Chapter 15

"Man, it's crowded in here!" Peter complained, scanning the downstairs bathroom where he, Alainna, and the two dogs were cloistered. Alainna had talked him into helping give the dogs a bath, something, apparently, the dogs didn't like.
Giggling, Alainna began to run the water. "You haven't seen anything yet, Peter," she assured him. "Now, grab Mandy and get her in the tub."

Peter stalked the dog in question, an easy task given that there was no place for any of them to go. Grabbing her around the middle, he tried to drag her to the tub. The big dog dug her feet into the floor, and Peter winced at the sound of the scratching on the linoleum.
Laughing, Alainna instructed him. "Peter, pick up the front of her, and plop her front feet into the tub." He did as she suggested. "Good! Now do the same thing with the back end."
Once the dog was in the tub, Alainna pulled down the shower head, spraying the dog - and Peter. "Whoops! Sorry, Handsome!"
The glare he cast at her melted into a smile. "Yeah, right. You did that on purpose!" Taking the shampoo, he began to lather the large beast. "I'll work on this part, you do the other," he informed her. "This is really a two person job, isn't it?"
Alainna was struggling to hold the wet dog in the tub. "Yes, it is."

Getting her out proved a bit easier than getting her in, as the dog leaped from the tub as soon as permitted, then shook, spraying droplets of water across the entire room. Peter and Alainna both laughed, flinging up their arms to protect their faces. Grabbing a towel, Alainna began to dry off Mandy, while Peter tried to wrestle Molly into the tub.
Having seen what happened to her partner, she was even more reluctant. As they began to shampoo her, the piercing ring of the phone sounded from the hallway. Alainna looked at Peter questioningly. "Go ahead, I think I can manage. But don't be long!" he told her.
Nodding, she headed for the door - and so did both dogs at the same time. Knocking Alainna off her feet, they bolted through the open door, trailing water and shampoo behind them. "Peter!" she yelled, "Go after them!"

Sliding on the wet floor, he stepped over her, running out into the hall. The dogs were heading towards the front door. Groaning, he realized that the main door was open and knew they were perfectly capable of opening the screen door. "Stop!" he yelled, "Sit! Stay!" The normally obedient dogs didn't even pause.
Alainna came charging out of the bathroom behind him, as Peter slipped on a puddle of soapy water, falling to the floor. Laughing hysterically, she landed on top of him as the slam of the screen door announced the dogs' escape.

"Whoa!" came a startled voice from the front porch. "What the heck was that?"
"I believe they were dogs," another voice replied.
"Well, if that's how big they grow the dogs around here, I don't want to see the spiders."
Rolling around on the floor in a wet, giggling, kissing heap, Peter and Alainna failed to hear the two people on the porch. Two pairs of eyes peered in through the screen door, observing the couple on the floor of the foyer. "Leave it to your son," the one voice stated, "to end up like that, while we're all worried sick about him."

The sharp rapping on the doorframe finally penetrated the hearing of the pair. Looking up from their vantage point on the floor, they stared at their visitors. Peter gently shoved Alainna off him, scrambling to his feet and going to the door. "Can I help you gentlemen?" he asked. Having already embraced the small town's automatic distrust of strangers, he blocked Alainna from their view. Opening the screen door, Peter's breath caught painfully in his throat as he saw the faces. Grabbing the doorframe for support as his knees threatened to give out on him, he gasped, "You! How did you…."
"It's good to see you, too, Kid," the man with green glasses proclaimed, holding open the screen door. "Mind if we come in?"
"Actually, yes," Peter snapped, regaining his legs. He whirled to face Alainna. "You did this, didn't you?" he demanded. "How could you? I told you how I felt! Weren't you listening?"

Leaning on the bottom stair post, Alainna's eyes were wide as she looked from the men on the porch to Peter's face. There was betrayal in the hazel eyes as he moved to her side, grabbing her by the arm. "Why?" he whispered. "I…thought you loved me?" Releasing her arm, he fled through the living room to avoid as much of the wet hallway as possible.
"I do love you," Alainna whispered to his retreating back. "I do." The back door slammed with enough force to rattle the entire house. Oblivious to the men who stood waiting, she sat down on the stairs, placing her hands over her face.

The sound of one man clearing his throat brought Alainna back to her senses. Glancing up, she wiped the few tears from her face with the back of her hand. "I'm sorry," she murmured. "That's probably not the greeting you were expecting." Pushing off the steps, she gestured them into the house. "Please, gentlemen, come in."
The older man entered first, closing the gap between them with a stride that spoke of casual grace. Bowing, he held out his hand, "I am Caine."

Alainna reached out to take his hand, then stopped, and laughed. "Um, you don't want to shake my hand right now, it's soggy." She looked down at herself, the wet shirt that stuck to her body, the large, dark stains running across her jeans. "Then again, so is most of me."
Caine nodded knowingly. "Ahhh, yes. I can see that." Offering her a slight smile, he turned to indicate his companion. "This is…"
"Kermit," she supplied. "My e-mail correspondent."

Kermit took her left hand, giving it a quick squeeze. "In the flesh."
"Well, I hate to sound distrustful, but do you have any ID?" she asked. "I mean, you match the pictures and all that, but…"
Kermit laughed. "A woman after my own heart," he stated, reaching into his jacket pocket and pulling out his shield, which he offered to her with a flourish.
Reading it, she handed it back with a nod. "Good enough for me. Come on, let's go into the kitchen. I think we could all do with a cuppa."
"A cuppa?" Caine asked softly, following her into the hallway.
"Yeah, a cuppa whatever. Coffee, tea, you know." Slipping on the floor, Alainna caught the wall, preventing another fall. "Be careful, those dogs really made a mess."


Her guests settled across from one another at the oak kitchen table, Alainna put the kettle on the stove, getting out mugs for the three of them. "Well, what will you have?" She addressed Caine, "Let me guess, you want tea, right?"
Bowing his head, he smiled. "Yes, and I have brought my own."
Alainna moved to sit at the head of the table, propping her elbow on it, and cradling her chin in her hand. "That makes you easy to take care of. What about you, Kermit?"
Leaning back in his chair, he grinned. "Coffee, black, thanks."

Alainna shifted to carefully appraise the sunglasses. "Ahhh, a man who drinks his coffee like a man. Good." Leaning closer, she squinted, trying to gain a glimpse of the eyes hidden behind the lenses. "May I ask you something?" she began, and when Kermit nodded at her, she continued, "Do you take those things off, or what?"
"Not very often," he drawled.
Narrowing her eyes further, she nodded her head. "You seem like a very interesting person, Kermit. Writers love interesting people. I will apologize in advance for all the rude questions that will probably pop out of mouth while you're here."

With a sigh, Alainna turned to look at Caine. Studying his face carefully, she admitted, "You are not what I imagined for Peter's father."
Caine smiled at her. "I see." Locking gazes with her, they stared deeply into one another's eyes for several minutes, neither one of them moving.
Like the rising dawn, a smile slowly appeared on her face, beginning at the corner of her mouth, then spreading, until it included her entire mouth and sparkling eyes. "Ahhh, there he is. Now I can see him in you." The teakettle's piercing whistle jolted her from her chair, and she sprang to the stove, pouring the water. "I'm sure Peter will be back as soon as he gets things somewhat sorted out in his head."

