Til Death Do Us Part

Mariah Stewart

to

Kate Collins, with love

1

He slid the delicate tool - made for such purposes and readily available if one knew where to look - between the doorjamb and the frame, listening carefully for the sound of the lock slipping aside. Pushing open the door only far enough to allow him entrance into the town house, he stepped into the dark silence, trying to figure out just how much time he would have to first locate, then disengage, the security system. The small metal marker on the front lawn had told him whose system protected the premises and being well familiar with that company's product, he knew he could disable the mechanism in the blink of an eye. Once, of course, he located it.

He dropped his shoes, which he'd removed outside before he'd picked the lock, then walked straight through the kitchen, down a short hall, and directly into the foyer, taking no pains now to keep quiet. She wasn't at home, and wouldn't be for at least another two hours. This was Wednesday. One of her gym and dinner-out-with-her-friends nights. She never arrived home much before eleven. That gave him more than enough time to complete his task.

It took only seconds to turn off the alarm, which was, as he'd have bet his last nickel it would be, right there inside the front door. And then he was free to take his time.

He stood in his stocking feet on the plush carpet in the cool of the darkened living room, taking care not to stand too near the large window, where plants of every height and variety crowded the sill. He smiled, having suspected that a country girl like her would surround herself with as much greenery as possible.

Shining his flashlight around the room, he set out to acquaint himself with his surroundings. The sofa was a pretty floral, the pair of wing back chairs covered in a coordinating plaid. A handsome armoire covered part of one wall. With one finger, he slid the door over, then peered inside to find a large-screened TV - not so large as to be excessive, he noted - a VCR and a stereo. Shelves of videos - some of which were classic black-and-white films - and stacks of CDs, classical composers and classic rock. Nothing more contemporary than Santana's latest.

That was his Valerie.

Nothing too far out for his girl.

The coffee table held a number of small items, and he leaned closer to take a look. Small porcelain shapes, so many that she must have been collecting for a long time. He scanned the array quickly with the flashlight. One shape in particular caught his eye. Smiling - surely it was a sign - he slipped it into his pocket.

The old rolltop desk stood open, a pile of mail to one side. He paused to thumb through it, noting where she shopped and what she bought. A card handmade with childish fingers and signed in childish scrawl - we miss you from Eric and Evan - sat next to an antique inkwell.

Photographs poked out of an envelope, and he looked through those as well. In one, she stood on the front steps of an old cabin, a little boy on either side of her like matching bookends. In others, she wore a dark blue bridesmaid's dress and posed with others similarly clad. He studied these closely, taking note of the veil worn by the bride and the cascading bouquet of white roses and some other white things, he couldn't tell exactly what but they looked elegant. Then there she was in a group shot in front of a Christmas tree. He wondered who the man was who stood so close to her right side, one arm casually draped over her shoulder. Frowning, he replaced the pictures, closed over the envelope, and tucked it into his back pocket.

He padded up the steps to her bedroom, which, he knew from watching her these past few months, would be at back of the house. Once he'd closed the door and drawn the drapes tightly, he felt free to turn on the lights.

Again, he smiled. All was so very tasteful. He nodded his approval of the queen-size sleigh bed with its matching dressers of dark wood. The small oriental accent rug with its deep crimson flowers on a background of taupe. The quilt folded neatly to stretch across the end of the bed. The small chair that stood in one corner of the room. The dense sage green carpet under foot. All totally classy, like the lady herself. All neat as a pin, not a thing out of place anywhere.

Well, of course there wouldn't be. He'd suspected that she would take great care with her things, and she obviously did.

He poked his head inside the green and white bathroom and took a quick look around. Fluffy, pure white towels hung from shiny chrome rods, and an oversized brandy snifter filled with colorful soaps stood atop a small wicker table. He studied them for a long moment, then dipped his hand into the glass and took one - a pale pink rose - and added it to the porcelain trinket in his jacket pocket, for no particular reason except that he wanted it.

Opening the walk-in closet, he searched for an interior light, then reached in to touch the dresses that hung on the bar to the right of the door. He stepped inside and trailed his finger along the hangers. She obviously favored silk, as so many of the garments were of that fabric. Several things he'd seen her wear, and those he gathered in his hands, pressed his face into their coolness, seeking her scent. Then, reminding himself of his purpose, he stood back as if taking inventory. There was not nearly the quantity one might have expected, considering who she was. Once again, he nodded his approval. Success had not made her careless with her money nor had it made her overly materialistic. What she had was certainly of good quality - some designer pieces, he noted - but for the most part, her wardrobe was quite modest.

He pulled one dress after another from the rack, holding them up as if studying their style, then checking the size on the label of each. After taking care to return each to its place, he turned his attention to the boxes that were stacked on the floor and lined one entire wall.

Shaking his head slowly, he smiled somewhat indulgently.

She sure did love her shoes.

He opened the box nearest him and parted the tissue to reveal a tall leather heel of dark brown which he caressed briefly before returning it to its box. Leaning closer to read the notations written on the ends of the boxes with black marker, her grinned broadly. Leave it to her to mark every one of them clearly with their contents.

He scanned the boxes until he spied one that held promise, the third one down in the second stack. A white high-heeled sandal.

He pulled the box out and opened it, lifted a shoe and held it up for inspection. It was, in fact, a white, high-heeled, strappy, dressy sandal of some fabric that felt like silk. Judging from the soles, the shoes had barely been worn.

Perfect. Absolutely perfect.

He paused, considering this unexpected bounty.

His original quest had been merely to determine size, but here was something even better. He tucked the shoe box under one arm.

He tidied up the stack, then turned off the light, but not before he'd run his hands over several more of the dresses nearest the door, stroking their length as if they graced her body.

With one backward glance from the doorway, he glanced around the room to make sure that nothing was amiss. Then, convinced that all was as he found it, he bounded down the steps two at a time, pausing at the bottom to look back up and imagine her standing there. He reached into a pocket for the small plastic bag and opened it, tossing a handful of the contents toward the vision at the top of the steps. At the back door, he put his shoes back on, then, his mission accomplished, left as quietly as he'd arrived.

2

"I'd like to report a break-in."

Valerie McAllister cradled the telephone between her head and shoulder, all the while tapping the fingers of one hand impatiently on the steering wheel of her car.

"Yes," she told the officer on the other end of the line, the third one she'd been transferred to in less than two minutes, "I'll hold..."

Her eyes darted from one side of the darkened street to the other, watching for movement in the shadows, but all was still.

"Well, actually, I'm not exactly certain that anything was taken," she said hesitantly. "But I do know that the security alarm was turned off.... Yes, I am absolutely positive that I set it before I left the house this afternoon... No, I didn't go beyond the entry. As soon as I realized that someone had been there . . . you mean, besides the fact that the alarm wasn't working?"

She listened impatiently, her sense of indignation growing. In spite of the officer's skepticism, she knew she'd set that alarm. And besides, once she'd pushed the door open and stepped into the foyer, she had just known that something was not right. It had been as if the air inside her town house had been disturbed – not only touched, but tainted - by an outsider.

There'd been a pricking at the back of her neck, an instinctive warning, even as she'd turned on the small lamp that sat on the table under the alarm. She'd turned slowly, the hair on her arms rising, as she searched the shadows that fell over the living room to her left. To the kitchen at the end of the short hall. Up the stairs, straight ahead, and beyond.

She'd backed out of the open door and snapped it behind her in an attempt to close in anyone who might still be lurking there. With uncharacteristic carelessness, she had waded through the knee-high shrubs that had been planted between her tiny porch and that of the town house next door. She'd leaned on the doorbell, waited, then leaned again, but there'd been no response. Bruce, her neighbor, must have taken his dog, Prudence, for one last evening walk. A glance at the house to her left, where no lights shone from within, told her that her neighbors on the other side were out as well. Seeking safety, she'd hurried back to her car, locked herself in securely, and dialed 911 on her cell phone.

And there she sat, anxiously awaiting the someone from the police department who would be there soon, as the voice on the phone had promised.

Valerie had never been the victim of a crime before. Over the past ten years, as a sought-after print model, she'd traveled from her home in the Montana hills to the most celebrated cities of the world, from New York to London to Lisbon, Paris to Rome, Rio to Hong Kong, without being mugged, robbed, or assaulted in any way. She'd lived in Manhattan for several years without incident. Yet here she'd been in California for barely six months, living in one of those small towns that sat just outside of Los Angeles County that boasted a low crime rate, and already the sanctity of her home had been violated.

Well, it could have been worse, she concluded. I could have been home when the break-in occurred, and no telling what might have happened then.

And, she reminded herself, she still didn't know what, if anything, had actually been taken. She sincerely hoped that whomever had been in her house that night had not had a penchant for photography. She'd left most of her equipment on the dining room table, in plain sight, the night before.

Two shapes appeared in the light of the street lamp. Bruce Miller, her neighbor and an aspiring actor, rounded the corner, holding a long red leash, the end of which was attached to the collar of a large, fluffy dog. With a sigh of relief, Valerie unlocked her door and stepped into the street.

"Hey, Val," Bruce called to her, struggling to hold onto the leash when the dog spied his buddy Val and took off in her direction. "You're late tonight."

"I've been home for awhile," she said as she walked toward him, putting out her hands to greet the bouncing mop of fur that was Prudence, the Old English sheepdog that shared Brace's town house.

"Something on the radio that you just had to hear the end of?" He handed Val the leash, since Prudence was intent upon showering her with affection.

"Actually, I was waiting for the police to get here," she told him as Prudence pranced around her in a wide circle, much like a giant cat. "I think I've had a break-in."

"What?" Bruce exclaimed.

"Someone was in my house. When I came home tonight, I opened the door and stepped inside, and the first thing I noticed was that the security alarm was off."

"Maybe you..."

"Please. Don't say it." She held up one hand as if to halt his words. "I did not forget to set it. It's the last thing I do before I leave. I distinctly remember that I did, in fact, set it this afternoon."

"What was taken?"

"I didn't go past the foyer, so I didn't have a chance to look around. I just knew that someone had been there, but I didn't know if they were still lurking inside, so I came out to the car and called the police. I was just sitting out here waiting for an officer to show up."

As if on cue, a dark sedan rounded the corner and pulled over to the curb, stopping nose-to-nose with Val's car. A tall, densely built man stretched out of the car and stepped onto the sidewalk, nodding to Val and Bruce as he did so.

"Is this Thirty-seven Meadow Circle?" he asked.

"Yes. Are you with the police department?"

"Detective Rafferty, ma'am," he replied.

"I'm Valerie McAllister. I'm the one who called about the break-in." She handed the leash back to Bruce. "At least, I think there was a break-in."

"I'll take Prudence inside," Bruce told her as he led the dog in the direction of their door. "Come over when you're finished if it's not too late, and I'll make you a cappuccino and Pru can show you what she learned in doggie school this afternoon."

"Did you see anyone?" the detective asked as Valerie approached him.

"No. I didn't go in. I left as soon as I realized that someone had been in there."

"So you don't know what, if anything, was taken?"

She shook her head.

"That was quick thinking." He smiled at her. "There's always the chance that you surprised someone who was still there."

"I was afraid that might be a possibility."

The detective was tall and good-looking, with light brown hair and a smattering of freckles across his nose. His pleasant smile and polite manner immediately put Val at ease.

"Shall we go inside?" Val asked as she headed toward the walk.

"Let me go in first and take a look around." He followed her up the walk.

"Is the door locked?" he asked as they approached the narrow covered porch.

"Yes. I have the key," she said, holding up the key ring to the light to find the right one. She slid it into the lock and turned the door handle, pushed the door open, and stepped aside.

"Just wait here for a minute, if you don't mind," Detective Rafferty told her as he moved past her into the foyer.

"Shouldn't you call for back-up or something?" she found herself whispering.

He drew a gun that had been previously hidden behind a light brown sport jacket.

"I'd be real surprised if anyone was still here after you opened the front door. Is there a back entrance?"

She nodded.

"Just give me a minute to take a look around."

Valerie stood directly in the haze of the overhead porch lamp, and watched as the lights in her town house came on. First the living room, then minutes later, a feint glow could be seen at the top of the stairs.

"Just as I thought," the officer said as he came down the steps. "Whoever was here is long gone. Come on in and we'll see if we can tell what's missing."

Val's first concern was for her camera equipment, and now that the house was safe to enter, she made a beeline to the dining room where she'd left several bags holding expensive cameras and numerous lenses on the table that she rarely used for dining. Relieved to find that all was as she'd left it, she turned her attention to the rest of the house.

Over the next two hours, accompanied by the detective, Val scoured every room. When she stepped into her bedroom, she experienced the same tingling along her spine she'd felt when she'd first opened the front door, though nothing appeared to be disturbed on the second floor. She was beginning to wonder if there had been a break-in after all.

And then she heard the faint crunching sound under her feet.

She bent down and picked up the tiny white grains. "Rice." She held her hand out to the detective. "It's rice..."

"Had you dropped…" he began.

"I don't have rice in my house. I don't eat it." She looked up at him, baffled. "Why would someone leave rice on my floor?"

"I don't know." Rafferty picked a number of grains from the steps and dropped them into an evidence bag. "Let's take another look around downstairs."

The first item that she'd positively determined to be missing from the living room was the Limoges wedding cake box made of porcelain that had been sitting in the middle of the coffee table as part of a collection. She was positive of this, she told Rafferty, because she'd placed it there only two days earlier, when she'd brought it back from the jeweler where she'd taken it to have the hinge repaired.

"I'd accidentally dropped it a few weeks ago," she said. "The jeweler called on Friday to let me know it was ready to be picked up, but I was out of town and wasn't able to get there until Monday. Why would someone steal something so insignificant, yet leave all of that expensive camera equipment in the dining room?"

She paused in front of her desk and frowned.

"Miss McAllister?" Rafferty inquired, following her gaze.

"The photos are missing."

"The photos?"

"There had been an envelope of photos there on the desk. I was looking at them this morning, thinking about having a picture of my nephews enlarged and framed as a gift for my sister-in-law's parents."

"Are you sure you didn't drop them into one of the desk drawers, or maybe carried them into another room?"

"No. I left them right there." In spite of her assurances, she opened and closed all the desk drawers to prove that the photos were not there. "Why would anyone steal photographs?"

"With all due respect, Miss McAllister, yours is a pretty well-known face. If someone had taken pictures of you, it really wouldn't be so surprising."

"They weren't all of me. There were pictures of my brother and his twin boys that his wife sent to me. And several that she recently came across that had been taken at her family's home several Christmases ago. And some photos from their wedding. Nothing of any interest to anyone other than family."

"Still, you being a model, I'm not all that surprised that someone lifted pictures of you, though you'd expect that more as an incidental loss, you know, if the TV or the VCR had been taken as well." Rafferty told her as he stood in the open doorway, preparing to leave. "Look, it's pretty late. If it's all the same to you, I'll stop back tomorrow to make a formal report. And maybe between now and then, you'll discover something else that is missing. It's odd that someone would go to the trouble of breaking into your home, disabling your security system, and then not take anything of value."

"I don't have much jewelry." She shrugged. "And I don't keep money in the house, ever. And except for my cameras, there just isn't that much here to steal."

"Well, someone thought there might be."

"Someone went home disappointed."

"Not to make you uncomfortable, but have you noticed anyone following you, or received anonymous phone calls in the middle of the night?"

"No." She shook her head. "Nothing like that."

"It was just a thought. Sometimes, with people like yourself, especially women like you - well-known, beautiful - well, sometimes people follow them...." he said awkwardly.

"You mean like a stalker?" She shook her head again. "No. No, Detective. There's been nothing like that."

"I only bring it up because sometimes that type of behavior can lead to more overt actions, like a break-in. Often there's nothing significant found to be missing, but just as often, there might be something obscure, but personal...."

"I'll take another look around and I'll let you know."

"In the meantime, I'll see to it that a black and white makes the street and the alleyway out back part of his regular run."

"Thank you. I appreciate that," Val said as the detective turned and walked toward his car.

It was just after midnight, too late to take Bruce up on his offer of cappuccino and dog tricks. She locked the door behind her, reset her alarm - for all the good it had done tonight - and reminded herself to call another security company in the morning. The system she had was obviously ineffective and could be overridden with the right code.

She went upstairs and turned on the bedroom lamp. Could she sleep in this room, knowing someone had been there just hours earlier? She didn't think she could.

From the bedside table, she took the book she'd started reading on the plane back from the photo shoot she'd completed last week in Hawaii, and removed the old quilt from the bottom of the bed. She went into the guest room in the front of the house and plopped the quilt over an arm of the wide, overstuffed chair that stood in the corner facing the door. After turning on the lamp that stood behind the chair, she locked the door, snuggled into the chair, tucked the quilt around her, and pretended to read.

There were times, like now, when Valerie regretted ever having left the small Montana town where she'd grown up. And yet, at age eighteen, just out of high school, there hadn't been much of anything to keep her there. Her mother was long gone, having left home when Val was a baby. Between bouts with the bottle, her father, a long-haul truck driver, spent most of his time coming and going as he pleased, and hadn't seemed interested in providing much of a home for Val and her older brother, Cale. They'd been raised by their grandmother, who'd moved them into the small house in one of the lesser of Larkspur's neighborhoods. She'd died right before Cale's eighteenth birthday, and while she'd done the best she could for her grandchildren, there just hadn't been many jobs in a small town like Larkspur, Montana, for a woman her age. It never failed to amaze Val that somehow, her grandmother had managed to keep food on the table and oil in the tank in the winter. After she passed away and Cale had left for college on a baseball scholarship, Val divided her time between the little green house, and the home of her best friend, Eliza Hollister, who just happened to be the sister of the woman Cale had married just two summers ago.

Valerie wondered what her life might have been like had she grown up in a home like the Hollisters', where both parents were always there for their children, where love and hugs were freely distributed, where wonderful aromas always greeted you when you came in the back door after school, where there was always food and warmth and laughter, where people always cared about you, no matter what.

