In the soft grey predawn light filtering into the kitchen Ray sipped silently at a cup of espresso and wondered how his best friend; a good, honest man, came to have such turmoil in his life. This is how his mother found him when she finally made her way downstairs to begin preparing breakfast for her brood.

"Raymondo," Silvia said softly as she slipped into the kitchen and switched on the light over the stove, "what are you doing up so early? Are you sick?"

Ray looked into his mother's worried eyes. "No, Ma, I'm fine. I just got some things on my mind."

"Is it work? Has something happened? Has Frankie Zuko done something to upset you again?" Silvia threw her hands up and rolled her eyes heavenward. "I thank God his mother is not alive to see the way he is carrying on. It would kill her."

Smiling gently, Ray reached out and took her hand. "No, Ma. It's not Frankie. He's been quiet since Irene died. I think it shook him up a little." It had shaken him up, too, but he didn't like to think about how much.

Silvia crossed herself and said a silent prayer for Irene Zuko. "So what is it then, Son?"

Ray rubbed a hand over his face and pushed away from the table, going to stand by the sink. "I'm worried about Benny, Ma. He … he's had some bad news … and I … I don't know how … I'm worried about him."

"Is this about that woman, the one who caused all that trouble?" Although she didn't know all the details, Silvia knew that during one of her visits to Florida something very serious had occurred that had endangered the lives of both her son and his best friend. She also knew that it involved a woman.

Ray snorted with disgust. That woman had so much to answer for. One day he hoped to get the chance to seek his revenge, but for the moment it would not be.

"No, Ma, it's … personal … family stuff … "

"Benton's sister! What happened?"

"Becka's fine, Ma."

"His friend then? Cathy? The one you should marry."

Ray smiled at his mother and rolled his eyes. "Ma, Cat's already got herself a boyfriend."

For a moment Silvia's concern for Fraser was forgotten and she leaned close to him, wagging her finger in his face as if to prove her point. "See! I told you! You missed out on another good woman. I want grandchildren."

Despite his mood, Ray laughed. Life was so easy in his mother's eyes, so very easy. But even as he laughed, Ray's eyes turned sad, his mind filled with images of the only woman he really wanted – Casey Sinclair.

The same soft grey predawn light filtered into a small cottage kitchen, falling weakly across the note Benton Fraser signed his name to. Setting down his pen, he quickly re-read his words. Satisfied, he nodded and put the note down on the table top, anchoring it in place with an RCMP coffee mug.

He rose and gathered up the backpack he had hastily tossed a few items into when he had awakened several hours earlier in the pitch black, but with his mind so very clear. Bending in front of Diefenbaker, he gave a few words of explanation, then left the cottage and went into the Consulate to place a sealed note onto Turnbull's desk. With that done, he headed onto the street and hailed a taxi, his mind fixed on his destination. He hoped that Ray did not mind taking care of Diefenbaker for the few days he would need.

The calm that had been with Ben when he left the Consulate did not last long. It had all but disappeared by the time he arrived at the airport, driven away by the sight of a pregnant woman accompanied by a young girl of about the same age his own daughter would have been. He swallowed hard, for the first time imaging how Phil would have looked heavy with his child. Beautiful, he thought, she would have looked beautiful.

His grip on his sanity slipped further when he found the woman and her child seated next to him on his flight. For a few perverse seconds he believed that some worldly force was toying with his mind, driving him to the edge of his sanity. He wondered how he would survive the three-hour flight to Canada.

Canada. The thought of home lightened his mood slightly. He didn't know what he hoped to gain by running to Cat. All he knew was that before he could make any sense of what he had learned and what he must do next, he needed to be somewhere he could think. He needed to be somewhere he could fall apart, somewhere he could put himself together again and he needed Cat to help him find the Benton Fraser that had gotten lost so very long ago. Only when he had once again found that man could he go to Phil and finally lay the past to rest.

The funny thing was that the closer he got to Canada the further away he got from his sanity.

Reaching under the seat, Ben dragged out his pack and drew a small journal from its depths, placed there earlier that morning when he had packed. He looked at the black leather cover with its gold lettering. 1986. A year of great change in his life, although at the time he had not realised just how great that change was. He thumbed through until he found the dates he sought and then he began to read.

Ben closed the journal and squeezed his eyes shut, hating himself more than ever before. When he wrote those words he had no way of knowing how pertinent they would be. The week his daughter was born he had been with Victoria. The fact that he had been attending her trial seemed irrelevant in light of what he now knew.

He recalled the time only too well. After months of negotiations between the Americans and the Canadians, Victoria was extradited to Alaska to stand trial and he had been forced to travel to Anchorage to give his evidence. He reopened his journal and read again.

He had taken a week to get back to Canada, travelling overland by bus, train and on foot where necessary. He needed the time to calm his mind before returning to his work, his duty. He had stopped in a small town called Cicely, so named for one of the founders of the town. There, in a small bar and diner named The Brick run by an expatriate Canadian named Holling Vincouer, he had passed a pleasant evening listening to the local lay preacher, Chris Stevens, giving a discourse on Proust. By the end of the night he had been pleasantly relaxed by the atmosphere and stimulated by the conversation. It came to a shuddering halt, though, brought about by the arrival of a tall, dark haired woman known as Maggie O'Connell. Her resemblance to Phil, both physically and temperamentally, was so remarkable that within minutes he had become incoherent. He left quickly, without saying goodbye. Ten years later the shame came back to haunt him once again. He knew now that that had been the moment when a black hole had opened in his heart – a Phil shaped hole that had remained for nearly twelve years.

Ben was startled out of his thoughts by a shuffling in the seat next to him. He turned to look at the little girl he had steadfastly avoided since boarding the plane and was surprised to find her almost hysterical, her mother unable to calm her. The mother saw him looking and raised wide eyes to him.

"I'm sorry my daughter disturbed you." She returned her attention to her child. "See, Jessica, you've disturbed this poor man who was trying to read his book in peace. You can't keep making this noise, you must calm down."

But instead of quieting, the little girl's sobs grew louder. Completely unnerved by the scene, Ben found himself pressing against the window in an attempt to put as much distance as he could between him and the child. The mother drew the girl close, tucking her daughter's head under her chin. Her sobs were at least a little muffled now. The woman looked up at Ben again, noting the startled look in his eyes.

"I'm so sorry. It's just that she's terrified of flying and this storm is getting worse," the woman explained. "Normally she sits with my husband, he's the only one who knows how to deal with her, but he had to stay on in Chicago and I have to tough it out alone. I'm not doing a very good job, I'm afraid. Plus this one," she indicated her swollen belly, "I'm sure is going to be a gymnast or something. I'm exhausted. I really am sorry."

Before Ben could reply, the plane hit a batch of turbulence and dropped several metres. The girl cried out and pulled away from her mother, arms flailing.