"Where did he go?" Caine asked softly as she placed the mug of steaming water in front of him. Reaching into the pouch that hung on the back of the chair, he pulled out some herbs.
"I'm sure he's gone off to our favorite place in the woods. He likes to think there." Alainna handed Kermit his mug. "Sorry, but it's instant. Normally I would brew a pot; I'm a coffee fanatic myself, but I think today I'm going decaf. I get the feeling that I don't need the extra kick today."
Kermit accepted the mug from her eagerly. "Trust me, Blue Eyes, it couldn't be worse then what I normally drink at work, so don't worry about it."



Peter was more than halfway to the stream when he skidded to halt, wet boots sliding on the loose dirt and dry leaves. What are you doing? You just left her alone in that big, old house with two strangers. Are you nuts? Is this how you protect her?
Peter swung around, heading back in the direction from which he had come. He swiped at low hanging branches, muttering under his breath, "Forget how you feel about this, Peter. She needs you, so you are going back." He grabbed hold of some leaves, yanking them off the tree branch as he stalked back towards the house.


"I have not thanked you for caring for my son," Caine said softly as they all sat, sipping their drinks, making small talk.
Shrugging her shoulder, Alainna gave him a weary smile. "There's no reason to thank me. Peter's more than repaid my hospitality. Why, he saved my life. Without him, I would be dead right now."
"No, you wouldn't be." The tenor voice spoke insistently from the kitchen door, calm and even, under control. The three heads swung around to face the speaker. "Jimmy wouldn't have snapped if not for me, so you wouldn't have needed rescuing, either."

Jumping from chair, she headed to him. "Great, so instead, I'd still have a wolf in sheep's clothing, sitting here, drinking coffee with me, and watching me in my bedroom. Thanks, but I am perfectly satisfied with the way things worked out." She stopped two feet in front of him and waited, holding her breath.
Dropping his voice to a near whisper, he held out his arms to her. "I can't stay mad at you. Come here," he ordered gruffly. Hesitantly, she stepped nearer to him. Wrapping his arms around her, he pulled her close, melding them together, dropping a kiss on the top of her head. "I'm sorry for what I said, Alainna. I know that you love me." Resting his chin on the top of her head, inhaling the fragrance of her hair, he warily eyed the men at the table.

Releasing her, he took her by the hand, moving to sit in the chair she had vacated at the head of the table. He pulled her down into his lap, snugging his hands around her waist. She leaned over to whisper in his ear, "Peter, you're using me as a shield." His grin confirmed her suspicion. "Okay, but I am not staying here forever." And neither are you, she thought with a sigh. I wonder exactly how this is going to pan out?
"Well, Gentlemen, as you can see for yourselves, I am perfectly fine and perfectly content. So, you can leave now," Peter informed them.
Alainna gasped, smacking him on the arm. "Peter! Don't be so rude. These men have traveled a long way to see you. You're not kicking them out, just like that. The least you can do is talk to them a little bit."

Peter captured her face in between his hands. "You are really bossy, do you know that?" he asked with a grin. Pulling her close, he kissed her tenderly, then slipped his mouth to her ear. "I love you, Alainna Anderson, and nothing is going to change that."
Jumping to her feet, eyes glistening, she brushed a quick kiss on his cheek. I wish I could believe that. "I have to go mop the floor. I will leave you to entertain our guests." Nodding her head at Caine and Kermit, she headed for the still soggy hallway.


"She is a lovely young woman," Caine said, eyes following her.
"Yes, she is." Studying the man who supposedly was his father, Peter searched for a trace of recognition. Closing his eyes, he tried to find the images he had seen, the man he believed killed in a fire. Vainly, he sought to clear the smoke and darkness from the vision, searching, grasping for a clear picture of the man's face. Abruptly, the image cleared. Opening his eyes, Peter stared at the man before him. "Father?" he whispered. Running his hand over his face he groaned, "Oh, my God, you really are my father."

The drummer began his performance in his head once more, pounding out a steady beat more loudly then ever. Peter groaned again, seizing his head in his hands. The hammering intensified, a red haze blotted out his vision. "Alainna!" he gasped.
Kermit moved to Peter's side, laying his hand on his shoulder. "What is it, Kid?"
Peter shrugged the hand from his shoulder, staggering to his feet. "Alainna!" he gasped again.

Racing in from the hallway, Alainna slid to a stop at his side. "Peter?" Observing the way he was clutching his head, she immediately understood. "Another memory flash, huh?"
He reached out for her hand, unable to speak, unwilling to nod lest he encourage the drummer any further. She grabbed him by the arm. "Peter, let's go upstairs. You need to lie down. I'll get the aspirin for you."
Moving blindly, vision completely impaired by the intense pain in his head, Peter allowed Alainna to guide him up the back stairs to the bed they shared, leaving the two men behind in the kitchen, alone.

"What do you think that's all about?" Kermit asked, eyes still trained on the staircase.
Caine shrugged his shoulder. "I…do not know." Rising from his chair, intent on following the pair upstairs, he paused when Kermit laid a gentle hand on his arm.
"Maybe you should just give them some time, Caine." Kermit offered him a shrug and a weary grin. "Hey, he recognized you. That's a start."
Sighing, the father sank back into the chair. "Yes, it is a start. But, I thought you were eager to return?"
Kermit held out his hands, palm up, and shrugged again. "It takes as long as it takes, Caine. The station is used to my…temporary absences by now. I didn't realize it was going to be like this. I figured Peter would be eager to get back to his own life." Scanning the warm, homey, country kitchen, and recalling the tenderness he had observed between Peter and the woman who had found him, he offered, "I'm not sure I'd want to leave here, either. She seems like a special woman."


Easing Peter down on the bed, Alainna scurried into the bathroom to retrieve two aspirin for him. Returning to his side, she found him with his arm thrown over his eyes, blocking out the light from the windows. "Here, Peter, take these and then I'll pull the shades."
Breathing shallowly, he lay motionless, unwilling to create any more pain for himself. The drummer had abandoned his gig, to be replaced by a jackhammer that was slowly demolishing his skull from the inside out.
He felt her hands begin to rub his temples, hands that normally brought soothing comfort now only intensified his pain. He groaned. "Don't. Don't touch me."

Arching an eyebrow at him, she set her hands in her lap. Looking at the aspirin on the night table, she wasn't sure if they would be enough for the intense pain he was experiencing. "Peter, I've never seen you this bad. Do you want me to call Doc?"
His soft, quick response, "Yeah," sent her diving for the phone. Dialing, she moved away from the bed, standing near the window so her conversation would not disturb him any more than necessary.

When the office receptionist answered, Alainna spoke softly. "Natalie? It's Alainna. Is he busy? Oh, great, he's in between patients? I need to talk to him, please. It's important." Waiting for her surrogate father to pick up the phone, Alainna lifted the curtain and stared at the green Corvair parked in her driveway. The man shares his name with a frog and drives a green car. Okay, he does have a sense of humor hiding behind those glasses. Rubbing her fingers along the eyelet edge of the curtain, she tapped her foot gently.

"'Lainna? What is it now, darlin'? Don't you realize that it's Friday, and I do have other patients besides you and Peter?" The old man's voice was light, with a teasing edge which was lost on her.
"I am really sorry that my latest crisis didn't happen on the week-end, you old goat. Peter's in a lot of pain. His father and friend are here. I left him in the kitchen with them, and he had another memory flash. The headache that came with it is really bad this time." The words tumbled from her mouth in one breath as she paced in front of the windows.
"All right, 'Lainna. Listen up. After the cat incident when I sedated you, I left a bottle of pills with Peter. Give him one of those, and I'll be by as soon as I see my last patient here, okay?"

