Chapter 3

Bustling about the kitchen, Alainna prepared a meal for her invalid. He had been with her for three days and was chafing to get off the second floor.
Ripping apart a head of lettuce for a salad, she chuckled, recalling how he had pleaded with her to let him leave the master bedroom:

"Come on, Alainna. Your bedroom is great, and I appreciate you moving into the guest room on my account, but give me a break!" Peter fidgeted on the edge of the bed, shifting his weight gingerly, tired of being still despite the pain that ricocheted through his body when he moved.
Hands on her hips, she glared at him. "You know what Doc said, Peter."
He shot her a look, then rolled his eyes at her. "Yeah, right, like YOU always listen to what he tells you."
The fire in her eyes quickly dissolving into amusement, she began to laugh. "Well, you've got me there."
His face took on a hopeful look. "So? Does that mean I can leave the room, Warden?"

She had informed him that if he could make it down to the kitchen all by himself, then he was more than welcome to have his lunch there. I wonder if he'll actually make it. She cocked her head, listening for some indication of his progress. Hearing the old floorboards creak slightly, she grinned, knowing he had just about made the back staircase. Please let him make it down here without falling. I've slipped down those stairs more than once myself, and it's not a fun ride.

Peter paused at the top of the back staircase, resting, gathering his strength to go down. The hallway was very long, and his body was protesting the movement. I hurt in places I didn't know existed! He sniffed the air. Something smells wonderful, he thought, and his stomach agreed with a rumble, encouraging him to descend the stairs.

Swinging open the kitchen door, he to found Alainna standing there, leaning against the island, waiting for him, concern in her eyes which she quickly tried to hide, having already learned that Peter had an independent streak a mile wide and he didn't like to be fussed over. Sometimes she got the distinct impression that he didn't feel he was worth fussing over.

"Well, how nice of you join me," she purred.
He grinned at her attempt to appear casual, then gave her a smug look of satisfaction. "You didn't think I would make it, did you?"
"To be honest, I wasn't really sure. But now that you're here, sit down!" Moving to the oak table, she pulled out a high-backed chair, then walked back to the island so she didn't appear to be hovering.

Peter slowly crossed the large country kitchen to the table, lowering himself into the chair with a sigh. This old house is too damn big. That was a very long journey. Not that I'm going to tell her that, he thought with a sly smile.
"What smells so good? I'm starving."
She smiled, obviously pleased at his hunger. "Homemade bread." The loaf was still warm in her hands as she sliced off several pieces, placing them on the plates on the counter. "It goes great with the baked ziti." Scooping out a generous portion of the pasta dish for her guest, and a more modest serving for herself, she carried the two plates to the table where the salads were already waiting, sitting down in the chair next to him.

The meal began in a companionable silence, neither feeling the need to fill the air with idle chatter. However, the silence was soon broken by Peter's hostess.
Putting down her fork, she began, "Peter, you know, I've been thinking…"
He swallowed the chunk of bread in his mouth and interrupted her, "That's good. Nice to know one of our brains is working correctly."
She shot him a disapproving look as she raised a fork full of salad to her mouth. She hesitated long enough to chastise him. "Peter, don't talk that way."
"Sorry. I was only joking." He dropped his gaze from her face to the table, not wanting her to read the truth in his eyes. This is one perceptive woman, he reminded himself, eating some more of the ziti.

"The truest things are said in jest," she told him. "Don't beat yourself up, someone else already did that for you." Her attempt at humor bypassed him completely.
"It's easy for you to say that. You're not the one without a past." He toyed with the food on his plate, his joy at being off the second floor rapidly deteriorating into a sulky mood.
Alainna sighed. The conversation was not going as she had hoped. "Look, Peter, attitude is everything. Consider this time a vacation from your life, an interlude, an intermission. Abraham Lincoln once said 'Most people are about as happy as they make up their minds to be.' You can chose to sulk about your problem, or you can rise to the occasion and overcome it. I know that one of these days, your memory is going to return and that will be that, you'll be back to the life you left behind."

She reached over the corner of the table to grasp his hand and lowered her voice, a tinge of sadness evident as she spoke again. "I am enjoying your company. I'm sorry that you had to take a beating and lose your memory for me to get it, but this house has been too quiet for too long. It's nice to have another human being here."
Peter lifted his head to appraise her face. She seemed sincere.
She offered him a sly smile, confessing, "I'm hoping to get at least a few weeks out of you, Peter. I hope you'll still be here after your body has mended. I've got some research I need to do and I'll feel a lot better about doing it if I can take you with me."

He looked at her curiously, tilting his head to the side. Research? That must have been what Doc was talking about when he said that her writing sometimes got her into "interesting" situations. Allowing himself to be baited, his voice took on a tone of wry amusement and he arched an eyebrow at her. "Okay, and what exactly would this research entail?"
"Oh, no, I'm not telling you yet. When you're in shape to do it, then I'll tell you." Grinning at him, she winked, sky blue eyes twinkling merrily. "Besides, if I told you now, you might accidentally leak the information to Doc, and then I would never get this research done." She rolled her eyes in exasperation at the thought of her protector's interference with her plans.