Even Val had been cared about in that house. Too ashamed to admit even to Cale when he called home from college that their father had not returned in months, Val had become adept at hiding the fact that she was pretty much on her own that last year of high school. And while the school administration had been fooled, Val was never really sure if Mrs. Hollister had been. How else to explain the fact that Eliza so often had an extra lunch in her locker ("My mother remembered that you liked chicken sandwiches, Val, so she sent an extra.")? Or those times, when heavy snow had been predicted, that Liza always seemed to need help with a school project that would necessitate Val going to the Hollisters' after school? And if she was snowed in there and had to stay for a few days, well, at least she had a warm bed to sleep in and the promise of wonderful meals until the storm passed and the roads were cleared.

Val never thought back on those days without an ache in her throat. Mrs. Hollister had been her fairy godmother, and certainly more of a mother than her own had ever been. There had been countless ways in which Catherine Hollister had quietly come through for Val in times of need.

Val shifted in her seat, remembering the senior ball, when she'd declined a date because there was no chance of being able to buy a dress fancy enough for the occasion. Somehow, Mrs. Hollister knew, and when she made over one of her older daughters' many dresses for Eliza to wear, she made one over for Val as well, insisting it was no more trouble to cut down two than one.

Val had never had a dress as perfect as that strapless number - pale gold satin with a full skirt - fitted to her perfectly by Mrs. Hollister's capable hands. To this day, Val could close her eyes and hear the swish it had made when she walked. It still hung in the back of her closet, after all these years, a reminder of Catherine Hollister's loving heart, and the way it had made Val feel to know that someone had cared enough about her to make certain that she had a dress to wear to a school dance.

Val had left high school with no particular plans, no money for college, no clear goals or skills. Most of her energy that last year had gone to surviving while managing to stay out of the child welfare system. A graduation trip to the east coast - a gift from her brother, who had just that summer left college to sign a contract to play major league baseball for the Baltimore Harbormasters - had led to a chance introduction to a photographer, a cousin of the team owner, who'd begged to take Val's picture. Two weeks later, while still pondering what to do with her life, Val had received an excited call from the photographer, who'd shown her pictures to a friend who worked for a major modeling agency in New York. How soon could Val get to New York? the photographer wanted to know. His friend wanted to meet with Val as soon as possible to see for herself if Val had what it would take to become a top model.

Despite her protests that she'd never thought of such a career - she'd never thought she was that pretty - but lacking any other prospects that summer, Val had gone to New York, met with the modeling agency, and before she knew it, was on her way to London for her first assignment. At five feet six inches tall, Val was too short for the runway, but with her dark hair and pale green eyes and features that were just enough short of perfect to give her a look that was slightly exotic, she'd photographed beautifully. Soon she found herself in demand, and making more money than she'd ever in her life dreamed possible.

No one was more surprised by her success than Val.

And while her agent continued to assure her that she was getting hotter by the week, and even as her business manager continued to invest her money, secretly Val wondered just how long it would be before someone figured out that she was just a girl from the hills who'd gotten lucky.

Sometimes, like now, when she was feeling nostalgic, Val would think back to those early days and wonder what would have happened if she hadn't gone to Baltimore that summer. If she'd stayed at home and maybe gotten a job at one of the two boutiques in town. Where might she be now? Married to a cowboy, most likely, with a couple of kids.

Not so bad a life, with the right cowboy, she mused.

Of course, back in those days, there'd only been one cowboy who'd caught her eye. And a trip back to the hills just two years ago had proven that he still could. Eliza's older brother, Schuyler - Sky - had always treated Val in the same manner in which he'd treated Eliza, like they were pesky little beings that needed to be tolerated and kept from getting underfoot.

So different from his manner at the wedding of his sister and Val's brother just two summers ago, when Sky had apparently noticed - finally! - that Val was all grown-up.

She'd planned to stay for a while after her brother's wedding, had thought that Sky, in his own quiet way, was hoping she would. Though they'd known each other all their lives - Sky and Cale had always been best friends - Val and Sky had spent precious little time together as adults. That week, it seemed they were together every day, every night, enough for her to realize that the crush she'd had on him from the time she was fifteen was growing into something more. They'd barely begun to explore just what that might be, when a call from Val's agent sent her unexpectedly to Rome for almost two months, then to Africa for several weeks. By the time she got back to Montana, Sky had left for the valley and the farm he and his brother had taken over from their grandfather. While debating whether or not to follow, she'd been called for a shoot in Brazil. She'd repacked her bags and headed for the airport, gone before Sky had even been aware she'd be there.

Val drew the old quilt around her, chilled in spite of the warm California night, and wondered where Sky Hollister was right at that moment, what he was thinking about. And if he ever thought about her.

3

“Val? Are you there?" Derek Marx's voice popped from Valerie's answering machine in short, emphysemic puffs. "Pick up if you're there. This is important."

"Yes, Derek, I'm here." Val resisted a sigh as she picked up the receiver. Her agent was the last person she felt like speaking with at that moment. Calls from him this late in the day could only mean one thing.

"How's the weather?" he asked, as if he'd be expected to make small talk.

"Lovely." Val decided to cut to the chase. "Where to this time?"

"The Florida Keys," he told her, then added because he knew she would ask, "Another swimsuit shoot."

"Derek, it's July. Last week we did parkas and ski wear."

"And this week you'll do tropical vacation wear. Sorry it's so last minute, but I just got the call five minutes ago. They had someone lined up for the shoot but she had a death in the family and the agency isn't willing to wait a week while she buries her father. All heart, you know what I mean?"

"I know what you mean." This time, Val did sigh. "All right. What are the arrangements?"

Val wrote the next morning's flight information on the white erasable board that hung on the wall next to the phone in her kitchen. When she'd finished with her call, she hung up and turned to Detective Rafferty, who'd leaned against the kitchen counter, waiting patiently for her to complete her call.

"I'm sorry for the interruption," she apologized. "Now, what else do we need to do here?"

"Actually, nothing," the detective told her. "We have your fingerprints - and mine, too, of course - for elimination. I'll go back to the station and compare the prints I lifted here today and run them through the computer and see if we connect with anyone. Then I'll let you know if we have a suspect"

"And if we don't?"

"Then we have nothing to go on unless we get very, very lucky."

"How do we get very, very lucky?"

"Someone gets arrested for something, starts talking about something he heard from someone on the street, thinking to make a deal. Or we catch the right guy by accident and he decides to tell us his life story...."

"Right. I won't hold my breath waiting for you to call to tell me that someone pulled over for running a stop sign has come clean and confessed that he stole the little porcelain wedding cake from my coffee table and lifted a bunch of family photos," Val said wryly. "Do you see that happening?"

"You never know what people will come out with if they think it will help them."

"What you're saying is that the chances are slim that you'll find the person who broke into my home."

"Possibly. Unless, of course, he decides to come back."

"Why would he come back?" Val frowned. "Once should have been enough to convince him that there's not much of great value here, except the stereo and television and my cameras, which would be a pretty obvious heist. Frankly, I don't understand why he didn't take them the first time."

"Maybe you startled him when you opened the front door," Rafferty said, then hesitated, as if debating, before adding gently, "Maybe it was someone just trying to get close to you. Someone who wanted to have something of yours?”

"Don't even suggest that." She shivered. "That just totally gives me the creeps."

"I'm sorry. I'm not trying to scare you, but you do need to be aware that a lot of women are stalked."

"No one has been stalking me," she told him flatly. "I'd have known if someone was watching me."

"Don't kid yourself. If he's really good, you wouldn't know."

She shivered again and rose. "Sorry. There's been no one following me, no one hanging outside my house, no anonymous phone calls ... none of the things you read about that are associated with stalkers."

"Stalkers don't all follow the same pattern, Ms. McAllister. Some are smarter than others. But look, let's see what we get after we've run these prints through the system. For all we know, the guy who did this was picked up at midnight on a B and E in Beverly Hills. Let's not get ahead of ourselves, okay?" Rafferty said as he collected his equipment.

"Good point." Val nodded, then followed him to the front door.

"I'll give you a call as soon as we have something. In the meantime, try to be aware of the people around you. If you see anyone acting suspicious, give me a call. A car seems to be following you, you let me know. Strange phone calls, anything out of the ordinary, call me."

"I'll be leaving first thing in the morning for some work out of town," she told him as she opened the front door, "but you can leave a message on my answering machine if you need to get in touch. Or if it's really important, Bruce, next door, has the number of my cell phone." She paused, as if thinking, then said, "I should probably give you that number now, in case something comes up and you can't get Bruce. His hours are erratic, since he's waiting tables while he's waiting for that sitcom he's hoping for."

"Oh, another out-of-work actor, eh?"

"Bruce is really very good," she said as she went to her desk and tore a page from small notepad upon which she wrote the number of her cell phone. "He does a killer stand-up routine. He should be doing television. And I'm absolutely positive that sooner or later, someone will recognize his talent and he'll be pulling up stakes out here and hauling Prudence off to Malibu."

Val handed the slip of paper to the detective and added, almost as an afterthought, "Bruce also has a key in case you need to get back in for any reason."

"He has a key? To your house...?" Rafferty asked.

"Yes." She nodded. "I'm sometimes gone for weeks at a time. Bruce brings in my mail, waters my plants, generally keeps an eye on things."

"Does he also have the code for your security alarm?"

"Of course. How else could he ..." She paused, then folded her arms across her chest with open indignation. "Are you suggesting that Bruce was the person who was in here last night?"

"It's not out of the question."

"It's absolutely out of the question. Why would he have done such a thing? He's free to come in anytime he wants when I'm not here."

"I wouldn't be so quick to dismiss him."

"Sorry, you'll have to look somewhere else. Bruce has been in this house a hundred times. He never left the trace of ... of violation that I felt when I opened that door last night. Sorry, detective_, but you'll have to work a little harder than that to find the intruder. Besides the fact that Bruce had no motive and respects my privacy too much, he wasn't home last night. As a matter of fact, he arrived home at the same time I did. I was speaking with him, if you recall, when you got here."

"Ms. McAllister, I don't mean to upset you. I just think we need to explore all the options at this time."

"My next-door neighbor is not an option."

Recognizing defeat when he met it, the detective shrugged and said, "I'll give you a call after we run these prints and I'll let you know if we have others."

Val stood inside her front door and watched the detective walk to his car. She'd already gone inside and closed the door behind her by the time he'd turned to wave good-bye.

The tinny bell over the door jangled as it opened to admit the customer. The woman behind the counter looked up and smiled absently before returning to the paperwork she had almost completed.

"I'll be with you in a minute," she called to him with little enthusiasm. It was late in the afternoon on a day when business had been very slow. She didn't expect the newcomer to be adding to that day's cash receipts.

"No hurry," he assured her, as he glanced around the small shop as if trying to decide where to begin.

Handing the receipt to the customer she was waiting on, the saleswoman walked around the corner to where he stood. "Now, is there something I can help you with?"

"Well, I'm here to pick out something for my fiancée," he told her.

"We sell only wedding dresses here," she said.

"Yes, yes, I know that." He nodded. "That's what I'm here for."

Seeing her puzzlement, he added, "My fiancée is out of the country on business, and we'd decided to get married in two weeks and since she won't have time to look for a dress, I told her I'd pick up her dress for her."

"Oh, I see. So it's up to you to take care of all the details while she's gone." She patted his arm reassuringly. "What is your fiancée’s name?"

"What difference does that make?" he asked.

"Why, so I can get her dress for you from the back. And I'm assuming you have a sales slip."

"Oh, no, no, you don't understand." He shook his head. "She hasn't bought the dress. I'm here to do that."

"Your fiancée sent you to pick out her wedding dress for her?" The woman's eyes grew wider.

"Yes. I know it sounds odd, but we'd decided to get married, then unexpectedly, she was called off on business, and rather than change the date - her father is very ill, you see - she asked me if I'd mind getting her dress and veil for her."

"She must trust your judgment very much. And she must be very busy." Louise's eyebrows were still raised. No matter how busy a woman might be, when had any bride ever been too busy to pick out her own wedding dress? She'd never heard of such a thing.

"Yes, to both." He smiled agreeably. "So, a small size, a four I think she said. Something not real fancy, she prefers things on the simple side...."

"Did she give you a price range?" Louise asked. He smiled patiently. "Price will not be an object."

"I see." Louise beamed. She might yet salvage this day. "In that case, come this way. Just last week I received a small shipment from New York. Perhaps you'll find something there that you like. And you said you wanted a veil?"

"Yes." He nodded.

"Will her hair be short, or long, up or down?"

He paused to ponder, then said, "Long. Down, I think."

"Perfect." Louise said. "I have just the thing...."

4

He stood in the shadows, watching. Waiting.

Shifting his weight from one foot to the other, then glanced at his watch. She should be here. It was time.

It was past time.

She'd told him that her evening flight from Florida was scheduled to land at nine-fifteen. The flight had been on time, he'd checked that, of course. It was now moving toward eleven.

What was taking her so long?

He wanted desperately to clear his throat, but dared not make a sound, lest a chain reaction of barking dogs spread along the row of town houses ending who knew where. Everyone, it seemed, owned a dog these days. He just couldn't risk setting them off. He had a job to do.

And it was time.

Just when he began to feel somewhat desperate - perhaps her shoot had been held over until the next day and she'd changed her flight plans? - he heard the sound of the car door slam. Leaning forward ever so slightly to enable him to see through the dense foliage without being seen himself, he saw her open the rear passenger door and pull out her travel bag. This she slung over her shoulder, then hopped up that one flagstone step from the sidewalk to the walkway leading directly to her door. As always, he was mesmerized by her long-legged stride and easy gait and the nonchalant beauty of that face.

It was a shame, really.

But he had no choice. Anyone could see that.

She passed by his hiding place, and the scent of her drifted to him on a soft evening breeze. He closed his eyes, just for a moment, to savor it before reminding himself that he had a job to do. Soon enough, there'd be time - endless time - to drink her in, in every way. They just had to get through this to get to that.

Someday, he hoped, she'd understand.

With new resolve, he went on full alert.

Now at her doorstep, he heard her sigh of exasperation when she realized that her outside light - the one over her small porch - had gone out. He heard her there in the darkness, shuffling her travel bag from one shoulder to the other. Heard her keys jangling in her hand...

NOW.

He emerged with barely a sound through the long, thin blades of tall ornamental grasses, but at his passage they had shifted slightly, disturbing the stillness just enough to alert her.

"What..." She half-turned, but he was there, in one smooth motion. Fingers closed around her throat until the darkness closed in from every side and she slumped to the ground. A flash of a knife, quick and sure.

And in that moment, Valerie McAllister's life changed forever.

By the next morning, the gruesome story of the vicious attack on the beautiful young model whose flawless face had been slashed by an unknown assailant seemed to be everywhere, with various degrees of embellishment. How she'd been left to bleed to death on her own front doorstep. How only the barking of her neighbor's dog and that same neighbor's quick thinking had saved her life.

Details at noon. Then again at six. And again at eleven.

The first thing an awakening Val became conscious of were the tubes in her arm and in her nose and in other places that were flat-out uncomfortable to think about.

The second was the stinging tightness, the burning on the left side of her face.

The third was the aching pressure that seemed to circle her throat like a too-tight neck chain.

She raised a hand to her face, to touch the spot where the stinging began, and winced at the pain.

Gingerly her fingers traced the throbbing line that began an inch from the corner of her eye and ended just below her left ear.

Stitches.

Her mind blurred.

Stitches running up the side of her face.

Would there be a scar? Gently her fingers sought to assess the damage.

"Val?"

At the sound of her brother's voice, Val jumped, unaware that the exploration of her wound had been witnessed.

"Cale?" She forced her eyes to focus. "What are you doing here?"

"Waiting for you to wake up." He rose from his chair and took two steps to the bed, reaching gently for the hand that had been trying to count stitches and held it between his own.

"Isn't it still baseball season?" Val asked, trying to pinpoint place and time. "Is it still July?"

"Yes, it's still July," Cale assured her.

"Aren't you supposed to be ... doing something baseball?" Her groggy mind tried to remember just what that might be.

"Not this week," he told her. "I took a few days off."

"How can you do that if it's still baseball season?"

"Oh, they'll get along just fine without me. Probably haven't even noticed that I'm gone," he assured her.

"That's the beauty of being one of several assistant coaches, see. No one's really sure who you're assisting at any particular time."

Val tried to swallow, and wondered why it hurt so much to do so.

"What happened to me?" Val whispered.

"We were hoping you could tell us." A deep voice came from the doorway.

Val shifted somewhat to look around Cale to see Detective Rafferty nearing the foot of the bed.

"Hi," she greeted him quietly.

"How are you doing?" the detective asked.

"Apparently not as well as I'd like to be." She turned to her brother and said, "Cale, this is Detective Rafferty. He investigated the..."

Val paused, recalling that she had neglected to tell her brother about the break-in at her town house the week before. She hadn't wanted to worry him or Quinn.

"Yes, we've met And don't bother to try to cover it up. We heard all about the break-in. Why didn't you tell us?" Cale's eyes narrowed.

"I didn't want you to worry," she told him. "I thought it was just a random thing, and when the person realized that I had nothing worth stealing, he left. I didn't want to make a big deal out of it."

"Well, it's a big deal now. In all the papers." Cale's wife, Quinn, came into the room, carrying a cardboard tray of cold drinks in tall paper containers and several sandwiches wrapped in cellophane.

"Quinn, you're here." Val tried to smile, but the muscles on the left side of her face were uncooperative and sore.

"Of course, I'm here." Quinn McAllister leaned over her sister-in-law and smoothed the tangle of hair back from the right side of Val's face.

"Where are the boys?" Val frowned, referring to Cale's twin sons, now six, a product of his brief marriage to a former Miss Tennessee.

"We shipped them off to my parents two weeks ago," Quinn told her. "They'd wanted to spend some time being real cowboys with their uncles and their grandparents this summer, so we packed 'em up and shipped 'em out for a few weeks of ridin' the range and sleepin' under the stars."