Biting down on her lip, Alainna glanced across the room. For an instant, she saw the battered, bruised man who had stumbled into her life, then the image replaced itself with the reality of his current pain. "Doc? If I give that to him, how long will he sleep, and will he be okay when he wakes back up?"
"He's a lot bigger than you are, so he should only sleep for a few hours. As to how he'll be when he wakes up, I don't know. Why are you worried how long he'll sleep?"
Picking up one of his shirts off the dresser and clenching it to herself, she whispered into the phone, "I…I don't want him sleeping away the end of our time together." She clamped a lid on the tears that were starting to well in her eyes.
On the other end of the phone, a father figure sighed. "I'll be there quick as I can, Sweetie. Do like I told you." The phone was hung up gently.

Setting the shirt back down on the dresser, Alainna switched off the phone, creeping back to the bedside and placing it gently on the base. "Peter?" she whispered softly. "Handsome, Doc told me he gave you some medication for me, after that thing with the cat. Do you remember where you put it? He said it will help you."
Peter stirred slightly. "Kitchen cabinet. Coffee." His forehead wrinkled as he spoke, a soft moan following his words.
"Ok, be right back." Quickly striding out the room, Alainna raced the length of the hallway in her bare feet; taking the steps two at a time, she blasted out into the kitchen, startling Kermit and Caine.
Throwing open the cabinet where she kept the coffee, she rummaged behind the other bottles of over the counter medications and vitamins, triumphantly holding the bottle in the air when she found it. "Gotcha!" Whirling around she headed back for the stairs as quickly as she had come, tossing a quick apology to her guests, "Sorry! I'll be back down in a little bit, as soon as he's asleep!"



The kitchen she returned to thirty minutes later was empty. "Okay, where'd they go?" she muttered. Moving to the back porch and looking out the window, she spotted Kermit sitting in a lawn chair in the backyard.
Sinking into the matching chair beside him, she sighed deeply. Before he could even ask, she volunteered the information. "He's asleep. Doc says he should sleep for a few hours, and hopefully he'll be here by then."
Kermit shifted in his chair, facing her more fully. "Does this happen to him often?"
"No, not really, though he has had more of these flashes lately. He always ends up with a headache, but never like this." Alainna scanned the backyard. "Where did his father go?"
"He decided to for a walk in the woods. I'm sure he's gone off to meditate, try to figure out how to handle this thing. Neither one of us expected Peter to give us a hard time like this. We just figured we'd pick him up and be on our way."

Alainna threw herself onto the ground, propping her feet up on the chair, gazing into Kermit's face. "You have to remember, Kermit, he doesn't know you. To him, you're a stranger. And so is his father. I'm sure that hurts, but that's the way it is. We've worked hard to give him a safe, secure life here." Plucking stems of grass from the ground absentmindedly, she thought back to some of his fears. "Do you know he was afraid he was one of the bad guys?"
Kermit started to laugh, but realized quickly that she was not joking. "Sorry. Peter Caine's always been one of the good guys. But he has always had a knack for blaming himself when things go wrong. I can see him thinking that."

Seeing Caine emerge from the woods with the dogs, Alainna sat up, then jumped to her feet. "There you are, you bad dogs," she scolded. "Now you can get hosed off out here. No hot water, too bad for you." Grabbing the dogs by the collars, she dragged them off to tie them to the fence.




Alainna was serving dinner when Doc walked in the back door. "Pull up a chair, Doc. Plenty to go around." She brought another set of dishes and silverware to the table, laying a place for him. He grabbed her in a brusque hug as she passed him.
"You all right, 'Lainna?" he whispered softly in her ear.
Backing out of his embrace, she nodded at him, then retrieved the pasta and sauce from the island. Serving the three men, she plopped down into her own chair. "Dig in, everybody." She gestured at Doc. "Doc, this is Peter's father, Kwai Chang Caine. Caine, this is Thaddeus Waldron. We just call him Doc."
Caine bowed his head. "Thank you for caring for my son. I am most grateful."
Doc's face flushed with pleasure. "Just doing my job," he answered gruffly.
"And this is Peter's friend, Kermit Griffin. Kermit, Doc." Alainna was pushing her pasta around on her plate, playing with it, but not eating it. Jumping up from her chair, she announced, "Well, now that you gentlemen all know one another, I'm going back upstairs to sit with Peter. He should be waking up soon." She was gone before any of them could protest.


Opening his eyes, he found Alainna leaning over him, brushing the hair from his forehead tenderly. Reaching out, he captured her hand, bringing it to his mouth where he kissed it. "Hey. It's about time we got a chance to be alone," he said softly.
"Peter. Is that all you can think about?" she asked with a smirk.
Popping her little finger into his mouth, he sucked on it a minute before he pulled it out to answer her. "Nope, but it's my favorite thing to think about." He grabbed her by the arms, tumbling her to his side in the bed so that he ended up leaning over her instead. "Are they still here?" he asked her, planting kisses on her cheeks, her nose, her forehead.
"Yes, they are, and so is Doc. And the bedroom door is open, so cut that out," she protested. "You're supposed to be sick, anyway."

Peter jumped from the bed and slammed the door, turning the lock. He raced back to her side before she could move from the bed herself. Jumping astride her, he pinned her arms over her head, then leaned down to kiss her gently. "I feel much better now. You are not going anywhere, Miss Writer. You are staying right here with me. If you want to have a serious discussion, fine. But first…" He kissed her again. "You are going to…" He ran his tongue down her neck, "live in this moment…"



All eyes were on them when they walked from the back staircase, Alainna's cheeks slightly flushed. No one said anything. Peter sat at the table in the only available chair as she placed a meal in front of him. He pushed it away. "I'm not hungry, Alainna."
"How's your head, Son?" Doc asked gently. Kwai Chang Caine looked at him sharply when he heard the man's term of endearment.
"It's fine, now, thanks Doc. I appreciate you coming out here." Peter yanked Alainna into his lap, tired of her hovering next to him. "All right, gentlemen, this lovely lady has convinced me that it's time for all of us to place our cards on the table. I will start by telling you all about Peter Walker: his life of two months, the things he's done, the woman he loves," he paused to give Alainna a quick squeeze, "and the few memories he has of his life as Peter Caine. Then, you two can tell me whatever you want. Doc, you can tell us what you think about the medical issues involved here." Peter laid his hand on the table, fiddling with salt shaker. "Let's go to the library. That's where all serious discussions take place around here, right Miss Writer?"
She nodded her head, and climbed from his lap. "You guys go ahead. I'll be in once I've picked up. Besides, I know the beginning of this story quite well."



Lingering in the kitchen as long as possible once the kitchen chores were done, Alainna poured herself a glass of water and returned to the kitchen table. Daylight had faded into darkness. I hate this, she thought. It's the wondering and waiting for it to all be over that is the hardest. If he's leaving, I wish it were done already. Tears began to glisten in her eyes, and she angrily brushed at them. Cut that out. You knew what you were getting into when you decided to love him. She began to laugh through her tears. Decided to, ha! I never really had a choice. It just happened.

