THE SPIDER'S WEB

By Marissa St James

Prologue

The bedroom door stood slightly ajar. Fire glowed and crackled in the hearth on the opposite wall. The silvery light of the full moon lit the otherwise darkened room. A giggle erupted, soft and musical, followed by an encouraging purr. He placed two fingers against her soft lips. "Shhhh. Do you want to wake the 'witch'?" She drew his fingertips into her mouth and sucked lightly. His breath caught and his eyes darkened with passion. The girl giggled again and offered her mouth for his heated kiss.

She feigned reluctance to his advances, but teased him on. How she loved to tease him, drive him mad with wanting. She laughed when he reached for her, but the laugh died on her lips.

His wife stood in the open doorway, her face crimson with rage, glaring down at them. The girl scooted back on the bed and pulled the sheet up to cover herself. The man turned to see what caused the fear in his lover's eyes.

He watched his wife's lips move, silently forming words. Each time she repeated them, her voice grew stronger. When the words became audible, he recognized the ancient language. His mind quickly translated the few words he knew ... smoke, curse...

He looked up at his wife, terrified at the implication of the spell. "No!" he begged, "don't do this!" But his voice was stilled. His hand went to his throat and he tried frantically to give sound to the plea. She continued the chanting, growing louder with each repetition. Smoke rose from his skin and he watched in horror as the flesh blackened and disappeared from his bones.

His lover stared at her own darkening flesh and screamed a silent scream. The wife laughed and backed out of the room. The door slammed shut. The world became silent as the girl's sobs filled the night then gradually died away.

The Present

I hate this constant darkness. Sometimes, faint light seeps through the cracks, but it doesn't hint at the time of day. It seems an eternity we've been trapped here. I can discern some passage of time by the heat and cold. Sometimes it's hotter than a desert under a scorching noonday sun; other times it's so cold, even the multi-legged occupants of this forsaken place refuse to venture out of their hidden cracks and crevices.

I've lost the ability to 'see' and 'hear'. It isn't like being blind or deaf. I can't explain how I know what goes on around me, but I do. Right now, that spider is running along those delicate web lines, her hairy legs carrying her along that deadly trap. She lures her prey onto the web. Did you know, not all those strands are sticky? She knows which strands to avoid so she doesn't get caught.

And the mice, or they may be rats for all I know, are skittering across the floor looking for God knows what to eat. I don't think there's been a morsel of food around here in years. They can slip in and out in search of food. I envy them. The rodents still make their nests in the furniture, anywhere out of harm's way. Sometimes I can hear them scratching their claws on the rusted metal of the fireplace pokers. I can't stand that sound.

Poor Ethan. Since we've been trapped here, he's been unable to sense anything. Maybe that's a blessing, I don't know. He has to rely on me completely and he's unhappy about that. Once in a great while I hear him call my name. 'Rebecca,' he whispers, but he says nothing more. I think he just wants to be sure I'm still here with him. He thinks I resent him, but I don't. I love him more now, than the night we came here. Sometimes I remember, but the memories grow dim with time.

You think I'm calm through all this? I want to scream out in revulsion for the things crawling about in here. I have no voice. If I had hands, I'd pound my fists against the fragile walls, begging someone to release us. But I have none. Somehow, I know there is only one way to escape this prison. We must be patient and wait.

Ethan! Do you feel it? Please try! There's a strangeness on the breeze, one I've sensed only once before. We'll be free soon, I just know it!

***

For many years, wind and rain battered the house set a distance from the village. The elements abused the structure until it stood weather beaten, appearing ready to collapse. The roof, with its missing shingles, sagged dangerously, ready to fall in with the next light breeze to blow across its surface. The door still held tightly in place and denied access to anyone who tried to enter. The first floor windows were dirt encrusted and one held broken glass. If you peeked inside, there was nothing to see but a large empty room with old papers scattered about and an inch of dust coating the staircase. Abandoned cobwebs hung from the ceilings, a testament to the once bustling activity of the insect population. Even now, an occasional spider scrambled across the uneven surfaces of the dilapidated interior. A layer of dirt hid the holes and cracks in the rotting wood of the floor planks.

Late on moonlit nights, strangers heard voices, whispers in the wind. Murmured words floated about the still evenings when the town was quiet. The town folk solemnly shook their heads when anyone asked about the strange sounds. They knew, but they remained silent.

***

Beyond the abandoned field surrounding the house, the village bustled with activity. Some wondered if the chill in the air was the autumn night approaching, or the knowledge of what this night could bring. Children ran about the main road, leaving footprints where thick mud stuck to their shoes. Their childish laughter rose as they chased one another, oblivious to the adults' concern for the growing darkness. Mothers quickly gathered their little ones and hurried them home, like hens anxious to settle their chicks for the night. One by one, as daylight dwindled, fathers secured and locked their thatched roof houses. They shuttered their windows against the twilight sky, blocking out the stars emerging from the velvety black background.

Molly leaned against the doorframe of her mother's cottage. She twisted a few strands of her long blond hair and watched the light fading on the horizon. She gazed up at David through thick, dark lashes. Wasn't he afraid at all? David didn't like rules. He was forever in trouble with the elders, yet always managed to work his way out. Still, something about tonight's adventure made her wary. Should she obey her parents' teachings, or listen to David? Common sense told her one thing, her heart, another.

But something about this adventure made her uneasy.

"I'll come for you later." David whispered when her mother moved to the opposite side of the cottage to tend to the fire. "Tell me you won't change your mind." He reached to touch the strands of hair she toyed with and let them slip through his fingers. His eyes searched hers for the answer.

"Molly, get in here, girl! We don't have much time before dark," Molly's mother called out with growing impatience.

"Coming, Mama," Molly answered without turning from David's questioning gaze. "Yes, I want to be with you tonight," she murmured. She moved away from the doorframe, gave him a quick kiss, then darted back into the cottage.

David watched Molly push the door shut behind her. He grinned. Tonight would be the night. Molly's mother made certain they never had an uninterrupted moment alone together. The older woman thought he wasn't good enough for her daughter.

Tonight would be different. For once, he would have Molly alone for a few hours. He knew just the place.

David glanced in the direction of the field surrounding the isolated house. For years, the old house was the gist of stories parents told their children to make them behave. To David, those stories were much like tales of the boogey man, which he had outgrown long ago.

For several days now, he'd felt a pull in that direction. As time passed, the pull became stronger until he could no longer ignore it. It was as if someone was calling to him, trying to latch on to a vague memory and draw him to that forbidden place. His curiosity was stronger than the villagers' tales.

Yesterday he went to the old house. The front steps sagged, threatening to cave in, but they held his weight as he gingerly climbed them to the porch. The windows were encrusted with years of grime, making it almost impossible to peek inside. Something scurried across the interior floor. The house wasn't just void of human life; it had an eerie feeling to it. David's heart beat faster as thoughts tumbled through his head.

Tonight, David intended to investigate the old house more closely. Who knew what adventure the night would provide for him and Molly?

Molly. He glanced once more at the cottage before strolling away. She was the prettiest girl in the village and the other lads envied him; she was his. One day, they would marry, when he was ready to take on responsibility. Tonight would be the first time they would defy the village elders, but the thought of taking Molly to the deserted house was too strong to be denied.

***

Molly put jars of herbs back in their proper places on the shelves. She no longer needed her mother's instructions and only half listened to her scolding. Something the older woman said caught the girl's attention. "I'll not be home tonight, girl. Mary MacCaffrey's gone into labor and I should be there to help her. Pray the child waits until morning to be born." Molly shuddered. A child born this night, of all nights, would likely be cursed.

Still, her mother would be gone for the night which would make it easier for Molly to slip away to meet David. Knowing what David had in mind, Molly was torn between obedience to her mother and the temptation he offered. Temptation won out. She had only a few hours to wait until the village was quiet for the night.

***

On the night of All Hallows' Eve, the villagers, according to ancient tradition, locked themselves in their homes. They shuttered and bolted windows and doors against the night. The hearth fires had gone out and none of the good wives would relight them until morning. No unwelcome spirits would find their homes and be tempted to stay; restless spirits would roam this night.

David and Molly stumbled through the wet, thick weeds covering the land at the end of the village. Molly giggled, trying to keep pace with David's long steps. The moon peeked out occasionally from behind passing dark clouds, lighting their way. An unnatural quiet pervaded the night. Molly brushed long strands of golden hair away from her face and tried to stifle another nervous giggle. David shushed her, knowing only too well, how sounds carried on the wind back to the village.

For a brief moment, moonlight reflected in Molly's dark blue eyes. David gave her hand a gentle squeeze and paused to smile assurance. Molly reached up and lovingly touched his cheek. He lowered his blond head to share a kiss.

They shouldn't be out on this night. Both their families would be angry and terrified if they knew what the young people were up to. At this moment, neither of them had thoughts for anyone, or anything else. David held tightly to her hand and continued drawing her away from the protection of the village.

Laughter floated softly on the night air; a happy sound, light and carefree, the sound of lovers. David and Molly followed the sound, wondering which of their friends also dared to brave the superstitions of this night. The light sounds led them closer to the old house. David grinned, expecting to surprise his best friend. Peter was the only other lad in the village who would dare try to sneak into the house. A faint light in the house passed from one window to the next, disappeared a moment, and reappeared in a second floor window. If his friend could get into the house, surely he and Molly could gain entrance as well.

David turned to Molly and grinned. "Have you heard the stories about the witch who lived here?" Molly shook her head no and David continued with the tale. "She was called Spider because of the lace she made. They say it was as delicate as any spider's web. They say she was badly disfigured so no one ever saw her." David pulled Molly closer and lowered his voice. "And they say she murdered her husband and his lover, but the bodies were never found." Molly shuddered and David laughed.

David led her to the entrance, tugging her along by the hand. David found the warped door closed as tightly as it had ever been. He would force it, if necessary, but he was determined to get inside. He had waited a long time to make Molly his. Tonight would be the night. David put his shoulder to the door to give it a shove and was momentarily knocked off balance as it easily swung in. He caught himself and discovered the door open just wide enough for them to slip inside. Molly felt a sense of foreboding and hesitated, no longer sure she wanted to be here. David's story and the elders' warnings echoed in her head. They should return to the village before disaster struck, but David wasn't ready to leave.

Moonlight shone through the windows. Claws skittered along a shadowed wall, startling Molly. She held tightly to David's hand and her eyes widened at the scratchy sound. Someone was here, but where were they? The downstairs rooms were empty and silent now. Night creatures vanished into their hiding places, away from the intruders.

Was this place really haunted, after all, as the village legend said? David never really believed in ghosts before; now, he wasn't so sure. He saw the uncertainty in Molly's frightened glance.

Molly backed away from him, toward the door, ready to slip out and make her escape. She groped behind her for the door. Her fear mounted when she found it closed, once again tightly sealed. There would be no easy escape, after all. Like some hapless insect, she had touched the sticky, silken strands of a spider's web and been caught in its net. She should have paid heed to the warning a few moments ago. Now it was too late. Of all nights to be trapped in the haunted house. She willed herself to remain calm and recalled all she could of the legend. There was something about lovers... Wasn't that the reason she and David were here, to be away from the villagers' prying eyes? She had nothing to fear from a silly tale, not as long as David was with her.

A flicker of light appeared just beyond the top of the staircase. David grinned, sure that Peter was up there somewhere. He looked to Molly, put a finger to his lips as a sign for silence and pointed upstairs. They moved cautiously upward, stopping when a worn wooden step creaked. Molly placed her hand on the banister then quickly pulled it away, wiping it on her skirt. A handprint was left on the wood where the grime stuck to her moist palm.

At the top of the stair, a door to their left was slightly ajar and faint light flickered in the room. David nodded to Molly, knowingly. They were about to catch his best friend in the room. Maybe that pretty Megan was keeping Peter company tonight. The thought of catching them together delighted David. He slowly pushed the door open and winced at the loud squeak it made. No use trying to sneak up on them now.

A small fire burned in the hearth. The room looked freshly cleaned, the furnishings, new. The armoire and desk were polished to a high sheen, their brass handles and knobs shone in the firelight. The window curtains were made of delicately spun lace, as delicate as a spider's web. The bed pillows were thick and fluffed up. The patchwork quilt was recently made, from the look of it; the colors were bright. The top of it was turned down halfway the length of the bed. There was no one here. Molly pulled her shawl tighter about her shoulders. She didn't like it here.

***

They must have heard me talking to Ethan. The girl is frightened but I must make her hear me. We don't have much time. I have to whisper to her, assure her. I can't let her be too frightened – or know how desperate we are.

Molly drew in a sharp breath. An unfamiliar voice invaded her mind. She hears me! 'Don't be frightened, we won't hurt you.' The quiet, gentle voice paused. 'We were lovers once, just like you. It's been so long since we touched. Let us love again. Let us join with you for a while. At midnight, we will leave you.' She's looking at the lad, not sure if what she heard was her imagination. He heard me too. I wish they would hurry and decide. If they wait too long... The girl, Molly feels sorry for me and she's wondering where Ethan is. Ethan is already merging with David... I can see him! It's been so long since I've seen his face.

Ethan has gained some control over the boy. It wasn't hard; the boy doesn't think about risks. He doesn't care about consequences. I've joined with the girl; she's not so afraid now. Ethan's thoughts are like a soft whisper. "Let your feelings go, love. Enjoy what the night has to offer."

I find myself fumbling with his clothing in this shadowed corner. It's been much too long. I feel so terribly awkward. David is studying Molly's face. A part of his mind is aware that I am now one with Molly, just as he is one with Ethan. Ethan's face is becoming clearer. His eyes are almost as black as the night surrounding us. He is looking deeply into these dark blue ones. He wants to be sure she's willing. I can't allow her to refuse now... Not now.

Her control is relaxing. Ethan's kisses are warm and inviting. The kisses deepen. I can't remember the last time I felt such pleasure. Everywhere Ethan's hands gently touch, our skin thirsts for more. A burning is kindling inside this body and it's desperate to be free. Molly is afraid she'll have no control over me. She doesn't understand she's already lost it, just as David has lost any control over Ethan. I've assured Molly there is nothing to be afraid of. We both will experience the pleasure of loving, this night. The past and present are becoming one.

Ethan's thoughts are also convincing and they come to us as a soft whisper. "Don't fight what we both want. Let me love you." It's done. The fear she felt moments ago has turned to need. Her desire is as strong as my own... She has never experienced anything like this before. It's consuming every part of us until we can't think or feel anything else. Her body arches as a final burst of heat explodes within her. She is trying to calm her ragged breathing. Her heart is beating furiously.

Ethan tells us we are well loved, but Molly can't hear him. We don't have much time left. What there is of it, Ethan and I are free to love as we once did, long ago.

The bells of the church in the center of town tolled midnight. All was dark and silent. The flickering candlelight sputtered out hours before. The mild breeze that had picked up earlier was gone, leaving the night clear and chill. Lingering clouds no longer obscured a moon now risen high overhead in the velvet night sky.

They were free, as promised.

The warped door of the old house closed firmly behind the couple to remain tightly sealed against unwanted trespassers. The couple gazed at one another, love gleaming in their dark eyes. "Do you think they'll ever get free of this place?" the girl asked as she pulled her shawl closely about her shoulders, then took the hand he offered her.

"I don't know. I'm just glad we're not caught in that spider's web." From a distance, they were as one shadow, gliding across the field, away from the village. The world was theirs to explore.

***

The bedroom was empty and quiet. The ashes in the hearth were long cold from disuse. Lace curtains in the windows were tattered and filthy, and the furniture was dull with a multitude of scratches from tiny claws. The bright colors of the bed quilt faded with age and dirt. A thick layer of dust and grime covered the floor.

The wind picked up again, and a pensive voice carried along with it, sounding like leaves rustling gently in a breeze.

"David... David, where are you? David, I don't like this darkness..."

GALLAGHER'S GOLD

By Jac Eddins

"Who's down there?"

Cassie peered down into the darkened alley. In her trembling hand she held her father's old army revolver, its safety on and unloaded. Her tiny apartment lay in a rundown area, but usually there was little crime in her immediate neighborhood. Nevertheless, in the hectic modern world, it didn't pay to take chances. The old gun wouldn't protect her, but she hoped it might scare off any unwanted visitor.

One of the flowerpots, lined up on the railing of her balcony, went tumbling down into the night. She hadn't felt contact with it, nor could she understand how it slipped past the lip that secured them, but there it went.

A sharp cry of pain sounded from below.

"Oh, my God, I've killed someone!" she gasped. She set the gun back down on her dresser and ran for the stairs down the back of the building. Perhaps it was just some poor old drunk who crept into the alley to sleep off a binge.

Cassie found her victim sitting up and rubbing his head. A tiny trickle of blood ran down the left side of his forehead. "I'm so sorry," she breathed. "I didn't mean to hurt you. I must have bumped that pot. Should I call an ambulance?"

"I think I'll live," a deep voice answered her.

Cassie looked into a pair of dark eyes, eyes which peered back at her from the handsomest face she had ever seen. Despite the fact he sat cradling his head amid the trash in an alley, he was well dressed and neat, not the average drunk or thief.

"What on earth were you doing here?" she had to ask.

In reply, he pointed to the net he dropped. "Collecting – a specimen."

"This is hardly the time to be after butterflies!"

The man's grin turned to a wince. "But moths fly at night."

"Oh." He had to be some sort of scientist! "Moths?"

"Collecting butterflies is so – common." He broke into laughter at her expression. "Just teasing. They really do have some interesting specimens, though." He winced again and put his hand over his eyes.

"You are hurt!" She shouldn't invite a man she didn't know into her home, but she was responsible for his injury. "If you can walk... Perhaps you'd like to come upstairs. I'll fix you something while your head clears. Unless you want me to take you to the hospital..."

"No. That won't be necessary. I would like to clean up a bit, though."

"Of course."

He pulled himself to his feet. Once again Cassie doubted the wisdom of asking him in. He towered over her, a big, broad shouldered man. Cass led him up the steps to her rooms and steered him to one of the two kitchen chairs.

"Wait here and I'll get some peroxide." She hurried to the bathroom for her first aid kit and brought it back with her. The man grimaced, but made no complaint as she fussed over him and cleaned the scratch on his brow. The wound was not as bad as it first appeared.

He had a beautiful smile when he gazed up at her.

"Thank you," he said.

"I really am sorry. I don't know how it happened."

"It's all right. In fact, it's almost worth it just to meet someone like you. What on earth is a girl like you doing living in a seedy part of town like this?" He laughed again, "I can't believe I just used that old line!"

Cassie laughed, too. "A girl like me has just moved to the city, begun a new job, and doesn't make much money," she told him. His scrutiny caused her to flush.

He grinned. "A woman who can still blush! Amazing! And with that red hair... I'll bet you're Irish!"

"My grandparents came from Ireland," she admitted.

"Mine, too. Gallagher is the name. Sean Gallagher."

"Cassie. Cassie O'Brian."

Sean extended his right hand and took hers. "Well met, lovely Cassie."

Her cheeks burned again, but she laughed. "With that silver tongue, I've no doubt you're Irish!"

"Did you say you might have something here to drink?" he asked.

"Coffee? Coke?"

"Coffee. It'll take you longer to fix, and I'll have time to convince you to have dinner with me Friday night."

***

The rest of the week flashed by with Cassie in a state of excitement. Where she grew up, she hadn't known many boys, just the few from the neighboring farms and in her class at school. None of them were half as handsome or charming as Sean. Since she took a job and moved into the city she had met a few men, mostly married and mostly lecherous. She learned to avoid them. Quickly. But, beyond his handsome features and silken charm, Sean wasn't married and had a promising future as an attorney. She fought the temptation to dream too far into the future. Sean would have no trouble finding feminine companionship and she wasn't going to let him break her heart if this were a quick fling.

Or was there something more?

Deep inside her, fear grew. Could he know, have guessed, her secret? In this bustling, doubting world it was hard to accept, but Cassie believed she had a protector.

When Cassie first came to the city, nothing went right. The glamorous position she dreamed of with a publishing firm didn't materialize, and the job she initially took turned out a nightmare. Long rides to and from work on the crowded subway took hours from her days. The elegant job title offered her turned out no more than a euphemism for 'office help'. She came close to giving up, to going back home and leaving all those starry eyed dreams behind her. Then, something strange happened and her luck began to change. When had it begun?

***

One evening a few days after she moved to the smaller, less expensive apartment, she saw him just at dusk. Cassie stood on her tiny balcony, breathing in a bit of cooler air in the sweltering summer heat. A hint of motion below caught her eye. She would have sworn a tiny man in green jacket and funny green hat stood right in the alley below and winked up at her. He couldn't have been more than a foot high and appeared to carry some sort of pipe. Cassie blinked and he was gone.

Later, she rationalized. It could have been simply a picture on the cover of a magazine blowing about. The lighting had played tricks with her eyes and made him seem alive.

However, her grandmother's stories echoed down through the years, of how the little people would befriend those they considered worthy. On a whim, Cassie put cookies and a small bowl of milk out on the balcony that night. In the morning they were gone. Over the months she continued to set them out, laughing at herself for doing so. Somewhere, a well fed cat prowled the neighborhood! Yet, from that day on, her luck turned.

After all her earlier money problems, the move to the less expensive apartment proved fortunate. The new landlady just happened to think of her when she heard of a much nicer, better paying job opening up in an office nearby. Her interview there went smoothly and she was hired on the spot. No more long rides to work; by car she could drive to the office in ten minutes, even with traffic. Her expenses weren't nearly as high as she'd estimated, either. Best of all, the young man next door offered her his used car at a steal when he bought a new one. To her astonishment the vehicle was in perfect running order.

A few days after Cassie thought she saw the little man, she sat at her desk in the busy three-woman office and entered accounts receivable data into the computer. She glanced again at the wall clock – almost one-thirty. If she wanted permission to leave early today she'd have to finish the day's input before her boss returned from lunchtime errands.

At the desk across from hers, Darlene answered the phone in her sugar-sweet alto tones, assuring a customer he could have delivery of their best boxes before the weekend. Boxes and bags weren't the most glamorous merchandise, but stores needed them and the job paid better than most in the area. Cassie often speculated what sort of things would go in all those fancy little cotton lined boxes. Baubles, bangles and beads, Darlene once told her; boxes to hold the little gifts that made women smile.

***

A thin-faced, scowling young man came into the room from the private offices in the back. Both women glanced up. He carried a stack of papers and dropped them on Cassie's desk with a condescending smirk. "Check these for me," he said.

Cassie studied the pile with a sinking feeling. There went her early day! With all those invoices to go through she'd be lucky to be done by quitting time.

Darlene hung up the phone and turned a malevolent eye on the arrogant young accountant. "Cassie hasn't got time for those. She has enough work to finish as is, and that's not her job, Mr. Jensen. You do your own work and quit pushin' it off on Cassie."

The man's face flushed, and, if looks were lethal, she'd have burned to a crisp on the spot. He snatched up the papers and stalked back the way he came.

Cassie stared at Darlene in open-mouthed wonder. "Aren't you afraid..?"

Darlene laughed. "He don't scare me! I'm tired of seein' him push his work off on you. He won't open his mouth, 'cause he knows he isn't supposed to be givin' that work to you. And he knows I know where the bodies are buried!"

"Bodies?"

Darlene burst into laughter. "Honey, you really do come from Mayberry, don't you?"

"No. I'm from a little town called Jordan – up near Syracuse."

Darlene laughed all the harder. "What am I goin' to do with you, girl? I know you're achin' to leave early. Some good lookin' guy waitin' for you?"

"I wish!" Cassie laughed. "I have to get to Motor Vehicles before they close. I want to get the car I bought legal."

Darlene gave one of her deep, expressive sighs. "Maybe, if I live long enough, I can save up enough to get a nice car. That old heap went dead on me again this morning and I had to take the bus."

"You have my phone number. If it happens again, call me. Once the car is in my name, it's no trouble at all picking you up."

Darlene nodded. "I really appreciate that. You know, Sugah, you're a really sweet kid, but you got to quit lettin' people push you into doin' their work."

Cassie flushed a dark pink and murmured a barely audible, "Thank you for saving me from that."

"We Irish stick together," Darlene grinned.

For a moment Cassie stared open-mouthed at the dark skinned woman.

Darlene rose and stood with hands on hips, one brow raised. "Well, you sure have heard of Black Irish."

Cassie giggled, stifling it with hand over her mouth. "I just never..."

"My last name is Murphy," Darlene went on. "And my great grandfather was Irish." She gave a wide grin. "Just a few other things thrown in the mix." The brown skinned girl sat back down and reached to stroke the small statuette on her desk. "That's why I put Paddy here for luck."

"Does he bring it?"

Darlene grinned. "Seems like. I don't take no crap from that Mr. Jensen any more. He's a real user, that one. It was pure luck I caught him last Christmas party. There he was standin' in the supply room with his pants around his ankles and..."

Cassie blushed again.

"Girl, ain't no one innocent as you seem! Don't tell me you..." She broke off again. "Oh, my God! You are! You mean you never..."

"Never," Cassie admitted.

"You like a cup of coffee?" Darlene asked, still shaking her head in disbelief.

Cassie nodded and went back to entering in the code numbers. Darlene poured them each a cup from the small coffeemaker the women kept on top of the corner file cabinet. She placed one of the cups before Cassie along with a jar of non-dairy creamer.

"Now, I'm goin' to show you," Darlene laughed. "Notice this is Irish Cream. I add it to my coffee – so – and voila!"

Cassie watched the coffee change color to nearly the same shade as Darlene's shapely arm.

"Now, is that Irish?"

"Sisters under the skin," Cassie laughed.

Darlene picked up her cup and sipped. "So when you gonna get serious and find you a nice guy?"

"I don't know. So far all I've met are either married or like..." she nodded her head in the direction Mr. Jensen had taken.

Darlene frowned. "You don't need anyone like him! He hasn't bothered you any?"

"Oh, no. Other than the work..."

"He better not, if he knows what's good for him." Darlene smiled again. "Good friends are hard to find and I'm not losin' one because of him."

Cassie laughed. In the short time she had been working there, Darlene had indeed become her very good friend and confidant. Darlene set aside her coffee and fetched the small statuette from her desk. She placed it on Cassie's. "I want you to have this," she grinned. "I found him laying in the back room one day, just about the time you started work here. Somehow I always had the feeling he wanted to be with you."

Cassie studied the small figurine. She hadn't noticed the details of the Leprechaun before, but it struck her how closely it resembled the little man she thought she saw in the alley, down to the bright metal buckles on his hat and shoes. "But he's your good luck..."