Val tried to laugh, but the pain in her throat brought tears to her eyes.

"Why does my throat hurt so much?" she asked.

"Ms. McAllister, don't you remember what happened?" Rafferty asked.

She shook her head, as if trying to clear it.

"Why don't you tell us what you do remember?"Quinn suggested.

"I remember driving home from the airport. Getting out of the car. Walking up to my front door ..." She paused, frowning. "The light was out. The one over the porch. I remember wondering why it was so dark. I had a flashlight in my purse, but I couldn't find it, so I thought I'd just fiddle around with the key until I found the lock."

Val closed her eyes, as if forcing the scene to replay in her mind.

"I heard something ... like a shimmer …" She said, her voice lowering an octave with each utterance.

"Soft..."

"We think he must have been hiding behind those tall grasses near the side of the building," Rafferty told them. "That might have been what you heard."

"Yes," she nodded. "Almost like a really soft breeze, but... yes, it could have been the grasses."

"What else do you remember?" Cale asked. "Did you hear anything else? Did you see anything at all?"

She shook her head. "No."

"Then... ?" The detective sought to urge her on.

"I'm not sure. Someone was behind me. There was a hand over my mouth. Then here ..." Her hands reached toward her throat. "Hands around my throat ... couldn't breath ..."

"That's all?" Rafferty asked.

"That's the last thing I remember. Black spots before my eyes, then bright lights, then nothing at all..."

"You never saw anyone?" Rafferty continued his questioning.

"No one," she told him.

"Any impressions you  might have about your assailant?"

Val frowned again. "Seems as if there should be, somehow, but, no ..."

"No idea of how tall, how heavy ... ?"

She closed her eyes again, forcing herself back to that moment when she first realized that she was not alone on the walkway.

"He would have been tall," she rasped, her throat raw now from the effort to speak. "When he grabbed me from behind and pulled me back, I hit his jaw or the side of his face with the top of my head."

"What else?" Rafferty leaned closer, as if to urge her on.

"Strong. His arms were strong. He had no trouble at all even though I know I struggled. His hands went right for my throat and that's just about the last thing I can remember." She touched her fingers to her throat gingerly. "That's why it hurts so to talk. He was strangling me...."

"And fortunately, he wasn't able to do more than give you a sore throat."

"Did he cut my face?" Valerie attempted to frown, but the effort pulled at the stitches. "Why don't I remember anything about my face being cut?"

"You don't remember anything about that at all?" Cale asked.

"No. Nothing. Not pain, not... anything. Why?"

"Would he have cut your face after he strangled you?" Quinn said, a puzzled look crossing her face. "Why would he have done that?"

"We don't know that he did," Rafferty pointed out.

"I think most people would remember something like having their face slashed, Detective." Quinn turned to him. "And if Val doesn't remember, I'd have to think that maybe it's because she wasn't conscious at the time."

"Maybe, subconsciously, she's choosing not to remember." Rafferty offered.

"Maybe he just didn't want her to feel it," Cale said. "But then that sort of muddles the theory that he was strangling her and only stopped because he was interrupted, doesn't it?"

"Ms. McAllister, are you sure you don't recall anything else?" Rafferty persisted gently. "Nothing at all about seeing a knife at any time..."

Val shook her head. "The last thing I remember is hearing a dog bark someplace far away as I started to blackout."

"It wasn't so far away," Rafferty told her. "It was right next door."

"Prudence? Bruce's dog?" Val asked.

"Yes. She may have saved your life. She started barking, then the dog on the other side barked...."

"Tell Bruce I owe Pru a very large box of her favorite treats" Val whispered.

"We'll do that." Cale reached over and patted Val's hands. "Now, if Detective Rafferty is finished, why don't you try to get a little more sleep, and rest your throat?"

Val's eyelids fluttered at the mere suggestion, and she nodded dreamily. "Just for a minute..."

She appeared to drop off, then half-opened her eyes and asked, "The cut on my face... how bad is it?"

The silence, as both her brother and his wife tried to decide what to tell her, told her all.

"Oh." Val's spirits visibly lowered.

"It's going to take some time to heal, Val," Quinn responded a bit too quickly. "It will be a while before they'll know...."

"Before they'll know just how bad the scar will be?" Val completed the thought when Quinn hesitated to do so.

"Let's give it some time to heal, honey," Cale answered softly.

"Will I be able to work again?"

"I think it's a little early to worry about that."

"That bad, is it?"

"Val, they really don't know just yet how it will heal, but it doesn't mean your career is over. Not by a long shot," Quinn assured her.

"It's okay," she told her brother as she stopped fighting the fatigue and allowed herself to drift off. "It's okay...."

"How do you think she'll react when she's really conscious of what's going on?" Quinn stood behind her husband and worked at the knot of tension that always plagued his right shoulder whenever he became anxious.

"It's hard to say," Cale replied thoughtfully. "Val has always said that modeling was no more than a means to an end for her. I don't know that she ever enjoyed the work all that much. It was a job, albeit one that paid extremely well and allowed her a lot of freedom. Allowed her to travel to wonderful places. Gave her a chance to develop a skill."

"A skill?" the detective asked.

"Gave her an opportunity to learn photography from some master photographers. I've been telling her for the past four or five years that she should think about exhibiting some of her pictures. She really has a great eye for composition. But modeling is something she fell into at a very early age and stuck with it because, well, because she did well with it. Frankly, I think she's more comfortable on the other side of the camera."

"Really?" Detective Rafferty's eyebrows raised. "I'd have thought... I mean, there are thousands of women who'd do just about anything to do what your sister does."

"Detective, my sister and I came from a really poor background. These days they'd call it disadvantaged. Back then, they just called it poor. For Valerie to have found something that pays her the kind of money she makes for doing little more than standing still and just being her naturally beautiful self was nothing short of a miracle. As much as a miracle as it was for me to be able to play professional ball all those years."

"Interesting." Rafferty nodded. "I did, as I mentioned, cover the break-in at her town house. She certainly doesn't appear to live the celebrity life, if you know what I mean. Her house seemed very, well, the word modest comes to mind."

"Val has never been extravagant. She tends to save more than she spends, and has a very good business manager. He's made some excellent investments," Quinn told him.

"My sister has a terrible fear of poverty, detective. Having lived with very little for a very long time, well, I think Val's always saving for that rainy day. You know, when she can't work anymore."

"That day may have arrived," Quinn said softly.

"What about other family members?" The detective turned a page in his notebook.

"None," Cale told him.

"Parents?"

"No idea of where either of them are. Our mother left us when Val was a baby. Our father was a long-haul trucker who had a deeper bond with the bottle than he ever did with either of us. I haven't seen or heard from him in years."

"That's surprising that you never heard from him." Rafferty looked up from his notes. "Both of you being well-known in your fields, you being a bit of a celebrity. You'd think he'd have been in touch. You know, 'my son, the professional ball player' 'My daughter the model.' "

"I didn't say that I never heard from him." Cale's eyes narrowed. "I said I haven't seen or heard from him in years."

"How do you know he hasn't contacted your sister?"

"Valerie and I are close, Detective. She would have told me."

"She didn't tell you about the break-in at her house," Rafferty reminded him.

"That's different. Believe me, if our father had contacted her, she'd have told me."

"So there's no other family. How about friends that you think we should talk to?"

"I don't know that Val had that many close friends, except for my sister, Eliza, and she lives in Portland," Quinn responded. "I don't recall ever meeting any friends other than Bruce the times when I visited. There were two women that she went to the gym with one afternoon every week. They'd work out then go for dinner."

"Names?"

"Caroline something. I don't remember that I knew the name of the other woman. Bruce would probably know."

"How about the men she dated?" Rafferty asked as he scribbled a few notes.

"I don't think there was any one man in particular. Actually, I don't think she dated all that much, now that I think of it." Cale turned to his wife. "Quinn, did Val ever talk to you about who she dated?"

"No. I always had the impression that she didn't go out much," Quinn responded. "Though I was never sure if she told me that hoping that I'd pass it on to Sky."

"Sky?" Rafferty raised an eyebrow.

"My brother, Schuyler. He and Val have always sort of had a ... I guess understanding is the best way to describe their relationship."

"What kind of understanding?" The detective continued to write.

Cale and Quinn exchanged a long look, then Quinn said, "Neither of them ever said anything, but I just always had the impression they were, well, waiting for each other, somehow."

"And your brother lives where?"

"Back in Montana. Part of the year, he lives at the ranch where we grew up. The other part, he works a farm that our grandparents owned."

"Ranch, huh? Sounds like a real cowboy."

"Actually, both of my brothers are cowboys." Quinn smiled. "And they're both quite proud of it."

"I'm sure they are." Rafferty closed his notebook with a snap.

"So, can you tell us what is being done to find the person who did this to my sister?"

"We have several officers working on it, looking for leads, keeping their ears to the street," the detective said, "But there's not much else we can do until she comes around again. I'll need to talk to her, friends. The people she works with."

"I can get the number of her agent and her business manager for you," Cale offered.

"That will help. But I'm also hoping that she'll remember something else. Maybe there's someone who stares too long at the gas station, the supermarket, the gym. A delivery boy... a neighbor..." He paused, then added, "The next-door neighbor seemed to get on the scene pretty quickly."

"You said the barking dog had alerted him."

"He said the barking dog alerted him."

"Then I'm certain that's exactly what happened," Quinn told him.

"He was the only one seen around, same as the night of the break-in," Rafferty told them.

"That's out of the question. Bruce would never hurt Valerie." Quinn frowned.

"I don't know how badly the assailant wanted to hurt her. Let's face it, with a knife sharp enough to have cut her face the way it did, he could have killed her. The weapon made an almost scalpel-thin slice. She has no other wounds. Why? If you're going to attack someone, why just cut the face?"

"Because cutting her face would could ruin her career," Quinn answered without thinking.

"Right."

"So maybe it's another model, someone who thinks that Valerie is in her way?” Cale said.

"That's a possibility that we'll be exploring" Rafferty told them. "But I still don't know about this neighbor."

"Why would you suspect Bruce?"

"Well, you know, this guy's an actor. Actors are a dime a hundred out here. Tough to get noticed, tougher still to get any press at all, for a guy like him. But since your sister's attack, he's been interviewed by all the local television stations and the major newspapers. How he rescued the beauty from the beast, that sort of thing..." Rafferty frowned.

"You think he did it for the attention?" Quinn asked incredulously.

"I think it's an angle worth pursuing. He's sure gotten a lot of press these past forty-eight hours."

"I don't believe it. Not for a second. Bruce is her friend." Cale stood and folded his arms over his chest. "Sorry, Detective, but I think you're looking in the wrong place."

"Actually, we're looking everywhere. We have as many men on this as we can spare. That's just one possibility. Certainly we'll pursue every angle. But this guy next door, he had opportunity - that lightbulb had been unscrewed, he could have easily done that - and he knew her routine. He knew when she'd be back, since he was the one taking in her mail, that sort of thing. He has a key to her house."

"Then why didn't he wait inside and attack her then?"

Cale asked. "Why didn't he attack her in her sleep? If he had a key, he could have done this at any time."

"If his motive was to garner attention for himself, as a hero, he'd have to have set it up in a way that he had an out. And the barking dog gave him that out."

"I'm not following you," Quinn said.

"If his plan was to attack Valerie when she came in that night from the airport, but not to hurt her in a way that threatened her life, then he would need an excuse to have cut the assault short. Now, it's a very logical scenario if you're the assailant, you start the attack, there's some commotion, the dog next door starts barking to beat the band. You figure someone's going to come to investigate. So you run away, the neighbor comes out, sees the attack, runs back inside the house and calls 911." He paused in the telling. "This is a logical progression of events."

"So why do you think it didn't happen that way?"

"It just seems that the attack was over too soon." Rafferty shrugged. "Something about it just doesn't sit well with me. But we'll see what else we can learn when our victim here can give us some information."

"Well, if you have questions to ask her, better plan to spend some time here tomorrow or the next day, because after that, all your interviews will be done by phone." Cale told him.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that the doctor told us that if she woke up today, she'd most likely be able to leave day after tomorrow, assuming there are no complications. I plan to have her out of here as soon as possible. So if all goes well, Valerie will be on her way to Montana by Saturday."

The detective frowned and appeared to be about to speak.

"That's not negotiable, Detective Rafferty. My sister needs time to recover, in a place where she's going to be safe. Val and I jointly own a cabin in Montana, right up an old mountain road from my in-laws' place. Unless there are medical reasons to prevent the trip, my wife will be taking my sister there this weekend. So if I were you, I'd plan on stopping by tomorrow to spend some time with Val, since it's going to be a while before she comes back to California." Rafferty frowned.

"But you understand that if someone does intend on harming her further, we can't watch her from here."

"Frankly - and with all due respect - I think she's safer at home."

Quinn nodded. "My parents are close by and my brothers will be keeping an eye on her. We've all discussed it, and it's been decided. Val is going home."

"So I guess your job is to find the person who assaulted her here, and keep him here." Cale offered his hand to the detective to indicate that today's interview was over. "But in the meantime, Detective Rafferty, as soon as we get the green light from the doctors, my sister is going home."

5

QUINN McAllister glanced across the front seat of the car she'd rented in Lewistown, Montana, and wondered whether or not she should awaken her sister-in-law for this last leg of their drive to Larkspur, and beyond, to the High Meadow Ranch, Quinn's family home. In the distance, she could see the Big Snowy Mountains rising, and a smile crossed her lips. There was no place on earth quite like Montana - particularly, to Quinn's way of thinking, like this part of Montana. She never came back without feeling that rush of gratitude, every time, for all the years she'd spent there.

"As close to heaven as you can get on God's green Earth." She murmured her father's expression without realizing she'd spoken aloud.

"My heart catches in my throat every time I look at those mountains," a voice from the passenger side whispered.

"Ah, she  awakens." Quinn reached over to pat Valerie's arm fondly. "I was just wondering if I shouldn't give you a little pinch to bring you around."

"I must have known I was home," Val stretched her legs out before her to ease the kinks. "I can't imagine how I managed to fall asleep again after having slept all the way from Los Angeles to Billings. And then from Billings to Lewistown. And then from Lewistown to here."

"Well, we could start with the fact that you just got out of the hospital this morning after four long days. And let's face it, your body must be a little weakened by your ordeal."

"Well, I'm glad I woke up when I did. I'd hate to miss the view." Val leaned back in her seat and added, "I miss it enough as it is."

"Do you ever think about coming back for good?"

"Sure." Val nodded. “Like every day...”

"Me, too. I keep thinking about someday maybe Cale and I can build a house a little farther down the mountain from my folks. A little closer to town might be nicer for the boys. Growing up, we Hollisters always felt so isolated from everyone and everything that was happening in Larkspur." Quinn smiled at Val. "Of course, you and Cale grew up in town and were close to the action all the time, so you didn't really miss anything, I guess."

Val merely smiled. The things that she and Cale had missed growing up in town ran along the lines of heat in the winter and an occasional meal, but some memories weren't worth bringing back.

"I think about the cabin a lot." Val pushed those times firmly behind her, where she believed they belonged. "I thought I'd be spending much more time here than I have. I didn't expect to be working so much, this past year in particular."

"Well, now you'll have some time off."

"Maybe all the time in the world," Val muttered, then sat up in her seat as the car rounded a bend in the road. "Can't you just feel what it was like here a hundred or so years ago? Can't you just see the covered wagons, hear the thunder as the endless herds of buffalo ran across the prairie?"

"Well, with the exception of the fact that there are more cattle now than bison, and that there's more hay growing than prairie grass, I don't imagine it's changed all that much."

"Big Sky," Val said fondly. "Oceans of blue over miles of golden plains. I never feel as small, as insignificant, as I do when I'm here."

"I feel that way when I'm up in the mountains. Like I'm less than a spot. Like ten of me could dance on the head of a pin."

Quinn made a left onto a narrow two-lane road that would take them into the town of Larkspur. On both sides of the road, the prairie spread out as far as the eye could see, dotted here and there with splotches of red, yellow, and blue wildflowers.

"I wonder if the boys are still down at the farm," Quinn said as if to herself.

"The boys?"

"Trevor and Sky are taking turns with three of our Dunham cousins working our grandparents' farm, since my granddad passed away, remember? They put in a few hundred acres of wheat this past spring, like Grandpa used to do. Gramma hasn't decided what to do with the farm in the long run. She doesn't think she wants to stay there but doesn't want to sell the property, either, I think she's hoping that one of the boys will want it. For now, they're taking turns with the fields and the livestock, and she's staying with my aunt Charlotte."

"I guess it's keeping everyone pretty busy."

"That's an understatement. Farming or ranching is tough enough. Trying to do both is ridiculous. I told Sky that the other night, but they feel they owe it to Grandpa to keep the farm going. At the same time, they recognize that Dad isn't getting any younger, either. And of course, Sky decided to try his hand breeding horses last year."

"Sounds like he's got a lot on his hands right now," Val said as if distracted.

"He does. He said ... oh, look, Val, there's Sandy Osborn. Mom said she's buying out Mr. Hiller's old warehouse and she's going to put some boutiques in there."

"In Larkspur?" Val's eyebrows raised. "Who does she think will shop there?"

"Oh, haven't you heard? The Marshalls sold their farm to a developer who's putting in a bunch of mini-ranches on something like ten acres each. I hear he already sold a dozen or so of them."

"All to city people?"

Quinn nodded.

"It's driving the old-timers like my dad crazy because some of these folks are bringing their mountain bikes up into the hiking trails and turning them into mud holes. It's got people so riled up around here that Dalton, my sister CeCe's fiancé, is thinking about running for public office."

"My." Val smiled a crooked half-smile. "That's a lot of news to be coming out of Larkspur all at the same time."

Quinn laughed and slowed down as they approached the town limits.

