“We were just about to send out a search party.” Olivia commented in a cheery voice that had nothing to do with whatever had been on her mind a moment before.

“Oh.”

“Yeah, I mean even if it were just pushing Jolene out the door and saying ‘go find Nessa’, that’s still a search party, right?” The blonde woman put a bowl on the table and pushed a glass at Nessa. “You’d have thought somebody lit your new husband’s underoos on fire the way he was squirming around looking at the door every time someone shifted.” Olivia shook her head and grinned at Jarrett who was still staring at Nessa with his heart in his eyes.

“Why Jolene?” Nessa asked, sliding into the chair that Olivia pulled out with her foot, hands now laden with plates.

“Because that’s her job, isn’t it? She’s supposed to be the law around these parts and as there are no bandits or bank robbers to chase down, the least she can do is chase down missing wives.” Olivia said.

“Sorry, I–I was just, I…” Olivia shook her head at Nessa.

“I’m teasing, Ness.” The vet put her head in her hands. “Elbows off the table.” Olivia said primly. “Eat your fish.”

“You’re not my mother.” Nessa said.

“Nope, just your best friend, there’s overlap, eat your fish.” Olivia plunked down in her own chair and looked pointedly at the plates. “This is not revenge, it’s not best served cold.” There didn’t seem to be much one could say to that, so Jolene picked up her fork and flaked off some of the fish.

As always the food was excellent, but Jolene never felt quite as comfortable around the big table in Jarrett and Nessa’s kitchen as Sawyer did. Jolene’s husband–god she didn’t know if she would ever get used to that–didn’t even seem to notice, he talked animatedly to Olivia and Jarrett, even managing to draw Nessa into the laughter, though it was obvious that she was not completely involved in the story Sawyer was spinning.

And it was a funny one–she could wish, having met Ambassador Gavin, that she had been around when his horse had unceremoniously sat down on him. But Sawyer, as she had noticed not a few times before, had a way with words. Her smile was a little fonder than she expected it to be as Olivia threw her head back and made some crack about why the horse might have chosen such an inauspicious (at least for the ambassador) seat.

When Sawyer asked what she meant, Olivia just gave that knowing smirk.

“Well, where else would a horse sit other than on a horse’s ass?” She batted her long lashes over her brown eyes.

“Oh, cause I–” Sawyer broke off and glanced at Jolene.

“Sawyer! I’m hurt, do you think I’d tell off color jokes at the dinner table?” Olivia asked putting her hands to her chest in a great show of innocence.

“It ain’t never stopped you before.” Jarrett muttered into his glass of tea.

“Well, yeah, but the only one I could think of was a little too off color, even for me. Besides, even though Gavin is kinda a jackass–”

“Kind of?” Sawyer snorted.

“Okay, mostly, unless you’re a nobleman or otherwise useful.” Olivia dismissed. “And apparently bed companion isn’t useful enough.”

“You’re not!” Nessa gasped, dropping her mug. Jarrett caught it before it tipped over and landed on the floor, then patted Nessa on the shoulder, the creamy tan drained straight out of her face.

“God no!” Olivia said. “I’d almost rather sleep with my ex again. But that doesn’t mean that he hasn’t occasionally tried to scope a look at my tits and offer to show me his–weaponry.” The blonde shook her head again.

“He’s–he’s tried to look at your…!” Jolene honestly couldn’t tell if Sawyer started sputtering because he couldn’t imagine talking about breasts in mixed company at the dinner table or if he was sputtering because he was offended by what Gavin had offered.

“Well, yeah. They’re kinda nice if I do say so myself.” Olivia smirked again.

“I feel like an old matron auntie,” Jarrett said. “All I can think to say is ‘Well, I never!’ in a prim tone.”

“Well, you should,” Olivia smiled brightly. “It’s kinda fun.”

“But–I thought he was–paying court to Lady Fiona.” Sawyer said, his face suspiciously dark at the moment. “Or at least sort of trying to.”

“We may think he’s an idiot all around, but even he is not dumb enough to think he could get away with a supremely dumbass move like actually making a move on Fiona while she’s still Lock’s girl.” Jolene found herself nodding in agreement. He couldn’t be that stupid, not unless Archerglen was seriously trying for a diplomatic incident. “Or else mine are just better than Fiona’s.”

“Your what?” Sawyer asked, then colored and slumped in his seat.

“My those.” Olivia said blandly. “To his way of thinking, I’m a tavern wench, that means my virtue is negotiable and he just hasn’t found my price yet.” Jolene saw Nessa shift uncomfortably in her chair. “But that’s probably not appropriate for the dinner table conversation, so Ms. Quiet over there, how’s the wide world of crime?”

“There’s crime in Shadowcrest?” Jolene asked blandly.

“Sure. Why there’s fraud just walking the streets.” Olivia said, heaping more salad on Sawyer’s plate. He looked longingly at the fruit tarts on the counter before doggedly munching on the greens. Jolene’s eyebrow went up. “Haven’t you seen Alistair? He’s a huge walking dildo packaged as a human, how is that not a crime?” Nessa, who had been about to take a drink of her tea spit it back into her cup in a spew. While Jolene, despite her best intentions, found herself snickering. 

“I don’t think we can arrest Alistair for that though.” Jolene stirred a little honey into her tea, face thoughtful. She was expecting the muttered “Pity,” she was even expecting it from more than one person, she just hadn’t been expecting Jarrett to be among the mutterers.

Then again, while he tried not to speak badly of anyone, the big man was not Alistair’s biggest fan.

… Was anyone actually? She hadn’t spent enough time with Zahrah to know whether she was still firmly Team Jackass or not…

“Well, other than the fact that Alistair’s crimes are not the arrestable sort, Shadowcrest is quiet on the crime front.” Jolene finished right before Olivia glanced at Nessa who was pouring tea into a fresh mug, her eyes lost and a little moist at the corners.

“So, who wants dessert?” Olivia bounced up as if trying to distract them from the fact that Nessa was on the verge of tears. “Other than Sawyer.” The blonde patted Sawyer’s head and smiled. Jarrett looked at Nessa then at his hands.

“I–I…” Nessa started to say to Jarrett, then boiled up out of her seat. “I need a little air.” Olivia bit her lip but loaded her hands full of plates and the platter with the tarts and started doling them out. Jolene held her hand up and shook her head at Olivia’s quirked eyebrow.

To be honest, Jolene wouldn’t have described herself as a sensitive person. She was not the cop that was brought in when someone needed a child or victim comforted. She wasn’t the person who people unburdened their problems to or asked for advice. She wasn’t, really, even that great of a confidant.

So why she followed the cockamamie urge to follow Nessa out onto the porch, like she was Heidi (who was most of those things) and like Nessa would want to talk to her was anyone’s guess.

It wasn’t hard to find Nessa, though her dress blended into the twilight, her hair flamed in the moonlight like a beacon.

“Wanna talk about it?” Jolene asked, helping herself to the other side of the bench that Nessa was curled up on?

“I’m pregnant.” Nessa said. Jolene blinked, she was actually sort of expecting a surly sort of ‘no’. She bit her tongue on the ‘that was quick’ that rose immediately from the pronouncement.

“And this is bad…?” Jolene offered instead.

“I don’t know.” Nessa admitted. “If it were anyone but me? No. If I were married to anyone but Jarrett, again, probably not. But…”

“Well, I’m gonna take a wild guess and say because you only got married yesterday, and Kennedy’s not that quick, your pregnancy predates your wedding?” Jolene asked. Nessa nodded and sighed miserably. “Is it that you’re unhappy about the timing or about the being pregnant at all?” Jolene blundered on.

“It’s not the fact that the baby was conceived before the wedding.” Nessa sighed.

“Um–so–what is it?” Jolene offered in prompting, hoping the other woman would take the hint and start talking, thus sparing Jolene from asking any more awkward questions.

“I was hoping–because there are a few baby issues between Jarrett and me–cause of his children and I have my own problems there–that we could have–I dunno waited.” Jolene nodded in understanding. “But the thing is, I don’t think that we could ever have a baby that wouldn’t be born into a bunch of issues. Not with him, not with me.” Nessa confessed.

“Y’know, somebody told me that Sawyer and I would figure it out. And we are, kinda, sorta. I mean, we still haven’t–you know–done everything…” And wasn’t that embarrassing to admit? “But we are figuring it out. I bet you and Jarrett’ll figure it out.”

“I just wish…”

“Someone else told me–at least–I think someone else told me–that happily ever after is a cheap lie.” Nessa looked sharply at her. “It’s a long story.” She flipped her hair out of her face. “The reason I bring it up is, I think they were right, who wants to know how the story’s gonna end before you start reading it? If you could have all the answers, really–would you want ‘em?” Jolene asked.

“It’d make things easier.” Nessa said without answer the question.

“Not what I asked.” Jolene pointed out. Nessa winced a little. “You know, this bench is hard–and cold.” Nessa snorted and stood up. Jolene rubbed her rear, hoping it would just look like she was smoothing her skirt.

“You know.” Nessa said as Jolene fell into step beside her on their way back toward the house. Here’s where she’ll tell me that she didn’t know I could be sensitive, or encouraging or something. “I bet Sawyer would be perfectly willing to rub the cold out of your precious ass, Jolene.” Jolene gaped.

But it seemed like that used whatever confidence Nessa had, because as they walked up the stairs to the house, she seemed to go paler by the breath. What happened next, Jolene couldn’t really say, the door opened, Olivia was sheparding Nessa toward Jarrett and then a half moment later, she was sheparding Jolene and Sawyer out the door toward home.

—

“Do you know what that was about?” Sawyer asked, taking Nessa’s place at her side.

“Nessa swallowed a cabbage seed.”

“Oh…” Sawyer said. “Cause–Olivia said, she thinks Nessa–expecting.” Jolene folded her lips into something between a laugh and a smirk.

“Sawyer, sweetheart, that’s what the expression means.” Jolene told him.

“Oh.” The darkness and Sawyer’s tan skin hide any color change, but she’d guess he was blushing again. “Well, I guess…” He fell off into a familiar embarrassed silence that usually popped up around this time in these sorts of conversations.