Lost in her thoughts, she was startled when she felt a hand on her shoulder. Twitching, she turned and found herself face to face with Peter's father.
"I did not mean to startle you," he said softly, bowing. "They are waiting for you in the library."
Offering him a brief smile, she nodded her head. "I know. And now I know where Peter learned how to walk like a cat. He does that to me all the time."
Caine gestured to the chair beside her. "May I? Perhaps we could talk for a few minutes before we join the others?"
Jiggling her leg nervously, Alainna waved her assent and Caine sat down at her side.
"You love my son very much, that is plain. Only a great love would risk the great pain that you have." Locking eyes with her, he reached out to take her hand. "What is it that you wish for my son?" he asked gently.
Her lower lip quivered. "I wish…I wish him to be the person he is supposed to be. I wish him to be healed, to be restored. I wish…" A tear spilled over, tracing a path across her cheek. "I wish him happiness, wherever he finds it."

Caine extended his hand, lightly brushing the tear from her cheek. "You are very wise for one so young."
Offering him a wry smile, she told him, "Yeah, well, I've been told I have an old soul. And I've walked quite a few miles in this young life."
He patted her cheek gently. "Yes, I can see both of those things." Caine grasped both of her hands in his own. "Alainna, what would you say if I told you I thought I could help Peter regain his memory?"
Shifting uncomfortably in the chair, she hesitated only briefly before answering him. "I'd say, please, do it. But wait 'til tomorrow. Let me have one more night with my Peter. And only do it if he agrees to it."
He acknowledged her words by bowing his head. "Of course. I would not force this on my son. He must decide for himself. But I wanted to know your thoughts. He will look to you for guidance." Standing, he pushed in his chair. "Come, let us join the others."


Lounging on the floor in front of the fireplace, Peter listened intently while Kermit regaled him and Doc with a story from Peter's time on the police force. The storyteller and the old man sat on the couch, each at opposite ends. When Caine and Alainna walked in, Peter gestured to her, and she went to sit beside him on the floor, while Caine slipped to the floor near the end of the sofa, assuming a lotus position.
Caine cleared his throat. "Peter, there is something which you must carefully consider. I believe I can help you regain your memory. You must decide if that is what you want, or not."
Peter straightened up on the floor, moving to a sitting position. "You can?" he asked.
Caine nodded his head. "I believe so, yes. There is a technique which I have used to help people forget things. I think I can use it to help you remember."

Doc leaned forward on the sofa. "That sounds mighty interesting. Just how do you plan to accomplish this?"
"I am sure you realize how powerful the sense of smell is as a memory trigger. Using that, as well as some…herbs and other things, I shall attempt to restore that which has been lost." Turning his head, Caine looked somberly at his son. "I must also tell you that I believe someone has already tampered with your mind."

Alainna's writer's mind grabbed the implications of that statement before anyone else. "You mean you think someone blocked his memory on purpose?" She leaned over onto Peter, who placed his arm around her.
Caine nodded his head. "Yes, I do."
Shaking his head, Kermit muttered under his breath, "Why am I not surprised to hear that?"
"Who would do that?" Peter asked softly. Alainna could feel the tremors in his hands. She lay her own on top his, and squeezed gently, offering him her quiet support. Looking at her gratefully, he winked at her, a gesture unseen by anyone meant to convey his gratitude.

Shrugging one shoulder while tilting his head, Caine answered quietly, "I do not know. We have many enemies, my son. Hopefully we will discover who did it when we restore all your memories."
Peter spun Alainna around to face him. Her face had gone pale at Caine's casual mention of their many enemies. Stretching out both hands to capture her face, he gazed deeply into the sky blue eyes, searching for answers. She waited impassively, communicating the depth of her love for him with only her eyes. Nodding his head, he kissed her on the nose, then looked again at Caine. "When…when do you want to try this?"
Caine smiled at his son. "I have been requested to wait until tomorrow to do this." He shifted his gaze to Alainna, and Peter followed it.
She shrugged at him. Trying to smile, she spoke in a tremulous voice. "Call me selfish, Handsome, I just wanted one more night with you. Today is mine, and it's not over yet."

Gathering her close, her held her to his chest, kissing her on the top of the head, instinctively taking a deep breath to enjoy the fragrance of her hair. "No, it's not over yet, you're right. And I don't think you're being selfish, either." Looking over the top of her head, he addressed the two men who had come a long distance, who had come out of his past. "There's plenty of empty bedrooms upstairs to choose from. The room at the top of the back stairs is the official guest room, but several others are also equipped with all the necessary items. Make yourselves at home. We have…living to do. We'll catch up with you in the morning." Kissing her on the head again, he lowered his voice. "What do you say we start with a stroll in the moonlight, Miss Writer?"
As she nodded her head, they both jumped to their feet. Without so much as a word, they walked from the library and out onto the front porch.
Doc spoke the words they all were feeling. "Tomorrow's going to be one hell of a day."


Making plans during breakfast, voices were quiet, although an edge occasionally crept in. Doc arrived, accepting a cup of coffee from Alainna in exchange for a buss on the cheek. "You ok, Sweetie?" he asked, in a voice so low no one else could hear.
Not trusting her voice, she shook her head, then fled quickly back to the table. Doc leaned against the island, sipping his coffee.
"Peter, what is your favorite smell?" Caine asked, cradling his mug of tea in his hands, savoring the warmth.

Looking at Alainna, he flashed her a grin. "Strawberries."
Caine arched an eyebrow at him. "Strawberries? Do you have any here?"
Both Peter and Alainna laughed heartily. "Not those kinds of strawberries, Caine," she told him. "Peter's referring to my shampoo."
"Ahhhh, I see. Then I will need that shampoo."
Understanding the purpose for the question suddenly, the laughter faded and the light in her face dimmed. "Sure. Whatever you need."

Peter reached across the table to take her hand. "We don't have to do this, Alainna."
She squeezed his hand. "Yes, we do, Handsome. We have to at least try. If it doesn't work, then we plan from there."
"If it does work, then we plan from there," he told her.
"What is the smell you like the least?" Caine now asked. "A smell that triggers a negative feeling in you."
Peter thought carefully about it. He saw the flash of fire from his memory, felt the flames as he ran into the burning cabin to retrieve Alainna. "Smoke," he said quietly. "Soot, ashes, fire."

Caine nodded his head knowingly. "I can understand that. That is quite possibly my least favorite smell, also." Father and son exchanged a glance, having at last found some small common ground, something they could both relate to which bound them together.
Rising from the table, Caine slid his chair under it, announcing, "I must prepare. We will use the guestroom?" He looked to Alainna for permission. She bowed her head, granting it. "Thaddeus? If you would assist me?"
Chuckling, Doc pushed off the island to follow him down the hallway. "I'll help, but only if you don't call me Thaddeus again. Call me Doc. Thaddeus. What were my parents thinking?" The two men's chuckles floated down the hallway after them.


All too soon, Caine's voice called down the back staircase. "Peter? We are ready."
Peter and Alainna slowly, reluctantly pushed their chairs back. Kermit remained seated. "I'll be waiting here, Kid." Kermit raised his mug of coffee in a silent salute. Swallowing the lump in his throat, Peter nodded his head.
Taking her hand in his, Peter headed for the back staircase. Releasing her at the bottom, he gave her a weary smile, then turned and climbed the stairs without a word.
She followed him as far as the doorway to the guest room, then grabbed him by the arm before he entered. "Hey, Handsome, wait a minute."

