Another wave washed about him. The water was...if not exactly hot, it wasn't cool either, and the fishy smell of the air was faintly nauseating. Sighing, Ray retraced his steps to the towel he'd carelessly thrown on the sand moments earlier. He quickly slipped his shoes back on his damp feet, grabbed the towel, and made his way back to his rental car.

This had been a big mistake. Galveston in mid-summer was too hot for him. Whatever made him think that a vacation to the Gulf (be it Florida or Texas) was something to desire? Maybe in the dead of winter but certainly not in summer! The only difference he could see between a Houston summer and a Chicago summer was the humidity.

The drive back to Houston took longer than the drive down. Ray silently fumed as the traffic inched forward past a three-car pile-up. The Texas Highway Patrol directed traffic around the vehicles but, as with any wreck, rubber-neckers slowed things to a crawl. Finally, past the site of the collision, Ray accelerated and shot towards the city on the skyline and the promised haven of coolness he'd discovered on his first night in Houston--the Galleria. More specifically, Ray headed toward the ice rink in the Galleria; it's chill air reminding him of the cooler weather of a Chicago winter.

Three days he'd been here and it looked like it would be that many more before the incompetents at the Houston Police Department would free up his prisoner. Ray pounded on the steering wheel of his car, cursing his bad luck. Why couldn't he be dealing with the Texas Rangers? At least they seemed to know what was going on whereas the HPD didn't seem to know the difference between a certain body orifice and a hole in the ground. Bureaucrats and paper work seemed to be the bane of any policeman's life but, for some reason, Houston appeared to have more than its share.

Sheesh, a simple prisoner extradition--fly to Houston, collect one Michael Little, fly back to Chicago--simple...straightforward. But that was three days ago and still he was stuck in this inferno.

With a start, Ray realized that he had driven the distance from the wreck to the Galleria without noting the passage of time nor the everyday Houston traffic. He pulled his car into the garage reserved for those staying at the Westin Galleria.

Stay at that flea-bitten rattrap reserved for him by the HPD? No way, huh uh, not on your life. If he had to be here then he would be here in style! Taking the elevator to his room on the sixth floor, he quickly discarded the useless towel. He reached for a change of clothing only to realize that there was sand in everything he wore. He felt the sand rasp against the delicate skin of his posterior and other private places.

"Damn, damn, damn. I hate this assignment...I hate Houston...I hate humidity...I hate sand..." Ray ranted as he rapidly divested himself of his shorts and T-shirt. Moments later he stood beneath the cold water jetting from the shower head in the tiny bath. A slow smile crept across his face as he finally found the coolness he had searched for. Stepping out of the shower, he toweled himself dry and changed into dark slacks and a loudly patterned shirt over a simple black muscle-T.

Riding the elevator down to the lobby, Ray wound his way around through the corridors until he entered the mall. Strolling past one particular shop, a display in the window caught his eye. Smiling, he entered the store.

Seashells of all shapes and sizes were artistically arranged in a central display. Ray fingered one then carefully picked it up. He gagged at the price tag surprised that something this small could cost so much. He quickly replaced the shell and moved on to a display of jewelry. A small golden replica of a sand dollar on a chain caught his eye and he selected two of the necklaces for his sisters. Further exploration uncovered a small trinket box of the sort his mother collected. Lastly, Ray caught sight of a chambered nautilus and decided to purchase it for Fraser.

He smiled to himself as he recalled Ben reciting 'The Chambered Nautilus' by Oliver Wendell Holmes. How any one person could know so much useless information as well as more poetry than a normal person should be subjected to was beyond him. He cocked his head as he tried to remember the poem.

'Or something like that,' he reasoned. Why was he even thinking of that stupid poem? Sheesh, Fraser was beginning to rub off on him. If he didn't watch out he'd be spouting Shakespeare at the next criminal he arrested. That thought sent a shudder up and down his spine. 'Never...no way...not in this lifetime,' Ray vowed.

Gathering his selections together, he approached the register and the olive-skinned woman behind the counter. A graceful fluted white shell caught his eye and he knew that it would be the perfect gift for Becka. 'Bequaert's Murex... what a strange name for a shell,' he mused as he paid for his selection of gifts.

"Could I leave these here and pick them up on my way out?" he asked the woman.

The woman smiled at Ray and nodded her head. "What name should I place on it?" she asked as she accepted the package. With Ray's reply she wrote Vecchio on the sack before placing it behind the counter. "I get off at 5," she added.