“Can we talk?” Jolene asked, rounding on her husband as he pushed open the front gate to their yard.

“Uh, aye?”

“Do you–ever–do you wish we would?” She asked hurriedly, the words seeming to slur together in her haste. Sawyer tilted his head to the side, the feeling of his hazel eyes on her like a physical sensation. “Make love.”

“Well, aye.” Sawyer laughed a self-depreciating laugh that sounded all wrong for him. Her Sawyer was too confidant for laughs like that. “I just wanted to give you time–if that was what you needed.”

“I think you’ve been giving me too much time and understanding.” She admitted to Sawyer’s stare. “You’ve been understanding and I haven’t been understanding about what you would want or need. And that’s not very fair of me.”

“Well, but, life isn’t fair.” Sawyer admitted, as he pushed the front door open. He busied himself with lighting a candle.

“No–it isn’t, but we don’t have to help it along.” Jolene said. He turned and blinked at her for a moment as something hung for that brief moment in the balance. Sawyer’s tongue flickered out nervously slicking his lips and that, really, that simple nervous gesture was all it took to tip the balance.

Because in less than a heartbeat and a half–she knew it was just that long because her heart was pounding very loudly in her ears at that moment–she was in Sawyer’s arms, her lips pressed hard and hungry against his soft, warm, wet ones. He made a startled noise and she pulled back, all the guilt that had kept her from kissing him like that rushing back in.

“You don’t have do this just because I want to.” Sawyer said.

“Fuck that, Sawyer. I wanna do this because we both want to. If you’ve changed your mind…” It was hard to say if she trailed off or if he cut her off because they were just about simultaneous. His grip was a little uncertain as his hands found his way to her waist, and she was pretty sure one or the other of them was shaking.

But then her hands slid into his hair and there was no place for shaking or uncertainty, not in that moment. Later there might be regrets, or questions, or some stupid thing, but in that moment, they had each other and really, what more did they need?

Nessa paused and looked up at the sky for a long moment, it seemed exceptionally blue today, or maybe it was just her. She hadn’t noticed the color of the sky for a long time, probably since she’d left the circuit. No matter what color the sky was when she was with Mitch, it’d seemed gray. Since she’d come to Shadowcrest it seemed like she was to busy to really notice the color of the sky either.

Well, that wasn’t entirely true, she blushed, even though there was no one to see it, the street completely empty as most people were at their tasks at this point in the day. There was one day she remembered what color the sky was. But it hadn’t been blue. It had been the most vivid sunset she’d ever seen and that wasn’t just because she remembered it.

It had been the brilliant colors in the sky, reflecting off Lake Haven, that had made her lean against the split log fence and watch it. Jarrett had joined her at the fence and rather than heading back to the house, they’d hopped over the fence and sat down on the grass.

He’d been close enough she could feel him, but not too close.

… He was good at that. Judging where to stand, when to come close, when to back off…

Then he’d put his arm around her shoulder and it had been… perfect…

She smiled and ran her hand through her hair, feeling the silky strands slither through her fingers, it was weird–good–but weird, to have her hair down. Weird but good. If she had to explain Shadowcrest in five words or less, that’s exactly what she’d have used.

The sun had hidden behind the horizon, but it wasn’t dark yet when she’d felt something nudge her hand. A carved wooden box, Jarrett studiously wasn’t watching her, focusing on the stars sprinkled across the gathering night as she picked it up and opened it.

It was like something out of a movie, one of those moments that she’d never really even imagined for herself, not even in those innocent days before the accident.

“I know,” he’d said in that quiet, steady, deep voice. “I can never take away all the hurt, all the bad memories you’ve got. I know you can’t take away all of the ones I have. But–Nessa–would you help me make new ones–maybe better ones?” Her heart had shuddered to a stop and she looked for a long moment into Jarrett’s dark, dark eyes, seeing just a hint of chocolate at the heart of the black.

“Mornin’, Nessa.” Tate said startling Nessa out of her thoughts, causing her to jump. He reached out a tanned hand to steady her and she–somehow–managed to let him touch her arm without cringing and jerking her back out of her thoughts. Tate’s smile was half-hearted and scarred, it was a smile.

There was so much that she wanted to tell him–about how time might not heal everything, there would be twinges, there would be bad nights, but with patience, time, and good friends, it wouldn’t be so bad–someday. But the words just wouldn’t come, wouldn’t surface. So she smiled back and tried to put it in her eyes, her face.

“What brings you out this way?” Nessa said instead. Tate shrugged.

“I’m–I’m supposed to see Lady Kennedy once a week–cause–well, that’s what his majesty wants.” There was more to it than that, she knew it, but she couldn’t press, not when his wounded eyes could have been hers not that long ago. She knew enough. “And you?” He asked, falling into step with her.

“I’m here to see Lady Kennedy, just a bug, I think, a little under the weather.” Nessa shrugged.

“I know Sawyer feels that way too.” Nessa snorted a laugh.

“Mine isn’t just a hangover, I’ve been feeling this way for a while. However we’re supposed to report these sorts of things to Kennedy as soon as possible so she can work her voodoo.” Nessa told him. “But I’m sure that Sawyer is feeling his head just a bit today.”

“If I didn’t know better, I’d think Lady Olivia did it to him on purpose.” Tate said.

“Oh, I know she did it on purpose.” Nessa winked at him with a grin. “Really, never take up a dare from the person mixing the drinks. They know more than you do.”

“I don’t think it was just the dare, though.” Tate said. “Not when it was your and Jarrett’s wedding he was celebrating. Short of him and Jolene, I think you and Jarrett were the people he most wanted to see married out of all of us. He adores you both and wants you to be happy.” Tate blushed as if that was saying too much. Given that this was a seventeen-year-old boy, perhaps it was.

Nessa nodded. The only thing better than watching Sawyer standing up in Livvie’s tavern and making that long, slurred, rambling speech, with Jolene blushed red would have been watching Kian make one as well.

Maybe she was crazy, but, there had been–just once–when she’d glanced over the audience yesterday, but she would have sworn that…

Well, Fox had paused in the middle of his preaching with an odd look on his face. She wasn’t the only one who’d turned and looked behind them. But most of the faces turned back blank if a little puzzled. The ones that hadn’t had been the King–and Heidi, they’d both looked–not quite disturbed, but… something very akin to it.

All the eyes had rested on her then, because she was still looking back, it had looked like–seemed like maybe they were seeing what she was seeing. Only unlike them, she understood what she thought she saw. She’d know that lazy lean, those beat-up boots, that hat with the grin underneath to match the brim.

Had it really been Kian? Maybe she was silly, but if it had been something else, someone else, she’d gladly delude herself, she wanted him to have seen her so badly. To see her healing, to see her happy and light-hearted. But something had been there, right? The others had had to see something.

“Nessa?” Tate asked, his hand on her elbow.

“Oh, sorry, I’m just lost in my thoughts today.” Tate nodded. His lip caught in his teeth, his eyes lost again.

“I–understand.” He said.

“Tate!” Emanuel called from the back. “Nessa, I wasn’t expecting you…”

“Oh, don’t worry, Emanuel, it’s nothing to worry about.” She smiled at the apothecary who looked only slightly relieved.

“Kennedy, I think, is still handing out hangover advice.” Emanuel tugged at the hem of his shirt. “Your friend is a wicked woman, I’m told. Half the nobility and that foreigner’s aide have been here this morning so far.”

“I didn’t think Lady Vivianne drank that much.” Tate said in a quiet, almost embarrassed voice. Why–oh, yeah, the little maid at the castle who was sweet on Tate and the cook had both developed friendships with Vivianne. And if she thought about it, most of last night, Tate had spent with the girls.

“She didn’t.” Kennedy said from the deck. “It was the Ambassador who drank too much and wanted me to come make it all better. He just sent Vivianne to fetch me.”

“Obviously you didn’t go.” Nessa commented.

“I don’t need to go see him to know that he had at least four of those big mugs of that devil brew Olivia was slinging around yesterday. I wrote down the same thing I told everyone else who got caught in Olivia’s trap for him.” Kennedy grinned.

“Which was?” Tate asked curiously.

“Drink a lot of water, stick to something mild and soothing to eat today, and don’t be so stupid next time.” Nessa snickered right along with the others. “There’s no miracle cure for a hangover. What was that stuff, garbage can punch?” The doctor asked, her brow arching upward.

“No idea. She wasn’t serving it to me.” Nessa said.

“Garbage can punch?” Tate glanced at Emanuel who shrugged.

“It’s an old university recipe. Quite simple. Whatever’s in the cupboard, all poured into a big vessel, like a garbage can, and stirred up.” Kennedy chuckled. Tate mouthed an ah. She turned to Nessa. “I know why the kid is here.” She jerked a thumb at Tate. “But might I inquire why you are. You just told us that Olivia wasn’t serving whatever it was to you, so I doubt it’s your head.”

“Just a bug, it’s been lingering around for a couple of days, nothing serious.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.” Kennedy sniffed.

“You can see Tate, I don’t have anything that needs my attention for most of the day and I know the castle will fall apart without Tate there.” She nudged him with her shoulder and smiled. Tate blushed. Kennedy nodded and then nodded at the chair outside the office for Nessa to wait in.

—

“Sorry to keep you waiting.” Kennedy said, shutting the door after Nessa.

“It’s alright. I think Tate needs to see you worse than I do, all the more because he’d never admit it.” Nessa told her, hopping up on the table in the corner of the office. Kennedy looked sharply at Nessa, but didn’t agree or disagree.

“So what’s this bug like?” The doctor asked, gripping Nessa’s wrist and counting softly.

“A stomach thing, mostly. It’s hard to keep stuff down, sometimes, but it passes, my back hurts and I feel a little achy, but not feverish.” Nessa said.

“Mmm-hmm.” She looked down Nessa’s throat, tested her forehead with a wrist. Next came the general pokes and prods of a visit to the doctor’s. Kennedy looked puzzled when she finished, something like suspicion playing across her face before shaking her head.