Finishing his last slice of bread, Peter thought about the things she had said. She's right. He took a drink of the ice tea she'd served him, then confessed, "You're right about the attitude. I'm sorry. I promise I'll try."
"That's all I can ask." She quickly squeezed the hand she was still holding, then released it. "Hey, you've never seen me in one of my dark moods. Watch out when you do. We're all entitled to them sometimes, we just shouldn't make a habit out of them."
"I can complain because the rosebush has thorns…or rejoice because the thorn bush has roses…It is all up to me." Peter thought about it. Where have I heard that before? He tried to catch hold of the face flitting across his mind, a face obscured by mist, or fog, the face of a man. Who is that?
"Yes, exactly!" Alainna beamed at him. "Peter?" She was puzzled by the strange expression on his face, a combination of pain and concentration.

Peter gasped and clutched his head. "Oh, man, my head! I'm getting a headache!" Fighting the pain, he again tried to find the face that belonged to the words. He heard the voice of a young boy cry out within his mind, "Father!" The fuzzy image faded away as quickly as it had come.

His voice was barely audible when he said, "I think…my father told me that." The face was gone. Peter couldn't have described it if he tried, yet something whispered to his soul that those had been the words of his father. His head was pounding as the drummer who had taken up residence within his skull moved into a solo. The steady pounding matched his heart rate, beat for beat, then accelerated into a crescendo of pain. Holding his head in his hands, rubbing his temples, he was completely oblivious to the fact that Alainna had left the table, until she retuned to set two aspirin in front of him with a glass of water.

"Take these," she commanded, sitting back down next to him. He moved to comply, slugging them down and easing the glass back onto the table as if any extra noise would be intolerable.
She reached out again, this time to stroke his face. Her fingertips brushed along the path of his jaw line, feeling the smoothness of his freshly shaved skin. Peter's eyelids closed almost imperceptibly as the gentle touched moved across his unbruised cheek. Sighing at the comfort flowing from her innocent caress, he let some of the tension melt from his body. She continued to gently stroke him, brushing the hair from his forehead, smoothing the lines of tension from his brow until he finally opened his eyes to gaze at her again. He was moved by the look of compassion and tenderness on her face as she lowered her hand to the table.

"There, you see? It's starting already. Your memory will come back." His eyes spoke volumes of fresh loss and pain, plainly visible in their hazel depths. "Peter." She lifted her hand to his cheek once again. "Don't let it haunt you. Give it time. It will come."
She watched as he continued to gaze at her with a forlorn expression, an expression that looked strangely out of place on his face. It reminded her of a small, lost boy, abandoned and tossed to the world, alone and trying to face the cruel winds of fate without anyone to help him. She wanted to gather him into her arms and never let him go.

"Peter," one more try to encourage him, "if it was your father who told you that, then I want you to think about what that should say to you. I'm sure he would prefer you to be spending this time looking at the roses, not the thorns."
She wanted to talk to him about using the scars on his arms as a starting point to discover his identity, but after what had just happened, she decided that could wait at least a few more days.

Watching her carefully as she sighed at him and stood to clear the table, he pushed his chair back and started to stand, intent on helping her. "Oh, no, you don't," she snapped without even turning around from the dishwasher, "You just sit there. You can start helping around here in another couple of days. Until then, sit back and relax."

Okay, he thought, returning to his seat. The throbbing in his head had quieted a notch, but he rubbed his temples as his eyes followed Alainna around the kitchen. Start thinking roses, he told himself. His hostess definitely qualified as a rose, not a thorn. How many women would have taken in a complete stranger and made him feel welcome in her home? He chuckled. From what he had seen so far, Alainna was a unique woman. Probably. He had no concrete example with whom to compare her.

"Are you up to a tour of the first floor?" she asked him, kitchen chores complete. "You have to walk the length of the house again either way."
He nodded. "Might as well, then." Pushing his chair back, he rose to his feet, stretching lightly, then winced when his body informed him that had not been a good move. Alainna looped her arm through his, trying to make it seem like they were going for a leisurely stroll.

Leaving the kitchen, Alainna gave him a running commentary as they walked. "On the left is the dining room." They paused and Peter peered into the formal room. It contained the standard furniture, large table and chairs, china cabinet, there was even a tea cart that held a silver tea service. "I consider this to be the saddest room in the house," Alainna told him.
He glanced at her sharply. That's a strange statement. "Why?"
"Because it's never used. I'd look pretty silly, sitting at the big table all by myself, wouldn't I?"
Looking at the dust on the furniture, Peter had a sudden flash of insight regarding her. She's lonely, he thought. Where's the husband or least the boyfriend? She's too sweet to be all alone.

Alainna urged him onward. "Opposite the dining room, the lower bath. Now, here on the left, the living room." Again, they paused in the doorway and Peter took in the piano, sofas, and t.v.
Again, pretty standard, though it didn't look like a whole lot of living took place here, either. The only thing a little unusual was the large gun cabinet. That is some gun collection. I'll have to ask her about that sometime, he thought as she tugged on his arm, eager to continue the tour.

"Now, I'll show you my real place, where I spend most of my time." They continued to the foyer of the house, where, on his left, there was another entrance into the living room. Peter stopped to stare at the front staircase.
"How in the world did you manage to get me up those?" he asked in surprise.
She chuckled. "The power of suggestion," she told him. Bewildered, he swung his gaze from the stairs to her face, arching an eyebrow that asked his question silently. "Actually, you were functioning under sheer determination at that point, Peter. I told you, make it to the top of the stairs. You did."
"And then what happened?"
She laughed. "And then we both fell down! I decided then that next time I'd ask you to make it to the bed. I had to drag you the rest of the way. Sorry."

