, here at last, and he was locked within the mind of the man she loved.

° ° ° °

Chapter 25

Samantha took only a few steps toward the porch steps when Jodie's voice came at the screen-door, calling her name.

She turned, and the little girl, clad in nightgown and slippers, hurried onto the porch to tug at her pants, "I need a kiss, Samantha. You forgot to give me a butterfly kiss before you went downstairs." Hopefully, she added, "Daddy said it was okay to ask you."

Need for hurry or not, she lifted the little girl, carrying her as she went down the steps into the rear yard, granting her request as she did so, loving the warm feeling that holding Jodie gave her, in spite of the fear hovering at the edges of her mind.

Finally, forcing herself back to reality, she stopped and planted the girl on her own feet, as she said, "Okay, enough kissing. You have to help me now, okay?"

"Okay. What do we have to do?"

"Not we, kitten. Me. I'm playing hide-and seek with your father, and you have to help make sure he doesn't find me."

"Oh, wow," she said, her eyes round with surprise. "I like that game, and I know lots of places to hide, too. Can I play?"

She gave thought to telling her she couldn't be in the game, but also mustn't tell her father where she, Samantha, was. Unfortunately, Jodie wasn't very good at keeping secrets from her father. Taking Jodie with, to protect her, wasn't an option because the child was in no danger. Only she had reason to fear, though what she had to fear wasn't yet certain.

Carrying Jodie behind one of the outbuildings, she placed her on the ground once more, crying inside at losing her. She knew the girl for so a short time, but in that time found so many reasons to love her. Moreover, the idea of adopting Jodie as her own daughter, should she and Rob marry, was one that especially pleased. To leave now tore at her heart as deeply as did the thought of leaving Rob. But he was gone, and in his place was...was what?

Unable to either understand or face that problem, she said, "Okay, Jodie, you've talked me into it, but this is a very special game, and it's past your bedtime, so you have to find a place to hide where daddy won't find you."

"But I want to hide with you, Sam," she complained, her face petulant.

She knelt, placing her hands on Jodie's shoulders, saying, "I know, sweetheart, but this is a special game, remember. I'm going to hide at my ranch, or maybe by the pond. You have to hide here on the Lazy Eight, okay?"

Jodie's "Okay," was accompanied by soulful eyes and a trace of a lower lip quiver that made her want to wrap her arms around the girl and never leave. But that was impossible.

"Okay, so scoot, now! Get yourself hidden as soon as you can, because daddy's only going to give us a few more minutes before he comes looking."

As she watched the girl hurry toward the barn, probably to join her pony in his stall, she brushed tears from her eyes with the back of her hand, Then, with a breaking heart, she turned and headed toward the rangeland, praying that she would be out of sight before Rob came outside. There was no possibility of heading toward her own place, because that would be where Rob first searched. The pond would be the second. Using the van wasn't an option, either, since he would hear its noisy old starter cranking away. In his own car he would quickly catch her.

Her words to Jodie, on where she would be hiding, were insurance, in case Rob pried their conversation from her. With all options closed, she would take the only other route she knew, up the cliff to the mesa, and from there cross-country to the paved road, where she would hitch a ride. She'd gone no more than a mile, however, when her name being called echoed in the confines of her mind. Helpless to prevent it, she sagged to the ground.

° ° ° °

Chapter 26

As she walked toward the hut of healing, Teal-Eye felt like bursting into song. Her Bear not only lived, he grew stronger every day.

For nearly a full week after Samantha helped with the wound that felled him, Miona had lain at the doorway to the afterworld, neither growing stronger nor weaker.

For her the days and nights had passed with agonizing slowness. Miona drifted in and out of consciousness, never in more than a half-awake state. His moaning tore at her heart, and she had the urge to gather him in her arms and rock him like a babe. But he could not be moved lest the incision be stressed, so she contented herself with caressing his face, soothing his pain with her touch, and speaking to him of things she'd never told another soul; telling him of her childhood before the death of her parents, her time in the wilderness, and her joy at finding what she once believed forever denied: the shared love of man and woman—speaking to the spirit within him and giving it a reason to remain. She stayed by him, never out of contact, even when she lay sleeping by his side, trying to pass strength from her body to his. During that time she did a great deal of soul searching. Why she should feel as she did about Miona, or any man, was a subject she dwelt on for a long time. True, she loved him. That much she'd already accepted, though it was acceptance without understanding. It was a difficult admission to make, and a harder one to accept. She, first, had to admit that she'd been drawn to him when they met—in ways she was, then, unable to understand. She thought over his time in the village, seeing the events more clearly, in the light of that love. As she came to know him, there had been stirrings deep within, feelings that both frightened and confused her—stirrings that brought ever more frightening dreams, in which she seemed to wake to find him in her bed, and in which he had, first, held her, then had begun kissing her, a thing that brought fright, but which she was powerless to stop. Too soon they became dreams where he began doing those things that had been done to her as a child—touching her, and pressing himself to her as a man does to a woman. Only this time there was no fear, only a frighteningly intense yearning that made her wake with pounding heart, and a wetness of the thighs that defied explanation. They were dreams she refused to speak of, or to even acknowledge to herself as having occurred.

Then came the night she shared Samantha's longing for her Rob, a night when the reasons and origins of her own strange dreams became clear—a night that intensified her own longing for Miona.

As she prepared herself for marriage, she finally admitted that she truly loved him, in some fashion. But love was an imponderable, and its meaning eluded her, until her time with him as he recovered. Then, she finally understood what it meant to love—to want to belong to another person, body and soul, and to have no existence except as defined in terms of that belonging. Then, she tallied up the reasons for her love, and found that the whole was, indeed, far more than the sum of its parts.

As for the parts of her love, there were many, she discovered. There was Miona's endless patience, his warmth, and his great but gentle strength. There was his incredible bravery in facing the bear, and his unwavering dedication to her happiness. Most important, was his desire to share—not just spend—his life with her. Then, deep in the night, filled with worry for him, and basking in the warmth of just having him near, she finally understood that she had loved him, and would love him, for as long as she lived.

Since that time she'd been filled with an endless and unfulfilled need to give him of herself in all the ways that a woman can give herself to a man. She would cook his meals, bear his children, and insure that he woke with joy each morning. Her life would be his, and his dream, that of their life together, would be _made_ to become truth.

Smiling she entered the hut. But it was empty. For a moment it seemed she'd made a mistake, and was in the wrong place. A swift look around, however, dispelled that. With a flash of fear she turned on her heel and left, seeking some trace of him, or someone who might be able to tell her where he was. There was no one.

Fearful that something had happened, and that even than her Bear lay on his funeral pyre, she hurried back into the village proper.

"Bear?" Muddy-Foot said, looking up from the clay pot he was forming, with a shrug. "I saw him maybe three fingers ago, headed that way." He pointed in the direction of the path that led to the lake.

As she hurried upward, she mused that the clocks used by Samantha's people were a lot handier than measuring the sun's progress across the sky in finger widths, as Muddy-Foot had done, or with the primitive sundial her people used. But time carried less importance to the pace of the High Mountain people. Statements like, "I'll meet you at the lower berry patch when the sun is half-way to noon," worked well enough, except for especially cloudy conditions. Even then, one could usually estimate time well enough to get by.

As she climbed she ran into people on their way back from bathing. Yes, Bear was at the lake, they told her. And he looked to be fine. Their reports did little to ameliorate her anger, however. Rob had been very specific; Miona's resumption of full activities was to be a gradual thing, and not to begin for several more days. Certainly, Rob deliberately erred on the side of caution, but still, caution was justified. Of a certainty, Miona, like all men, would believe himself invulnerable, and push himself too hard.

Anger and concern increased with each step, along with her speed, until she was almost running up the mountainside.

"It's nearly sundown," she muttered to herself, breathing hard as she hurried up a particularly steep section of trail. "That idiot has probably been there most of the day, swimming, and tiring himself, while I worked to gather the food he'll eat. Damn him!" Gone was the desire to please and care for him—flushed away by anger, which, in reality, was frantic concern that she would find him lying in a pool of blood, his wound torn open by his foolish male urge to prove himself over and over again.

She arrived at the lake, breathless and furiously angry; made angrier still when she found him lying on a rock, sunning himself, the picture of comfort.

"Well, hello, my love," he called, sitting up and smiling. "I missed y—"

"Don't tell me, 'I missed you,' you insufferable idiot. How dare you come up here?"

"Teal-Eye? What's wrong?" He stared at her, frozen in the act of rising, his brow wrinkled in confusion.

"What's wrong? What's wrong? Why you...you..." She stopped, tears streaming from her eyes and unable to speak. As he gathered her into his arms, she beat her fists on his chest, saying, "Don't you _ever_ frighten me like that again. I was afraid you were hurt, or worse."

"But, love, I—"

She wiped her tears against his chest, and let herself be drawn fully into his arms. Still, she couldn't help from saying, "You _know_ what I told you about starting too soon. Why did you do a thing like this?"