“You’renot sick.” Kennedy said. “Unless–Nessa, I have to ask…”

“…Yes?”

“Have you engaged in intercourse–say any time in the past six-eight weeks–prior to, I imagine, yesterday. Prior to these symptoms occurring?” Nessa’s face flamed but Kennedy’s eyes managed to drill into hers while holding only compassion.

“Y-yes.” She admitted, feeling the blush spread up her neck to her ears.

“Can I assume that it was not protected–or the old stand-by of coitus interuptus?” The doctor asked gently.

“No. No, it wasn’t protected.” She whispered.

“Right. Lay back.” Kennedy said. Nessa winced but did as she was bade. “Uh huh. Alright.” The doctor told her a little while later. “Why don’t you hop off the table and sit down here.” She patted a chair back as she made her way to the other side of the desk and sat down in a chair nearly identical to the one on Nessa took a seat in.

“Nessa, you’re pregnant.” Nessa felt her heart stop entirely, in fact the entire world seemed to stop for a moment.

“I’m–but!” Nessa protested. Kennedy looked at her. “Is there–is there gonna be any trouble cause–cause I–I…”

“Had a previous miscarriage?” Kennedy asked. Nessa nodded. “I believe, when we talked about that before that you said it was a situational thing?”

“Well, um, it was.” It was. And Jarrett would never throw her down the stairs. He’d barely raise his voice to her, even when they had the occasional spat about the animals or whatever. “But–but what about my hip?”

“I can’t proclaim that old injuries will have no effect whatsoever, I’m not an idiot and things do go wrong, but I think that if we keep an eye on it, and as it’s long since healed, you’ll be fine.” Kennedy said.

“How do I tell Jarrett?” Nessa whispered to her hands, not even realizing, consciously that she spoke.

“Well, I would imagine that the word pregnant–or baby–and the word I should enter somewhere into the equation, beyond that–I–couldn’t say?” Kennedy offered blandly. Nessa stared at the doctor and then began to laugh–and then she began to weep. Kennedy stood up and put a comforting arm around Nessa’s shoulder.

But when she caught her reflection in the window–she almost would have sworn it was someone else entirely.

“So, how are you liking Shadowcrest so far?” Jennica asked her companion, trying not to stare through the–she thought–absolutely pointless window into the hallway.

“It gets me away from mater . I can put up with almost anything for that.” Vivianne told her with a snicker in her voice.

“One of those mothers?” Jennica smiled faintly. Either Igraine was a complete nightmare–or like most seventeen year olds, Vivianne exaggerated how terrible her mother was.

“Aye. No man wants a woman who is more clever than he is.” She ticked off on her fingers. “There’s a reason that freckles look like devil marks. Servant women walk around without their heads and faces covered, ladies do not. The list goes on, and on, and oooonnnnn.” Vivianne tossed her hair out of her face.

“So, you don’t like it here?” Jennica chewed on her lip, her heart plummeting, what was she doing?

“Well, it’s different, mostly.” Vivianne told her, thoughtfully blowing a loose piece of hair out of her way. “Some things are good, some things aren’t so good, a few things kinda suck…” She paused. “Is something wrong?”

“Uh,” Jennica shrugged. Other than my best friend is being a complete and total idiot? Nah, not much. She rubbed at the back of her neck and once more pulled her eyes away from Fiona.

“So, aye, there is. You just don’t want to tell me what it is.” Vivianne said. Jennica snorted. She had pretty much walked into that one. Vivianne was not unobservant and Jennica had been being pretty obvious about watching–and worrying over–Fiona.

“Yeah, pretty much.” Jennica said.

“Shouldn’t Lady Fiona be back by now? I mean I thought she was ‘freshening up’ not exploring the countryside.” Vivianne blew a strand out of her face, her green eyes darting toward Jennica. “Or she is back, just not in here. And that’s why you keep staring out into the hall like you’re watching some Bartal tragedy playing out before your eyes.”

“Bartal?” Jennica asked

“Mater’s idea of proper reading, he was like the quintessential Golden Age poet and playwright.” Vivianne’s eyes rolled upward.

“I take it–you’re not fond of him?”

“Every play the gent wrote, everybody dies. You can just sit there going down the cast list, gonna die, gonna die, gonna die. Plus all of the girls, if they don’t die, usually by killing themselves after being rejected by a gent, they all go to convent. Without a gent in your life it’s kill yourself or pray.” Vivanne shook her head. “It’s ridiculous. And the things he thinks a girl should say? Ugh. The most intelligible things out of a woman’s mouth in a play is usually the monolog she gives right before she jumps off a bridge or poisons herself. Pater and I always groan when some set of players decides they’re going to do a revival of Bartal’s plays. Because of course we have to go, we’re supposed to be cultured.”

“I’ve never understood how Mater, who can detect the slightest little backhanded comment in a pile of worshipful praise, could miss the fact that all of the guys in Bartal’s plays are complete sleazy. I wouldn’t share the air in a really big room with most of his ‘heroes’, let alone my bed and the rest of my life.” She continued.

“Sounds like a few guys I’ve read about before.” Jennica murmured. “Heck, a few I’ve known before.”

“Gavin sort of reminds me of one.” Jennica’s eyes shot to Vivianne.

“What?”

“Oh, Mater says–ugh, I hate that, Mater says, Mater says, I really don’t usually go on that much about my mother, really. But she says I’m ‘overly sensitive’–and sheltered. But he trips every skeeze alarm I have. I dunno why, I mean it’s not like he’s ever been mean or rude or even tried to look down my dress–but…” She shrugged, twining her hair around one finger. “Makes me glad for doors.”

“…Doors?” Jennica’s eyebrow migrated upward again.

“Yeah, back home we don’t have doors on rooms. There’s a front door and usually metal gratings on the tabernae. Rather than having a true business district, especially in smaller towns, there’s just a shop front put onto houses, it’s called a tabernae. Anyway, so people don’t break in and steal everything, they put a metal grate across the doorway to the taberna. For all the rest of the rooms though, it’s just an arch with a curtain across it.” Vivianne explained. “But here we have doors–which is so wonderful. I think when I go home, I’ll buy myself a door. Gavin makes me grateful for the door.”

Jennica’s stomach sank as she stretched her legs out in front of her and glanced at the hall where she could see Gavin joking–or whatever–with Fiona.

“Don’t worry about your friend. It could just be that I’m overly sensitive.” Vivianne offered. Jennica nodded before forcing a smile onto her face as Fiona finally opened the parlor door and came in.

“So did you find the lost works of Morely?” Vivianne asked batting her long lashes at Fiona.

“Huh?” Fiona asked.

“Morely, he was a novelist–and recluse–legend has it he wrote a tons of books and then hid them away.” Fiona looked blankly at Vivianne. “You were gone a long time.”

“Oh.” Fiona tittered a small laugh and looked at Jennica and rolled her eyes.

“Well, I should probably get to work. Good afternoon, Lady Jennica, Lady Fiona.” Vivianne stood up from her chair and skipped to the door. “See, doors are wonderful.” She looked over her shoulder at Jennica before shutting it behind her. A few moments later Vivianne appeared in the window that Jennica had been watching Fiona through. Gavin apparently still standing outside the room. ‘But he trips every skeeze alarm I have’…

“Work? For me? You shouldn’t have, m’lord.”

“She’s crazy.” Fiona murmured as Jennica got up from her seat in the chair and sat down next to Fiona. “I wasn’t gone that long.”

“Long enough for her to tell me all about doors and her mother’s favorite playwright.” Jennica countered. “It doesn’t do much good for me to be your ‘chaperone’, Fi, if you disappear on me.”

“I don’t see why you think I need a chaperone in the first place.” The younger woman gave a disgusted sigh.

“Maybe because he flirts with you–and you flirt back.”

“When have you ever seen me flirt with a guy other than Lock?” Fiona chewed on her mint green nail.

“Less than five minutes ago.” Jennica gestured toward the arched cut out where they could still see Vivianne and Gavin talking.

“That was just being friendly.” Fiona said, shaking her head and standing up. “We should probably get back.”

“Fi, slow down.”

“You’re not my mother, Jenn.” Fiona said warningly.

“No, but I am your friend and I’m Lock’s friend too.” Jennica told her. “If you’re not interested in Lock anymore, tell him that. Nothing good is going to come of you playing the both of them.” Fiona scoffed.

“I am not playing Lock. I like Lock, it’s just, he’s so–earnest. I mean he doesn’t flirt, he doesn’t compliment. It’s nice to sometimes hear that I’m–pretty or funny or whatever. It’s harmless.”

“Fine, you’re pretty or funny or whatever. Now you can stop flirting with Gavin.” Jennica said.

“That is not what I meant.” Fiona rolled her eyes.

“It’s not harmless to Lock. It’d probably really hurt him.” Jennica told her bluntly, not caring if Fiona thought it was ridiculous or not. There were a lot of things that she’d forgive Fiona for. But this wasn’t one of them. Not after what Dinh had done to her.

“Why are you suddenly the flirt police all of a sudden?” Fiona asked.

“Maybe because I know how it feels to trust someone and have them betray you.” Jennica said, arching her brow.

“Oh–you aren’t comparing what just happened to what your ex did to you. You can’t be, it’s not the same thing!” Fiona protested.

“It is the same thing–or close enough.” Jennica shook her head.

“You aren’t gonna go tattle on me to Lock are you?” Fiona asked.

“No, it’s not my place. If you think it’s nothing, I guess I have to accept that to you it’s nothing. But I will point out that you got your knickers all in a twist when Tiffany and Lock were talking about that magic theory the other day. And it was an esoteric conversation about something completely benign in front of nearly a dozen people. That was ‘something’ to you. But letting Gavin brush your hair off your shoulder and touch your arm in front of no one is nothing. Make up your mind, Fiona. You can’t play this both ways.”

“…Tate?” Tate blinked guiltily as he heard the king calling his name from behind him. He’d been walking around in something of a daze and who knew how long his majesty had been trying to get his attention.

“Yes, your majesty?” He asked turning with a bow.

