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.

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.

“We meet here again, Mr. Smith.” Lady Peyton laughed. Ren tried not to look blank, which just made Lady Peyton throw her head back further, the sunlight shimmering off her platinum hair, her gray eyes shining near silver, apparently he hadn’t hid it very well at all.

“Uh–aye?” Ren said when she looked at him expectantly. She shook her head. “So, what does this fine morning find you doing.”

“Being awake, apparently.” She shrugged. Ren cocked his head to the side. “Mornings, in my view at least are really only there to keep night and afternoon from bumping into each other. “But you can’t sleep around here after the sun starts rising, Dr. Misra’s day starts at Oh-my-god and woe to anyone who is not their most productive when it’s still dark out.”

“Uh–I’m sorry?”Ren said.

“For what, you’re not the one waking me up at an hour where even the birds roll over and hit the snooze alarm and then expecting me to be happy about it.” Lady Peyton shook her head. “As for what I’m about to do, well, there’s a never ending parade of things I probably should do, help Heidi in the garden, work on those fabric samples Fox wants me to try weaving, making a new set of cups for the kitchen. But I don’t think I’m doing any of those things today. I think today I’m gonna play hooky.”

“Hooky?” She was so different, how could you love a woman who could talk for an hour and you didn’t understand a single word that she said? Or if you understood the word it wasn’t in a context you did.

“Yeah, that’s what they’d call it when you should be at school but weren’t. There’s this patch of clouds that just needs to be studied today, and I think that that is what I’m going to do.”

“Study the clouds?”

“Haven’t you ever done that?” Lady Peyton asked. “Just say and stared at the sky, watched for dragons and hippopotamuses and Sneezy the dwarf in the clouds?”

“Not–not since I was a very young lad.” Ren admitted.

“Then it’s time you did again,” Lady Peyton said. “Play hooky with me.” She smiled and Ren felt his resolve crumbling. He had stuff to be doing. There was a long list of things that he needed to get done. But somehow, with her smiling at him like that, he just didn’t want to go do it. He followed as she lead him off to a space behind the barn, between the two sheds.

The grass was soft and just slightly cool as they sat on it. Though the clouds on the horizon could have spelled rain, or even snow, the air held nothing but the promise of spring, blossoms and new leaves, fresh grass. So different than last year when the air still held the smell of things burned.

“So what do you see?” She asked as she laid back on the grass and he laid back also.

“Um…”

“That one,” She pointed to a cloud. “It looks like an elephant with wings.”

“Uh, aye?”

“No, c’mon, try!” Peyton turned gray eyes toward him. “What about that one?” She pointed to another cloud.

“A bat?” Ren said after a moment of attempting to decipher the shape. It looked like a cloud. But this seemed important to Peyton and so he had to try.

“No, it more looks like moose antlers.”

“Oh.” Apparently he was bad at this. Peyton looked at him before sitting up.

“Ren, you’re not getting this wrong. It’s–open to interpretation. So if I tell you that that one looks like Elvis in a parrot-head hat, you can tell me no, it looks like King George smoking a joint. And we both might be right.” Her hair fell into her eyes and he had the overwhelming urge to brush it back. Except–what if that was too forward?

“…Did King George do that?” He asked instead.

“I dunno.”

“Oh.”

“You are so cute.” Peyton laughed, cocking her head to the side.

“I–uh–I am?”

“Adorable.” He bit the inside of his lip, uncertain what to say to that. He never had the right words. They just weren’t… they never came at the right time, if they came at all.

A scream rocked the idyllic morning. “Heidi!” Peyton shot to her feet with a speed Ren could only blink at for a moment. She was running before he could even get up.

“What happened?” Heidi asked.

“The–it was,” the boyish tenor that was stumbling for an answer, rough in a way that Ren had never heard, was still unmistakable. Sawyer.

“Oh, my god!” Peyton shrieked. “Kennedy!” She pelted off toward a shed. “Kennedy!” Ren rounded the corner as she went the other way, only to pull up short and gasp.

Sawyer was gasping and sobbing, his back against the stone fence. Heidi knelt on the other side of a prone form. The coppery scent of blood caught up in the thick smell of blossoms. He was pretty sure, though, he recognized those boots.

“The animals, they just–I ain’t never seen nothing like it! We were up in the lower pasture and I dunno what happened!” Sawyer said. “And then sudden Jarrett went down. And I got to him quick as I could, but, it wasn’t…”

Some disconnected part of Ren paused for a moment in wonder. It was over half a mile from the lower pasture to here, how had Sawyer, slim, practically waif-like Sawyer, carried Jarrett over half a mile. Jarret was a big man, nearly as big as Ren and Ren wasn’t sure he could have carried Jarrett down the street, let alone halfway across town.

By the time it took him to get from the corner of the barn to halfway down it, Kennedy had materialized out of nowhere. She took in the scene with a quick glance then turned to Ren. “Go get the King.” Ren nodded quickly and bolted.