Ray's eyes widened and he stammered a reply. "That's...that's nice," he said as he beat a hasty retreat from the store. Shoving his hands into the pockets of his slacks, he shook his head in amazement. What was the world coming to? Don Juan Vecchio had just fled the advances of a lovely young woman. Mentally he cursed himself; Benton Fraser was definitely having a detrimental effect on him. Why...he was even acting like the Mountie around women. 'What next?' he wondered as he forged ahead. He didn't stop until he reached the object of his original quest--the ice rink.

He watched a small group of children practicing figure 8's on the ice. Further down, a couple skated arm-in-arm. Two white haired ladies whipped past him as they sped around the rink, their bright pink tights matching the scarves that fluttered behind them. Several others skated leisurely around the perimeter of the rink.

Satisfied that there was no one present that would make fun of his ineptitude, Ray approached the young man at the skate checkout stand. He paid the modest fee, took the skates presented to him, and headed toward the entrance to the expanse of ice. Sliding out of his loafers, he quickly laced the skates on his feet then tottered toward that beckoning opening. Once on the ice, Ray slipped and slid around the circumference of the rink, grasping the wall with one hand. Finding a spot near a corner, he slid to the ice and sat with his back to the wall enjoying the cold radiating up through the seat of his slacks. Skaters passed by and several stopped to offer assistance but Ray simply smiled at them, thanked them for their concern, and explained that he was from Chicago. That seemed to satisfy everyone and for the next hour no one seemed to notice the slender man sitting on the ice. That is, no one noticed except when he leaned down and kissed the ice. Those that had spoken with him chuckled and passed on the information to those that hadn't.

Constable Benton Fraser stood at attention. The sun beat down and he felt the trickle of sweat between his shoulder blades. Inspector Thatcher was in a foul mood and he had inadvertently crossed her path at the wrong time. Now he paid for his inattention. The two young boys with their ice cream cones had come and gone; an elderly Japanese couple had snapped several pictures of him; Inspector Thatcher herself had left for a meeting and returned an hour ago each time staring intently at him in passing. As days at sentry duty went this one had been fairly typical.

He had been on sentry duty for several hours when he noticed the woman across the street. She had exited a large, ponderous building that housed a major law firm. As she hurried down the steps and turned in the direction of the consulate, the skirt of her green dress flared around her legs. He felt his eyes drawn to them. The way she walked brought back memories long suppressed. Mesmerized by her movements, he watched her remove her blazer and run a hand down the side of her dress. Panic-stricken, he tried to focus on something else, anything else. He couldn't believe he was staring at a strange woman seeing motions and actions of another woman, a woman from his past. Still...his eyes sought the woman, devouring her every movement.

The woman paused and with an impatient toss of her head continued down the sidewalk. An intense longing possessed Ben and, before he knew what was happening, he deserted his post to pursue the woman. Threading through the traffic, he crossed Stetson Avenue and followed the woman. He watched her turn the corner ahead of him and, fearful of losing her in the throng of people, called out the name that troubled his thoughts. When he reached the corner, she was gone. He glanced up and down the street, even turning a full circle searching for her, to no avail. The mystery woman was gone.

Shocked with his behavior, he slowly made his way back to the consulate, stopping every few steps to search again for the woman. His shoulders slumped. It couldn't have been her. It couldn't have been Phil.

His sluggish steps carried him through the door and up the steps of the consulate to Inspector Thatcher's office. He knocked then waited for the answering summons. When it came, he entered and stood at attention.

Removing her glasses and placing them in her lap, Thatcher snapped, "What is it, Constable? You had better have a good reason for being here."

Ben opened his mouth then closed it, swallowing deeply. Stiffening his resolve he answered, "No, sir."

"Then why are you here?"

"I am here to report my desertion of my post."

"It's obvious that you've deserted your post since you are standing in my office."

"No, sir, I mean..." He ran his tongue over his teeth and started over, "Sir, I deserted my post to pursue someone I thought I knew."

"Was this person committing a crime?"

"No, sir, not that I could see, sir."

"So you're saying that you saw someone you thought you knew and you left your post to follow him?"

"Yes, sir." No sense correcting the Inspector's assumption that it was a man he'd followed. He was in enough trouble as it was.

Thatcher regarded her subordinate officer. Normally she would have verbally flayed him but something in his demeanor stalled her tongue. What was it that caught her attention? The eyes--that's what it was. Instead of the piercing clarity that usually reposed there, now his blue eyes were clouded and...haunted? Was it possible for someone to look haunted? Maybe he was coming down with a cold or something and wasn't performing at his normal proficiency.

"Are you feeling well, Constable?"

"I'm fine, sir."

Her piercing stare passed over Fraser. Regardless of what he said, he didn't look fine. His normal efficiency and attention to detail was not what she had come to expect from him, although the business with the archives had been well thought out and much appreciated.