“I was wondering if you’d like some extra time off for the Harvest Faire.” The King said. “Fiona is going to take the delegates down to the market and I’ll be in meetings most of the morning with Dolph over some of the language in the treaties, so there’s really not much reason for you to be doing nothing here when you could be having fun there.”

“It’s all right, your majesty, I don’t really have anything I need to be doing there either.” Tate said. Lock’s blue eyes wandered over his face for a moment, leaving Tate feeling open, exposed–seen through.

“I’m giving Holly and Macy the time off too, I’ll feel quite the cruel taskmaster if you don’t take it.” The King said. “Besides, I think Macy’d like it if you took the time off.” Lock winked and grinned. Tate blushed. He didn’t know what to think of that.But all too soon the blush faded and he glanced down at his feet. Maybe Lock thought he needed fun, but he really didn’t. Leisure time was the last thing he needed.

He needed the work, the structure. If he didn’t have that, it was too easy to think and he’d tried–so hard–since then not to think. A good exhausting day of work meant a night he could tumble into bed and sleep not lay awake, remembering. Or worse, drift into fitful dreams, where it was so hard not to lose track of himself. To forget what was reality and what was a memory.

“It’s–it’s not really you being a cruel taskmaster if I volunteer to stay here. It’s probably better if someone is here, just in case.”

“Tate,” the king shook his head. “Sit with me for a minute.” Lock turned and took a seat in one of the alcoves off the hallway, leaving Tate with no choice but to follow. He tugged at the sleeve of his shirt and plucked at the crease on his slacks as Lock watched him for a long moment before sighing and leaning back against the wall behind him.

“I know I don’t understand what you’re going through. I can’t. I never went through it, but I’ve talked with Lady Kennedy about what you’re going through and what’s happening with you.” Now it was the king’s turn to tug at his shirt sleeves. “Don’t think I don’t see the way you’re working yourself into exhaustion, don’t think I don’t know that you’re doing it for a good night’s sleep.”

Tate could feel the guilty look on his face, but he was completely unable to school it into anything else.

“We’ve all done that. Me included. After my–mother died.” Lock chewed his lip. “But it’s not good for you. I don’t want you to forget how to have fun, how to relax, how to smile and laugh. After all the pain of the past few years.” The king leaned his head back again hitting it lightly against the wall. “I think we’re all in some danger of that.” His face swiveled toward Tate. “You more than most.”

“I’m fine, your majesty.” Tate dropped his eyes and stared at his hands.

“Can you tell me that while looking me in the face?” The king asked softly. Tate winced. “Tate, I am amazed by how well you’re keeping it together. Really. I doubt I would be handling what you went through half as well as you are. The fact that you can even get out of bed most mornings without being dragged puts you far above where I would be in your shoes.” Tate snuck a peek at Lock who was staring thoughtfully into space about three feet from the end of his nose. He smiled as he noticed Tate looking at him, even though Tate dropped his eyes and looked away almost immediately.

“I just hate to see you burying yourself in work, forgetting that you’re still young. You should be out having fun, spending time with your friends, flirting with that pretty chambermaid who likes you.” Tate blushed. He wished that he had the courage to bring up the fact that the king wasn’t so terribly old either. That he should have time to flirt with pretty girls and have fun with his friends too. He might work hard enough to knock him out, but the king rarely slept or ate, he simply settled down in the chair in his office and let the magic replenish him. It made Lord Wesley growl in exasperation, Lady Kennedy throw up her hands and pronounce him hopeless, and Lady Fiona…

“Oh, damn.” Lock muttered under his breath. Tate looked at him sharply, wondering if–somehow–the king could read his mind now. “Was that this afternoon?”

“Was what this afternoon, your majesty?” Tate asked.

“Fiona wants to talk with Tiff about–something. I don’t recall what.” Tate cocked his head to the side. If Lady Fiona wanted to talk to Lady Tiffany, then why did she need the king present. The two women still roomed together. They probably saw each other three or four times before noon. “And here comes Fiona up the walk, so I should probably remember what it was very quickly.”

“I’ll go find your schedule.” Tate said starting to get to his feet.

“That’s alright, Tate. In fact if I’m going to be in meeting with Fiona and Tiffany all day,” He grinned suddenly. “I want you to spend the afternoon doing nothing.”

“I beg your pardon, your majesty?”

“Go lay on the grass and enjoy the last bit of warm–or perhaps any–sunshine we’re likely to see for the next six or eight moons.” Lock said with a grin. Tate opened his mouth to protest. “That’s an order, Tate.”

Excusing himself from the king and his lady, Tate walked out into the still plush green grass. His conscience told him that there were chores and duties he needed to be doing, but what could he do when faced with a direct order from his king. Still, if the king needed him or changed his mind, Tate should probably be easily located, so he chose a spot not far away and sat down on the ground.

Maybe the king was wiser than he seemed for it didn’t take long at all for Tate to settle into the ground’s embrace, his eyes picking shapes out of the wispy clouds fluttering overhead, thoughts scuttling with them.

“You finding the questions to forty-two?” Lady Tiffany asked from near his feet. He blinked and turned his head toward the sound. Lady Tiffany grinned, she too was laying on the grass without regard to her dress or the state of her hair. He couldn’t imagine Lady Fiona doing such a thing.

“Pardon, my lady?”

“The answer to life, the universe and everything is forty-two.” That clarified very little but there really wasn’t any good way to say that. “It’s from a series of books. Anyway we already have the answer to the cosmos, now we just need a question to make it make sense. Was wondering if that’s what you were finding up there in the clouds.”

“Ah, uh, no, not really any answers or questions up there.”

“So these are mind-blanking clouds. I like it. Might help me get through this meeting.” Lady Tiffany sighed.

“Oh, Tiffany.” Lady Fiona called. “Do have mind for your dress. Grass stains are so difficult to get out.”

“When you’re doing my wash then you can bitch about my grass stains.” Lady Tiffany muttered. “Oh, but don’t grass stains add… character?”

“Houses need character, Tiffany, clothes not so much.” Lady Fiona kissed Lady Tiffany on both cheeks–in greeting she said. From what Tate knew of with the other ladies, it  was irritating. Lady Tiffany’s spine was so stiff, he could practically hear her teeth grinding from here. Lady Fiona leaned away a faint smile on her face as if she’d won some sort of contest.

“Aren’t you going to greet Tiffany, dear?” Lady Fiona asked. Now it was Lock’s turn to send out subliminal teeth grindings, but he pulled Lady Tiffany into a hug causing one of the women to gasp, though Tate wasn’t sure which one.

“So, have you given any thought to the park?” Lady Fiona asked, as if the whole world hadn’t just tilted slightly.

“Park?” Lock and Lady Tiffany asked in curious unison.

“The memorial for Lock’s late uncle. I had an idea for the gazebo.”

“Oh. Since when,” Lady Tiffany’s eyebrow rose. “Are you into planning parks?”

“I’m not, usually, but Jen and I were talking and one of the things she mentioned was the lack of appropriate outdoor wedding venues.” Lock looked at Lady Tiffany who rolled her eyes.

“You enjoy that sunshine, Tate. It’s still an order.” The king murmured as his lady lead the way back towards Lock’s office blathering on about her ideas for a new park. Maybe I’ll take that time after all. Tate thought sitting back down on the grass. It’d be nice to be around people who make sense again.

Of course, being the only doctor in Shadowcrest meant that the peace and quiet she was currently enjoying could be shattered at any minute, accident, trouble with Hope, Heidi or Victoria going into labor early… Though Victoria swore she couldn’t be more than six months along, she certainly seemed further. She was already nearly as big as Heidi and Heidi was due within the month.

“And Sawyer swears you don’t know how to relax.” A familiar-and welcomed-voice said from the shadows of the porch.

“If he could stay out of trouble, I wouldn’t have to run him so hard or often.” Kennedy pushed herself up as Tiffany stepped into the sunlight. The other woman nodded and smiled as Kennedy patted the cushion.

“So, obviously I’m not interrupting anything.”

“Nope. Just enjoying the view.” Tiffany’s eyebrow rose slightly taking in the meadow around the house and the forest beyond. You couldn’t quite see lake Haven from here. Kennedy grinned as Emanuel came out of the garden shed/greenhouse–kinda ingenious that idea of Tiffany’s to put the shed right up against the back of the greenhouse–bare chested.

“Ah.” Tiffany mouthed, flashing Kennedy a grin, though it faded perhaps a shade too quickly.

“Oh, but it gets better.” Kennedy grinned hoping that it would cover any flash of sympathy that might have darted across Kennedy’s face. Kennedy wasn’t a huge believer in the Leave it to Beaver picket fence, what was so called “normal” was not necessarily a virtue. It denoted a lack of courage to follow one’s own path, as far as Kennedy was concerned. But, still, it was hard to be left behind.

And Kennedy knew that Tiff felt left behind. Everyone had partnered up like lovebirds, except Tiffany and Olivia. Being single didn’t seem to bother Olivia, not that she and Kennedy had spent all that much time talking. Still, Olivia seemed more bothered if anything, by the lack of sex aspect of being single than the lack of a Romeo pining away for her.

“Romeo was too Emo,” Olivia had said at the wedding reception after Fiona, Zahrah, Jennica and Victoria had gotten into a debate over Shakespearean “heroes”. The former two had sworn that Romeo was the be-all and end all, and the latter two, who’d probably actually read some Shakespeare outside of grade nine Literature class, couldn’t have disagreed more. “I’d betcha anything he’d have either gone off like a rocket as soon as things got heavy or he’d have been one of those jackasses who is paying attention to anything but the business at hand. I’ve known a couple of those, they tend to wax poetically about the carpet matching the drapes, and every bit of hinting that there are better thing he could use that so-clever tongue for would go unheeded.” She’d said with a laugh, knocking back a glass of–well, whatever she’d been drinking.