"Is there anything you need? Would you like me to stop anywhere in town while we're here?"

"No, no, thank you," Val responded just a beat too quickly. "There's nothing I need."

"Well, if you think of something later, you just let me know, and I'll run in and pick it up for you," Quinn said, ignoring the flash of panic that had crossed Val's face.

Val doesn't want anyone to see her, Quinn realized. She'd been fine in the airport, where she didn't know anyone, but here, at home, she probably doesn't want anyone to feel sorry for her.

"Thank you, Quinn," Val said simply, her anxiety deflating as quickly as it had risen within her.

Val had tried to protest the trip to Montana, but there was no arguing with Cale. There was no other place where she would be as safe as she'd be there on the mountain, he'd told her bluntly, with the Hollisters to look after her while the police sought her assailant. Only her pleading had gotten him to agree to let her stay at the cabin rather than at the High Meadow Ranch. Val just couldn't bear the thought of others looking at her, at least until she got used to looking at herself. And that might take a while.

As the car rounded the first sharp turn that led up into the hills, Val's fingers sought the side of her face, the tips following the jagged trail from stitch to stitch. When she'd taken her first long, hard look at herself in the hospital, she'd been sickened by what she saw. The angry red slice held together with what could have passed for fishing line was closer to her hairline than she'd first suspected, but its prominence had still come as a shock. The nurses who'd cared for her had been wonderful about not expressing pity, but it had been there, in their eyes. Such a shame...

At last here, in the hills, she wouldn't have to face anyone but Quinn's family, and Val would do all she could to avoid even the Hollisters for as long as she could.

There had been no words to tell how grateful Val was to hear that Sky was taking his turn at his grandparents' farm just then. She'd dreamed too many times about coming back - coming back for good - and finally having time to find out just what it was that had been lurking under the surface between the two of them for so long. She just hadn't figured on coming back this way, with a track running along the side of her face and purple bruises ringing her throat like an ugly strand of pearls.

No, better that Sky was at the farm, the longer the better. Maybe by the time he came back, the scar would have begun to heal and she wouldn't look so ... so disfigured.

In the side mirror, the hillside flowed behind them like a golden cloak. If she had been driving, she'd have stopped right back there and gotten her camera out of her bag and shot a roll of film trying to catch the way the sun played off that butte down there to the south. Then there was the way the wildflowers dotted the landscape like embroidery on an old quilt. Maybe one day soon, she told herself, she'd come back down on her own and perhaps recapture just that same effect of color and light and shadow.

Dust blew up in pale swirls as the car left the paved road and headed up the dirt drive that would lead to the High Meadow.

"... can't wait to see those little boys. I can't even tell you how much I missed them," Quinn was saying as she began to make her turn.

"Oh. Quinn." Val reached out a hand and tried not to panic. "Would you mind if... I mean, please, let me out here and I'll walk up to the cabin."

"Valerie, what's wrong?" Quinn stopped the car, not bothering to pull over to the side of the road. There was little need for concern for on-coming traffic up here.

"I just...I'm just tired. Do you think your mother would mind if I didn't... if I went to the cabin instead of to the ranch?"

"Well, of course everyone is looking forward to seeing you, but I'm sure they'd understand if you're tired from the trip. Of course my mother wouldn't mind." Quinn leaned over and took Val's hand. It was shaking. "And you just close that door. Of course, I won't have you walking up to the cabin. For heaven's sake, Valerie, close that door."

"I know how anxious you are to see the boys...."

"It will take me five minutes to get you settled," Quinn assured her as she turned the car around and headed back up the gravel road that led farther up the hill. "You can see everyone tomorrow, if you're feeling up to it."

Valerie nodded, not knowing just when she'd be feeling up to it, but relieved that it didn't have to be now. Not now. Not yet...

Quinn stopped the car gently in front of the old log cabin that sat nestled in a stand of pines. Leaning on the steering wheel, she told Val, "I have such fondness for this old place."

"I guess you do." Val smiled, recalling that it was here, at her ancestor Jedidiah McAllister's cabin, that Quinn and Cale, once high school sweethearts, found each other again after many years of being apart. The reunion had been touched by a bit of magic, Val recalled, Quinn insisting that she'd been led to the cabin through a blinding snowstorm by the spirit of her great-great-great grandmother, Elizabeth Dunham.

Val wondered if perhaps a little of that same magic lingered, if Elizabeth's magic worked for Hollister in-laws as well.

"If you'll pop open the trunk, I'll just grab my bags," Val told Quinn, "so that you can just turn around and head back down to the ranch."

"Are you sure you don't need some help?"

"I'm fine. I only have these two bags and my camera gear." Val slammed the trunk lid and walked back to the front of the car to lean in the window.

"Be sure to tell your mom and dad I send my love. I'll see everyone as soon as I get my feet on the ground."

"Well, go on in, then, and get yourself settled," Quinn blew her a kiss. "Call down to the ranch if you think of anything you need or want."

"I will. I promise." Val stepped back from the car and watched Quinn make a tight turn around on the narrow lane, then waved as her sister-in-law passed by on her way back down the hill.

Swinging her travel bag over her shoulder, she turned and took a good look at Jedidiah's old cabin. Made of log and stucco a hundred years and more ago, the cabin had withstood many a fierce whiter storm by virtue of its precise craftsmanship and its sheltered location, tucked in as it was in a dense grove of pine trees that served as a sort of fortress on the north and west sides. It was just three years ago that Val, city-weary from living in New York for almost seven years, and starved for the hills, had decided to bring the cabin into the twenty-first century. To this end, she'd had electricity brought up and had running water installed so that she could have a real bathroom and kitchen. New heavy wool area rugs, new furniture, new everything had made their way on trucks up the narrow road. Delighted with the results, Val had spent every spare moment there that first year. The second year, too, she had come often, wanting to take advantage of all the activity surrounding Cale and Quinn's wedding. But over the past ten months, her career had taken off like a shot, and she'd been so busy that she'd had scant days off since early spring.

The thought occurred to Val then that, had it not been for the assault, she probably wouldn't have gotten there this summer, either.

She was thinking about this as she walked up the steps to the narrow porch that ran across the front of the cabin. Setting her bags down, Val rummaged in her purse for her keys, but then realized that the door was open just a tiny bit. Hesitating, she took two steps back without even realizing she had done so, then sighed, remembering where she was. If she were anyplace but here, a partially opened door would give her pause after the trauma of the past week. But the cabin was her sanctuary. An open door here meant that someone had opened it for her as a gesture of welcome. She pushed on the door and it swung all the way back, inviting her to enter. Gathering her bags, she stepped inside, using one foot to kick the door dosed behind her.

Sure enough, on the coffee table sat a stack of current magazines. Someone had taken the time to dust all of the surfaces, and the rugs appeared newly vacuumed. The windows had been opened to allow the scent of pine to drift in and drench her senses, reminding her, in the event she'd forgotten, that she belonged nowhere on this earth if not here. It was the only place where Val had ever felt at home, the only place she ever longed to return to.

On the small maple dining table that overlooked the woods, an ivory envelope bearing her name stood propped against a vase of cobalt blue glass holding a handful of wildflowers. Recognizing the handwriting as that of Catherine Hollister, Quinn's mother, Val opened it, and scanned the message.

Our dear Valerie, welcome home! Please let us know what you'll need for your stay and we'll be happy to pick it up for you. We've missed you. C.H.

How like Mrs. Hollister, Val thought as she folded the note and tucked it back into the envelope, to offer to pick up something as if she had only to pop down to the corner store. Out here, the corner store was miles away. Following her nose, Val went into the kitchen and found a still-warm huckleberry pie on the counter. She looked inside the refrigerator, and found eggs, milk, butter, and even cream for her morning coffee.

"Mrs. C, you will never change," Val murmured aloud. "And I love you for your thoughtfulness."

Promising herself a slice of that fabulous pie as soon as she changed, Val carried her bags into her bedroom at the back of the cabin and sat down on the edge of the bed. Here, too, she could see Mrs. Hollister's touch. The bed was turned down and sported fresh sheets, and Val knew that the bathroom would have been tidied up and clean towels would be piled on the top of the wicker hamper.

Val sat on the edge of the bed and knew that there was nothing she could ever do to repay Catherine Hollister for all the many ways over the years she'd made Val feel as if she mattered. Coming on the heels of the past week, the loving gestures the older woman had made on Val's behalf caused emotions to spill over and seek release in the form of hot tears that streamed down her face. It was the first time since the attack that Val had really been alone, and the first time she'd permitted herself a good cry. Val wept for the terror she'd felt during those few moments when her assailant had her in his grip. She wept for the pain he had inflicted on her. She wept for the feeling of violation, for the anguish of having been victimized. And she wept for her lost career.

Oh, the doctors had assured her that plastic surgery could do wonders, but Val knew that by the time the wound had healed enough for surgery on the scar, she'd be yesterday's news. This wasn't a business where you could drop in and drop out. And if she did go back, would her assailant come looking for her, maybe to finish her off this time? Maybe she was better off out of the limelight.

Maybe Cale was right. Maybe she was safer here....

She lay back upon the soft pillow and rested her head for only a moment. The windows were open, the curtains drawn back and an easy breeze blew in, coaxing her to close her eyes for just a moment. To relax, and to leave her worries back in L.A., where they belonged.

She hadn't meant to fall asleep, but the minute she closed her eyes, she just drifted. She awoke from a dreamless sleep to find that the sun now slanted in through the windows at a much different angle, and the cool of the afternoon was beginning to settle in.

And that she had company.

"Oh, my God, Schuyler Hollister, you damn near gave me a heart attack." Val scrambled to sit up.

"Whoa, Val, calm down." He walked toward her from the open door and sat down next to her and attempted to take her hands.

"How long have you been here?" she demanded.

"Just a few minutes. How are you?"

"Fine. I'm fine," Suddenly terribly conscious of her wound, she wondered how she could get him to leave without seeing the left side of her face. "I thought you were at your grandparents' farm."

"I was. But when I heard about what happened ... and Quinn said she was bringing you home, I... well, I wanted to be here when you got here," he told her, and she knew that he meant it.

But her face. She couldn't let him see her face.

"Well." Val cleared her throat. "Thanks for stopping by. I think I'll be ... I'll be taking a shower now. So thank your mom for..."

He moved closer to her on the bed and reached out a hand to touch her face. When she pulled away, he cradled her chin, then without a word, turned her face, wound side, toward his.

"Sky, stop. Please don't," she asked, a flood of panic rising, though she did not move away.

"I just think we need to get this out of the way as soon as possible, Val. I can see you're self-conscious about how you look, but..."

"Self-conscious! Sky, my face was sliced open with a scalpel. I've got enough stitches running along my hairline to knit a sweater for a small child. I look in the mirror and I don't even recognize myself...."

She was trembling now, and he eased her into his arms.

"Shhhh, Val. Hush." He comforted her, rocking her slightly against his broad chest. Then, when he felt she was ready to hear it, he stroked her back and said, "Valerie, you are - now and always - the most beautiful woman I ever knew. That scar on your face doesn't change a damned thing."

"That scar has changed everything," Val whispered.

Nothing that really matters has changed, Sky could have said, to assure her. But knowing that timing was everything, and that now was not the time for that particular conversation, he patted her twice on the back before pulling her onto her feet and pointing her toward the door.

"It might interest you to know that out there on that little dining table, there's a plate of meat loaf and mashed potatoes that my mother sent up for you. I have been instructed to stay here until you have eaten every bite."

"Your mother's meat loaf?" Val stopped in the doorway. "Her mashed potatoes with the little tiny pieces of chopped onion...?"

"The same." Sky draped a casual arm over her shoulder and walked her to the large open room that served as both living room and dining room.

"I have had dreams about your mother's meat loaf, Sky."

"Well, dream no more, miss," he said, pulling a chair out and gesturing for her to sit.

"Oh, it smells like heaven." Val grinned in spite of herself as she removed the heavy foil that covered the plate and leaned close to take a long whiff. "What does she put in here that makes it smell so good?"

"You'll have to watch her sometime and find out," Sky said as he went in search of a fork for her. When he returned a moment later, she asked, "Will you sit with me while I eat? Will you stay for a while?"

"I'll stay for however long you want me to," Sky said as he pulled up the chair next to her and sat. "I have all the time in the world...."

6

He punched the wall with an angry swing, then ignored both the resulting pain and the blood that ran from a knuckle to pool in his hand.

"SHIT!" he screamed, and punched the wall again.

They had taken her. Who were they to have taken her away from him?

He forced himself to take deep breaths, leaned against the wall and concentrated on calming himself. Nothing good was ever born of anger, his mother used to say. And she was right. Of course, she was right. She was always right.

He punched the wall again.

Five minutes later, he was in his car, willing himself to stay within the speed limit. He couldn't afford to call attention to himself this day. He had errands to run and things to do in preparation for his trip. There was no time to spare.

First stop, the dry cleaners, where he picked up his neatly pressed tuxedo, bought special for the occasion at a consignment shop not far from Beverly Hills. He'd have preferred to have bought new, but this one looked as if it had never been worn, and besides, he himself would only wear it this one time. After all, a guy only married the girl of his dreams once.

The second stop was at the ATM machine, where he cleaned out his savings account. Must have cash for the trip, he reasoned. He did have credit cards, of course, but all things considered, cash was harder to trace.

He walked from the bank to the florist shop across the street. A little bell tinkled merrily as he opened the door. A good sign, he thought, that little bell.

"How may I help you?" A young man emerged from the back room carrying a tall, narrow metal bucket overflowing with some purple flower.

"I need a bouquet."

"Anything particular in mind?" The young man opened one of the glass refrigerated compartments and placed the bucket on the center rack. "A mixed bouquet, perhaps? We have some lovely summer mixes already made up." He pointed to a selection of vibrantly colored flowers in a container near the cash register.

"No, something white."

"Roses perhaps?"

"Maybe." He peered through the glass doors where the purple flowers had been set, unsure of just what protocol might be. There didn't seem to be much of a variety of white flowers. It occurred to him then that perhaps one just did not walk into a florist's shop and order a bridal bouquet to be made up on the spot. Was one supposed to do this in advance?

"What I actually wanted, well, was something that would make a... a wedding bouquet." There. He got it out.

"A wedding bouquet?"

"Is that a problem?" His eyes narrowed. Why should that be a problem?

"Well, no, of course not. But usually, you know, the bride orders her flowers...."

"The bride in this case is out of the country on business and asked the groom to take over." He forced a grin and pretended to throw up his hands as a sign of helplessness.

"Oh, I see." The young man chuckled. "Well, then, tell me when you need them, what the color scheme of the wedding will be...."

"Color scheme?"

"You know, what the bridesmaids are wearing."

"There are no bridesmaids. She is wearing a white dress, I am wearing a black tux." He fairly snapped. "And I need them now."

"I'm afraid I don't have much of a selection in white right now." The young man backed toward the counter as if spooked, "Perhaps if you stopped back on Thursday..."

"I don't have until Thursday." He ran his long fingers through his hair. "The wedding is Thursday."

"Anything I could give you today, would be wilted by then." The shopkeeper leaned an elbow on the counter. "Unless you want to pick them up that morning."

"The wedding is out of state."

"Well, then." The young man's eyes brightened, understanding now his customer's dilemma. "I think we want to consider silks. I have something in the back that's absolutely stunning."

Silks? Did he mean fake flowers? Fake flowers for his bride?

Before he could protest, the young man had re-emerged from the back carrying a large bouquet.

"Isn't this elegant? I made it for a bridal show we did last weekend." He held it up for inspection. "It's got your roses, your stephanotis, your orange blossoms ... all made from the finest silk, absolutely one of a kind, designer quality. And one of the nicest things about it is, your bride will always have it. It will never fade or wilt. It will make a lovely keepsake of your special day."

He touched the petals of a rose tentatively. "Do people actually buy these, instead of fresh flowers?"

"Oh, absolutely," the shopkeeper crowed, closing in on the sale. "They've become very popular over the past ten or so years."

"Really?"

"Absolutely. And since I made this for a show, instead of a customer, I can give it to you at a special price."

"I wasn't looking for a bargain." He stiffened slightly at the suggestion.

"I wasn't implying that you were." The shopkeeper forced a smile. The price had just gone up another twenty dollars.”

''Well, it would probably travel better than fresh flowers."

"Oh, absolutely."

"I'll take it."

"Shall I wrap it, then, since you said you're traveling with it?"

"That would be fine. Thank you." He sighed a sigh of relief. One more detail tended to.

"My pleasure. I'll wrap it in a way that none of the flowers can get crushed. Now, while I do that, tell me about the wedding. Where did you say it would be?"

"In Montana." He smiled, his sense of calm returning. "On a quiet hillside in Montana..."

7

Valerie stood in front of the bathroom mirror and tried to decide if the floppy straw hat made her look carefree and country, or silly and immature. The important thing, she reminded herself, is that it could keep her face in shadow, the only hope she had to obscure the scar which, while healing, was doing so at its own leisurely pace. She craned her neck, studied the jagged line and acknowledged grudgingly that the doctors had done a pretty decent job of putting that side of her face back together again. And, as Sky had reminded her the evening before, she was really lucky that no nerves had been severed, that the muscles were intact.

Everyone seemed intent on assuring her that the scar would be barely noticeable. Sky's easy dismissal of its importance aside, both his brother, Trevor, and Trevor's twin sister, CeCe, had stopped at the cabin after dinner her first night back to welcome her home. Both of them had commented on the fact that they'd expected the scar to be so much worse after all they'd heard on the news.

And the very next morning, Mrs. Hollister had appeared at the cabin door with a basket of fresh, warm muffins and Val's two nephews in tow. Before she'd been able to protest, Mrs. H. had tucked Val's hair behind her ear to take a good look at the subject scar, and had nodded as if in approval.

"Why, your doctors have done a fine job, Valerie. Once the redness fades and those stitches disintegrate, and you can put a little makeup on, you'll be hard-pressed to tell where the cut was. You're a very lucky young woman."