The radio that softly played in the background reminded everyone of the temperature, 92F--hot enough to boil anyone's brains. Maybe Fraser was experiencing a touch of heat exhaustion. He certainly looked pale enough. That would account for his aberrant behavior. Feeling slightly magnanimous, she would let it pass--this time.

"Very well, Constable. We will waive the remainder of your sentry duty. I don't want to be responsible for one of my subordinates suffering a heat stroke. On your way out tell Turnbull and Cooper that they are not to stand duty either. You're dismissed." Thatcher turned back to the papers on her desk.

Mouth agape, Ben remained at attention in a stupefied silence. He'd expected to be soundly reamed then ordered to stand before a court of review. To be let off so easily was a shock and he felt faint with relief.

"Is there something else, Constable?"

Ben brought his errant thoughts under control and answered, "Uh...no, sir. I'll just be going, sir."

"Do that and Constable...?"

"Yes, sir?"

"You and the rest of the staff may forgo wearing your tunics."

"Our tunics?"

"Just until the weather cools."

"Yes, sir. Understood, sir." Ben turned to go, surprised and grateful that the Inspector had shown some concern for her staff.

As he strode down the hallway to his office he passed on the injunctions concerning sentry duty and the uniforms to Constables Turnbull and Cooper. Smiling he watched both men shed the wool tunics and take turns standing before the air-conditioner vent drying their sweat drenched shirts. Entering his small office, he, too, discarded his tunic and savored the refreshing coolness of his own sweat-soaked shirt.

Sitting at his desk, Ben removed a file from his in-basket. Flipping it open, he became immersed in yet another request for a visa to Canada. It didn't take long for him to realize that he hadn't read a word of the form. Staring at it, his mind kept wandering back to his encounter with the Inspector. Why had she been so lenient? She had mentioned heat stroke. Was what had happened as simple as that? Had he been on the verge of heat exhaustion or even heat stroke and simply imagined he had seen Phil?

Propping his elbows on the desk, he ran his fingers through his hair before burying his face in his hands. Why was he thinking of Phil? Surely, he could get along just fine without a specific woman in his life. He had managed just fine after Cat had ended their relationship. He had managed just fine after he had ended his relationship with Phil. He just needed to put her out of his mind once more. He'd done it before when he thought he had loved Victoria. He could do it again. Frankly, he didn't know if he even wanted a woman in his life. All they had ever caused him was pain. 'Except for Becka,' he silently added. No, he was better of without Phil or anyone else.

Dr. Phil McKenzie surreptitiously glanced at her watch. This meeting with Sandburg and Black Law Firm had already run over the allotted time by half an hour. If it didn't end soon she'd be late for her date with Dr. Martin Stevenson. She smiled slightly at the thought of Martin playing polo, one of his ideas of enjoying the 'great outdoors'. She couldn't fault him on his skills at polo and his horsemanship was superb, but knocking a wooden ball around a manicured polo field was not her idea of the 'great outdoors'.

"Dr. McKenzie?"

Startled from her musings, Phil's head popped up to face Lawrence Black as he leaned across the conference table, hand extended. Smiling openly to hide her momentary confusion, Phil rose and shook the proffered hand. "I'm sorry, Mr. Black, would you mind repeating your last comment."

"I said I was sorry to have kept you longer than originally planned. I can see you have another engagement." He looked pointedly at her watch then grinned as chagrin settled into her eyes.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Black. Was I that obvious?"

"No." Black shook his head, then whispered conspiratorially, "I only noticed because I have other plans as well."

Phil grinned, relieved that she hadn't offended one of the senior partners of Sandburg and Black. She was here to discuss the successful completion of the first team-building excursion through the Grand Canyon by members of this law firm. The trip had gone well and the participants had returned with glowing reports and high recommendations, Lawrence Black among them. Phil had known the trip would be a success due mainly to the efforts of Hunter Expeditions, a small company that specialized in river excursions, but it was always nice to hear it from one of the head honchos.

She was almost across from the Canadian Consulate before she realized it. Her steps faltered as she took in the statue-like form dressed in red serge. Her heart skipped a beat and she silently chided herself for letting something as silly as a man in a red uniform affect her like this. After all, she'd already proven that that Mountie wasn't Ben Fraser. Shaking her head, she purposefully turned away from the sentinel, straightened her spine, and strode away from the reminder of her past love. She'd gotten over Ben and it angered her that the sight of a Mountie could still affect her.

Turning the corner, she smiled with relief as a taxi pulled to the curb and two men in business suits disembarked. Almost at a run, Phil raced to the taxi. Yes, it was available. Grasping the door handle, Phil paused. Puzzled, she searched the faces of the people passing her on the sidewalk. Had someone called her name?

"You gonna get in, lady? I can't wait all day, ya know." The taxi driver leaned across the seat and called to her from the open window of the taxi.