"And you need all the luck you can get!" Darlene grinned. "You're much too nice to get some guy who takes advantage of you. Too many of those kind around. Make sure, Cass."

"I will. That's so nice of you." Cassie stroked the cap of the figurine and placed him on the desk before her. "He can sit here and watch over both of us. You know, I never noticed before – he's winking."

"Well, I'll be – I never noticed that, either!"

***

The net Sean carried with him that night continued to bother Cassie. It was plenty big enough to capture one of the little people. Certainly Sean knew the tales of the old country as well as she. Sean was an attorney, not a scientist. He countered her questions with a story of becoming fascinated with rare moths while taking a biology course. Cassie's nagging thought persisted. Could the little man be the 'moth' Sean was out to get?

***

In his bewitchment with the girl, Sean almost forgot his hunt for the elusive prey. For months he tracked and calculated, until he was certain the alley where Cassie lived was the haunt of the creature he pursued. He knew it, just as he knew it hadn't been the girl who sent the flowerpot crashing down on him. His nemesis was as resourceful as he was slippery.

Others might think him mad, but Sean knew the leprechaun existed. He had been about eight years old the first time he saw the little man; he recalled that well. His mother punished him for telling such an outrageous tale. His grandfather assured her it was the wild imagination of an Irish boy. Weren't many of the world's greatest writers and poets Irish? The old man sat Sean on his knee and told him about the little people and all their tricks while his mother bit her tongue. She could hardly oppose her father.

From then on, the little man tormented Sean in his dreams, always just out of his grasp. Once, the leprechaun stood just out of arm's reach and displayed a gleaming coin of bright gold. No doubt lingered in the youth's mind; Granddad had told him of the leprechaun's treasure. Somewhere there lay a large stash of coins just like the one the tiny creature held. Sean dreamed of catching the leprechaun and using the gold to put himself through the best of schools. Instead, he earned his way, forced to maintain top grades to preserve his scholarship while he worked nights to support himself. If he caught the Leprechaun, he could have set up his practice with a fancy office and the trimmings. For some reason, business went not to the best qualified, but to those who appeared the more successful.

Now, at long last, he was closer than ever before to capturing the little man. If he kept his mind on what he was doing! Instead, he had been captivated himself, by a slip of a girl with fiery hair and sparkling eyes as green as the fields of Erin. She was everything a man could want in a woman, her tender touch filled with compassion, her voice sweet with gentle humor. He remembered the blushes which told him she was fresh and untouched as virgin snow. For the first time in his life, the pursuit of the leprechaun took second place.

Sean dressed with care on Friday night. A splash of his best cologne, and he was ready to go. This would be a special evening of dining and dancing. The first, he hoped, of many. He left his net at home.

***

Weeks passed quickly. Cassie lived in a dream, joyously, wonderfully in love. Sean became the center of her life and she prayed he felt as she did. An existence without him loomed gray and cheerless as an Arctic night.

Together they discovered the city. Bright-eyed Cassie held her breath on her first ride on a roller coaster; she clapped with delight at her first live theater; she gasped in amazement at the sights of the Village; and her heart pounded loud enough to hear when Sean kissed her.

Inevitably, the time came when Sean wanted more than chaste 'good night' kisses. Cassie knew the excitement, yet hesitated, uncertain. Sean had yet to declare himself. In many ways she remained a simple, old-fashioned country girl; she had to be sure. She would give her heart just once.

Cassie broke from a passionate embrace. "It's getting late," she told Sean.

He held on to her hand, not allowing her to move away completely. "Let me stay, Cassie. I need to love you."

"Do you?"

For a moment he appeared surprised and hurt. "Can you doubt it?"

"There's a big difference between wanting to make love and loving," she told him softly.

Sean bowed his head. "The words have come hard to me, sweetheart. Maybe, because the only woman I've ever told them to was my mother. I do love you, Cass. So much that you're on my mind every waking hour. I want to marry you. I'm not saying that to get you in bed; I've thought about asking you to marry me for the last weeks."

Cassie took a deep breath. He was saying exactly what she wanted to hear. Her heart threatened to leap from her breast. "Let me think on it. It's late tonight and we're both tired. I've never... been with a man. When I do decide, I want the first time to be special.'

"You're right," Sean nodded. "I'll go now. But, Cassie, promise me you'll tell me soon."

She gave him a shy smile and agreed.

Sean went to get his coat. Cassie took the opportunity to go to the kitchen and fill the little bowl before she forgot it. Her head was in such a whirl.

"What are you doing?" Sean asked her when he returned to kiss her good-night.

"Oh! It's ... well, it's a cat I put milk out for each night."

Sean asked no further. He kissed her tenderly and then was gone.

***

Cassie entered the office to find a scene of chaos. Her desktop lay strewn with flowers, lively music blared from their usually muted music system, and Darlene, in somewhat more colorful dress than usual, danced about. Mrs. Mason, their superior, looked on with a broad smile. What was going on?

Darlene met Cassie on the way to her desk with an exuberant hug and a wide grin. While Darlene always showed a great deal of emotion, this was wild even for her.

"What on earth..." Cassie stared, dumbfounded.

"He did it!" Darlene exclaimed.

"Who did it?" Sean? What could he have to do with it?

As if Darlene anticipated her thoughts the dark girl shook her head. "Paddy! He brought me the luck!"

Cassie sank into her chair and studied the statuette garlanded with flowers. "What luck?"

"I won the raffle at St. Bartholomew's! Remember the kid who stopped in and we bought the raffle tickets? The prize was a new Saturn. I won!"

"You won?" Cassie's own grin spread. "I never knew anyone who won something like that! No joke?"

"No. It's for real. I checked and double checked."

"And here I thought this was all for me," Cassie laughed.

Darlene cocked her head to one side. "How's that?"

"Sean asked me to marry him."

Darlene pulled Cassie to her feet and danced with her in a small circle.

"Well," said Mrs. Mason, I can see where we won't be getting much work done today!" Her voice held a scolding tone, but she was smiling, too.

***

The next Friday night Cassie prepared a special dinner. Everything was beautiful and perfect. Cassie went to sleep in Sean's arms; if this was what marriage was about, she was ready for it.

She awakened with a start, an icy fear piercing her. The space beside her lay empty. They had planned for Sean to spend the weekend and now he was gone. A slight sound from the kitchen brought her from the bed. She pulled on her robe and hurried through the house.

The sight that met her eyes appalled her. Sean held the squirming little man in green.

"What are you doing?" she demanded.

"I caught him, Cassie! At long last, I have him. Now we'll have all we need to begin life together in style."

Cassie shook her head. "You lied to me and used me! You knew about him all along..."

Sean pushed the leprechaun into a sturdy bag. "I've been after him for years. I'll admit that was what I was after the first night in the alley. But, Cassie, what's between us ... it's real. I didn't think you knew. You said it was a cat. The gold will give us a start."

She shook her head. "How can I ever believe you, or trust you again?"

"My love for you is real! How can I prove it?"

"Let the leprechaun go."

"But, Cassie, think of all it means..."

"He was my friend, and my protector. How can I live with that, if you take all he has? No, Sean. You'd better go."

Sean stared back at her a long moment. She could see the conflict in the tight lines of his mouth and jaw. "Very well," he said. "I see I have no choice."

With that he strode to the open balcony door and opened the bag.

Tears rolled down Cassie's cheeks and she ran back into his open arms.

***

They didn't see the little man again. In the mornings the milk remained in the bowl and the cookies went untouched. In due course, Sean and Cassie married and moved to a comfortable house in the suburbs.

Three years passed quickly.

Sean tiptoed in to see his wife sleeping soundly after a busy day. Before he climbed in beside her, he took a moment to peek into the nursery. There, sitting on the windowsill, sat the leprechaun.

"Evenin', Sean," the little man smiled. "Ye won't be tryin' t' catch me now, will ye?"

"And risk losing my wife?" Sean laughed.

"I been watchin' out for ye," the leprechaun nodded.

"For Cassie, you mean."

"For both of you. And the wee one, too."

"Thank you."

"Ye've become a fine man, Sean. Ye know, I'd trade all of my gold for that wee lady."

"Never," Sean laughed.

"Ye can have more."

Sean continued to shake his head. "I've had time to think things over these last years," he told the leprechaun. "I owe you a great deal. You made me want the gold when I was very young, and made me ambitious. You didn't let me have it, and I learned the pride of making my own way in the world. And, you led me to Cassie."

The leprechaun laughed heartily. "Did I do all that now? Ye have grown, Sean. Now that I won't be worryin' about ye tryin' t' trap me, I'll be here, watchin' over all of ye."

"I'll see you have your milk and cookies again."

Quick as a squirrel, the little fellow was up and ready to leave by the window where he had slipped in. He paused. "Could ye be doin' me a wee favor then?"

"Sure. Name it."

"Now and then do ye think ye might make that a wee bit of good Irish whiskey instead of milk?"

"You have it!"

Once again the leprechaun hesitated. "Ye're sure ye don't want all that gold...?"

"I have all the gold I ever want," Sean replied. "In the ring on my wife's finger, and this." His fingers wound through the golden curls of his sleeping daughter.

THAT DAMNED CAT

By Jac Eddins

"Damn cat," Josh muttered.

The big, black cat sat like a queen presiding over her court and stared back with yellow, unblinking eyes. For some reason the stupid creature couldn't distinguish which apartment it belonged in, and insisted Josh's place was home.

With a deep sigh, Josh bent down and lifted the cat. Its weight made him certain it was not malnourished. The creature gave him no trouble and never fought him when he evicted it. Josh smoothed the sleek fur and smiled at the rumbling purr in response.

Josh went to the patio door, speaking as he did so to his uninvited guest. "Now, see here, girl. This is not your home. It isn't going to be. You have a nice place somewhere and an owner who wants you. Why don't you be a good cat and stay where you belong?"

Josh placed the animal outside on the patio ground. The cat cocked its head to one side and appeared to consider Josh's admonition. Its tail raised to form a question mark.

Josh continued to chuckle and let himself back into his apartment. He had been sure the patio door was closed. How did that creature get in? This was the fifth time in the week since he'd moved in. He made a mental note to find out where the cat belonged and speak to its owner.

A quick bowl of cereal and cup of instant coffee made his breakfast. Josh couldn't help but think the cat was lucky; she had someone who cared.

The clock moved too quickly, and work awaited. Josh gazed into his dresser mirror and adjusted his tie. Dark brown eyes looked back at him, assessing what they saw. His black wavy hair was just a little longer than the fashion, but, other than that, he wasn't a man who would stand out in a crowd. Women found him rugged looking rather than pretty-boy handsome. They seemed to like him well enough.

Josh liked women, too. Lately though, he'd grown tired of the game. He'd begun to wish for something more permanent. It would be great to find someone who could share his whole life, and not just the casual nights. He didn't want just any woman, though; he wanted a very special sort of lady.

His new position kept him busy. The hours at work flew by and, in what seemed no time, he was done for the day and back home. He unlocked the door to his ground floor garden apartment.

Finding this place had been a stroke of luck, but then, things were unusually good for him of late. This job paid more than he'd ever hoped, and the apartment was all he wished for.

"Meeeow." The cat on his couch looked up at him as if questioning his lateness.

Josh's annoyance faded and he laughed. The animal had been waiting for him, like a wife. Who said black cats were unlucky? Since this one came along his life had been pretty good. Pretty good? Great!

"Now, how did you get back in here again?" he asked the cat. He didn't expect an answer. Josh walked to the sliding patio door and found it open again, just enough for one slinky black cat to fit her way through. He would have sworn he closed and locked it after putting the cat out that morning.

Josh poured a glass of wine, turned on the TV and sat back on the couch. A channel playing old movies caught his attention. Company would have been nice, but morning came early and he did need some rest. Half way through a rousing pirate tale his eyes began to close.

Something moved and he glanced up. At first he thought it was just the cat, but the figure began to stretch and grow until, hypnotized and staring into its amber eyes, Josh saw it was a woman. He shook his head to clear his mind and stood.

"You aren't real," he mumbled. "You can't be!"

"Very real for you," her throaty voice purred. "Don't you like me?"

"I... I..."

"Look at me, Josh," the woman murmured. She turned about slowly so he could admire the lusciously curved body beneath her filmy black gown.

"Things like this don't happen," Josh protested. In spite of his argument, his body reacted to her presence. A haunting perfume filled his nostrils and every part of him came suddenly alive. His hands reached out of their own volition to touch the silky smooth skin of her shoulder as she came to stand before him.

"Sometimes dreams do come true," she said with a low laugh. "You've been wanting someone very special. I'm here."

"Yes, I'd say you were... very special. Although that wasn't exactly what I had in mind."

"Don't you like what you see?"

"Oh, yes. Very nice. But I had in mind someone, well, real. Do you turn back into a cat during the day? Are you a witch?"

That appeared to amuse rather than anger her. She placed her hand over his heart and pushed. Josh tumbled backward and, in the blink of an eye, she pounced on him. Her strange amber eyes bore into his all the while she loosened and removed his tie.

"Look, Lady... I don't even know your name..."

"You can call me Ishtar," she whispered. Her head bent and her mouth covered his top shirt button. Sharp teeth cut it from the garment and she spat it across the room, the way kids did with watermelon seeds. In no time his shirt was open and off. Her hot hands slid over his chest.

His rational mind screamed, "That's a damned forty dollar shirt!" The rest of him didn't care. Those small hands quickly and efficiently rid him of his belt. Her heady perfume made him dizzy and he found all he wanted to do was... "Now, wait. This can't happen."

Even as he fought it, he was losing the battle. She nipped his earlobe and he shuddered with the passion rising within him. Without thinking he lifted his hips and allowed her to pull off his trousers and shorts together. In a moment she removed her filmy gown. If she looked like perfection before, she was more so now.

Slowly, smiling like the fabled Cheshire Cat, she moved to position herself over him. His body strained to meet hers, waiting for the indescribable moment when he would feel himself inside her.

"Josh," she murmured.

Ding-dong.

Who in hell would disturb him at a moment like this?

Ding-dong.

Josh sat up to find himself alone, his clothes, except for a loosened tie, all in place. Damn! What a dream!

He came to his feet and hurried to answer the door.

"You..." he gasped

The woman looked at him in surprise. She was as lovely as she had been, but she dressed in a much more conservative pair of jeans and tee-shirt.

"Ishtar..." he said hoarsely.

"Yes. How did you know? Oh, yes. Of course. You read the plate on her collar!"

"Her collar?" he repeated.

"Yes. My cat. Is she here?"

"I... I don't know at the moment." He gained a bit of control. "Won't you come in? You're welcome to look."

"Thanks," the woman said. She moved into the room and glanced about at the elegant but sparse furnishings. "Nice place."

"I haven't really had much chance to do anything yet."

She smiled. "I know. I've seen you a half dozen times since you moved in. I wanted to say hello and welcome, you just never seemed to notice me."

Not notice her? He had to have been lost in another world. "I'm sorry, Miss...?"

"Lisa," she filled in for him. "I live across the hall from you."

"Oh." His manners finally surfaced. "Can I offer you something? A drink?"

Her eyes fell on his empty glass beside the couch. "What are you having?"

"Just a bit of wine. Nothing fancy. Just..."

"That will do nicely."

Josh hurried to the kitchen and brought another glass. He filled both. Lisa sank into the easy chair as if she belonged there.

"I hope Ishtar hasn't made a nuisance of herself," Lisa told him. "She considers this an extension of our place. My very dear friend lived here and Ishtar was always here looking for a handout."

Irrational irritation filled Josh.

"Yes. Jo was so lucky. That job on the west coast came through. It was a miracle, and she jumped on the opportunity. I do miss her, though."

"Jo. Her?"

Lisa gave a throaty laugh. "Josephine. She hated that. Jo to her friends."

"Oh." Why was he so oddly relieved?

"I wanted to tell you, your patio door lock doesn't work right. You may want to have it fixed. Ishtar learned if she jumped up and hit it with her paw, the door will unlock and open a bit. She wedges in her paw and pushes it until she can get her body through."

"So that's how..." Josh laughed, too. "I was beginning to think she was some magical creature!"

Lisa sipped her wine and they talked. Before they knew it, the night was half gone. Josh took her to her door and waited while she unlocked it.

"I don't understand why a woman like you isn't taken," he managed to blurt out.

"I'm particular," she answered him. "Men these days don't spend money taking a woman out unless they're assured payback. I don't pay back."

Josh flushed. "Would you consider going to dinner with me Friday night? If I promise I won't even try?"

Lisa again gave her throaty laugh. "I'd like that very much." She moved to him and kissed him lightly on the lips. "I have good feelings about you, Josh. Ishtar is choosy, too. I knew you must be special."

She was gone before he could respond. He stood in the hallway, wearing a silly grin. He was still smiling when he entered his own apartment.

"Meeeow."

Ishtar sat in her queenly position and watched him.

Maybe he had been wrong about cats.

"Well," he said, "I have a hunch you're going to be around for some time. We may as well get to know each other. How does tuna sound? I think I have a can in the cupboard..."

He would have sworn the cat winked.

THE TIME MACHINE

By Jac Eddins

"What really did happen to Dr. Daniels, sir?"

Dr. Jeffrey Lang gave a deep sigh and sat back in his leather upholstered desk chair. The reporter's bright eyes and flushed face betrayed his excitement. In his eagerness, he fumbled his pen, retrieved it, and hastily prepared his notepad. Jeff gave him a warm, patient smile. "If you want the whole story, I'll tell you. I have a little time before my wife gets here to pick me up," he said. "We're off on a long delayed holiday."

The young writer's shoulders sagged and his features showed his disappointment. "Perhaps when you return...?"

"I said we had some time. Rick, isn't it?"

"Yes, sir. Rick Moran."

"Relax. Just call me Jeff," Dr. Lang chuckled. "My wife had 'a few things' to pick up before we leave. You know women. That gives us at least an hour!" He took a sip of his single malt, savoring the smooth, smoky flavor. "Where should I begin?"

"You worked with Dr. Daniels, right? The official reports say you were with him the night he disappeared. Other than that, the record is very sketchy."

Jeff nodded in agreement. "I don't think they believed all I told them. After all this time, I'm not sure I do myself – and I was there. I'll tell you what happened, and leave it to you whether you write the story or not." He settled back, closed his eyes a moment, and then began.

"Dr. Mark Daniels contacted me about seven years ago. I had just published my first paper on electronic force fields. The scientific community made a big fuss, and I was ready to believe I could do anything. Mark already had a reputation as a genius, if a bit odd. I was on pins and needles meeting him the first time. I swore to maintain secrecy concerning his project before he would even tell me what it was. What he proposed boggled the mind. He wanted me to develop a force field, one that would protect him on his next experiment – in time travel.

"Now, you're probably saying to yourself the same thing I said then. Impossible. Madness. Either that, or he was joking with me! But Mark was completely serious. He confided to me that he had already made one excursion into the past. It had nearly been the end of him. At that point, I was ready to have him certified and committed. He recognized my skepticism. 'I can prove it to you,' he told me. 'Come with me...'"

Mark led him into a room filled with early American artifacts, really 'early American', Native American! The things were beautiful. Woven baskets, deerskin clothing, pottery. Everything looked as if it were brand new, yet, even without much training in such things, Jeff could see they were absolutely authentic. He could only imagine Mark had persuaded some modern tribe to duplicate things their forefathers made centuries before. Next Mark led him over to examine the photographs framed on the walls. They were all extraordinary pictures of tribal life. Several were of a young girl, the most beautiful child he'd ever seen.

Mark frowned and studied Jeff for several minutes. Jeff became increasingly uncomfortable and Mark laughed. As if Jeff passed some test, Mark suddenly smiled. "That girl is the reason I want a force field next time. Some illness struck the tribe and several people died. Her mother was some sort of 'witch' woman and the natives held her accountable. They stoned her, along with the girl. I was too late to save the mother, but I did manage to rescue the girl. I carried her back here, to my own time. In doing so, I had a few ugly wounds of my own and the machine was damaged beyond repair. It was a miracle it held up until we returned safely. That's when I determined my next attempt needed some precautions."

"You brought this girl back with you?" Jeff asked, incredulous.

"See for yourself..."

Mark led him back into his living room and had him examine the photos there. He saw the same girl portrayed throughout the years, growing to womanhood. He couldn't help asking, 'Where is she now?'

"At the University. I've raised her and educated her. You'll likely meet her before we finish this project together. This is her final year at school and then she'll join me in my work. Our work, if you agree"

Jeff accepted what Mark told him as truth. He had to become involved. Completely. He was being given the opportunity of a lifetime! No way could he refuse. "Just what is it you want me to do?"

Mark explained the task to Jeff. It was far from simple. Mark wanted a force field, a bubble, to protect each individual in the experiment. After rescuing the girl – Kim, he called her – Mark became overwhelmed by the possibility of creating a paradox. What if he inadvertently changed some detail which would affect the future? Would he return to a different reality? In the case of Kim, he hadn't changed the time line because Kim would have died there. She wouldn't have had children or otherwise influenced history. But – he couldn't take that risk again.

Secondly, he wanted to protect himself. He had no idea what he would find when he reached his final destination point. Sheer luck brought him to encounter that particular tribe as it migrated south. After his return Mark did some research and came to the conclusion the tribe he chanced upon had continued on southward to become the cliff dwellers of the American southwest. The patterns on their pots matched quite well.

The force field would prevent any interaction with whatever the time travelers discovered and keep them from harm. That in itself posed no small task. The enormity of it overwhelmed Jeff. Could he be a part of the most fantastic discovery of the ages? He leaped into the project wholeheartedly. Mark did not intend to make the next experimental trip alone, and Jeff immediately set about convincing him he should be one of those to accompany him.

***

By now the young journalist had set aside his pen and stared at Jeff in open disbelief. "Are you serious, sir?"

Jeff laughed and took another sip of his scotch. He stifled an amused grin when the reporter tried his and choked slightly. Good scotch took some getting used to.

"Completely serious! I threw myself into the work in earnest. Results didn't come easily. First I had to learn the mechanics of the time warp so the force field would not interfere with it. Mark's device excited subatomic particles, creating a wormhole through time. By varying the charge, he could keep the portal open a set time before it collapsed. We planned to anchor force bubbles to our own time. It's something like the string on a child's yo-yo, or a rubber band that would go just so far and then snap the bubbles back to the present. More than that, the fields had to be impervious to outside attack."

"Attack?"

"As I told you, Dr. Daniels had several nasty contusions where rocks struck him. Saving Kim wasn't wise, but he could not allow that beautiful child to die. I think he fell in love with her right then, although he either didn't realize it or denied it to himself. But, primitive as rocks may be, they can do a great deal of harm. Mark still had a couple of scars from them when I met him."

"Then he planned to return to the same time?"

Jeff rose from his chair and stretched. "Not exactly." He strode across the room, removed a small framed photo from the wall and handed it to the young man. "That's a picture of us in the lab, back when we began."

"You look so young – sir!"

"That was only seven years ago!" Jeff laughed and brushed back the silver hair at his temples. "Some things tend to age a man."

"Then this force field – that was what killed Dr. Daniels?"

For a moment Jeff didn't answer. "I suppose, in a way, it did." He poured himself another scotch. Rick declined his offer of another and Jeff reseated himself.

***

Jeff worked on it for over a year. Then it all came together. The time machine was finished and he believed he had the field perfected. Shortly before they were ready to make the test run, Kim returned from school. She was as excited as they were with the prospect.

Until then Mark and Jeff had never exchanged a harsh word. That changed after Kim arrived. The beautiful child had become the loveliest woman Jeff ever saw. From the first moment he saw her, he fell completely under her spell. Jeff liked to think he was a man of the world, but one look at Kim and he was a schoolboy again! The problem was, to his complete amazement, she was attracted to him, too. Mark saw it. He didn't like it at all.

***

"Jealous?"

"You could say that," Jeff nodded. "Until then, I thought his feeling for her was strictly paternal. I was wrong. At first he tried to hide it, but with every passing day things became more tense. By the time we made the first test it was obvious. The test proved successful, but we had a minor glitch. Mark insisted on doing the test alone..."

"And didn't come back?" Rick asked, wide-eyed.

"He came back..."

***

It took a tense hour and a lot of work. The recall unit jammed and the test lasted an hour longer than it should have. When they got Mark back, he was furious. He accused Jeff of trying to get rid of him, of plotting to steal his discovery. It took Jeff a while to show him what went wrong and convince him it was all a malfunction and an accident. Jeff thought Mark understood and believed him, but he was never quite the same again.

They made two more short tests of the machine, without an observer, and they went perfectly. It was time for another manned test. The night before Mark was to go a strange thing happened. The laboratory was in Mark's home on a huge country estate. Jeff had moved in there early in their association and they lived in seclusion except for a small household staff. That minimized distractions and maximized the time they could devote to our work.

The evening before the test, after dinner, Jeff took a walk through the gardens. Mark had a Japanese style garden pool not too far from the house, and Jeff found the beauty and peace of it the perfect place to relax and clear his mind. He sat on the summer grass and watched the water splash down over the rocks and into the pool, the goldfish come to the surface looking for food, iridescent damselflies hover over the water just out of their reach. All at once he sensed he was not alone.

Kim stood behind him. Her soft, amused smile let him know she'd been there for several minutes before he became aware of her. He had noticed how silently she walked, and often wondered if it came from her childhood training among her people. By then the sun hung low on the western horizon and the brilliant colors reflected in the water. Kim came to sit beside him, not saying a word. Minutes passed in silence, simply sharing the quiet loveliness. Suddenly, Kim came to her feet, her head cocked in an attitude of listening. She bent down, almost to Jeff's ear and whispered, 'Don't go on the test alone!' The next moment, she disappeared into the small wood surrounding the pool. Jeff didn't quite know what to make of it, but he sensed the urgency of her message.

He thought about her warning, and her, throughout the night. If he just had the courage to take her hand and tell her how he felt! But there was Mark – and he feared making the situation worse than it already was.

The next day, with the test ready to begin, Mark showed a decided reluctance to go. 'Why don't you make this test?' he asked Jeff.

Jeff thought fast. "Because, if there is a problem, it will be the force field, and I'm the one who has to adjust that. I can't work the controls for that from inside the bubble."

Mark scowled, but had to concede on that point. "Perhaps we should set up both systems with a remote," he suggested.

"We could," Jeff agreed. "But it will add months of work and testing. I thought you were eager to get past this experiment.'