Pausing in the doorway, he swung around to face her. He could see a slight look of panic in the sky blue eyes. "What is it, Alainna?"
Forcing a smile on her face in a concerted effort to keep from doing what she really wanted, she spoke softly. "The todays are gone, Handsome, and yesterday is about to reclaim you. Tomorrow, as always, is outside our grasp. Would you…hold me once more before you do this?"

Peter wrapped his arms around her immediately, melding their bodies together, dropping his head to her hair, kissing her on top of her head as he once more inhaled the sweet strawberry fragrance. Placing his hand beneath her chin, he tipped her head back and tenderly pressed his lips to hers. The kiss wasn't fiery, wasn't hungry or passionate, it was a kiss that spoke volumes of love, of joy, and of sorrow. It was a kiss they both knew would likely never be repeated.

Pulling back from each other, there were unshed tears glistening in his eyes, while they ran freely from hers, staining her cheeks with evidence of her sorrow. "I love you, Peter Walker," she whispered, running her hand along his cheek, tracing the lines of his face, fingertips memorizing the smoothness, locking it away in her heart. "I'll….I'll be downstairs in the kitchen with Kermit."
Turning on her heel, she raced down the stairs without a backward glance.
"I…love you, Alainna Anderson," he whispered after her. "I wonder what Peter Caine's going to think?" He turned and closed the door behind him.



Heart creeping upwards towards his throat, Caine watched as his son warily entered the room. Peter closed the door hesitantly behind him, and stopped, leaning back onto it.
Oh, my son, this is not going to be easy, Caine thought. I am afraid this is going to be… rather unpleasant. Taking one step forward, he froze, stung as Peter's hazel eyes swung to the other man in the room for comfort.
"Doc?" he stammered, not moving from the door.
He has yet another father figure in his life, Caine thought with a combination of sorrow and joy. Another man has yet again walked beside my son where I would have walked. I must remember that although this man has the form of my son, and Peter's soul, this is not my son. This is another Peter.


Leaning against the door, Peter scanned the room apprehensively. Drawn shades blocked out the sunlight, shadows flickered on the walls from the dancing flames of the candles. Doc stood over near the windows. "Doc?" I've never felt more alone in my life - all two months of it. I wish Alainna were here. Part of me wants to bolt out that door and never come back.
The dark brown eyes latched onto Peter's, lending quiet support. "I'm sure everything is going to be just fine, Son," the deep voice soothed gently. "Come on in, and get comfortable."
Peter turned his eyes to the man who was his father, silently questioning him.
"Yes, come, Peter." Caine gestured towards the bed. "Please…lie down and make yourself comfortable."

He walked slowly across the room, the room that had been his home temporarily, in between the times he'd stayed in Alainna's room. I like your room better, Alainna. There's just something about this room. I know. It's the guest room, and I am no longer a guest. I belong here. I do. But I am about to change. And then I won't belong here anymore. His heart rose up into his throat, constricting it, and he swallowed hard to move it back into place. He sat gingerly on the edge of the bed.

Caine approached him, gently reaching out to lightly stroke his face. Eyes closing automatically, Peter leaned into the caress, drawing comfort from it. It's not the same, but it's nice. "Alainna always does that," he admitted softly. The hand was abruptly removed from his cheek, and his eyes flew open. "Father?" he questioned.
The man smiled at him. "Lie down, Peter. I understand your apprehension, and this is going to be difficult for you. But, please….let us begin."
Peter nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat once more. He lay down with his head on the pillow, glancing at Doc for his reassurance. "Doc, will you tell her that…"
"Hey," the voice said gruffly, "Enough of that. You already told her yourself. Let's get on with this."

Caine handed him a small cup. Accepting it, Peter cautiously sniffed at the contents. "Damn, this stinks. What the heck is this?"
Caine shrugged. "Herbs that will help you to relax and focus your mind. Please, drink it all."
Leaning up on one elbow, Peter slugged back the toxic-smelling brew, coughing as his throat attempted to reject the liquid. "It tastes as bad as it smells!" he complained.
Caine chuckled. "So you have told me about most of the remedies I have poured into you during your life." His hands reached out, gently urging him to lie flat. "Now, I want you to close your eyes, and relax. I will be with you, my son, on this journey."
Hazel eyes flashing a last look across the room, they came to rest on Doc, who offered him a wink. You are something else, Doc, Peter thought. She's lucky to have you. Grinning feebly in response, he tossed back an answering wink, then shut his eyes, willing his muscles to relax. Relax. Go with it. Let it all go.
His father's hands wandered across his face, stroking, soothing, helping him to relax. Peter sank down into a comforting darkness.


Darkness intermingled with flashes of light, bits of sound, images cascading endlessly, assaulting his senses, setting his mind on fire. Searing agony more intense than anything he'd ever known raced through his body and soul. Opening his mouth, he screamed out the identity of his tormentors.


The first time she heard Peter scream, she jumped in her seat, spilling coffee all over the table. Grabbing a roll of paper towels, she mopped it up, looking at Kermit sheepishly. "What was that he said? Sing Wah? Do you know what that means?"
"Oh, yeah," Kermit drawled. "Nasty bunch, those guys. Hate the Shaolin with a passion. Ancient feud."
Alainna slipped back into her chair, picking up the mug with what was left of her coffee. The mug shook visibly. "Good thing I switched to decaf yesterday," she tried to joke. "The insulation in this old house needs some major work. Sound carries too far, something I never noticed before." She turned her gaze upwards at the ceiling.


Light, soft and soothing. The scent of strawberries and green grass, warm in the sunshine. Alainna. Comfort. More images assailed his mind, tearing at the corners of his sanity. Pain, fear, and loss slammed into his heart, setting panic loose. Where is she? Another scream ripped from the depths of his soul.


The second scream, "Alainna! Please!", sent her leaping from her chair to start pacing the length of the kitchen. Kermit calmly continued to drink his own coffee, smiling at her indulgently. "Peter was always big on pacing," he informed her. "Relax, Blue Eyes. Caine wouldn't hurt him, I promise you."
"Oh? So that was a scream of pleasure I just heard?" she snapped at him, pausing in her pacing long enough to glare at him. "I don't think so. That was definite pain. I ought to know. I've heard his scream of pleasure, and that wasn't it." She resumed her pacing, muttering under her breath, "How long will this take? Oh, Peter, what are they doing to you?"


Crackling fire. Smoke. Haze. Can't see! The smell of burnt wood, overwhelming. Death. Pain. Loss. His father…no, not him, please, not my father! The supports of the temple fell, and the walls in his mind began to crumble as well. His arms reached out towards the man he thought invincible.


The third shout, "Father, no!", sent her charging for the staircase. Kermit was out of his seat in a flash, longer legs quickly covering the distance between them. He grabbed her by the arms before she'd reached the second stair. "Blue Eyes, you cannot go up there. Let Caine work."
She glared at him for several minutes, then, biting her lip, she nodded her head. Kermit could feel the tremors that were traveling along her body. Satisfied that she was not about to race up the stairs, he released her, and she resumed her pacing.

Stopping at the back door, she turned to stare at him. "I can't…I just can't stay here and listen to that," she told him. "I have to get out of here." She gazed longingly at the back staircase as Kermit watched the love and sorrow play out across her face. There was loss and pain dwelling in the eyes when she turned her gaze back to him. "Tell him…he knows where to find me. If he remembers."
Snapping her fingers at the dogs lying near the table, she grabbed a jacket from a hook and raced out the backdoor.