He chuckled at the image of her, slender and delicate, dragging him into her room.
At the bottom of the stairs was an archway to the right that opened into another room. "Come on. Welcome to my lair." Alainna pulled him into the library, excitement about sharing her private space overflowing.

The interior wall was lined with over-flowing, built-in bookcases, except in the middle of the wall, where a large fireplace stood. Peter could tell by the ashes that Alainna used it frequently. In front of the fireplace was an Oriental rug with a sofa at the back of it, running parallel to the fireplace. Plenty of empty room on the rug to do some serious fire gazing, Peter noted. In the left hand corner of the room was her computer desk, complete with two monitors, color printer and flatbed scanner. It resembled the desk in her bedroom, strewn with papers and reference books. He read aloud the sign that hung on the wall over it. "A writer's imagination is only worth so much. Sometimes you need a little real life experience to feed it."

He looked at her curiously. "What does that mean?"
She laughed at him, dragging him over to the reclining chair that sat beside the computer desk. "Sit down and I'll try to explain it to you."
Peter's body was more than happy to comply with her request. I can't believe how exhausted I feel. Snapping the handle, he put the bottom of the chair up and leaned back, sighing in delight.
"That's a great chair, isn't it?" He nodded. Alainna sat down in the chair in front of the computer.
"Now, explain that sign to me."

Picking up her wireless mouse in her right hand, Alainna toyed with it while she answered him. "I had that printed up to drive the point home with Doc. He's always getting on my case when I do things that he doesn't think I should be doing. A writer can only imagine so much, Peter. Believe me, I have a marvelous imagination. I always have. But sometimes, when you're writing, you need some hands-on experience with what you're writing about."
"Give me an example."
"All right. I once wrote a story that had a character who lived in a homeless shelter and went to soup kitchens. Doc wasn't too upset when I went off to the city and served some meals at a soup kitchen, but he was not happy when I dressed like a homeless person and spent the night in a shelter."

Peter glanced sharply at her. "I can understand why not. You could have gotten hurt!" He was beginning to understand Doc's comments to him quite clearly.
"But how could I write about it unless I had a good understanding of it, Peter? My imagination could never have done that justice. So, I fed it with real life experience."
He shook his head at her. "I can understand what you're saying, but I can understand Doc's point of view, too. It's obvious that the old guy cares a lot about you, Alainna. He doesn't want to see anything happen to you."
"Yes, I know. I feel the same way about him. He's the only family I have." She set the mouse down on the pad with a thump, pulling her foot up into her lap, absentmindedly picking at her sock.

Seeing the sadness gathering in her eyes, Peter decided to ward it off.
"So, what kinds of books do you write?
She stopped picking at the sock and met his eyes. "I write in two genres, mysteries and romance."
Ah, ha, Peter thought. Now's there's a topic I can torment her with to drive that sad look from her eyes. "Romance, huh?" he asked. "And just how much of that is real life experience and how much is your writer's imagination?" When she laughed, choked, and blushed all at the same time, Peter knew he had scored a direct hit.

"Not that it's really any business of yours," she told him, "but, can you keep a secret?"
"My mind is a closed book," he told her, "and my lips are sealed."
She wasn't laughing anymore. "I'm serious, Peter. If this got out, I might never sell another romance novel. Readers have distinct images about authors."
"Who am I going to tell?"
She leaned over to him, a mischievous glint in her eyes, and whispered, "It's all imagination."

Appraising her carefully, he could see that she wasn't pulling his leg. Doc had told him the absolute truth; she was an innocent. I didn't think any existed in this day and age. He cleared his throat, blushing lightly. "Well, if your books are selling, then you must have one hell of an imagination."
"Oh, I do, Peter, believe me, I do." She reached over and clicked the computer and monitors on, the machines whirring to life.
"Speaking of my work," she told him, "I really should get to it. Why don't you just take a snooze there? This way, we don't have to send you back to your exile on the second floor just yet."
"Sounds good to me." As Peter closed his eyes, Alainna got the afghan she kept along the back of the sofa and covered him with it. He opened one eye. "Thanks." Smiling at him, she went back to her computer. Peter was shortly sound asleep.

He awakened several hours later to find her staring at the monitor, tears streaming down her face. He sat up quickly, cursing the pain that chastised him for moving that way. "Alainna, what's wrong?"
She turned to face him, embarrassed at being caught. "Peter. I got so involved with this story that I forgot you were there. I'm sorry if I woke you." She grabbed a tissue from a box perched on top of her printer.
"Don't be sorry. You haven't told me what's wrong."
She laughed at him through her tears. "He's dead!"

He was really getting concerned. Her emotions seemed all mixed up; she was laughing and crying at the same time and someone was dead. "Who's dead?"
She shook her head at him. "One of my characters."
Breathing a sigh of relief, he allowed himself to sink backwards into the chair again.
"Are all writers this crazy?" he asked her.
She laughed harder. "I don't know. I don't know too many others."
"Okay, so tell me about this character."

Grabbing another tissue, she began to explain, "Sorry. I just was editing and touching up a death scene. A little boy in the story had been hit by a car. He died in his friend's arms. If it doesn't affect me, it'll never affect a reader."
"Can I read it?" Maybe if I read some of her work it will give me more insight into her.
"Sure, be my guest." She traded chairs with Peter after backing the cursor up in the story. "Start here."