Gently, he tipped her head up, smiling down at her as he said, "Of course I knew. Which is why I haven't done more than stand in the water for long enough to wash off the stink of sickness."

"But you climbed the path, and that could have torn your wound," she argued, avoiding his eyes and seeking a way to stay angry.

But that brought only a new smile, as he informed her, "I walked the path like an old, old, man, and continued this far only because there was no new pain." He kissed her on the nose, before gently chiding, "I have not lived as I have for so long by being a fool, Teal-Eye."

Allowing him to urge her to a seat on the boulder he'd been using as a sunning spot, she took her eyes from him for the first time, and found herself the center of attention.

"I wish my woman worried about me that way," Flint-Hand said, laughing, as her eyes met his. His wife didn't laugh, though others did.

She blushed at her stupidity in not realizing she was making a fool of herself before the others. Thankfully, it was only Flint-Hand and his family, not the entire village—though with certainty, all would hear of it.

Before she could recover, however, Spearmaker's youngest son, newly married to Flint-Hand's daughter, and just coming into his manhood said, "Oh no, Old Man, she fears you're going to live, not die. And I can't say that I blame her."

Attention was, thankfully, removed from her, when Flint-Hand pushed the boy from the bank. Then, with a roar of mock rage, and a huge splash, Flint-Hand leapt after him, carrying them both beneath the water, accompanied by the laughter of those gathered by the shore.

Moments later, Flint-Hand emerged from the water, grinning broadly and carrying his son-in-law over his shoulder—bouncing him as he walked—as punishment for his remark. She flushed anew as Flint-Hand's wife caught her husband's eye, then flicked a glance at Miona and said, "It's late."

Flint-Hand caught the hint. He nodded, then headed toward the trail, still carrying the boy and followed by his family. As they disappeared around a bend in the trail Spearmaker's son said, "If you bounce me one more time, you old goat, I'll be forced to bathe you in something you do _not_ want to wear." Laughter drifted back from the path and then there was silence.

Miona touched her shoulder, breaking into her reverie and saying, "I'm sorry I worried you. I did try to find you, but they said you had gone with Blossom and Dewdrop to search for licorice-root."

"You still shouldn't have tried it," she said, a trifle grumpily. "You might have hurt yourself."

His, "Thank you Teal-Eye," melted her heart.

"Now," she said, turning to fully face him, and trying to pretend that she'd never actually been angry. "Let me look at you."

Ignoring his, "I'm fine," she began to unbind the covering that had been used to protect the wound. She refused to respond to the expression with which he watched her actions—a mixture of smile, teasing, and love.

The wound, as always, shocked eyes used to the smooth expanse of skin that had defined his abdomen. Now, to one side, an angry and puckered scar marred his flesh, with marks where the stitching had been removed clearly visible. But no trace of blood showed on the cloth, she was pleased to note, and the last of the scabbing had fallen off, showing that while he would have a scar to mark his ordeal healing was nearly complete.

Impulsively, she placed a kiss on her fingertips, then transferred it to the scar—a symbolic healing gesture foreign to her people, but one which she'd learned from Samantha.

"Thank you Teal-Eye," he said. "I will always honor the memory of what you have done."

She looked up, startled. "Me?" she said, embarrassed at his having noticed. "I did nothing. It was Samantha and Rob who did it. I only followed their orders."

Shaking his head, he took her hands in his, lifting them, to place them squarely in the center of her field of vision. His face then turned deadly serious, as he said, "I hear what you say, but _these_ are the hands that saved my life, and they are your hands, not Samantha's."

"Yes, but—"

"No buts, Teal-Eye."

Accepting, she nodded, then changed the subject.

"Is there any pain?"

He shrugged. "No more when walking than normally. It fades, slowly." He bit his lip for a moment, before adding, "It's a strange thing to owe my life to the knowledge of those who have not yet lived. I haven't been able to properly thank them, and I would like to, if...?"

She shook her head. "There has been no contact since that day. Perhaps..." she sighed. "Perhaps it is finished."

He sighed, leaning back with hands locked around his knee. "That's a shame. Samantha seemed...well, she seemed to feel my pain as her own."

"As did I."

He smiled, silent for several minutes, as was she, content to simply be there with him. After a moment, he took her hand and pulled her toward him, then moved to place his back against stone, so she turned and cuddled against him, warm and protected. Finally, he said, "I remember little, but it was a strange thing to talk to you, and yet not have it be you." Another long silence before he added, "Samantha is very different from you." He took a breath, his voice thoughtful as he finished, "Softer, I think. She does not have your courage. It's difficult to be sure, because I was not...not myself, but I got the impression that she was sorry for what she needed to do and the pain it would cause. She was preparing to save my life, yet she was apologetic about hurting me. That was very strange."

She thought on that, before she said, "Samantha has courage."

"Ahh?" He idly rubbed the back of her neck, bringing a feeling of warmth that made her purr, as he said, "You speak of courage, yet you leave things unsaid, I think."

She nodded, and settled against him, as he wrapped his arms around her once more. After a moment, she said, "Her people are much different from any you and I have known. That's part of it. But there is one thing that I would discuss with her. A thing that troubles."

"Mmm?"

The rumble of his question tickled her neck, and she rubbed her cheek against his before saying, "When faced with danger, her first reaction is to flee. I wish that were not so."

Interested, he turned her to him as he asked, "She is a rabbit, then?"

"No!" She turned to face him more fully. "Samantha has great strength, I've felt it, and I've been with her when she became a lioness, but too often she runs when she should fight, and too often she says, 'I'll worry about that later.' "

He kissed her on the nose, and smiled as he told her, "She is no Teal-Eye, then. You would spit in the face of a god, should that god anger you." With that he leaned toward her and kissed her lips.

For an instant, it seemed strange that their lips hadn't met before this time, at least not with more than friendship. But prior to the incident with the bear she hadn't kissed him because she didn't love him—or at least believed she didn't. After, when she agreed to marry him, there had been the formal kiss of acceptance, but that could hardly be called a kiss. When he'd been sick, he'd hardly been in a position to want to kiss her, and after, there had been no opportunity to be alone. Now, however, his lips met hers gently, and something she'd not anticipated happened. Somehow, though she'd intended only a brushing of flesh—a momentary touching—her lips seemed almost to have melted to his, and a wave of gentle warmth spread throughout her being, causing her to lean bonelessly against him, sighing her pleasure.

"Now, _that_ was a proper kiss," he told her, grinning.

She smiled up at him, deliciously relaxed and at peace; wanting nothing more in all the world than to be exactly where she was. She nuzzled his cheek, glorying in the strength of the arms that pulled her against him, and the soft warmth of his breath on her neck.

For a long time they remained like that, wrapped together in a bubble of contentment. Around them were the sounds of the forest, and she had the feeling that the songs of the birds were for her, alone, in celebration of her love.

His hand brushed her hair, and she met his eyes, planning to ask him a question, but the space between their mouths magically evaporated, and his hand was suddenly behind her head, urging a kiss that needed no urging. It was she drawing him closer; she who felt stirrings that brought a low moan to her throat, and the knowledge that the time for them should be—and must be—now, before another sunset.

She pulled back a bit, to tell him of her decision—to ask him to teach her of loving—but he was staring at her, strangely.

"What?" she asked. His answer was a tiny shake of the head, and a frown, as though listening to a voice only he could hear.

Leave, Teal-Eye! Leave now! If you remain here you will have done to you what was done to you as a girl. Then he will kill you.

_No! It cannot be_ , she said in her mind, as she flinched away from Miona.

**It is** _,_ the goddess insisted, her voice like rolling thunder. **The man who now holds you is being taken over by my enemy. He will no longer be your Bear, but will be a tool of the Destroyer, the one who seeks to rape me, as well. Run Teal-Eye. Run for your life... Run now!**

With tears streaming from her eyes, dreams of happiness left behind, she pushed herself free and ran from the lake, turning up, not down the mountain; going where her Bear could not follow.

° ° ° °

Chapter 27

Samantha woke to a close-up view of prairie grass—that and the roughness of the individual blades imprinting themselves against her cheek, in her own body, lying crumpled on the ground. Groaning, and wishing she had some sort of control over what was happening, she rolled onto her side then got to her feet, brushing blades of grass from her face and feeling somewhat disoriented. Only a moment ago, she'd been scrambling over a field of boulders, running from Miona.

Hurry Samantha, he's started after you.

Swaying, nearly falling to the ground once more, she took a long slow breath and forced herself to remain standing. The sheer intensity of the words in her head made thinking difficult for moments after such a contact, but it also seemed to affect her in other ways. Coming unexpectedly, as it had, on the day she first found herself in contact with Teal-Eye, it caused her to black out, as it had now. A painful bruise on her cheek attested to the fact that she'd fallen, uncontrolled, to the ground.