"I want to go home," she cried.

"We're going home, sweetheart, you just have to be patient."

The little girl dissolved into tears again. Glancing at the mother, Ben could see that she really was exhausted and probably at her wits end. He licked his lips and swallowed. He had to overcome the anguish the sight of the child had awakened in him. He had to deal with it. Just like Phil had to deal with it.

"Perhaps I can help," he offered. "Do you mind if I try something?"

"Please do," the woman said, her eyes showing her gratitude.

Ducking his head slightly, Ben directed his attention to the girl, noting with relief that her fair hair and hazel eyes were nothing like a child produced by he and Phil would bear.

"Would you like to hear a story, Jessica?"

She stopped crying for a moment, her reddened eyes settling on him with new interest. "A story? What sort of story?"

Warming to the idea, Ben leaned close, already deciding on what story he would tell her. "A sky story."

Jessica thought for a little while and then finally reached a decision. "OK." She liked stories.

After a short hesitation, Ben began to tell the story of the constellation Ursa Major, known by the Inuit as Great Bear, who was chased onto the ice floes by hunters. Finding no means of escape, the bear decided the only way was to take to the sky. The hunters were not to be deterred and they followed the bear and could still be seen in the skies, but were known as Pleiades.

"And the hunters are still chasing the bear. If you look into the sky at night you can see Pleiades never, ever catches Great Bear. We're like Great Bear in this plane. We're flying through the sky and the storm is never going to catch us. We're safe."

Jessica's eyes were wide and Ben could not tell if she was impressed or more scared, but at least she was silent. A second later, he realised that not only was Jessica staring at him, but so was her mother. Lifting his head slightly, he met her appreciative eyes.

"You're good at this," she said, tucking Jessica against her. "Do you have children?"

All the blood drained from Ben's face. "N…No," he stammered, but even as the word fell from his lips, he knew it sounded wrong.

He did have a child and she had not lived. If he had not ended his relationship with Phil maybe Lindy would be still alive. Maybe it would be his own daughter listening to his Inuit tales. Maybe he and Phil would have had another child, maybe another two. So many possibilities, so many missed chances. He felt suddenly, violently ill.

"Excuse me," he said to Jessica and her mother, who both still had their eyes fixed on him.

If they said anything, Ben did not hear it. A second later he was down the aisle and slamming the washroom door shut behind him, relieved for the relative silence of the tiny plastic cubicle.

For a full five minutes, Ben leaned heavily on the small washbasin, staring at the dark, dull eyes reflected in the mirror. He knew what he looked: a man grieving. He also knew he could not stay in the bathroom for the rest of the flight – he had to come out sooner or later. He had to resume his seat next to the little girl who was unaware of the anguish she had awoken in him.

When he got back to his seat, Ben was relieved to find Jessica asleep, her fair head resting against her mother's shoulder. Moving as carefully as he could, he slipped past the sleeping child into his seat.

"Feeling better?" Jessica's mother asked quietly.

Ben nodded. "She's asleep."

"Yes, thanks to you. You really are good with children."

Ben's eyes widened – he did not want to think about how he would be with children. In an uncharacteristically rude fashion he leaned forward and snatched the in-flight magazine from the pocket in front of him, flipping it open to what looked like a lengthy, in depth article. For the remainder of the flight he indulged a previous unrealised fascination with Saskatchewan's most popular shopping destinations.

Ray slid the Riv into the 'no standing' zone in front of the Consulate, then bounded up the stairs and came to a halt at Constable Turnbull's desk. After the vague tone of Turnbull's phone call, he was more than a little anxious about what he would learn from this visit.

"So what's this about Fraser taking off?" he demanded, without bothering to greet Constable Turnbull.

"Good morning, Detective," Turnbull smiled. "As I explained on the phone, when I arrived this morning there was a note on my desk from Constable Fraser. He says that he needs to take a few days leave to deal with a personal emergency and that I am to telephone you to collect Diefenbaker. Oh and I believe there is a note for you in Constable Fraser's cottage."

Ray frowned at Turnbull, not at all reassured by the younger Mountie's calm expression. He knew the real reason behind Fraser's sudden departure and could only hope that his friend had taken the time to go and see Phil and deal with whatever they had to say to each other.

Turnbull drew a key from his desk drawer and offered it to Ray. "Here's the key."

Ray took the key, muttered his thanks and then took the rear exit to the garden that would take him directly to the cottage. He could not help the frisson of fear that ran through him as he recalled the last time Benny had disappeared like this, the time when Victoria was in town. But this wasn't like that, this would only mean good news. This time, things were looking up.

Dief greeted Ray at the door.

"Hey, Furball, he left you here all alone?" Ray said, leaning down to ruffle the wolf's fur.

Dief made a noncommittal snort and headed for the kitchen. Ray followed, certain that he would find Benny's note there. He did. Weighted down by an RCMP coffee cup was a small sheet of notepaper. Sliding the cup aside, Ray picked it up and began to read.

Despite his concerns, Ray could not help smiling. The tone of the note sounded calm and it reassured him a little. But what could his friend be doing? Was he with Phil? Were they finally taking the time to talk things through? It was the only possible place Benny would have gone. His mood a little lighter now, he tucked the note into his jacket and called for Dief to follow him.

Ben breathed a deep sigh of relief when his plane touched down at Moose Jaw airport. At last he was able to set his magazine aside and busy himself with something that wasn't a ruse. Beside him, Jessica and her mother gathered up their personal possessions and waited for the plane to taxi to the terminal. Jessica's relief about finally reaching the end of the flight was obvious.

"Thank you again for your help," Jessica's mother smiled at him.

The sound of the Captain's voice over the loudspeaker saved him from having to respond.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, we've just received word that because of the heavy snow, Moose Jaw airport is to be closed until further notice. Passengers who were to join another flight are asked to present themselves to the Air Canada attendants at the gate for placement at a hotel until the airport reopens. We apologise for the inconvenience."

Ben was thankful that he had reached the end of his journey. He had been stranded many times before and pitied those who were unable to reach their destinations today. All around him, passengers began speaking loudly, voicing their disappointments, concerns and in some cases, anger. At first it didn't bother him, but when Jessica began to once again sob loudly, he was filled with a desperate need to be off the plane and away from these people.

Francesca Vecchio was coming out of the bullpen as Ray came in. He saw her glance down at the wolf beside him and he rolled his eyes, already anticipating her question.

"So where's Fraser," she asked as she drew level with him.

"Frannie, can't you just leave the guy alone?"

"Hey, I was just asking. I thought maybe something had happened, seeing how Dief's with you …"

"Yeah, well Fraser took off for a few days. I'm dog sitting. You're out of luck if you're hanging around here hoping to … to … whatever you were hoping …"

Francesca said nothing. With a sweet smile lighting her face she leaned forward and kissed her brother on the cheek. "I already got what I was hoping for when I came here," she said and then walked off down the corridor, smiling to herself.