Val had fought back a sharp retort. The last thing she felt right about then was lucky.

And while Val understood that everyone meant well, it was pretty clear to her that the scar couldn't be much more noticeable if it was blinking neon. The fact that everyone insisted on assuring her that it would barely be noticeable made her feel patronized. Even the doctors up in Lewistown she'd seen yesterday, on referral from her surgeon in Los Angeles, had assured her that the gash was healing wonderfully, yet anyone could see it was huge and red and ugly.

Besides, Val noted, everyone isn't standing on this side of the mirror.

Still, it was impossible to stay annoyed at any of the Hollisters for very long. Mrs. H.'s excellent cooking and loving heart aside, CeCe and Trevor still treated Val as if she were just another of their younger siblings, just as they always had. There was something comforting in this, Val acknowledged.

And then of course, there was Sky, who definitely did not treat her like a little sister.

Thank God.

Over the years, Val and Sky had sparred with each other, flirted with each other, teased each other. After the marriage of her brother to his sister, Quinn, there had almost seemed to be some sort of understanding between them, though neither of them had spoken of it. They'd not had the luxury of time to explore what might have been building between them before her workload had exploded from in demand to frenzy. She'd barely had a weekend free.

Until now, she reminded herself. Now, all of her weekends would be free - weekdays, too, most likely - probably for a very long time. And most of them, for the foreseeable future anyway, would be spent right here in Jed's cabin, with an occasional appearance at the High Meadow Ranch. Her presence at dinner the night before had made that clear. More a summons than an invitation, Mrs. H. had sent Sky up to the cabin with the instructions to accept no excuses.

It had been Val's first time out with a group since the attack, and though she'd dreaded it, she couldn't come up with a good enough reason not to go. Besides, she reminded herself, it was something she'd have to do sooner or later, and while later would have suited her just fine, sooner it had turned out to be. She just couldn't say no to Catherine Hollister.

All in all, it had been fine. Better than fine, Val had to admit. And before the night was over, she'd found herself so engrossed in conversation that, for a while, she'd forgotten herself and had not put her head down when all at the table had turned to her when she'd offered a comment or two on this or that. And though she'd planned on slipping out as soon as the meal had ended, she'd stayed to have coffee and dessert on the wide deck that overlooked the pastures where sheep grazed and the barn where the Black Angus had settled in for the night.

The conversation drifted from the best breed of sheep for wool - they all agreed that rambouillet was the finest - to the need to diversify beyond sheep and cattle to make the ranch more self-sufficient.

Val had settled in and sipped at her coffee, savoring the night and the conversation and the sense of belonging that had always seeped inside her when she was under this roof.

"Val, if you need something to read, I have a few books upstairs I've recently finished that you might enjoy," CeCe offered.

"Thanks. That's one thing I didn't think to bring with me. I'd appreciate a loan." Val smiled gratefully at the thoughtful gesture.

"I'll run upstairs and get them for you while I'm thinking of it" CeCe excused herself to seek out the books.

Evan and Eric, Cale's twin sons, ran noisily up the steps with mason jars filled with lightning bugs, which they brought to their aunt Val to admire.

"Look at 'em all." Eric held the jar up in front of her face. "We never find this many in Maryland."

"I've got more than you do." Evan held his jar up to compare.

"No, you don't," Eric protested.

"Yes, I do."

"Boys, it seems to me that you both have more than enough," Val told them. "Now, why don't you just set those jars on the railing there and open the lids so the lightning bugs can fly away?"

"It's too early. I want to catch more."

"It's almost time for your showers, guys," Quinn told them from the doorway. "Do as Aunt Val said, then come in to get cleaned up for the night."

"Gramma and Aunt CeCe let us stay up till eight... nine o'clock." Eric told his stepmother pointedly.

"Well, Gramma and Aunt CeCe are much nicer than I am. Let's go, buckos." Quinn stepped onto the deck, her arms crossed over her chest. "And besides, we need to have a little talk about the two of you going off up into the hills by yourselves."

"We knew where we were going," Evan told her. "Honest. We weren't lost."

"Lost is not the issue, guys." Sky sat down in the chair next to Val. "No one thought you'd get lost. Don't either of you remember what I told you about what you might come across up in the hills this time of year?"

"Mountain lions," Eric said. "Rattlesnakes."

"Wolves and bears," Evan added.

"Guys, you have to take this seriously. The momma bears are very protective of their babies." Trevor joined the conversation, leaning against the deck railing and lifting a jar of lightning bugs as if inspecting them.

"We know what to do if we see a bear, Uncle Trev," Evan assured him. "You make lots of noise to scare them away, or you run up the nearest tree.^”

"And if you can't get to a tree, you fall on the ground like this." Eric dropped to the deck and curled into a ball, clasped his hands behind his neck, and played dead.

"All well and good, but you really don't want to be in that situation. A bear can take an arm or a leg with one swipe of that big paw, whether you've rolled into a ball or not," Sky reminded them.

"Did you ever see one, Uncle Sky?" Eric asked as he uncurled himself. "Did you ever see a real bear?"

"Several times. I was very lucky that I was never chased by one."

"Sunny was chased by one once," CeCe said, referring to their sister, Susannah, as she eased around Quinn, who stood in the doorway. "Elizabeth saved her."

"Elizabeth is a ghost," Eric told Val, as if she didn't know, though of course she'd heard the legend. How Elizabeth Dunham, Catherine Hollister's great-great-great-grandmother, a full-blooded Cherokee, had lived in a tiny cabin for years after her beloved husband Stephen had died and was said to still walk the hills.

"How did she save Aunt Sunny?" The boys sat at her feet.

"She stood in front of Sunny so that the bear couldn't see her."

"Didn't the bear see Elizabeth?" Eric asked.

"Apparently not."

"Is Elizabeth a real ghost or not?" Evan asked, his eyes narrowing, adding, "My teacher says there are no ghosts."

"She's sort of what we think of as a ghost" Quinn answered. "But not a scary one. And she only comes around when someone in the family is in trouble. And whether or not ghosts really exist, well, all I can tell you is that I saw her with my own eyes."

"You did?" The boys were wide-eyed.

"I did," Quinn nodded solemnly.

"What did she look like?" Evan leaned forward.

"She had black hair that she wore in one long braid over her shoulder. It reached almost to her waist. And she had a blanket around her." Quinn gazed out across the landscape, remembering.

"What did she do, the time you saw her?" Eric asked.

"She led me through a terrible snowstorm to Jedidiah's cabin once. That was the day I met you boys, remember?"

"You didn't tell us you came there with a ghost." Eric scowled. "Why didn't you let us see her?"

"I think you were sleeping when I got there."

"You should have called her back."

"She doesn't come when she's called. She just appears when she thinks someone needs help."

"You're making that up," Evan accused.

"No, she's not," Catherine Hollister joined the conversation. "I've seen Elizabeth more times than I can count."

"I've seen her, too," CeCe added. "One time when Liza was little, I took her swimming in Golden Lake. On the way home, a mountain lion started following us. We were so scared, I just didn't know what to do. Then, the next thing we knew, Elizabeth was there. We followed her down to the stream and crossed it where she did, but the mountain lion didn't follow us."

"Wow. A real ghost in the hills." Eric nodded to his brother. "Cool."

"So even if a bear did try to follow us, Elizabeth would know that we were in danger and come and save us." Evan turned to Quinn. "So what's the problem?"

"The problem is that you can't rely on a spirit showing up," Quinn told them.

"And here's another thing you need to know about." Trevor joined them. "The rattlesnakes are really bad this year. I've seen dozens of them. I can't recall ever seeing so many. Last week I'll bet there were a dozen or so sunning themselves on that outcrop of rock up there beyond Jed's cabin."

"That makes me about as nervous as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs." Eric nodded solemnly.

"Now where did you hear that expression?" Sky laughed.

"From Charlie," Eric admitted.

"It figures. Charlie's from Texas. And that sounds like Texas to me." Trevor got up and lifted one small boy under each arm. "Come on, fellows, I'll carry you in for your momma."

"We don't want to... " The boys' wails trailed behind them all the way through the house.

"So much for the tranquillity of the hills." Quinn laughed as she followed them inside.

"Oh, I almost forgot." CeCe glanced at her watch. "I was supposed to call my cousin Alexa at eight. I need to let her know what time to be at the dressmaker's on Saturday for the fitting of her bridesmaid dress."

CeCe excused herself.

"I swear there should be a ban on more than one family wedding in any given year." Catherine shook her head. "First my nephew, Christian - he was married last month - then my niece Selena announced that she was getting married at the end of July. And then CeCe and Dalton in September... my nerves can't take it all."

Catherine paused for a moment, then sighed, "I forgot to tell CeCe that the caterer called this morning. Excuse me," she said somewhat absently and she, too, went into the house and closed the door.

"Tired?" Sky leaned over and stroked the back of Val's hand.

"A little." She nodded.

"Come on, then." He helped her to her feet. "I'll take you back to the cabin."

Sky's battered old pickup was parked out near the barn. Cautioning her to watch her step, Sky took Val's hand and led her across the uneven ground behind the house, where years of ranch equipment and trucks of various weights had rutted the earth. He opened her door and gave her a gentle assist up into the cab, then climbed into the driver's side without comment. The radio came on with the ignition, spewing static. He turned it off with one hand while he backed the truck from its parking place.

The moon was high, and generously shed its soft glow across the hills. A golden stream of pale light led from the Hollisters' barn to the old dirt road that led to the McAllister cabin. Sky drove slowly, making small talk, until they reached the cabin.

"You can just let me off here," Val told him as he parked along the side of the dirt road.

"I'll walk you up," he said, turning off the ignition and hopping out before she could protest.

He was there to offer his hand even as she opened the door. She took it and hopped down, landing in the circle of his arms, where she stayed for a very long minute. Then, as if following a script she'd known by heart all her life, she raised her face to his, inviting his kiss.

Sky leaned down and met her mouth with his own, softly, so softly, as if fearful of causing her yet more pain. Holding onto his collar, Val pulled him closer still, and this time he responded to her demand with a kiss that all but took her breath away.

Later, after she'd gotten into bed and pulled the thin cotton blanket around her, she closed her eyes and tried to recall what it had felt like to have him kiss her like he really meant it. She marveled at how just the mere pressure of his lips on hers had caused such heat to spread down to the soles of her feet. She had fallen asleep thinking about how good it had felt, how it was about time that they finally began to explore exactly what had been hanging between them for the past few years, and how maybe just this once, reality had a good chance of proving to be better than fantasy.

8

Sky slowly maneuvered the pickup up the hill, humming along with the tape that played almost inaudibly. Basically a shy man, he was comfortable with silence surrounding him. But he knew that everyone did not share his ease, and wondered if Val had been hoping for a livelier conversation the night before. The last time he and Val had spent any amount of time together alone, there had seemed to be so much more to say. But that was almost two years ago, before her face had appeared on so many of those magazine covers. How much might she have changed since then? He hadn't spent enough time alone with her these past days to call it.

But last night, just about the time he'd started wondering about it, she'd rolled down her window and reached her right arm into the night, raising her open hand as if to catch the moonlight, much as a child might do, and said, "Remember the time Liza and I went camping up near the lake and you and Cale and your buddies dressed up in sheets and came up to scare us?"

And in her laughter, he'd heard the same girl he'd known most of his life, that same girl who'd caught his eye the year she'd turned eighteen. And he remembered that same girl who had, the following year, come home for that first visit since she'd moved to New York. Beneath her big city polish and new, designer clothes, he'd sensed both restlessness and vulnerability, and in her smile, he'd found none of the confidence one would have expected from a young woman who was clearly going places. She'd seemed less excited about her new life than resigned to it, almost reluctant to discuss it, appearing more interested in Liza's experiences as a college freshman than in her own as an up-and-coming cover girl who'd already been photographed in some of the world's most exotic locales. She'd seemed vaguely disconnected from her success, as if baffled by it. The thin layer of fear hidden beneath her insecurity had touched him then, and it touched him now.

Sky'd known about the poverty that the McAllisters' had endured as children. Hadn't Cale once confessed, in the mist of his best year as a professional baseball player, that despite his success, he was never without the fear it could all be taken from him in a heartbeat? In Val, Sky recognized that same hesitancy, that reluctance to believe that all might, in the end, be well. In the tentative eighteen-year-old just trying her hand at a very sophisticated game, it had not been unexpected. In the woman, a ten-year veteran of that game, it came as a surprise.

And yet, for as long as Sky had known Val, he'd never known her to be consciously aware of her beauty, perhaps because it had taken so many years to assert itself.

His earliest memories of her were as a very spindly eight- or nine-year-old who, in worn shorts and bare feet, had sat on the top bleacher at the ball field, watching as her big brother played little league baseball. Her presence there had been a constant, he couldn't recall that she'd ever missed a game. And afterward, Cale would walk her home in the dark to their tiny house across town before returning to the ball field to celebrate a win or commiserate a loss with his teammates. But always, Cale's skinny little sister came first.

Sky could recall in perfect detail the exact minute when he'd noticed that Val wasn't a skinny little kid anymore.

It had been the summer before her senior year in high school. Sky had been a junior in college and reluctant to come home anymore than he'd had to, college life offering so much more than what was to be found at the High Meadow. He'd been hoping to get a job on the rodeo circuit like several of his friends were planning on doing, but there was no end to the work that had to be done on the ranch, and his father had other plans for him. Up until that summer, Sky had never thought of Valerie as much more than his friend's little sister or his own little sister's best friend. He'd had no way of knowing that while he was off at college, she'd been busy growing up.

And grow up, she had, and done a damned fine job of it, too.

There'd been a party for Liza's eighteenth birthday, a sleep-over with all her friends from town. The plan had been for the girls to picnic and swim in the afternoon, and return to the High Meadow for a barbecue. The girls were due back at the ranch by five, but when, at six-thirty, they still had not arrived, Mrs. Hollister had sent Sky up to bring them back. When he arrived at the lake, the girls were all still swimming, and he'd stood on a rock and with two fingers to his lips, whistled to his sister to get her attention, then signaled that their mother wanted her and her friends to start on home. Liza had waved to let Sky know she'd gotten the message and would comply. He'd turned to walk back to his truck just as the girl closest to shore had stepped out of the water and onto the grassy slope. She'd reminded him of that painting, the one where the woman was walking out of the sea, and he'd stood staring, mesmerized by her beauty and her natural grace, his mouth growing dry.

His face flushed crimson when she'd waved and smiled, and he'd realized that the rush of lust had been inspired by Valerie McAllister. He hadn't had one thought of her since then that had not been accompanied by that same stab of heat. There was something about her, her physical beauty aside, that had captivated him then and there and had never really let go. Oh, there'd been plenty of women in his life, all right. Especially those years he'd spent roping cattle and playing at being a rodeo hero back before he'd had to take his part running the ranch. The young ladies sure did go for that cowboy mystique.

But ever since Val had come back to renovate old Jedidiah's cabin, he'd found less and less of what interested him in the bars down in town or up in Lewiston. She'd come again for Cale and Quinn's wedding, and the time they spent together that week had seemed like a promise given, though no such words had been exchanged. There had just been an air of certainty about them when they were together, and he'd known then that when she was finished doing what she'd been doing, she'd be coming back home. And he'd be waiting for her.

He'd just never figured that she'd be coming back like this, wounded and afraid, the victim of some random act of violence, the kind that had never seemed to hit so close to home, until now. He'd been sickened at the news that she'd been attacked, sickened at the thought of anyone harming her in any way. It had been all he could do when he'd gotten back from two weeks on the Dunham farm not to take off for California as soon as he'd heard, find the person who had hurt her, and beat the living stuffing out of him. But of course, by the time Sky'd heard, Val was but two days away from being flown back with Quinn, and Cale had asked him to wait.

And so he waited at the High Meadow for his sister to bring Val home. Quinn had warned them all that Valerie was most self-conscious of the cut on her face, but even that had not prepared him for the viciousness of the wound. For her own sake, Sky had decided that the direct approach would serve best, and so he'd forced her to let him look at the cut, made her see that he did not flinch nor was he repulsed by the way she looked, as her eyes had told him so plainly that she feared he might be.

How anyone could have done that to her was beyond Sky's comprehension.

But what had all but broken his heart was her fragility. One look at her face and Sky knew that Valerie would not be leaving the hills to return to her old life even once the healing process was complete. She'd come back there to lick her wounds, literally and figuratively, because it was home. It was where she belonged.

But beyond all that, Sky knew - had known for years - that she belonged with him. He hated that her retirement had been forced upon her, that the choice had been taken from her but that was the hand she'd been dealt. It would be up to her now, how she'd play it out.

Sky parked the truck along a row of aspen trees and rolled up the window despite the heat. The bugs had been fierce this summer, and he hated the thought of getting back into the car later this afternoon and finding the cabin filled with all manner of flying devils. He took the picnic basket by the handle and swung it out, slammed the door behind him as he made his way to the front of the cabin.

"Val," Sky called through the open screened door.

"Come on in," Val answered from the kitchen. "I was just starting to make some iced tea to take along with us."

Sky held up a Thermos jug and grinned. "My mother made some this morning."

"And lunch, too, dare I ask?" Val pointed to the picnic basket.

"She referred to it as a snack," he told her.

"Let me guess," Val said. "A little fried chicken. A little salad. A couple of biscuits she made this morning. A few cookies..."

"I see you've done the Catherine Hollister picnic tour of Golden Lake before." Sky nodded.

"Oh, but not for years." Val grinned. "I'm delighted to see that the menu hasn't changed."

"I hope you have your bathing suit on under those shorts," Sky said. "It's going to be hot this afternoon, and that cool mountain water is going to feel really good after a long hike."

"I'm prepared," she assured him. "And frankly, that long hike will feel really good to someone who's been inactive for the past few weeks. I'm looking forward to the walk and the swim."