Shaking her head, Phil opened the door of the taxi and climbed in, all the while looking for a familiar face. Settling into the seat, she gave the driver the address of the polo field. As the taxi pulled away from the curb, she turned and stared out of the window. She must be hearing things. Who would be calling her name?

Casey Sinclair slipped her feet out of her comfortable loafers and into the pumps that matched her dove grey suit. Taking one last look in the mirror, she patted an errant strand of honey blonde hair back into place. Not quite satisfied with what she saw, she opened a tube of lipstick and applied another coating.

"Casey, you look great and you don't need another coating of lipstick." Florence Lassiter removed a tissue from the box on the counter and dabbed at the newly applied color. "You look so much better with just a touch of color." She continued to dab until she was satisfied. Turning Casey to face the mirror once more, she said, "There now...that's much better."

"I'm sorry, Flo. I...I don't know...I'm just..."

"Nervous, apprehensive, perhaps a little afraid?" Casey's head bobbed in agreement. Flo clasped the shorter woman's hands in hers. "I understand. This is your first book signing since..." Her voice trailed off.

"Since I left Chicago and moved to Montana?" Casey smiled up at Flo's bespectacled face. Although more than a year had passed since the incident with the stalker, neither one of them wanted to raise the ghost of that subject.

By tacit agreement, Flo nodded her head. "Since you moved to Montana. Although I have to admit that that mountain air seems to have done you a world of good. Your latest book has to be one of your finest works."

Casey chuckled as she reached for her pocketbook. "It's a romance novel, Flo. I won't win a Pulitzer for it."

"Maybe not, Casey, but I have a feeling that more people read your novels than ever read a Pulitzer."

A knock on the door of her room drew Casey from her bleak thoughts. Flo answered the knock and neither woman was surprised to see the two uniformed policemen there. One tipped his hat and asked, "Ms. Cassandra Hope?"

Flo shook her head and motioned for the men to enter the room. "I'm Ms. Hope's agent, Florence Lassiter. Let me introduce you to Ms. Hope."

The younger of the two officers, after shaking Casey's hand, nervously twisted his hat in his hand. Stammering slightly, a blush crept into his face. "Ms. Hope, it's a pleasure to meet you. My wife is a big fan of yours. I was wondering if..."

Casey smiled at the young man. He reminded her of her brother-in-law, Rob McKenzie. "Say no more, Officer..." She squinted at his badge, "...Officer Stanton." Reaching for one of the books carefully stacked on the table, she flipped it open to the frontispiece. "What's your wife's name?"

The young man blushed again, "Cassandra...Cassie for short."

Openly grinning at the flustered policeman, Casey quickly dashed a short message and signed her name with a flourish. Handing the book to the officer, he stammered his thanks, but Casey brushed it aside. "No thanks are necessary, Officer Stanton. It is I who should be thanking you for helping us out."

The other officer cleared his throat. "Ms. Hope?" Casey turned her attention to the older man. "I wasn't going to ask you, but seeing as how Roger here did...well, my wife..."

Casey chuckled and selected another book. "Who should I make this out to Officer..."

"Brown, Mike Brown. Make it out to Ellen."

"Ellen Brown." Quickly signing another book, she handed it to Officer Brown. "I hope both of your wives enjoy this one."

"I'm sure they will, Ms. Hope. If you're ready now, we will escort you down to the bookstore. We've already cleared the use of the back passageways with mall security. We can get you to the store without having to worry about running into someone you don't want to meet."

Closing and locking her door, Casey followed the two men toward the elevator. "Thank you. I'm probably being silly about this but..."

"But nothing, Ms. Hope. We know what happened at your last book signing. That won't happen here. Besides, our wives would skin us alive if we let anything happen to their favorite author!" Brown smiled as he spoke.

"You can say that again!" Stanton averred.

When the elevator doors opened, the two officers directed Casey and Flo toward the staff area of the hotel. Making their way through the inner areas, they soon exited into a plain white corridor. As they walked along it Casey noted the names of several stores she had heard about. Finally they approached a door labeled Barnes and Noble Booksellers. A knock on the door brought a quick response and, before Casey had much time to think about it, she was settling into a chair behind a burgundy draped table waiting for the first of her fans to approach with a book to be signed.

It wasn't long before Casey felt someone watching her. Lifting her eyes from the book in front of her, she scanned the eager faces queuing through the store and out the door. Most of the faces were turned to her, smiling in their eagerness to finally get to meet her, speak a word with her. None of the faces in the throng felt like the right one. No, there was something familiar in the touch of these eyes. Begging a pardon with a motion of her hand, she stood and stretched letting her sight sweep across the store to the mall outside. A movement at the periphery of her vision drew her eyes. A vague shape in a garish shirt threaded his way away from the store. Her heart lurched as she thought she saw someone from her past. But that wasn't possible, it was just her imagination working overtime. Sighing to herself, she reseated herself and turned a smiling face to the next woman in the line.