She is really good, he thought, after he finished the section. "Wow. That is effective," he told her.
"Good. Glad you approve." She stared at the brands on his arms and thought about their earlier derailed conversation. He seemed in better spirits, and he was sitting there, right next to her scanner. She wanted an image of those scars so they could research them.
Peter started when she grabbed his hand and flipped his arm over. She ran her fingers over the tiger, then looked up into his eyes.
"Since we've had an intimate little conversation about romance," she began, "Let's talk about mysteries next." She hadn't let go of his arm and Peter began to feel a little nervous. "Are you comfortable with our current wait and see approach to finding out who you are, or do you want to take a more active approach?"

Peter's level of nervousness grew, for the first time feeling apprehensive around her. "I…don't know. I hadn't really thought about it, I guess. What did you have in mind?"
"These scars are rather distinctive, don't you think?" she asked, continuing to run her fingertips lightly over the raised form of the tiger. "Doc said the scarring is consistent with a burn. I say we research these things, see if we can't find out a thing or two about you from them."

Peter's hands began to sweat and his stomach did a flip within him. Do I really want to know who I am? What if I'm an evil person? After all, what kind of a psycho burns images into his flesh? Maybe there was a good reason why my past has been lost. Then he heard the whisper go through his soul again, and he longed for that which he had lost.
"I don't know!" he snapped at Alainna, yanking his arm from her hand and running his fingers through his hair. "I'm so damned confused!" He jumped from the chair, wincing, then headed for the doorway as quickly as his body could manage, which was far too slow to suit him. "I need time to think!" Grabbing the banister for support, he headed back upstairs, leaving Alainna behind in stunned silence.
"I guess you should have waited a few more days," she told herself sadly, sighing and turning back to the computer. "Might as well get some work done. He certainly won't want me bothering him now."


That was the night he had his first nightmare. In it, he was a young boy, frightened and alone. Flames surrounded him. Smoke clouded his vision. Searing heat licked at his body. Abruptly there was darkness. The roof caved in on top of him.
Bolting upright in bed, sweat running down his face, he called out, "No! Father! Where are you?" His chest was heaving as he breathed in shallow, gasping bursts, his heart pounding like a runaway freight train.


Alainna charged through the bedroom door, oversized cotton nightshirt flapping around her, and jumped onto the bed with him. "Peter! Peter, are you all right?" Recognizing the symptoms from nightmares of her own, she reached her hands out to capture his face. "Peter, look at me. It's okay now."
The hazel orbs were still glazed over, the images of the fire seared into his eyes, into his soul. "Peter!" Seizing him by the shoulders, she shook him gently several times. "Peter!"

Slowly his eyes began to clear and he focused on Alainna. "Alainna?" he whispered.
Relief washed over her, and she released her grip on his shoulders. "Yes, Peter, it's me. I'm here."
Grabbing her, he pulled her to him, crushing her so hard against his chest that he cried out in pain from the cracked ribs, but didn't loosen his hold on her. He dropped his head down against her hair. "Don't leave me, Alainna. Please, don't leave."
She heard a scared child in his plea, and wanted to soothe him, to caress the pain away from him, but he had her arms pinned. "Sshhh, Peter." She settled for murmuring soothing nothings to him.

Slowly the tension melted from his body and he relaxed his hold on her. Freed from his panicked grasp, she looked up to find the moonlight illuminating incredible sadness in his eyes. "Peter…" Her heart ached for him as she tried to imagine what it would be like to suddenly have no past. How alone he must feel.
He placed his hand on the side of her face to reassure himself that she was, indeed, there. "Alainna, I want you to forget about these marks on my arms for now. I think we'll just wait, okay?"
Good Lord, she thought, am I the cause of this? You and your big mouth. Pressing her cheek harder into his palm, she nuzzled his hand. "Okay, Peter. Whatever you want. I'm so sorry. I didn't meant to bring this on you."
"It's not your fault. Let's just go about living, not worrying about it, okay? My memory will come back when the fates decide it's time, not because we pushed the issue."
His voice was thick with anguish, and Alainna wondered what it was he was afraid he'd find if he looked into the empty spaces in his mind.
"Do you think you could get me some aspirin?" he requested. "My head is absolutely pounding again."




Chapter 4

By the time he'd been with her two weeks, he was moving normally. His bruises had gone from black and blue, to chartreuse, then faded completely. Even his ribs only protested on occasion.
She reclaimed her own bedroom, transferring him into the guest room at the far end of the hallway. They were settling into a fairly comfortable routine. She would write most of the day away. He puttered around the house, or walked in the woods, sometimes taking the dogs. He spent time reading, enjoying her writer's reference books more than anything else in her library. More than once she caught him laughing over some of the titles on her shelf. He also did his best to pay his room and board with chores and companionship.
The time they spent together passed in a mixture of companionable silence and intriguing conversation.


Peter was glad to at least have the full function of his body back. If my mind's going to be a blank slate, then I at least want my body working properly while I try to write something new. He laughed at the thought, catching himself falling into Alainna's writing terminology.
Alainna's woodpile became the outlet for his frustrations. She had a large amount of wood that she needed split and Peter was perfectly happy to spend some time hacking it to bits, though his ribs occasionally reminded him of how he ended up living with this interesting woman.
Pausing in between chunks of wood, the movement of the kitchen curtain caught his eye. A pair of sky blue eyes peered out at him, watching him intently. Grinning at her, he gestured with his hand. He was thirsty.

