“C´mon...” Kenin muttered as the old pickup sputtered and coughed. “We´re almost home...” The headlights flickered and finally went out all together as the engine died, enveloping her in darkness. The only sound was the crunch of gravel under the tires as the truck rolled to a stop. Wearily, Kenin groped under the seat for the Mag-Lite she kept there, then clamored out of the truck. A strong wind blew across the valley, whistling glumly in the dark night. Before opening the hood, she glanced around, calculating the distance home and back to civilization. Neither was good.

“I don´t know why I´m doing this,” she mumbled, stepping carefully onto the bumper of the old International. Her knowledge of combustion engines was non-existent, but just the action of looking made her feel better. But the battered old vehicle had been Will´s pride and joy, and she couldn´t bring herself to part with it. One day, she would have it fixed up. In the mean time, it was a pain in the neck.

She examined the grimy metal reflected in the beam of the light for anything unusual, disconnected, broken...Finding nothing -- that she could see, anyway --she stepped back down to the gravel road and looked around.

‘Nowhere´ didn´t even begin to describe the area. Experimentally, she flipped the light off and was instantly enveloped in the blackness of the moonless night. For a moment she gazed at the stars, mesmerized, her hair whipped around her face by the wind. She´d lived in the city since coming to Arizona and suddenly realized how much she missed the darkness and the jewel-covered sky. Her thoughts drifted to past nights, warm like this one, that she´d spent in the arms of her one true love, watching shooting stars and making impossible wishes. Wishes that somehow, against all odds and in defiance of all statistics, Will would live to see another birthday.

A flash of light and the sound of an approaching car startled her from her reverie. She looked up as the oncoming car disappeared into a dip in the road, then reappeared as it got closer. She slammed the hood of the truck closed, then got into the cab and locked the doors. The car, an old American ‘muscle car´, slowed and stopped beside the truck. Kenin glanced over and could see the passenger staring back. He was a young man -- early twenties, with uncombed blonde hair and a sorry excuse for a mustache. As he got out of the car, she could see that he was tall and slender. He raked a hand through his hair before putting on a sweat-stained cowboy hat.

“Ma´am,” he drawled slowly, gazing at her through the glass of the window. “Having some trouble?”

“No, I´m fine, thank you,” Kenin hurried to say, projecting more confidence than she was feeling. The man moved closer.

“Maybe we could take a look under your hood. Give you a jump?” The young man leered, his lips raising in a smile that revealed tobacco-stained teeth. He started to reach for the door handle, and Kenin scooted to the center of the bench.

“I´m fine,” she repeated forcefully, switching on the Mag-Lite and shining it directly into the man´s eyes. He stepped back and raised his hands to shield his eyes. Kenin started to relax when a pounding on the passenger side window caused her to jump. She yelped, dropping the flashlight. She had forgotten about the driver...

“We only want to help,” the second man shouted as he hit the window again with a balled fist. The beam from the dropped light cast odd shadows in the cab.

“I don´t need help,” she hollered back. “I called my husband and he´s on his way.”

“Don´t see no one,” the first man said. “Do you, Hank? C´mon, lady. Come on out.” He shook the truck.

Kenin cursed silently. She wasn´t afraid -- yet. But she was stuck in the middle of nowhere, essentially helpless. She refused to carry a cell phone, a quirk that had always annoyed Will, and the old shotgun was still at home in Tucson, beside her bed.

Of course, there was always bluffing...

Abruptly, she kicked the flash so that the beam was muted and reached for the glove compartment.

“What´s she doin´ in there, Jim?”

“Dunno. Don´t suppose she has a gun?”

Kenin smiled and started to yell that yes, she was armed, when Hank answered, “If she did, she´d a´ pulled it by now.”

A sharp blow to the driver´s side window cracked the glass. Kenin let out a startled yelp and snatched the keys from the ignition -- a meager weapon, but something. A second blow, and the window gave, showering Kenin with glass.

“Got it!” Jim called. As he reached for the interior door handle, Kenin sank the ignition key into the flesh of his wrist.

“Son of a...” The man pulled his arm back.

“What?”