Ray watched her go, noticing for the first time that something was a little different about his sister. But what was it? He couldn't say. Shaking his head, he continued down the hall and into the bullpen.

Stan Kowalski was at his desk typing something into his computer. He looked up and noticed Diefenbaker had accompanied Ray.

"Dief, my man," he said, opening the bottom drawer of his desk.

Already anticipating the treat contained therein, Dief abandoned Ray and settled by Stan, looking up at him with adoring eyes.

"Fraser said not to give the wolf donuts," Ray said in a tone that sounded unconvincing even to his ears.

"It's not a donut, it's cannoli."

"Cannoli? Where did you get cannoli?"

Stan grinned over his shoulder at Ray. "An admirer."

Ray snorted with disgust. He hadn't had cannoli for ages. It was a well-known fact that his mother made the best cannoli in the greater Chicago area. Maybe, if he asked nicely, she would make some for him.

"So where's Big Red?" Stan asked, snapping Ray out of his thoughts.

"He … uh … he had to go away for a few days … I'm taking care of Dief till he gets back."

"He must've left in a hurry. Nothing wrong, is there?"

"Nah, he's just got a … a personal emergency."

Stan accepted that and returned his attention to his computer. A few seconds later he said, "I hope he's OK. He seems so tough, you know, like he could move mountains … "

"Yeah, well, maybe this time the mountain moved him."

Stan frowned at the analogy, but could think of nothing to say. He waited for a minute to see if there was anything more Ray would add. When there wasn't, he returned to his work.

The noise in Moose Jaw airport was deafening and the heat stifling. The stream of people coming off Ben's Chicago flight seemed endless. He took a deep breath and prayed for patience, fighting the urge to run from the claustrophobia that threatened to overwhelm him. Staring at his feet, he made his way into the main terminal.

On one side of the gate anxious travellers, desperate for some information about how soon the airport would reopen and where they would wait in the meantime, mobbed the Air Canada attendants. From the number of people already settled into the chairs, Ben guessed many of them had foregone the offer of a hotel, preferring to be on hand ready to board a flight as soon as the airport reopened. He saw Jessica and her mother in the queue and hurried away, unable to deal with any further contact with the child who aroused too many emotions in him.

The hordes of people gathered around the baggage carousel waiting to retrieve their luggage made Ben relieved that he was not among them. A light traveller by habit, he always managed to fit sufficient clothing into a backpack small enough to carry on board.

He took a deep breath and continued to push through the throng of people. The closer he came to the exit, the thicker the crowd got. The small doorways had become bottlenecks, allowing on one person through at a time. It was a few seconds before Ben noticed his heart rate had elevated.

Easily recalling meditation techniques, he breathed deeply and willed his heart to slow. He inched closer to the door and then stumbled over a suitcase on wheels that stopped suddenly in front of him. The owner of the case smiled her apology and he managed a brief smile in return. Hs heart rate went up again.

Heat prickled at the back of Ben's neck and he slipped a finger into the collar of his flannel shirt to loosen it slightly. If the crowd moving toward the door had been less crushing, he would have stopped to remove his jacket, but the constant pressure from the rear made that impossible.

Beside him a man in a business suit spoke heatedly into a cellphone, nudging people aside with his elbow. When his elbow connected with Ben and found resistance, the man glared up at him, without pausing in his conversation. Fixing a strong hand on the offending elbow, Ben moved the man aside in a far more aggressive manner than he would normally.

"Hey," the man protested, finally moving the phone away from his ear.

Ben said nothing. The look on his face was a strong warning and it made the man disappear into the crowd. Ben stared at the newly vacated space, his chest heaving with barely contained emotion. A short shove from a woman behind him forced him to move again.

The turmoil caused by the incident with the man did not leave Ben easily. By the time he reached the door and was outside on the snow-covered street, his heart rate was high and his hands curled into fists. Voices came to him, people arguing in the taxi queue, an old man giving comfort to his frail wife, a child crying. Ben turned to see Jessica and her mother emerge from the door and spill onto the street. A cursory glance at the taxi queue confirmed what he already knew: he could wait no longer. Turning his back on the airport, he set off on foot, hurrying away from the noise, the heat, the child.

A very particular hum had settled over the Moose Jaw RCMP depot. The phones were silent and the officers on duty were mostly gathered in the break room, drinking too much coffee and waiting for something to happen. Heavy snow usually brought either a complete lack of activity on the roads or a spate of serious accidents and the Mounties working the day shift had no way of knowing which it would be.

With good work ethics heavily ingrained and restless after three cups of coffee, Constable Marchand chose to forego the jovial conversation in the break room and return to his work area for a spot of research. With numerous outstanding cases on the RCMP database it was certainly worth reading over a few on the off chance that he may be able to shed some light on them.

Marchand had been reading for about ten minutes when the front door opened, letting in a blast of cold air before it was shut firmly by a large snow-frosted figure. The figure turned to face him, snow falling from his hat.

"Constable Fraser!" Marchand recognised the man and came out of his seat to cross the room. "How nice to see you again. Is Sergeant Madden expecting you?" He was certain she wasn't, but he couldn't say for sure.

Ben stared at Marchand with wide eyes. His lips moved wordlessly for a second. He blinked.

A chill ran down Marchand's spine. Something in the other man's eyes unnerved him.

"Is something wrong, Constable?"

"No … " he ground out. "Cat … Sergeant Madden …"

"Sergeant Madden has the day off, Constable." Marchand gestured to the phone. "I'll call her so she can come and get you."

Ben raised one hand, dislodging more snow from his shoulder and backpack. "No … I'll …" He turned towards the door again.

Marchand shot from behind the counter and cut Ben off, flicking his eyes up and down, taking in the wet boots and snow covered pack.

"Did you walk from the airport, Constable Fraser?"

When no reply came Marchand clapped a hand onto his shoulder. "Wait here, Constable. Will you do that?"

Ben regarded Will Marchand for a second and then slowly nodded. Marchand rushed to the break room, explained the situation to Sergeant Dixon and came back two minutes later to lead Ben to the car park and into the RCMP cruiser. What was wrong he could not say, but he knew if he didn't drive him, Constable Fraser would most likely walk the 35km to Riverhurst and if that happened, Sergeant Madden would never forgive him.

Ben was grateful that Constable Marchand was disinclined to talk. He was incapable of a coherent thought, much less small talk. He was content to watch the scenery as it flew by.

The route from Moose Jaw to Cat's home in Riverhurst was familiar to him, as familiar as the route to his father's cabin. He knew every cottage, farm and tree along the way. He even knew some of the people. As they went by the Dann family's wheat farm, he noted that the house had been repainted, this time in a jaunty green. The oak trees he had helped plant in Mrs Baptiste's driveway had grown several metres since last time he passed.