Now, however, anger, not fear filled her. Though she'd said nothing while in contact with Teal-Eye, the comments on courage hurt. But they were also quite true. She _had_ been running when there had been no reason to run. In Chicago, when she escaped her mother's house, she could, and should, have gone straight to the police. Certainly, they had witness protection programs that would have made her forever invisible to the man responsible. Certainly, too, she would have been far warmer through the past winter than she'd been at the ranch. But she _had_ run, and she'd run a second and even a third time. She'd hidden herself away like a rabbit, in a way that hadn't, in the end, protected her. A bitter realization, but one that must be accepted. She'd acted foolishly, and had it not been for the help of both Teal-Eye and Rob, and even Rob's father, she would have died.

Teal-Eye's words to Miona were a revelation, and her foolishness, now obvious. But she _was_ strong, and she _was_ capable of facing adversity without running blindly from it. An ability to solve difficult problems without losing composure, and a strong sense of self-sufficiency were the talents of which she'd always been most proud. But the sheer sanity-destroying violence she'd been forced to witness at her mother's house shocked her into a mind-set where she ran, and had continued to run, whenever danger threatened. That was over. There would be no more running. Not now. Not simply because a frightened voice shouted that she must.

Unable to come up with a way of contacting whatever it was that had been doing these things to her, she put hands on her hips, gazing upward into the growing dusk and calling, "I don't move just on your say-so. Not without a better reason than you've given me so far."

No response, though none was really expected, so she turned, unsure of where to look, incidentally, checking for any sign of pursuit. Finally, and a bit tentatively, she called, "Did you hear me?"

"I heard you," a quiet voice said from close behind.

She wheeled, driven by shocked surprise, to find a woman standing only a few feet away, where none had been only a moment ago.

"I thought you might find me easier to deal with this way."

_Oh my God. Can things get any crazier?_ It seemed unlikely.

The woman was close to her own height, and appeared solid, though not entirely real. For one thing, her face had an almost unfinished look, unlined, and without any trace of character. She wore no makeup, and had thin lips that were, strangely, almost exactly the same color and texture as the rest of her face. Her eyes, though, were arresting, jet black and starkly defined against an almost glowing whiteness—huge eyes, like those of the starving.

Tearing her eyes from those of the woman, she glanced downward, finding little of note. Her dress was nondescript, a loose blue smock that ended at the ankles and which draped on a generically female body, so far as shape was concerned. Looking upward, once again, she frowned at sunlight yellow hair pulled back into a ponytail—hair which appeared almost like that of a cartoon character—as single textured piece.

Now that she'd stopped speaking, the woman stood, unmoving under her inspection, not making the constant tiny movements of a human at rest, but frozen in place and looking like a misplaced statue.

She suppressed the urge to touch the figure to test her reality, on the theory that she was unlikely to be happy with the answer, either way.

"Who are you?" she asked, prepared to run, if necessary.

As though a switch had been thrown, the woman came to life, saying, "You can call me Gaea, I suppose. It's not accurate, but it works well enough."

Her words meant little, and when the woman stopped speaking she froze like a video machine with the pause button pressed. About to comment on her words, she stopped. While she knew what the woman said, it wasn't because she'd spoken aloud. As before, the words existed only within the confines of her own head. It was better than the mind-numbing silent roar she'd been subjected to in the past, though, which counted that as a blessing—assuming that this truly was the same being who had been speaking to her at that time.

"I am." The woman said, apparently reading her mind. "As I said, I thought this might be easier."

"You're not real, though," she said, accusingly. "You're just pushing some kind of picture into my mind."

"Very good," the woman said, smiling. "Very good. Of all the women I've contacted, you're the only one to realize that. I'm glad it's you who's last in the chain." She gestured toward the mesa, saying, "Would you at least walk while we talk about this? You really are in terrible danger, and I do need your help, desperately. If you die, so do I. And while I don't need daylight to climb, you do."

Unable to understand, and unable to frame any kind of reasonable reply to such a statement, she shrugged and turned in the direction of the mesa.

"I suppose I should explain."

The woman was to her right, floating just above the ground, not making even the effort to appear to be walking. The lower part of her body, below the knees, had softened to a fuzzy blur. She had no time to think about that, however, because Gaea went on.

"As you've already guessed, what you're seeing isn't real. I've placed an image in your mind to help you feel a bit more comfortable. I've quieted the words, too."

Samantha peered out of the corner of her eye as she said, "Thank you," then turned away, nettled by the fact that she'd spoken to someone who wasn't there; someone who could probably read her mind.

"I can't read your mind, Samantha," the voice told her. "Not in the sense that I can tell what you're feeling, or even everything you're thinking. I can pick up surface thoughts, but not the emotions and not the...well, the mental shorthand you use when thinking things over."

Her voice had a weird, uneven, quality, very much like listening to a tape recorder whose speed control had gone bad, and was varying the speed at random. The tone was female, but it might be that she, herself, was supplying that tone, and that the voice had no real gender characteristics applied.

"I am female," the woman said, seeming to give lie to her previous statement about reading her thoughts. "And as for my voice sounding strange, it's just that time doesn't have the same meaning to me that it does to you."

That brought her to a stop, and she turned to face the apparition pacing her steps. She opened her mouth to speak, but nothing emerged. She lacked the data necessary to frame any kind of a meaningful question.

"Please hurry," Gaea urged. "I'll explain as soon as you're safe."

As she turned back toward the mesa, Samantha said, "I don't know what's going on, or what you're trying to do, but I do know that you're not a goddess, as I might apply that word. And don't bother to try to convince me that you are, because I'm not naive in that respect, like Teal-Eye."

"Good, Samantha. Very good! You do understand, then. I was sure you would. In fact, it might please you to know that you are the only one to do so. Colleen McCollen, who ends only fifty years before your birth, is certain that I'm the Virgin Mary."

She came to a stop, then forced herself into motion, once more. _Is certain? Not,_ _was_ _certain?_ She could think of only one response to that: "Please!"

Silence, then, "Visualize your life—from beginning to end—as a line on a sheet of paper. Can you do that?"

"Yes."

"Good. Now, visualize yourself, traveling that line. What do you see?"

She walked a few steps in silence, before saying, "I see...I see a point on the line, moving from when I was born to when I die." She couldn't help but turn to the figure next to her as she asked, "Is that what you mean?"

It must have been, because Gaea said, "Then if we represent Samantha Hanover properly, as she sees herself, you aren't a line, you're the dot, moving across that paper we spoke of. Am I right?"

"I suppose, but what's the point."

"The point is, that I'm not like you in that respect. Given the analogy we just used, and so far as my defining myself, I actually am a line rather than a dot...at least as far as what you call time is concerned."

Once again she was brought to a halt. This time almost in mid-stride. Stumbling, she recovered, feeling foolish.

Bullshit. How dumb does she think I am?

"Not dumb, Samantha. Not dumb at all. I understand your disbelief. And I can't explain in terms you'd better understand, but it's true. Time doesn't have the same meaning to me as it does to you. I exist in...well, in different directions. For me, all of humanity exists at once."

For a time, she chewed on what she'd just heard, and it made no sense, so she rejected it with, "If that were true, we couldn't be talking. To me, this is a conversation, but to you, it would already have taken place, in its entirety, and all at once."

"And it has," Gaea said, sounding pleased. "You truly do understand. That will make things easier to explain."

She didn't agree. So far there had been precious little understanding, but she held her tongue, because the woman was speaking again.

"The answer to your question is that I can linearize myself, so to speak, and, from your point of view, hold a conversation. But to me it's...well, it's all at once, as you said." She hesitated, for a moment, then said, "Events aren't quite as fixed as you've always believed. But since you don't have the terms with which to understand, just treat this as if it's real."

_And that's the understatement of the year._ But still, it made a crazy sort of sense. Certainly, what she'd been told explained the weird variance in the pacing of the woman's speech. She might have such difficulty if linear time was something she didn't normally experience.

Only slightly less confused than she'd been a moment ago, there was little choice but to ignore what didn't make sense and try to obtain something that did. What little Gaea had supplied so far was almost worse than knowing nothing.

"Okay," she said, after a silent quarter mile of introspection. "I'll try, but I still don't understand."

"No, I suppose not, so let me try to make it a little clearer... In the first place, I do experience an equivalent of time, though telling you about it is, is like you trying to explain thickness to someone who lives in a word where only height and width is possible. I was..." She paused for a moment, before saying, "I began life as what you can call a short line, extending over only a few of your centuries. Unlike you, I was a person at birth, though limited in abilities and knowledge." After allowing a few seconds for her to digest that, Gaea said, "Rather than speak of time, as it pertains to me, let's say that over duration, I began to grow, lengthening as it were, at both ends."

Samantha broke in, excitedly. "Until you extended from my time to Teal-Eye's time—or the other way around, right? You said I was the first to understand."