"Hi, I'm Martina Rodriquez and it's a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Hope."

The hours passed quickly as they always did and soon Casey and Flo were escorted back through the back corridors of the mall to their rooms in the hotel. With a sigh of relief, Casey sank into the steaming hot tub of water and closed her eyes. Yes, the signing had been a success. She could face the crowds of people and not wonder if someone was going to hurt her--not wonder if someone was stalking her. That thought brought back the memory of those eyes she had felt on her. They had caressed her senses and made her think of Ray. Maybe Phil was right. Maybe she should put Ray out of her mind and get on with her life. Then why did she feel a touch of panic at that thought?

Toweling herself dry, she slipped into her robe. Opening a bottle of wine from the small refrigerator, she strolled to the patio of her suite and opened the drapes. Leaning her forehead against the glass of the door, she stared into the night sky. Light pollution greyed the night and obscured the stars. Tomorrow she would board a plane back to Montana and the clear night sky that beckoned her. She would carry her heavy heart with her. Maybe she should take Phil up on her invitation. If Ray wasn't going to make the first move maybe she should. Maybe there was hope for her.

The knock on the door of his office startled Ben and he was in the act of rising when Inspector Thatcher burst into the small room. Glancing around at the now bare room, she nodded in appreciation. "This office looks much better, Constable. The archive was an excellent idea."

Ben now stood at attention. "Thank you kindly, sir."

Thatcher moved to stand in front of the desk. She studied her deputy. His face showed no expression but his eyes were wary of her inspection. The paleness of earlier still tinged his features and his eyes were still dulled. No, it definitely wouldn't look good on her evaluations if one of her subordinates succumbed to heat prostration while standing sentry duty. "Constable, considering your close brush with the heat, I'm ordering you to take the rest of the afternoon off. Go home and rest." She spun on her heels and marched out of the office.

Ben stared after his superior officer in surprise. Not only had he been relieved of sentry duty but, now, he had been given the rest of the day off, something practically unheard of in his experience with Inspector Thatcher. Normally, he was weighted down with overtime making up for the many hours he spent with Ray Vecchio. Smiling guiltily, he cleared his desk and grabbed his tunic. The thought of an afternoon with his sister broadened the smile already on his lips.

The walk to his apartment passed quickly. Stopping only to briefly chat with Jerome and to pick up a tub of rocky road ice cream, Ben hurried toward the coolness of his apartment. Leaping the stairs two at a time, the intriguing aroma of baking cookies met him as he turned down the corridor to his apartment. The smell grew stronger as he approached his door. Not surprisingly, the aroma assaulted him when he opened the door teasing his taste buds to water.

Closing his eyes, he inhaled deeply. "That smells wonderful, Becka."

Becka rose from her place on the floor and took the sweating package from Ben. Glancing inside, a wide grin pulled at the corners of her mouth. "Rocky road...my favorite. You spoil me, Benny."

"And baking my favorite cookies isn't spoiling me?"

"Your favorite? I thought they were Dief's," Becka jested as she stored the ice cream in the freezer compartment of the tiny refrigerator. A timer dinged and she reached for a potholder and withdrew a cookie sheet laden with fresh sugar cookies.

Ben's brow wrinkled in puzzlement. "I thought they were tollhouse cookies."

"Dief's favorite cookies are sugar cookies, Benny. I thought you knew that."

"I thought you were baking tollhouse cookies for me." Ben's smile drooped slightly.

"Nope, I'm baking these for Diefenbaker." Dief barked happily while Ben's shoulders sagged. "I baked yours this morning," Becka continued as she reached for a large tin and opened the lid.

Ben's smile reestablished itself as he reached into the tin and withdrew a cookie. He reached for another but Becka swatted his hand.

"No more, Benny, you'll spoil your dinner," Becka gently laughed at him then dropped several of the now cooled sugar cookies on the floor for Dief. The wolf quickly put an end to the cookies and begged for more.

"How did your day go? You're home early, aren't you?"

"Inspector Thatcher sent me home to recover. She thinks I had a brush with heat exhaustion."

Becka's eyes widened in concern. "You weren't standing sentry duty, were you?" Ben grimaced and nodded his head. "Here, let's get you out of that tunic...take those boots off...sit down here in front of the air-conditioner while I get you something cool to drink..." Becka bustled about her brother, clucking like a mother hen.