He saw the turn off that led out to the reservation where Jimmy and Sara Sunsinger lived and where he had found the kitten that was the cause of him making his very first journey along this same route. He thought of that time and the kitten that became known as Laura. Laura had brought Cat into his life and she had been dear to both of them.

When Laura died they buried her in Cat's front garden, planting a small yew tree in her memory. The tree was now many metres high. A wave of sadness passed over Ben. Laura wasn't the only one he and Cat planted a tree for.

He recalled another time a tree was planted in Cat's garden. This time his father had joined them and together the trio dug a hole and planted a pecan tree. They had no body to bury, no ashes to scatter, so they chose a pecan tree because Becka had always liked them.

They had planted trees for other people as well; Cat's parents, a stand of red cedars, his own father, a Douglas Fir, a spruce for an RCMP colleague fallen in the line of duty. His chest tightened and he wondered if there was a tree for Lindy.

A bright, golden thought arrived suddenly in Ben's mind. Cat knew. She had known all along. It was the only explanation. It explained all those unanswered questions, sentences started and never finished, the sad, sad look in Cat's eyes.

A sob started somewhere low in his belly and he fought hard to keep it inside. Sneaking a sideways glance at Marchand, whose attention was firmly fixed on the road ahead, he wondered if the younger Constable sensed his anguish and was sparing him any embarrassment.

Desperate now to be at his destination, he squeezed his eyes shut and willed his heart to slow, unsure if he could bear the pain he felt. First Phil carrying the knowledge all alone and now Cat. And he had treated them both poorly in one way or another. He looked at Marchand again.

"Everything OK, Constable Fraser?" Marchand asked, speaking for the first time since they left the Depot.

Ben nodded tightly and fixed his gaze on the passing scenery. He only had to hold on for a little while longer, until he got to Cat's house. He would not fall apart until he got there.

A week of processing traffic violations paperwork was something that normally would have sent Becka Fraser nuts, but knowing that her days in this thankless, dead end job were numbered, she did it happily, even humming to herself as she worked. At the desk beside her another, equally ill-favoured RCMP officer processed parking tickets and made repeated requests for Becka to shut up.

"Bite me," Becka said, grinning.

"In your dreams, babe," the grinning man replied.

Marc Previn was classically tall, dark and handsome and Becka had almost asked him out when she first arrived in Kitimat, but her ego at the time had been too fragile and she never did it. A good thing, as it turned out later, when she learned that Marc was gay and in a committed relationship. Her fear had saved them both a lot of embarrassment.

Sensing something of a kindred spirit in Becka, Marc had befriended her and she was a regular visitor at the cliff top home he shared with is partner of ten years. She would miss them both when she left Kitimat. When Marc spoke, she wondered if he had read her thoughts.

"What am I going to do for fun around here when you've gone, Becka?"

"You'll just have to come visit me regularly."

Marc frowned at her. "Well, I could if you actually had somewhere for me to visit."

Becka rolled her eyes and bought herself some time tapping out another speeding ticket on her computer. She hadn't done anything about making plans, hadn't given a thought to where she would go or what she would do and Marc had been on her case about it since she told him of her resignation.

"What about this friend of yours? The one in Moose Jaw? Have you talked to her?"

"Cat? No, not yet. But it's OK if I just turn up there. She's OK about that."

"I'm sure it is, if you're on vacation, but you've just made a career decision, Beck. You don't want to freak the poor woman out."

Becka grinned. "You don't know Cat. It takes a lot to freak that woman out, let me tell you."

Marc said nothing for a few seconds, continuing with his work. "And I bet you haven't told your brother either?" he said, finally.

Becka twisted her head to stare at her friend. "My brother? Marc, you know …"

Marc interrupted her, holding up a hand and rolling his eyes. "Yeah, I know … 'my brother's going through a really rough time and I don't want to worry him'," he quoted. "I've heard it before."

"Yeah and I've heard what you're about to say next before," Becka grinned, tossing a pencil across the small space between them.

Marc caught the pencil deftly and tossed it back at Becka. "You know I'm right. Ben's your brother: he's got a right to know about your plans."

Before Becka had a chance to reply, Constable Jill Erdrich came rushing to their desks. Jill Erdrich was only recently graduated and had been with Kitimat RCMP for three months, working as Staff Sergeant Sharp's secretary, a job that involved more coffee making than anything else. Becka felt a little sorry for her and had often thought of suggesting to the young woman that she transfer to a posting where she would be better treated.

Constable Erdrich looked nervous and she wrung her hands before speaking. "You're wanted in Sergeant Sharp's office right away," she told Marc.

"What does that asshole want?"

"Oh, it's not Staff Sergeant Sharp that wants to see you," she told Marc, her eyes widening. "It's Inspector Meares. He arrived from Regina this morning, long before you two started."

Marc and Becka exchanged a glance.

"I better get in there," Marc said and hurried away in the direction of Sergeant Sharp's office.

"Inspector Meares?" Becka asked the young woman. "Who's he?"

"Don't know," Constable Erdrich answered. "He just appeared this morning, without an appointment, and marched into Sergeant Sharp's office. I don't know what's been going on, but I think it might be my fault."

"Your fault? How could it be your fault?" Becka asked, confusion showing on her face. "Has something happened?"

Constable Erdrich nodded, dropping her eyes to stare at her shoes. "I made a complaint about Staff Sergeant Sharp. He kept patting me on the butt. I asked him to stop; I said I didn't like it. He told me he didn't care what I like."

"So you made a complaint?"

"Not then. That came later." Jill Erdrich moved closer to Becka and lowered her voice. "One day last week he called me into his office and said that if I was more 'friendly' and showed him 'respect' he would see that my career advanced. I asked him what he meant and he said that if I was 'willing' he could help me."

Becka could not keep the contempt from her voice. "That filthy old bastard."

"I'd kept a diary note of all the times he'd touched me or said something I didn't like, so I wrote a letter of complaint and now they've sent someone from Regina."

Frowning, Becka looked in the direction Marc had gone. "But what's it got to do with Marc?" She chuckled. "Unless he's been grabbing Marc's butt as well."

Jill laughed as well. "Sharp's been real clear about how he feels about homosexuals in the RCMP and I've seen how he treats Marc. Maybe he made a complaint about that?"

Becka was certain Marc had made no complaint. They had talked about Sharp's behaviour several times and each of those times Becka had insisted Marc make a complaint and each of those times Marc had insisted that he would not do it. She stared at the space where she had last seen Marc, wondering what on earth was going on.

"I guess we'll just have to wait and see what happens," Becka told Jill.

The last person Cat expected to emerge from the RCMP squad vehicle that materialised in her drive was Benton Fraser. It was possibly the first time in the long history of their friendship that she was this out of touch with his thoughts. She muttered a curse, dropped the drape back over the window and went to meet her surprise guest.