"Very good. Yes, that's it, exactly."

"But—" She frowned at the paradox of Gaea's seeing the events of Teal-eye's life backward.

"Stop trying to make sense of it in your terms," Gaea said, a little testily. "You can't, so just accept that I'm not a goddess, for now, and that I'm not aware of every sparrow that falls."

Obviously, interacting with humanity required a deliberate, and perhaps difficult action on her part. To aid in that, it made sense to follow her advice and not concern herself with how contact between them was maintained. Best to concentrate on what she could understand, and what Gaea needed from her.

They were approaching the mesa, so she visually searched for the spot where the horse had been buried, so as to find the starting point of her climb the previous day. There might be better places to climb, but this way led to the top, and was the one she would use. Luckily, the setting sun shone on the cliff face, making the climb possible.

"So why have you contacted me?" she asked, as she searched. "And why have I been in contact with Teal-Eye? I assume it's connected with your reason for making me run from the house."

There was silence for so long that she looked over at the woman beside her, expecting to find her deep in thought. In fact, there was no one there. With a mutter of "Shit!" she continued her search, finally locating the climbing spot to her left, instead of to her right, as she'd expected. She had nearly overshot her goal. For a moment, she stood, lost in memories. Somewhere inside that wide lump of fresh dirt were the bodies of the men who had been chasing her—men who Rob had killed to save her life. When she glanced to her right, once more, the woman was back, thankfully, pulling her thoughts away from a deeply unsettling subject.

"I was born to war, Samantha. And like you, I had to flee to avoid death. That's why I'm living here, nearly at the edge of your galaxy."

"But what _are_ you?" she asked, thinking that in a time of strangeness, this managed to top everything so far. She had the absurd thought that if she were to live through this, and were to place the events on paper, even as a fantasy adventure, no one would take her seriously. It was too far outside the realm of human experience.

"I'm a person, like you," the woman informed her, calmly.

Samantha laughed. She looked around, at the cliff and the grassland—at her world.

"A person like me? Sure you are, except for your being someone who lives across time and a few million other differences." Unable to suppress the bitterness in her voice she added, "I don't know what you think you may be, but you are _not_ like me. Take my word for that."

There was no answer for several minutes, as she proceeded toward the nearing cliff. Finally, in an almost subdued tone, the other said, "I'm sorry, Samantha. I really am, but the danger is real."

"Go on," she finally told her, with no reduction in her anger.

As though they were continuing their previous conversation with no break, the woman said, "As I told you, I was born into violence. All around me was death, so I fled from the center of this galaxy, where the majority of my people live, until I reached a place of peace."

"The Earth?"

"More or less. I don't see it as you do, but you can think of it that way. Here, I lived, as alone as you have been. And, in general, I enjoyed my solitude, until _he_ came."

"The Bear?"

Again a hesitation, then, "You can call him that. I didn't give him that name; you seem to have supplied it, from the fear you felt from me, when Rob arrived at the store."

More likely an echo of Teal-Eye's fear when the bear had threatened her, but it made little difference, and only distracted from the central question.

"So, what happened? If he's a threat why don't you leave?"

That brought a harsh laugh, the time dilation effect making it almost maniacal. Then, pointing, toward the cliff, now only a short distance away, she said, "Climb, Samantha, when you reach the top we can talk."

That answer didn't satisfied, but at least it assured her that she would successfully make it to the top, since Gaea claimed to know the future.

° ° °

The climb was easy without Jodie on her back, and she began to understand the exultation that brings the rock-climber back to the wall again and again. She arrived at the cave winded, but pleased. Finding the woman waiting brought her back to the present, and removed any feeling of pleasure she might have had.

Gaea appeared to be sitting close to the shadowed rear wall of the cave, more real than before. No longer a statue, animated only when speech made it necessary, she appeared fully alive. Even her hair was real hair. Apparently, she was gaining experience at what she was doing, though that made little sense, since she claimed to exist across time, and could transfer that experience back to her previous self.

"That's already happened, from your point of view," she said, anticipating her question—or perhaps reading her thoughts. "I can't change what's happened...at least not in a way I can explain in meaningful terms."

What she said conflicted with her previous statement that events were not immutable. But a discussion of that would probably be pointless so she waved that away. Thinking about it would only give her a headache. What mattered was that she was safe for the moment. And while she rested from the climb was a good time to find out why she should abandon Rob. Also a time to, hopefully, learn Gaea's plans for the future.

Once again anticipating her, Gaea said, "Let me go on," as though the time to climb the wall had been an instant, only. At her nod of approval Gaea said, "As I've already mentioned, I was reasonably happy here, though a bit lonely, until he came."

"The Bear."

"The Bear. I didn't think of him in that way, though. Not then. Then, I viewed him as...well, as a good match for me."

"In the way Rob and I are matched? Male and female?"

She shook her head. "No, not that way, but as far as friendship is concerned, he was..." She took a moment before saying, "Now remember I'm using analogies, here, but he appeared much like me in many ways. He matched in breadth, so far as what you call time is concerned, and he..." Again silence, before, "If you go back to the line on the paper analogy, he was the same length, and he started near where I ended—slightly offset in a direction I can't explain. That, alone, made him interesting."

Trying to imagine two lines having a relationship didn't work. But what else was there?

"No, Sam, that's not it at all! To myself, I have as much of a body as do you, and he, from my point of view was both handsome and entertaining. We spent much of what _we_ view as time together, and I learned a great deal about the workings of my world from him. I learned of what had caused the battle that caused me to flee, for example."

"And what was that?" Willing or not, she was being drawn into Gaea's story.

"Call it politics."

"Oh."

"In any case, I was happy he'd come, until I noticed that my growth had become asymmetrical."

"Asymmetrical? Do you mean that you were growing in the direction of Teal-Eye, but not toward my future?"

"Exactly. I knew of you before I became aware of Teal-Eye. And when I asked him why, he claimed it was because we were going to...to mate!"

"And you objected, I assume."

"Objected?" Her entire being radiated negation, as she said, "Of course I objected, if for no other reason than because he was lying. I have no idea of how he did it without my becoming aware, but he has begun to absorb my being into himself. He has locked me to him, so I can't escape."

"But can't you—"

"There's nothing I can do, and believe me, I've tried. I've tried everything."

"After, then. Can't you—"

"There _is_ no afterward," she said, face drawn and eyes showing naked terror. "He's not mating with me. That would be bad enough."

"Then what—"

"He's _eating_ me. He's eating me alive—stretching himself and flowing alongside me, to tear into me and kill me." Anguish filled Gaea's voice as she held out her hands and said, "Teal-Eye knew rape first hand, and you've witnessed it in her memory, but what's being done to me is worse than you can possibly imagine."

What she'd been told was too big, and too sudden to have any relevance, and when Gaea sagged, and asked, "Now do you understand? Can you?" she wasn't certain of how to answer. She could sympathize, and wish her well, but no more.

Silence dragged out for long moments, before she shook her head and said, "No, I can't. I can understand your plight, but where do I come in? And what about Teal-Eye? I assume she's connected in some way?"

"She and more than a thousand others, throughout what you call history. You were to be my salvation—the stitching to hold me together and allow me to escape."

"But something went wrong?" She had the horrible fear that she had no choice in the matter of supporting Gaea's cause.

"What went wrong was that _he_ took possession of the men who wanted my chosen women."

"And?"

"And he will do to those women as is being done to me. We will all die. It's not my wish, but it may come to pass. I'm sorry Samantha."

"But..." There was so much she didn't understand. "But, don't you _know_ how it comes out?"

Tones of winter touched her voice as she said, "I know, but still, I must fight."

"So I die? At Rob's hands? I find that difficult to believe."

"Not at his hands, because your Rob no longer exists. There is only his body, driven now by the Destroyer, as Teal-Eye's Miona is driven, and as over a thousand others are driven."

"You're saying there's nothing I can do? That running is a waste of time?"

The figure before her stood, and began to pace. She had time enough to notice that the woman was now, so far as her eyes were concerned, fully real. Then, Gaea, her voice filled with despair, said, "I cannot see. I only see that _I_ am ended—that _I_ cease to exist."

"And the Bear?"

Her harsh laugh filled the little cave. "He lives, stronger than before, ready to seek another victim."

° ° ° °

Chapter 28

"She's wrong, Sam."

Samantha turned to find Rob's head and shoulders showing above the lip of the ledge, outlined by the dying sun, not five feet from where she was sitting. For a moment she stared. How had Rob made the climb? When they discussed her own climb to the mesa-top he claimed to know nothing of rock-climbing, and no interest in learning.

"Push him, Samantha." Gaea shouted, "Push him quickly... before he climbs up here." When she made no move to comply, Gaea hissed, "Do it or we're both dead!"