"I'm fine, Becka." But he gladly shed the tunic and settled into the comfortable chair. Becka knelt at his feet and helped remove his boots. Rising to her feet, she entered the small bathroom and returned with a wet wash cloth. Ben batted her hands away when she tried to wipe his face with it. "Honestly, Becka, I'm fine."

"But, Benny..."

"No buts, Becka. I'm fine. I only came home to spend some time with you. If you weren't here, I would've stayed at the consulate." He glanced around the apartment spotting the opened chest near the head of his bed. Photos, tins, and books were strewn on the floor in front of the chest. Motioning with his head, he commented, "I see you've been busy."

Stammering with embarrassment, Becka apologized, "I'm sorry, Benny. I hope you don't mind..." Her voice trailed off as she watched her brother trying to determine if he was upset with her for rummaging through the old chest.

"Of course, I don't mind, Becka. I just wished you'd warned me so I could've hid all my Playboy magazines."

"Your what?" Becka's head flew up and she stared at Ben in surprise. Spying the patented look of innocence on his face she began to laugh; she hadn't seen this playful side of her brother in far too long a time. Ben's rich laughter soon joined hers.

"So, what did you discover?" Ben asked as he slid out of the chair and onto the floor beside Becka.

"Some things I would've never believed you would keep."

"Such as?"

Becka reached into the old wooden footlocker and pulled out a small sewing basket. Something-dingy white kept the basket from closing completely.

Ben smiled wryly as Becka removed the white object from the basket.

Shaking it in front of his face, she crowed, "Like this. I can't believe you still have this silly rabbit. And, look..." She held the rabbit by it's neck. "That ear still hasn't been sewed on properly."

Ben rescued his stuffed animal from the clutches of his sister and placed it back in the sewing box. "Maybe someday I'll fix it. Who knows, some day I may want to give it to my son or daughter."

An image of Ben holding a tiny baby in his arms sprang into Becka's thoughts and Cat's words echoed in her mind. She was tempted to tell Ben about his daughter but, looking closer at him, decided that now was not a good time. Besides, she had promised Cat not to reveal that secret to her brother. But, she promised herself, if Phil didn't tell him soon, she would. He had a right to know about his only child, even if that child no longer lived.

Ben studied his sister. He had noticed her quick withdrawal when he'd mentioned children. Had she fallen in love with someone only to have him desert her? Was that the reason she was here, to tell him that she was with child? All thoughts of Phil receded as he scrutinized his sister's figure. There was no indication of a thickening of her waist but that might be because it was still early.

"Becka..." How could he phrase this delicately. "Becka, I know you have something you need to tell me. Has something happened? Are you in trouble? Tell me who it is and I will beat the living daylights out of him..."

"Benny, what in the world are you talking about?"

"I noticed how the mention of children affected you and I thought maybe that you were...that you might be...with child."

"You think I'm pregnant?"

"Are you?"

Becka sprang to her feet and stomped to the window to stare out across the street. Clasping her arms, she turned and stared at her brother seated on the floor by the wooden locker. Here she was worried about Benny's reaction to the news of his dead daughter and he thought she was pregnant. That wasn't very likely with her recent experience with men. Bowing her head, she shook it slightly, then said, "No, Benny, I'm not pregnant. As you well know, it takes two to make a baby and I haven't..." She paused then continued, "Let's just say that I haven't met anyone that can forget my past."

"Your past?"

Becka turned back to the window and stared out of it not seeing the rundown neighborhood but the RCMP headquarters in Ottawa. The conversation on the other side of the partition, although muffled, was still understandable. Becka had stood in shock and listened to several of her colleagues discuss her and her previous life as Soldier 12. The crude suggestions and perverted humor made her sick and she'd slipped quietly out of the room before the men knew she had heard them. Yes, she'd done some things as a soldier that she wasn't proud of, but she'd never done any of the things the men had suggested. It was very easy to refuse any of their requests for a date. Just the sight of the three men sickened her and it made her angry.

During a defensive training exercise, one of the men had placed his arms around her. That in itself wasn't the problem. The problem came when the man had fondled her and whispered a suggestion in her ear. The next thing the man knew, he was flat on his back, gasping for breath as Becka choked the life out of him. It had taken three men to remove her hands from his neck. Not surprisingly, two weeks later, transfer orders were handed to her. She even had a choice of postings--Fort McPherson, or Hay River, NWT, or even Kitimat, BC. None of which appealed to her. All of this wasn't something that her brother needed to know. He had problems of his own.

Ben stood and joined Becka at the window. He slipped an arm around her and, turning her to face him, held her close. "I'm right here, Becka. I won't let anything happen to you. I'll always be here for you."

Becka sighed. "I know, Benny, I know."

Resting his cheek on top of her head, Ben chuckled slightly.