Ben mounted the steps as Cat opened the front door. Will Marchand was only a few steps behind him. One glance at her subordinate's worried expression told her all she needed to know about the situation.

"Ah, Ben," she said sadly, taking his hand.

In all the years they had known each other and through all the shared tragedies, Cat had never seen Ben look so … bereft … it was the only word she could summon. Her mind drifted to a photograph of TJ that Phil had once shown her. It had been taken shortly after Noelle's death and she recalled telling Phil that TJ looked dead. That same thought occurred to her now as she stared at her oldest friend. Ben's eyes bore the same haunted, empty look and she knew only too well the source. Her heart pounded.

Cat turned quickly to Marchand. "Thank you …"

He quickly read the message behind her words. He knew something serious had happened and after Constable Fraser's strange behaviour during the trip he was concerned. "Do you need anything?"

Cat shot a quick glance up at Ben, who had remained eerily silent and still beside her.

"No. Thanks, Will, I got it covered."

Marchand cast a quick eye over Ben and then looked back at Cat, his smile letting her know he would help her if she needed. He tipped his hat and left.

Cat watched the RCMP cruiser leave and then turned to Ben, squeezing the cold hand she held. Wordlessly she tugged, pulling him into the warm entry and closed the door behind. Ben's eyes were wide and he did not resist when she tugged at his pack, dragging it from his shoulders to rest on the floor. Snow tumbled from his jacket and shoes and melted instantly on the warm, black slate. Cat pulled at his gloves.

"You're getting wet, Ben. Get these things off before you catch cold."

He slipped off his gloves and let Cat take them. She reached for his Stetson and he handed it to her, for once making no comment about putting it in a hat press to counteract the effect of the melting snow. While Cat stowed his things somewhere to dry, Ben unlaced his boots and stepped out of them.

"Come stand by the fire and warm up." Cat slipped her arm about Ben's waist and led him to the living room then pushed him down onto a cushion on the hearth seat.

He stared up at her with his wide, dark eyes and Cat realised that he was in shock. Heart racing, she leaned over and snagged a crocheted afghan from the back of one of the sofas, then draped it over Ben's shoulders. As she leaned over him, he lifted one hand and gripped her arm, holding her still.

"Cat … " he said in a voice that was old and tired, tugging her until she looked into his eyes.

"Oh, Ben … "

"You knew, didn't you? All this time and you knew?"

"Ben … I … "

"I had a daughter and you knew and you didn't tell me." His eyes filled and silent tears ran down his cheeks. "All this time and you knew."

"I couldn't … it wasn't up to me … this is something … only Phil … "

The hand gripping her arm finally loosened and snaked its way around her, pulling her into a hug. "All the time I was angry … and you carried this knowledge around all on your own … you were protecting me … oh god …I thought … I thought … all I had to do … was to love her … to prove that I loved her … but that means nothing … "

"I know, Ben, believe me. You're one of those guys who can fix anything, make everything right and when you're in love you think you can move mountains." She stroked his hair and kissed his temple. "You just don't know what to do when the mountain moves you."

It took some time before Ben would let go of his hold on Cat. Sheila and Bella found their way onto his lap and that seemed to comfort him. Cat took the opportunity to rummage through Ben's pack and find some dry clothes, which she took to him at the fireplace. Once she was certain he was actually changing out of his wet clothes, she left him alone while she prepared some sandwiches.

Ten minutes later Cat came back to the living room with a tray laden with toasted sandwiches and a pot of coffee that she set down on the coffee table before returning her attention to her friend. She was alarmed to find that, save for changing into his dry clothing, he had not moved.

"Ben … " she said gently, brushing a hand down his arm. "I've made you something to eat."

He lifted wide eyes to her. "I … I'm not hungry."

"Don't argue. You need the blood sugar, you're white as a ghost."

Something in her statement made Ben stir and almost smile. She held a plate out to him. Eventually he took the plate and began to eat. Cat moved the tray to the fireplace and then settled onto the hearth seat on the other side of the fire to keep a close eye on him.

Despite his protestations, Ben found he was actually very hungry. He had refused breakfast during his flight and what little he had eaten before he left home had been deposited in the aeroplane washroom. He downed three toasted ham and cheese sandwiches and two cups of coffee in record time. Newly fortified, he felt some of the terror that had beset him finally slip away.

He settled back against the brick hearth, letting out a grateful sound as Bella made her way back onto his lap. He felt as though he were emerging from the inside of a dark cloud. The heaviness in his heart was still there: it would be a long time before that eased. At least the mania that had overtaken him at Moose Jaw airport was gone, replaced by something he recognised as the beginning of the grieving process. He felt Cat's eyes on him and he turned to meet her gaze.

She smiled gently at him. "Feeling better?"

He nodded, not yet trusting his voice, overcome as he was with the myriad of emotions whizzing through him. Watching Cat's concerned smile, a pang of guilt shot through him. She had borne the knowledge of his daughter's short life for how long? And what had it cost her? His heart ached.

How had she learned of his daughter? Did Phil tell her during the time she stayed with Cat after her fall down the mineshaft? He thought of Phil sitting in the same living room, maybe even where he now sat, revealing her secret to a woman she had previously only known by reputation. What had it cost Phil to speak of her child? He squeezed his eyes closed briefly, pushing away the pain caused by his thoughts. When he opened them again, they were filled with tears.

"I don't know what to say, Cat. All this time I was … resentful … hurt … I thought you were keeping something from me," he ground out.

A smile touched the corners of Cat's mouth. "I was."

"Well, yes, but I never thought it would be something like … like this. How did you stand it?"

Cat leaned her head back against the warm brick of the hearth, remembering her reactions. "How did I stand it? I cried a lot, at first. For Phil, for Lindy, for the child I never got to know, who never got to be a woman. I cried for you and how much more devastating it was going to be for you when you finally found out."

"I can't tell you how sorry I am that you carried this knowledge for so long and all I could do was hurt you more," Ben whispered, brokenly.

"Ben … oh, Ben … right now how I feel doesn't matter. You shouldn't be here talking to me about this. You should be with Phil. You two have a lot to talk about."

Ben hung his head. "I just need … I need a little time … I have to sort out what I need to say to her." He raised sad eyes and met Cat's steady gaze. "I demanded an answer. I issued an ultimatum. That all seems so insignificant after … now I know. How did Phil stand being near me on the Canyon trip?"

Cat's smile was rueful. "She's tougher than you think. Plus, she loves you. After all you did and all she suffered and all the years that have passed, Phil still loves you."

Ben made a self-deprecating huff. "I don't deserve her. I don't deserve her warmth, her love."

"Let Phil be the one to decide that, Ben."

Ben stared at Cat with wide eyes, wanting so much to believe what she told him. Was it true? Did Phil really still love him? Did he dare face her? Did he dare ask that question directly?