They left by the front door, Val taking care to make certain that the screened door was shut tightly, though not locked. It was only ten in the morning, but the sun had already begun to bake the hills. Val began to regret her earlier decision, obviously not a good one, to leave her straw hat with its wide, sheltering brim back at the cabin. She'd stood before the mirror, tying it this way and that, trying to cover the red streak that twisted down the side of her face. She had given up with a sigh, and tossed the hat across the room. There was no point in trying to pretend that her face was intact. It wasn't. And there was no sense in pretending that it didn't matter, because it did. There was nothing she could do about it, so she tied her hair back in a ponytail and searched for her sunglasses, reminding herself that she'd spent months pining for the sights and sounds of the hills. As long as she was here, she'd indulge in them. If she could share them with Sky, so much the better.

Sky linked his fingers through hers and set off up the well-worn trail toward the lake.

"I remember one time when Liza and I were little, Trevor told us that if we startled a bear up here, it would turn around and eat us both," Val said, "so we always sang at the top of our lungs all the way from the top of your driveway until we got to the lake."

"Ever see a bear?"

"Nope." She shook her head. "We never did, so I guess all of that off-key singing must have worked."

They paused where the trail crested, giving them a view out over a shallow valley.

"My granddad told us that the Crow Indians used to camp down there," Sky told her. "We used to find arrowheads and all sorts of things after a big rain."

"Cale told me that Old Jed had a Crow wife," Val said softly, "Maybe he met her right down there in that valley."

"I remember Cale mentioning that, that he had an ancestor who'd married a Crow woman and who'd gone into the hills by himself after she and their baby son had been massacred by some white soldiers."

"I don't remember that part." She frowned. "About them dying. I wonder where Cale heard that."

"I think he looked it up in the library for a paper he did in high school. We had to write about our family's ties to the area, if we had one."

"I wonder if he made that up," she murmured. "It's too sad if it's true."

Sky shrugged. "You'll have to ask your brother. Though I do seem to recall he did have an A on that paper."

"What did you write about?" she asked.

"About the Dunhams searching for gold in the streams on the other side of the hill. About how they found the silver mines instead. And about how the silver paid for the spread that my great-grandparents had down on the other side of town."

"The farm that you and Trevor are working this summer."

He nodded.

"It's been in our family for over one hundred years. After my grandfather died, my grandmother started to worry about what would become of the farm, what would happen to their animals. So Trevor and I, and two of our cousins, agreed to share the work to keep things going for a while. At least until a decision could be made about what to do with it."

"It's wonderful that you have such a close family," Val said. "That the four of you would get together and rearrange your lives for your grandmother's sake."

"We couldn't have her being worried at her age." He shrugged as if there was no personal sacrifice involved for any of them, though Val suspected there must be. "And besides, we all love that farm. You know, we all spent so much time there, growing up. I'm starting to realize that I love farming as much as I love ranching. Maybe more. And besides, having the farm on which to grow grain is great for the ranch."

He held her forearm to steady her as they began their descent from the top of the rise to the lake shore.

"One of the reasons why ranching has become so expensive, is that it costs so much to bring in feed. Dairy herds, for example, are just about non-existent out here these days - it's cheaper to ship milk in than it is to feed the cattle. Years ago, when we were little, my dad tried his hand with a small herd, but it was labor-intensive and not profitable. He ended up keeping a few milk cows for our own use, but after experimenting with several types of livestock, decided that the wool-producing sheep were his best bet." He grinned as he helped her down the uneven staircase of rock. "Meat producing animals were out, since my mother couldn't face raising animals to be sent away to slaughter."

"Then I guess raising sheep for their wool was a good move."

"We've done well with it." He nodded. "My dad supplies exclusively to Pandora Mills. The arrangement simplifies things, takes a lot of pressure off him, because he knows he has a steady market. And last year, we decided we'd try our hand at breeding horses."

"I didn't notice that there were more horses at the ranch," she said as they sat on an outcrop of rock that overlooked the crystal clear below.

"They're mostly at the farm. We're breeding thoroughbreds and quarter horses." Sky grinned and added, "Not necessarily to each other."

"You're breeding to sell?"

"Yes. The quarter horses go mostly for rodeo stock, and the thoroughbreds, well, we're hoping to get a few that are fast enough to race on the tracks back east."

"Why back east?" she asked.

"Because that's where you'll find most of the best tracks and the biggest purses." Sky scanned the line of trees across the lake and pointed to the left. "Look there, there's an eagle at the top of that last pine."

Valerie raised a hand to shield her eyes from the sun and following Sky's sight line, located the large bird where it sat preening.

"I can't remember the last time I saw such a sight," she told him.

"Then you've clearly stayed away too long."

"Not much argument there." Val nodded.

He touched her arm and drew her attention to the eagle who had left its perch. They sat in silence, watching the majestic bird take flight to soar across the lake, over the heads of the two who sat watching below.

"Why did you?" Sky asked when the eagle had disappeared.

"Why did I what?"

"Stay away so long."

"I hadn't intended to." She frowned. "It just seemed that things began to move so fast. 'Val, they want you in Milan.' 'Val, you need to be in Rio next week.' 'Val, you'll be three weeks in Australia.' "

"Tough being so popular."

There was a feint undertone of sarcasm that Valerie did not miss.

"It's my living, Sky," she said gently. "It's how I support myself."

"And then some, I'd imagine," he. noted.

"Yes, and then some. Some for those rainy days. Some for when the time comes that I no longer have work." A worried look crossed her face. "Like now."

"Has someone told you that you won't work again?"

"No, but... well, let's be honest here." She tried to laugh but it sounded hollow, brittle. "There are few calls for a model with a zipper running down the side of her face."

"It's really not as bad as you think it is," Sky assured her, "and besides, didn't the doctors tell you that you need to give it time to heal?"

"Yes. It will heal. But it won't disappear." Val stared at her hands for what seemed to be a long time. Then, she sighed and looked up at Sky and said, "I'm lucky that I was able to make enough money over the past ten years that I could afford to invest some of it. I guess one of these days soon I'll need to call my business manager and see where all that stands. I didn't expect to need to be drawing from it now, but I'm glad I have it. And I have the cabin, so I'll always have a place to live. My expenses are very low here."

"You don't think you'll be going back to California?" he asked, trying hard not to sound as eager as he was to believe that, this time, she'd be staying for a while.

"I'll go back to pack up my apartment, but I don't want to live there anymore. Without work, there's nothing to keep me there."

He could have told her that her assumption that she'd not have work was probably premature, but he let it pass.

"What's going on with the investigation?" Sky asked. "Have you heard anything at all from the police department? Any suspects?"

"I called the detective who is handling the case, Detective Rafferty, but he wasn't in, so I left a message for him to call me on my portable phone. The last I heard, he was still looking at Bruce, my next-door neighbor, as his prime suspect, which is ludicrous."

"Why?"

"Because he just wouldn't do something like that. He just doesn't have it in him to be that violent. Besides, the guy who attacked me was tall and strong. Bruce is tall, but he isn't that strong."

"How do you know?"

"What do you mean, how do I know?" She frowned, annoyed with the question.

"Sometimes, under certain circumstances, people exhibit a strength that they might not normally have."

"You mean, like in attacking someone, your adrenaline might start flowing in the heat of the moment?"

"Something like that."

Val shook her head. "You just don't know Bruce."

"You haven't known him all that long yourself," Sky reminded her. "You've only been out there, what, six months?"

"It doesn't matter," Val insisted. "Bruce is not a physical person. I'm hoping that the police have come to the same conclusion and that they're looking for the person who really did attack me. And I'm hoping that someone will call me back soon - the detective, Bruce. Hell, even my agent - I've left messages for all of them and haven't heard from a soul yet."

"I'm sure you'll hear from someone sooner or later."

"I hope so." Val sighed. "I'd feel a lot better knowing that they've found the person and locked him up."

"You don't feel threatened here, do you?"

"Oh, no, not here." She smiled up at him, and another bit of his heart was hers. "This is the only place where I do feel completely safe."

"Good. We want you to feel safe here. You are safe here." Sky ran his hand through the long tangle of her dark hair. "And we want you to stay."

"Are you part of that 'we', Schuyler Hollister?"

"A big part of that 'we.' " Sky leaned down and, cupping her pretty face in one hand, kissed her pretty mouth, which was so soft and perfect that he kissed her again.

He was just getting into serious kissing when she jumped.

"What?" he asked. "Did I hurt your face?"

"No, no," she said.

"Then what?"

"I just for a minute ... just... well." She appeared somewhat flustered. "Just for a minute, I felt like someone was watching us."

Sky turned and looked up the hill behind them.

"Val, who do you think could be out here? There's no one around for miles, literally," he reminded her. "My brother left for the farm last night, and my sisters left early this morning to go shopping in Lewistown with my mother. There isn't anyone else up here."

"I guess I just got jumpy," she told him. "Talking about the man who attacked me, knowing that he's still out there ..."

"Still out there in California, Val. Not here."

"I know, I know." She nodded. "I just got spooked."

"Let's take a swim," Sky suggested, "and then we'll walk up to Elizabeth's cabin and have our picnic up there."

"That sounds like a plan." Val nodded.

She stood and stripped off the T-shirt that covered the top of her bathing suit, then stepped out of her shorts and toed off her sneakers.

"I can still beat you to the raft," She pointed out toward the middle of the lake where a wooden deck, tied to a post, floated.

"You could never out-swim me," Sky scoffed.

"Try and catch me." Val laughed as she slid carefully down the smooth side of the rock to the grass below, and strode, on long legs, to the water. She walked in till the lake was almost to her hips, then dove forward, and with strong strokes, headed for the raft.

It felt so good to have the water gliding off her skin, to feel the sun on her back, to stretch her arms and legs and test their strength. While in the autumn, Golden Lake was in fact golden from the larch trees that framed the southern end of the lake, in mid-summer, the lake was purest blue. She raced through it and felt her muscles begin to burn just slightly, and slowed her pace. Still, she reached the raft before Sky did, and pulled herself up onto its edge. And there she sat, watching him swim toward her in long even strokes.

When Sky reached the raft, he pulled on her feet to bring her back into the water. Encircling her waist with his hands, he drew her close, and kissed her, causing that old tingle to start back down her spine again. What could she do but kiss him back?

The sweetness of him flowed through her, and she moved herself back through the water, just slightly, to lean her back against the rough hardness of the raft. Twining her arms around his neck, she pressed against him, wanting to feel his skin against her own. Sky's hands slid down her back to rest on her hips, and she felt, more than heard, the soft intake of his breath as her body melted into his own.

This is just about where we left off last time, she reminded herself of the week before Cale and Quinn's wedding. Just about this close. Just about this intense.

The same sensations she'd felt then flooded through her now, as Sky's tongue traced the inside of her bottom lip and splinters of want sped through her, head to toes.

"Here we are again," he whispered.

"I was just thinking that same thing."

"So where do we go from here, Val?" he asked, his brown eyes warming now with the reflection of the sun off the lake.

"I guess we just see where it all leads," she said carefully.

"Not good enough." Sky shook his head. "We tried that once, and it led nowhere. I'm not willing to let you drift away again."

"What do you want me to say, Sky?"

"I guess I want you to acknowledge that what's between us is not something casual. That it's too important to leave to chance. That it's worth taking time with."

Val looked up into eyes that had gone dark and smoky.

"It's worth taking time with." She nodded. "It's well worth whatever time it will take."

And time, she reminded herself as his lips found hers again, was one thing she had plenty of right then.

9

His first thought as he followed Route 191 South outside of Lewistown in his rented SUV was, when they called Montana Big Sky country, they meant BIG sky. It was almost intimidating, seeing how wide and how high overhead it stretched. Why, there was prairie ahead for miles, as far as the eye could see, and out here, with endlessly open countryside, that was pretty damned far.

Then there were those mountains in the background, surrounding all like a moat made by a giant's hands. Rocky outcrops - buttes, he figured, recalling all those cowboy movies he'd watched over the years - rose solidly here and there, seemingly out of nowhere. It was, in fact, a breathtaking land, with breathtaking views on every side. He'd just never imagined it to be so, well, so damned big.

He'd bought a map just that morning at the airport, and though he'd pretty much memorized the names of the roads and the appropriate turns he would have to make, he found himself pulling over to the side of the road to double-check. This wasn't an area where one would want to take a wrong turn. Lost out here would mean lost for real, and who knew for how long?

Leaning over the console, he grabbed a bottle of water from the cooler that sat where a passenger's feet might. Twisting off the cap, he downed a few long swallows while he consulted the map. All appeared well so far. He was right where he wanted to be, and making good time, too. He'd make it to Larkspur by mid-morning and he'd check into that little motel that the guidebook told him was right outside of town. Then maybe he'd have some time to scope out the lay of the land, get his bearings so that tomorrow he'd not be worrying about finding his destination.

He had big plans for tomorrow.

Dropping the bottle into the cup holder, and putting the car into drive, he eased back onto the two-lane road. Up ahead on the left, wire fencing enclosed a herd of buffalo, and he stopped in the middle of the roadway to gape at the lumbering beasts. Ugly things, he shook his head in disgust, with all that dirty fur and those humped backs, but they sure do make you feel like you're back in the Wild West. There was something very cool about driving through the prairie and coming across a herd of buffalo, watching them roam. Just like that old song said. Unconsciously he began to whistle that old song, wishing for just a moment that he was astride a horse instead of behind the wheel of a rented Jeep.

The moment of nostalgia passed, and he gunned the engine, drawing dull gazes from several of the animals closest to the fence.

The town of Larkspur was there before him without warning, and he braked quickly to avoid exceeding the posted twenty-five mile speed limit. Pretty town, he observed as he drove past the tidy business district. Not much activity, with its few shops and fewer restaurants, but a nice enough place.

A sign with an arrow pointing down a side street indicated that the regional high school was off to the left. On a whim, he turned and drove the four short blocks to the school, which sat back off the road at the apex of a long and wide circular drive. He followed it halfway up, then stopped under some aspens and, motor still running, sat for a few long moments, just staring at the building.

She had gone to school here. She'd walked up those steps, maybe sat under these very trees. Had she played sports, he wondered as his gaze drifted toward the athletic fields across the road. There was so much he still needed to learn about her, but, of course, they would have plenty of time to get to know each other. They'd have eternity.

After all, marriage was forever.

He started the car and drove back toward town. Anxious now to see her, he'd check into his room, grab a bite to eat, then head on up to the hills to see what he could see.

1O

Valerie stood in the doorway and watched the lights from Sky's pickup fade as he drove down the hill through the pitch dark of midnight. With no light but the stars overhead, she leaned back against the door and sighed. In spite of all that had happened to her, the break-in, the assault, the surgery, the uncertain status of her career - in spite of it all, she felt more light-hearted than she had in ... well, she was hard-pressed to remember when she had ever felt that good. She felt younger, more contented, than she had in years.

She and Sky, after all these years, had finally landed on the same bit of ground at the same time, wanting the same thing. It was nothing short of miraculous. She raised the fingers of one hand to the side of her face, and touched the ragged scar. Blessing or curse, she wondered.

Grinning because she just felt so damned good, she took a deep breath of mountain air and closed the door behind her. After an afternoon of lazing in the sun, they'd joined the Hollisters for dinner on the wide deck, where tables had been set up to seat one and all – fourteen of them that night. The food had been wonderful, and the affection so freely offered had wrapped around her like a hug. But it was the light in Sky's eyes that had let her know for certain that she was exactly where she was supposed to be.

Funny, she thought as she turned out the porch light and slid over the latch on the front door, how she'd been all around the world but had never found what had been waiting for her right here. Dorothy had said it best, Val mused as she turned to snap off the lamp on the table behind the sofa. There is no place like home.

A spot of something white across the room caught her eye, and curious, she went to the small dining table to see what it was. She'd reached her hand out to pick it up when she realized just what it was that rested there in the middle of the table. A chill ran up her spine as she stepped back as if to distance herself from the small porcelain Limoges wedding cake. The same small porcelain wedding cake that had been stolen from her apartment.

Beneath her feet, something crunched. She did not need to look to know it was rice.

Val ran for the door and unlatched it, leaning over the porch railing and watching as the lights from Sky's truck disappeared around that last bend. Her heart pounding, she ran back into the cabin and relocked the door.

He knew where she was and he had found her.

He had been here, in her cabin.

He had invaded her sanctuary. Taunted her with the undeniable truth that she wasn't really safe anywhere.

Not even here.

She pulled down the window shades with shaking hands as if to block out the dark and whatever might lay hidden by it. Then, forcing herself to gather her wits, she realized that help was only a phone call away.

"Sky," she whispered aloud. "I'll call the ranch and he'll answer the phone. He should be just getting in ..."

Val hurried into the kitchen for the phone that she'd earlier left on the counter near the small vase of wild-flowers she'd picked on her way back from the picnic at the lake. The blue glass vase sat alone on the counter.

With frantic eyes, she scanned the kitchen, but the phone was nowhere to be seen.

The bedroom, then. I must have taken it in there while I was getting dressed for dinner....

But it was not on the bed, nor the dresser, nor the little nightstand. Not in the bathroom, nor the living room. The phone was nowhere to be found. It took a few long moments for her to realize that he'd probably taken it with him.

If in fact he had left at all.

For the first time, it occurred to her that he could still be inside.

Barely breathing, Val's eyes scanned every corner of the front room. Grabbing the black wrought iron poker from the fireplace, she pulled open the closet door.

No one.

On the quietest of feet, she tiptoed back down the hall, sweat beading on her lip as she eased into the bathroom and pushed aside the shower curtain.

No one.

Taking a deep breath, she went back into the bedroom and checked that closet, under the bed, then repeated the drill in the second bedroom.

No one.

Grateful to find that he was no longer in the cabin, Val stood in the hall, debating her next move. She was isolated, with no phone and no means of getting down to the High Meadow, except to walk. And only a fool would go out into the black of night and stumble down the hill not knowing who is out there, maybe waiting for her to do exactly that.