"I am. I'm just not comfortable doing this alone–" Mark grumbled.

Jeff began to get the unpleasant suspicion Mark was accusing him. 'What about Jose?' Jeff asked. Jose was the son of the housekeeper and worked with them at times as a technician and general handyman. Jeff could see Mark didn't care for that idea, either.

"Why don't you both go?" Kim suggested. "I know the controls now"

Mark didn't like that any more than Jeff's suggestion, but, in the end, that's the way they did it.

They had four units completed, each similar to a one person auto. Manipulation of the force field provided the movement. Theory was all well and good, but riding in that vehicle the first time was a moment Jeff would never forget. The view from the driver's seat proved incredible, as if he actually moved across the pristine landscape unfettered. He couldn't see Mark at all. The only visible sign of the second vehicle was a slight shimmering distortion, like heat rays bouncing back from hot asphalt under the summer sun.

Jeff was so engrossed in the scene, he failed to keep track of where Mark was. The next thing he knew his unit was spinning, out of control. His sphere collided with a solid oak and brought him to a sudden, jolting halt. He blacked out for a moment when his head hit the front panel. When he regained his senses, he realized Mark's vehicle had crashed into his. Jeff tried to convince himself Mark hadn't seen him, but deep inside he felt it had been deliberate. Hadn't Kim warned him?

Luckily for Jeff the set duration of their excursion was up. It ended with a brilliant flash of light which caused him to turn his head and close his eyes. When he reopened them, he was back in the lab. Mark climbed from his vehicle, rushed to him, and offered all sorts of apologies. "We need some means of keeping track of each other's positions, communication between us and with home base," he concluded. Jeff agreed. It was possible they could work the link with the lab, but between the bubbles in the field posed problems Jeff couldn't answer.

"We can't get the signals to penetrate the force field," he explained. "The only way we might do it is to relay back to base."

Mark frowned. "At least we know we're well protected. Perhaps we should use some sort of padding, though, in case of impacts such as we experienced today. Is there anything at all that can penetrate the field?"

"The only thing I know of might possibly be a laser." Jeff laughed. "Not much likelihood of encountering one of those in the past! The padding might be a good idea. Since we're nearly invisible, there's no telling what might run into us. We could get a bump from a bison that would give us quite a bounce. Or we could accidentally get too close to each other again. The force fields have the effect of hitting a solid object – as we discovered today."

All in all, Mark was pleased with the test. He appeared calmer, his mind at ease, and made no more objections to making a couple of short tests alone. Each time they made some minor modifications with an eye to safety and comfort. The communication system by relay worked, although they found it caused about a minute's delay in reception. About then they began to feel the excitement of the real expedition. The first jumps were only a hundred years or so, but each of the experiments probed a little farther back. Mark feared having them exist twice in the same time, although Jeff didn't understand his reasoning there. Nonetheless, he was the genius, and they accepted his decisions.

In a way, Jeff regretted their location there in Montana. They traveled only in time, and there wasn't much to explore in the way of early civilizations. Jeff could visualize going back in other locales. He imagined seeing ancient Greece – Egypt...

***

Jeff could see the reporter's fascination. The young man had set aside his notepad and leaned forward, hanging on each word. "To discover the secrets of the ancient world," he breathed.

"Exactly!" Jeff smiled. "Recovering lost knowledge! Pictures of the Pyramids, the Sphinx, Stonehenge – all when they were new. Seeing who built them and how. Now you understand how I was captured into the program in spite of any danger! Well, after all our work and testing, I'll admit I felt the danger minimal. I still had goosebumps when the day finally came. The big jump."

***

Everything was set to operate automatically. The machine would propel them backward at exactly 10:00 A.M. Kim insisted on using the third vehicle. She had been so much a part of the planning and work, they couldn't refuse. Jose would remain in the lab just to keep an eye on the machinery, although they had covered every possible eventuality. The explorers had allowed exactly three hours before the machine recalled them to the present. Each of them had an assignment. Jeff's was to photograph the flora and any fauna they chanced upon. Mark meant to take wide, panoramic views of the changes in land elevations. Since they hadn't equipped the third vehicle with cameras, Kim would just make notes of the experience and enjoy the ride. That, it turned out, was all that saved Jeff's life.

Everything went smoothly. Suddenly they were in another world, one no man had seen before. They didn't talk much among themselves. The relay system made conversation difficult. The experience was incredible, traveling in an alien world, seeing plants that no longer existed all around them. A volcano smoked in the distance against an impossibly blue sky. Jeff fought the insane desire to turn off the force field and take a lung full of the pure, clean air. Time flew by and he snapped picture after picture, rapt with the strange beauty of the place. In some areas the ferns and growth were so thick he seemed to be swimming in a sea of green.

Then, on the relay, he heard Mark's voice come through. "Follow to my coordinates," Mark ordered. "There are footprints here I want you to record. Kim, stay where you are. This could be dangerous."

Jeff found Mark's vehicle in a slightly more open area. "Where are the prints?" he asked him. He waited for his answer to relay.

"There are none!" Jeff heard the naked hatred in Mark's voice. "I don't need you any longer! And you're not going to steal Kim from me! I raised her – taught her – made her my perfect mate and I won't allow you to change that!"

Jeff's blood ran cold! He'd heard that expression all his life, but for the first time he really understood it. "Mark, don't be foolish! I've never told Kim how I feel about her. Even if she did care for me, she's a woman – an individual. You can't own her!"

"She is mine! I found her. You don't deserve her."

"Mark, be reasonable. You can't harm me here within the force field. If you collide with me, we'll both just be bruised and battered." None the less, his fear escalated. In a series of deliberate collisions, it was possible the vehicles could sustain enough damage it might break their connection to base. Still, he didn't realize the full peril he was in.

"You have a minute to make peace with your Maker," Mark called over the relay. "The laser gun I brought will pierce your precious shield. An unfortunate accident – but you'll be lost – in time. You won't steal my credit for this discovery – and you won't get Kim!"

Panic seized Jeff. "For God's sake, Mark! Don't do it! If you fire..."

The time delay didn't allow his words to reach Mark in time. He saw a blinding flash. The force bubble disappeared, and, with it, the ability to move the vehicle. The violence of the released energy sent the vehicle reeling, though, and he braced for impact with whatever it came to rest against. He saw Mark's vehicle recoil with the same shock. Jeff hadn't been able to warn him the blast would penetrate his own shield. In his obsession to be rid of Jeff he hadn't considered that basic fact.

They were both dead in the water, as the navy would have put it. So far from all they knew, from any help. Jeff felt the ground tremble under him and immediately looked to the volcano. Nothing there had changed, but again the ground shook under him. His worst nightmares were coming true.

Jeff saw the shimmer of another force field and knew Kim had arrived on the scene. She pulled up close beside him and he saw her vehicle slowly become visible. "Hurry," she called out to him.

Her car hadn't been affected by the damage to the others. But time was running out. Another few moments and she would be jerked back to her own time. The chances of the time machine creating a new wormhole and hitting that exact day again were about the same as hitting the big prize in the national lottery. "Go!' he shouted to her. "Leave us!" He could bear his fate if he knew she was safe.

"I'm not going without you!' she called back. 'Now get over here!"

Jeff squirmed from his own wrecked car and ran to hers. He breathed in the air – choking with the fetid odor of decaying vegetation – and something else. He felt the ground shake with the impact of something very large.

The vehicles were never meant to carry two. Jeff thanked God. Kim was not a big woman and her car had not been equipped with all the photo equipment. He managed to squeeze in beside her. She hit the controls and again brought the force field up around them.

"Mark..." Jeff cried out. He could see him now, out of his vehicle and running toward them.

"We can't manage three,' Kim told him with a sad smile. She took a deep breath. "I had all my relay coms open. I heard it all and I've made my choice."

Mark was halfway to them when he stopped short and began to back away. The ground shuddered and it sounded like thunder just behind them. Jeff turned to look, but all he saw was a blinding light as the time machine whipped them back home. That was the last time they saw Mark Daniels.

***

Rick, the reporter, shook his head. "Do you have any proof of this?"

"None. All the photos were in the cameras of the two vehicles that were destroyed. The damage to the system was more than we thought, too. The strain caused a short circuit somewhere in the machine. We made it back, but, in minutes the lab was in flames. Kim and I barely made it out. Jose called the fire department and they saved most of the mansion, but the lab, all the documentation – completely lost. Without Mark we had no hope of duplicating the machine."

"What about Dr. Daniels surviving there and building another machine to return here?"

"Considering the primitive environment, finding the materials would be impossible."

"But he did have components from the two wrecked vehicles – batteries. With his genius..."

"I suppose anything is possible," Jeff conceded.

At that moment the door of the office opened. Jeff saw the reporter's mouth drop in wonder. Kim had that effect on men. Her perfect figure in a white skirt and top showed her slightly copper complexion to perfection. "Rick, this is my wife, Kim."

Rick made his farewell quickly after that, remembering they were about ready to leave on holiday. He laughed a little as he shook Jeff's hand. "You were right about it as a news story. Tabloid stuff with no proof. But, one day I plan to write a novel and, if you don't mind, you've given me one hell of an idea!"

"Send me an autographed copy," Jeff called after him. He turned and kissed his wife gently. "Are you ready to go?"

"Just a moment. Let me run to the lady's room a moment. Then we can leave."

"Lady's room! It's my room, too," he laughed. While he waited he crossed the room and studied another item mounted on the wall. The framed clipping had been taken from a little read scientific journal. The headline read: Paleontologists seek answer to Scientific Mystery. It continued: The latest theory holds that the modern skull found in the dinosaur fossil bed was accidentally interred there by native Americans ages later. Although the skull appeared more Caucasoid, a substantial variation among populations...

Jeff smiled a little. No, Mark Daniels wasn't coming back.

THE HARE'S PATH

By Jac Eddins

"No way!"

Jen's pretty face clouded with dismay as her eyes swept over the small craft. If Bob thought she was going out on the Atlantic in that tiny, frail boat, he was out of his mind! Not much bigger than a canoe, the sleek little sailboat didn't look as if it could challenge a duck pond. Now, here was Bob, proposing to take her out in it, out on the mightiest of waters. "You'll never get me on that thing," she declared with a toss of rebellious auburn ringlets.

"Wrong, sweetheart," he said with the ringing, mellow laughter she was growing all too fond of. He stood, looking at her with that endearing half smile that never failed to melt her into a puddle of warm honey. With the unruly mop of sandy hair, and the small gold hoop he wore in one pierced ear, he looked like a bold corsair of the Caribbean stepped right out from an adventure book.

He was right, of course. Bob always was. The afternoon found them skirting the islands off the coast on the gray-green ocean. Jen gave frightened little screams whenever the wind caught the sail and tilted the tiny craft so close to the waves she could taste the salt spray. But, by the end of summer, she became a veteran sailor, enjoying their days sailing as much as he. She learned she had nothing to fear when she was with him, nothing more than the loss of her heart.

That selfsame heart leapt with joy at the sight of him each time he came for her. Most often he wore nothing more than a ragged pair of cutoffs. On the deck of their small boat, his well-bronzed body glistened with sweat under the summer sun, his shaggy, lion-like mane wind-tossed by the ocean breezes. Bob always looked as if he needed a haircut. He could come out of the shower and dress in freshly pressed clothes and still look as if he slept in them; it was a knack he had for always appearing just a bit disreputable, like the pirate she imagined. Jen's one regret was that the summer would soon end. They would both be going back to their final year at college, but not to the same school. The two universities were a hundred miles apart, and Jen had seen the waning of too many summer loves under such circumstances. There might be letters at first, but they would slowly grow shorter and less frequent, until they faded away completely. It had happened to a half dozen of her friends.

September loomed, and Bob still hadn't mentioned the separation to come. Jen's spirits sank. He could at least promise to write! Or say something. A tightness formed in her chest and an icy weight pressed down in the pit of her stomach each time she thought about their parting. Could it be he didn't feel it, that he didn't care?

On the last Saturday before Labor Day, they sailed out for the afternoon under skies of cloudless blue. The ocean was as calm as Jen had ever seen it. Their small craft darted like a porpoise, playing in and about the sandbars and islets. The day faded, and Bob seemed in no hurry to return to port. Instead, he headed into a small cove on one of the island beaches. There, with a wide grin and a flourish, he revealed the picnic basket he'd concealed under his denim jacket.

Cold chicken and potato salad was not quite the stuff of storybook romance, but Jen never enjoyed any meal as much. Bob poured glasses of red wine and Jen teased him; everyone knew white wine went with chicken! Bob didn't care; he did things his way. Best of all, the combination was delicious. Appetites honed by the salt air and warm sun, they ate and laughed with the joy of children.

Darkness came on. Still Bob made no move to leave the islet. With a gentle smile, he took Jen's hand and led her up onto the highest point of the dunes. There he spread the small blanket he brought and together they sat, Jen wrapped in his arms as the cooler air flitted over them like a lover's fingertips.

The crashing of the whitecaps on the shore echoed the beating of Jen's heart. Bob pointed to the eastern horizon. Awed, Jen watched the pale full moon rise up out of the sea, splendid against the night sky, bathing the white sand of the beach in its glow. The brilliant orb cast a shining silver path on the dark ocean waters.

"It's so lovely," Jen ventured. "That path across the water- it almost seems you could walk across on it."

"They call it the hare's path," Bob told her. "Legend says that the moon is married to a hare. That's his way home to her."

"That's a long way to travel," Jen told him, the twinkle in her deep blue eyes reflecting the stars.

"Not if he loves her the way I love you," Bob murmured, holding her tightly and breathing in the sweet, light fragrance she wore.

Jen's heart beat so rapidly she thought it would burst. He had said it! He loved her!

"I know why they say Venus was born from the sea," Bob whispered, holding her tightly against him, an urgency in his kiss as never before.

She knew all the reasons she shouldn't do it, but her body was alive with the same fire, with the longing to be one with this man she loved. His hands were on her, awakening feelings in her body as intense as the emotion within her. It was beautiful, the most natural thing in the world, as they came together. No matter what happened, she had shared this exquisite moment with the man she loved and she resolved never to regret it, whatever followed.

Jen sighed as she snuggled in his arms in the warm afterglow. "This has all been so wonderful. There'll never be another summer like this one."

"Wrong again, sweetheart," Bob laughed. "This is just the beginning. I want to spend all our summers together, for the rest of our lives."

The ring he slipped on her finger wasn't an expensive one, but there was never one more precious. He was right; it was not the end; it was the beginning.

***

They were married the next summer. The ceremony wasn't big or fancy, just a simple service in the chapel of the church on the largest of the barrier islands. Money was in short supply, but they had each other. Bob took a low level entry position in a very large corporation. Jen took a job as a clerk to help.

In spite of the precautions, Jen found herself pregnant. Joy and fear blended when she had to tell her young husband. For a moment her heart sank as the look of incredulity crossed his rugged features. He was going to be angry, maybe blame her for carelessness. How many times had he said they couldn't afford to start a family?

The stunned expression faded in a whoop of joy. Bob grabbed her and swung her round and about through the air. As if he suddenly recalled her 'condition' he stopped and set her down, much as he'd have placed a priceless piece of china.

They'd been worried about the money, of course, but somehow they'd get through. All in all, they faced the future with the optimism of the young, there would be a way.

All that happiness crashed three weeks later when Jen miscarried. From heights of gladness, they plunged to the pit of grief. Bob held her in his arms as tears flowed down her cheeks.

"I'll never get over it," she sobbed.

"Wrong, sweetheart," Bob soothed her. "Much as this hurts now, there'll be other chances. We'll have our family. Just wait and see."

***

Bob was right, as usual. First came Jason and then Allison. Bobby followed a few years later. Work was better. Bob moved up a bit, and, with his better salary and the money Jen made, they bought a little house on the edge of town. The kids grew strong and healthy, always looking ahead to the summers when they went back to the beach where their parents fell in love. Their sailboat was a bit larger, but the adventure continued.

The economic health of the country wasn't as good. Jen came home, frightened and tearful, to tell Bob she lost her job in the company's cutbacks.

"We won't be able to keep the house," she told him, worrying what they'd do about finding a less expensive place to live.

"Wrong, sweetheart," Bob smiled. "I'm making better money now, and there's a part time job open down at the garage. I've always been pretty good with tools."

***

And he was.

His careful work and honest dealing made him many friends, and before long he was doing better at the garage than at his white collar job. People respected and trusted his integrity. When things went wrong with their cars, Bob was the only one they'd go to. He gave fair prices and still made money. Things were good. Bob quit the office job and opened his own shop.

Jason was ten when they bought the summer place, just off the dunes on the island they loved. Their first night in the new place, they celebrated with chicken, potato salad and a nice red wine. The children got to bed early, tuckered out from a vigorous day playing in the sun and surf. Jen and Bob slipped out to watch the full moon rise again from the sea. That one thing remained special, as if nature produced the spectacle each time just for them.

Bob was unusually thoughtful as he held her.

"Something wrong?" she asked him?

"Just thinking what a lucky man I am," he rumbled, mussing her hair and breaking into his deep laughter.

Jen laughed, too. She loved him as much as she did the day she married him. Her head rested against him.

"Some natives believe it's the hare's path that spirits take to the other world," Bob said in a quiet voice.

Jen shuddered as with a sudden chill. "We'll only take that path together," she vowed, "and only when we're very old."

"Too old to make love anymore?" Bob murmured in her ear.

"You're too old for that now," Jen teased him, lying back on the soft blanket they spread to sit upon.

"Wrong again, sweetheart," Bob laughed- and proceeded to prove it.

***

The oldest boy was a freshman in high school when Bob became ill. Bob's husky frame withered. Four months after the doctors confirmed the dreaded diagnosis, Bob was dying. Jen sat beside him, white faced and shaken, trying not to cry.

"Promise me," Bob pleaded in a hoarse rasp, "that you'll go on. Enjoy your life. Just promise me – if you're tempted to marry again, that he'll be a better man than I."

Jen's head shook vigorously, denying the inevitable. "I can't go on without you!"

"Wrong again, sweetheart," he said with a sad smile. "You will. You'll raise our kids right. You'll go on – for me."

***

Jen did go on. It wasn't easy, but she went back to work. With the small amount of insurance money and what she could earn, they survived. The children all worked, too, to put themselves through college. Jen helped them all she could, working every day in a restaurant near the beach house. Customers were few in the cool months, but the summers were good. From time to time she met someone pleasant and enjoyed dinners and companionship, but she never found a better man.

***

Years continued to fly by.

One day, Jen was old. The children thought she hadn't heard the doctor say it was a matter of days. She let them go on thinking they shielded her from that reality. They all turned out so well. Bob would have been proud.

Night came on. Jen had the nurse take her to the balcony of her bedroom. Jason was now a prominent and well-to-do businessman. He knew how much his mother loved the beach and the ocean view, and he had workmen come to the old house and build a deck on to it, just outside her bedroom. From there she could watch the waves lap at the shore and smell the ocean air. Darkness came, and the full moon rose once more from the sea. Jen raised her arms as in worship, closing her eyes and remembering.

When she opened her eyes again, they were playing tricks on her. Swirling clouds surrounded the silver path and she would swear she saw a figure. Weary, she resigned herself. This was what it was like, the mind going as the soul left its longtime host.

All at once she no longer felt so tired and she stood. Without effort, she moved to the edge of the balcony- and then she was free, soaring across the luminous path. She could see Bob, his arms wide open to her. He was coming to greet her! He looked just as she remembered him the night they first made love on the island beach.

Somewhere, in the last vestige of earthbound thought, she knew that if she looked back toward the house she would see a very still old woman sitting on a balcony overlooking the beach. How sweet that she had this last glorious moment before the end.

"So this is it. It's over," she whispered to herself.

Close in her ear she heard the ringing, long remembered laughter as strong arms enfolded her. The words came in that beloved deep voice.

"Wrong again, sweetheart. This is just another beginning. Love has no end."

BEYOND

By Jac Eddins

The old man groaned and tried to raise a body too worn and frail to obey. Papa had been old even when Selene was a child; now he lay dying.

"Rest, Papa," she said. She eased him back down on the pillows.

"I have eternity to rest, child," he answered in the little raspy breaths remaining to him. "It's my time and nothing can stop that. I've lived twice as long as any man about these parts, but an end comes to all."

"Oh, Papa!" Tears welled up in her mud-brown eyes. "Don't leave me all alone..."

"I'll take care of you, child. You've been such a dear girl. You've done all I ever asked and never questioned. One last thing. Go in my study and get the jar on my desk, the tall one with the hieroglyphics painted on the side."

Selene ran to get what he asked, as she always had done. She tried to be everything he wanted and helped him all she could. It made up for his disappointment in her. Pictures of her mother showed a stunningly lovely woman, but Selene certainly didn't favor her. Selene often studied her plain face in the glass and wondered if her mother died at the shame of having such an ugly child. Papa never cared though; he loved her regardless.

Papa told her to sprinkle the reddish powder from the jar in a circle around the bed, careful not to leave any break. She did as he instructed and created a second circle around her, too, taking pains to follow his directions to the letter.

Many of the other kids teased her about her father while she was growing up. Some said he was a wizard or a witch. Others taunted her, calling him an old crazy. It didn't bother her any longer; her Papa knew things other men didn't. The townspeople didn't call him names when they came to him for advice. He knew when was best for planting which crops, how to fix it when the hens quit laying or when the cows dried up.

The fragile old man took his willow wand in one shaking hand and, with the last of his strength, held it aloft. He uttered a string of strange words. He'd taught Selene Latin and Greek, but these words were unfamiliar to her.

When he finished speaking he smiled at her. "Don't cross the line until the flames die," he said. "I'll take care of you always, as you've cared for me. Death is no barrier to love. I love you, child."

Before she could protest, he lay back in the bed and closed his eyes. His lips moved, but she could not hear. The powder burst into a ring of flame so bright she could not look. Selene backed away, her arm raised before her to shield her eyes. The fire burned for what seemed an eternity. When it died, just a minute had passed and no trace of charring remained to show where it had been.

***

Papa had made arrangements with the powers of the community to have a small area on his land designated a cemetery. He was buried there. A few of the neighbors made a perfunctory visit to the funeral and extended the condolences and false offers of help expected of them. A few of the women clucked over the fate of the young woman, bereft and alone to run the large farm. Most expected to see the place on the market and Selene departed within a few months time.

Selene stood alone at the grave after all the others had gone. Her plain, shapeless black dress and reddened eyes did nothing to enhance her plain features. She bowed her head.

"What will I do now, Papa?" she whispered. "I don't want to be alone."

Something brushed against her hand and she started. A large black dog gazed up at her with more caring than she'd seen in the eyes of all her neighbors. The dog sat, cocking its head to one side as if asking a question. In spite of her grief, Selene smiled and patted the animal's head.

"Now where did you come from?" she said aloud. She reached to read the ID tag on the dog's collar: BOLTAR Property of J. Johnson. Her brows knit in a puzzled frown. "How could you be my father's?"

The huge black shepherd continued to turn its head from side to side as if trying to decipher what she said.

Selene laughed a little. "Come on then, boy. Let's go home." Even a dog was a live companion and welcome.

***

The following day the realities of life alone began to crowd in upon her. Only one of the men her father hired to work the farm showed up. He came to pick up a few of his personal possessions and say goodbye.

One odd thing occurred. He took his own things with no interference, but when he would have picked up a large box of her father's power tools the dog snarled. The hair along its spine stood on end and it showed a set of very white, sharp teeth. The hired hand quickly remembered the box didn't belong to him. He didn't try to take anything else which was not his own.

Perhaps the men feared, with her father gone, they wouldn't get their wages. Selene couldn't do the hard physical work the land required and had enough sense to know she wouldn't be able to hire new help. A strong suspicion formed in her mind. One of the neighbors had long wanted their land to add to his own. He offered a fair price, but Jeremiah Johnson had been raised on that land and didn't want to leave it. Perhaps now the neighbor felt Selene would bow to pressure.

Just after dusk a knock sounded on her front door. A tall, burly fellow with haystack hair, freckles and a wide grin waited there.

"Ms Selene," he addressed her, hat in hand, "I've come to see if you need help with the farm."

"Well, I..."

"I know your other help quit. And why. Me and a couple of my friends... Well, we owed your Pa some favors and we're willing to pitch in. The only thing is, we'll have to work here after our regular jobs so it would be in the evenings. If that's O.K. with you."

Tears flooded her eyes. That was more than O.K.; it was a Godsend. Selene accepted the offer with profound thanks.

***

The harvest proved three times what Selene anticipated. The silos filled with grain and the surplus sold at a good price. For the first time since she lost her father, Selene looked ahead to a comfortable winter. The young man, Freddie, who first came to her door, continued to appear with a few others each evening at dusk to do whatever needed doing.

The days weren't quite so lonely with Boltar at her side. Selene spent much of her time beside the hearth sewing, mending and knitting. When she finished all there was to do of that she took to reading. Still, she avoided the stacks of books sitting untouched in her father's study. That room lay as it was when Papa left it the last time.

Things changed in town, too. Selene drove her battered old Buick in to do her shopping and no one made fun of it. The people in the stores looked at her and smiled. Mrs. Watson, the shopkeeper's wife in the general store, even suggested a pretty tangerine lipstick just in and told her the shade was perfect for her.

Selene hadn't ever worn make-up and stood before her mirror a trifle tentative about trying it. Would anything help her plain features? Her gaze met that of her reflection and she stared. Was this her? The features were the same, but there was a subtle change. Her brown eyes showed flecks of amber color and lit her expression. It was her, but refined and softened. Selene shook her head. She spent too much time alone and had begun to imagine things.

She walked to the door of the old study and regarded her father's things with a regretful sigh. "Oh, Pa. Was I such a disappointment you never had another child? I just wish I had someone of my own to love, someone who would never leave me."

The winter wind outside moaned in answer.

***

With a little of the extra money from the sale of the crops, Selene bought a dress during her next trip to town. The rust color and its soft lines flattered her slim figure. She stared in wonder at the woman in the dress shop mirror, turning in a swirl of delicate fabric. She carried the box back to the car as if it contained the crown jewels. She'd never had anything so pretty.

Selene enjoyed her day in town, so much she hadn't realized how late it had become. The sun dipped below the horizon just as she left town and started the hour drive back to the farm. About ten minutes onto the lonely road she passed a man on foot. He turned to the car and raised his hand in a gesture to beg a ride. Usually she wouldn't have picked anyone up, but something about the fellow seemed familiar. She backed up and waited for him to come to the car.