Rob only smiled. He made no move to climb to the ledge. Instead, he placed both arms on the cliff edge and rested his chin on his hands, obviously relaxed and comfortable. How he managed to stay in place was unclear, till she remembered the small outcropping, which she'd used in climbing, at the right height to support him. She could probably push him from the ledge before he managed to climb, if necessary, so she waited, to see what he would do.

"In case you're wondering," Rob said, still smiling. "A Sherpa climbing guide gave me some pointers on the way up. He happens to have a stake in this, too, because he's in love with one of Gaea's women."

"He's lying. He just wants to lull you into a false sense of security, so he can come up here and capture you."

She turned her head toward Gaea, saying, "Don't distract me, then, if you want me to watch him." As she began to turn back to Rob, Gaea's mouth, which had been opening to speak, closed, silently.

Moving a trifle closer to Rob, she said, "She's already had a chance to lie to me. Now it's your turn, I suppose."

She ignored Gaea's angry, "I never lied to you Samantha. Never!" and waited for an answer.

He met her eyes for a long time. Was it the man she loved before her, or a changeling, controlled by the being Gaea had called The Destroyer?

Finally, he nodded, and said, "Me lie? A reasonable assumption, I suppose, given that she has, indeed, been lying. But don't judge her too harshly, my love. Like you, and like Teal-Eye, and like all of her other women, she's..." He stopped, and his eyes strayed from hers for the time of a long breath. Then, he met her eyes, once more, and stiffened slightly, as he said, "Gaea's crippled, Sam. She's emotionally crippled, and she doesn't truly understand the situation...won't even try to, at this point."

Gaea's furious, "He's lying. Can't you see that he's lying?" brought her attention back on the other occupant of the cave.

"I don't know if he is, Gaea," she said, angrily. "He might be...if that's truly not Rob, as you claim. But you _have_ been lying to me, and that goes a long way toward destroying any trust between us."

"Lying?" Gaea's face showed shocked surprise. "Are you forgetting that I saved your life?"

Deliberately turning her back on Rob, she let anger show on her face as she demanded, "And how did you do that?"

"By having Teal-Eye help you up the cliff, for one thing."

In response she crossed her arms and gave Gaea a disgusted look, as she called out, "Who did that, Rob? It wasn't her, because she wasn't the one who connected me with Teal-Eye in the first place, was she?"

He laughed. "Smart lady, my Samantha. No, love, she wasn't. In fact, she tried to stop it. You've been calling the one responsible, The Bear." Both pleasure and respect were strong in his voice.

"He's lying," Gaea insisted, a trifle petulantly. "How can you believe him, knowing what he is?"

She shook her head. How had she been so foolish as to not have seen it sooner?

"What he is? Well, about that, I'm not quite sure, as yet; but about your lying I am. I wasn't certain until you claimed that having Teal-Eye help me climb was your doing, though."

"But Samantha—

"Don't 'But Samantha,' me!" she said, angrily. "Your story didn't ring true from the beginning, but I've never really thought about who's been causing this, so when you contacted me, and told me your story, I assumed that it was you who had made it possible."

"It was," Gaea insisted.

"The hell it was! I may be many things, Gaea, but I'm not stupid, so stop acting as if I am. You didn't connect me to Teal-Eye, because if you had, you would _never_ have permitted me to stitch Miona's wound. With him dead, Teal-Eye would be safe, from your point of view."

Certain she'd made the right decision, she turned back to Rob and said, "You can come up now, Rob. And if it's of interest to you, I don't think I'm crippled anymore. Not in the sense you meant when you said it."

With a grin that threatened to split his face, Rob placed his hands on the ledge and vaulted to the ledge-top. There had never been a question of her being able to push him from the rock. Long before she reached him, he would have been away from the edge.

Now, he came to take her in his arms with such force that he lifted her from her feet, generating a feeling of purest joy; a joy that she expected to never experience again. "I know," he said. "You were past that when you faced down that fool with the gun."

"But you never said anything," she said, still locked in the circle of his arms, still glorying in the strength of him, and the way he felt against her—bathing in the warmth that being close to him generated within.

He only shrugged, lowering her to the ground and holding her loosely in his arms as he said, "I loved you before, Sam, and I love you now. I wasn't completely sure about your having resolved your fears, though, until you, yourself, recognized what you had been doing. You might truly have been the kind of person who lives on the flight side of the 'fight or flight' reaction." He smiled and hugged her tighter for a moment, as he added, "But it was nice to see you've got the guts to kick a little butt when you have to."

"Samantha, please."

She gave Rob a quick kiss, then pushed herself free of his arms to turn and confront Gaea, saying. "And in case you've forgotten, Gaea, Teal-Eye _didn't_ save my life by helping me up here. The people chasing me, had they caught me, would probably have taken me to the man I faced here on the mesa, so don't bother trying to take credit for a victory I won on my own."

"Bravo, Sam." Rob said, wrapping his arms around her from behind and pulling her back against him. "Bravo."

Ignoring Gaea, she gestured toward the blanket and turned to Rob, saying, "Would you mind if we sat for a moment, and you explained what's really going on?"

He released her, then bowed her to a seat, "My pleasure, ma'am."

As he made himself comfortable next to her, she glanced over at where Gaea had been, expecting to find her gone. Surprisingly, she was still there, though she appeared somewhat diminished. She'd shrunk several inches in height, and the high level of detail in her personal appearance was gone, so she was, once again, nearly a cartoon figure.

"Don't be angry with her, Sam. She truly doesn't understand."

"Nor do I," she reminded.

He nodded, and stared at nothing for a time before speaking, as he usually did when about to discuss something important. "She's much like you, Sam," he finally said. "Like Teal-Eye, too. She didn't lie about her birth, and her flight here. That's pretty much as it happened. And what she told you about...about the being you've been calling The Bear is true, too, from her point of view."

"But not from his, I'm sure."

He hesitated once more. "Well...no, and there's where it starts to come apart, because The Bear isn't truly a male."

"He's female?" she asked, shocked.

He laughed. "No, The Bear's not that kind, either. It's just that their race doesn't have two sexes, so Gaea's no more female than The Bear's male."

"That's a lie," an angry voice from the rear of the cave said.

Rob glanced in that direction, but declined to respond. Turning, instead, to Samantha, he said, "Let me keep on using he and she when I talk about them, though, okay? It might make it easier."

"I suppose."

Instead of speaking he devoured her with his eyes in a way that sent shivers through her—happy shivers—and made her reach out and touch him to assure herself of his reality. Then, he gave a little grunt and literally shook himself, as though bringing himself back to the subject at hand.

"Well..." He took a breath and started over. "Well, as she said, they hit it off pretty well, and they did things together—things they both enjoyed."

"And?"

"And she didn't understand that part of what they were doing was actually..." He shrugged, and gave her a little smile, as he said, "...well, foreplay."

"Foreplay? As in—"

"Exactly. As in, 'Come on up to my planet and look at my etchings, honey.' She didn't realize it, but she not only encouraged him, she helped initiate the mating."

"Wow," she breathed, glancing at a further shrunken Gaea, shaking her head as she turned back to Rob. "That's one a hell of a mistake." Then she sat up straighter, asking, "So what happens now? Why did she claim she's being eaten, and that she can't get away?"

"Ah, well, that's both the problem and the reason for this whole mess. When Gaea caught on to what was going on, and tried to end it, she knew of sex only from her contact with humanity, and since she'd identified strongly with women, she decided that she was being raped."

Samantha frowned. "But isn't that what it amounts to? If it is a sexual thing, and she's against it, what does it matter if she's female or if they have only one sex. Rape is rape."

"Except when it's not," Rob said, unruffled by the anger in her tone. "What's happening is no more under the Bear's control than it is under Gaea's. And once started, there's no way to stop it."

"No!" Gaea shouted. "It can be stopped. It _must_ be stopped!" She leaned toward Samantha, her voice imploring, "Please Samantha. I'm dying."

"Rob?"

He frowned, as he said "She's neither being raped nor dying, Sam. She simply refuses to understand—to even listen. In fact, Teal-Eye, you, and all the rest of the women she's tied to herself are a part of that denial."

She held out a hand in question. "Then what _is_ going on, Rob? At this point, I don't know who to believe, or even what."

"What's going on is that she's _combining_ with The Bear. She's becoming an adult of their species, which is why she sees herself as ending, and why she _thinks_ she's dying."

She pondered that. Gaea might not have been telling the truth. And, she might not understand what was happening to her. But to have such a thing happen _was_ dying, in a way. It might be a natural progression in their race but to the personality who thought of itself as Gaea, such a change _was_ the same as death, even if the other didn't think of it in those terms. Given that, and given the forced nature of the mating, Gaea had a point, which she hastened to mention to Rob.

"You may be right, Sam," he said, slowly, in response. "I have no way of knowing. But for good or bad, there's nothing that can be done about it. They both cooperated to institute the mating, even if she didn't mean to, and by their standards, and in a way I can't begin to understand, it's already complete. We, who live time moment by moment can't see it, but it is."