The nagging knowledge that he'd been here, that he'd gotten so close, terrified her, and she crept back into the bedroom and closed the shades there was well. Then, wrapping a blanket around her shivering body, she curled up against the headboard, and waited in the dark for morning.

An insistent blue jay jawed outside Val's window and the sound of its chatter broke through the sleep that had been so long in coming. Her eyes flew open and darted furtively about the room. Convinced that she was in fact alone, she cautiously left the bed and crept into the front rooms. All was as she'd left it the night before, and for a long moment, she wondered if perhaps she had dreamed that she'd found the little wedding cake on her dining table. But no, there it was, right where she'd dropped it the night before. She stared at it across the room, but couldn't bring herself to touch it. She left it there, on the floor, and went back into the bedroom to find her shoes. She'd trek on down to the High Meadow. It was early, but someone would be awake. Grabbing her sunglasses from the edge of the dresser, she left the bedroom at the back of the cabin and walked straight to the front door. When she opened it, she was face to face with a visitor.

"Hello, Valerie," he said softly.

"Detective Rafferty?" Her head tilted slightly to one side, her eyes widening somewhat in surprise.

"Daniel" he told her pointedly. "It's Daniel?'

Taken off guard by his casual manner, she took a half-step backward.

He. smiled charmingly, then lifted the two suitcases that sat at his feet. "Aren't you going to ask me in?"

Val's brows knit together in a frown.

What exactly was wrong with this picture?

"Ah ..." She hesitated long enough for him to step around her. Her gut reaction - to slip behind him and run out the door - was thwarted when, with one foot, he slammed the door.

The sound jarred her senses like a shot.

"You act as if you're surprised to see me." Rafferty dropped one suitcase on the floor and opened the second, a garment bag, and draped it across the sofa. From where she stood, Val could see that something long and white rested inside.

"Well, yes. Yes, I am." She nodded, the confusion that was building inside her now touched with the first trace of fear.

"Detective..." she began.

"Daniel," he corrected her.

"Daniel. What are you doing here?"

"Why, I've come to claim my bride," he told her calmly.

"Your bride?" Val repeated flatly.

"Oh, come on, now, Val," he said indulgently. "You don't have to pretend that you don't know."

"Don't know?" Her voice caught in her throat. Dare she ask?

"That we were meant for each other, of course. Meant to be together. I knew it the first time I saw you jogging in the park."

"You watched me jog?"

"Every day. At least, every day that you weren't off someplace working. You've been working way too much, Valerie." He shook his head. "But after today, all that will change."

"It will?" She took another small step backward.

"After today, we'll always be together." He flashed a brilliant smile, "Always and forever. For better or for worse. Through all eternity."

Val stared blankly at the stranger before her.

"Oh, I have something for you. Something special for you."

The detective turned his back and Val stood there, dumbly, watching him, trying to make sense out of his presence and everything he'd just said.

"The florist assured me that you'd love these. Well, I told him that you'd rather have fresh flowers, but there was a logistics problem there."

He flipped the suitcase onto a chair with the same ease with which he'd toss a magazine. He opened it and drew out a box which he handed to her.

"Go ahead, open it." He smiled benignly, and added, "Sweetheart."

Cringing at the endearment and struggling to control the shaking of her hands, she took the box and placed it on the table, walking around to the far side to put some distance between them.

"Open it," he said again, the smile intact, but the voice hinting at firm command.

Val unwrapped the box, and parted the tissue. Beneath the several layers of thin paper lay a silk bouquet of white flowers.

"Oh," she exclaimed.

"Do you like them?" His eyes narrowed as he watched her face.

"Oh. Yes. They're . . . they're beautiful," she stammered.

"Good. I wanted you to like them." He nodded. "The florist said that lots of brides were using the silks instead of the fresh flowers, so I thought it would be okay. And besides, he said you'd like it that the flowers would last forever. You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

A weight seemed to land in Valerie's chest. Was he kidding? He had to be kidding.

But one look at his face ... the calm and happy smile, the eyes slightly glazed over ... told Val that her worst fears were right on the money.

"It's a beautiful day for a wedding, don't you think?" He turned to point to the window, then realized that the shades were all drawn. He walked to the nearest window and pulled up the shade to let the early morning sun drift in.

"See?" he said, then added merrily, "Happy the bride the sun shines on today."

Valerie stared at him, her heart beginning to pound wildly.

"Now, make your sweetie a cup of coffee, then go put on your dress." He stood before her, his hands on his hips, a man who obviously was accustomed to having his orders obeyed. The small handgun strapped to his side and visible when his jacket flapped aside probably went a long way to assure that. She knew it was having an effect on her.

Val nodded and went into the kitchen.

"I'll be right back," she told him.

"I'm coming with you." He followed her into the small kitchen, stopping at the back door and checking to make sure it was locked.

"Don't want you having any last minute jitters." He smiled. "Everyone says brides are skittish on their wedding day."

Val poured water into the top of the coffeemaker, wishing he'd stop saying that. Her wedding day? Over her dead body.

She winced inwardly, realizing that that could be a possibility. The man was obviously mad, delusional. Enough to believe she wanted to marry him. That she would marry him. What would he do if she told him, flat out, that she had no intentions of playing into his fantasy? Might he not kill her, right then and there?

The coffee began to drop into the glass pot as she turned to get a mug from the cupboard.

"You were the person who attacked me," she said as casually as she could force the words out.

"I know, sweetheart. And I'm sorry that that was necessary." He shook his head slowly. "And truthfully, this isn't the way I intended things to happen."

"What did you think was going to happen?" She tried to sound calm, rational. Talk to him. Find out what he's thinking.

"Well, I thought that we'd work together to find your stalker, and over time, I knew you'd come to see that we were meant for each other. That you'd fall in love with me just as I'd fallen in love with you. I didn't expect you to leave California, Valerie. You weren't supposed to leave."

"Why did you cut my face?"

"Well, sweetheart, I just couldn't have you traveling all over the place without me, having all those other men staring at you, could I? I just had to put an end to that. You were meant to belong to me. Only to me. And now you will. After today, we'll always be together. That's what God intended." He frowned. "I think you'll see that this is really the best for both of us."

The coffee had completed its short run into the pot, and she poured it into the mug.

"You know how I take my coffee?" he asked.

"Black?" She tossed off the response without thinking.

"Right." He beamed. "See how you just knew?"

Valerie cleared her throat, wondering how she could distract him so that she could ... could what? Hit him over the head with something? Not a smart move when he is armed and I am not, she reminded herself.

"Great coffee," he told her. "Aren't you going to join me?"

"Sure." She poured herself a cup then snapped off the dial on the coffeemaker.

What does one do when trapped in a remote cabin with a mad man who believes you are destined to be his own true love? Do you fight? Flee?

What if he shows no sign of letting you out of his sight, is much bigger and stronger than you are, and has a gun? Then what do you do? Do you play along with him, hoping for a chance to escape, to outsmart him?

"I know you're dying to see your wedding gown." He smiled.

Her wedding gown?

Val stared at him blankly.

"Now, you didn't think I'd come all this way to marry you and not bring you something special to wear, did you?" He gestured to the door. "Now, come on out here and bring your coffee, and I'll show you. I think you'll love it, Val. It's a designer gown. The woman in the shop said it came from New York...."

Rafferty led Val back into the front room of the cabin and pointed to the fireplace that ran along the outside wall.

"You just stand right there, and I'll show you." He turned his back and for one second Val's eyes searched desperately for something substantial enough to smack him over the head with.

There was only the lamp, and he was between her and it.

"Here we go." He bent over the open suitcase and lifted the plastic garment bag that held the white something she'd glimpsed earlier. "You have to admit, it's a beauty."

He held up the dress for her inspection.

"Yes." She nodded. "It's a beauty."

"And I'm pretty sure it will fit you," he told her. "It's a four. Your size."

How would he know that?

"And of course" he added, "you need shoes."

He handed a shoe box to her. She was startled to see the box was from her own closet, held her own shoes.

"You've thought of everything," she told him.

"I tried to, baby," he said as he dipped back into the suitcase. "Here's your veil. The woman in the shop said this style was suited for long hair worn down. I want you to wear your hair down."

He held up a gossamer veil that was attached to a headdress covered with white silk flowers.

"She said you'd want to pull your hair back from your face," he continued as if he hadn't seen the look of growing revulsion on her face.

"When ... ah ... when is the ceremony?" she asked, wondering how much time she might have. Sky would be picking her up at eight to drive her into town to do some grocery shopping. It was just barely seven.

"As soon as you can get into that dress."

"Wh... Where are you... are we doing this?"

"Well, we could do it right here, in the cabin. But it's such a beautiful day, maybe an outside ceremony would be nicer. I'll even let you pick the place, since you know the area so well."

"Someplace outside?"

"Right. Maybe someplace where we can look out over the valley. Or maybe someplace that overlooks the lake. I walked up there yesterday, by the way. It sure was a breathtaking view.^” His face clouded over and his eyes went dark. "Who was the man, Valerie?"

"The man?"

"The one you went to the lake with yesterday." He leaned closer, his jaw tight.

So someone had been watching after all.

"Valerie." Rafferty's voice could draw blood. "I asked you, who was the man?"

"Oh. Him." She waved a hand as if to brush away a fly. "He's just my sister-in-law's brother."

"It looked like you were awfully close there for a while. Too close."

"I... I had a cramp in my leg." She forced a smile. "He helped me to work it out."

"Why were you alone with him?"

"Oh, he's like a brother to me," she said as if to dismiss Sky's importance. "He's Cale's best friend. I've known him all my life."

"You won't see him after today." His voice dropped a few octaves and he reached out a hand to touch her hair. It took all of Valerie's willpower to not slap his hand away and run for the door.

Think, her frightened brain demanded. Think...

"Who is going to marry us?" Get him talking about his plans, make him relax.

"Why, we're going to marry us. We don't need someone to bless our marriage, Valerie," he told her solemnly; "A love like ours is a blessing unto itself. We'll exchange our own vows." He patted his pocket. "And I have our rings right here."

"I see."

"I knew that you would." Rafferty held up another plastic bag.

"My tuxedo," he announced proudly.

"It would appear that you really have thought of everything."

"Absolutely." Daniel Rafferty reached back into the suitcase and took out a bottle of wine. "To toast each other with after we became man and wife."

"I don't have champagne glasses here," she told him, fighting an urge to retch.

"Anything you have is fine," he assured her. "Sweetheart."

Val gritted her teeth and nodded.

"Well, I think we'd better get started, don't you?" he picked up the garment bag containing the long white dress and handed it to her. "Will you need help getting into this?"

"No, no," she assured him. "I'll be fine."

If she appeared to be a willing participant, would he be more likely to let his guard down?

"Well, you just call me if you do." He gestured for her to go down the hallway to her bedroom as if he were at home there.

The dress bag containing the gown draped over her arm like a lead weight. She was halfway down the hall when he called her name. She turned back at the sound of his voice.

"You forgot your shoes." He walked toward her and placed the box into her hands.

"Thank you," she whispered.

His fingers touched her face and she fought with every ounce of her will to not flinch.

She backed down the hall to her bedroom door. When she finally was able to close the door behind her, she slumped back against it, trying frantically to figure out a way to escape.

"Valerie," he said from the other side of the door, and she nearly jumped out of her skin at the sound of his voice.

She dropped the dress on the floor and ran to the closest window and sought to open it.

"Don't do that." The cool voice spoke from the door she'd not heard open. "Don't... do ... that."

"I... I need some air." She swallowed hard. "Daniel."

He stared at her, his eyes cold and flat. "You were going to run away."

"No, no ... I..." She backed toward the wall as he stepped into the room.

"Your wedding dress is on the floor, Valerie. That's no way to treat something you cherish."

"It must have slid off the bed when I turned to open the window," she said, forcing down the tremble in her own voice. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'll get dressed."

"Don't try to run away from me, Valerie," he said stonily.

"I wouldn't do that, Daniel." She met his eyes. "After all, this is our wedding day. Why would I run?"

His smile was very slow in coming. "That's my girl." He walked to her and leaned down, kissing the side of her face. She fought the grimace that threatened.

"It won't take me long," she said through clenched teeth. "I promise."

"All right, then. I'll just be right outside the door, Val." He ran his hands up and down her bare arms, raising gooseflesh every place he touched. "I'll be putting on my tux, right out there on the other side of the door." She nodded, and closed the door gratefully as soon as he passed through it, and cursed the fact that she'd never had locks installed on the inside doors.

Val pulled her T-shirt over her head and unsnapped the top of her denim shorts, then turned to the bed where the white dress lay. Unzipping the bag, she removed the gown. It was beautiful, with rows of seed pearls on lace and a gently scalloped neck. It was a dress that, under other circumstances, would have been a delight. But for Val, it had all the appeal of a shroud. She turned and twisted to zip up the back, all the while looking for something, anything, that she could use as a weapon, but there was nothing. She had nothing but her wits, and they seemed to be failing her.

Think, her voice screamed inside her head. There has to be something. Something...

"How're we doing in there?" Rafferty asked from the other side of the door.

"Fine. Almost ready." She dumped the contents of her handbag onto the bed. Was there nothing there that she could use?

Not even a nail file.

Damn.

She glanced at her watch. It was almost seven-thirty. A half-hour more and Sky would be at the cabin. But Daniel had a gun, and Val had absolutely no doubt that he wouldn't hesitate for a second to use it.

"Sweetheart, are you ready?"

"Almost," she said, the panic beginning to rise within her. She had to think of something. There had to be something...

Without warning, he opened the door.

"You're beautiful." He sighed. "Just as I knew you'd be."

"Thank you," she whispered, her heart sinking.

"Need help with pinning on your veil?"

"I'm afraid I don't have any hair pins."

"The sales lady gave you some. Didn't you look in the box?" His hands slipped into his pants pockets, and she could see that under his tuxedo jacket, the handgun was in place. The groom was apparently taking no chances.

"I... I left the veil in the front room," Val told him.

"Well, slip into those shoes and come on out, and I'll help you with it." He smiled and held out his hand. With a sinking heart she followed him down the hallway.

"Have you decided where you'd like us to exchange our vows?" he asked when he leaned over her to secure the veil in place.

"I... I haven't had much time to think about it."

"There must be a place that's special to you." He dipped his hands into his pockets, and once again she saw the flash of metal.

"Daniel, why do you have a gun with you?"

When he didn't respond, she said, "It isn't the one you had with you when you came to investigate the break-in. That one looked bigger."

"I bought this one special for the occasion," he replied.

Along with the gown and the bouquet? Valerie shivered.

"It's for us, darling." He held up the small handgun.

"For us?" And in that moment, Val realized that neither of them would be coming back down the hill after the ceremony had concluded.

"Why?" she whispered. "Why, Daniel?"

"I'm sorry, sweetheart, but it's really the only way. You understand."

"No. No, I don't understand."

"Valerie, it's the only way that I can be sure that we'll always be together. We're supposed to always be together."

"But we can be. We can be together... "

"No." He cut her off. "No. They'll always be looking at you. They'll always be wanting you."

"But, Daniel, I won't want anyone but you. I won't look at anyone else. Not ever. We can live happily together...."

"I can't take that chance, Valerie." He shook his head slowly.

She was staring at the door, wishing with all her might that it would swing open and that Sky would come in and rescue her. But the door remained closed, her jacket hanging on the back and her old boots standing on the floor right next to her camera bag.

"Daniel" she said as an idea slowly - oh so slowly - formed in her head.

It was such a long shot.

"Yes, my love?"

"What about pictures?"

"Pictures?" He frowned.

"Pictures of our wedding." She smiled up at him.

"I ... I hadn't thought of pictures." The omission clearly bothered him. He'd been so certain that he'd covered every base.

"Look, I have my equipment here. I can set up the camera on a tripod, and use a remote control to take some pictures. And when Cale sees them, he'll realize that we'll always be happy together."

"Then you do understand."

Val nodded. "It's the only way to keep our love pure. Eternally pure."

He beamed. He knew she'd come around.

"Then certainly, let's take your equipment. Do you have film?"

"I have rolls of film. Enough to fill a whole album." She pointed to the door where the bag stood.

"Great. Let's get going." He paused when he reached the door. "Have you decided on a place yet?"

"I... yes. Yes, I did," she told him.

"Is it someplace special?"

"Oh, it's very special," she assured him.

But how to let Sky know where they'd gone?

"Oh, for heaven's sake, Daniel." Val sighed as if exasperated. "I don't have a bit of makeup on."

"You don't need makeup, sweetheart. You're just naturally beautiful without it."

"Thank you. But I really would like to dash into the bathroom, just for a little lipstick. I don't want to appear pale in the pictures. I'll just be a minute."

"I'll be counting the seconds."

I'll just bet you will, Val thought as she rushed down the hallway and into the bathroom. She lifted the small basket of makeup from the window ledge and rifled through the tubes and containers for a red lipstick. Finding it, she traced the outline of her mouth, then with shaking fingers, wrote upon the mirror, and prayed that Sky would find it.

"Val?" She heard Daniel in the hallway.

"All done." She smiled as she stepped out to meet him and closed the bathroom door behind her.

Taking his arm, she led him back toward the front room. There was only one more thing she needed to do.

Stopping at the front door, she picked up her leather boots and began to slip off the dressy heels.

"What are you doing?" He frowned. "You can't mean to wear cowboy boots with your wedding dress."

"Oh, it's just until we get to where we're going." She looked up at him with what she hoped would pass for an adoring gaze. "I appreciate that you went to all the trouble to bring my sandals, but I won't be able to walk up the hill in anything so delicate. I'll bring these with me." She held up the sandals.

"Oh, all right, then." He nodded. "Ready?"

"Ready as I'll ever be." She blew out a breath that she'd held way too long and handed him the bag holding her equipment.

She grabbed her bouquet, and tucked her tripod under her arm. She wished it was heavy enough to bash him with.