"Hi," he smiled. "Selene, isn't it? Remember me?"

Selene had avoided town since she graduated from high school seven years before, but she couldn't mistake the boy who secretly made her heart race all through her senior year. Boy? No more. Tall and broad, with wavy dark hair and sparkling eyes, he had matured into a fine looking man. "Andrew Carmichael!" she breathed. "Can it really be you?"

"Sure is. You're looking fine, Selene. How are things? I heard about your Pa. Sorry I couldn't make it to the service."

Selene lowered her head so he wouldn't see her flush. "I'm doing all right," she said. How inane! Why couldn't she ever think of anything brilliant to say? Something that might make a man like Andrew really look at her. "Where are you headed?"

"The Walker farm. Know where it is?"

"Oh, sure. Right close to us." She motioned for him to climb in.

Andrew went around and slid in on the passenger side. "I'm sure glad you came along, Selene. I wasn't looking forward to that long walk. I hoped someone might come along and give me a lift."

"How come you weren't driving?"

Andrew gave a deep sigh. "Car's a mess. I had a little accident."

"Oh."

"You're looking good, Selene. You've changed."

Selene powered up the old engine and started them on their way, too flustered by unaccustomed compliments to answer.

Andrew sat back in the passenger seat and rested his head there. "I looked for you at the prom. Why didn't you come?"

"No one asked me," she said, her surprise evident. "I thought you went with Sharon Miller."

"That didn't mean I couldn't dance with you. I should have asked you. I was such a kid then. All I saw was Sharon's pretty face. She used me to get to the dance when Jim Arnold asked someone else. I took her, but it was Jim she wanted. I may just as well not have been there. She married him, you know. They already have three kids and another on the way." He laughed a little. "She wanted his money, and she's earning it."

"She hurt you..."

Andrew sighed again. "Yeah. I took it pretty hard then. It's only later you begin to see people as they really are, without the facade. I wish I'd known then what I know now." He broke off and turned a smile toward her. "We used to have some pretty good talks back when. Would you mind if I stopped by some evenings?"

Selene grasped the wheel to steady her trembling hands. Did he mean it? Did he really want to spend time with her? "Would your wife mind?"

Andrew laughed. "No wife, Selene. No ties."

Selene never enjoyed any ride home as much as the remainder of that one.

***

The old clock on the mantle struck three at the same time Selene heard a car door slam. She hurried toward the door, but a brusque knocking came before she could reach it. Selene opened the door to find Elias Huber standing there and glaring down at her.

Elias stood at least six feet four and had the girth to go with it. His wavy salt-and-pepper hair and aristocratic features made the ladies in town look twice, but something about him didn't set right with Selene. Perhaps it was his eyes, not the clear bright blue of September skies – more like the dull dead blue-gray of slate.

"Mr. Huber," she addressed him politely, "I wasn't expecting you."

"If you and your father ever deigned to enter the twentieth century and get a phone I might have been able to call ahead," he growled.

"Kind of a waste," she returned with a sad smile. "No one would call here anyway."

"I'll get right to the point," Huber said. He stood at the entry, ignoring her gesture inviting him inside. "You can't run this place yourself. You want to consider my offer to buy it?"

"I'm doing quite well," Selene answered him. "My father is buried here. I don't want to leave as long as I can get by."

Huber scowled and took a menacing step toward her, towering over her slim form. He dwarfed her by a foot or more. Selene, frightened, took a step back.

"I didn't want to have to do it this way," Huber snapped. "You don't have a choice. Your father owed me a lot of money..."

"I don't believe you."

"He borrowed from me several times when years were bad. He had to have money for those weird experiments of his."

Selene drew herself up to face him. "My father never borrowed money from anyone. If you claim that, you better have signed papers to prove it."

"Are you calling me a liar?"

"If you insist on the claim, I am."

The man's lip curled. "Whose word do you think the courts will take?"

"I guess we'll have to see, won't we? Good day, Mr. Huber." Selene started to pull the door closed.

Huber grabbed it and held it easily with his great strength. "Now you listen to me, girl..."

A deep snarl sounded from beside Selene. She hadn't seen Boltar come into the room, but he stood beside her, fur bristled and ready to spring. The huge shepherd looked more like an oversize wolf than dog. Huber dropped his hand and moved back.

"I would have been generous if you were cooperative," the man snapped. "You've brought this on yourself."

Selene caught Boltar's collar before the beast could attack. It took all her strength to hold him back until Huber reached his car and drove away. She stroked the big dog's shaggy head.

"Good boy! What would I have done without you? I just wonder where Papa kept you that I hadn't seen you. He must have known I'd need you."

Selene closed the door, her heart pounding with her recent fright. She sank back into her rocker beside the hearth, stroking the head of the dog sitting beside her. Would Huber dare do as he threatened? And would the court take his word over hers?

***

True to his word, Andrew arrived at the house just past sunset. Selene fixed them tea, although he scarcely touched his. Andrew amused her with wild tales of things he'd seen during his two years in the Merchant Marine after he left High School and the tiny town of Breakwater. He didn't talk about much after that, but Selene wasn't one to pry. They played a few hands of rummy. Selene had the feeling he let her win, getting as much pleasure from her happy cries as she did in winning. He left a few minutes before midnight, promising to come again in a day or two.

Selene didn't mention her problem with Huber. It really was no concern of Andrew's and she wasn't certain the man would carry out his threat.

***

Two nights later Selene awakened to a pounding on her door. She hastily pulled her robe around her and ran to answer. A frantic, wild-eyed young man stood on her doorstep. At sight of her, he fell to the ground and grasped her about the knees, much as a small frightened child would clutch its mother.

"I'm sorry, Ms Selene. I didn't mean no real harm! He said it was best for you..."

"I don't understand," Selene frowned. "What are you talking about?"

"Burning the barn. He said if the barn burnt, you'd see it was best for you to move on."

"You were going to set fire to my barn? Oh..." She would have pushed away from him to see for herself all was well. "My poor animals!"

"They stopped me, Ms Selene. An' I didn't know there was any live critters. He said it was empty."

The ugly truth reared in her mind. Huber wasn't going to give up easily.

"I'm goin' to leave Breakwater in the morning. I won't never come back to this place again, but I thought I ought warn you. They said if'n I come back, bad things... I won't never trouble you again."

"I don't understand," she repeated. "Who are 'they'?"

He shook his head. "It don't matter. I'm a changed man, Ms Selene. I seen things tonight..."

He gathered his courage and dropped his hold on her. Once again on his feet he gave her a sort of bow, turned and rushed off into the night.

His mention of burning the barn troubled her. Selene couldn't rest without checking on the building and her animals. Poor Betsy, the Guernsey cow they'd had the last few years, wouldn't have a chance in a fire.

Selene got her flashlight and made her way down to the barn. The wide doors stood ajar. Biting her lip, Selene dared enter.

Freddie stood inside busily filling the feed trough. He gave Selene his usual broad, open smile. "Evenin', Ma'am."

"Hi, Freddie. I didn't know you were here working tonight. Have you had any problems?"

"Some kid came by. Looked like he had a little mischief on his mind. Me and a couple of the boys gave him a little scare. Don't think he'll be botherin' you again."

Boltar entered the barn and came to take a stance beside her. Absently, she patted the big dog's head. Freddie grinned again. "Your protector," he nodded in the animal's direction.

"It seems I have a few," Selene smiled.

"More than you know," Freddie replied. "More than you know."

***

Andrew visited several more evenings and life fell into a pleasant routine for Selene over the next weeks. Each time he came by, Andrew insinuated himself further into her heart. She dared to hope he might care for her, too. The first time he kissed her goodnight she didn't get to sleep until dawn, so overcome with the excitement of her first real kiss.

Selene busied herself around the house, at last able to put aside some of the grief from her father's passing. She began the slow task of putting his study in order, sorting books and putting them in their places on the shelves, stacking papers and old scrolls inscribed with symbols she couldn't recognize as any language she knew. Papa spent years poring through those. She capped and put away all the many potions and powders in his old cabinet. Why? She laughed at herself. She had no use for them, nor did anyone else she knew of, yet she could not bear to toss them away. In time she might run an ad in a city paper and find someone interested in them, but that didn't sit right. Keeping these things was a little like keeping a part of her Papa there.

***

The weather turned bad. Selene never before noticed how the boards creaked and the wind roared through the eaves like some mad monster. She couldn't sleep for the racket and paced the living room by the fire, seeking the comfort of its warmth. Papa had always kept her from the cold and set her fears aside.

A knock on the door startled her, but her cares faded like mist on a sunlit morning when she found Andrew at her door.

"I know it's late," he told her, "But I felt you needed me."

She hung up his coat and came to join him on the settee by the blaze. Snuggled under his arm, all was right with her world.

"I heard a banging noise," she confessed. "All I feared was Huber trying some other trick."

"Probably a loose shutter. I'll check them for you tomorrow." Andrew scowled. "Has Huber been bothering you?"

Selene told him the whole story while he nodded, grim-faced. When she finished, he soothed her. "Perhaps he gave it up when you called his bluff," he said. "That was a brave thing you did."

She smiled. "I had Boltar to protect me. It's funny. Boltar's never so much as growled at you or Freddie. Or any of the men who help around, for that matter."

"Dogs sense character," Andrew answered, stroking her hair. "Your father was wise to have him here for you. People often made fun of your Pa, but those were people who didn't know him. Lots of folk around here owed him favors and loved him. After your Ma died he sort of withdrew, but he still helped anyone as asked."

"I didn't know that," Selene sighed. "I knew he was good, but then, he was my Pa."

Andrew grinned down into her uplifted face. Captivated, she found his lips over hers. He murmured low against her neck, "Selene, I want to love you."

Her heart raced and she wanted to love him, too, but she feared the consequences. At school they always said if a girl gave in, the boy would cut a notch on the bedpost and move on.

As if he read her mind he said, "It isn't like that, Selene. I love you. I want to marry you."

"Marry?" Her heart would burst with happiness.

"I always planned on having Reverend Sharp say the words, but we can't do that until spring. Is that O.K., Selene?"

It was more than O.K. She melted into his embrace.

Later, she worried. "What if I get pregnant?"

"I don't think that will happen. If it should, we'll be married anyway," he laughed. "You know what they say. First babies come anytime; the rest take nine months. I'll make you happy, Selene. No matter what comes, don't worry. My love for you is real."

***

Throughout the next morning Selene drifted along on a cloud of happiness – until a pick-up appeared with Huber and two men she didn't know. She wished Andrew hadn't left before dawn, that he could be there for her, but she would do what she had to. Before they reached the house she found the shotgun in her father's study and loaded it.

Selene met the intruders on the top step of her porch, gun at ready.

"Don't make this hard on yourself," Huber sneered. "These men are here to help me get what's legally mine."

Boltar stood at her side, ready to spring. That and the gun caused the new men to hesitate.

"Nothing here is legally yours!" She spoke directly to his men. "He's lying. If he had a claim he could go to court and prove it. He wouldn't need you to come out here to do his dirty work. Do as he says and you're committing a crime, and unless you kill me, I will file charges."

The taller of the men turned to his companion. "I ain't killin' no woman, and I ain't doin' no more time for breakin' the law."

"I hear ya," the other grunted. "Sorry, Mr. Huber. You didn't tell us none of this. You better get yourself a couple more boys or do what the lady says and go to court."

That night, when she told Andrew, he grew furious. He held her tightly in his arms. "My brave girl," he said, touching her face with his fingertips in infinite care. "We'll have to put a stop to this."

He kissed her and Selene forgot all about Elias Huber.

***

Selene discovered she was almost out of sugar and needed a few other household things. The next day, Friday, she made the trip into town to purchase them. Since her encounter with Huber she'd hesitated to go to town. That was his territory and she dreaded the possibility of having to face him again. She needed to find herself a lawyer, just in case Huber did follow through and try the court. As a well known businessman from the town Huber might believe a judge would discount her denials.

The storekeeper's wife greeted her with an unexpected hug and show of relief.

"Dear Selene! We were so worried about you! You really must get a phone, dear."

"I'm quite all right, Mrs. Watson." Had word somehow come to town about Huber's harassment of her?

"I hope your place is good and strong. They think it was a bear..."

"A bear? I'm sorry, I don't understand."

Oh, dear," Mrs. Watson went on fretting, "Then you haven't heard! Mr. Huber was found dead, killed by some wild animal. The Sheriff believes it must have been a bear come down from the mountains looking for food. Not much to eat for the poor things this time of year. Mr. Huber must have caught it in his garbage and tried to scare it off. Foolish man. He was big, but the bear was bigger."

Selene's head spun at the news and at the mixed emotions it caused. She had no more to fear from Huber, but she would not wish such a death on anyone.

"I'll have to tell Freddie," she mused. "He'll have to be careful."

"Freddie who, dear?"

"Freddie Marshall. He's been helping me out at the farm evenings."

Mrs. Watson frowned. "You must mean Teddy, Freddie's brother, dear. Freddie was killed in a plane crash four years ago. I hadn't heard Teddy was back, though. Poor boy left here after his twin was killed like that. You look pale, dear! Is something wrong?"

"May I sit down?" The older woman helped her to a chair. Selene's mind raced. The woman must have confused the brothers. Yes, that was it! She sat and took a deep breath.

"So much news," Mrs. Watson went on. "They finally found a buyer for the old Carmichael place. Shame that's been empty so long. A lawyer from New York's buying it, I hear."

"What about Andrew? I thought he had the place now." Selene felt the world spinning about her.

"Oh, you poor dear! You really don't keep up on things. Andrew was killed in an auto accident – let's see – five years back, I think it was."

***

Selene awakened in Dr. Kent's emergency room. He spent a long time talking to her, explaining how grief could play strange tricks on the mind. She had to accept the reality her Pa was gone. What she thought she saw were phantoms created by her mind. Dr. Kent convinced her to rest there for a day and gave her some pills to take when she went home. Once she faced her grief she would be fine and the illusions would cease.

Selene went home to an empty house. Boltar had disappeared, too; whether he was another illusion or strayed while she was away she couldn't tell. All she did know was once again she was alone.

***

The hired hands Huber frightened off with his threats returned to ask for work. Selene took them back and, except for the loneliness, months sped by. Soon it was March and a hint of spring permeated the warmer air. The new phone worked well. Mrs. Watson called every few days to check on her and gossip awhile. Things went well with the farm; the men worked hard and the spring planting went quickly. Selene did notice the men never lingered about the place when dusk came.

The day came when Mrs. Watson told her Reverend Sharp died a few days earlier. She smiled bitterly, remembering how Andrew wanted the old preacher to marry them in the spring. Andrew: her beautiful dream. Tears came, and Selene gave way to them. She fell asleep, exhausted, lying across her bed.

Selene woke with a start. She had dreamed of her father and of his passing. What had he told her? Death is no barrier! What had he done?

"Believe," a voice inside her said. "He opened the door for you, to give you happiness. Grasp it. Open it!"

"It was madness," she murmured to herself. "Grief induced madness!" But was it? What if it were real, if she could believe? "Oh, help me believe!" she whispered.

Something bright glittered on the top of the dresser in the last light from the dying sun. Selene picked it up. The gold band fit her ring finger on her left hand. She took it back off and examined it closely. Engraved inside initials read AC and SJ joined by the infinity sign.

A deep bark sounded at the door and she ran to let Boltar in. Down near the barn Freddie took off his hat and waved to her. If this was madness she would plunge into it, embrace it. Selene ran to her mirror to brush her dark wavy hair. In just a little while Andrew would be there, and she knew Reverend Sharp would be with him. Perhaps one day soon she would go into the study and find Pa fiddling with his potions and powders.

Selene hurried to the door, eager and impatient. All at once she had the strangest sensation. She placed her hand on her slightly swollen belly and felt the baby kick.

"Thank you, Pa," she breathed. "You gave me this, opened my eyes. I love you – and Andrew – and I'll never be alone again!"

WIZARDS, DRAGONS, POPCORN STRINGS

By Marissa St James

"No one should have to work Christmas Eve," Kate muttered. All week long her job had gone from bad to worse. At least she wouldn't have to think about work problems over the long weekend. Her stride slowed to match her cooling temper. Christmas was just another day to her. There was no one to celebrate with, even if she'd had the notion to observe the holiday. She shrugged and thought about how much she wanted to get home and forget this day ever happened.

Marc was the last person she wanted to think about. The argument they'd had just before she left work kept replaying itself in her mind, renewing the hurt.

"You? A writer?" he'd laughed. "Be serious, Kate. Merlin and Arthur are fantasies for children. You're a grown woman. You should be spending your time making plans for our future. No wife of mine is going to work. You won't have time for fantasies." He grinned that devilish grin of his, believing he had the upper hand. "I'll keep you plenty busy."

"If that's the way you feel about it, then I guess I'm not the right woman for you," she'd replied too calmly, hiding the sting of his remarks. She took his hand and dropped her engagement ring onto his palm, then turned and walked away before he could see the tears in her eyes. She ignored him as he called after her.

Kate sighed and looked up at the low dark clouds in the night sky. What little light existed, reflected on the white blanket, making her walk home treacherous. Patches of wet ice lay beneath the covering, waiting for a wrong step. Tiny, lacey flakes danced on the air and spun merrily to the distant Christmas music. Kate could hear the tune floating on the cold, crisp air, coming from the direction of the public ice skating rink. She wished Burl Ives would take his holly jolly Christmas somewhere else.

Without warning, Kate's foot slipped on a bit of ice, but she caught her balance. She paused on the icy path to her house to catch her breath, and decided she'd do better to pay attention to her footing than think about past arguments. The house her parents left her several years before was set back, away from the road. Few streetlights lit the roads in the rural area and none along the private road to her house. She couldn't wait to get home and shut out the world for the long weekend. With Marc out of her life, there would be no one here, and she planned to use her free days writing. "Fairy tales, are they?" she muttered in disgust. "That's how much you know, Marc Calloway."

Within a few yards of the house, the wet snow betrayed her. Kate slipped on a hidden patch of ice. The back of her head hit the frozen ground and the world spun around her. She lay still a moment, regaining her senses, then managed to get up and make a more cautious approach to the front steps. Kate rubbed her head where it had connected with the hard ground. She felt more embarrassed than hurt and was relieved no one was around to see her fall. She wondered if there was any aspirin in the house for the headache that was sure to come.

Her bag slipped from her shoulder and she shoved the strap higher. She fumbled with her keys, fighting off the dizziness threatening to overcome her. The distant streetlight's soft glow didn't reach to the porch, and the overhead light was burned out again, making it difficult to find the keyhole. Shadows danced across the front of the house while the few remaining leaves from nearby trees tumbled restlessly about before settling on the ground. The holly wreath, with its large red velvet bow, lay in silhouette on the door.

Kate opened the front door and reached for the hall light switch. It would figure; the light bulb must have burned out here, as well. Where did the scent of pine filling the house come from? At times, if she didn't know better, she would have sworn the house was haunted. Kate shrugged off the eerie sensation and dropped her shoulder bag to the floor just inside the door. Strange sounds caught her attention. Her heart beat faster as she listened carefully. Did she really hear childish whispering, a low voice give a warning hush, and papers fluttering about on still air? Adrenaline pumped through her veins. She made her way into the living room. The voices seemed to be coming from the next room.

No one else lived in the house. It had to be someone from the office playing a prank and Kate was sure she knew who was responsible.

The shutters, closed to cut the wintry winds, didn't allow light to shine through the living room window. Kate kept one arm outstretched in the darkness to avoid finding the wall with her nose. One bump on the head tonight was more than enough. Her searching fingers found the edge of the doorframe, and she carefully entered the study, flicking on the light switch just inside the room. A tall figure stood on the opposite side of the room, studying the framed print over the fireplace. The stranger made no move when the room flared with light. Admiring the painting in the dark? This had to be some prank. He was no Santa; that much was for sure. A long dull white robe tied at his waist covered his lean form. His hair looked like a poorly made Santa wig, with lengths of raw, flattened cotton reaching to his shoulder blades.

The painting of a castle set in a serene valley held his attention. On one side of the castle, the mountain gently sloped away. Muted pastels gave the picture an ethereal quality. Kate often sat at her desk when she had trouble finding words and lost herself in the scene, spinning fantasies of days long gone. She kept her eyes on the stranger, watched his shoulders rise and fall in a silent sigh. What was going through his mind? Maybe the place reminded him of his home – Ridiculous! What a silly idea!

A huge orange cat lay on the mantle, purring contentedly while the stranger slowly stroked its fur. The cat turned its head and stared at Kate, eyes wide. Her sudden appearance didn't bother the feline. A wide grin spread across its face. The animal faded from sight, leaving its grin floating in the air for a moment, before it also disappeared. Now she knew she'd been working too many hours. A Cheshire cat? And where did the old man come from?

"Ouch!"

Kate jumped at the sound of the childlike voice. Whatever she kicked on the floor shouldn't have been there. She stooped to pick up the book, wondering how it got from its place on the shelf to the floor. A children's book of poems fell open.

"Watch what you're doing!" the same voice piped up in indignation. "Just because you're bigger..." Kate, stunned, slammed the book shut.

"There is magic in this chamber," the oddly dressed man commented, without turning to her. His voice was deep, but pleasant. He spoke softly with a distinctive English accent; one any announcer would have envied.

The robe clad figure turned to her. "I am Merlin. Greetings, my lady." He nodded respectfully. "I've been awaiting your arrival."

"Right. And I'm Morgan Le Fey," Kate countered. "Did you think to find a book of spells or something?"

"You are not Morgan and I have no need of grimoires." The old man straightened to his full height. "This disaster is yours. I may be part of it, but I am not the cause of it." Deep set creases at the corners of his dark brown eyes became more prominent. His emerging smile betrayed a humor he couldn't keep hidden.

Taken aback, Kate said nothing for a moment and studied him. The old man seemed harmless enough. Kate stared at the white beard a long moment, stepped closer, and touched it gingerly. She quickly backed away. What was she thinking? It was nothing but a costume; a great costume, very convincing, but she was having none of it. "Marc put you up to this, didn't he? This is how he gets back at me for our argument. It's a practical joke ... a rather elaborate prank."

"Prank?" Merlin looked puzzled.

"Don't think you can convince me you don't know what I'm talking about." Kate looked about the room, momentarily distracted by her scattered library. It dismayed her to find books all over the floor, and hiding under furniture, everywhere but on their shelves. She hadn't left them in such a mess. Her attention returned to her uninvited guest. "I've had a really rotten day and I'm in no mood for this. Why don't you just go back to Camelot or Avalon, or wherever it is you belong, and take your little friends with you?"

"We are where we belong, lady. Did you not invite us into your home at one time or another?"

When had she ever invited this stranger into her home? If she wanted company, she went out with her friends, but rarely did she ever invite anyone here. She fiercely protected her privacy. This was her sanctuary, her only haven from the rest of the world.

Kate began gathering the books closest to her feet, surprised she hadn't tripped over any of them when she'd first entered the room. She bent to pick up another book from the floor, and regarded the old man with suspicion. "I can't imagine what I could have that would interest anyone else." Her words held a bitter edge. She gathered more books and stacked them on the study desk. Why am I not afraid of an intruder in my home? Because Marc is behind this. He's hiding somewhere.

Merlin was perplexed. "What is this 'rotten' day you speak of?"

Kate pushed back the thick black hair, which gave the appearance of being far younger than her twenty-six years. Her amber eyes once again studied the self-professed magician standing before her. She had the sensation he could read her thoughts, and made a determined effort to mask them. "Let's see," she began sourly. "The clients didn't like our proposals; the boss set an impossible deadline for the latest project; the computers are down; I had a fight with my boyfriend. Is that enough or do you want to hear more?"

To Merlin, the term rotten referred to spoiled goods. A rotten day made no sense. He would never get used to the way people spoke in this time

Merlin nodded, and listened carefully to what Kate said. He heard more than words. Her day may have gone badly, but something else bothered her. This fight she spoke of upset her most. What had this 'boyfriend' done to hurt her? Affairs of the heart, were always the most difficult to hide. They had a strange way of affecting everything else a person did. Look what happened to Arthur, Guinevere and Lancelot. This lady definitely needed cheering, but on this night of magic, a more serious problem needed attention.

Kate flipped through the pages of a child's book and startled again to hear giggles. "That tickles," a little girl said breathlessly and giggled again. Kate glanced around the room, then at the wizard, wondering if he were a ventriloquist trying to amuse her. No. There was no wizard in her house; her books weren't literally talking to her. This was all a dream, her way of escaping the miserable day she'd had. Despite her mood, her mouth turned up in a brief smile. Those giggles were infectious. She gently closed the book. This volume was one of many she'd never got around to reading, but, she promised herself, one day she would.

A muffled sound caused her to turn to where one of the books still lay open. Her eyes widened in disbelief when a green head slowly emerged from the pages, and a long thin tongue darted out, tasting the air. Its large eyes blinked rapidly and the creature scanned the room in nervous fear. It exhaled a faint puff of smoke.

A second dragon head reared up from another volume, its malevolent eyes glaring at the first. It took in a deep breath and opened its mouth wide, ready to...

Not her study! Kate wasn't going to see her favorite room vanish in a dragon's flaming breath! She scrambled to the book and closed it firmly over the beast's head. The dragon pushed up against the cover and, for a moment, Kate feared she couldn't keep it contained. The book quieted. Kate coughed and choked on the noxious dark cloud the beast spewed out before she locked it back away.

Her sudden move startled the first, smaller creature, sending it off balance and back into its pages. This little fellow didn't frighten her; she remembered his picture well, one of her best loved stories. "Sorry, Puff," she apologized. The little dragon sighed and released a flame, lighting the logs in the fireplace. "Not bad. Maybe later you can pop some corn, or toast some marshmallows." She helped him retreat into the volume. "You're safer in your cave." The book's cover closed and hid the timid creature from view. Both books disappeared from sight, only to reappear in their places on the shelf. The book with St. George's dragon jiggled for a moment as if in frustration, and then became still.

Kate shook her head in disbelief. "Okay, what goes on here? You claim you're not responsible. I thought it might be Marc, but he couldn't have done anything so elaborate; he doesn't have the imagination."

Merlin studied her, no longer hiding the smile he'd tried to control. "Perhaps the magic is yours?" His bushy eyebrows rose with the question.

"That will be the day," she groused. "I don't believe in magic."

"Yet you see it with your own eyes. Do you not put words on paper?"