Emptiness. A place of fear and loneliness. Correction. Discipline. Rough hands. Sorrow. The pain. Always the pain as he struggled to grab the images.


Watching from the kitchen windows as she ran off into the woods, Kermit felt his own skin crawl as another scream ripped from Peter's throat.


Hurling herself to the ground beside the stream, she covered her ears in an attempt to purge the sound of Peter's screams, which were still echoing in her head. Sobbing, she cried until there were no tears left.


The walls crumbled, and the pain passed, the trickle of images and emotions became a torrent…A woman with dark glasses caressed his forehead…another man hugged him gently…light…acceptance…a shield…his father restored to him...I'm a cop, that's what I do, that's who I am…Kermit…green glasses, a green car, and green gummy bears…a blue sports car…a white handled gun…Partner…tall glass of beer with a dark-haired woman whose smile spoke volumes and face lit up at his father's approach …the temple….. training…..running…deciding..…Shaolin Cop…changing path…..necessary..… steaming cauldron ..…embracing his destiny.

Hair sopping wet with sweat, Peter lifted his head from the pillow with a groan. Eyes still shut at the overwhelming weariness he felt, he nevertheless attempted to swing his legs off the side of the bed. Gentle hands pressed him back downwards. "Peter, you must rest."
He cracked one eye open. "Pop?" he croaked. His father's hand reached out to brush the plastered hair from his forehead.
"I am here, my son. Now, you must rest. We will talk later." The hands continued to brush across his forehead, and down over his cheeks. With a nearly imperceptible sigh, Peter rolled onto his side, falling into a deep, restful sleep.

With a groan, Peter lifted his hand to his head. "Ahh, damn," he cursed softly, "I thought the headaches would be over. Obviously, I was wrong." Throwing his arm across his eyes, he tried to relax.
A soft rustling at his side alerted him to the fact that he was not alone. "Alainna?" he whispered.
"No, my son, she is not here right now." His father's hand brushed across his lips. "Open your mouth, I will give you something for the headache."
Peter did as instructed, not surprised when a bitter tasting herb was deposited under his tongue. Swallowing the acrid taste with a grimace, he slowly dragged his arm from his face. "Pop? Dad?"
"Yes, my son?"
"Thank you." Peter reached out a hand to grasp his father's. Opening his eyes slowly, he evaluated the concern etched into the weathered lines of the weary face.
Caine's hand moved to brush the ever-errant lock of hair from Peter's forehead. "You are welcome. I am glad…to have you back, my son."

The hazel eyes scanned the room. I'm glad to be back…mostly. Sighing, he returned his gaze to his father's face. "Dad. I lost you again…" his voice trailed off. "Actually, a fuzzy image of you was the first thing that came back to me - but I remembered that my father was dead. I lost everything this time, Dad." But I found something else…
"You have lost, nothing, Peter, and you have gained valuable things, have you not?" Caine's hands soothed the lines from his son's forehead.
"I was alone…" he whispered, sitting up.
"You are never alone." Caine reached out hesitantly with both hands and Peter leaned into his father's embrace. "You are never alone, my son," he repeated, treasuring the closeness.
Peter allowed his father to comfort him for a moment - but the image of Alainna flashed through his mind. "I wasn't alone for long, Father. Where is she?" he asked, disengaging from the embrace.
Caine shrugged. "She left the house when your screams became more than she could bear. Kermit said she left a message for you. 'You will know where to find me.' Do you know, my son?"
Peter swung his legs off the bed. She must be beside herself by now. "Yeah, Pop, I know where to find her."

Morning passed into afternoon, and she waited, unable to bring herself to return to the house. Peter's screams still rang out in her mind. I can't go back if it means I have to listen to that. I think I died a little every time he screamed. Maybe they already left. Maybe if I wait long enough, it'll all be completely over, and he'll already be gone.
Tossing pebbles into the stream, musing over the yesterdays they'd shared together and the tomorrows she would face alone, she never heard him approach. One minute she was alone, the next minute he was sitting beside her. "Mind if I join you?" he asked.

Cautiously turning her head, she spent several minutes gazing silently into the depths of the hazel eyes she had come to know so well. Extending her hand to him, she quietly asked, "Peter Caine, I presume?"
Taking her hand in his own, he raised it to his lips, tenderly kissing the back of it. "Did I ever tell you how perceptive you are?" he murmured. "Yes, Miss Writer, Peter Caine, at your service." He bowed his upper body over her hand, kissing it once again.
Gently disengaging her hand, she eyed him carefully. "How do you feel?"
He offered her a slight grin. "Like I've been hit by a bus, if you must know the truth."
She giggled lightly. "That's what I thought about how you looked when I first got you into my bed."

An awkward silence rose up, surrounding them, as neither one could find words to express themselves. Alainna finally reached out a trembling hand to brush the hair from his forehead. "Headache?"
He nodded. "A little. Turns out the headaches were planted, designed to keep me from trying to regain my past."
"The men who beat you?" she asked softly, stroking his forehead.
Sighing, he closed his eyes, leaning into the gentle hand, drawing comfort once more from the soothing, caring touch. "Sing Wah." The hand stopped moving across his forehead, and Peter felt it shaking. Opening his eyes, he regarded her carefully. "Alainna?"
"Sorry," she whispered. "It's just…you…you yelled that word this morning. What does it mean?"
Peter nodded his head. "Yeah, Kermit said you got a little…unnerved by my yelling." Opening his arms, he invited her closer. "Come here, Miss Writer. I want to tell you a story, but I want to hold you while I do it."

Obligingly, she shifted closer. Swinging his leg around her, he pulled her back against his chest, wrapping her in his arms, settling into a comfortable position. "Let me tell you how Peter Walker came into existence."
The story of his abduction by the sworn enemy of the Shaolin from a nearby city where he had been wandering began to fill in the gaps for her. He impassively spoke of being beaten, and left to die in the woods, following a memory wipe designed to prevent him from regaining his proper role as a Shaolin priest, if, by some chance, he survived. Which he had. He waited patiently for her to speak after he was finished.

"Hmmm. That sounds like something out of a really bad novel, Peter."
He laughed. "Sorry. Next time I'll find out who they've been using as a writer first."
Sighing deeply, she melted further into his arms. "I knew Peter Walker pretty well. I'd like you tell me about Peter Caine, if that's okay."
Dropping a kiss on the top of her head, he began to speak, telling her all about Peter Matthew Caine. He began with his mother's death and his subsequent life in a Shaolin temple until it's destruction. He shared the pain of his father's death, the empty ache of the orphanage, and his redemption by the Blaisdells. He shared the joy of his miraculous reunion with his father, and his struggle to find his path since that time. He talked non-stop for nearly an hour, words tumbling from his mouth in a never-ceasing torrent. When he finally fell silent, she began to giggle in his arms. "What?" he demanded indignantly.
"Peter Caine sure does talk a lot more that Peter Walker," she laughed.
He joined in her laughter. "Yeah, I guess you're right about that. Quiet never did really describe me."