Sadly, it hadn’t just been the guys staring at her with gaping mouths. Only Kennedy, Tiffany, and Nessa hadn’t been looking at the blonde woman dazed (or confused), she and Tiff had been too busy laughing to gape and Nessa had her face buried in her crossed arms. “Give me somebody more like Edmund, from King Lear–granted dude was evil, but any guy who’s got two sisters killing each other to get with him, gotta have some bumpin’ skills. Or Richard III–think about it–despite a physical deformity of some kind, he was enough of a beast in the sack to get the widow of a dude he killed to agree to marry him while standing over her father-in-law’s body.” She’d continued blithely, as if not noticing the wide-eyed stares of those around her. “And Sir Ian’s portrayal of him, in the flick, I’m pretty sure melted some panties right off. Not bad for an old, gay dude.”

“Must everything be about sex to you, Olivia?” Phoebe had asked primly.

“Nah. I’m not into splooshing, so food really isn’t about sex with me.” Olivia’s tone had been bland as plain Wonder bread. And that had been a fun one, Kennedy was almost sure that Wesley’s face would have exploded from the surely painful rush of blood to it, as Olivia had calmly explained about just what splooshing was.

“What are you grinning about?” Tiffany asked, bringing Kennedy back to the here and now.

“Oh, just remembering Olivia and Romeo.” Kennedy said dryly. Tiffany snickered as Kennedy hoped that she would.

“Yeah, that was fun. I’d say I wonder what she’ll say at my wedding reception–except…” Tiffany trailed off and glanced off toward the grain silo in the distance. Kennedy took the moment to glance off toward Emanuel.

“Tiff, some day your prince will come. Don’t spend your winter hiatus planning the tower you’ll lock yourself up in.” Kennedy poked her shoulder.

“Or I’ll just get tired of waiting and marry Gray.”

“That’s a match made in someplace other than Heaven.” Kennedy commented dryly, to her nails. “You don’t have to go there just cause everyone else is getting married.”

“It’s better than Alistair isn’t it?”

“Marginally, though you would never marry Alistair.” Kennedy said. Though they’d never talked about it, she was pretty sure that Tiffany knew what happened to Tate, and shared Kennedy’s slow-burning hatred for the jackass.

“Well, I can’t imagine wanting to but…” She looked down at her hands.

“No, seriously. Not happening. Not never. I’ll sneak into his house and perform gender reassignment surgery on the bastard before you marry him just to have a husband and some babies.” Kennedy told her, startling a laugh out of Tiffany.

“Okay, but still. I don’t have a lot of options.”

“Well, we’re supposed to be getting some imports soon–don’t give up hope.” Kennedy said. “I mean, we’re here–stranger things have happened.”

“Point.” Tiffany sighed again.

“Dinner’s ready.” Emanuel’s head popped out of the patio door before Kennedy had any idea how to pull Tiff out of her funk. What good, really, were the options of a hundred thousand gold coins when you had your heart set on one particular nickle?

Still, by the time Tiffany left after dinner, she almost seemed back to her old self.

—

“Is something wrong with Tiffany?” Emanuel asked as they settled on the bed later that night.

“Crush. And as Jim Baker so wisely said about crushes in Sixteen Candles “If they were easy, they’d call ‘em something else.”.” Kennedy sighed and shook her head.

“Just she–likes somebody?”

“It’s not so easy as that, Emanuel. She likes somebody–but she also wants the whole–thing.” Emanuel looked at her blankly. “She wants a family. I dunno that she’s got a complete case of baby rabies or thinks she’ll die if she doesn’t have a man. That’s not Tiff. I think, if you really come down to it, she wants some place to call home. Not just a house. Some place, with people she loves, where she belongs.”

Emanuel absorbed that in a long moment of silence. “Kennedy?”

“Mmm?”

“Have–have you given any more thought to what we–talked about.” Wha–Oh, right. First comes love, then comes marriage, then comes the baby carriage. Kennedy bit back another sigh.

“I still don’t think right now is the best time for it.” She watched Emanuel’s face, but other than the light going out in his eyes, his expression didn’t change. There was something more there than he was telling her, but damned if she knew what it was. But a quick rack of her brains turned up nothing that she’d be willing to pin down.

Did he think it was something about him? She’d been absolutely truthful when he’d brought it up. In a country with one doctor and six couples who hadn’t been married a year, at least two babies on the way, and two–possibly three–couples who could get married before the year was out, though if you counted Alistair and Zahrah, there were possibly four. But Kennedy didn’t count Alistair and Zahrah, she refused to believe that the girl was that hare-brained. She would wake up before she hitched herself to that wagon–it was a bad time for the only doctor in that country to be pregnant.

But would Emanuel see that as the truth, the whole truth? She glanced to her left but Emanuel didn’t seem to be paying her any mind. He slid under the covers, pulling them up over his bare shoulders and turned on his side. Back–none too subtly–toward her.

“Emanuel.” Kennedy started to say.

“You gonna be awake much longer? I should be in early tomorrow so I can finish up drying the herbs I harvested today.”

“Not too much longer.” Kennedy said. He blew out the candle on his side of the bed, leaving Kennedy with nothing but her thoughts. How very typical. Tiff wants to be with the guy she wants, to be married, to be starting a family–or at least she thinks she does. And here I have to explain to my incredibly hot husband, who I love, but it’s complicated, why we shouldn’t be having a family yet.

And try and convince him that the decision didn’t have anything to do with him.

She leaned over to blow out the candle on her side of the bed, before sliding under the covers. Her hand was tentative as it touched Emanuel’s shoulder, as she slid cautiously closer, he didn’t say anything, but he at least softened the blow by glancing at her over his shoulder and relaxing his back into the front of her.

The last time they’d talked about this, they’d gone to bed angry and he’d lain so stiffly in bed, she’d finally given up and slept on the settee out on the patio. Maybe there’s hope for us yet, she thought as his fingers twined about hers.

These are just a few of the thoughts that have been running through my head the past few days. This is NOT a preface for saying I’m going to stop writing Shadowcrest permanently!! I am taking a short break, but I will be back and so will the story. But there may be some changes on the horizon for it.

Shadowcrest is, when distilled down, a fish out of water story, set in a post (localized) apocalyptic setting. I think that it could work as a story if it were set in Ancient Rome or in the Twenty-third century (a la Star Trek) or any medium in between.

I’ve believed for a long time that the setting is the most important character you have in a story. But like all characters if it’s not working any more, I don’t think there’s anything wrong with tweaking a character or even, sometimes gutting a character.

Shadowcrest is one of the longest going stories I’ve ever written, not in terms of story length, even if you jammed every thing I’ve written so far into a novel, it would maybe crest a hundred pages, I’ve probably got nearly a dozen finished or unfinished manuscripts sitting on my harddrive that are longer than that. But in that a year in, its still going strong, still interesting, and I still want to know what happens with these characters, and if you’re here, every week reading this, you’re probably still interested in what happens with these characters.

But I truly believe that some changes need to be made. What sort of changes? I don’t know that yet. I’m taking some time to try and figure that out, just a couple of weeks, a normal hiatus for me.

What I can say is:

• All of the characters will be back. (Including Alistair…) There may be some cosmetic changes, depending on what I decide. That is one of the things on the table. But even if I make Alistair wear a gorilla suit he’s still Alistair.
• My plot outline, which is planned out through the end of Season Two, is staying intact, all of the salient points and plot arcs I have in the works are still greenlighted.
• The soapy, trashy writing you’ve come to expect, plus my absolute obsession with sex-gone-wrong, will still be here.

What I can’t say is:

• That Shadowcrest’s current setting will be staying as is. The medi-esque, faux-European time and place are the first things up on the chopping block.
• The characters may or may not look exactly the same as regards costuming, hair, cosmetics, and even possibly some genetic changes. If I change the setting, the “look” I currently have for Shadowcrest may or may not make as much sense. However, I really want to stay true to the concept of the characters, so don’t expect to see Peyton all decked out in fluffy princess dresses with long Rapunzel hair.

But who knows. In a couple of weeks I may decide I like Shadowcrest as is and continue on unchanged.

Last thing: This is not a pity-post, I’m not looking for an ego-stroke, or a “Oh no, Andavri, we love Shadowcrest just as it is! Don’t change a thing!”. I just want to make you guys aware of what’s going through my mind and why I’m taking a bit of a break to figure things out.

When I know what’s going on with Shadowcrest, I’ll let you guys know what’s going on with Shadowcrest, thanks for reading, hopefully see you guys in a few weeks.

~Andavri

It didn’t look like anyone was here yet. While part of Tiffany was glad for that, given that meant she’d be alone with time to think, the rest of her knew why that was. And in the privacy of her own head she could admit that she wasn’t thrilled.

It really was too bad that the inn was the last project she had for the year. With winter moving in, she’d have nothing to do until spring came around and quite honestly, she wasn’t the sort of person who was happy with enforced idleness. Maybe I should take up a hobby. She thought. Learn to paint, or weave fabric, or grow plants. Or maybe she’d spend the winter months planning new public works buildings.

Something to keep her occupied. Because if she had to listen to Fiona lark on about anything much longer, she was going to kill her. And killing your king’s girlfriend was probably a bad idea.

Maybe I should spend the winter getting to know Gray. She snorted to herself as she pushed the gate open and stepped into the courtyard. Emanuel had done a really good job with the flowers outside. It was kind of riotously bright, but in a welcoming way. But Emanuel circled her back around the same old problem.

Because Emanuel had proposed to Kennedy, probably in counter to her “scandalous” idea of cohabitation. While it certainly wouldn’t bother Kennedy if people talked about her living with Emanuel without putting a ring on it, it would probably bother other people. And the stress of it bothering other people might put Emanuel back on the bottle.

But Kennedy’d be moving into her new house just after the wedding and that was going to leave her in the barn with Jennica and the idiots. Stupid was all over young like white on rice. She could live with the fact that Zahrah and Fiona still had some growing up to do. At least she hoped that at some point they’d grow up.

She just didn’t know how well she’d do with being cooped up in a house with the two of them all winter. Which she would be. Unless she wanted to subject all of her friends to old third wheel Tiffany–one or the other of them got married. She sighed and ran her hand over the back of one of the chairs.