"No!" Gaea shouted, coming closer, to kneel before them, arms extended, imploringly. "It's not complete, and it doesn't have to be complete, because you have the power to stop it, Samantha. You, and the rest of the women who have joined with me. You can stop it, and you must."

"How?"

"By not...not submitting. By not allowing those who are possessed by The Destroyer to...to d-do to them as is being done to me. It won't be complete unless you do."

She looked to Rob for confirmation and received a nod in return. "It's true, Sam, though I would never apply the term submit. The people involved are truly in love—like us, and like Teal-Eye and Miona. But that aside, Gaea has so entangled herself into the lives of the women she's chosen that it's interfering with the process. The Bear has tried to counter her with men who would be a match for the women, and who would love them enough to compensate for their disability, but—"

"Compensate? How?" That was something that related to her, directly. "How, for instance, did he bring the two of us together?"

Rob said nothing for a long time. Finally, in a voice what was little more than a sigh he said, "By whispering in my ear, so to speak, in such a way that I thought the ideas being planted were my own—ideas that would insure my being here when you arrived."

"Your own ideas? I don't understand, Rob. What did he make you think? That you loved me?" A frightening idea. Would he tell her that he was _made_ to fall in love with her?

"No, not that!" he said, hurriedly. "Not by telling me I was in love with you, Sam. I am, and that's real. But I lived in the city, remember, and would have stayed there, while you were here. So he made sure I was here to meet you by having me marry a monster. By having me go through hell."

"Oh, Rob!" Her hand went to her mouth, of itself. Then, without thought, she pulled him to her, saying, "I'm so sorry, Rob. I'm so sorry."

"Don't be," he said, stroking her hair. "It brought me Jodie, and it brought me you. There's nothing I wouldn't go through for either one of you."

The last doubt about who was in the cave with her evaporated with those words, and she knew who had truly cured her of her fear, and how. This man, and his gift of love, had restored her—had given her the strength to do what had to be done.

She tried to envision a line of women throughout the ages. Women like she'd been, crippled by their fear of giving themselves emotionally—woman like Gaea—chosen for their weakness and woven into the very fabric of Gaea's being, their fear acting as a deterrent.

Gaea's "Please," came at almost the same time as Rob's, "If it's of any consolation, Sam, a good many of the men are as twisted as the woman. No matter who, or what caused it, I was just as screwed up as you were, until you came to cure me, and teach me that I could love someone other than Jodie."

As pleasing as it was to hear him say that, she had that push it aside, and ask, "So until the last woman says yes to her man, this thing remains incomplete? With over a thousand women involved there's little chance of that happening, given the kind of women chosen."

He shook his head, and his eyes held hers, as he said, "No, Sam. It's not that complicated. They're waiting for you to decide."

"What?" She stared in stunned surprise. "They're waiting for...me?" Her eyes narrowed, as she added, "And you?"

He nodded, eyes still locked with hers.

Before she could even begin to think of a response, however, her thoughts were interrupted.

[ _Samantha?_ ]

Thinking that things were never so complicated that they couldn't get worse, she held up her hand to Rob in a wait gesture, as she asked, _What is it, Teal-Eye?_

[ _I've been listening to your conversation with the goddess, and with Rob. He may be right about yours being the final decision._ ]

I can't agree, Teal. You, too, must decide what to do, though I think you'd be crazy not to return to Miona. He adores you, and he's a hell of a good man.

[ _Returning is not the problem, Sam. He's with me, now. I was unable to hide from one who has the assistance of a god._ ]

_Then he risked harming himself to climb after you?_ In explanation for having known of her flight she added, " _I was with you when you ran._ "

She sensed a head-shake, as Teal-Eye said, [ _I know. I realized, later, that you had been with me. At the time, though, I was too worried over Bear's injury, and what we spoke of, to notice. But the answer to your question is no. He didn't come after me that day. He remained in the village until he was strong enough to travel._ ]

For how long? I have no idea of how long it has been since that day.

[ _It's been more than three moons since I ran from him. But he is with me, now, and has told me much the same story you were told, though I think both he and I understand far less of what was said than do you and your Rob._ ]

She sighed. _So you're waiting for me to advise you, right?_

A hesitation and a mental sigh came, before Teal-Eye said, [ _Samantha. I love my Bear more than I can say with words, but if my loving him is responsible for the death of the goddess..._ ] She left the rest unsaid, but the implication was clear.

She told Rob of Teal-Eye's words.

"Exactly. And her attitude is pretty much that of the other women—and their men. You're the only one with the knowledge to truly understand. So as I said, in the end, the decision is yours."

She took a deep breath. "It's a hell of a choice, Rob. For me it's easy; I love you, and I'm going to marry you, and..." She stopped, surprised, at what she just said. But it was true, and the love that shone from his face in response to those words gave his answer, and said that it had been exactly the right thing to say, that spending her life with Rob was exactly the right thing to do. Then, forcing herself to go on, she said, "But to make such a decision for everyone...how can I do that?"

"You can at least advise them."

"Well, maybe I can," she said, reluctantly. "But Gaea lies, and I'm sure The Bear is no better, so who do I believe? On the one hand she's screwed up worse than any of the women she's been playing with, and on the other The Bear manipulates people with a total disregard for their welfare. What he did to you is monstrous, and they can both go to hell as far as I care, because godlike powers or not, they're acting like a couple of children. And as for—" She stopped, as she replayed what she said.

She sat, blinking in surprise for several seconds before taking Rob by the shoulders.

"That's it, Rob! That's the answer. Don't you see?"

"See? I don't— Oh. You mean they're acting like children because they _are_ children? I'm not sure it applies here. After all, we—"

"No!" she said, shaking him a trifle, in her frustration at not making herself more clear. "Not because they're acting childish, Rob, but because Gaea _is_ a child, and she _has_ to grow up, whether she wants to or not. It doesn't matter who or what she is, or even if the term 'she' applies. She _is_ a child. And that's what matters."

"But—"

She laughed at the idea that she now argued in favor of doing nothing to help Gaea, while he supported her original point of view.

"But nothing, Rob. Think about Jodie's reaction if we told her that tomorrow she was to become an adult; and would have to put away her games and take on adult responsibilities."

He slowly nodded, as he said, "When I was a kid, the attitudes of adults might as well have been those of a different species."

"And you would have viewed your present personality as that of someone who has little in common with what you were, then."

Samantha no! You're helping him kill me. Please don't do this.

She glanced at where the image of Gaea had been, unsurprised to find nothing there. Her thoughts were heavy with scorn, as she said, _Grow up, Gaea. You've been acting like a child and it's time to stop. Everyone has to grow up...everyone. You, me—_

But Samantha, you have to—

No, I don't. I'm not the one who has to act, it's you. A caterpillar doesn't want to become a butterfly but it must. And you've been a caterpillar for far too long. So do it. Embrace it... And get the hell out of my mind!

There came a feeling of what could only be called a whimper, and then the suffocating presence of Gaea was gone.

Certain she'd done the right thing, she took Rob's hand saying, "Be patient for a moment more, Rob, I have some business to take care of."

"It's your show," he said with a smile. "I like the way it's going so far."

She squeezed his hand, and then released it and moved into a relaxed yoga posture, centering herself and bringing calm. When that was achieved, she said, _Teal-Eye_?

[ _Yes?_ ]

I have your answer, and it's one you'll like, I think.

There was a feeling of contentment, and a lazy, almost sensual feeling to Teal-Eye's thoughts as she said, [ _I already know. I listened while you talked. I think my Bear is pleased, too. He certainly is appreciative._ ]

_Later,_ she said, quickly. Then she opened her eyes and asked, "Can you have The Bear broadcast my words to the rest of Gaea's women, translated into their language?"

In answer, he just grinned, and said, "You have an open mike, my love, and your audience awaits."

She closed her eyes once more, gathering her thoughts. Then, when she was finally ready, she said, _Hello. My name is Samantha. I assume you know of me, and I wish I could know each of you, as well..._

She spoke for a long time, beginning with her own story, and of how she'd come to be in the valley. She told of her foolishness and her love, and she left nothing out. She spoke of Rob, and she spoke of Jodie, and she spoke of what she wished for the future. Then she spoke of Gaea, and of children, and of their need to grow into what they must become.

Finally, she spoke of love.

° ° ° °

Chapter 29

Samantha opened her eyes, surprised to find herself in darkness. After a moment's confusion understanding came. There was nothing wrong. She'd been talking for a long time, and had apparently drifted into sleep. Obviously, the sun had set long ago.

Bringing herself more fully into the world, she discovered Rob, lying next to her, his arms wrapping her in comfort and peace. At some time during her narration, he must have made her more comfortable, because she lay on a part of the blanket that had been in the cave when she first discovered it. The rest of the blanket lay over them both, to ward off the growing chill of night. And, based on the feel of the blanket against her skin, she was nude. An interesting surprise. Moreover, it was Rob's skin that had been warming her so sweetly that she now found herself in a sensual and half-aroused state.