Alainna smiled at him. Busted!!! He caught you red-handed. Face flushing slightly, she gestured back to let him know that she'd bring him a drink. She dropped the curtain, though moments later found herself still engaged in covert observations of him as he picked up the ax and swung again.
She had to admit to herself, he was incredible looking, the hero of one of her novels come to life right in her own backyard. He had no shirt on and she couldn't stop watching him. Her writer's mind was busy thinking of ways to describe the way he looked: muscles rippling as he swung the ax, sunlight glinting off the sheen of sweat on his chest, and accenting the highlights in his hair. You really should be taking notes, she advised herself with a laugh. Nah, notes are not exactly what you have in mind while looking at him. Shame on you!
"You are getting really silly in your old age, Alainna Anderson. You're acting like a giddy schoolgirl. I think these romance novels are starting to turn your brains to pudding," she told herself, finally moving from the window and poured a tall glass of ice water for Peter. "Time to switch back to mysteries."

Peter took the water from her gratefully, guzzling it down and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "Thanks, Alainna. That hits the spot." He gave her back the empty glass with a quick, friendly grin and a wink.
Flashing out her left hand, she patted him gently on the cheek with a wink of her own. "Don't overdo it. Lunch in half an hour, okay?"
"I'll be there." Picking the ax back up as she returned to the house, he continued to grin after her, knowing exactly how long she'd been watching him from that window. He glanced at the dogs who were lying in the sunshine near
the wood pile. "She likes me," he informed them. "She can't hide that in her imagination. I think it's working overtime."


Still pondering the implications of her covert observations some time later, his thoughts were interrupted by his canine companions. Taking off like a shot, they raced around to the front of the house, barking with angry voices. The sound of Alainna's voice, rising in anger as well, sent him running.
He skidded to a stop at the corner of the house, some instinct urging him to proceed with caution. He peered around the corner.

The dogs were growling, circling a blue Blazer in the driveway, daring the occupants to get out. Peter's mouth dropped open when he saw Alainna. She was standing on the front porch with a shotgun in her hands, pointed directly at the Blazer. "I'm glad I didn't get that kind of a welcome," he muttered.
He turned and ran to the back of the house, avoiding crossing her line of fire, and entered through the kitchen. Racing down the hallway, he came out on the front porch behind her.

"What's going on, Alainna?" he asked quietly, setting down the ax and moving to stand directly behind her. Every nerve in his body had come alive, a vaguely familiar sensation.
"These gentlemen were just leaving," she muttered to him. "You hear me?!" she yelled at the Blazer. "Don't come back again! I mean it! I've told you before, but you just don't get the message!"
"Al, be reasonable," the driver called from the vehicle. "We just want to discuss this with you."
"I don't have anything to discuss with you, Edgar Hollinger, nor with your slimy son! Now, get off my property!"

Peter could see her arms begin to tremble with the effort of holding the shotgun in position for so long. "Gentlemen, it seems the lady has no desire for your company today. I suggest you take her advice and leave." Peter's voice commanded authority.
"She won't shoot, Pop. I say we get out," Daniel Hollinger murmured, moving his hand towards the door handle.
Seeing him move towards the door, she raised the shotgun and fired over the top of the Blazer, taking a limb off a nearby tree. Her body quickly recovering from the recoil of the weapon, she aimed again, directly at the vehicle. "You underestimated me before, Daniel. I suggest you don't do it again. Next time, it's coming through the windshield. Move out!"
Edgar Hollinger decided that the wisest course of action at this point was to retreat. Backing the Blazer from her driveway, he took off down the road.

Peter and Alainna stood together on the porch, watching the retreating vehicle. The dogs had taken up guard at the edge of the driveway. Peter gently took the shotgun from her trembling hands, unloading the remaining shells. "I take it this belongs in the gun cabinet in the living room?" he asked softly.
She nodded mutely.
"All right, let's put it back where it belongs." He had a million questions but chose to put them on hold until his hostess regained her composure. He headed into the house, hoping she'd follow.

Calling to the dogs, she made her way in after him. Alainna sank to the sofa as Peter replaced the weapon, and joined her. "Packs quite a kick, doesn't it?" he asked gently. She nodded. "Let me take a look at your shoulder." He pulled aside the collar of her shirt, lightly running his fingertips over her skin. "Ouch! That'll leave a nice bruise. Next time, don't hold it against your collarbone. That's a good way to break it. Fit it into the hollow, here." He poked her softly to show her the proper place.

Turning her gaze to him, a slow smile spread across her face. Just remember, he told himself, she's a crazy writer. Her emotions change like the wind. "Why are you smiling at me? You just had a brush with intruders, who were here for reasons that I don't know yet. You fired a weapon, and injured your arm; two minutes ago you looked mad as hell, and now you're smiling at me?" he babbled.
"Clue number one regarding my mystery man," she said to him. "He knows his way around a gun. Granted, it's not much, but it's something."
He raised his eyebrow at her. "Alainna, I thought we agreed to let sleeping dogs lie."
"Sorry, couldn't help myself." She raised both eyebrows and shrugged in response, trying to lighten the mood, chagrinned at having broken her promise to him to leave his past alone.