And here in the privacy of her own head, she might as well be honest with herself, that was bothering her too. Her dad had always ruffled her hair and quoted Ferris Bueller at her “Life moves pretty fast. You don’t stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it.” And she did, it was always like she’d look up and there’d be another chunk of life gone by.

The night of the prom, she’d an hour and a half late to the dance because she and her date, Sherman Wallenstein, had been building an Eiffel Tower out of celery sticks and cream cheese frosting. Homecoming, in college, even the year they’d been winning, she spent the game in the library because it was quiet, and the one party she went to she spent it building a scale model of the great pyramid out of beer cans.

She’d always got caught up in a project or an idea or whatever and suddenly there was life, gone by. She’d promised her dad–or at least his memory–when she ended up here in Shadowcrest that she wouldn’t do it again. She’d live life here and now.

Except she hadn’t. She’d gotten caught up in building and city planning–then the castle. The castle. Hmmm, was that door hung square? She paused and tested the close on it. She’d give her left arm for a laser level. Well, actually not. She needed both arms. How about Fiona’s left arm?

All Fiona did with them was gesture wildly, do her nails and wrap them around Lock like a Kudzu vine. But that was mean. She probably did more than that–besides it wasn’t fair to inconvenience someone as much as losing a limb would just so she could get a bit more square on a door. Besides, the door seemed square enough.

Tiffany had woken up nearly eighteen months after arriving in Shadowcrest to find herself with nothing much to do, a whole season of idleness ahead of her, and everyone neatly paired off around her. Except Tate. Who was a really sweet kid–but not exactly the man of her dreams. Besides, he was sweet on Zahrah. Although who knew where that was going. And Gray, who she spent an hour a week arguing with over matters of city planning. And not in the cute When Harry Met Sally sort of arguing.

There wasn’t even any–passion in it–the sort of arguing she and Gray did was as interesting and exciting as Melba toast. And other than their weekly arguments about the way she was rebuilding Shadowcrest, they had nothing in common, no shared passions, nothing to talk about. The one person of the right gender she did have that with–was taken.

And she wasn’t equipped to take on her “rival”. Sure, maybe, in the movies it would all work out. But Tiffany knew they weren’t living in the movies. He wasn’t going to see her drab-feathers past all her tinsel and flash.

Was it sad that he really did rather remind her of Sherman? The only thing Tiffany had had that was close to a boyfriend in high school. Why, she didn’t know, they looked nothing alike, and even their personalities were different. Sherman had been brilliant, but he had no concept of people. He had no philosophy to offset his science. Math, he understood, emotion he didn’t.

Tiffany flopped down on a stool and stared at the wine keg ahead of her. Nice of Emanuel to donate his stash of “the good stuff” to the cause of opening the pub. Kennedy said it hadn’t even been her idea. That was good though, it meant that he was really serious about getting sober, which was good. And then Kennedy would get married.

Maybe–the borders were opening–that was scheduled to happen in just a few days. That was why they’d been pushing to get the inn open now. Not that they expected too many people crossing over the border before winter set in, but it’d be better to have a place to house them.

Maybe, if Fiona and Zahrah get too annoying I’ll take one of the rooms here. She thought, tracing the wood on the bar with one finger. The door opened behind her and she turned to look at the king who grinned at her for a moment, but continued to hold the door open and her stomach fell, so she didn’t immediately climb down off the bar stool.

“You know you’re supposed to rise when the king comes into the room.” Fiona’s voice, complete with affected girlish lilt, came as she was trying to convince her insides that they really didn’t need to go check on the kitchen without the rest of her.

“No, really?” Tiffany heard herself say before she could stop herself. Both Wesley and Lock gave her puzzled glances while Fiona glared. Jennica offered a smile that seemed sympathetic, but who knew if it actually was, considering she and Fiona were best friends.

“Well–,” Fiona started.

“She knows, Fi. Leave off.” Jennica said.

“Your majesty, Sir Wesley, Fiona, Jennica.” Tiffany said by way of greeting as she walked over to the group of new arrivals.

“Sorry we’re late. The ride took us a little longer than we thought it would, Lady Tiffany.” Lock said. He only ever called her that any more when Fiona was around. It probably wasn’t a coincidence.

“Meh, it’s okay. I just went and checked all the doors and windows and what not, not like I exactly need my hand held for that part, your majesty.” Tiffany said.

“So why do you need King Lachlan to come to every one of your buildings before you finish it?” Fiona asked.

“Uh, habit? I mean usually the contractor and architect would meet up with the client before signing off on the building.” Tiffany said after a moment’s thought. Now that Fiona mentioned it she didn’t know why she did it other than that–not that she really wanted to admit that to Fiona.

“But isn’t your client here Olivia?” Fiona asked.

“And she should be here soon, too.” Tiffany said, trying valiantly not to let Fiona get her goat.

“But couldn’t you just do the walk-through with her?” Fiona pressed.

“Lady Fiona.” Sir Wesley said, fidgeting uncomfortably.

“So what’s with all the plants?” Fiona said, seemingly changing the subject.

“I thought Lady Olivia liked plants.” Lock said, sounding puzzled by the comment.

“Well, I just thought this was a bar, not a greenhouse.”

“Not every bar has to be a dance club or smoky dive. And I do like plants.” Olivia said from behind Fiona, causing the dark-haired girl to jump. “I don’t happen to think pub and plants have to be mutually exclusive.” Olivia grinned a rather feral grin at Fiona.

“The place looks amazing, Tiffany.” She gave Tiffany a hug. “It turned out better than I imagined.”

“And she imagined a lot.” Zahrah put in.

“Silence, peasant.” Olivia tossed her head regally. “I mean, please be quiet, assistant, you’re ruining my mystique. So, how bout we christen my new bar?” She chuckled, brown eyes sparkling.

“Don’t you want to make sure the building isn’t going to fall down, first?” Fiona asked.

“Nah, I trust Tiff, why? Don’t you?” Olivia asked, Fiona’s mouth worked for a minute before closing in a bitter line.

“So, do I get some wine?” Zahrah asked, hopping onto her barstool as Fiona slid into the seat next to Tiffany, leaving Lock with the end.

“I dunno, you legal?” Olivia said pouring a wine into the glasses.

“Um. Am I legal?” Zahrah looked at Wesley and Lock who exchanged puzzled glances.

“Legal for what, exactly?” Wesley finally offered.

“To drink.” Zahrah’s tone and expression were just so–teenager–as she said it. Like it was the stupidest question anyone had ever asked. “What is Shadowcrest’s legal drinking age?”

“I’m gonna guess by the blank looks, there isn’t one, drink up, kiddo.” Olivia slid a glass down the bar at Zahrah. Rather amazingly it skidded to a stop without slopping over, right in front of Zahrah. After they all had a glass of wine, Olivia raised her glass and intoned solemnly. “And here’s to the bar with no name.” And if Tiffany glanced to her left before adding her “Hear, hear.” and drank maybe a bit too much for a toast, no one commented.

Fox paused for a moment and looked hard at Jarrett. The other man didn’t seem to notice his presence, which wasn’t like him. If he’d been doing something like tending a skittish animal or something, perhaps, but never something like just raking leaves. That and he looked exhausted, dark circles under his eyes, his mouth drawn at the corners.

Was he ill? Fox wondered, a thrill of fear snaking its way up his spine. He had no idea why Jarrett needed to talk with him, just that he’d sent Zarah past the shop. And pressing her for details was useless, she had all the staid seriousness of a kitten chasing a butterfly. And like most young things, an obsessive interest in herself only caring about others where they abutted her and her own self-interest. Surely, though, surely Lady Kennedy could cure any illness?

Jarrett wasn’t an old man for all that he seemed it sometimes. He was only three years older than Fox. Old enough that he could easily have resented having to start over. Could have resented it and no one would have blamed him for it. But that wasn’t like Jarrett, if he cursed and railed against the gods, he did so quietly with-in his own head and didn’t seem to let it stop him from doing whatever he needed to do.

Still, Fox had to admit to himself, if the plague had done nothing else, it had made them all far more aware of their own mortality. And that hung a lot heavier on Jarrett than it did on the rest of them, making him seem older than his six-and-thirty years. If he were sick…

“Fox.” Jarrett said with a smile looking up from his pile of leaves, finally, though the smile did nothing for the haunted look in his eyes.

“Jarrett.” Fox smiled, hoping that his concerns weren’t clear in his eyes. Fox had been a salesman far too long to not be able to read people and Jarrett more than most wouldn’t appreciate the perceived intrusion.

“I hope I’m not taking you away from anything important.” Jarrett batted the rake at the pile of leaves by his feet, shifting maybe half a dozen of them further onto the pile but otherwise the action was unnecessary.

“Of course not. I have plenty of time for my friends and the latest batch of cloth just came out of the dye vats and needs to dry before I can do anything else with it.” Fox said.

“Yes, but what if you have a customer?”

“It’s slow right now, pretty much everyone has either placed their orders or isn’t ordering anything at the moment. Besides Phoebe is tending to the shop and she’s better than me at any rate.” Fox smiled. “I swear she could sell a watering can to a raincloud.” Jarrett chuckled. Was it a bit hollow sounding? Fox closed his eyes and sketched a cross on his palm.

Some might have interpreted the gesture as being a ward against evil. But to Fox, it wasn’t so much a ward as a hope. A hope that the gods were with him and a those he cared about.

Jarrett didn’t seem to notice or if he did, he didn’t react. He was probably used to Fox doing that. Fox had done it so long that he wasn’t even aware of it half the time, like people biting their lip or tugging their ears.

“Well, I’m not glad your business is slow. I mean you’re in the process of making over your house.” Fox flushed.

“Aye.” Fox agreed.

“Preacher livin’ in sin, huh?” Rather than his face and eyes lightening with amusement, Jarrett’s eyes went dark and his face drawn.

“Actually, no. She has the master bedroom, I’ve got one of the upstairs rooms.” Fox said. “She says that marriage is a big step and that we should know what we’re getting into before we take that step.”

“Aye, I suppose she’s right.” Jarrett’s shoulders drooped.