Val followed Rafferty out the door, knowing that she had one chance to get it right. She could only hope that Mother Nature was feeling real cooperative that morning.

She'd never understood the concept of dying for love. Living for love, now that she understood.

She thought of Sky and his whiskey dark eyes and his easy smile and the possibility that she might never see him again.

Live for love, she told herself sternly.

Live.

11

THE MORNING WAS WELL ON ITS WAY TO BEING A HOT ONE, the sun having risen early, when Sky knocked on Valerie's cabin door. When she did not appear to let him in, he turned the knob and pushed the door aside.

"Valerie?" he called.

He stepped inside and called again. "Valerie?"

Maybe she was in the shower.

He stood in the hallway, but heard no sound of running water.

Sky poked his head into the kitchen. An empty cup stood on the counter, a trace of black coffee pooled in the bottom. Sky frowned. Val drank her coffee light, never black. Had she had a visitor already this morning?

Where could she have gone off to? And with whom?

He walked back into the front room, and noticed the suitcase standing at one end of the sofa. He opened it up, and found several items of men's clothing. Val hadn't mentioned that she'd been expecting a visitor the night before.

"Val?" Sky called again toward the back of the small house.

A chill settled in the back of his brain, and he went back down the hallway and flung open her bedroom door. A red T-shirt and a pair of shorts lay discarded on the floor. Not like her to be messy with her things, he noted.

He pushed open the bathroom door, and stared at the writing on the mirror.

Jed's rock.

Jed's rock? Sky frowned. What in the world would she being doing at Jed's rock? Hadn't Trevor told her just a few nights ago how bad rattlers were this year?

He started toward the door when his glance fell upon a white object lying on the floor. Picking it up, he turned it around and around in his hands. A wedding cake. It was hinged and opened, like a box.

Hadn't Val said that her intruder had taken nothing but a box shaped like a wedding cake?

And there, on the floor. Was that a scattering of rice?

"Shit," he said aloud. "Shit."

He bolted through the door and left it standing open, stopping at his pickup only for the hunting rifle that he left under the front seat, and headed off in the direction of Jed's rock. He hoped he wasn't too late.

"Here?" Rafferty climbed to the center of the large boulder. "Is this good?"

Valerie took a long look at the outcropping of rock that hung over the valley, all the while searching the nooks and crannies for movement. The sun was warming, but apparently not quite warm enough to coax out the reinforcements.

"Wait a minute," Val called to the eager groom. "It will take a few minutes to set up and then to get the aperture adjusted correctly for the light." She flashed a broad smile to reassure him.

"How long will this take?" he asked.

"Not long." Val set up the tripod about eight feet back from the rock.

"Why is this such a special place?" he asked.

"There's a story about how my ancestor, Jedidiah McAllister, stood on that rock and watched the Crows set up camp down in the valley below." She reached in the bag for the remote for her camera; at the same time she studied a deep pocket in the rock. "He fell in love with a Crow woman and they married and had several children, I forgot how many."

"Did they live together in the cabin?"

"No. They stayed mostly with her people. The story is that Jed went hunting buffalo with her brothers, and when he returned, he found that the camp had been attacked by soldiers and his entire family had been massacred."

"That's terrible." Rafferty frowned. "Valerie, what are you doing?"

Trying to figure out a way to wake up those rattlers without making it obvious.

"Just trying to get everything set up right." She dove back into her bag, hoping against hope that she had packed the small light she sometimes used. Her fingers closed over it happily.

Now, if the battery pack is in there, I have a chance to pull this off....

Yes!

"What's that?" Rafferty asked, clearly anxious to get on with it.

"It's a portable light," she told him with a smile. "It's battery operated so that I can use it anywhere and take the shots I want even if the light isn't just right."

Rafferty looked around at the bright sunny day.

"There's plenty of sunlight," he pointed out.

"But it's casting shadows that I don't want in our photos." She hooked the light to the battery pack and turned it on, then let it drop to the ground, its beam focused on a crevice about a yard from Rafferty's right foot. "Now I'll drop the film in and we'll be ready to take some pictures."

She took her time loading the camera, keeping one eye on the break in the rock. The shadows were beginning to move, slowly at first. Then there, right there... a scaly face appeared, drawn to the warmth of the light.

A little more ... just a little more... come on, handsome ... just another foot or so...

"I'm going to take one or two shots of you by yourself," she told him, "so stand up straight and smile...."

Val raised the camera to her face and focused on the rattler. A second head now poked out to investigate the source of heat.

She snapped off the first shot.

"I think I want you to take a step to the side."

"This way?" he asked, stepping to the left.

"No, I think just a little to the right might do it." The camera still to her face, she watched the larger of the two snakes begin to coil. The second one followed its lead.

"Val, do you hear..." Rafferty called to her.

He didn't get to finish the sentence. The first snake struck right at the ankle. The second struck at the back of his calf.

Stunned, he looked down. Then, barely flinching, he reached for his handgun and shot both snakes before turning back to the spot where Valerie had stood only seconds before.

She was gone.

"You bitch," he said softly, calmly.

He stepped off the rock and sought the path they'd taken from the cabin. His right leg was beginning to burn. In old cowboy movies, snakebites were treated by sucking the poison out. Well, he'd have to be a damned contortionist to do that, given the location of the bites. He'd tend to them when he got down the hill. For all the mystique about them, he wasn't really sure that rattlesnakes were all that poisonous. He'd never heard of anyone actually dying after being bitten.

"Valerie, stop playing games," he called out "We both know that this is inevitable, so come back here and let's do this."

The only sound was that of a bird at the top of a far-off tree.

"Come on, now, Valerie." Rafferty stood still, the gun dangling from his right hand, as he sought to get his bearings where the path branched off into a Y.

"I think the lady has had second thoughts," said a voice from close behind.

"Don't try it," the voice warned as Rafferty began to spin around.

But his training and years on the street had served the detective well. Sky never saw the elbow until it smashed into the middle of his face.

"Stupid son of a bitch," Rafferty hissed. "Who do you think you're dealing with?"

He lowered the gun to Sky's head.

"No, don't!" Valerie screamed. "Don't."

"I can't think of one good reason not to blow his brains out." Rafferty looked up to see his bride - the hem of her dress a bit tattered - standing before him.

"I'll marry you" she told him, "I promise. I'll do whatever you want."

"I know you will, Valerie."

Rafferty attempted to line up Schuyler in his sight, but his head was beginning to buzz. His leg had grown numb as the venom began to move through his bloodstream, and his arm began to feel disconnected from his body. He managed to squeeze off a shot, but it missed his target by nearly a foot.

Valerie lunged for Sky's rifle, but Rafferty blocked her way.

"You wouldn't even want to think about that," he said unsteadily.

He reached for her, his left hand closing over her throat. He attempted to hold on to her, but his grip lacked strength.

The last things that Detective Daniel Rafferty would know, the last memory that he would take with him into the next world, was the sound of the rifle's blast, and the force that threw him back onto the ground like a broken doll.

12

Thin fingers of sunlight slipped through the narrow blinds, making a hazy trail across the carpet. Valerie turned over and pulled the thin blanket up to her chin, not quite asleep, not quite awake.

From somewhere in the distance a phone rang and sleepily she reached an arm out to answer it, hands blindly searching on the nightstand. The ringing stopped and Val wondered vaguely who had picked it up. It was then that she realized that she wasn't in her own bed in her town house, and she opened her eyes. The room was familiar, but one she hadn't slept in for years. Liza's room at the High Meadow.

She sat bolt upright when she realized where she was - and why - and fought back a wave of nausea. It had been less than a day since a man had fallen dead at her feet, and the memory sickened her. That it had been Sky who fired the fatal shot - gentle Sky, who had never raised a hand to anyone, who rarely even raised his voice in anger - was almost incomprehensible.

The entire afternoon and evening seemed to have passed in a blur. The sound of the gun like an unexpected dap of thunder, loud enough to make Val's knees quake in the aftermath of its deafening blast. The look of sheer surprise on Daniel Rafferty's face. The rapid spread of red across the front of his crisp white shirt. His stumble and fall to the ground, the dense thud as he hit it, face first. Sky taking Val back down to the High Meadow and turning her over to his mother, while he and his dad, Hap, called the sheriff. Val sitting in the living room of the ranch house wrapped in an old quilt, shivering in spite of the summer heat, trying to make sense of what had happened. Sheriff Brown bringing the body down from the hills and sending it along to the county coroner, then staying a while himself to ask about Val's relationship with the deceased.

And later, still, Catherine insisting that Val stay there at the ranch for a few days. Val had been more than happy to comply. She simply wasn't ready to spend a night alone in the cabin.

Val wondered if Daniel Rafferty had a family, and what they would think when they found out what had happened. She glanced at the clock on the dresser across the room. Eight a.m. Perhaps they already knew.

Would they blame Val? Or Sky? Or might they somehow have known that something was not quite right?

Val desperately wanted - needed - a hot shower, wanted to wash it all away, the sights, the sounds, the smells. After foraging in Liza's dresser for an old, forgotten sweatshirt and a pair of shorts, she headed for the small bathroom that the Hollister girls had all once shared on the second floor of the ranch house. She turned on the hot water and let it fill the room with steam before stepping in and lowering her head, allowing the little spikes to first work on the muscles at the back of her neck, then on her left shoulder, which ached where she'd hit the ground the day before.

The aches and pains were insignificant, Val reminded herself, when one considered that, had all gone according to Rafferty's plan, she'd be on a slab at the morgue by now. In her heart, she couldn't help but feel sorry that Daniel Rafferty was dead, but not so sorry that she'd have sacrificed herself or Sky or their future together for his sake.

Val shivered again, and cranked the hot water up just a little higher.

Twenty minutes later, Valerie padded down the steps in bare feet. While she could fit into Liza's clothing, her feet were and always had been two sizes smaller than Val's.

Voices were heard in the kitchen, and Val followed them to find Sky at the old worn table with his parents.

"There you are." Catherine jumped up when Val entered the room. "How did you sleep, honey?"

"Much better than I'd have expected," Val assured her.

"You okay?"Sky asked with clear concern.

"All things considered, I'm better than I have any right to be."

"I'm glad to hear that, honey," Hap pulled out a chair for her and gestured for her to sit.

"We had pancakes, Valerie." Catherine went to the old white stove and turned a burner on. "I saved some batter so that you could have some when you got up."

"Thank you," Val said, knowing it would be fruitless to protest. Catherine had already poured batter into the frying pan.

"Here's your coffee." Sky brought her a mug of fragrant dark liquid, then passed her a small white pitcher covered with little red flowers.

"Liza's pitcher," Val said without thinking.

"Oh, my, Valerie, do you remember that pitcher?" Catherine turned and smiled.

"I was with Liza in Reynold's Drug Store when she bought it for you." Val nodded. "It had a little sugar bowl that went with it."

"I can't believe the sort of things that you women remember." Hap shook his head as he pushed back from the table to answer the phone that was ringing again.

"He's just covering for the fact that he was the one who broke the sugar bowl," Catherine nodded toward her husband.

Val sipped at her coffee and sniffed at the aroma from the frying pan, caught Sky's eyes and smiled. Sitting there in a well remembered room, surrounded by people who cared about her, was balm to her ragged nerves. There was a tranquility to the morning, even in the aftermath of what had happened the day before. The contrast was almost staggering, surreal, and made her feel lightheaded.

The storm had preceded the calm, she was thinking, as Hap hung up the phone.

"That was Sheriff Brown, again" Hap told them.

"Again?" Val raised her eyebrows.

"Third time he called already this morning." Hap nodded. "The first time, he called to assure us that no one would be charged with Rafferty's death."

"Why would someone be?" Val asked. "It was self-defense."

"It's just a formality," Hap assured her. "The second time was to tell us that the department Rafferty worked for in California called back a little while ago. He'd called them last night to tell them what had gone on up here yesterday. Well, they sent someone out to this fellow Rafferty's apartment."

"And?" Sky asked when his father hesitated.

"And ... they found that his walls were covered with pictures of Val. Some that he cut from magazines, some that he'd apparently taken himself."

"What?" Val's cup nearly slid from her hands.

"There were pictures of you everywhere, they said. Walking down the street, looking in a shop window, getting into your car, walking a dog, sitting on a deck...."

"The deck behind my town house." Val's skin crawled.

"And some photos of you in a wedding."

"Cale and Quinn's wedding." She looked up at Sky and grimaced. "The pictures that were stolen from my house. He answered the 911 call. He came and made the report. All the while he had the photos. He had the little porcelain box. And a pair of my shoes."

"They also found a journal he'd been keeping. He'd been planning this for some time, Val. He apparently felt you and he were somehow destined to be together."

Sky sat down next to Valerie and rubbed the back of her neck. In his eyes, she felt she could see her true destiny. But had Rafferty felt the same way, looking at her?

Catherine sat a plate of pancakes in front of her and put out a knife and fork.

"Then, that last time that the sheriff called, he wanted to warn us that the California press caught on to this story. He said they can't answer the phone fast enough down there, that we should expect an onslaught of reporters from all over."

"When ... ?" Catherine met her husband's eyes from across the room.

"Within the next few hours."

"Val, if there's a place you can go to stay - to sort of hide out for a few days, you might think about heading there this morning," Hap said.

"The cabin was always the place I'd go to when I needed sanctuary," Val told them. "There's never been anyplace else. I could go to Liza's - I told her when she called the other night that I'd be coming for a visit real soon."

"Sooner or later, someone will think to look for my sister," Sky said as he took her hand. "When you've finished eating, we'll run up to the cabin and grab your things. I know just the place where no one will think to look...."

The pickup bounced over the ruts in the dirt road, and Val was glad that the coffee she'd brought with her was safely in one of those cups that had a nice, tight lid. Val turned off the air-conditioning and rolled down the windows to listen to the sound of the long, thin reeds of grain that lined the road on either side and shivered in the late morning breeze. The sky was china blue and cloudless, the wheat still green, the barn off to the left a deep red, and the old farmhouse, still a quarter of a mile away at the end of the lane, was a cheery yellow.

The colors lay vivid against each other and the sun, now nearing its midpoint in the sky, shed a graceful glow over all.

"This is the most beautiful place I've ever seen," Val told him. "It takes my breath away."

"I thought you might feel that way." Sky slowed the pickup and tried - unsuccessfully - to avoid yet another large hole.

"Are you sure your grandmother won't mind?"

"She'll be delighted to have helped. You wait and see. She'll be sending someone over loaded down with strawberry preserves before the day is over."

They reached the end of the drive, and Sky stopped the truck. Val hopped out, took a deep breath, and hugged herself.

"You're looking better," Sky said as he wrapped his arms around her from behind.

"I'm feeling better." Val leaned back against his chest.

"Val, if there had been any way to have saved you without killing him..."

"I know."

"I never killed a man before," he said softly. "I never believed there could be any force powerful enough to make me take a life. But in that split second when I realized what he was going to do, I knew that I'd do anything - anything - to keep you safe. There wasn't even a choice. I just couldn't let him kill you. I love you too much, Val."

"I love you, too, Sky. I think maybe I always have."

"It's been a roundabout course we've taken to get to each other, wouldn't you say?" He gently rubbed the side of her face with his own.

"Ummm," she agreed. "But the point is, we got there. And look at us, Sky. We're both alive. We're here, together, in the most beautiful place on the face of the earth."

"Now, wait a minute. All of the places you've been -  Paris, London, Hawaii, all those islands..."

"Can't hold a candle to this place," she insisted. "No other place even comes close."

"Then there's a chance you could get used to it?"

"Well, gee, holing up here for a few days could be a sacrifice." She nodded slowly.

"I mean, beyond just laying low until the press loses interest."

Val turned in his arms to look into his eyes.

"I'm thinking of taking over the farm for good, Val. My cousin Will and I are serious about breeding some fine quality horses here. It won't be a part-time thing. Can you give up what you've had - the travel, the ... "

She placed a finger to his lips.

"In a heartbeat."

He raised her fingers to his lips and kissed all ten of them.

"Farming's not an easy life."

"I don't imagine it is. But after the week I've had, it might not seem so bad." She smiled up at him.

"Come on then." He kissed the tip of her nose and took her by the hand. "It's time you met my babies."

He pointed to a pasture where several colts stood watching on spindly legs. "We have a few that hold great promise...."

They walked toward the fence, Sky pointing out the stallion he'd bought from a famous ranch in Texas to serve as stud for a mare he'd bought in Kentucky.

"Wait right here, and I'll bring her over to meet you."

Val leaned against the fence and watched Sky stride across the field to the large chestnut mare he'd identified as his favorite. The horse nuzzled at him and began to follow him back toward the place where Val stood waiting. The sun spread out across the landscape in golden strands of light.

A golden afternoon, Val thought, filled with golden promises.

Of a life to share.

A love to live for.

Truly, a love to live for.

About the Author

Mariah Stewart is the award-winning author of nine contemporary romances and three novellas, all for Pocket Books. A three-time nominee for Romantic Times Career Achievement Award for Contemporary Romance and a winner of Romance Times Reviewers Choice Award for Best Contemporary Romance of 1999, she has been called "one of the most talented writers of mainstream contemporary fiction in the market today." Brown-eyed Girl, her first romantic suspense, was a bestseller in 2000. Voices Carry - also romantic suspense - was a February 2001 release. She is the recipient of the Golden Leaf Award (New Jersey Romance Writers), the Award of Excellence (Colorado Romance Writers), and the Dorothy Parker Award for Excellence in Women's Fiction (Reviewer's International), and is a four-time finalist for the Holt Medallion. A native of Highstown, New Jersey, Mariah Stewart lives in a century-plus Victorian country home in a Philadelphia suburb with her husband of twenty-two years, two teenage daughters, and two golden retrievers. She is a member of Novelists, Inc.; the Valley Forge Romance Writers; and the Romance Writers of America. Write to her at P.O. Box 481, Lansdowne, PA 19050, or at MariahStew@aol.com.