Ren would see Sawyer’s face, hear his plaintive voice apologizing for a long, long time. “I’m sorry, Lady Kennedy, I’m sorry.”

“Sawyer, it’s okay, we just need to get him into the house now.”

Ren didn’t slow, he could see Emanuel and Fox look at him as he cut through the yard at the merchant lot, see Lord Dolph and Sir Camden in their garden, but he didn’t stop, nothing stopped him until he stood facing the door of the King’s cottage. He knocked, a loud rapping sound like a woodpecker on a tree.

“Master Ren!” Tate, the King’s servant, looked shocked to see him there.

“Is the king available? It’s an emergency.”

“I–” Tate began to say.

“Yes, I am, what is it?” King Lachlan stepped out of the gloom in the hall and into the sunlight, a book still in hand.

“Jarrett’s hurt. Hurt bad. I don’t know what happened. Lady Kennedy just told me to get you.” He didn’t hardly look at the king, who was he to demand that the king go anywhere, even to save the life of a man. King Phillip wouldn’t have, not for a butcher, a peasant.

But Lachlan had never been King Phillip. “Tate, grab my things.” King Lachlan said sharply. The boy bobbed his head and took off quick as a squirrel.

It all seemed a blur, he couldn’t remember if he walked back to the barn or the king had done something else, all he knew was that the next thing he really remembered was walking into the barn, the king to his right, Sir Wesley a few steps behind. Sawyer and Jolene sitting side by side on the sofa, not speaking and certainly not touching and Peyton pacing the floor like a caged wolf behind them.

The King and Sir Wesley both headed for the staircase after Peyton had pointed upward in response to Lachlan’s inquiry as to where Jarrett was.

“Anything?” Ren asked.

“They–say no news is good news.” Peyton said, her face starting to crumble.

—

Why him? Why Jarrett? Sawyer would have cursed, would have screamed, if he could have done anything to burn through the apathy that stole his strength and his breath.He could hear Lady Jolene crack her neck, first to one side, then to the other. It seemed to be a nervous tick. He’d never noticed.

“Wanna talk about it?” Lady Jolene’s voice murmured.

Sawyer opened his mouth to say no. “Why him?” He found himself asking instead.

“I don’t know.”

“If anyone deserved to be left alone it should be him. Unless…”

“Unless?” Jolene echoed.

“You don’t think he–he wanted this, do you?” Sawyer asked of his hands. Everyone leaves me. Everyone always leaves me. He could never remember his parents, his mother, but everyone he could remember, they were always taken from him. Usually violently and in great pain. Was it me? Did I? Oh, please, Gods, don’t tell me I did this.

“No.”

“He wants to be with his family, my lady.” Sawyer whispered.

“He wouldn’t want to leave you, not like this. Not when you’d blame yourself.” Lady Jolene said, her hand touching his just briefly. The day drug on and on and still they heard nothing. Sawyer couldn’t take it anymore. It was like there was no air in there.

Maybe some part of him, as he settled on the grass outside, realized that he was crying, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. A soft swish of fabric alerted him that someone was standing outside, but he kept his eyes fixed on the sky, on this cloud that sort of looked like a sheep–sort of looked like Jarrett.

“I wish I knew what to say.” Lady Jolene spoke softly, her hem almost brushing his arm.

“Why don’t you just say what everyone is thinking? That this is my fault.” He was on his feet, yelling, even as a part of him recoiled from the idea of ever yelling at her.

“How the fuck do you get that?” Lady Jolene said. “Sawyer, if anything you helped, if he lives, you saved him. If, heaven forbid, he doesn’t, you tried.”

“Because people around me just die.” He said but before he could unclench his teeth to say more, a pair of arms were wrapped around him, he found himself drawn in, wrapped in the soft smell of Lady Jolene’s hair.

“Sawyer. Life’s a pretty fragile thing. Have you ever thought maybe it’s less you kill all the people around you and more the life you’ve lead is unstable?” She whispered, her breath stirring his hair, sliding down his neck.

“Then why did this happen?”Though it pained him to pull away, he couldn’t–it was hard enough arguing with her, he couldn’t do it when she was standing so close to him.

“Why does anything bad happen?” She countered.

“There’s got to be a reason.”

“Okay, it was a moment of catastrophic failure destined to occur for millions of years.” Lady Jolene said. Sawyer stared, and she reached out brushing a tear off his cheek. “You asked for a reason. Not one that made sense, cause there isn’t ever a reason that makes sense when bad things happen.”

“Never?” Sawyer stared at his feet. Jolene looked at him, her eyes so dark in the twilight, and then he found himself being pulled into her again, caught in her grasp like a leaf in a whirlwind. Her lips brushed soft and quick across his. Before he could even make sense of what had just happened, she buried her face in his neck.

“There’s not much of a reason good things happen either, you know?”