Almost thirty minutes passed before Constable Marc Previn emerged from Sergeant Sharp's office. Becka saw him as soon as he rounded the corner, a wide grin plastered across his handsome face.

"What the hell is going on?" Becka demanded as he drew near.

"Come with me," Marc said, then headed to the front door.

Cursing under her breath, Becka shot out of her chair and bounded after Marc, not bothering to grab her coat. She caught up with him at his car.

"Marc … ?"

Sliding a key into the lock, he opened the door. "Get in."

Becka slid into the car and Marc closed the door, then walked around to the other side and got in beside her.

"Marc, what's going on?"

He let out a deep bark of laughter.

Slightly unnerved by her friend's behaviour and beginning to shiver with the cold, Becka's patience wavered. "Why am I sitting in your freezing cold car? What the fuck is going on?"

"Sharp's been suspended."

Slapping a hand to her throat Becka opened and closer her mouth like a fish. "Suspended?"

Eyes wide with joy, Marc grinned and nodded. "He's in there packing his desk now. Inspector Meares gave him thirty minutes to get out of the building."

"Is this because of Jill Erdrich's complaint?"

"Actually it has more to do with something Sergeant Buck Frobisher told Head Office, but Jill's complaint added fuel to the fire. Plus, from what Meares implied, there's a whole lot more to it."

Becka absorbed the implications of what Marc had just told her and she sent silent thanks to Buck. She would go and see him soon.

"Wait a minute," she said, turning in her seat to face Marc. "What has this got to do with you? Why did they tell you?"

Marc's grin grew impossibly wider. "Inspector Meares asked me to act in Sharp's place until the enquiry is over."

Becka's smile could not have been wider. Leaning across she pulled Marc into a hug.

"Let me be the first to call you Acting Staff Sergeant Marc Previn."

After his lunch, Ben napped on the sofa. When he awoke it was late afternoon and the sun was slipping behind the hills. Pushing Cat's crocheted afghan aside, he sat up, running a hand through his hair. The house was quite and still, but the muffled sounds and warm, fragrant scent emanating from the kitchen told him Cat was busy cooking.

The familiar sounds comforted him and he took a moment to ponder the thing that had brought him here, the thing that had sent him running to the place he felt safest. He was well accustomed to living with Phil's image in his mind, but now he had a new face to add, the face of his daughter.

A wave of deep emotion swept over him and he was filled with new admiration for Phil. Somehow she had lived with the loss of her child and gone on with her life while he had kept his mind firmly fixed on the past. What was it his father had once said? A man with no future will always run to his past? It seemed he was living proof of the adage.

And what about now? Did he and Phil have a future? Could they deal with the past?

Unable to think about it anymore, he rose and followed the cooking smells to the kitchen.

Cat smiled at him from the stove. "Hey."

Silently, he brushed an affectionate hand over her shoulder, then settled onto a stool at the end of the bench.

Cat turned the burner down to low, gave a final stir to the pot in front of her, then turned to face her friend.

"You OK?"

Smiling a little sadly, he nodded. He was as OK as he could be under the circumstances.

Crossing to the bench and laying a small hand on Ben's arm, Cat inspected his face for anything that would give her an indication as to what he truly felt.

"What can I do for you?" she asked finally.

His shoulders raised in a shrug. "Nothing," he said. "There's nothing you can do, no matter how much you want to. I just need … I need … I don't know what I … time … I need a little time."

"But you will talk to Phil?"

"In her letter she said that if I want to talk to her I should go to her office next Friday, she'll be expecting me."

"So you'll go?"

"I don't know, Cat, but I do know that I can't even think about that until I feel more … more … in control."

Cat nodded her understanding. "So that's why you're here."

"You're always telling me this is my home and for the first time I really need to be somewhere I belong."

"OK, I hear what you're saying. You just do what you need to, we don't have to talk about it."

Nodding, he turned away from her gaze and stared at the snow-covered ground outside the kitchen.

"Will you walk with me?" he asked eventually.

"Now?"

When Ben's eyes turned back to Cat they were earnest and full of purpose. "Yes. I'd like to walk with you."

"Sure, anything, Ben, anything." She turned back to the stove and switched off the burner.

Ten minutes later, clad in down parkas and snow boots, the two old friends set out across the snow-covered paddock that was Cat's back yard. Cat let Ben lead, the walk was his idea and he seemed to have a destination in mind. She smiled to herself when he led her to the same rocky outcrop she had taken Phil only two nights earlier.

"Do you remember the nights we used to come here?" Ben asked, kicking snow aside to gain a foothold on the snow covered sandstone.

Cat hauled herself onto the rock platform and stood beside him. "They were good times, Ben."

He nodded, a tight look appearing on his face. He and Cat had shared many happy moments in this location. He wondered if that was the reason he felt drawn there. In order to avoid the pain he felt, was his subconscious trying to take his mind back to a time and a place where he was happy?

Even though Cat could only see his profile, she saw enough to know the emotions that were going through his mind. Her heart ached for him, but she knew there was nothing she could do for him.

"Does it help to be here?" she asked.

He nodded again and sat down, not concerned by the snow or the frozen rock underneath. After a moment Cat settled beside him. Together they sat for long, long minutes, the sound of snow falling seemingly loud in the silence that opened between them.

When Ben finally spoke his voice sounded old and tired. "How is Phil?"

"How is she?" Cat echoed, wondering exactly what he meant. "She was fine, last time I spoke to her."

"I mean … " He grew agitated. "I mean how is she about … Lindy … how is she about … about … our daughter." Now that the word he dared not speak had finally passed his lips, he felt better, almost like a weight had been taken off his heart. "I want to know … that she's OK"

Cat let out a huge sigh. "She doesn't blame you, if that's what you're asking. I'm sure she blames herself … but more than that … well, you'll have to ask Phil."

Ben's heart sank at the thought of Phil blaming herself for Lindy's death. Would there be no end to the pain?

Silently, Cat slipped her gloved hand into Ben's and squeezed. Her mind drifted to Phil and the conversation they had had on this very same rock. She thought of the question Phil had asked her, the one thing that had dogged the other woman since she learned the truth about the past, the one thing Cat had not expected her to ask. Out of nowhere, a question appeared in Cat's mind and demanded an answer. She debated with herself the wisdom of asking it, but once formed, the question refused to go away.

She sneaked a sideways glance at her friend, noting the faraway look in his eye as he gazed across the countryside. The answer to her question might open up a whole new can of worms, a whole new batch of pain, but she could not let it go unasked. In fact, she wondered why she had never thought to ask it before.

"I want to know something, Ben," she stated, firmly.

Twisting to face her, he raised quizzical eyebrows at her. Something in her tone made him wary, unsure that he wanted to hear what she was about to say.