"How else are you different?" she asked him, a somber expression taking the place of the laughter.
Grasping her shoulders, he gently turned her to face him. He ran his fingertips across her cheek, across her nose, over her lips. Cupping her face in both hands, he gazed into the sky blue eyes. "I don't want to talk about the differences, Alainna. I want to talk about the similarities. This is still the same." Leaning forward, he kissed her.
She hesitated, nearly pulling back, uncertain of the relationship between the two of them now.
He placed his hand behind her head, stroking the blond strands, then closing his hand around her neck, he pulled her closer. She conceded, kissing him back. Several minutes later, she broke the kiss. "Uh, yep, that's the same all right."

Throwing back his head, he laughed delightedly. "I am so glad you think so, Miss Writer." He stole another quick kiss. "I was afraid you wouldn't give Peter Caine a chance." Slipping his hands to the sides of her face, he spoke softly. "Alainna, there's something I have to tell you. I want you to know that you are the first person, ever, who made me feel like I was loved just for who I was. I didn't have to be anything or act any way for you to love me. You accepted me just as I was." His hazel eyes began to glisten as he dropped his voice to a whisper, "Thank you. You will never know how much that means to me. I love you, Alainna Anderson. Me. Peter Caine. I know how special you are. You are the most amazing woman I've ever known."
"But…" she said gently, swallowing the lump that kept filling her throat.

The silence stretched between them for an eternity as they each saw the truth in the other's eyes.
"But, I can't stay here. I…I have to go back." His hands trembled as he brushed her face, stroked her hair. "There's a whole community that counts on me."
"I know that, Peter. I've known that all along, remember?" Capturing one of his trembling hands, she kissed it.
"Do you regret it, Alainna? Do you regret loving me?" he asked in a choked voice.
"Oh, Peter. How could you even think that? No, no regrets, remember? I will never regret it. You have been the most wonderful thing that…" she broke off, lowering her gaze from his eyes. "When?"

"Not today," he informed her. "Not unless you want me to. I told them that I still needed more time. And I do. I wanted you to know that Peter Caine loves you, not just Peter Walker. Are you going to give me that chance?"
Lifting her head to stare into the hazel eyes, she offered him a weak smile. "One more today, Handsome?"
He nodded. "Yes, Miss Writer. One more today. Let's live in the moment, and pretend we have forever, what do you say?"
"I say, carpe diem, Handsome. Carpe diem."




Toying with the blond strands of her hair as they fanned out on her pillow in the moonlight, he lifted them to his nose in a now-automatic gesture. "Oh, Alainna," he whispered, "How can I do this? I don't know if I can." He reached out to caress her face, but stopped himself, afraid to wake her. She looks so peaceful right now. Much as I'd love to take her in my arms and make love to her one more time, I'm glad she's grabbing some peace right now. These last two days have been too much for both of us. And somehow I don't think tomorrow's going to be much better. Slipping from the bed, he tugged on his jeans.

Peter crept downstairs on silent feet to wander around the house. Ending up sitting on the rug in front of the fireplace in the library, he sensed the presence of another. He spoke quietly in the darkness. "Pop?"
His father's voice responded from the archway. "Yes, my son. Am I…invited?"
Peter sighed. "Yeah, Pop. Actually, I could use some advice right about now."
Without a sound, Caine moved to his son's side, sinking down onto the floor next to him. "I will be happy to help, if I can, my son."
"Pop, I don't want to leave her behind. I feel like I'll be leaving my whole heart behind if I do." In the darkness, Peter raked his hand through his hair.

"Then stay, Peter. Perhaps this town could use a Shaolin priest?" Caine tried to keep his voice neutral, not wanting to influence his son in any way.
Peter chuckled. "I dunno, Pop. I don't think they're quite ready for the Shaolin way of live." Peter tried to imagine the townspeople's reaction to a Shaolin priest in their midst. He chuckled again at the image.
"You must seek your own path, my son. I am sure it led you here for a reason."
Peter sighed. "It seems likely, Pop, but how do I know that reason is complete?" Raking his hand through his hair again, he asked, "Pop, I want to know what I should do. How do I do it? You loved Teresa, right?"
"Yes."
Peter did not expect his father to elaborate on that sentence, so he asked the next question. "Then how did you do it? How did you make yourself walk away from her?"
"Ahhh. The same way I walked away from you each time, my son. There is only one way to walk away from someone that you love, from someone who loves you in return." Caine paused.
"And how is that, Father?" How did you do it? I never thought about you leaving me in these terms, Father, but it is something I have always wondered. How do you manage to walk away from me? In the library, on the rug where he had first confessed his love for Alainna, Peter awaited an answer to a question that had plagued him for years.
"My son, you take your heart firmly in your hands, and you place one foot in front of the other."
"Oh." Silence filled the library as they pondered loving and leaving.


Creeping back into the bedroom, he shut the door quietly, shedding his jeans and climbing back into the bed with her. The autumn full moon streamed light in through the windows, a gentle breeze stirred the curtains. He laid flat on his back, staring at the ceiling, fighting the impulse to gather her into his arms.
She rolled over to face him. "Hey. Where you been?"
He shifted to meet her face to face. "Just downstairs."
"Doing what?"
He kissed her on the nose. "Thinking."
"Oh, so that was that burning smell." The joke fell flat. She hesitantly reached out to touch his face, the face she had run her hands over a thousand times since he'd stumbled from the woods, the face that would soon be only a memory for her. Once more, she etched the lines, grazing across the high cheekbones, the strong jaw line, the noble chin. Her hand strayed to the forehead, brushing at the wavy hair, stroking it back.

He sighed underneath the hand, closing his eyes, enjoying the caress as she lightly ran her hand over his face. Opening his eyes, he grabbed her fingers, bringing them to his lips. "Alainna, I need to ask you something, something important."
"Okay, Peter. What?"
He cleared his throat. "Come with me."
She leaned back to look at him closely. The moonlight provided enough illumination for her to see into the depth of the hazel eyes. "What?"
"I said, come with me. To Chinatown. I don't want to lose you." He propped himself up on his elbow, staring back, holding his breath as he awaited her response.

She was taken aback; the thought that he'd ask her to go with him had never crossed her mind. "Oh, Peter." She leaned forward and kissed him tenderly to soften the blow. "I…I…don't want to lose you either, but I …I can't." She pursed her lips, searching for the words to explain. "I..I.."
"Would you go if Peter Walker was doing the asking?"
"Well, I do know him a lot better," she grinned at him. "Peter Caine, I don't. Besides, what exactly are you asking? Are you asking me to move in with you?"
"Why not?" he grinned back. "I moved in with you."

"Yes, you did." She brushed the hair off his forehead again. "Peter, I've lived in this house since I was born. I don't do change well. I've never known any other life than this small town existence, unless you count college. And I learned then that cities are a neat place to visit, but I didn't want to live there all the time." She leaned forward, softly kissing his lips. "Besides, what would I do with the dogs? Can you see the beasts in your Chinatown?"
Peter chuckled. "Well, not exactly. I guess not."
She shook her head sadly at him. "Neither can I. But…I'm glad you at least asked me." Sparkles flashed in her eyes as the moonlight glinted off the moisture gathering there. "Oh, Peter…"
He silenced her with a kiss that deepened; desire flared, passion grew as they lived in the last of the moments they had together. Avoiding sleep, they savored every minute, loving the rest of the night away.