“Bitch stabbed me!”

Kenin smiled, trying to fight the trembling in her hands. Suddenly the other window broke and the Hank yanked the door open. As he reached for her, Kenin palmed the keys and raked them across his face. He screamed in anger and pulled back. Grabbing the Mag-Lite from the floor, Kenin kicked the door wider and bolted.

Silently she thanked God that she was wearing good shoes, then chuckled at the absurd thought considering the circumstances. She concentrated on running.

7777777

The crazy swaying of a single bright light attracted Chris´ attention and he smiled to himself. One of the local kids was playing some kind of game with a dirt bike, and Chris was going to catch him. It would give him some small satisfaction after the lousy evening he´d had. He radioed backup from Nathan, who was on patrol, then unracked his shotgun. He would give the kid a scare. It would be fun. Standing in the middle of the road, with the wind at his back, he waited.

Strangely, as the light got closer, there was no engine noise to go along with it, and then he could hear the sounds of running steps and men shouting. Suddenly, the light was there and he barely had time to brace himself as a soft body barreled into him. Years of training and experience kicked in. He immediately recognized the panicked gasps of the woman that he now held struggling in his arms, and discarded her as a threat. But the angry shouts of the two approaching men was another story.

“Sheriff. Hold it,” he ordered as he brought the shotgun to bear. A hard blow to his temple almost dropped him. He staggered back and released the woman.

“Sheriff?? Oh, god, I´m sorry...” a feminine voice gasped as he felt small hands steadying him as her flashlight fell to the ground.

“Jim, hold up...cop...” “Broad decked him...” “...you all right..?” “Get him now...” “You grab the bitch...”

The jumble of voices cut through the painful haze in Chris´ head, and he just had time to rack a round in the shotgun before he was tackled to the ground. A fist caught him over the bruise laid earlier by Ezra, and pain flared across his face. Rather than thoughts of survival, Chris found himself vaguely wondering how long it would be before he could eat solid food again.

“Let me go!” The panicked cry galvanized Chris, and training took over. Deftly he delivered a sound punch to the jaw of the man grappling with him, then he followed with a kick to the man´s ribs. As the man rolled away, Chris scrambled backward. The shotgun had been lost in the fight, so he drew his service pistol. As he chambered a round, the man backed away.

“Hey, now, officer...”

“Down, now,” Chris snarled. “Arms out, palms up.” The man hurried to comply now that he was staring down the barrel of the Glock. With that threat subdued, he turned his attention to the other man.

The beam of the fallen flashlight only dimly lit the man who was holding the woman against his chest, an thin arm around her throat. Chris barely registered who she was before blocking the hostage from his vision, concentrating on the man instead.

“Let her go and we can discuss this.”

“Do I look stupid or somethin´, cop?”

Chris shook his head. “Don´t think you look. Know you are.” He grinned thinly. The man started to step forward when Kenin suddenly slammed her head back, connecting with the man´s face. He screamed and released her as his hands flew to his nose. Kenin skidded away from the man and out of Chirs´ line of fire. She scooped up the flashlight before retreating behind Chris.

“That bitch broke my nose!” The man looked up at Chris, his eyes watering as blood began to drip between his fingers. The sheriff couldn´t help but feel a small bit of sympathy. A very small bit.

“Hands behind your head,” he snarled. When the man hesitated, Chris strode forward. “Give me a reason, you son of a bitch. I´ve had a real bad day, and blowin´ the brains out of some worthless punk would make me feel so much better...”

The man´s hands went behind his head and he dropped to his knees. He quickly followed Chris´ orders to cross his ankles, lace his fingers and turn his hands palms up. With both men incapacitated, he turned his attention to Kenin.

“Are you all right?”

She nodded.

“What´re you asking her for?” the man on his knees called. “I´m the one who´s hurt here. She broke my nose.”

“Man never died from a broken nose,” Kenin snapped. Chris smiled, then glanced down the road as oncoming headlights crested a low hill. A few minutes later Nathan arrived in the patrol car.

“Always looking for trouble, aren´t you?” the medic asked as he took in the scene illuminated by the headlights.