"This is not about me, anyway," he told her sternly, pointing a finger at her. His hazel eyes sparked his displeasure at her making light of the situation. "This is about you, on the front porch with a weapon. A weapon that you discharged. Were you fully prepared to shoot those men, Alainna? Because you never, NEVER, pull a gun unless you are prepared to use it." He paused to be sure she had absorbed his words. "Now, tell me what that was all about."
She lowered her gaze to the floor, studying her feet intently for several minutes. When she looked back up at him, he was shocked at the vulnerability in her eyes. "I don't feel like talking about it right now."
"Alainna..." His voice was gentle, compassionate, but she was in no mood.
"Peter, you want to let sleeping dogs lie? FINE. Then let this one sleep, too." She jumped from the couch and ran up the stairs, slamming her bedroom door behind her.
Peter was left in the living room with only the dogs for company. "What was that all about?" he asked them, receiving only their wagging tails in reply.


Taking thirty minutes to shower, change into clean clothes, and to give Alainna some time to cool off, Peter stood before her bedroom door. He rapped on it sharply. "Alainna? Are you ready to talk now?" Receiving no response, he called out again, "Alainna?"
Opening the door, he found the room empty. "Where the heck is she?" he asked himself. A quick search of the house produced no results.

He went outside, searching the yard, the small barn, and the shed. No Alainna. The brand new, Oxford Green BMW Z23 roadster that was her pride and joy sat parked in the garage, as did the older pick-up truck. She didn't drive anywhere. Concern for her safety rose up within him.
He slipped into the kitchen through the back door and sat down at the table. Running his hand through his hair, he tried to figure out where she had gone.
Finally, at a complete loss, he headed down the hallway to the library. He sat down in the computer chair and stared at the dark monitors. Where would she go? he asked himself. The phone next to the computer grabbed his attention. Maybe Doc will have some answers.
Poking around on her reference shelf, he searched for a phone book, coming across her personal address book. Finding Doc's number, he quickly dialed the phone.

"Hello, Doc? Yeah, it's Peter. No, I'm fine, thanks. It's Alainna." Peter heard the sharp intake of breath on the other end of the phone.
"Is she okay?" Doc asked.
"Well, to tell you the truth, I don't know. I can't seem to find her."
"What do you mean, you can't find her?" Doc's voice was brusque.
"We had an incident here about an hour ago, and…"
"Incident? What the hell kind of an incident? Peter, I'm warning you…"

Peter interrupted before the man could finish his threat. "Doc, I am not the enemy. How many times do I have assure you of that? But apparently Alainna does have some. She shot at them earlier."
"SHE WHAT?"
Peter explained the entire situation. When he had finished, his level of concern rose when Alainna's surrogate father sat silently at the other end of the phone. "Doc? Talk to me. What the hell's going on here?"
"I'll be right out, Peter. Are the dogs there with you?"

Peter scanned the room. One of the dogs was at his feet under the computer desk. The other one was lying on the Oriental rug. "Yeah, they're here. Why?"
"If I know Alainna, she's gone off into the woods. The dogs will lead you to her. Take them out the back and tell them to find her. They will. Like I said, I will be there shortly, and I'm calling Jimmy before I leave."
"Jimmy?"
"Jimmy Sartell, the sheriff. Alainna's got a restraining order against those two, and they just broke it. Jimmy will need a report from her. Now, Peter, hurry up and find her."
"Doc, you're not reassuring me," Peter told the old man.
"I'm not trying to reassure you, Peter. I am damned concerned myself. Now, move!" The call disconnected, giving him no choice.


The dogs were as good as Doc's word. After following them for a ten minute hike, Peter found her.
He dropped down next to the woman, who sat on the bank of a rushing stream, tossing rocks into the water. The dogs were immediately in her face, nuzzling her, looking for her attention.
"Okay, beasts, that's enough," she told them curtly, pointing to a spot off to the side. The dogs sauntered off to lie down. Attention refocused on the stream, she continued to pitch stones at it, while affording him a quick glance from the corner of her eye. "Well, you found me."

Peter reached out to touch her arm. "You scared me, Lady. I was really worried about you."
"I'm sorry," she apologized. "I just needed some space. This place always make me feel better." Sighing, she swung her gaze to the dogs, then to Peter, grinning at him. "Smarty pants," she chided him. "I should have brought the dogs with me in the first place. Then you'd have never found me."
"It wasn't my idea," Peter confessed. "It was Doc's."
The smile fled from her face quickly. "Oh, Peter, you didn't?"
He could tell by her expression that he was in hot water. "Alainna, I'm sorry. I didn't know what else to do. So, why don't you just tell me what this whole thing is about?"

Alainna sighed deeply, shoulders sagging. Picking up another small stone from the ground beside her, she rolled it in her hand before hurling it forcefully at the stream. She gestured all around her. "Take a look around you, Peter. What do you see?"
Glancing around at the woods that surrounded them, Peter observed the babbling stream at their feet, and the blue sky overhead. "I see nature. I see woods."
"Yes, woods, lots of them." Alainna stared into Peter's eyes. "All this is mine, Peter. I own all of this. 115 acres, mostly forest. It's been in the family for years. I'm the third generation to own it."

Wow, he thought. I knew she owned the house and the land around it, but 115 acres? That's quite a spread.
"Do you know what Edgar Hollinger sees when he looks at this?" Alainna asked him. Peter shook his head. "He sees dollar signs. These are mostly oak trees, Peter. Edgar owns a timber company. He wants this land so badly, he can taste it. I have refused to sell it. Edgar Hollinger does not take no for an answer very easily." Dropping her eyes, she drew figures in the dirt.