His father and Kermit were already waiting for him outside as they lingered in the doorway, saying their good-byes.
Peter gazed deeply into her eyes. "Part of me wants nothing more than to stay here with you," he confessed, stroking her cheek.
"Oh, Peter," she sighed. Hold on, Girl, she told herself, you can do this. "You know that I would love that! But they need you, too. You've got a whole other life to go back to." Tears began to well up and she struggled to contain them. "I got to have you for a while, and what a sweet thing it was, too. But we knew this day would come. Peter Walker is gone, and it's time for you to go back to Peter Caine's life."

He caught the one tear that slipped down her cheek with his thumb. "Peter Walker will never be gone, Alainna. Peter Walker has become a part of Peter Caine now, just like Peter Caine was a part of him."
She nodded her head. "Our season is over. Intermission is over, and the play that is your life must continue. I will never regret this time we've shared. Our todays were truly gifts." Though I may mourn this loss forever.
"That's the romance novelist in you talking," he chided.
"Yeah!" she laughed sharply. "I didn't think you wanted to see me throw myself around your legs and beg you to stay. It's unseemly." They laughed together, although Alainna was laughing through tears that had finally evaded her control.
"Hey," Peter said gently, wiping the tears from her face. "I haven't seen this many sorrowful tears since you killed that child character in your book," he teased.

Too bad this is real life, she thought. It's a lot easier to write a happy ending on paper than it is to make them happen for real. "I get the distinct impression I'll be writing a lot of sad stories in the near future."
Peter's hazel eyes filled with his own sorrow, sorrow that he was inflicting such pain on her.
There are those basset hound eyes again, she thought. "Peter, don't look at me like that. Joy and happiness are definitely not the only emotions that writers write about, although you gave me those. I was due for some real life experience with true heartbreak, as well." She did her best to smile at him. "Thanks for feeding my writer's imagination," she whispered huskily, swallowing the lump in her throat. "Now please, go before I do grab hold of you and you have to pry me off."

"Send me a copy of your next book?" he asked, not ready himself to go yet. Damn it, why does this have to be so hard? There are so many things I want to say to her.
"You know it, Handsome." Her voice caught on her pet name for him.
Peter kissed her tenderly, one last time. "You'll always own a special part of me," he confessed.
"And you'll always own a very large part of me. The door is always open, Peter. Stumble in anytime." She tried to choke back a sob, but it escaped, the tears cascading freely down her face, façade of control gone. "Peter, please!" she begged. "You are killing me inch by inch. Just go!"

She's right; I'm only making this harder on both of us. With a last brush of her cheek, he turned and slipped out the front door. The screen door creaked, then snapped shut with a bang that echoed through both of them.
Shaolin hearing carried her soft words to him from the other side of the door. "When you think of love, Peter Caine, think of me."
She never heard his whispered response. "I will, Alainna, I will."

He paused briefly on the front porch, torn in two different directions. Biting back his own pain, he tried to control the wetness welling in his own eyes. What was it Pop said? Take your heart firmly in your hands and put one foot in front of the other. He slowly descended the porch steps.
The sight of Kermit leaning against the green monstrosity he drove was a familiar one to Peter Caine. He approached slowly, seeing the shadow of his father, already in the back seat, waiting and ready to leave. His friend clapped him firmly on the shoulder, but had no words of comfort adequate to offer as they climbed into the Corvair.

Hearing the car doors slam, Alainna slipped out onto the porch, leaning against the railing. She tossed him a half-hearted wave as the car backed from the driveway.
Dried, dead leaves blew across the yard, tossed by the crisp autumn wind. Hugging her arms around herself, she stared down the empty road for a long time before heading back inside. The stillness of the house slapped her in the face. I never knew you could actually feel emptiness. She threw herself down on the couch in the library. First, a good cry, she told herself. Then, start writing. That's what Peter would want.



Epilogue

Holding the package in his hands, Peter grinned at the return address. It's been almost a year, he thought. A year. How did that happen so fast? The smile slowly faded and a wistful expression appeared on his face, as his thoughts turned to their time together. Images of her face, the sound of her laughter, filled his mind before he returned his attention to the package. I still miss her like crazy.
Ripping open the box, the scent of strawberries wafted out, filling his nose with sweetness and his heart with longing. You really know how to do this romance stuff, don't you, Alainna? Underneath the lacey hankie that had been doused with an essential oil, he found a letter and a wrapped book. She remembered to send it.
Unfolding the letter, he began to read:

Dear Peter,
You said you wanted a copy of my next book. Well, here it is, hot off the printing press. It practically wrote itself. (First draft took two and a half months, Handsome, a new record!)
I think you'll find it most…enlightening regarding the conversations we had. Consider it a lesson in discerning the differences between real life experience and my writer's imagination. I must tell you, though, this book contains another element as well: my wishful thinking. I'll leave it to you to sort it all out.
E-mail me and let me know what you think.
I miss you. The house is too quiet again.
Our season was too short. I miss our todays.
Stop by next time you're wandering in the neighborhood.
Or, better yet, even if you're not.
Love,
Alainna

Peter unwrapped the paperback. The title jumped off the cover at him: The Stranger in Her Bed. The cover artwork featured a man's face that was remarkably similar to his own. She didn't? Did she?
He flipped the book over to scan the short blurb on the back: The story of a romance novelist and the mysterious stranger she takes into her home, her heart, and her bed.
Whoa. I have got to read this! Actually, if I remember correctly, I was in the bed itself long before I was in her heart. He laughed, contemplating the differences between her fact and her fiction.
He opened the front cover and found a personal inscription she had written there: To Peter Walker, my mystery man. All my love, Alainna.
The first page contained a short dedication: To Peter. Thanks for feeding my writer's imagination.
The sound of the screen door slamming behind him echoed through his mind. God, she was so great to be with, he thought, and she still owns a piece of my soul. Looking down at the book in his hands, he opened the cover and prepared to dive into the version of their relationship that sprang from her writer's imagination.


Several hours later, as morning faded towards noon, he closed the cover and sat quietly for several minutes, a wistful expression on his face. Lifting the hankie to his nose, he inhaled deeply. Strawberries. Memories flooded him. Pop's right, smell is a powerful trigger. You were paying attention, weren't you, Miss Writer? The impulse was too strong to be ignored.


Gliding down the hallway, Kwai Chang Caine towed his dining companion behind him. "Come, Mary Margaret," he beckoned, "I shall prepare something to relieve your headache."
Entering the apothecary, Caine quickly spotted and retrieved the note left on the worktable by his son. It read:
Pop,
Gone wandering. Be back sometime soon. Probably.
Love, Peter

Skalaney had picked up the paperback book that had been lying underneath Peter's note. "Oh, Alainna Anderson. I love her books. This one must be new." She took a good, long look at the picture on the cover. Raising her eyebrows, she turned it to show Caine. "Excuse me, but does Peter know Alainna Anderson?"
The Shaolin was distracted by his own thoughts. "I believe he does," he answered. "You know, Peter has not yet grasped the concept of wandering. When one has a specific destination in mind, that is not wandering."
Peter's ex-partner was reading the blurb, dedication, and handwritten note on the inside cover. "Exactly how well does Peter know Alainna?"
Caine gave her a cryptic smile, shrugging his shoulder.
She sighed, waving the paperback at him. "Fine. If you won't tell me, then maybe this book will."
He arched an eyebrow at her. "But Mary Margaret, that is a work of fiction."
She laughed. "Yes, it is. A piece of romantic fiction with your son's face on it. Just wait until the precinct sees this. I'd say that the legend of Peter Caine, womanizer, is about to be taken to a whole, new level."

The End

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