Chris just smiled again, then winced as the expression reminded him of the abuse his face had taken recently.

It was nearing midnight by the time the two men had been questioned and deposited in the back of Nathan´s cruiser. Their vehicle had been impounded and towed, although a search hadn´t turned up anything illegal. Both officers were familiar with the two men. They had caused minor trouble before, and were suspected in a variety of crimes from break-ins to more serious things like assaults.

Chris watched as Nathan drove away, then walked to the doctor´s truck. Kenin was sitting on the hood, wrapped in his service jacket against the chill that the wind had brought. She smiled as he approached.

“Ready to go home Dr. Darnell?” he asked.

Kenin slid to the ground and nodded. “It´s Kenin. And yes. More than ready.” She handed him his jacket, then slipped into the driver´s seat of the old International. Shaking his head, Chris walked up to his SUV and got in. Kenin had insisted that the battered truck not be left on the road, so he had hooked it to a tow chain. As he let out the clutch, his Cherokee rolled forward then lurched when the chain pulled taut. He drove slowly, fighting fatigue, trying to ignore the headache that encircled his skull.

He had no idea why the doctor was so adamant about the damned truck. The paint was peeling and rust was showing in places that weren´t covered by primer gray. He´d seen the interior, and while Indian-print throws covered the seat, there was no hiding the fact that the vehicle had not weathered its fifty some-odd years well. Not only that, both side windows were broken out and there was blood on the driver´s door.

Thank God it wasn´t the doctor´s blood. Chris smiled as he recalled Kenin´s narrative of her adventure. She´d defended herself with a set of keys, and the would-be assailants had suffered for their choice of victims.

He winced as he thought of his own encounter with her, fingering the throbbing lump on his left temple, close to the site she had sutured earlier. She packed quite a wallop with the Mag-Lite.

Kenin´s house was one of the original ranch houses from the mid-1800´s, although now it lay on only a few acres. His own spread was part of the original land, before the place had been divided for profit. Chris was more than glad when he pulled into the driveway. He was ready for this day to be over.

Kenin let the truck roll to a stop beside her Explorer, then slid from the seat as Chris started unhooking the tow chain. She watched for a minute, then went on her porch to turn on the flood lights. She was on her way back when the sheriff let out a long string of curses.

“What?” she asked, running to the front of her truck. Chris was sitting up, a hand to his forehead.

“Hit the damned...darned bumper,” he grumbled. He brought his hand down to reveal blood.

“Let me take a look at that,” Kenin said, crouching beside him. “Looks like you tore the stitches. Come inside and I´ll see what I can do.”

Chris hesitated but she had him by the elbow and was pulling him to his feet. He swayed slightly and found himself leaning on the doctor more than he liked. As they went up the porch steps, a shaggy yellow dog sauntered over and barked twice. Kenin laughed and Chris smiled slightly at the sound.

“Some watch dog you are,” she scolded the old mutt. He wagged his tail in response. “Bear, this is Mr. Larabee.” The dog sniffed curiously at Chris´ boots.

“Hello, Bear.” He scratched behind the dog´s ears. “And it´s Chris.” He entered the house hesitantly, taking in the almost vacant living room. A single recliner and a well-worn couch were the only furniture. Boxes indicated that the doctor was still in the process of moving.

“Have a seat,” Kenin said, indicating the chair. “I´ll just be a sec.” As she moved down the hall, Chris sat, then glanced at the picture sitting on the side table improvised from stacked boxes.

The simple wooden frame surrounded what was obviously a wedding picture. Kenin was smiling at the camera, her face framed by soft ringlets. Small pink roses and baby´s breath were braided into her hair. She wore a western-style ivory lace dress. The lanky man beside her looked like he was on the verge of laughter, his eyes sparkling with mirth. But even that didn´t hide the fact that he looked ill, overly thin and sallow.

Chris set the picture aside, suppressing a shudder as memories of his own wedding day assaulted him. He and Sarah had been so in love and had had so many hopes and dreams for the child she carried.