The unexpected question startled Kate. She brushed back her hair and her gaze rested on the old man. She never told anyone of her dreams to write, except Marc, which had been a mistake. "I dabble a bit to entertain myself." She flushed at the admission, embarrassed by her first attempts at a demanding craft.

Kate didn't want to think of these unexpected guests as real. Every time I turn around I'm practically stumbling over some book, or someone. Her rational mind rebelled at the thought, but she had touched the dragon and felt its substance. At least for now, she was stuck with them. Perhaps they would disappear at midnight, like all fairy tale magic. Until then, she'd have to be sure no one wandered out of the house. If they found their way into town, they'd be locked away as madmen; and if they were believed to be magical creatures, every reporter for every tabloid in the country would show up asking unwelcome questions. Get a grip, Kate, you can handle this. Magical things may happen on Christmas Eve, but they don't happen here and they don't happen to you. She turned quickly, hiding her sudden uneasiness from the magician. She almost fell over a man sitting on a stool in the middle of the room, his wooden leg stretched out before him. Tears streaked his weathered face.

He stared at something in his hand. "I have searched the oceans for the Great White," he said sadly, "only to find this."

Kate snatched the object from his hand and examined the label. Moby Dick ... tuna? She stifled a giggle. "Oh, stop the blubbering, Ahab. It doesn't become you."

A strange thought struck Kate. Why were none of these characters behaving true to form? Ahab was a hateful man in the classic, yet, here he was, sitting in her study, weeping over a can of tuna. The child from the poetry book was obnoxious; Puff was unusually timid. She'd have to think on it a while.

"Time out!" she called to the old man when she realized she was beginning to accept these characters. "This is not happening. I am going out the front door and coming back again. You," she declared as she glared at him, "will not be here. Ahab will be on his ship, those dragons will be setting flame to some English countryside, and all my books will be in their proper places on the shelves." She stopped long enough to catch her breath, stiffen her spine and march out of the room.

Kate stood on the front porch and felt the winter night. If she was dreaming, then the cold air should awaken her quickly. She took a deep, steadying breath, then closed her eyes briefly. When she felt confident, she cautiously stepped back into the house and listened carefully. So far it was quiet. With each step she relaxed a bit more. So far, so good. "It was just my imagination," she whispered and continued toward the study.

Before she could utter another word, Kate felt a strong arm circle her waist. A moment later she found herself slung over a very powerful broad shoulder, like a sack of grain. "Let me down, you fool!" she screeched and pounded her fists against the rough fur jerkin the man wore over his naked back. Her face flushed and the blood rushed to her head, making her dizzy. She grabbed a fistful of his long hair and pulled as hard as she could in an attempt to stop him.

The powerful Viking slowed his step just long enough to swat her backside, then laughed when she stiffened in embarrassment at his handling of her. His deep laugh infuriated her all the more. He stopped.

Merlin stood in the Viking's path. The old man refused to move. His arms crossed over his chest, his hands hidden in the sleeves of his robe. Slowly, he withdrew one hand and waggled a finger at the huge warrior. "Put her down. She's not yours."

The Viking lowered Kate to the floor, a sheepish look on his handsome face. His resounding kiss stunned Kate and cast a triumphant gleam in his eyes. At least he'd leave with something to remember.

Kate turned and had to look up until she was staring into the bluest eyes she had ever seen. His blond hair was long and had two thin braids, a sign of his warrior status. Her captor was well over six feet tall. "If you thought to go a-plundering, you chose the wrong house," she remarked.

"Truth to tell," he replied, and watched her turn away. The Viking shrugged, began to walk away and vanished.

Kate glanced over her shoulder and shivered. Ever since she'd arrived home, story characters had been appearing and vanishing just as easily. Walls separating the downstairs rooms had long since disappeared, leaving one large open area. None of this could really be happening. The brisk night air hadn't changed anything except chill her to the bone, so she had to be dreaming, she told herself. It was entertaining, but a dream all the same.

A young girl stepped into the study, more comfortable with her surroundings than any other character which had appeared. Her dark hair and light eyes were too familiar to Kate. "I think I'm hungry," the child stated.

Kate studied the girl a moment, commenting on the child's announcement. "It's Christmas Eve and everything is closed early so I can't order out. I think I have enough stuff in the fridge to make a couple of decent large pizzas."

"Pizza sounds good."

The masculine voice startled her. A moment ago the chair behind her desk was empty. Now, it was occupied by a strange man, looking through a magnifying glass, intently studying a sheet of paper. "These loops and swirls tell me it was written by a female. At times she puts a bit more pressure into her hand. See how the ink is a little darker here than in other parts of the letter. She seems to be angry about something, although the words hide that anger. She doesn't want the recipient to know how she really feels."

Kate leaned over the desk and tried to read the writing from its upside down position. "Who do you think you are, Sherlock Holmes?" she cried as she snatched the letter away from him.

The man shrugged. "As a matter of fact..."

Kate blushed furiously. "Well, go find some other document to examine. This is personal!" She marched off to the kitchen, letter in hand.

Kate entered the kitchen to find a tall figure dressed in buckskins studying the refrigerator. She ducked under his arm and rummaged through the shelves for things she could top on a pizza. "Who might you be?" She backed away, clutching a few items in her arms, and glanced up at the coppery face.

"I am Mohican," he replied solemnly, opening and closing the door to feel the rush of cold air from the strange box. He shut the door a final time and moved on.

The Indian stopped to study the gas range. He laid a hand cautiously on the metal surface and pulled back abruptly. "Hot," he grunted. Moving his hand back, he found the knobs for the jets and turned one. The burner nearest him poofed and flames jumped up, forcing him back a step, surprised. Kate quickly reached over and turned off the burner. He continued to stare at the magic fire which appeared and disappeared so quickly.

"Do that again, and you'll be the last of your kind," she warned him. Kate turned away and shook her head, mumbling. "I can't believe I'm making pizza for characters who don't exist."

A short time later, Kate enjoyed the hot meal with several of her guests. Real pizza for imaginary guests. It was like the tea parties she held when she was a child. She watched in amusement as the little girl with the giggles carefully picked up bits of the topping and tried them individually. Her tongue caught dangling strands of cheese. The little girl savored every bit of the new tasty treat. Holmes was the only one who appeared familiar with the popular food. "And how do you explain that?" Kate asked, knowing pizza didn't exist in the nineteenth century.

"Elementary, my dear lady."

The others gathered around the table, drinking the mead Merlin produced out of thin air. Kate provided a soda for Miss Giggles and laughed when the girl exclaimed on the fuzzy taste in her mouth.

Merlin spoke once more. "What did you say this was?"

"It's called pizza. It sounds Italian, but actually it's an American creation. You can put just about anything on it. Not your standard Christmas fare, I'm sure." She laughed softly as she leaned forward to wipe away the tomato sauce from the corner of his mouth before it got into his beard.

As she dabbed at the spot their eyes met and her hand slowed, then stilled. For a brief moment time and place seemed to shift. What was there about him that seemed so familiar, so comforting? Some vague thought escaped her and Kate sat back in her chair.

When everyone had had their fill of pizza, soda and mead, Kate set about straightening the kitchen.

Throughout the evening, complete scenes took shape, thrusting Kate from one time into another. She had little chance to catch her breath, let alone give serious thought to what was happening. Long ago, she'd given up trying to collect her books and set her home to rights. The strange thing was, every time a scene changed, several books managed to find their way back to the shelves. Merlin shrugged as his hostess eyed him curiously, one eyebrow raised.

No one paid any mind to their strangely dressed hostess and treated her as if she had always been a member of their company. Perhaps they didn't see her as she really was, but Kate didn't mind. Dream or no, she was, reluctantly, beginning to enjoy herself.

Knights raced their warhorses through the living room, with lances lowered. They jousted to win the favors of their lords and the ladies who caught their interest. Kate giggled over the young ladies' coquetry. Some things never change with time.

She listened to someone playing bagpipes, and stared, appreciatively, as a group of kilted Scotsmen began to dance to the lively tune. Like any other red-blooded woman, she believed a man in a kilt was a wonderful sight to see. One dancer glanced her way, grinning. He looked like... No, it couldn't be. He beckoned to her to join the dancing. In many other cultures, Kate knew the men danced and women watched. But this was her dream and she could do as she pleased. She rubbed her hands on her denim jeans and joined him. Watching carefully, she copied his steps until she was dancing with them. The tune became even livelier and she tried to keep up. Kate finally collapsed on the floor laughing, out of breath. The dancers faded from sight and a few more books appeared neatly lined up on the shelves.

"Someone told me something once," she said as Merlin took her hand and she got up from the floor. "They said centuries ago, the Irish gave the bagpipes to the Scots as a gift but the Scots never got the joke. Well, I think the joke got turned on the Irish because the Scots are known as the pipers. But then again, it's a matter of opinion. As for me, I've always enjoyed listening to a good piper."

"Why did you choose to come here tonight? Why did you come here at all?" she asked the wizard, almost comfortable now with his presence.

"Is this not a time of giving? They are here to bring you a bit of joy and happiness. They have many things to teach you and they've always been here to offer you comfort and entertainment."

The living room glowed with candlelight and Kate's eyes widened at the sight. In one corner stood the most magnificent tree she had ever seen. The tip of the tree nearly touched the high ceiling. Red, green and gold cloth covered its base as it rested securely in its stand. The branches were thick and well shaped. Kate turned to Merlin. The pine fragrance was so real.

Miss Giggles stood in awe and clapped her small hands in delight.

"Well, I suppose we should decorate it with something. Can't have a bare tree on Christmas Eve." Kate glanced down at her small guest, wondering what sort of decorations the child was familiar with. Kate brought out sheets of colored paper, a jar of glue and scissors. Keeping things simple would be more fun.

The child looked up at Kate and found the woman staring at her. "My name is Katherine," the child told her, "but everybody calls me Cat."

"Yes, I know. You remind me of myself when I was your age. My parents used to call me Cat." Kate reached out and stroked the dark braids, assailed with memories. She smiled wistfully, and realized how very much she missed them.

Puff managed to slip from the pages of his book and blew a careful flame on the popper near the fireplace. Kernels popped merrily until the container's lid raised and popped corn spilled out. Kate poured the contents into a bowl and hunted up needles and thread. The aroma of popcorn mingled with the scent of pine. She grinned when Merlin stared at the threaded needle she held out to him. "Haven't you ever made a popcorn chain?" She paused, waiting for a response, then shrugged. "Guess not."

Cat concentrated on her colorful paper chain, carefully cutting the strips of paper and gluing the ends. Kate couldn't decide which was getting more glue, the paper or the girl's fingers.

Kate sat on the floor, opened a thin volume and began to read. "'T'was the night before Christmas, when all through the house...'"

Somewhere, in the back of her mind, she heard her mother's voice reciting the famous poem. Kate's eyes misted and she blinked away the tears. How she missed those childhood moments! She continued reading.

Cat listened to the poem while she worked on her paper chain. By the time she finished it was long enough to stretch around the tree several times.

A quick movement near the fireplace caught Kate's attention. She saw Cat's eyes widen in astonishment and knew she saw it too. Cat's mouth opened in a small 'o' as a rotund figure in a red suit tugged at something caught in the chimney. He pulled again, freeing a bulky sack. The figure was there and moving, yet she could see through him.

The transparent figure smiled and his body shook with silent laughter. Kate paused in her reading and the figure froze, like a video freeze-frame. On impulse, she read on – and he resumed his task. He reached into the bag, brought out three brightly wrapped gifts and placed them neatly under the tree. He turned to the child, his eyes twinkling merrily. Placing a chubby finger to his full lips, he cautioned them to secrecy.

Cat smiled and wiggled her fingers in farewell, as the jolly visitor tossed his sack up the chimney and followed after it.

"'Laying a finger aside of his nose, he turned with a jerk and up the chimney he rose...'" Kate read the last few lines.

Cat listened to the end of the poem and giggled. "Mama reads that to me every Christmas Eve."

"Yes," Kate agreed, "I remember." The book disappeared from her hand to reappear in its special place on the shelf.

"When will you finish with us?" a young woman's voice called out from the opened pages of another book. "We're anxious to find out how our story ends. Do we live happily ever after?"

Yes, how would it end? Kate lived through her books. Her spirit soared with the adventures, romances and mysteries. In her mundane life she went to the same job every day, received the same pay every week. No changes there. Marc was gone. Could she live the rest of her life with her books and stories for company?

Kate picked up the bookmark, recalling how she'd put this one aside the week before. She hadn't had time to go back to finish it. How many books had she left unfinished, pages marked or entire stories untouched because she didn't have the time to read them?

"Happy," she promised, replacing the bookmark. "I always look for a happy ending." She would be sure to make time to finish reading their stories.

The evening rapidly disappeared and Kate found herself alone for a few moments. She plunked down on the hallway steps and sighed. How many times, when she was a child had she done this same thing on Christmas Eve? She'd crouched down near the banister, hiding in the shadows, watching her parents. Kate stared at the now decorated and lit tree.

Kneeling on the floor in front of the tree, a couple placed carefully wrapped gifts. The man held one gift to his ear as if listening for some sound then gently shook it. "Don't do that!" his wife scolded. "What if it had broken?"

The man laughed softly. "I was just teasing you." His mouth turned up in an impish smile. He leaned forward and, with a hand behind her head, gently pulled her toward him. "Merry Christmas, sweetheart."

The couple faded, but Kate still saw them and tears filled her eyes. How she missed them and the Christmases they shared. There had always been much love and laughter when she was growing up. The holidays weren't the same without them, and Kate no longer had any desire to celebrate. She blinked rapidly, not wanting anyone to see the tears. She had no idea why book characters had invaded her home, but she didn't have to let them see her sadness.

She looked up to see two young women standing side by side, their forms drifting but never becoming fully distinct. They could have been twins, Kate thought, what little she glimpsed of their features. One wore jeans and an oversized flannel shirt. The other was dressed in breeches and a white lawn shirt. A short sword was at her waist and one hand rested on a dirk, sheathed in her belt. "Why do they keep fading that way? Why can't they become as the others?"

"Do you not recognize your own creations," Merlin asked, easing himself down beside her on the steps, "their stories are not yet finished. There is much to write about them and they wait patiently, hoping their tales will be completed before they fade away forever."

Kate sighed, understanding what he was telling her. "There is no magic, Merlin, not really. It disappeared long ago and there is no way to get it back." Other things played on her mind as she spoke.

"My lady," he said quietly, placing a long finger under her chin so she would have to look up at him. "Your world may no longer believe in it, but if you look hard enough, you'll always find the magic of love here." He placed one slender hand over his heart to emphasize his meaning.

Kate blinked back tears of sadness and regret. She wanted to believe in the magic, but she was afraid it was too late for that. If only things hadn't turned out so badly with Marc. Maybe they could have found magic together, but it was not to be.

Merlin's arms went around her and held her close in a comforting embrace. There was something still niggling at the edges of her mind but she couldn't focus on it now.

A voice called to her from a distance, breaking into their quiet moment.

"Methinks you should see to your caller, my lady."

"How can I ever thank you?" she asked softly.

Merlin smiled knowingly. "No need for thanks. But if ever you should have need of me," he turned his hand, palm up. A book appeared and he held it out to her. The Crystal Cave. "When you open that book, I will be here with you."

Kate lovingly rested a hand against his face for a moment then quickly kissed his cheek. Stepping back from him she hugged the book to herself and returned his smile. The evening had been one of magic, she admitted, making the miserable day almost completely forgotten. There would always be a special place in her heart for this magician.

"Your caller waits, lady," the wizard gently reminded her.

***

"Kate? Kate, wake up, honey." The deep, quiet voice sounded anxious.

Kate's eyes opened slowly, her vision blurred. "Merlin," she whispered, reaching out to touch the face so near to her.

"Are you alright, Kate? I was so worried when I found you on the floor just inside the door."

"I slipped on the ice outside and hit my head when I fell. I must have blacked out as soon as I came in the door." The face came into focus for her. "Marc. What are you doing here?"

The young man knelt nervously by the sofa, relieved Kate was all right. His deep-set brown eyes stared, unsure if he should speak. His hand brushed at his dark curly hair. "I'm sorry, Kate, I didn't mean to hurt you like that," he blurted out. "I came here to apologize. Sometimes I can be so stupid. You have every right to follow your dreams and it's not my place to tell you otherwise." He hesitated and took a deep breath. "Say you'll marry me."

Kate frowned briefly, not sure how she felt about Marc's unexpected appearance or his apology. But there was something more. And then she knew. How could she have missed it? He looked just like a young Merlin, or Merlin looked like him. Glancing around the room, she saw the decorated tree; the uninvited guests had vanished. Had she been dreaming? The wizard was gone. Or had he ever been there at all?

Kate nodded her acceptance of Marc's apology and he breathed a sigh of relief. He didn't know what he'd have done if she'd said no. He slipped her engagement ring back on her finger. He reached out and drew her to him and moved closer at the same time. "Kiss me, Kate," he whispered huskily.

Kate leaned into him, but something at the corner of her eye caught her attention. Without alerting Marc, she turned her eyes to the motion on the floor. One book remained and pages flipped over quickly as if an unseen hand were thumbing through the volume. The pages lay still when they revealed a pen and ink sketch of Merlin. Kate's eyes widened with the movement of the drawing. A smile emerged from the serious face and the magician gave her a good-natured wink.

WARRIOR'S MOON

By Marissa St James

Chapter 1, Present

The last of the red and gold sunset faded, giving way to black sky. Lights winked on throughout the valley like earthbound stars. Hank Stone leaned against the balcony rail watching his guests. He accepted the drink his partner, Charlie Moss, handed him.

"You look like you could use this."

Hank ignored the comment and studied the odd wisps of fog at the far end of the pool. "Is everything ready?"

Charlie nodded and followed Hank's gaze. "Our special guests should show any time now." He pointed down to an aged Indian, dressed casually except for an old flat crowned hat with one large, unusual red feather. "Sani's here with the other … stockholders."

"You sure that bartender's old enough?" Hank gestured to the young man mixing drinks behind the bar set up near poolside.

Charlie shook his head and laughed. Sometimes he had all he could do to follow Hank's conversation. "He's old enough. I checked him out myself. Maybe he doesn't look his age, but who here does?"

"Humph. Bringing Larry and Sheila into the family is a good idea. We need fresh blood to reach our goals." Tonight's party was important to their continued survival.

"Sheila's a good addition. She's young, loyal, responsible."

"Sounds like a girl scout."

"Close enough, I guess," Charlie added. "She gave up everything to take care of her mother. The only thing Sheila had besides the old lady was her job. She concentrated on that after her mother died. No, family, no boyfriend, doesn't even date."

"Is Larry as good?"

"Well..." Charlie hedged and Hank gave him 'that' look. "He's a great sales rep, and doesn't have any ties either. His only hang-up is he doesn't believe in aliens."

Hank arched one eyebrow at the remark. "What's that got to do with anythin'?"

"Some of the employees were talking about the UFO that was spotted a couple nights ago. Seems they were wondering what would happen if aliens decided to live with humans." Charlie's features took on a devilish expression.

"Never can tell. He could become a believer."

The partners were quiet a moment. "You remember that day, Hank? Seems like yesterday we met Sani and everything changed."

"Yeah, I remember that ornery ol' mule sure didn't like anybody."

"Didn't like you, you mean," Charlie laughed. "I remember that day..."

Chapter 2, 1852

"Move yer dad blamed carcass." Hank Stone spoke angrily and pulled his mule's bridle. The stubborn animal dug in its heels and refused to move a step further. Hank stopped tugging and slapped his battered hat against his thigh. "Blast yer stubborn hide. You get more cantankerous every day." He pulled a bandana from his back pocket and wiped the sweat from his hawk like features. Late afternoon shadows crept across the desert floor.

Charlie Moss stepped closer to the recalcitrant mule. He rubbed the animal's nose, then between its eyes. He slipped his hand over to one ear, cupping it against his palm, and whispered something. The mule flicked its ears and lost its stubborn pose. Charlie took the bridle and led the subdued mule forward.

Hank stared, amazed. "What'd you say to him?"

Charlie glanced over his shoulder, a devilish grin on his face. "Two words... buzzard bait."

Hank tugged on his hat and shook his head. "Well, I'll be danged," he muttered, and burst out in rare laughter.

"Hanged is more like it." Charlie chuckled and dodged the playful punch he knew would follow.

Charlie wiped his round face, shook his head and studied his partner's frustrated expression. The rolled up sleeves of his light blue chambray shirt contrasted with his red forearms. In a day or two, the redness would give way to a tan. "Good thing we're not far from water," he commented and tipped back the hat on his head, while he waited for Hank to catch up. "There's water about a hundred yards, over that-a-way."

Hank stared at his partner with narrowed eyes. They hadn't found anything. So far, rumors of lost gold mines proved to be just that – rumors. "Yeah? How do you know there's water 'that-a-way'?" He glared at Charlie across the mules' backs.

"I can smell it." Charlie grinned and tapped the side of his sunburned nose.

"Sure it ain't the mules you're smellin'? I hope yer right. It's gonna be a long way back to the trading post without water."

***

Half-cooked supper, bad coffee and quickly dropping temperatures, did nothing for Hank's mood. The sun had set behind the distant hills and darkness stretched across the vast flatlands like a shade drawn against the sky.

Hank scratched at the dark stubble along his jaw, then sauntered over to the watering hole to wash out the plates and his cup. He folded his lanky frame near the water's edge and filled their canteens. If he and Charlie could find just one of the lost gold mines, they'd be rich beyond their wildest dreams.

"Think we'll find anything?" Charlie asked. At times, he seemed to read Hank's mind. He rarely had to spell out what he meant.

"I hope so, or we've been wastin' a lot of time." Hank's dark eyes took on a faraway look. For years, he and Charlie had dreamed of making the trip.

"Yeah. We find us some of that gold and then we can go to California like we always planned. Those purdy gals are just waitin' for us to show up with our pockets full o' cash."

Hank and Charlie could never be considered 'ladies' men', but cash would make up for their lack of 'breeding'. Who needed fancy manners when you were rich?

Charlie stood near the small campfire, rubbing his round belly. He released a loud belch, frowned, then walked to the watering hole and knelt clumsily by its edge. His tin cup clanked against stones in the shallow end of the water. "Remind me never to drink your coffee again," he complained. "Tastes like kerosene."

Hank stood and stretched, easing the stiffness of his tired body. He cuffed the shorter man across the side of his head in a mock blow, knocking off his hat. "You always say that, but you keep drinkin' it. And it's no worse than that cookin' a yours."

"Yeah, I know." Charlie grinned. "I keep forgetting how much I hate both." They resumed their places by the campfire and sat in silence for several minutes, deep in their own thoughts.

"Whose bright idea was it to come out this way, anyway?" Charlie asked after a spell.

They stared at each other. "Yours," they both said at the same time, and laughed.

"No matter." Hank sighed. "We have to head back anyway. We're runnin' low on supplies. Then we can take another gander at Pete's map." He got up and stretched. "Might as well get some shuteye. Mornin' comes real quick." In moments, the prospectors were wrapped in their blankets and snoring.

Hank woke before dawn and shivered in the chilly night air. He groaned at the thought of leaving his warm bedroll and getting ready to hit the trail. A hint of light teased at the eastern sky. With the dawn would come the beginning of the day's heat. If they left soon, they could be well on their way before the sun seared the desert again.

Charlie's snore turned to a grunt when Hank's not so gentle nudge forced him to turn over. "Let's go, partner. Time to rise an' shine. I wanna get some miles behind us before the sun gets high."

Charlie reluctantly pushed the blanket aside, grumbling. "I'm awake. I'm awake." He struggled to sit up. "Always in a hurry to get nowhere." He shook out his boots, making sure no scorpions had made themselves comfortable inside. He wasn't in the mood for surprises.

"Stow your gear. There's some hardtack and jerky, and the canteens are full. That should hold ya till we get to the trading post."

Hank finished adjusting the mules' packs. The predawn light cast eerie shadows across the desert. If they headed straight back, and the mules didn't decide to get ornery, they could make it to the post by early afternoon. Hank could still hear small desert creatures rustling about in the brush, seeking shelter to avoid the day's blazing heat.

Charlie took his time picking up his mule's lead rope. His eyes remained heavy lidded with drowsiness. He grumbled about the early hour, wishing he could have slept a while longer. He stopped complaining when he realized Hank ignored him. Crossing the desert at this hour was uneventful and their thoughts wandered.

For most of their lives, Hank and Charlie were closer than any two brothers. They had been the town misfits, shunned by the other kids. It seemed natural for them to bond in friendship. They confided in one another and dreamed of one day finding a fortune, then settling in one of those big cities. They thought about places like St Louis and Denver, New York and Boston, but finally settled on San Francisco as their goal. A man could live a lot of dreams in a place like that. One day, they'd show those know-it-all folks back home just who the misfits were.

The journey back to the trading post shouldn't have taken more than three or four hours, but all afternoon they struggled with one uncooperative mule. The trading post lay only about an hour away, but if that doggone mule didn't move his sorry hide, they'd be out here a lot longer. Hank tried to urge the mule forward, but the ornery creature butted Hank with its head, nearly sending the prospector tumbling into a cactus.

Charlie swallowed a good natured laugh, then turned his gaze toward the desert expanse to avoid Hank's black look. He paused, then raised his hand to shield his eyes, and stared. Something out there caught his eye, lying in the midst of the sparse desert growth. The desert made it easy for a person's imagination to wander, and see things which really weren't there. The sun made its way toward the western horizon. "Hey Hank, take a look out there. You see what I see?"

Hank followed the line of Charlie's gaze and spotted something white lying in the brush. "Yeah, I see it. Let's take a look." Hank gave the mule's lead rope a tug. "Blasted contrary varmit," he groused, when the animal reversed its earlier behavior, and followed him without further urging. They moved quickly in the direction of their discovery.

The white turned out to be a shirt covering the upper body of an old Indian. He was still alive. Despite his apparent dehydration, the prospectors could tell at a glance, this Indian had once been a powerful warrior. It didn't make sense for him to lie stranded in the open desert. Charlie looked around, for some sign of a mount, but neither horse nor pony grazed nearby. The Indian's right leg was broken, likely in a fall from his horse. They didn't dare move him lest they do him more damage than help.

The Indian lay partially in the shadow of a saguaro, a giant cactus. Hank knelt on the hard ground, uncapped his canteen, and carefully raised the Indian's head. The old man opened his eyes but couldn't speak. Hank let a tiny bit of the warm water slowly trickle down the Indian's parched throat. Deep lines etched the coppery colored face. Hank wet his bandana and wiped the dust from the old man's weathered features.