Understanding began to slowly dawn for Peter. "He wants it badly enough to threaten you?"
She raised her eyes to his face once more. "Well, now, Edgar Hollinger would never dirty his hands like that. But sometimes people who cross him find strange things happening. He hasn't really bothered me in a while, but obviously his hunger for my land has returned."
There was a haunted look in her eyes, and Peter found it pained him. He reached out to stroke her arm lightly. "Alainna…"
She smiled sadly at him. "I'm okay, Peter."
No, you're not, he thought. I can see it clearly in your eyes. He opted not to contradict her. "Why don't we head for home, then?" he suggested. Climbing to his feet, he brushed some twigs and leaves from his jeans, then pulled her up with him. Silently, they walked back towards home.


Doc was waiting at the kitchen table when they walked through the back door. Peter held the door for the dogs as Alainna slipped into the kitchen ahead of him.
He watched as the older man quickly rose from the table and moved to Alainna's side. "You okay, 'Lainna?" he asked huskily, reaching out in an attempt to embrace her.
She skirted around him and moved to the sink, presenting both of them with her back. She filled a glass of water and drank it slowly, ignoring the men who were exchanging glances. Setting the glass down, she sighed deeply. Peter watched as she tried to pull herself together before turning towards them.

The look of annoyance on her face was plain. "Doc, you really didn't have to come out here. Peter shouldn't have bothered you. It's no big deal." She leaned back against the sink, arms crossed, trying to look casual.
Peter could see, however, that there was something simmering just beneath the surface of her eyes; something she was trying her damnedest to control.
"Now, 'Lainna, you know that it IS a big deal. They violated the restraining order and now you've got to file a report. Jimmy will be here…"
"JIMMY?" Alainna was now really annoyed. Peter could see the anger rising. "Oh, I get it. Peter calls you, you call Jimmy… Has the entire county been notified?" Alainna stalked to the door that concealed the back staircase and flung it open, storming the stairs to the second floor.

Peter looked at Doc, who returned the stare. "Why do I get the feeling there's more to this than what she told me?" he murmured.
"Sit down, Peter. She'll be back down once Jimmy gets here. She knows what she has to do, and she'll do it, even if she doesn't like it."
Peter sat down at the table, eyes never leaving the other man's face. "All right, why don't you fill me in on the rest of this story? This runs deeper than just trees, doesn't it?"
The old man nodded, also taking a seat. "The trees are the focus, Peter, but they're not the only problem Alainna has with the Hollingers. Exactly what did she tell you?"
"She told me that she owns 115 acres of trees that Hollinger wants, and that he doesn't take the word no very well."

Doc's face was somber, and pain was evident in the dark brown eyes. "Well, that's the truth. Hollinger doesn't like the word no - and neither does his son." He gazed intently into Peter's eyes, waiting for him to understand.
Peter was getting part of the message. "Doc, take pity on me. Spell it all out for me, will you? My brain's not fully functioning, remember?"
The old man sighed, glancing over at the stairway. "If she catches me, I'm a dead man," he muttered. "She may not literally kill me off, but I will be the corpse in her next mystery." His eyes swung back to Peter, indecision etched into the weathered lines of his face.
"Come on, Doc. Alainna's a sweetheart. I don't like what I just saw in those gorgeous blue eyes. Tell me."

With another deep sigh, the man who had become a replacement father for the intriguing young woman began to speak. "All right. You know that Alainna's an innocent and she's naïve. Well, she's a lot worldlier now than she was a few years ago. All these little writing adventures of hers have really exposed her to some of the darker things in life. She also had a run-in with Daniel Hollinger that…changed her outlook on life a little bit. It made her a lot more cynical."
Doc's eyes darted around the kitchen, body tensing as he moved into the next part of the story.

"Edgar has been after this land for years. In fact, he made Alainna an offer on it the week after she buried her parents, the vulture. When that didn't work, he waited a while and then sent Daniel to try to sweet talk her out of it. Alainna was still extremely vulnerable, and she let that snake get under her skin. She bought into his lines and his lies. But, he pushed his luck one day when Alainna used the word 'no' to him." Doc stared at Peter once more to make sure he understood. "Is that plain enough for you, Peter, or do you need a diagram?"

Peter understood quite clearly. He shook his head. "No, Doc, I don't think a diagram will be necessary."
The old man chuckled. "Don't look quite so upset, Peter. It didn't end up the way Daniel had planned. He was the one who ended up in my clinic, not 'Lainna."
Peter cocked his head to the side, raising his eyebrows in an unspoken question.
"Yup, 'Lainna busted his nose. He also was singing in the soprano section of the choir the next Sunday."

Peter chuckled lightly. Good. That's no less than the man deserved. Good thing Alainna is a feisty one. Now he understood what she'd meant when she'd said Daniel had underestimated her once. He also understood the pain and vulnerability he'd seen in her eyes. How in the world did she manage to trust me? he wondered, his appreciation for her growing.

Jumping to their feet, the dogs began to loudly bark. Looking through the kitchen window, Peter saw a sheriff's car pull around to the back of the house. Great, the sheriff. You don't know who you are, don't know if you're a wanted man or not, and here comes the sheriff. His stomach sank, and he wiped his hands on his jeans to remove the thin sheen of moisture that suddenly appeared. His presence at Alainna's had been kept secret. Only Doc had known he was here. Now, that secrecy was about to be totally shattered.

A light rap on the back door was given only as a courtesy, then Jimmy Sartell joined them in the kitchen, letting the dogs out as he came in.
Shock registered on Peter's face as he evaluated the sheriff's appearance. Expecting an older, paunchy, balding man, he was surprised to see a young, fit, black-haired man. He's no older that I am, Peter thought. Not what I think of when I think sheriff.