"What is it, Benny?"

"I was just thinking about something that happened to me before you got here."

Becka waited and when Ben remained silent she gently prodded for more information. "What happened?" She leaned back and stared up into his face. She watched him drop his eyes from hers and a rosy hue spread across his cheeks. "Now you definitely have to tell me!"

"It's nothing really."

"It must be something, Benny. You're blushing."

"Oh, all right. I was remembering a similar conversation with Ray."

"What kind of conversation?"

"One about children and being pregnant."

"Ray asked you if you were pregnant?" Becka laughed.

"No, of course not, Silly. He wanted to know if I'd gotten someone pregnant."

Becka laughed louder. "You? Does he know just how unlikely that is?"

Ben stared down his nose at his laughing sister. "Are you insinuating that I haven't had the opportunity..." For some reason, Ben was slightly offended at Becka's assertion.

"No, no, Benny, not at all. I know better than that. It's just that I can't imagine Ray asking you that kind of question, especially knowing your background."

"Well, in all honesty, it began as a semantics problem."

"Semantics?"

"Ray thought what I said meant something other than what I meant when I said what I said and he misunderstood what I meant when I said what I said."

"Benny...that was as clear as mud. Why don't you just say that Ray misinterpreted something you said?"

"I believe that is what I said."

Becka shook her head and snuggled back into Ben's comforting embrace.

"Becka?"

"Hmmm?"

"Would you like to tell me what is bothering you?"

"I don't know if I can, Benny. I'm still trying to put it all together in my head." She knew this wasn't going to be easy as she turned her thoughts to the other part of her nightmare...the takedown of the Soldier Organization and all the ramifications of it. Speaking into the broad expanse of Ben's chest, she began, "I told you several months ago about finishing the work on the 'Soldier' organization. I've been offered several postings, but...I don't know what I want to do. I guess I just wanted to spend some time with you. We really haven't had much time together since...since..."

"Since I found you?"

Becka bit her lip. Memories of the time spent as an assassin were dim and slightly unreal. Memories of her recovery were painful. "I couldn't have made it without you, Benny. You know that, don't you?" She turned pain filled eyes to her brother.

"Yes, I know, Becka, I know." He held her close and rubbed circles on her back. Circles of comfort--circles of love--circles he had used on Cat--on Phil. He pulled his thoughts away from that topic. There was too much pain there. He buried his face in Becka's hair and inhaled its fragrance. With a shock he recognized the scent of lavender. Would everything remind him of his lost love? Could he never escape her memories?

Becka was surprised to hear the muffled 'damn' whispered against her ear. She slid her arms around Ben and hugged him to her. Laying her cheek against his chest, she slowly relaxed as the hands on her back traced comforting circles on her spine. She listened to the steady heartbeat beneath her cheeks. She loved her big brother and was worried about him. She always knew when something was troubling him.

"I made some lemonade, Benny. Would you like a glass?" Becka leaned back in her brother's embrace. At his nod, she slipped out of his arms and quickly prepared two tall glasses. Handing one to Ben, Becka settled on the sofa, pulling him down beside her. They drank the refreshing drink in silence. Becka studied her brother finally making the comment, "Ben, you look terrible." She set her glass on the floor beside the sofa.

Ben sighed. "I'm fine, Becka. Just a little tired."

Becka tilted her head and watched Ben down the last of the lemonade. "Since when did you think I couldn't tell a lie when I heard one?"

Ben shaped a denial but stopped with his mouth hanging open. Sighing again, he closed his mouth then ran a nervous hand through his hair. Catching Becka's eyes, he couldn't look away. The concern and love radiating from his sister smote him and he felt the flimsy veneer he hid behind crack and begin to crumble. All the confusion, frustration, pain, and loneliness he had suppressed bubbled to the surface and overwhelmed him. The image of the woman he had seen this afternoon swam before his eyes. Why did she remind him of the one woman he couldn't have?

Becka watched Ben wage his inner battle. What she saw in his eyes broke her heart. Wordlessly, she wrapped her arms around him and cuddled him much as she would a troubled toddler. She gently rocked him, whispering words of comfort as she kissed the crown of his head. He clutched at her like a drowning man to a life preserver. With a start, Becka felt the spreading wetness on her shoulder and realized that Ben was weeping silently.

"Benny, tell me what's wrong." Ben shook his head unable to speak past the lump that had settled in his throat. Becka continued rocking her brother. The fact that he was crying raised warning flags in her mind. She could count the number of times she'd seen him cry on the fingers of one hand. What was causing this anguish? How could she help him?