The eyes seemed to grow larger and turn completely black. Hank rubbed his own eyes with his shirt sleeve, and looked down again. The old man's dark brown eyes met his. "Gotta be the heat," he mumbled, "been out here too long."

Hank spotted a black hat with a large red feather stuck into the beaded band, where it lay beside the Indian. He had never seen a feather that large or that color, and wondered what kind of bird had such distinctive plumage. From the clothing, he thought the Indian might be Navajo. Why would this old man be traveling alone? The Indian groaned softly and Hank forgot his question.

The Indian mumbled, but Hank could only make out a few words. "Help us, or we will die."

"Take it easy, chief, nobody's gonna die. You're gonna be fine," Hank assured him.

"... worthy... Spirits will reward..." the Indian rasped.

"Listen to me," Hank quieted the old man. "We can't take you with us now without hurting you more, but we're not far from the trading post. We can get a buckboard and come back for you." Hank looked up to his partner. "Charlie, get my bedroll."

Charlie moved as quickly as his heavyset body would allow and retrieved Hank's bedroll from the pack mule. Without a word, he handed it over to his partner.

The desert air would begin to cool with the setting sun. Hank placed the blanket beside the injured warrior. "For when it gets dark. It's gonna take us a good hour to get to the trading post." He recapped the canteen and left it by the old warrior's side. "I'd leave Charlie here, but shoot, he can't even take care of hisself half the time. Now don't you go nowhere," Hank warned, half joking. The Indian wouldn't be going anywhere with a broken leg. Hank straightened up and assured him once again, "You got my canteen. We'll be back for you, as quick as we can, with a wagon hitched up." He turned to his friend. "Let's get moving, Charlie, we don't have a lot of daylight left. It'll be hard to find this fellah after dark."

Chapter 3

Pete Two Bears' trading post served as a relay station for the stage line. Once a week, the stage stopped there before continuing on to Santa Fe. Indians occasionally came in to trade hand woven blankets and pottery for whatever they needed. Most of the time he spent alone, but he didn't mind. The two prospectors, Hank and Charlie, had come out there the year before and the three men became friends. They kept him company for a while whenever they came in for supplies. Now that he thought about it, they were due back any day. Their supplies would be running low. He wondered if they'd found anything this trip.

Pete grinned when he heard the commotion outside. Hank's and Charlie's voices were just loud enough to carry their argument into the building ahead of them. They preferred to call them friendly disagreements. Pete could understand that. What else did you do when you only had each other for company for days and weeks at a time?

The interior of the post remained dim and cool. Pete had set up tables on one side of the large room for a dining area. The stages usually arrived early in the day and continued on. Pete kept two extra bedrooms for the rare occasions when passengers stayed the night.

Charlie pushed aside some goods on a nearby countertop and set up three glasses. From a shelf beneath the counter, he took the bottle of whiskey Pete kept there, and poured some into the glasses.

"Pete, we need your buckboard," Hank called out while Pete wiped down a table in the kitchen area.

Charlie gulped down his shot of the amber liquid and enjoyed the heat flaring from his throat to his belly. He poured another shot.

Pete came in from the cooking area, wiping his hands on a towel. "No 'hi Pete? Good ta see ya?"

"Hi, Pete, good ta see ya. We need your buckboard."

"Hey, Charlie," Pete warned, "go easy on the whiskey. That's the last bottle I got for the month."

Charlie gave Pete an amiable grin and downed his second shot. "What can I say, Pete? I've had a deprived life."

"Depraved is more like it," Hank countered, straight faced, then downed his own shot.

"Too late in the day to be insulted." Charlie placed his glass on the countertop and grinned. "I'll go see about hitching up the horses." He stepped lightly for a man his size. He left the cool interior of the building for the heat outside, whistling as if he didn't have a care in the world.

"Okay... You just got here. What's the wagon for?"

"There's an old Indian out on the desert, about an hour from here. He's got a busted leg. We left a canteen and my bedroll. Told him we'd be back soon's we could get the team hitched up."

Pete froze, then dropped his towel on the counter top. "Forget the wagon, Pete. There's nothin' out there for you to go back to."

"We can't just leave him out there, helpless," Hank insisted. "Nights get purty dang cold now."

"What was this Indian wearing?"

Hank shrugged and gave the question a bit of thought. He didn't see the point to it. "White shirt, dark pants, moccasins. Oh yeah, he had a black hat, beaded band with a big red feather stuck in it. What kind of bird has feathers like that?"

Pete shrugged. "He's long gone, Hank. You won't find a trace of him out there."

"He's got a busted leg. He ain't going nowhere, unless coyotes try to drag him off."

Pete turned his back on Hank, long enough to gulp down his own shot of whiskey. "You ever hear of the warrior's moon?" he turned back and studied Hank with a frown of concern.

Hank scratched his chin, "Can't say I have. What's it got to do with anythin'?"

There's a legend about an old Indian, shows up in the desert, hurt. They call it a warrior's moon whenever he appears. Anybody who stops to help him either never comes back or they're changed forever."

"Changed how?" Hank gave Pete his full attention, but remained skeptical. Pete had been known to spin a yarn for gullible listeners.

Pete shrugged. "They don't act the same. I don't know. I only know what the stories say. If you saw that old Indian out on the desert, then somethin's gonna happen tonight. It's the warrior's moon."

"It's a plain ol' full moon, Pete. Since when you believe ol' Indian tales?

"Maybe. Maybe not. I'm still part Indian, you know. Strange things happen out here ... and there's that superstition goes with it." Pete went back into the cooking area and brought out a basket of cornbread.

"And you believe it?" Hank called after him.

"Believe what?" Charlie interrupted. He entered the eating area, wiping the sweat from his brow with his sleeve. He tossed his hat onto the table and sat down. "Believe what?" he asked again, and looked from Hank to Pete and back again, but still got no answer. "Okay, don't tell me." He reached for a piece of still warm cornbread, and took a big bite. "Someday, Pete, you're gonna make some woman very happy."

Pete ignored Charlie's teasing and made one more trip to the stove to bring out three bowls of stew. "No reason to rush out on an empty belly. If he's real, he'll still be there when you go back for him."

"Pete says there's a lot of superstition tied up in that Indian we saw out on the desert," Hank told Charlie.

"Who cares about superstitions?" Charlie countered. "I'm not superstitious. Are you superstitious, Hank?"

Hank helped himself to some cornbread and crumbled it into his stew. "Not me," he assured his partner.

Pete remained silent until he'd finished his meal, then leaned back in his chair, sipping his coffee.

"So why only the full moon?" Hank wanted to know.

Pete shrugged. "Nobody goes up in them hills. That's where the Spirits are the strongest. The old ones say when the moon is full, the Spirit magic is most powerful. You already saw the old warrior. I gotta tell you guys, you go up there, your lives will be changed forever."

***

Hank searched the ground. From his seat on the wagon, he inspected every foot of the ground around the giant saguaro where they'd left the Indian. This was the spot, but the Indian was gone. The bedroll and canteen lay beside the cactus where Hank had placed them. The old man couldn't have just got up and walked off.

Charlie noticed a faint trail he hadn't seen earlier in the day. The path led to the base of the mountain, then curled in a steep spiral up toward the peak. The last of the daylight vanished, and the trail faded into the darkness. "Hank, look up there." Charlie pointed to the top of one of the peaks where a soft glow shone against the darkening sky. "What'd you think?"

"Seems Pete was right about the Indian. Somethin' strange goin' on. Might as well see what the 'spirits' are up to tonight."

Both prospectors followed the dim path Charlie had found and began the climb along the steep trail. They often stumbled on stones and slipped on loose dirt. The soft glow gave them just enough light to make their way upward.

From below, in the darkness, came the sudden nervous whinnies of the horses. The team had become restless. They must have caught the scent of a coyote. Until then, the men only heard the soft sounds of kicked pebbles rolling underfoot, and their heavy breathing. Hank stopped a moment, resting after the exertion of the climb, to look back down the way they'd come. A sense of unease and foreboding nagged at him. He ignored his premonition and pushed on to catch up with Charlie, trudging on ahead.

Charlie breathed hard and steadied himself. The loose dirt and pebbles made the footing treacherous. Both men struggled on, eager to reach the top. Once, when they rounded a curve, the glow disappeared and they paused. Charlie muttered a string of curses under his breath. Hank pushed Charlie on, faster. A few yards more and they'd reach their goal.

Charlie could no longer hear the horses far below, and the eerie darkness made him uncomfortable. The silence didn't feel right somehow. What a stupid thought. Of course there wouldn't be any sounds; no one and nothing had been up here in years. Didn't Pete say something about the hills being deserted by all but the Spirits? Charlie shuddered. Only an idiot would listen to superstition and crazy tales, and Charlie Moss was no idiot. There were no spirits here, no one but him, and Hank. He turned slowly and waited for Hank to join him. Maybe Charlie wasn't superstitious, but he wasn't about to face the unknown alone.

Hank reached his partner, then braced his hands on his knees to catch his breath. The trail took a twist to the left around some rocks. They could hear the sound of a voice, its faint chanting drawing the prospectors like a siren song. No longer stumbling, the men continued the climb, anxious to satisfy their curiosity. A row of boulders stood like sentinels at the end of the path. The chanting became clear, but Hank and Charlie couldn't understand any words. They knelt behind one of the rocks and peered cautiously from their hiding place.

Hank swallowed hard. The chanter had his back to the boulders. The figure's arms reached toward the full moon, as if in supplication. A small campfire burned before him, its soft, strange glow reflected against the night sky.

Two figures sat huddled beside the fire, wrapped in blankets, covering their heads, keeping their faces in darkness. Every few moments an odd hand reached toward the fire to sprinkle a powder over the flames. A sweet, pungent scent rose into the night as the flames consumed the substance.

Hank blinked, then stared at the hand. It didn't look quite right, but he couldn't be sure. It was probably the night shadows distorting the scene. No smoke floated above the flames. That wasn't unusual, but somehow it didn't feel right to him, anymore than seeing the hand did. Hank turned carefully to avoid detection and looked at Charlie.

Charlie sat close to the rock, his dark hat tipped back at an awkward angle. He glanced at Hank's questioning expression, then grinned and shrugged. The scene fascinated him and he didn't want to miss a moment of it. He looked up where the full moon outshone all but the brightest stars. The huge orb hung in the vast emptiness of the open sky, waiting.

Charlie opened his mouth to say something in a loud whisper. Hank jabbed him with an elbow in his side, a clear signal to be silent. The blow had the opposite effect, causing Charlie to call out in frustration, "What'd you do that for?" he demanded.

Hank's eyes narrowed in that way he had of telling Charlie he was acting stupidly, but he said nothing. A voice startled them and they realized the chanting had stopped. "Come out, my white brothers. You do not need to hide. Come and see. You are guests of the Spirits."

The shaman waited before continuing. The two figures remained huddled, never giving any sign of acknowledging the newcomers' presence.

A thin mist rose and hovered close to the ground, swirling lazily with no hint of a breeze to help it. The Indian seemed oblivious to the mist and continued his prayer chant to the Spirits. He paid no more attention to the intruders.

Hank and Charlie reluctantly left the safety of their hiding place and stood before the rock wall. The shaman sure didn't have a busted leg. He looked different. He wore the hat with the odd feather Hank had noticed earlier. His long gray hair hung loosely below his shoulders. His face appeared younger than it had that afternoon, devoid of the creases of age. His voice had lost its harshness and sounded stronger, more vibrant.

The mist rose higher, thinning and thickening with the cadence of the chant. The gray white color looked like chalk rubbed on to the black slate of the night sky. Both prospectors edged uneasily against the solid bulk of the rocks, each unwilling to admit his fear.

The blankets covering the huddled figures appeared to fall away. The figures themselves, still indefinable, were drawn upward, as if they were part of the mist. Faces and forms of Indian braves from the long ago past danced against the darkness, blotting out the stars. They were the same chalky color as the mist.

Hank remained frozen in place, wondering if what he was seeing really existed, or if it was part of a dream. It had to be a dream. Fog like this didn't happen at the edge of the desert. He was sure of that much. People didn't get pulled skyward without ropes and pulleys. It all had to be some kind of trick.

Charlie's eyes bulged in fear, watching the dead warriors dance in the air. At least he thought they were dead, and he watched their spirits. That was it; the superstitions Pete told them about. Pete had no real idea what went on up here.

The shaman's voice became stronger. He seemed pleased with the ghostly figures floating closer to the white men. He turned slightly, never faltering in his recital, and watched Hank and Charlie swing at the ghostly shapes, trying to keep them at a distance.

The apparitions moved closer. They no longer floated lazily, but moved with purpose. They laughed silently at the white men's futile attempts to push them away, like trying to clear smoke from a closed room. The figures drew closer and wrapped themselves around the prospectors. The men hugged themselves, fighting against the bone deep chill suddenly invading their bodies.

In moments, the mist and apparitions vanished. The night turned briefly clear and quiet. The shaman turned his attention to the full moon. The hovering orb shone brightly, emitting a low pitched hum as it began to move. It rotated slowly, until it looked like a thick coin lying flat on a smooth surface. It dimmed and brightened by turns, then rose slightly and lunged out into the night like a shooting star.

Hank and Charlie stared, following its path through the night sky until it vanished. Neither believed what they'd just witnessed. The sudden silence demanded their attention. Except for the two of them, they stood on the deserted hilltop. No traces of a campfire, no blankets remained; no unknown figures, and no Indian.

The full moon hung in the sky overhead. A few minutes ago, it seemed close enough to touch. Now it was nothing more than a pale lit disk, nestled against a dark sky.

Hank and Charlie glanced at each other and saw the fear reflected in the other's eyes. Maybe there was something to those superstitions, after all. They ran back to the path unable to get off the slope fast enough.

The men reached the base of the mountain and Hank frantically searched the back of the wagon for the jacket he'd tossed there earlier. He shivered, his fingers cold and numb. On the wagon seat he found several pouches, bulging with weight which could only be... Curious, he opened one. His eyes lit with astonishment to find it filled with gold. He didn't recall finding any gold. Then again, he couldn't remember anything of their night in the hills. Memories of the night's events were gone. Hank shook his head in confusion, then relaxed with a wide grin.

Charlie climbed onto the wagon and found several more pouches tucked away under the seat. He spilled the contents of one into the palm of his beefy hand and grinned with delight. Nuggets of varying sizes settled into the creases in his palm. He scooped them back into their pouch and pulled the drawstrings snug. "I don't remember findin' these, but I'm not complainin.'"

Hank's heartbeat had yet to settle back to a normal pace. Must have been from running down the darned hill. He shoved his arms into the sleeves of his jacket and, instead of buttoning the garment, overlapped the edges until they held snuggly against him. "Never been so dang cold in all my born days," he muttered, and stomped his feet, trying to restore the circulation.

Charlie looked up at the hills. "I don't remember anythin' happenin' up there."

"Me neither." Hank climbed up onto the wagon seat, then snapped up the teams' reins. "But we ain't gonna make up any stories. You know how smart Pete can be. Don't know 'bout you, but I'm headin' back."

Charlie nodded, then buttoned up his own jacket and tried to make himself comfortable. The strange cold gripped him like one of Hank's half cooked meals. They drove away from the mountain.

***

Pete joined the prospectors sitting on the porch. They'd been back nearly a month, but were ready to leave with the day's stagecoach. This could be his last chance to discover what had happened out in the desert. "Are you two ever gonna say anything about what happened up there?"

Hank looked up from where he sat on the step, tightening the straps on his bulging saddlebags. At the moment, they contained all his worldly possessions, including his share of the gold. "Nothin' happened up there. There's nothin' to tell."

"Guess the Spirits decided we were 'worthy', but didn't want us to stay long," Charlie added. He continued to whittle at a piece of wood. He glanced up quickly, flashing a wide grin.

Pete shook his head and returned inside the trading post. He'd miss those two fools, but he was happy for them. They were about to see their fondest dream come true. They were leaving for San Francisco.

Hank and Charlie gazed quietly at one another, as if sharing a secret. For a brief moment, their features subtly shifted, allowing strange faces to show through. Gray tinted skin covered heads a bit wider than a normal man's skull. Almond shaped eyes, black as a starless night, missed nothing. The narrow jaw held only a slit for a mouth that couldn't smile. Silent understanding passed from one to another. As quickly as the features appeared, they vanished again, allowing the human features to regain control.

They turned as one, to watch the stage pull up. Hank rubbed his arms briskly. "Dang chill on a hot day," he muttered.

Chapter 4, Present

"Yup," Hank agreed, briefly falling back on old speech patterns. We sure had some interestin' times then." He moved away from the balcony and straightened his collar. "Let's see how the guests are doing."

Larry and Sheila were talking together when Hank and Charlie approached. "How you two doing?" Charlie greeted them.

"Doing fine, boss. Thanks for inviting us," Larry replied.

"It's really nice of you to give us those stocks," Sheila added.

"You've both proven yourselves worthy and we want you to join our family."

"Hey!" Charlie pointed up. "Look at that. Have you ever seen the moon so huge and bright?"

Sheila reached up her hand in wonder. "You could almost touch it."

"Indian legend calls it the warrior's moon. The spirits of ancient warriors guide newcomers to form alliances of sorts, with special people. The spirits decide on the best matches." Hank didn't have to wait long for a response to his remarks.

"You're not going to start that alien business again, are you?" Larry piped up. Several guests' faces turned toward him with odd expressions.

"Larry, my boy," Charlie moved in quickly, slipping his arm about the younger man's shoulders. "Why don't I get you a drink and we can debate the issue." The two moved off, leaving Hank with Sheila. The other guests relaxed and returned to their own conversations.

Larry's exclamation brought Hank back to the real reason for the party. Ever since their sun went nova, the Joynem wandered the galaxy, searching for a home. They discovered they could survive on this small blue planet, but their bodies were too fragile to endure the heavier gravity. The Joynem realized they could merge with native intelligent beings, if they found ones with the right psychological attitudes.

Long ago, Sani explained to Hank and Charlie, the name of the race of beings was too hard for humans to pronounce. In a rare display of humor, Sani called them the Joynem. Now and then, he still chuckled over his own joke.

The cool evening created a light mist. The pale wisps, more active now, twisted up into the night air and lazily caressed the figures around the pool. It created fluid forms, constantly changing, forever in motion. Sheila shivered with a sudden chill.

"I'm sorry if Larry upset your guests," she said. "Sometimes he doesn't think before he speaks. He's so sure alien life forms couldn't reach earth."

"Don't worry about it. Before the night is over, Larry may be a believer. Charlie can be very convincing. What about you? Do you think they could be real?"

"I try to keep an open mind, but what could they possibly want with us?"

Hank tucked her hand under his arm and led her to the buffet. "Sheila, my dear, have you ever thought about..."

***

A jeep bounced along the empty desert road. Late afternoon sun sent long shadows stretching out from the hills. "Frank, stop!"

"What is it?" the driver asked. His companion's anxious tone surprised him

"Out there. I saw something move. It looked like somebody lying on the ground. There, in a white shirt... See it? Maybe he's hurt."

"Yeah, hold on, honey." Frank steered the jeep in the direction of the stranger.

Merri drew in a sharp breath. "He must be from the reservation. We have to try to help..."

AN INVITATION FOR DINNER

By Jac Eddins

Evelyn Reed made her way down the dim hallway of the seedy boardinghouse and knocked on the door of Room 7. A man's deep voice told her the door was unlocked. She took a deep breath and entered.

The muted lights in the room hid some of its stark, hospital look. The elderly woman who owned the building had lost her son to the ravages of AIDS and turned it into a hospice for those poor souls who had nowhere else to turn.

Evelyn schooled her features into a neutral smile, unwilling to show the horror and pity she felt for the young man who lay in the bed there dying. From the look of him he didn't have much longer at all. A tall, dark man in the room with him faded back to the shadows and fussed with the pharmacy bottles on the table. His had been the voice who'd answered her; the boy in the bed was too weak for that. Evelyn guessed the man was either the long time companion or a medical aide.

The young man gazed up at her with fever-glazed eyes. "You're the one who called? You're here about my book?" he asked in rasping breaths.

"Yes. Ms Wheat is interested in buying it."

His skeletal grin tore at Evelyn's heart. She didn't want to do this! Mary Wheat usually took care of these negotiations herself. Evelyn tried to beg out, but Mary insisted she take care of this case. Mary had an awards banquet out-of-State and couldn't keep the appointment. She didn't trust the young man would live until she returned.

"She's going to publish it?"

"Not exactly. The story's very good, but the writing isn't professional caliber. Ms Wheat wants to buy your manuscript and the story idea."

The disappointment in his expression hurt more than the grin. He took a deep breath and sighed. "I'll never have a family and I wanted to leave something with my name on it."

What could she tell him? Few writers ever reached that exalted plateau where people who didn't read knew who they were, and their bank balances had six and seven figures. Mary Wheat was one of those. She had attained the super author status with intelligence, business sense, some talent, and a complete disregard for the rights or feelings of others. Mary would use this young man's story, interweaving her characteristic comments and descriptions. Then she'd put her name on it and send it to her publisher. In another few months it would be on every news stand and book store shelf in the country. By then this poor kid would be gone and forgotten by all but the few people who'd loved him and stuck by him.

Evelyn had worked for her four years, since Mary's first blood dripping vampire story skyrocketed to overnight success. Evelyn was one of the very few who knew Mary didn't write that one, either. The kid who did write it had been dying of AIDS, too, and Mary bought it from him for just enough money to see him through the last weeks of his life and a decent burial. Mary continued to find writers in such desperate conditions, paid them peanuts and added just enough of her own touches for her fans to recognize her 'work'.

She hated the system, but Evelyn had a desperate need for the money Mary paid for her work … and her silence. Until six months ago Evelyn had been the sole support of her invalid mother. Now she was paying off the last of those final expenses. For a little while she'd thought she'd be free to move on to another job where she wouldn't have the shame and guilt.

"I'm sorry." Did she sound as lame as she felt? "I'm authorized to pay you quite well."

"What do you call 'well'?" the dark man interrupted. He stepped forward and Evelyn saw his face. His sharp aristocratic features showed no trace of a smile.

"Well – More than enough to take care of him," she stammered. She hadn't anticipated someone would be there to question her.

The man's dark, piercing eyes bore into hers. "Why are you doing this? You know you're cheating this poor soul."

"It's legal and it's my job," she answered. That surprised her. She hadn't meant to admit anything, but under the man's level gaze she could not lie to him. "And, in a way, I am helping him. His book is good, but to edit, polish and find the right market for it would take far longer..." She paused, unwilling to say aloud what they all knew.

A faint smile touched the man's lips. She'd seen many a man as handsome but never one so compelling.

"You truly believe that," he said.

Evelyn nodded. "From the time a book sells until it's in production can take a year or more. The advances aren't much for an unknown author, and the royalties are never certain. The book could be a hit and make money, or it could be ignored. This way he'll have all the money he needs now. And possibly more than it would bring in the long run if he published it in his own name." She hesitated to add it would bring a lot more once it had Mary's name on the cover.

"I'm being rude," the man said and smiled. "I'm Dr. Andres, one of Stephen's doctors." He moved toward her and offered his hand.

Evelyn took it and smiled. Men didn't affect her, not as this one did. She'd thought she was in love several times, but no man ever captured her so completely on a first meeting. Evelyn hardly heard what he was saying, so lost in his gaze.

"Have you been to your own doctor, Ms...?"

"Reed," she stammered like a school girl. "Evelyn Reed."

"Evelyn," he murmured. "Lovely name."

"Thank you," she mumbled in reply, her face flushed.

The young man, Stephen, coughed. Dr Andres turned his attention to his patient and held him through the racking spell, then eased him back. His brows knit in concern.

"You'll have to decide, Stephen," he said softly. "Soon."

"I wish I could do more." Evelyn shook her head. "If it were up to me…"

Stephen nodded, his head bowed. "I'll do it. I need the money."

The room seemed stifling and hot. Evelyn slipped off the sweater she wore over her blouse and set it on the second chair beside the bed, the one beside hers.

The transaction went smoothly from there. Stephen signed the papers with trembling hand, barely able to hold the pen. Evelyn didn't negotiate; she gave him the maximum Mary Wheat allowed. When it was done she took Stephen's withered hand in hers. What did you wish someone who knew he was going to die?

Dr. Andres saw her to the door.

"Evelyn," he said. "I see something in you that isn't quite right. Please see your doctor. And, if he can't help you, perhaps I can." He gave her his business card and a farewell smile before turning back to his patient.

How did he know? Somehow, Dr. Andres had seen beyond her façade. Evelyn had more in common with Stephen than she wanted to let on. Her illness wasn't as obvious, but she, too, was dying. Most of the time she kept the fact away from her, pretended it didn't exist. Everyone died eventually and doctors had been wrong before.

Her doctor told her she had a few months left. Except for the occasional blinding headache she had no overt symptoms. She'd look and act completely normal right to the end. The end. Evelyn took a deep breath. She didn't want to die. It wasn't right, not at thirty-two and in what should have been the prime of her life.

No one else knew. Evelyn had no family and few close friends. She wasn't going to burden them with her problems and she didn't want their pity. Mary Wheat was something else. Perhaps she should tell her employer so the woman could start looking for a replacement. Evelyn held back. Mary would like as not take it as a personal affront that Evelyn would do something to cause her an interruption in her agenda.

Evelyn hurried along the darkened street. She really had to do it. Tomorrow she'd tell Mary.

***

Mary didn't return to her office the next day. It appeared she met some old friend and decided to extend her visit. Evelyn knew Mary well enough to guess the 'old friend' wasn't that old, likely dark, handsome and an adoring fan. Evelyn chose not to tell Mary about her illness on the phone. One more day would be soon enough.

Later that afternoon Evelyn had a chill and went to get her sweater. It wasn't in its accustomed spot and she remembered, with some dismay, she had worn it the day before. She'd taken it off and left it in that poor boy's sick room. The sweater meant a great deal to her; her mother knitted it and it was the last gift her mother had given her. Evelyn called the young man's number but could get no answer. A chill went through her when she considered the possible reasons. Perhaps the best thing would be to drive by there on her way home that evening.

***

The old rooming house appeared dark and silent. Evelyn resigned herself to calling the next day, then saw a light on in one of the back rooms. From its location it could well have been Stephen's room. She made her way back up the rickety porch stairs and knocked. Moments passed and she knocked again. This time the door opened. It hadn't been locked. She hesitated. Perhaps no one would mind if she just looked to see if her sweater was there.