“Jarrett, I know that you appreciate your privacy, but, I sense that all is not well. Would you like to tell me about it?” Fox asked.

“Actually, aye, I would, it was why I asked you to come by.” Jarret said, setting the rake against the fence, an action that caused Fox’s brow to arch upward, he never left his tools out. He followed Jarrett to the house, the older man hesitating at table, his hand reaching toward the chair Nessa normally sat in to talk before jerking back.

“Care for a game?” Fox gestured at the chessboard and saw, for the first time relief in Jarrett’s face.

“Aye. That–sounds good.” Jarrett said. The figures were lined up with precision on squares and Fox was contemplating his first move.

“Fox, I know you’re a good man, but have you ever done–that just–changed everything, and not–not in a good way?” He asked with a sigh.

“Oh, aye. I think we all have.” Fox said. Jarrett didn’t ask him to elaborate and he didn’t offer. Jarrett wasn’t asking for an anecdote as Blake would have been, from what Fox knew of his friend, it was more a question to put him into the right frame of mind.

“I still love Ivy.” Fox nodded and took one of Jarrett’s pawns. “But, lately, I’ve been–I’ve been thinking about someone else.”

“There’s no harm in that.” Fox told him.

“In that, nah, but, then the other night, I did something–I think there might have been harm in. After we left the castle after Hope was born, Nessa and I came back here–we–talked, well, more she talked and I listened. She told me–something about her previous life–about the man who–hurt her–and about the friend who tried to save her.” Jarrett took his bishop, but opened himself up for Fox to take his rook. The thread of conversation stopped as Jarrett pondered his next move.

If there was one thing any preacher got used to was when a man was making a confession of any sort, it was a long pause. Even those men who found words the cheapest were skinflints with them when it came time to admit a wrong.

“She blames herself for her friend’s death. And she had nothing to do with it, I mean, if we were all always to blame for not being there for a friend…” Jarrett trailed off and Fox nodded again. “I tried to tell her that things happen–that events are–bigger than we are–but…” Jarrett trailed off again.

“Check.” Fox said into the silence.

“I kissed her.” Jarrett said. Fox blinked.

“Is that supposed to mess up my game?” Jarrett chuckled as Fox hoped but shook his head.

“Actually–I–I did more than that.” Jarrett said. “We–um–,” He colored and looked away.

“You made love?” Fox asked when it was obvious that Jarrett was not going to continue.

“We–did.” Jarrett said, then fell silent.

“You know, Jarrett, the Gods have so much to worry about–a man and a maid, even those not in the bounds of marriage–probably matters very little to the Gods. You know, in some of the northern areas, a couple often doesn’t handfast until after the lass has missed her first course. It guarantees fertility.” Fox said causing Jarrett to blush again.

“It isn’t the love-making, Fox. I mean, I’d never taken a woman other than my wife to my bed.” Jarrett said.

“You’re a better man than many.” Fox said.

“But it was–never like that.” Jarrett said. “I never felt that way in Ivy’s arms, Fox. And now…”

“Now?” Fox prompted.

“I’ve betrayed a friend, a woman I care about, I’ve sinned, and I’ve betrayed Ivy’s memory.” Jarrett said.

“I think I missed something.” Fox said blankly.

“Nessa–She didn’t understand what she was getting into.” Jarrett ticked off on his finger.

“She did, I’m sure. You’re not the only one who talks to me, Jarrett.” Fox said when the other man turned to look at him.

“I wasn’t trying to–,” Jarrett cringed.

“Jarrett, if men only did the things they were trying to do–we would have no need for forgiveness.” Fox told him, shaking his head.

“Forgiveness? How could she ever forgive me?”

“She probably already has–if she blamed you to begin with.” Fox told him. “She has a great amount of heart.”

“Which she are you talking about?” Jarrett asked.

“Which one were you talking about, my answer’s the same both ways. Jarrett, Ivy loved you enough that she wanted you to go on. To feel again–to love again.” Fox said. “And Nessa, Gods above, Jarrett. Nessa! She wouldn’t have to forgive you, cause she’d never blame you and you know it!” Jarrett sighed and stared at his hands. Fox put his hands on Jarrett’s shoulders and looked at him for a long moment.

“The sin isn’t in doing wrong. Men do wrong. Men do wrong all the time. I think–the biggest sin–is not making things right. Jarrett, if you don’t make things right with her, then that is a very grave, very serious mistake and about the only way I see that Ivy would be unhappy with you.” Fox told him.

—

“Nessa–I–”

“Jarrett.” Nessa said turning to face him later that afternoon.

“It was my fault, I apologize.” Jarrett told her.

“No, really, it was mine.” Fox was right, damn him, how was he going to convince her…

“It wasn’t. I am to blame here.” Nessa started to open her mouth to refute it.

“No one is to blame here! It was good sex, damn it. You’re not supposed to walk around flogging yourself, unless you’re into that, which I’m sure neither of you are, crying “Mea Culpa!” You’re supposed to be walking around saying “you know, that was completely fucking awesome, when can we do it again?” Get your fuckin’ script straight and stop sounding like a chick flick.” Olivia said from behind them and they both whirled to face her.

“It was just sex, you know. People bone each other every day.” She crossed her arms over her chest and glared at them. “Can things please get back to normal around here? Or close enough, I mean I’ll try to ignore any and all wall thumping if it means you’re both okay.” And just what did one say to that? Jarrett wondered.

“Livvie?” Olivia wouldn’t have thought she’d have fallen asleep so quickly after the evening she had. Worrying about your best friend, then coming home to find her not in her room–going into your other roommate’s room to ask if they’d seen her only to find them both naked in his bed–not exactly a lullaby and a warm glass of milk. But apparently she had dropped off fairly quickly.

“Mmm?”

“Livvie?” Nessa’s voice broke and she was wringing her hands together.

“I’m waking up, hang on, hang on.” She sat up and stretched, peering into the dark. “What’s up, sweetie?”

“I–I,” She cut off with a whimper.

“If this has to do with–where you fell asleep tonight, I know.” And would really rather not revisit the whole thing. There was something, no matter how much pornography you’d watched–or suffered through because you knew the evening was going to end with a request for permission to stuff a dick up your ass–it was a whole different ball of wax to walk in on people you knew–even if it was just post coital snuggles and sleep.

“Oh.” Nessa’s voice broke, Olivia patted the bed beside her and reached for the flint and steel to light the candles on the bedside table.

“Aww, sweetie, it’s not like I walked in on you guys gettin’ kinky or anything.” Olivia said as Nessa curled up in the far corner of the bed. Nessa flushed and played with her hair. “There ain’t nothing wrong with getting a little.” Olivia tapped Nessa’s knee with her fingers.

“I took advantage of him. He was vulnerable.” Olivia kept from dropping her head down and groaning by will and lots of it.

“Don’t pull out Jolene’s greatest hits, Ness. There’s no way in hell that you did anything to him that he didn’t want to do. You’re both adults, you’re both capable of saying no, and you both have way too much respect for each other to go ahead with the plan if the other one wasn’t on board.” Olivia told her bluntly. “Don’t make this angsty, Nessa, please. If there were a guy who hit my chimes like I know Jarrett taps yours, I would have tumbled him into bed long before now.” She rolled over onto her stomach and looked at Nessa for a long moment.

“Liv, I like him.” Nessa whispered.

“And you think tapping him will change that?” Olivia asked bluntly.

“How will he be able to respect me?”

“Because, sweetheart, the man doesn’t know how not to respect a woman.” She told Nessa who hung her head. “He doesn’t. And he’s not the sort of man who is going to blame you for the fact that you guys bumped.”

“How many euphemisms for sex have you got?” Nessa asked with exasperation.

“Not a clue. I never counted.” Olivia said. “But I’m not going to let you confuse the issue. You can’t go back in time and not have fucked, so you have to go forward–and deal with the fact that you guys hooked up.”

“Maybe…” Nessa traced a scar on her leg with one finger.

“No. Seriously, no. Even if it were possible, which I’m not sold it would be–if it were why wouldn’t Lachlan have brought Kennedy back in time, then gone back with her and had her fix the plague? Would you wanna go explain to Lachlan why you wanted him to try and send you back in time again?” Olivia asked. Nessa blushed again and stared at her knees. “Well?”

“No.” Nessa whispered again.

“And really, if it weren’t gonna make things complicated between you two, which is nothing new, not really, would you want to go back in time and not sleep with him?” Olivia asked.

“Livvie!”

“Was he that bad? I mean I would think–you know–not that you can always tell–but. Just, seriously, was he bad?”

“No.” Nessa barely breathed the word and though Olivia had heard it, she wouldn’t be herself if she let an opportunity like this pass her by.

“I didn’t hear that.”

“No. He. No.” Nessa finally repeated at an audible level.

“Was he good then?” Nessa shot her a black look. “Better than Mitch?”

“Mindblowingly better.” Nessa was blushed a charming shade of eggplant.

“See! Go back in time and change the bad sex, not the mindblowing stuff.” Olivia said with a chuckle as Nessa buried her face in her hands. “I’ll let you smack me for that if you can tell me you’re not hiding laughter at all.”

“I can’t.” Came the muffled reply. Good. There were so many things that Nessa hated herself for that Olivia just would not let her hate herself for this. There were a lot of things that deserved angst. Sex with a hot guy that you really, really liked, unless there was a reason that you really, really shouldn’t be with him, wasn’t one of them. Olivia shook her head. Too bad there wasn’t a Crestian who did hit her chimes, she could use a little mindblowing sex. The last time she’d been in bed with someone was with Justin–and that certainly was nothing to write home about.

“Livvie?” Nessa asked. Olivia blinked and looked at her. “Is something wrong?”

“Nah, this is your existential crisis.” Olivia said. “I’m supposed to be cheering you up and telling you to not get all emo over sex with a hot guy, not drag you down.”

“Turn about is fair play.” Nessa said in a prim schoolteacher voice that started Olivia giggling, which started Nessa giggling until they both looked sharply at the wall that separated Olivia’s room from Jarrett’s and clamped their hands over their mouths. “If you want to talk about it, I wanna hear.”