"It's about Victoria," she said, echoing the question Phil has asked her in this same place.

Ben's mouth went dry and he felt suddenly cold to the core. He swallowed hard and opened his mouth, but no sound came out. He cleared his throat and croaked, "Victoria?"

"We never talked about it. You told me about what happened when you tracked her on the mountain, then you told me about the court case and that she received a ten year sentence. Apart from what you said about 'knowing her across a thousand lifetimes' and that you'd 'wait for her' you never spoke about how you felt."

He drew his hand away. "Why are you asking me this?"

"You once professed to be so in love with this woman you could walk away from Phil without looking back …"

Interrupting her, Ben said, "You know I regret it."

"Yes I do. What I'm asking is what your feelings for Victoria are. I don't mean what happened on the mountain, what made you do it, what you were thinking … none of that matters now." Fixing Ben with a determined look she continued, "Is it over? Have you let go? Can you go to Phil and honestly say she's the only woman you love?"

Ben dragged his eyes away from Cat and looked out across the fields below. "I suppose I deserve that question."

"It doesn’t matter who deserves what, there's no room for blame now. It matters if there's still the tiniest sliver of warmth in your heart for Victoria Metcalf." She swallowed, then reached for Ben's hand again. "It's not me that it matters to. Don't you dare go to Phil unless you go with a clear heart."

"There are many things in my mind that I am still unsure about, Cat, but make no mistake, there is nothing in my heart for that woman."

Cat had never heard Ben's voice to sound so hard, but she knew there was truth in his words. She would give him what he asked for – a quiet refuge where he could find himself again. She prayed he would do it before the end of the week.

As it turned out, it only took Ben one day to find the quiet place in his mind that he sought. He spent the day quietly; walking in the snow, sitting by the fire, napping with the cats. He turned down Cat's offer to call in sick and spend the day with him, preferring to alone with his thoughts.

Ben knew that he had not even begun the grieving process, but he also knew that he would not be able to until he spoke with Phil. If he flew back to Chicago the following day he would be have one night to gather his thoughts before seeing Phil on Friday.

By the time Cat returned from work he had a flight booked for the following morning and he was calmer than she had seen him in many years.

"I'm really glad you made the decision to," Cat said when Ben told her of his plans. "I'm happy for you to stay as long as you need, but we both know you're only going to start taking this seriously when you see Phil."

Ben nodded and looked into the distance. "Once we've talked about … Lindy …however long it takes, I will know if Phil is willing to start again. I don't mean to take up where we left off. I mean I will court her and gain her trust and maybe she will grow to love me again. Maybe she will consent to marry me."

The heartfelt emotion in Ben's voice tugged at Cat's heart. Leaning over, she covered his hand and squeezed. "I think she will, Ben."

They didn't talk about it anymore that night. Instead, they shared a simple meal of rabbit stew and potatoes and spoke of other things.

Cat drove Ben to the airport the next morning before going on to work. He had several hours before his flight, but he was content to spend the time alone. When they hugged goodbye there were tears in both their eyes. Cat wished Ben well and he promised to keep her informed. As she watched him walk away, it occurred to her that he looked younger, freer somehow, as though a great weight had been removed. It made her heart sing.

The contented feeling stayed with her all day. It wavered briefly several hours later when Constable Marchand told Cat that Constable Fraser was on the line. Had he seen Phil? Was it bad news? For a moment she panicked, but then her sensible side kicked in. Ben was still on the plane, not even landed in Chicago. The Constable Fraser on the phone could only be Becka.

She grabbed up the phone, grinning happily. "So what are you doing calling me in the middle of the day when you should be at work?"

Becka's silvery laugh came down the line. "I am at work, Cat."

"Well, aren't you the bad girl," she teased. "Not only is a Fraser making a long distance call on RCMP time, but she is knowingly stopping another RCMP officer from doing her duty."

Becka laughed again. "I see you've been speaking to my brother lately."

Cat froze. Did Becka know?

Cat's reaction relayed clearly down the line to Becka. Was something wrong or was she just a little paranoid. She always knew this would be the second most difficult call she would have to make. The most difficult, of course, would be to her brother, but that would come much later. For now, this was the most important call, because Becka was relying on Cat to react in her usual no nonsense fashion and demand that she get her butt down to Moose Jaw, which is exactly what she wanted to hear. She smiled and dialled the numbers she had memorized many years earlier.

"Something wrong, Cat?"

"No," Cat said cheerfully. "You're just the person I need to hear from today."

"Oh," Becka queried, "why's that?"

Cat rolled her eyes and thought about Ben's visit. Something stopped her from revealing the details to Becka. "I've had a rough week, Beck, and it's good to talk to someone who has their shit together."

Becka snorted. "Well, that's debatable. You might get a different opinion up here in Kitimat."

The hairs rose on the back of Cat's neck and she knew instantly that something was wrong. Or was it just a hangover reaction from Phil's and then Ben's visit? With Becka's history and knowing that Buck Frobisher had been up there recently, she was almost afraid to ask her next question.

"What's happened, Becka?"

"It's nothing serious, Cat," Becka placated. "I quit."

Cat gulped. "You what?"

"I resigned, I quit, I finish at the end of the week."

"Well, goddamn, Beck," Cat said in a perplexed tone. "I don't know what to say. What the hell brought this on?"

"You should have seen it coming. You, of all people, know what it's been like up here. You knew I couldn't take much more."

"But Buck recommended that you get transferred down here with me. We could have made it happen. You could have had a real job again."

"I know and I appreciate it, Cat, I really do. I just feel that I need something more. Nothing is the same anymore and I guess I need to take care of myself and forget about the RCMP."

"So what are you going to do?"

"Well, that's one of the reasons I'm calling. I was hoping it would be OK if I came and stayed with you for a while. That's if it's not going to cramp yours and Lloyd's style, if you know what I mean."

Cat let out a guffaw. "We don't have sex on the living room floor … well not every night. You get your sorry butt here as soon as you can. You know better than to ask if you can come and stay. This is your home, Becka, yours and Ben's."

"Ah, yes, my brother."

Cat went cold. Had Becka already called Ben? No, it wasn't possible. He had been with her for two days and not mentioned it. Or was it forgotten in the wake of his other, more devastating news? She had to ask.

"Have you told him?"

"No, no, not yet. I thought maybe we could keep this a secret for a while. I don't want to alarm him just yet. With the fire and his back and … the other things … you know …"

Cat knew what other things Becka referred to – Phil McKenzie. She thought about the state Ben had been in when he left her. She agreed that it was not the time to trouble him with Becka's news. And what about the news that Ben knew of his daughter? Cat decided to save that piece of information until Becka was with her.

"I think that's for the best, Beck, I really do. Now just get yourself here as soon as you can."