Evelyn made her way to Stephen's room. The door stood open and the bed lay empty. Evelyn closed her eyes in a silent prayer for the lost one. Her sweater lay where she left it and she hurried to pick it up. She turned to leave … and came face to face with the young man who had been so ill.

Stephen stood before her, pale and somewhat gaunt, but firmly on his own two feet. Evelyn couldn't help gaping in surprise.

"What are you doing here?" Stephen asked her, his expression one of near panic.

"I – left my sweater. I didn't think anyone would mind if I came for it. I did try to call..."

"I guess it's O.K." He still looked uncomfortable.

"It's wonderful to see you up."

"Thanks." He stared down at the floor. "Dr. Andres is a miracle worker."

"Does that mean you're cured?" she asked in astonishment.

"Sort of... But I think you better go..."

"Is something wrong?"

"Please – don't ask me. Just go..."

"Don't be rude to your guest," a deep voice interrupted.

Evelyn turned to see Dr. Andres emerge from the shadows on the far side of the room.

The Doctor smiled at her. "I think Miss Reed and I have something to discuss."

***

Mary Wheat climbed the steps of the Victorian mansion. A shingle on the side of the door read: Dr. V. Andres, M.D.

Evelyn opened the door for her before she knocked. "I was waiting for you to arrive," Evelyn smiled. Mary didn't return it. Evelyn hadn't seen her since the day she told Mary she had an incurable illness and needed a few days off to take care of a few things. Mary told her to take all the time she needed; she was fired.

"I hope this is as good as you say," Mary said, brushing past her hostess and into the foyer. Evelyn followed, closing the door behind her. Evelyn gestured her through the double doors to the right.

A fire in the tiled fireplace danced with welcoming warmth. Dark burgundy drapes kept winter drafts from the cozy room. The parlor was a treasure trove of nineteenth century antiques and Mary's gaze swept over them with a look of mingled admiration and envy.

"I thought you were ill. You've done well for yourself," Mary remarked.

"I had a very good doctor," Evelyn replied. "Do sit down. Would you care for tea?"

"Let's just get this over." Mary sank down onto the burgundy velvet covered sofa and took her gold rimmed glasses from her purse. Since Evelyn knew the truth about her sight she didn't have to resort to her contacts. "Where is the manuscript?"

"Right here." Evelyn lifted the papers from their resting place on the end table and handed it to her former employer. She seated herself in an occasional chair on the opposite side of the room and waited in silent patience.

A half hour later Mary set the manuscript aside. "You always were good at spotting suitable material. This is well written. It needs a few changes, though."

"Such as?"

Mary regarded Evelyn with some disdain. "No one wants to hear vampires can be benevolent creatures. They kill. That's their nature. And their victims become vampires, too."

"That source is very knowledgeable," Evelyn argued softly. "Vampires lose some of their sense of the sanctity of human life. Not all they kill become vampires, just those they feel intelligent and worthy of joining them."

"Trash! You talk as if you thought they actually exist."

"Isn't it a possibility? Many things thought to be folk tales have turned out to be real."

"You've read too many of my books," Mary scoffed. "How could a vampire exist in today's world without being known? Police would have it in every paper if they found bloodless corpses."

"With night shifts and safe havens they could remain secret. There's plenty of blood available from mortuaries, and no one to complain of it. And slaughter houses – not all blood has to come from humans."

"I see you read this piece thoroughly." Mary shook her head. "I know what the public wants and that's what I give them. And why would they be benevolent? Saving 'worthy' dying victims and giving them life?"

"Perhaps they have more of their humanity remaining than you credit them."

"Nonsense. Now, what does this author want for the manuscript?"

Evelyn met Mary's eyes. "I wrote that."

"You?" For the first time Mary showed some surprise. "Yes, that would figure. Contemplating your own illness you might fantasize such a story. I'll tell you what – you can't much enjoy working in this museum. What do you do here? Housekeeper?" Mary rushed on, not giving Evelyn the chance to answer. "Give me the story and come back to work for me. I'll even throw in a decent raise."

"I don't think my husband would approve," Evelyn said with a smile.

"Husband?"

"Yes. I married the doctor who took care of me. I had hoped the manuscript would bring enough money to help a few more unfortunates get settled into new lives."

Mary stood. "You always were a bleeding heart! You know my standard contract. Why should I pay you any more than that?"

"Because you take all they have for a couple thousand and you make millions from them."

"Spare me! That's business."

Evelyn sighed. "Well, I tried. My husband and I would like you to stay for dinner."

"I don't know..." She fell silent when the tall, distinguished man entered the room. Her eyes never left the handsome aristocrat when he came to place a kiss on Evelyn's brow.

"How did it go?" he asked his wife.

"About the way you thought it would," Evelyn answered with a hint of sadness.

Dr. Andres stood to face Mary Wheat. "You have been giving vampires too much attention, and a bad name."

Mary gave a derisive snort. "Don't try to intimidate me! Dr. V. Andres. I suppose your name is Vladimir..."

"No. Viktor."

"Pardon me," she sneered. "With that black tux I'd have sworn..."

"Vlad was my cousin," the Doctor said with a smile.

Mary's bravado faded with the sight of his two prominent canine teeth. She turned in sudden panic. "Evelyn..."

"I had hoped you changed," Evelyn said. She shook her head and then smiled.

Mary took one look at the sharp white fangs and began to scream as Evelyn approached her. No sound came.

"Well," Evelyn sighed, "We did invite you here for dinner, and it's time you were served..."

A SNAP, CRACKLIN' FOURTH

By Marissa St James

Chapter 1

"Looking good, lady."

Karen Vaughn startled at the sound of the familiar voice, one she could have gone much longer without hearing. There were too many painful memories associated with it, and now it sent chills up her spine...or was it the lake water making her cold? Or maybe something else entirely?

She stood in the waist deep water and stared at the uninvited guest. No one had any business being on the property but Kevin and her. She self-consciously tugged at the shorts and tee shirt clinging to her firm figure. His presence made her uncomfortable. "What brings you out here, Brett? You didn't come to see the sights, that's for sure." She waded out of the water.

"Some sights are worth coming out here to see." Brett stared at her, grinning. He leaned over, plucked the towel from the sand and casually handed it to her.

Karen's skin turned a bright pink despite the goosebumps from the cold water, as she snatched the towel from his hand. An eerie sensation surrounded her like an invisible cloak, but it somehow felt comforting. She blotted the water from her face, then kept her features hidden while she ran the towel over her short auburn hair. She scrubbed at her scalp with her fingertips to give some life to the flattened curls. Karen took her time, drying off the excess water, thinking back on her morning and what had brought her back to Monroe.

Grandpa Micah Vaughn inherited the land some fifty years earlier. He refused to sell it to Monroe, and the Town Council never forgave him for his stubbornness, but he knew they wanted to tame and develop the wild acres. When he made out his will, he left the land to Kevin and Karen. The town got pretty riled up about it up, but they couldn't break the will. Nothing had changed.

Ten years earlier, she'd left Monroe and only her twin brother, Kevin, and Grandpa knew the reasons for her departure. Kevin would never say anything and grandpa? He was beyond divulging anyone's secrets. If it hadn't been for Kevin's call, Karen probably never would have returned to Monroe. Folks didn't recognize her, but she didn't care. Sooner or later they'd realize she was back, and the gossip would start all over again. Karen felt a sudden breeze against her head, as if someone had raised a hand to playfully cuff her. She could almost believe...

With Grandpa Micah's death not long ago, the staff had quit and it was up to the Vaughn twins to keep the summer camp going. Karen had regretted not being home when the old man finally slipped away, but Kevin assured her it couldn't be helped.

She spent this morning scrubbing out one of the cabins, getting it ready for the summer kids. The cabin was done, she was done in, and decided a cooling jump into the lake would revive her energy. The lake was actually colder than she'd expected, but she adjusted to it quickly. It had been years since she'd done anything so reckless. As she finished drying off from her invigorating dip, a whisper of a breeze reminded her of the man who'd been staring at her for the last couple minutes. Time to get back to business.

Karen remembered all too well the last time she'd seen Brett, and wished she didn't. "If you're here on business, you might as well come up to the house, I have to change my clothes."

"Don't change on my account," he quipped, then relented. "Okay, no more, but we do have some business to discuss."

"Fine." She focused her green eyes on him, then walked away. He wasn't going to get to her again. She wouldn't give him the chance.

Brett readjusted his suit jacket where it hung over his shoulder, anchored in place by two fingers in the collar. He always did like the spark of fury in Karen's eyes. He remembered the dance, the last time he saw her. She disappeared the next day, before he could explain. After all these years, an explanation wouldn't do much good.

He watched Karen take the path to the cabins. Her straight back and sure stride exuded a confidence he'd never seen in her before. Wherever she had been these last few years had done wonders for her. Brett smiled to himself and followed Karen to the two-story structure, then sat on the front steps to wait while she went inside to change her clothes.

When she reappeared a few minutes later, she sat beside him and held out a glass of lemonade. She might not want to see him, but she had no reason to be rude.

"Thanks." He took the frosty glass from her hand and smiled.

"Okay, so what's the business you came to discuss?"

"Your grandfather left you and Kevin a sizeable property, but no money to maintain it."

"So? We'll manage. Grandpa always did."

"You know things are changing around here. Monroe is thriving and looking to expand. Chase Harcourt is willing to buy the land at a good price." Brett pulled a notepad and pen from his jacket pocket and wrote a figure.

Karen whistled. "That's a hefty chunk of change."

"Then you're willing to deal?" Brett felt sure he and Karen could come to a quick agreement and settle the details later.

"I didn't say that. What's he want the land for?"

"Industrial expansion."

"At the expense of the ecology?" Karen's expression turned dark. "Forget it councilor. What are we supposed to do, just forget about the summer camp? You know how many kids look forward to it every year."

"We can relocate the camp." Brett realized too late, it was the wrong thing to say. She had that 'dig in your heels' look he remembered too well.

"No deal. There's no other suitable place within a fifty mile radius."

"Look, Karen, talk it over with your brother. I'm sure Harcourt would be willing to help you find a new location."

"Then let Harcourt look for a new location. This land is not for sale."

Brett grinned and returned the notepad and pen to the jacket pocket and laid the garment neatly across his lap. "That's one thing I've always liked about you. When you make up your mind about something, you stick with it."

"What's in it for you?"

Brett chose to ignore the question. "In all honesty, he doesn't have to deal with you. The Vaughns have been trespassing on Harcourt land for years."

It was Karen's turn to ignore the remark. "So he found your price. You surprise me, Brett. I would never have believed you come so cheaply."

"Don't do this, Karen. I've worked hard to get where I am. I've got the qualifications and experience to do a good job."

"And it doesn't hurt to be dating the boss's daughter," she added snidely.

"Nikki has nothing to do with my plans for the future."

"Has to be something political. She always did prefer the limelight." Karen murmured and shook her head. "Some things never change."

"And some things are a surprising change. You were never outspoken. Where did you disappear ten years ago?"

"Here and there." Karen stood and brushed off the seat of her shorts. "You can go back and tell Harcourt 'no deal'"

Brett grabbed his jacket from his lap and handed Karen his empty glass. "Harcourt doesn't give up easily." He leaned forward and kissed her, tasting sweet and tangy lemonade on her lips. Pop ... pop ... pop. The unexpected sound abruptly ended the kiss. "And neither do I. Think about it." He grinned boyishly, and walked away, whistling a jaunty tune. He left Karen standing on the steps, stunned.

Karen stared at Brett's retreating back and raised a finger to her lips. All those years ago, she'd wished for one kiss from him. Why did he do it, now that he was on the wrong side of a business deal? "You're wrong, Brett," she said half to herself, "you won't win this one."

"Talking to yourself, Sis? You've been away too long." Kevin laughed and turned to watch the lawyer's retreating back. "What's Brett doing here?"

"Harcourt wants to buy the land."

"Hope you said no."

"Of course. Grandpa invested a lot of years and money to get this camp running. I'm not about to let a man like Harcourt ruin it all."

Kevin grinned and a mischievous twinkle danced in his green eyes. "Who knows, maybe ol' Brett has seen the light. He'll be back, and it won't be because Harcourt sent him."

"Get off it, Kev. What didn't happen ten years ago isn't going to happen now. Let's get some supper. Tomorrow's another long day and I've still got four more cabins to scrub down and air out. Then we have the supply shed to go through. This summer could put us in the black if we're careful."

Kevin climbed the steps and put an arm around his twin's shoulders. "Yeah. Grandpa was so close; this summer could do it. Come on, I'm starved." He pulled his sister into the house.

Karen laughed. "When aren't you?"

***

By week's end, Karen was exhausted, but pleased. Two cabins remained to be cleaned. The bunk mattresses had been aired out, floors, walls and windows washed, and the cabin councilors' rooms were spic and span. Kevin surprised her by pitching in. She expected him to do outside work and leave the scrubbing to her. "Who do you think did all the scrubbing for the last four years?" he asked when she took her bucket outside.

"You?" Karen hid her face behind her hands, pretending horror. "Oh my goodness. Who will have you now, with those rough reddened hands?"

Kevin fished the large sponge out of his bucket and threw it at her. Splat! He laughed when she shrieked in surprise.

"I'll get you for that!" Grabbing the dripping sponge from her own bucket, she turned quickly and threw it as hard as she could.

Kevin laughed and ducked.

For a moment, Karen froze, horrified. The soaked sponge stuck to Brett's chest, and a wet stain spread over the front of his polo shirt. She burst out laughing. "Didn't anybody ever tell you, you shouldn't sneak up on people?"

Brett pulled the wet mass from his shirt and tossed it back to her. "Guess not," he grinned.

"You never were one to be considerate of others," a cultured female voice spoke up.

Karen looked past Brett and swallowed a groan. "Hello, Nikki. Whatever dragged you away from your cushy home?"

"It's Miss Harcourt to you," Nicole Harcourt replied smartly.

Karen caught the sponge and fumbled it into the bucket, then rubbed her hands on her jeans. "What brings you out here, Brett? I haven't changed my mind."

Nikki stepped forward, stumbling on the uneven ground. The heel of her dress shoes sank into the soft dirt and she grabbed Brett's arm for balance.

"This isn't the place for that getup, Nikki. You could break your neck so easily out here."

"Is that a threat, Vaughn?"

"Miss Vaughn to you, and it's a fact. Now, what do you want?"

"My father's willing to raise the offer he made for the land."

"Well, you can go back and tell daddy, it's still no deal. We have no intentions of selling."

Nikki's long blond hair was stylishly pinned up. Her lemon yellow dress with its scooped neckline didn't look so bright with dust swirling around in the breeze. She appeared not quite so prim and proper to Karen. Nikki linked her arm through Brett's, possessively, never taking her eyes from Karen.

"Wouldn't you like to see some of the world?" Nikki purred, hoping to tempt Karen to change her mind.

"I've seen all I care to see, thank you." Karen's casual tone did nothing to ease Nikki's jealousy.

Nikki was more than aware of the glances between Brett and Karen. "Well, you could do whatever you want with the kind of money my father is offering you. You could start a business in town. It can't be very safe out here alone."

"It's safe enough, and I'm not alone ... not that I have to depend on Kevin for protection."

At the mention of his name, Kevin grinned and stared at Nikki, making her nervous. He watched her move closer to Brett's side and his grin widened. He never did like her.

"Daddy won't give you much more time to decide." Nikki tugged on Brett's arm. "Shall we go, darling? There's nothing left to discuss here."

The twins watched their visitors leave. "One of these days..." Karen muttered under her breath. Their eyes went wide when one of their large soaked sponges went sailing through the air and hit Nikki squarely between the shoulder blades. They heard her squeal with shock as she froze in mid step. It was all the twins could do not to burst out laughing.

Brett turned abruptly and eyed the twins like a pair of naughty children. Karen tried to hide a smug grin, and shrugged her shoulders.

Kevin smiled. The battle was about to begin.

Chapter 2

Karen tugged on the cinch then moved around to the gelding's head. She stroked the velvet muzzle, and listened to his whoof when he blew out air. "Yes, it's been a long time since we rode out together, Blaze." The old chestnut gelding had always been her favorite. Karen pulled a carrot from her back pocket and offered the treat to her equine friend. "Bout time we got reacquainted, don't you think?"

She led him from the stable, then mounted up and turned him toward a little used trail. Karen stopped when she saw her brother exiting the last cabin to be cleaned. "You sure you don't want me to stay and help you?" she called out. She felt a twinge of guilt leaving the last of the cleaning to him.

"I'm sure. You've been working hard getting the camp ready. I'm sure I can handle one little ol' cabin. Besides you need to get familiar with the trails again, if you're going to be taking the kids out."

"You've got a point. Maybe I can catch something for supper."

"As long as it isn't bear. See you later, Sis. Have fun."

Karen grinned and waved, then turned Blaze toward one of the lesser used paths. Hooves thudded rhythmically against the brown blanket of discarded pine needles. The scent of pine became stronger along the meandering trail, as the cooler air slipped over Karen's skin. Tall thick trees blocked out most of the sunlight, but here and there a bright patch shone through.

The trees thinned out, allowing the trail to widen until it opened onto a small meadow leading down to Monroe Lake. Brilliant sunlight lay a crystal path across the barely moving water. Karen caught her breath. She'd forgotten how beautiful it was here. How could she have stayed away so long? She knew the answer too well, and preferred not to dwell on it. Leave it in the past. She was home now, even if it had taken Grandpa Micah's death to bring her back.

Karen dismounted and tied Blaze's reins to a low bush. His attention focused on the thick grass around him and he tugged at the young green blades. Patting the horse's neck, she spoke softly to him, then released the creel from the saddle horn. Karen found a long slender stick, and tested it for pliability. It sounded like a whip, snapping in the air. A jackknife easily whittled away small twigs until she had a fairly smooth fishing pole.

The rocks near the lake's shore were warm from the sun and Karen found the perfect spot to settle down and fish. She tied a line securely to the pole, added a hook and bait, then cast it easily out onto the water. She could see darker shapes darting about beneath the clear surface. Maybe she'd bring some of the older kids here to fish, once they'd arrived at the camp and settled in.

The warm sun felt good and she relaxed. She silently thanked Kevin for talking her into coming here. "'Bout time you got yourself back here." The familiar voice startled her out of her reverie. "I missed these last years, fishing with you, girl. Your brother never did care for the sport."

Karen glanced to her right and stared at the slender, white haired man. This couldn't be happening. She had to be dreaming.

"Close your mouth girl, or the fish'll think you're the bait," he chuckled. He turned his clear blue eyes on her, taking his attention from his own cut pole.

"Grandpa..." Karen was at a loss for words, believing her imagination worked overtime. She blinked rapidly, but he remained where he sat.

"Magic? Nah. I wasn't quite ready to leave, had to see my favorite girl. Figured I best stick around a while, see you settle in."

"I thought it was your presence I sensed. I wasn't ready to believe, but now..." Karen paused. "Grandpa, I should have come home sooner. I should have been here to help you and Kevin with the camp."

"Don't go feeling guilty. I know why you left so quick and I never blamed you. Things were harder for you than your brother. Do you regret the choices you made?"

"Well, no, but..."

"No buts, girl. Shouldn't be any bad feelings when you do what you believe is right for you. Do you believe you did right?"

"Yeah, but if it hadn't been for your..." her words trailed off.

"You'd have come back sooner or later. This is your home. You love this place as much as your brother does."

"All those years, I missed you and Kevin."

"I know, honey, but don't ever feel guilty about it. What you chose was good for you. You've grown into a beautiful young woman. Time you thought about marriage."

Karen laughed and the image of Micah Vaughn wavered. "Me? Marriage? I've got too much to do around here to even think about that now. Maybe someday."

Micah turned his head and stared in the direction of the trail. "Got company. Remember this, girl... Anytime you need your ol' grandpa, you come down here to our favorite fishing spot, or just call me. I'll be around. Be careful around those Sassanachs."

Karen felt a gentle touch against her cheek and the old man's form faded. "Bye, Grandpa, I love you."

A gentle breeze whispered, "Love you too, girl."

She heard someone approach and quickly brushed away the tears.

"Kevin said I'd find you here. Catch anything?"

"Remind me to thank my brother when I get back," she replied tartly. Karen glanced to her right, refusing to make room for Brett. "Shouldn't you be filing briefs or whatever it is you lawyer types do? I'm sure the Harcourts would consider this 'consorting with the enemy.'"

Brett laughed. "Only if you want it to be. Don't worry, I'm not here on business. Wasn't very sporting, what you did to Nikki the other day."

"Would you believe me if I told you we didn't do it?" Karen glanced at the handsome lawyer. "Didn't think so, but we didn't do it." She gave the fishing pole a gentle shake. "Why are you here?"

"To see you. I've thought about you a lot over the years, wondered where you were, what you were doing, if you were happy." He focused his attention on the fishing line and the fish darting around it.

"Well, I've been fine, been here and there, and I've been blissfully happy."

He laughed again. He did a lot of that when she was around. "Take it easy, I'm not the enemy."

"Could have fooled me. You do work for the Harcourts."

"True, but today, let's pretend I'm unemployed."

"Can't imagine you out of work."

"Neither can I, really. About ready to open the camp?" Brett quickly changed the conversation, trying to keep it light. The last thing he wanted to do was antagonize Karen.

She gave her pole another tug, then relaxed again. "Kevin's taking care of the last cabin. The councilors will be here on the fifth, and the kids arrive on the following Monday. I'll be picking them up at the bus station in town."

"Your grandfather always enjoyed his summers with the kids here. He said it was like having you and Kevin at that age again."

Karen turned away from him and quickly swiped at her face.

"Karen," he laid a large hand gently on her arm. "I'm sorry if I've upset you. I didn't mean to."

"I wasn't here for him when he needed me."

"Don't do this to yourself. There was no way you could have gotten here in time. He went quickly, one of the few lucky ones."

At that moment, a strong tug nearly pulled the pole from Karen's hands. "Hang on," Brett told her and reached out to grab the line. Carefully, he pulled it in until the fish was out of the water, and wriggling on the hook, trying to free itself. When it finally stilled, Brett unhooked it and put it in the creel. "You've had a good day, I see." His boyish grin lightened her mood.

"I should be heading back," Karen spoke quickly, suddenly feeling nervous. A sense of wanting filled her, just as it had ten years ago. She learned her lesson then. She wasn't going to be a fool again.

Brett took the creel and pole from her and set them on the grass. He reached out one hand, offering her help across the rocks. He could sense her reluctance, but she accepted his offer. When she stood on the last rock, he placed his hands about her waist and lifted her easily from her perch.

Karen's feet touched solid ground, but Brett still held her and moved closer. Green eyes stared into dark brown and they both realized little had changed over the years. He lowered his head and feathered a kiss across her soft, full lips. The light touch kindled a fire in his soul.

Karen reached up and slipped her fingers into his dark brown hair. Any thoughts of pushing him away were quickly dispelled. This was how it should have been the night everything went wrong.

Pop... pop... pop sounded somewhere in the distance and echoed off the hills to sound louder than it was. "Did you hear something?" Brett half whispered, not wanting to let her go.

"Probably someone hunting in the foothills." Her answer was just as soft and languid as his question.

Brett cleared his throat. "You're right. We should get back." He secured the pole and creel to the saddle horn and gave Karen a boost into the saddle.

When she settled comfortably, she freed her left foot from the stirrup and looked down at the lawyer, staring up at her. "Well," she asked, "you going to mount up or do you plan to walk back?"

Brett used the stirrup to boost himself up behind the redhead. He hadn't expected the offer, but he'd be a darn fool to turn it down.

They rode back at a leisurely pace, talking of people they knew in high school, special memories, but Karen refused to discuss the last ten years or what happened that night, and Brett didn't push it. He wondered if she'd been married and the relationship fell apart.

When they arrived at the stables, Brett slid off Blaze's rump and helped Karen dismount. Kevin appeared, and ignored Brett. "Karen, we have to talk."

"Anything I can do to help?" Brett offered.

Kevin turned a dark look toward the lawyer. "No, we can handle it."

"You better go, Brett," Karen added. Whatever was wrong, her twin didn't want Brett to know about it.

"Okay, but if you need any help, let me know."

"Sure, thanks."

Kevin remained silent until their visitor drove away. What he had to say was for his sister, alone.

***

Karen picked at the meal in front of her, pushing around mashed potatoes and flattening peas with her fork. The anger still simmered just beneath the surface, ready to explode again.

Kevin watched his sister while he ate his own meal. He couldn't decide if he should say anything more. He knew Karen's temper too well. It could flash quicker than the back-draft of a fire.

Kevin could fix a great meal from start to finish, even if he didn't cook very often, but it didn't do his ego much good to see his sister mush everything around on her plate, until you couldn't tell what it had been.

"Okay, Karen. Don't you think it's about time you let it go?" Kevin tossed his napkin on the table and sat back in his chair. "What's done is done, and the bus is only the latest in a string of things going wrong. Let them have the site for their development. There's no way you can win, but you could get hurt."

Karen glared at him. "Could get hurt? Where did I spend the last ten years, brother mine?" She wouldn't give him the chance to answer. "Ten years in the military. I refuse to back down now. Where are the kids supposed to go this summer if we lose the camp? You know how much they look forward to it."

"Yeah, I know, but what's more important, the camp, or their safety?"

"It won't come to that, Kev. I'm going to get a restraining order. Brett is going to have to find another way to get around us. Grandpa left the land to us for the camp, and I intend to keep it. No two bit politician with big dreams is going to push us off our land."

"I didn't say Brett had anything to do with the mishaps going on around here. He's always been a fair man and I can't see him being in on a stunt like this. You sure you're not letting the past get in the way?"

"Why would I do a fool thing like that? The past is dead and buried where he's concerned. I know what I see."

"Here's something you might not know. After Grandpa refused to sell to the town councilors for future development, Chase Harcourt thought he could strike a better deal. He's been after this land for years. He tried to convince Grandpa to sell, but didn't get anywhere. You know how stubborn Grandpa could be. Harcourt's daughter has been dating Brett for a while now. She's hoping he'll put a rock on her finger. In the meantime, she's doing everything she can to get him accepted by her peers, and if she can get Brett to convince you to sell, her father will accept Brett as being a husband worthy of a Harcourt." Kevin made a face, showing what he thought of the idea. "Brett deserves better than her and I don't think he'd double deal you."