“Oh, I was just thinking I could use a little sex that the word mindblowing featured in without the suffix ly and the adjective bad attached to it.” Olivia batted her lashes. Nessa giggled again then glanced at the wall.

“So you were thinking about Justin?”

“He does kinda attach himself to sex–and not in a good way.” Olivia shrugged. “Reason six thousand and ninety three why I never should have married him.” Nessa nodded in understanding.

“Well, maybe–” Nessa shrugged.

“I’m definitely test driving the next one before I put a ring on it.” Olivia said with a shrug. “Which you could look at your little adventure tonight as a test drive, you know, take it around the block a couple of times before you park it in your garage.”

“More sex euphemisms?” Nessa asked.

“I’m tired.” Olivia pointed out. “My mind’s kinda stuck in the gutter anyway, and any checks and balances I have on my mouth clock out about the time I put a nightie on.”Nessa blushed.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be. Hey, as my favorite coffee cup said “Being a friend isn’t about being there when it’s convenient, it’s about being there when it isn’t.” I don’t want you to think you can’t come sit on my bed and bitch about hot sex until the cows come home, no matter what time of the night it is.” Olivia said. “Just don’t get pissed if my mind’s one track–and that track is to Guttersville.”

“I’ll let you get some sleep.” Nessa slid off the bed and took a few steps toward the door.

“Thanks, Ness. You get some too. Don’t just go lay in your room and stare at the ceiling and feel guilty.” Olivia commanded as she slipped under the comforter.

“Livvie?” Nessa hesitated, turning around to look at her.

“Mmm?”

“Can–can I stay with you tonight?” Nessa asked, twisting her fingers again.

“Well, I’m not as hot as the last person you were in bed with tonight, but if you want to. Just shove those pillows over.” Nessa nodded and clambered back onto the bed, curling up next to Olivia.

Olivia had almost fallen asleep, was sure that Nessa was asleep, when she heard the other woman whisper. “Thank you, Livvie.”

“Welcome, kid.”

Nessa curled her legs up underneath her and glanced sideways at the sofa’s other occupant. The light from the fireplace caught in his hair, rendering it a halo of gold. His brown eyes, normally a soft sable were indistinguishable from his pupil. The scars softened by the firelight. She’d never sat like this with Mitch.

He’d always been restless, shifting, drumming his fingers, getting up to get a beer, belching, scratching himself, lighting a cig. Never appreciating silence for the sake of silence, he’d have flipped on the tv or the stereo, then raced through tv channels. But silence didn’t bother Jarrett much, they’d been sitting here watching the fire for nearly half an hour, the sound of the flames and the occasional swish of hair or the sound of whiskers bristling as Jarrett rubbed his cheek and neck.

“Nessa?” He finally tore his eyes away from the flames and looked at her.

“Hmmm?” She said, rubbing a sore spot on her neck.

“Why–I know–,” he faltered and looked back at the fireplace, a faint stain of red at his cheeks.

“You wanna know why I’m not all “yay! Baby!”, right?” Nessa asked. He sighed but nodded.

“I wondered if it had anything to do with your–friend.” Jarrett muttered toward his hands.

“Kian, no. He was the one who got me through it. But–no.” She sighed and pondered for a minute.

“You–don’t have to tell it–if you don’t want to.” Jarrett told her. “I know–I don’t always like–talking.” Here he was giving her the perfect excuse not to talk about it. But she found that oddly, she did sorta want to talk about it. Or rather, she sort of wanted to tell him, as Olivia never failed to point out, if anyone in Shadowcrest got her, it was Jarrett.

“Nah.” She shrugged. “I got pregnant–about five years ago. I-I lost the baby.”

“Oh.” He said fidgeting with his cuff. Oh, way to open up there, Nessa. Trying to get your picture by the word Terse in the dictionary? “Did it have something to do with horses?” Jarrett finally asked as she was trying to unstick the words from her throat.

She stared at him for a long moment. “Where did that come from?”

“Just–you said you didn’t ride anymore–you stopped about five years ago.”

“Oh. Well, not directly. It’s not like I got kicked by a horse or anything and lost the baby. It’s not that clear-cut, but you’re right, I haven’t ridden, not since I lost the baby. I don’t have the heart for it anymore.” Nessa admitted, checking Jarrett’s profile He looked sad–and confused.

“Riding was how I was gonna get out of my hometown. After my mama left my daddy, he shut down–and the only thing there was time for was his businesses. So, being the oldest I was the one being parent fell to. But I always felt like it wasn’t ever good enough. I wasn’t mama. My meatloaf wasn’t good enough, I didn’t double knot Bryan’s sneakers right.” She shook her head. “I wasn’t so good at school either. I mean I did okay, but my heart wasn’t in schoolin’. But I loved to ride. I’d come home from school–and I had two hours before my little brothers got outta school.”

“Once I was on that horse, god, it was like flyin’. So, one of my uncles, on a visit, suggested that I enter the barrel riding competition at fair. And I did pretty good, came in second. And my dad actually saw me–for once, he was proud. So I swore next year I was gonna come in first.” Nessa brushed a strand of hair out of her face.

“Did you?” Jarrett asked. Nessa nodded.

“Yeah, I think that first trophy was the proudest he ever was of me. After that my dad even hired a housekeeper, so I could focus on my riding. And suddenly I had something I loved that I could do well, and it’d get me the hell outta that town. So when everybody else in my class was packin’ up their cars and heading off for college or getting promoted at the Piggly Wiggly or the DQ, I packed my crap up in the back of an old dodge with a one-horse trailer on the back and hit the rodeo circuit.” She stared at the flame for a minute.

“Then–one night, couple years later–I was practicing by myself and I missed a turn and I fell off. Broke my hip and landed all wrong. I had to go through a bunch of physical therapy before I could ride again. That’s where I met–Mitch.”

“That’s the man that Olivia calls a corpse–,” Jarrett’s blush was so red, she could see it even in the dim light.

“Corpsefucker–yeah, that’d be him. I was young and stupid and I’d never met a guy like him–knowing what I know now, I’m positive that was a good thing. It got hot and heavy really quick.” She sighed but held up a restraining hand when he started to open his mouth, even without saying anything she knew what he was going to say. “It’s okay. I’m okay.” For once, she could say that–when talking about Mitch and mean it.

“I swore to myself the first time he hit me that as soon as I was back on the circuit I was leaving his ass. Then I found out I was pregnant. And that had it’s own set of problems. My hip wasn’t quite 100%, doctor told me to take it easy. That meant I couldn’t be training and I had an arrangement with the place where I boarded Almond Joy, to come do some horse training work in exchange for board for my horse. I couldn’t guarantee that I could find something like that somewhere else. So I stayed and Mitch came back around.” She leaned back, dropping her head back and staring up at the ceiling.

Jarrett said nothing, but tentatively touched her hand. Normally this was the last time she’d want someone to touch her, but something about his hand, bigger and as work-worn as hers, felt safe, comfortable. It reminded her of Kian, the the way he’d had of telling her that he’d always be there without saying a word.

“We got into a fight one night when I was about halfway along. He–threw me down the stairs at this motel we were staying in. When I came to at the hospital–they told me I’d lost the baby.” Her voice broke. “After that, I was hopelessly locked to the ground. I sold my horse–I couldn’t ride him anymore.” She stumbled to her feet and and toward the fireplace.

“Kian bought him. My horse. He was bound and determined to see me back in that saddle. And I always had an excuse, just like I always had an excuse for going back to that cocksucker. If I left him once, I left him fifty times. I knew he wouldn’t change. I knew it and I still went back.” Nessa said. She heard the soft creak of a floorboard and felt Jarrett’s arm wrap around her shoulder as she buried her face in her hands. “He wanted me to go with him that last trip south. He begged me and I wouldn’t go. And if–if I’d just gone, maybe I could have had the chance to save him.”

“What happened?” Jarrett asked.

“Kian–was gay. In the–I’m a man who likes to go to bed with other men sort of way. He wasn’t in your face about it–but he didn’t hide it either. I loved that about him cause he was just so take me or leave me. I ain’t changin’ for you. He was in this restaurant with a friend of his. And when he left, there were these four guys in the parkin’ lot, who took exception to him.” Nessa buried her face in her hands. “They beat him to death, right there in the parking lot of some shitty little road side diner. The one person who gave me hope that maybe this world wasn’t as fucked beyond belief as I thought it was–and these–monsters–just–took all that love and all that hope away cause he was different than them.”

“Oh, Nessa.” Jarrett breathed into her hair and she leaned into his broad chest. His big hand stroked her hair and her shoulder.

“I miss him–and all I could think about when they were standing there with the baby and teasing Blake was how much I wish I had gotten to hold my baby. How much I wish he could be here with me–joking and teasing like he used to.” Nessa said. “That makes me horrible doesn’t it?” She blinked the tears out of her eyes.

“How so?”

“Me-me-me it’s all me.” She said, pulling away from him.

“No more than me.” Jarrett said, lightly catching her arm a few steps later. “You know what I was thinking when we were waiting?” Nessa shook her head. “I was thinking about my kids–what it was like waiting for them to be born–what was like when all I could do was wait for them to die.”

“Yeah, but the plague just happened, Jarrett! You couldn’t have done anything.” Nessa protested.

“So did those men who killed your friend.” Jarrett said, his heart in his eyes. “And what makes you think you could have stopped them?”

“I…”

“Things happen, Nessa, sometimes they just happen. And no matter how much you want to stop them or change them, doesn’t matter. It’s bigger than you.” Jarrett said, his voice soft but fierce. Her hands, almost of their own volition, rose and cupped his face, his stubble, for all that it sounded bristly and scratchy was so much softer than Mitch’s was.

Their lips met somewhere in the middle, locking together. She made a soft sound and he started to release her. But she locked her arms around his neck, not wanting to let go, not wanting to let the world intrude this time. This felt more right than she’d felt in years–standing here with him like this–it was like, for the first time, it didn’t matter.

Not that it didn’t happen, but that it didn’t matter.