When the call ended, Cat stared at the wall for a long time. She wondered about the mysteries of life. For both Fraser siblings the world had turned suddenly. She prayed that it was for the best.

Later that night, as she lay asleep, a ghostly visitor came to reassure her. He told her how grateful he was that she took care of his children and gave them a sense of family. She had done all she could. He told her he loved her and would always watch over her. Lying beside her, the cats purred loudly and smiling in her sleep, she reached out and stroked them as Bob Fraser drifted silently away. He had other visits to make that night.

It didn't matter to Ray that staying up late meant he would get very little sleep. Fridays were, he rationalised, take it easy days anyway. No one worked hard on Fridays; they were busy preparing for the weekend. What did matter was that his family, with the exception of Frannie who was out on a date, were all in bed and this house was still and silent and, for the moment, all his.

Kicking off his shoes, Ray tossed a log onto the fire and switched off all the lights. He drew a heavy crystal tumbler from the cupboard and poured himself a healthy measure of Lagavulin, the 18-year-old single malt he saved for moments just like these. Settling on the sofa, he stretched his legs along its length and sighed in contentment.

Diefenbaker sidled over and rested his chin on the sofa, staring at Ray with wide eyes. Ruffling his fur, Ray smiled sadly.

"I don't know when he's coming home, buddy. You're stuck with me for a while longer."

Dief snorted in disgust and moved away, taking up a position on the hearth in front of the fire.

"Hey," Ray said, "I didn't hear you complaining when Ma was feeding you chicken cacciatore under the table tonight."

Dief made a dismissive sound and closed his eyes. Ray rolled his eyes.

"Now I understand why Benny's always saying 'pay and pay and pay'." He sipped at his scotch, savouring the rich smoky flavour.

His eyes drifted back to the flames and his mind inevitably turned to thoughts of his friend. He hoped he was faring well with Phil, that the two lovers would find a way around the past and back to each other. Earlier in the day he had briefly considered calling Cat, just for the excuse to talk to someone about Benny, but he decided against it. His friend had asked him to say nothing about what had happened and he would honour that request, no matter how much he needed to talk. Satisfied with his decision he let the fire and the scotch do their work, relaxing him in a way that rarely happened these days.

He wasn't sure how long he sat there, so Ray had no way of knowing what time it was when Frannie came home from her date. She saw the fireglow from the hallway and stepped into the living room to see who was still awake.

"Hey, Ray," she greeted when she saw her brother stretched out on the sofa, "you fall asleep?"

Looking toward the doorway he greeted his sister with a warm smile. "Nah, just sitting here thinking … enjoying the fire …"

Tenderness filled Frannie. She liked her brother when he was gentle and quiet like this. Ray let Frannie look at him – it gave him a chance to look at her. Ray wondered how long it had been since he'd paid his sister any attention. When had she become the lovely woman he saw before him?

Dressed in slim black woollen pants and a soft, close fitting red cashmere sweater, she had a black woollen shawl draped across her shoulders. Her hair fell softly around her face and her makeup was understated: mascara, eyeliner and a touch of pink at her lips. At here ears were delicate diamond studs and a simple, heavy gold bracelet adorned one wrist. The overall look was elegant and sophisticated, not the style Ray usually associated with his sister.

He grinned. So this was the difference he had been unable to identify at the precinct two days earlier. He wondered how it had happened.

"Want to join me for a nightcap?"

Frannie smiled gently. "Yeah, that'd be nice."

When Ray started to rise, she stopped him. "You're comfortable, stay there. I'll get it."

Relaxing back into the sofa, Ray looked back to the fire, waiting until Frannie joined him. A few seconds later she settled into the armchair opposite, kicking off her shoes and tucking her feet under her. She sipped at a small glass of port and sighed.

"How was your date?" Ray asked, at the last minute realising it sounded like he was checking up on her.

If Frannie thought he was being nosy, she said nothing. She smiled and dropped her head back into the cushions.

"It was nice," she said, a little dreamily.

The shift in her position brought her face into the full glow of the fire. In the flickering light Ray could see that the colour on her lips he had mistaken for lipstick was something else. Her lips were rosy and slightly swollen. She had been kissing someone.

A lot.

Several emotions struck Ray suddenly but, surprisingly, none of them was anger. His first thought was of Casey, how she had looked flushed with desire from kissing him. That filled him with tenderness and love, to be quickly followed by sadness and pain. He thought of Benny and how he had looked the morning after spending the night with Phil. That thought made him happy. His final thought was a long time coming and when it arrived he wondered why he never thought of it before.

Frannie was in love.

It all made sense. She had been out almost every night for weeks now and he was certain she had not been home at all the previous weekend. Who was she seeing?

"Fraser's not back yet?" Frannie asked, indicating the sleeping wolf.

Snapped out of his reverie, Ray rubbed a hand over his face. "Nah, don't know when he's coming back."

"Wow, it must be serious then," she said. "I mean, he doesn't go off and leave Dief like that unless there's a problem."

Ray's mind was instantly filled with the image of Benny the night he received Phil's letters. He could only agree with Frannie. It was serious.

"He's been real strange lately, don't you think, Ray? I forget sometimes that he's just the same as the rest of us. I mean, I'm so used to this big, strong guy who you think can move mountains …" Her voice faded away. She took a sip of her port and stared into the fire. "I guess I never thought I'd see the day when the mountain moved him."

Still busy with thoughts of his friend, Ray had only been half listening to Frannie. His ears pricked up at Frannie's last comment. He leaned forward slightly.

"What did you say?"

Startled by the change in mood, Frannie swung her eyes around to meet Ray's.

"What do you mean 'what did I say'?"

"That last thing you said, about mountains …"

"I said I thought I'd never see the day when Fraser got moved by the mountain."

Narrowing his eyes, Ray stared at his sister. Her attention drifted back to the fire, so she did not see the way he studied her with a renewed interest. In his mind, he recalled a conversation from two days ago.

Scowling, he settled back into the cushions. It didn't mean anything. The whole 'moving mountains' phrase was a cliché, lot's of people said it. It didn't mean anything. Just a coincidence. No connection at all.

But later, as he prepared for bed, the phrase came back to haunt Ray. Something about it niggled at the back of his mind. He had no idea what it could be, but he had the distinct feeling that Benton Fraser might not be the only person who had been moved by a mountain.

Disclaimer: This story is written for the private entertainment of fans. The author makes no claims on the characters or their portrayal by the creation of this story. Fraser, Vecchio, et.al. belong to Alliance; Cat Madden belongs to me; the McKenzies and friends belong to Cassandra Hope and are used with permission. No infringement of any copyrights held by CBS, Alliance, CTV or any other copyright holders of DUE SOUTH is intended. This story is not published for profit, and the author does not give permission for this story to be reproduced for profit.

Lyrics from Look After Yourself by Stars are used without permission.

Copyright January 2002 by Carol Trendall