Karen laughed at his cross-eyed expression. "Okay, I get the message. I'll give him the benefit of the doubt for the time being. In the meantime, we're going to have to figure out where the money's going to come from to get the bus fixed. Sugar in the gas tank is a childish stunt."

"Childish, but effective," Kevin agreed.

***

The restaurant's lights gave off a soft glow, enhancing a romantic dinner for two. For the hundredth time, Brett wondered why he brought Nikki here. Given a choice, he'd have preferred Karen's company, but it was a choice he'd never likely be able to make. Nikki's voice pushed its way into his thoughts.

"Where were you just now?" she asked, then sipped her wine. Brett's momentary blank stare answered the question. "It's that Vaughn woman, isn't it?" Her voice rose in anger, and she lowered it quickly when she realized other diners stared at her outburst.

"I knew it. Ever since she came back, you've been distant. She's not good enough for you, Brett. What can she give you? Nothing. I can be the perfect political wife, and daddy knows all the right people. He wants to see us married."

"I need to think about it, Nikki. Neither situation is something I want to jump into with my eyes closed." How, Brett wondered, could he have failed to see how self centered Nikki was. She couldn't compare to Karen. In that brief moment, he realized the problem. All these years, he'd compared every woman to the redhead and found them wanting. He didn't think he'd be seeing Karen again, and was about to consider a life with Nikki. When Karen disappeared right after graduation, he'd believed she had left for good. Since she returned unexpectedly, he saw things differently. He'd have to work hard if there could be a chance with her.

Nikki threw her napkin on the table in disgust. "You'd jump if it were Karen Vaughn. Make the wrong choice and you'll regret it."

Brett signaled to the waiter and signed the check. "Shall we go, my dear?" Brett kept his features in control and his temper in check.

With all the dignity she could muster, Nikki picked up her purse and headed toward the door. Other curious diners watched Brett follow her out of the restaurant.

Brett remained silent until he stopped his car in front of the Harcourt house. The mansion still retained some of the charm of its original owner, over two hundred years before. He wouldn't mind living in a house like this one, but he began to wonder what it would cost him in the long run.

"Why are we here? The Farringtons are expecting us for after dinner drinks."

Brett stepped out of the car and went around to open Nikki's door. Here was another strike against Nikki. He didn't like the way she ordered his social life. "I'm sorry, but we won't make it tonight. I'm sure you'll make our excuses to the Farringtons. Good night, Nikki."

Nikki stood on the sidewalk, flustered. How dare he leave her like this. "You'll regret this, Brett Garrittson!" she called out as the car pulled away. "I promise you, you'll regret it." She caught a passerby staring at her. "What are you looking at?" she demanded. The stranger quickened his pace and hurried away. Nikki watched the taillights of Brett's car disappear into the night.

***

Brett got into the car, loosened his tie and grinned with relief as he drove away. He ignored Nikki's threatening outburst. She'd get over it. For the first time, it felt good to get away from her and her social calendar. Maybe he should start distancing himself from her, become more unavailable to her schedule. Hers wasn't the kind of life he wanted, after all, and he imagined a life outside of town, with hordes of kids running around.

***

Mondays were usually quiet for Brett, but the commotion in the outer office put an end to it. He looked up from the contract he was reading and stared at his closed door, waiting. His secretary, Maggie, could handle just about anything, and she'd make quick work of this intruder, as well.

Wrong again.

Angry voices escalated and drew nearer to his office until someone shoved the door open. "I'm sorry, Mr. Garrittson, I couldn't stop her."

Brett placed the papers on his desk and smiled. This sort of intrusion he didn't mind. There was nothing to compare to a redhead with temper in full gear to liven up the day. "It's all right, Maggie. I'll handle it, and would you bring us some coffee? Thanks." He watched the secretary leave and sat back in his leather chair, waiting for the door to close.

"What is the meaning of this?" Karen demanded, vehemently tossing a fistful of papers across his desk.

Brett gathered them up and skimmed through them. "It's an order to appear in court to answer charges of trespassing."

"No fooling, Dick Tracy. Trespassing on our own land? How does Harcourt think he can get away with this?"

"If you're out to kill the messenger, you've got the wrong guy. I'm not handling this one." Brett moved around his desk, took Karen's arm and guided her to the sofa against the opposite wall.

"You made the initial offer."

"I did, but I've since withdrawn from handling this particular business. I told Harcourt I have a conflict of interest here."

That bit of information stopped her. "What are you talking about?"

Maggie entered the office carrying a tray with coffee, cream and sugar. She placed the tray on the coffee table before her boss.

"Thanks, Maggie." The secretary smiled briefly and hurried out of the office. Brett turned to Karen, "Help yourself."

While Karen added sugar to one cup, Brett went on to explain. "I'm too close to both sides of the issue to deal with it fairly. I can tell you this," he paused long enough to accept the cup Karen offered him, "if I was handling this, I wouldn't have gone after trespassing charges. They're going to be hard to prove, especially with the land you're sitting on. Everyone knows Micah owned it."

"Do you think he might have found a way to break Grandpa's will?"

Brett rubbed his cheek and thought a moment. "I doubt it. I think he's hoping you and Kevin will run scared and try something stupid. Do you have Micah's deeds?"

"Sure. They're locked away at home."

"Good. You'll need them when you answer these charges. When do you go?"

"Friday afternoon."

"Hmmm. They don't give you much time, and they made sure it's close to the weekend. Don't worry about it, you'll be fine."

Karen smiled tentatively, but didn't have Brett's confidence in the outcome."

Chapter 3

Nicole, dressed in an expensive suit, locked her arm about Brett's. They stood in the wide main corridor in the courthouse, waiting to enter the courtroom. She looked down at Karen's simple outfit. "When you disappeared all those years ago, everyone wondered if you had something to hide." Nicole spoke casually, as if the subject had no real importance. Her meaning was clear. "Weren't you dating Jerry Burch at the time? We all knew what sort of trash he was. It's not difficult to figure out why you left immediately after graduation." Nikki picked at imaginary lint on Brett's sleeve and maintained an innocent look.

"Sheathe your claws, Nikki," Brett warned softly.

Turning to Karen, he added, "I apologize for her remarks, they were uncalled for."

"Think nothing of it," Karen replied with a wave of her hand. "Some people are more perfect than others and have to learn to live with the rest of us."

Brett choked back a laugh. Nikki would never be the lady, Karen was. Why had he never seen that until now?

***

Karen stormed out of the courtroom, furious, and Kevin followed behind.

"Karen, wait." Brett made his way around small groups of people and caught up with the twins. "Who knew where your grandfather kept those deeds?"

"How would I know? Interesting how they disappeared so conveniently." Her eyes darkened with anger and suspicion.

Kevin wisely said nothing.

"Why do you want to know anyway?" she demanded.

Brett caught Karen's arm as she moved away from him. "Listen. You may not have your grandfather's copies, but those deeds had to be recorded somewhere. Did he keep some kind of journal? Did he ever mention how he got the deeds?"

Karen glanced at her brother, saw him shrug. If anyone knew of a journal, he would.

"Grandpa wasn't one to keep journals," Kevin admitted.

Brett glanced at his watch. "Then we need to start searching for records. There isn't much time left today, so what do you say we pay a visit to the Registry of Deeds for starters?"

"What's this 'we'?" Karen shoved her hands into her pants pockets and turned a narrow eyed stare up at the lawyer. "You work for Harcourt."

"Not now I don't."

"There you are." Nikki called cheerfully and stepped beside Brett. "Daddy's been looking for you."

She gave Karen a bored look. "It's unfortunate you lost. I'm sure you'll find somewhere to stick that little camp of yours."

"I haven't lost yet, Nikki." Karen returned her attention to Brett. "Daddy's waiting for you. Don't let us keep you." She turned sharply and left the courthouse.

"What did your father want?" Brett asked impatiently.

"Actually, Daddy didn't want you. I did."

Brett peeled Nikki's fingers from his arm. "I have business to see to."

Nikki's eyes widened in disbelief. "You wouldn't dare go after her. Brett, don't you dare go after that woman."

"Watch me." Brett left Nikki standing in the middle of the corridor, and headed for the Registry of Deeds office.

Chase Harcourt joined his daughter in the corridor and spotted Brett going out the door. "Did he tell you he quit? He's no longer working for me."

"He did what?" Nikki was furious. "How could you let him do that? You have to get him back, Daddy. He belongs working for you, not with some gold digging little tramp."

"Brett is his own man. I don't want someone working for me who has no integrity. They'd never do a good job. Brett feels a conflict of interest here and was honest enough to tell me about it. I respect him for that"

"What about my marriage to him?"

"Your marriage?" Chase raised one eyebrow. "I don't think this marriage is going to happen."

"That's where you're wrong. I will make this marriage. I always get what I want, and I want Brett Garrittson."

***

Brett entered the office and found Karen and the clerk staring at each other. "Ladies, is everything all right?" He glanced uneasily from one woman to the other. He could see the fire in their eyes, both determined to have their own way.

"Mrs. Saunders insists it's too late to start searching for old records and I should wait until after the Fourth."

Brett cleared his throat. "Mrs. Saunders, the court has given Miss Vaughn until Tuesday to come up with the records she needs. I'm sure you can understand the need to begin searching now." He subtly took the woman's hand between his and saw her blush.

The older woman patted the bun on the back of her head nervously and pulled out the pencil she'd stuck there. "Since you put it that way, I suppose I can let you start searching now."

She led them to a back room containing shelves of old journals. Dust lay thick on the shelves. Karen's hopes plummeted. The room looked as if no one had entered it in years.

The clerk stood in the doorway and eyed them sternly.

"Thank you, Mrs. Saunders. We'll call if we need your help." Brett watched her reluctantly turn away, then studied the task ahead.

"You don't really think we'll find anything in here, do you?" Karen didn't care to go searching through layers of dust to find old documents.

"What year?" Brett decided the only way to get this done was to plunge right in. He felt a sudden chill in the dusty room and looked around for an open door or window.

"Not sure. I only know the transaction took place in the early eighteen hundreds. A Harcourt sold off some land to a Vaughn to pay a debt, and now Chase is claiming it never happened. It had to be eighteen twenties or thereabouts."

"We've got a lot of searching to do then. Shall we get to it?" He pulled a large ledger off the shelf, creating a dust cloud.

Someone had randomly stuck the oversized ledgers on the shelves. Karen's frustration grew, along with the rising puffs of dust.

"There's no way we're going to find those records," she sighed, and waved away the dust near her face. "None of these are in any kind of order and the dates are way off. There are ledgers missing."

Brett said nothing and stacked the ones he'd looked through.

Karen continued pulling out ledgers and checking the years on them. Another half hour passed with no results. "I give up. The records aren't here and we're never going to find proof Grandpa Micah owned the land."

Brett stared at Karen, not surprised at her frustration. "Short sighted as always. I'm trying to help you save the one thing that seems to matter to you, and you're ready to call it quits. You won't give it a chance, just like with us ten years ago. You're not willing to stick with it long enough to discover the truth."

"It's finished. Harcourt's got the land. There's nothing left to fight with. That airhead daughter of his can have you as well."

Brett grabbed Karen's arm as she pushed her way past him in the narrow aisle. "No you don't, sweetheart. You're not running away this time. Not like before."

Karen jerked her arm out of his grasp. Her green eyes darkened like a stormy sea. "Before?" she snapped. "As if you don't know."

"No, I don't. I remember a smart redhead who helped me get through physics class. If it hadn't been for her, I wouldn't have graduated."

"You don't remember," she repeated. "Then let me refresh your memory. I was the ugly duckling with a crush on the most popular boy in the senior class. Then one day he asked me for a date. I was in heaven. He actually asked me to a school dance. During the evening he disappeared and I saw him with Nikki and some of her friends. You were all laughing; the 'dare date', they called it. They dared you to ask me out and you did. I didn't stick around to be humiliated anymore than I already was.

"So now you can go back and tell Nikki how we were fumbling around in a musty storage room, looking for something that doesn't exist. You both should have a good laugh, just like you did that night."

Brett nodded, finally understanding. He rested his hands on her shoulders and paused before speaking. The dim light in the storage room couldn't hide the angry tears Karen held back. "Karen," his voice was calm and quiet, taking the edge off her anger. "You heard only part of the conversation that night. If you had stuck around a few minutes longer, you would have heard what I told them. Yes, they dared me to ask you for a date, but the joke was on them. They didn't know I wanted to ask you out.

"What you don't realize, I've just thrown away a career in politics to help you. You're more important to me ... you always have been. I never had the chance to tell you that."

He drew her closer and slowly lowered his head. He felt her anger dissolve under his searing kiss. Ten years ago he loved her and he realized now, nothing had changed. Brett was vaguely aware of a rapid popping, crackling noise.

"Well!" Brett and Karen jumped apart at the sound of the clerk's voice. "Did you find what you were looking for?" Her eyes narrowed as she looked from one to the other.

Brett chuckled and smiled at Karen. "Not exactly."

Karen flushed with embarrassment and lowered her head as the couple left the stuffy, crowded storage room with the clerk following close behind.

Chapter 4

Brett sat back in his office chair, flipping through the pages of a contract. His mind wasn't on business, but kept drifting back to Friday's kiss. He hadn't planned to kiss Karen, but he didn't regret it. It was about time he broke off his relationship with Nikki and took a chance.

The phone rang and he picked up the handset. "Put her through," he replied after listening to his secretary's message. He waited for the connection to be made and wondered why the registry clerk would be calling him. Maybe she wanted to chastise him for his behavior in the storage room. The thought brought a smile.

"Mrs. Saunders, what can I do for you?" he greeted her cheerfully.

"Mr. Garrittson, I was in the store room a short time ago, replacing the records books you were searching through, and I remembered something. About twenty or twenty five years ago, there was a fire here and many of the records books saved were stored in the library for safekeeping. What you're looking for could be there. If you like, I can call and let them know you'll be in to do a search?" The last part was more question than statement.

"Mrs. Saunders, you're an angel." He pictured the stern featured clerk with wings and halo. The image didn't quite fit. "I will be there shortly."

Brett grabbed his suit jacket and thought about calling Karen. No, on second thought, he wouldn't say anything. He didn't want to disappoint her again if nothing turned up. "Maggie, I'll be gone the rest of the day. Got some research to finish on a case."

"Yes, sir," the secretary acknowledged. "Oh, Ms Harcourt just called, said she'd be coming by to go to lunch with you."

"When Ms Harcourt arrives, tell her, I'm unavailable."

"Yes, sir." Maggie winced, not looking forward to the tirade she was sure to hear.

All afternoon, and into the evening, Brett searched through volumes of land deeds. Not having an exact date to work with made the job harder. There had to be an easier way to do this. He grumbled in frustration.

Daylight faded and a librarian appeared briefly to tell Brett it was almost closing time. He was about to give up the search when a name caught his eye... Micah Vaugh, Karen's grandfather. He glanced at the ledger's binding and noted the date. No, this Micah was definitely several generations back. Brett hurried to the reference desk, "I need copies of these deeds."

"It's closing time, Mr. Garrittson." The young woman was anxious to leave. Her boyfriend waited outside for her.

"It's for an ongoing case. These documents could settle it tomorrow." He turned a pleading look on the librarian and watched her expression soften.

"Oh, all right. Five minutes and I'm out of here."

Brett leaned over the desk and gave her a quick kiss, making her blush. "You're a peach." After getting the copies, he had one more stop to make.

Brett parked his car in front of the two-story log cabin. His feet crunched against the gravel when he climbed out of the vehicle. The house was dark. Maybe he should wait until morning to give her the copies of the deeds. A flashlight beam moved slowly along the ground by the side of the house.

"Karen?" he called out, walking around to the side. She probably just forgot to do something before she went to bed. Now, there was an interesting thought, but if he were smart, he'd forget about it. Karen wasn't ready to forgive or forget the past.

Quick footsteps and a thud jerked him out of his fantasy. "Karen!" he called again and broke into a run. Light from a second floor window created eerie shadows. Karen lay in the grass with a figure looming over her. The intruder jumped up and ran when he spotted Brett.

"Get him!" Karen shouted. She slowly got up and watched Brett change course to give chase.

Brett increased his speed then dived for the intruder's legs. Both men landed hard, and Brett refused to release his grip of the captive. When Karen approached, Brett slowly rolled onto his back. "I'm getting too old to be doing this," he groaned.

Karen grabbed the other man's shirt and forced him to roll over. She shone her flashlight beam on his face and he raised his arm against the bright light.

"You know him?" Brett asked, standing beside her, still puffing from the hard landing.

"No. I caught him sneaking out one of the cabins, then he disappeared in the shadows. I was going to check it out when he backtracked and jumped me."

The stranger remained sullenly silent.

"Karen, get the cell phone from my car and call our friendly boys in blue."

Within the hour, the intruder had been booked and was being questioned. "Okay, who sent you out to the Vaughn property?"

The stranger decided remaining silent wouldn't be in his best interest. "I was paid to do as much damage as I could, try to put the Vaughns out of business."

"Who's paying you?" Brett asked.

"Harcourt."

Brett and the officer exchanged glances. "Doesn't sound right," Brett added.

"The note was typed and had a bundle of cash with it. Name on the bottom was Harcourt. I've done other business with the man, always legal stuff. First time he asked for something like this. He pays well, so I don't stop to ask questions."

"I guess we got what we need." Brett turned to the officer. "Can you keep this arrest quiet for a while?"

"Don't see why not. We can hold him forty eight hours without charging him."

"Good. That'll be a help. We should have this mess cleared up tomorrow."

Brett joined Karen in the waiting area and escorted her out to his car. When he got behind the wheel, he watched her. Her head rested against the back of the seat and her eyes were closed. "You okay?"

"Yeah, a little sore and a lot tired."

Brett slipped his arm around her and drew her close. "You got more than you bargained for the last few days."

"Tell me about it," she sighed and turned her head to look at him.

Brett took advantage of the moment and kissed her. Pop ... pop ... pop. A couple kids drove by, laughing. "What was that?" Brett glanced out the window.

"Probably a car backfiring," Karen whispered, wishing he would kiss her again.

Brett chuckled and brushed at a dirt streak on her face. "I better get you home. Don't want your brother coming after me. I don't think I can handle anything more tonight." He steered the car away from the curb and smiled at the feel of Karen's head resting against his shoulder.

Chapter 5

Karen stood before the full-length mirror and checked her appearance one more time. She tugged at her jacket and set her hat at the precise proper angle. "Look out, Monroe, because ready or not, here I come," she told her reflection. "This should give them something new to talk about." She turned smartly and headed for the front door. A raised fist startled her.

"Sorry ma'am, didn't mean to scare you." The teenaged boy stared in awe of Karen's uniform.

Karen held back a smile at the look of appreciation. "Were you looking for someone?" she asked, bringing his attention back to his errand.

"Huh? Oh, yeah, got a special delivery for a Micah Vaughn."

"He's not here. I'll take it for him."

"Sure. Sign here."

Karen signed for the letter, gave the boy a tip and sent him on his way. She frowned at the return address on the envelope, then opened it. After all, her grandfather wouldn't be collecting mail any time soon. She skimmed the contents and her eyes lit up in surprise. "Why, Grandpa Micah, you sly devil, you." She felt a soft touch against her cheek.

Go get 'em girl. Show 'em all Vaughns don't back down.

The timing of the letter couldn't be any better. Karen carefully folded the pages and slipped the envelope into her purse. She had a quick bit of business to take care of before going to court. The day was getting off to a great start; maybe the holiday would be a good one after all. She smiled deviously, got into her car and headed to town.

When Karen arrived at the courtroom, the low chatter halted abruptly and all eyes focused on her. The sight of the woman dressed in a military uniform stunned everyone. Her ramrod straight posture, cap tilted at a precise angle shading her eyes, and white-gloved hands, presented a new and unexpected image of the woman the Harcourts believed would be easily defeated.

Nicole Harcourt failed to conceal her anger.

Brett's look of surprise became a broad grin. He might not be representing the Harcourts, but he wouldn't miss this for the world. The Vaughn twins would have to come up with something more than the deeds he'd found if they expected to win the case.

Karen slipped into the seat beside her brother and placed a folder on the table. "Lookin' good, Sis, but you're late," Kevin hissed.

"This is worth it," she whispered. "How good are you at keeping a poker face?"

"Karen..."

"Just read this." Karen slid the folder to Kevin. "Straight face, bro. Don't give anything away."

Kevin opened the folder and skimmed the contents of the first page. "This is a joke," he responded with disbelief. He failed to keep a straight face.

"No joke, Kev. Letter arrived just as I was leaving the house."

"This is going to blow their case right out of the water."

"We should have known he'd try something."

Nikki watched the twins put there heads together and whisper about something Karen handed her brother. She didn't have a good feeling about it. The Vaughn attorney approached her father's attorney and handed him a folder.

The court bailiff spoke up, officially opening the court session.

Karen could feel Grandpa Micah's presence in the room. She knew the wily old man wouldn't have wanted to miss this. She glanced at Brett sitting in the gallery, relieved he wouldn't be representing the Harcourts. Brett knew they were wrong, so why was he there with them? Or was his interest in her the last few weeks only to find out what she and Kevin planned to do about the charges? Then again, he'd been dating Nikki for some time and everyone expected an engagement announcement. That line of thinking brought her right back to the idea of Brett using her. Karen didn't like it.

Have faith girl. It'll all work out right.

Her attention was abruptly brought to the present when Kevin was called. Her twin presented information she didn't know about. She couldn't read Daddy Harcourt's expression, but Nikki looked smug.

Karen's turn to present information came soon enough. "State your name and occupation," the bailiff told her.

"Captain Karen Vaughn, United States Army. Medical Corps." She glanced at the other table, pleased to see Nikki's smugness melt away. That should finally put an end to rumors, once and for all time. She saw several people in the gallery glance at her and whisper to others. Karen withheld a smile, but she could feel her grandfather's pride. Round one was hers.

The rotund Howard Braithwaite stood beside the prosecutor's table, striking a pose, which reminded Karen of eighteenth century lawyers. She thought he was definitely a throwback, in more ways than one. He muttered some nonsense about the War of Independence not taking so long. Someone behind him heard the remark and sniggered.

Braithwaite harrumphed and set his mind to the business at hand. "My client has proven the land in question belongs to him and Ms Vaughn and her brother are trespassers. These copies, Ms Vaughn has presented as evidence of ownership leave doubt as to their origin. The government cannot bestow historical rights on land that doesn't belong to the person who claims it."

Karen bristled at the accusation and felt Kevin's hand on hers.

"That's what we're here to decide," the judge stated.

"That won't be necessary, Your Honor," Chase Harcourt stood and faced the judge. "I withdraw my complaint. The land rightfully belongs to the Vaughns."

Nikki jumped to her feet, screeching. "You can't do that! After everything I've done to get that land back from those thieves?"

Chase turned toward his daughter. His features expressed his disappointment in his only child, but he wasn't really surprised.

Nikki's voice softened. "I had to do something, Daddy. I couldn't let you go bankrupt."

Harcourt shook his head slowly. He had only himself to blame for Nikki's actions. He had spoiled his daughter over the years. "Bankrupt?" he asked, wondering where she got such a foolish idea.

"I heard you talking to your broker. You said you could be bankrupt."

Harcourt colored with embarrassment and anger. "You never learned not to eavesdrop on others' conversations. I am not bankrupt. I needed to transfer some funds to complete a business deal."

"You mean, I had that camp trashed for nothing? I did it for nothing? Her voice rose higher until she was practically screeching again. "How could you do this to me?"

"You did it to yourself, young woman," the judge cut in. "Bailiff, Ms Harcourt is under arrest."

Nikki jerked her arm out of the bailiff's grasp, but moved ahead of him out of the courtroom.

"Case dismissed." The gavel struck the block, officially closing the proceedings.

Chase Harcourt approached the twins. "I'm sorry my daughter has caused you so much grief, but I did want to give you this." He held out a small leather bound volume. "I found it over the weekend. It should answer your questions."

Harcourt nodded and turned away. Karen wanted to say something to him but couldn't find the right words. The fight was over and she could sense Grandpa Micah smiling down on her.

Brett had never looked so pleased. Karen thought he'd be squirming because somebody managed to pull a fast one on his future in-laws.

Chase Harcourt had his work cut out for him where his daughter was concerned. She got herself so deeply mired in the whole mess it would take a huge hunk of her daddy's wealth to get her out of it. Then again, Karen hoped the man would let his daughter stew a while.

Kevin announced his plans to renovate one of the cabins nearest the house and make it his home. According to the letter, as long as there were Vaughns running the summer camp, they could live on the land and care for it. Kevin kept insisting Karen was going to need the space in the big house for more than running their corporation. The town would have to find another means to expand, although, if they played their cards right, they had a pretty good future to build on tourism.

Brett resigned from the town council to represent the new corporation funding the summer camp. The council was fuming, and the Vaughn twins couldn't have asked for better legal council. Karen wondered if her grandfather had had a hand in the change. The council would never find another attorney as good as Brett. Grandpa would see to that.

***

Children screeched happily and ran through the town square, barely avoiding the high school band, which was playing a bit off key. Couples danced, or milled around the buffet table. With the Vaughn land dispute finally settled, everyone felt free to relax and enjoy themselves.

"You were something else, yesterday, Karen." Brett's comments were punctuated with the pop, pop, pop of firecrackers. "No one's ever got the best of Harcourt before."

"We didn't actually get the best of him. The land was quietly sold to our family in payment of a debt. The Harcourt responsible was embarrassed by the debt and had the transaction secretly recorded. Since the rest of the family knew nothing about it, they believed they still owned the land."

Brett removed Karen's military cap and ran his fingers through her short auburn curls. Neither paid attention to the groups of spectators strolling around them. "It's been quite a holiday week." They were oblivious to the bright colors cascading overhead against the dark sky.

"It certainly has been a snap, cracklin' Fourth, and I think we can thank Grandpa Micah for helping it all to come out right," Karen replied softly and slipped her arms about his neck. She turned her face up to his and leaned into him for a sizzling kiss.

Pop ... ba bam ... pop ... pop ... bam ... pop ... BOOM!

Finis

Contents

Contents

THE SPIDER'S WEB

GALLAGHER'S GOLD

THAT DAMNED CAT

THE TIME MACHINE

THE HARE'S PATH

BEYOND

WIZARDS, DRAGONS, POPCORN STRINGS

WARRIOR'S MOON

AN INVITATION FOR DINNER

A SNAP, CRACKLIN' FOURTH

Table Of Contents

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