Before the morose thoughts could overwhelm him lean yellow cat jumped onto his lap. He pushed it off, but it jumped back up. He glanced around and spotted two more cats staring at him, and three that were sleeping on boxes. After the fourth time he dumped the yellow one, he gave up and allowed it to stay, stroking its head.

“Leave him alone, Buster,” Kenin chuckled, picking the cat up and dropping it to the floor. “He´s a pest.” She used the cloth she held to clean the blood from his forehead. “Some of the stitches broke loose. I can redo them in the morning, but for now, I´ll Steri-strip them.”

Chris forced himself to ignore the cool touch of her hands as she applied the thin adhesive strips. But it was very hard to ignore the sensual scent of sandalwood and vanilla that she wore. He sighed in relief and remorse when she finished.

“How´s the rest of it?” she asked, lightly palpating the various bruises and growing lumps on his face. “I´m so sorry about hitting you with the light.”

Chris chuckled. “Won´t be the first time a woman reacted to me that way.”

“Well, I´m glad you came along when you did. I would have hated to really hurt those men.” She laughed lightly, then handed him a large sweatshirt. “Let me soak your shirt, so the blood doesn´t set.” He would have protested, but it was a uniform shirt, and it took an act of congress and six months to get new ones. She busied herself, allowing him the opportunity to take off the shirt in relative privacy.

“Can I get you something to drink?” Kenin asked as she took the shirt.

“Thanks,” he muttered. “Beer.” He caught himself watching her retreating form, and closed his eyes. He didn´t need to be thinking that way. A few minutes later she returned with a Corona. He took a long swig of the amber liquid.

Kenin stood awkwardly for a moment. She hadn´t intended to have a strange man in her house, and wasn´t really comfortable with it. If he hadn´t been the sheriff, she wouldn´t even have considered it. He looked up at her and she smiled, feeling the need to escape. “I´m...uh...going to change.” Great, that came out good, she thought as she hurried down the hallway. She slipped out of her work clothes and put on a pair of comfortable sweats. The baggy sweatshirts were far too big for her, but that was the way she liked them. Will had complained that they hid her figure, but then, she´d usually end up naked anyway. A small smile crossed her lips at the thought.

After running a brush quickly through her hair, Kenin went back to the living room. She started to say something, but noticed that the sheriff had fallen asleep, with the pesky yellow cat curled on his lap. She smiled and draped an afghan over him. For a moment she watched him silently, recalling bittersweet memories of the times that Will had dozed off in the same chair after a particularly long day. She would cover him with that same afghan -- the one his grandmother had made -- than would sit on the floor at his feet, her head resting on his knee. When she awoke in the morning, his hand would be lying on her head, his fingers intwined in her hair...

Kenin shook her head and turned out the lights before curling up on the couch.

7777777

She woke slowly, languidly. She could feel the early morning breeze coming through the curtainless windows. Mentally, she counted the cats curled with her on the narrow couch -- at her back, chest, ankles, behind her knees and at the lap. One was on her hip -- Harmon, the fat cat, by the feel of it. She bucked off the uncomfortable weight, and at the movement heard Bear stir from his spot on the floor. His cold, damp nose sniffed her face.

Kenin groaned and rolled onto her back, disturbing most of the cats, and opened her eyes experimentally. She squinted against the assault of the light when she suddenly remembered that a man had spent the night.

Her eyes found the big chair instantly. It was empty, her sweatshirt folded neatly on the afghan. Kenin pushed aside the remaining cats, then combed her fingers through her hair before standing.

Bear whined softly, then followed her as she padded to the door. She let the dog out, noting that the blue Cherokee was gone. With a sigh, Kenin turned back inside. She folded the blankets of her makeshift bed and dropped them on the couch, then picked up the afghan and sweatshirt. She tossed the afghan with the other blankets, and as she started toward the bedroom, something stopped her.

It took a moment for her to recognize the scent. Stetson. Why hadn´t she noticed it before? It was the same aftershave that Will had worn. Tears sprang unbidden. She brought the sweatshirt up to her face and breathed in the aroma.

“Damn you,” she whispered into the garment. She slid down the wall and hugged her knees to her chest, uncontrollable sobs shaking her body.

.