Before she could decide what to do about that, Rob shifted a bit and wrapped her more tightly in his arms—giving a contented little grunt as he did so.

Shaking her head, but far from unhappy with the situation, she pulled away a trifle.

"Uhh, Rob?"

"Umm?" he said, sleepily, stretching a bit before settling against her, once more.

She lifted the blanket to swish in a little cool air and emphasize the condition of their bodies. "Have you been taking advantage of me while I've been gone?" She made sure that there was laughter in her voice so he wouldn't think her offended.

He raised himself on one elbow, then began to trace lines of her face with a fingertip, allowing her to catch the finger with nipping teeth as he asked, "You don't remember?"

"Remember? What am I—"

"You don't remember what you told the women? What we _showed_ them?"

She moved back from him a bit, confused, and wanting to see him more clearly as she spoke. "Of course I remember what I said, Rob. What's that got to do with it? I— Oh, I...oh my God. I didn't know we were actually...actually... Oh my!"

His pleased laughter filled the cave, in response to her realization of what had happened:

After speaking of herself and Rob, and of Gaea and her Bear, she began to speak of love. Mindful of the fact that many of the women were not only terrified of a man, they were innocent of any knowledge of the relationship between man and woman, she began to explain—as if among trusted female friends—exactly what it meant to love a man, and to have a man love you in return. She held back nothing, and after speaking of the emotional aspects of being in love, turned to the physical. Lost in the telling, she recalled for them the feel of a man's hands on her body—Rob's hands. Once again, she felt his gentle warm hands caressing her breasts, and had drunk deeply of his ever moving, ever exciting mouth. Now, with burning cheeks, she recalled how she related the pleasures of things she and Rob hadn't yet shared; wildly exciting and intensely intimate things that she'd been able to communicate by feelings, only, because words would never have sufficed. But they hadn't been memories. They were real—his gift to her, and to those with whom she shared herself.

It must have shown on her face, because Rob's teeth shone in the moonlight, as he said, "It was probably the first-ever, online, cross-time, hands-on, sex-education class—complete with workshop activities."

She stared, shaking her head, unable to even frame a reply to a statement like that. Then, with a grin that was impossible to suppress, she said, "Robin Reiker, you are a terrible, terrible man. A truly terrible man."

It was too dark for her eyes to register his expression, but her palm on his cheek read the smile lines forming there as he said, "Am I Sam? Am I, really?"

"No," she whispered, pulling him against her, overflowing with joy such as she'd never known. "No," she said, again, squeezing herself to him with such force that her muscles quivered with the effort. "You're a wonderful man, an amazing man, and I love you so much that I...I..." She stopped, then, overcome by emotion so strong that it overwhelmed all thought, and every desire she might have, except for the one that bade her hold him tightly to her and to pray that he never left. There were tears of joy, and tears of sorrow—tears for the past, and most important, tears for the future she would have with this man. "Oh Rob," she said, her mouth buried against his throat. "I would die without you."

Those were words she'd never expected to speak, but were also words she dreamt of one day being able to say. They were also, quite literally, true. Without him she would simply stop living, because Rob was far more than just the man she would marry. He was the man who had literally been born to be her companion, her lover, and her friend. Although it had been done without the slightest thought of their happiness, The Bear had made sure that in all the world, no man was a more perfect match for her than Rob. For that much she would always thank him.

Reason fled, however, when Rob's lips found hers in the darkness. Languor became desire, and she was lost in the maelstrom, spinning on a wave of purest passion. Surprising herself, she drew him to her with an urgency and need that went beyond reason. Her nostrils filled with the scent of him, her hands with the warmth and strength of him, and her body with the joy of him.

Now, she would seal their love. Now, she would bind him to her, forever. And now, if they were very, very lucky, they would plant the seed that would grow into tangible proof of their love—a child.

In her life, she'd known love. But what had gone before was as nothing to the fire and the ecstasy that filled her entire being. Never, had she been conscious of a living flame within, one that filled her with such pleasure as to place her beyond all control. It was a flame that moved like the beating of a heart—like the pounding of the waves on the shore.

Then, when pleasure piled on pleasure until she knew she could stand no more, time stopped.

Trapped at the peak of her passion, she whirled away from her body, to touch the mind of Elona Selmont, a spinster of Salem, who lived in the middle of the nineteenth century—the child of a drunken seaman and a harlot mother. Timid and unsure, Elona was a thirty year old librarian, once resigned to a life devoted to tea and literary discussion. But now Elona was wrapped tightly in the arms of Gavin Phillips, captain of the sloop Starfinder, a fast courier out of Liverpool. Trapped in Salem one winter by an ice filled harbor, Gavin visited the library and fell in love. Now, after five years of patient understanding and gentle courting she would always bless him for, Elona drove her body against her captain like the pounding of an angry sea, lost in passion and blind to Samantha's sharing. With a sob, Elona exploded into pleasure she'd not believed a woman could feel, and Samantha was whirled away, to enter a new body—to feel the pain of virginity lost, and the joy of pleasure gained.

Again and again she moved on her journey, joining and sharing, until at last she came Teal-Eye's familiar presence, and her mental gasp of [ _Share with me, sister of my mind. All that I have, and all that I will ever be, I share with you—owe to you._ ] Whatever else she might have been going to tell her was lost forever, as she, too, returned the gift she'd received.

She'd traveled the length of Gaea's time-line—the measure of her being. She'd known endless women, and had known their pleasure. But now that she was at the end—had shared with Teal-Eye—and expected to return to her own body. There was another, however, and in a way she would forever be unable to explain, she began to understand the being who had called itself Gaea, and the other who had been called The Bear. She, first, grasped the sense of their being, then _became_ their being—as she'd become the women who were tied to the fabric of Gaea. She _felt_ the joining of Gaea with her mate, and participated in their melding into a new entity, one who was as far above them as they were above her own people—an adult of their species. And in that instant of change, she shared the pleasure that comes but once to their species, and which justifies their mating.

But such emotion cannot be held within the fragile confines of the human mind, so she exploded outward and downward, to join her own body once more—to finish that which had begun her journey, and which sealed her to the man who would be forever hers. She began her journey in ecstasy, and she ended it in perfection, then drifted off to sleep.

° ° °

Samantha woke by stages. First came knowledge that she was awake, then of Rob's warmth against her. For a time, she lay there, content to let the memory of their loving wash over her. Then, memory of how much there was to tell him, and to discuss. brought her back to the world. She opened her eyes to find him watching her.

He leaned down and kissed her, gently. "Good morning, pretty lady. Did you sleep well?"

"Mmm. I slept wonderfully. You?"

He shrugged. "I've had softer beds, though not ones I've liked as well." He moved to spoon behind her, arms wrapped around her and hands cupping her breasts—idly stroking her nipples to taut erection, repeating, "Never one I've liked as well."

She rubbed her cheek against his, then frowned and reached up to run a hand across his cheek, saying, "You can grow a beard, if you like, Rob, but later; this stuff has got to go when we get back to the house."

In answer he only chuckled and kissed her neck. After a moment, however, he asked, "Do you suppose we've seen the last of our two friends?"

That brought her back into the world, and she sat up, turning to face him, saying, "We have to talk, Rob."

"Okay." He sat, matching her position but ignoring her statement—looking her over and saying, instead, "My God, but you're beautiful."

"Really?" She glanced down at her body, frowning, then straightened, pleased. Certainly, it wasn't a body to be ashamed of, though not one she viewed as especially attractive. To know it especially pleased him brought a warm glow.

"Really and truly. Cross my heart and hope to die. The last time I saw you dressed like this I was too worried to fully notice; it was the night I met Teal-Eye. And the first time doesn't count, either, because, as I remember, you were trying to become invisible."

She blushed as she remembered the day he'd ridden his horse to the pond where she'd been bathing. She had, indeed been trying to hide under the water. Then she remembered that she'd been standing and reaching for her clothing when he turned for a final word.

She reminded him of that, which brought the comment of, "I was pretty far away, and I really was trying to be a gentleman, so I didn't stare."

"Uh-huh. As I remember, you did...at least a little."

He gave in with a laugh. "Okay, I give up. How's this?" He took a deep breath, and with a grin dancing on his lips, said, "Samantha, my love, you are far and away the most beautiful naked lady I have ever had the pleasure of being this close to."

For a moment she grinned back at him, then her smile faltered, as she asked, "Even...?" About to ask about his wife, she found herself unable to continue, wishing she'd had the good sense to keep her mouth shut.

His smile was gentle, and he placed a hand on her cheek as he said, "Yes, Sam, you are—very much so. You are more beautiful of face, more beautiful of body, and infinitely more beautiful of soul than my..." He stopped for a moment, and then dropped his hand and finished with, "Than my practice wife. Okay?"