"Hey, Doc." Removing his hat as he greeted the old man, Jimmy threw it down on the table. Turning his head, he evaluated Peter, appraising him with slightly narrowed eyes.
"Jimmy, thanks for coming out so quick." Doc looked at the daggers Jimmy was shooting at Peter. "Uh, Jimmy, this is Peter…"

Alainna glided from the staircase to the rescue. "Jimmy, this is Peter…Walker, an old friend of mine." She walked over to Peter, laying one hand on either of his shoulders, squeezing lightly. Peter reached up one hand and grasped hers, squeezing back to indicate his understanding. He would leave her in charge of the explanations. "Peter, this is Jimmy Sartell, the county sheriff, and also an old friend of mine."
Flashing Peter a smile, she startled him by plunking herself down in his lap. "Have a seat, Jimmy. I'd just as soon get this over with."
Grinning, Peter wrapped his arm around her waist. I don't know what she's up to, he thought, but I certainly don't mind. From the corner of his eye, Peter saw Doc shake his head, amusement at Alainna's behavior evident in the brown eyes.

Jimmy took a pad from his shirt pocket and pulled out a pen, sitting down in the chair across the corner from Peter and Alainna. Peter watched the man's eyes follow every twitch she made in his lap. "Okay, Al, tell me what happened."
"There's not much to tell, Jimmy. Edgar and Daniel pulled into my driveway in Edgar's blazer. I politely told them to get lost. They did."

Peter started to laugh, and Alainna elbowed him in the ribs. "Ouch! Hey, take it easy, Alainna, I'm still…" he broke off, not wanting the sheriff to know he was still hiding a few tender spots from his beating.
"Was there something you wanted to add to Al's story, Mr. Walker?" Jimmy asked with a raised eyebrow.
"Call me Peter. No, there's nothing I'd like to add," he glared at Alainna, "But I think there's something Alainna might like to add."

She sighed. "Okay, spoil sport, I'll tell." She looked back at Jimmy. "Sheriff, I must confess, I pulled a weapon on those two."
Peter was startled when Jimmy began to laugh heartily. It was not the response he'd expected from a law officer.
"Somehow, Al, I'm not surprised. You didn't actually shoot them, did you?" he asked with a broad grin.
"No, but I did shoot over them."
Jimmy laughed again. "That's it, no more shooting lessons for you. You are cut off, Girl."

Obviously he was the one who provided Alainna's instruction. He didn't do a very good job, Peter thought.
"Well, don't be so hasty, Sheriff. She still doesn't know how to hold a shotgun properly. She's lucky she didn't break her collarbone."
Jimmy looked at Peter sharply, jumping from his chair. Reaching out, he grabbed Alainna by the hand, yanking her from Peter's lap. He roughly pulled aside her shirt collar, examining the large bruise that was forming.
Peter stood up defensively, bristling at the man's handling of his slender hostess. "Who do you think you are," he demanded, "treating her like that?"
"Who am I?" Jimmy growled back, "Who the hell do you think YOU are?"

Alainna found herself sandwiched between the two men. Suddenly discovering that she couldn't breathe, she decided that a distraction was necessary. "Hey!" she yelped, "A little space, please, you two?" Slipping out from in between them, she diverted their attention from one another by fleeing to Doc, who had also left his chair, determined to check out her injury.

Peter and Jimmy stood dumbfounded as she threw herself at Doc and began to cry. The old man tenderly wrapped his arms around her, glaring at the two other men. "I think you two need to sit back down and relax," he instructed them.
Alainna shook her head against Doc's chest, then turned towards Peter and Jimmy, tears streaming down her face. "Leave, Jimmy," she ordered, "I can't do this now. You know how I feel about this whole issue. You've got the story. I'll call you if anything else comes up."
Jimmy eyed her doubtfully.
"I promise," she said.

He sighed as he picked his hat up from the table, unwilling to press her. "All right, Al. I trust you to keep your word. I'll be sure to have a deputy drive by here on occasion, too."
Jimmy nodded to Doc, who again had his arms full with a sobbing Alainna. He glared at Peter once more, put his hat back on, then sauntered out the back door.

Once the car had pulled from the driveway, Alainna shoved her father figure away, tears suddenly gone. "It's Saturday, Doc. Don't you have a poker game later? Go on. Get lost. I am really in no mood right now." She appraised his hurt expression. "Oh, please, don't give me that. You know the way out." Alainna fled from the kitchen once again, this time heading for the library.

Peter was left alone with the older man for the second time. "Well, Doc, she is certainly one confusing woman."
"Tell me something I don't know, Peter." Shaking his head, he sighed. "You want to play some poker? You might be safer tonight with me rather than here with Alainna. When she gets in a mood, there's no telling what will happen. She could be in that library right now, killing off Jimmy, you, and me. And I shudder to think what she could be plotting for the Hollingers."
Peter laughed. "Well, I don't think I'll get too upset, provided she sticks with killing me on paper." Longing to go after her, stared down the hallway. I feel like I've been trying to catch her all day and still haven't managed to connect.
Doc could see it in his eyes. "Okay, Peter, go. But don't say I didn't warn you. I'll call tomorrow. It's time for you to repay the favor. Keep an eye on her."
Peter nodded, heading for the library, wondering what he would find when he got there.

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