"Okay, and thank you. I was being silly and I'm sorry."

"No, you weren't being silly at all. And you're a lot better in bed, too—if that interests you."

It did, and the comment made her feel a _lot_ better. But the smile, and the glow his words kindled within faded once more as she asked, "Rob, what the hell are we going to tell your dad when we get home?" About to go on, she stopped, reviewing what she'd just said. She'd used the word home, as though they were already living together. But it hadn't been a slip. Rob's home truly was her home—as was any place he happened to be. She had to break off that line of thought, however, because he was already answering.

"We'll tell him we ran off to town, spent the night madly attacking each other, and that we're getting married on Saturday. It's not great, but who cares if he likes it? He'll be so happy to have you as a daughter-in-law that he'll ignore the rest as a combination temporary insanity on your part and hot pants on mine."

"Saturday?"

He laughed and applied a fingertip to her nose. "Would Friday be better?"

She trapped his hand in hers and kissed it before saying, "No, Saturday will be fine, I suppose...wonderful, in fact. It's just a little surprising."

Rob frowned, as he asked, "Is that too soon, Sam? Because if you—"

She waved his question away. "No, of course not. It's just that the idea that I'm going to be married has to catch up with the reality of being in love."

Apparently, Rob felt that particular remark deserved a kiss, which, of course, led to more kissing, and then to even more interesting pursuits—pursuits that left her sated, and comfortably entwined in his arms once more.

"You're going to win the Nobel prize, you know."

"I know, but I can't take the credit. The technique is actually being pioneered right now by a man named Bantha Pritalla, who's a great surgeon but a truly lousy promoter. I'll be sure he gets to share both the credit and the money."

"Well I'm glad you're going back into medicine, because I—"

She stopped. It seemed so natural to know what was going to happen in their future that she'd forgotten that only yesterday she'd not known things she now took for granted. Surprised, she mentally explored the extent of her knowledge. Apparently it was yet another gift of the trip she'd taken through time. She'd shared more than just a moment of passion. She shared the entire lives of more than a thousand women. She also touched lightly on her own life, learning, not the details, but the direction it would take. She would marry Rob, and he would return to medicine, his first love—even above herself. He would return to saving lives, aided by the use of techniques learned from a future surgeon he'd been permitted to touch as reward for services rendered.

She would continue to write, recording the lives of the women of Gaea and the men of The Bear. She would spin stories of loneliness, and pain, and of great and enduring love.

"Sam? Are you all right?"

"Huh?" She shook herself awake. "I'm sorry, I was thinking of things past... And speaking of things past, it's _way_ past time to be getting back to the ranch, so get dressed." She pushed him a bit to get him started.

"Okay," he said, amiably, as he searched for his clothing. "But you never answered my question. Have we seen the last of our friends?"

"I think so. There's no reason for them to contact us anymore, and the being they've become has no interest in doing so." She suspected that the journey she'd taken, and the knowledge she'd gained, were a thank-you from that being. But that could never be known for certain, so she put it aside as a subject for later speculation.

Rob got to his feet, stepping into his pants as he said, "Well I'm sorry about one thing, I'd like to know how things work out for Teal-Eye and Miona."

"Mmm?" She thought about that for a moment, before saying, "They get married, of course. For a while they wander, as Miona did before he met Teal-Eye. Eventually, when Teal-Eye's first pregnancy progresses far enough that travel is difficult, they settle down. Then, Miona, using information he gets from me, via Teal-Eye's memory, sets up a copper mining and metalworking operation. After that they have lots of children, and live as happy a life as two people can."

"Isn't that nice," Rob said, buttoning his shirt.

"Hey," he said, with a start, turning to stare at her. "How the hell did you know that?"

"The same way you know you're going to win the prize."

"Oh. But—"

She explained in more detail, enjoying the way his face lit up as she did.

"So you're going to be a successful writer? I kind of like that."

"So do I."

He laughed, then pointed toward the entrance of the cave. "Well, are we going to go down, or do we take the long way around?"

Tucking her blouse into her jeans, She thought about that. Down would be harder than up, because it was more difficult to see where you were going. But she'd climbed twice, and knew the route. The deciding factor, though, was the sure knowledge that she would live past this day, and would become a mother several times. That meant that she might be hurt, but insured that she would survive, as would he.

She smiled. "You're on, Rob. You can go first, though. That way if I slip, I land on you and break my fall."

He waved a finger at her as he prepared to go over the edge, saying, "Lady, I may love you, and I'm certainly going to marry you, but don't think you can take advantage of me in other ways."

She just grinned and blew him a kiss

As Rob made his way downward, she thought back to when she first climbed. What would Teal-Eye would say if she could see her now? As she thought on that, a strange thing happened in her mind. She seemed to sense a vague, shadowy presence—the ghost of Gaea—left behind by her experiences of the previous day.

Closing her eyes and exploring the strange phenomenon, she discovered an ability she would never have suspected possible—probably triggered by the intensely intimate contact she had with Gaea, at the end. Whatever the reason, when she closed her eyes, the vision of a glowing tapestry lay in her mind, stretching off into the distance, both before and behind, the cloth composed of innumerable tiny strands. Each, she knew, represented the life of a single being. A closer inspection revealed branchings, where new life was brought forth from another, and endings where death made a call.

In the distance, one of the strands seemed to glow more brightly than the others, and in a way she could no more have explained to herself than to others, she began to move toward that strand, which revealed itself as one of the women with whom she'd been in intimate contact. Her name was Chandelle, and as she looked more closely, she was able to make out the details of Chandelle's life.

Instead of remaining there, however, she sent herself backward, hurtling past strand after strand, until she reached the one she sought, the one representing Teal-Eye.

Careful now, she searched the strand until she found her friend sitting within a tiny hut, large with child, bored, and trapped within by the cold rain falling outside. With a mental smile, she eased herself into Teal-eye's life.

Hello, sister of the mind. You seem somewhat bored.

[ _Samantha? Is it really you?_ ]

It really is. Tell me, are you truly as unhappy as I think you are?

[ _More. The child refuses to come, the rain refuses to go, Miona's playing within the mountain, and there's nothing at all for me to do._ ]

Well close your eyes, then, and I'll see what I can do to help.

She opened her own eyes, and looked out over the valley.

Pretty, isn't it?

A wash of pleasure came as Teal-Eye took in the vista and absorbed the fact that she once again nested within Samantha's mind.

[ _It's a good land, though too dry for my comfort. Have you become a goddess then, to summon me so?_ ]

Suppressing a smile, she said, _No goddess, Teal-Eye. I just picked up a trick or too from Gaea. Can you still use my body to walk with?_ She withdrew control.

Tentatively, Teal-Eye turned Samantha's head to look around, then turned her attention downward, to the cliff-face. Samantha caught her puzzlement when she discovered Rob toiling his way downward. Before Teal-Eye posed the question she could feel building, she asked, _Do you think if we tried over there to the right we might beat him down?_

[ _I don't see why not. He's using the route I picked so as to be hard to see from the ground. It wasn't either the easiest or the fastest way. Are you to race him to the ground?_ ]

Samantha smiled, enjoyed Teal-Eye's growing excitement, as she said, _So, sister...if you're bored, how would you like to do a little rock climbing?_

° ° ° ° °

Author's Note

First, thank you, for your interest and your time. I hope you enjoyed your visit with Samantha as much as I enjoyed writing her story. She and Teal-Eye are two of my favorite people. And if the tale did please you, and you would take a few seconds to note that on whatever site you purchased it, it would be greatly appreciated. And drop by my blog to say hello. I have a handful of stories posted there for your enjoyment, ranging from romance to horror.

This particular story had a unique history. One evening I was at the kitchen table editing a novel that was nearing the final stages of creation when a name popped into my head: Teal-Eye.

I had never heard the name, and like Samantha, I was baffled. Who, I wondered, was Teal-Eye? And what did she want of me? As I wondered, another name appeared: The Bear. And with it came a third, Samantha.

I was stunned. Nothing in my life-experience accounted for such a thing happening. But then, with a suddenness that was astounding, the entire story dropped into my mind, leaving me feeling as though I'd just spent a hard day at manual labor. I went from comfort to exhaustion in about ten seconds.

My jaw was probably hanging, but I knew one thing for certain: I had to record that story, at least in outline, before it faded—though it never did. That story was written in my mind in lines of purest fire.

Hurriedly, I scribbled four pages of plot and scene outline, then sank back into my chair feeling drained and uncertain of what just happened, other than that, like a sponge, I'd been soaked then squeezed. Someone, it appeared, wanted that story recorded.

Because of other commitments, and because, quite frankly, I was just a little afraid of it, nearly a year elapsed before I came back to Samantha and Teal-Eye and began to record their story. But when I did I never referred to those notes. There was no need. When I finished, the story was exactly as it was on the day the muse presented it.

Damn, I love when that happens.

Jay Greenstein