Perhaps it was the anger she felt toward the men who had misjudged her or, perhaps, it was just a reaction to seeing her brother hurting so much. Whatever the cause, Becka felt her hackles rise. A snatch of conversation with Cat flashed across her thoughts and she wonder if Phil McKenzie had a part in her brother's distress. If she was the cause of Benny's anguish, then she had a lot to answer for and Becka was just the one to hold the accounting.

In a voice sharpened by concern, she asked, "Benny, does this have something to do with that McKenzie woman?"

The surprise of hearing Becka asked about Phil was like a slap of cold water in the face. What did she know of Phil?

As if reading his mind, Becka supplied the answer, "Cat told me about her, Benny. If she's the one that's done this to you, I'll...I'll scratch her eyes out and feed them to Dief!" Needing someone or something to lash out at, Becka chose the most obvious person.

Shocked by the vehemence in Becka's voice, Ben finally found his. "No, Becka. Phil hasn't done this to me...at least, not in the way you mean."

"Benny...if she's done anything to hurt you..."

"Becka..." The cool tones in Ben's voice halted the ill-formed tirade that Becka had begun. "Becka...Phil hasn't done anything to hurt me. I just find some of her memories to be more painful than others. Your lavender scented shampoo reminded me of her." Briefly he wondered at how one man could be blessed with so many tough, protective women in his life-Becka, Cat...Phil. Wearily he continued, "I've really made a mess of my life as far as women are concerned."

Becka nodded in sympathy. "Sounds about like mine." She gave Ben one last hug then released him from her hold.

The rest of the afternoon and evening passed as brother and sister avoided any conversation that might resurrect one of those hidden hurts they both harbored.

Ray leaned against the banister and watched the people on the rink below him. He was surprised at the number of people enjoying the ice. But, then again, considering the temperatures outside, maybe it wasn't surprising. Turning his back on the view, he glanced left then right. Where should he eat? He would be damned if he left the cool comfort of the Galleria to go in search of a restaurant. Surely there was something suitable here.

He bent and retrieved his package. Thankfully, when he returned to the store the woman who'd been there earlier was gone. The young man behind the counter had asked for some identification before handing over the package.

Strolling around the perimeter of the second level, Ray searched for a restaurant. Jostled from behind, he swung around to watch yet another woman hurry past him. Stopping to glance around, he noticed that quite a few women were hurrying toward what could only be called a mob. Ray gingerly threaded his way through the thronging masses of women seeking the source of this gathering. He was little prepared for what he saw. The sign in the window of the Barnes and Noble Booksellers store said it all:

Ray's amusement died abruptly. Casey would be here in, he glanced at his watch, less than thirty minutes. Hell, she was probably already here, sequestered in the rear of the store. He could picture her, dressed in a jade green suit with her blond hair swept up in a French braid. Before he knew what was happening, his feet had carried him toward the store. It took all his will power (and the presence of the uniformed police officer) not to enter. He stopped suddenly a few feet from the doorway where the women already in line sent him looks that could melt steel. Over the heads of the women milling around the front of the store, he spied Casey's agent, Florence Lassiter, heading toward him.

Backing away as if he'd seen something particularly fearsome, Ray quickly oozed through the gathered women and made his escape. He didn't go far. Something held him to the vicinity of the bookstore. Maybe, if he was careful, he could catch a glimpse of Casey. He took up a post outside the store. If he stood on tiptoe he could just barely make out the table where Casey would be seated.

A collective murmur drew his attention to the gathered women. They flowed as a coherent mass toward the store. Ray was hard pressed not to flow with them. Turning back to watch the table, Ray drew in a sharp breath. There was no mistaking the blond woman standing behind the table. Ray didn't need to stand in front of her to know that her storm grey eyes were sparkling with good humor. He closed his eyes, longing to be that person in front of her. But that couldn't be. He reopened his eyes and feasted on the vision of the woman he loved. He devoured her appearance from head to foot, taking in the soft grey suit that matched her eyes. He watched her sit at the table and the queues of women begin filtering past that post.

Ray leaned against the window of the store as desire welled in him. 'Casey,' he moaned to himself. As if on cue, Casey lifted her head and glanced in his direction. Ray quickly stepped back knowing that she couldn't see him but not willing to take the chance that she might. When the customers at the store again occupied her, Ray returned to his vigil. Once more he did a quick backstep as Casey stood and stretched. He felt her eyes on him and he moved quickly before she could recognize him. When she was seated, he returned to the window. He knew he was behaving badly-little better than a stalker himself-but he couldn't help himself. He had to stay there and watch her. He didn't leave until the signing was over and Casey was, once more, gone from his life.

Sluggishly, his feet carried him back to his motel room. Why had Casey been here? Why had he had the misfortune to follow all those women? Why hadn't he stayed in his room instead of wandering down to the mall? If he had, he wouldn't feel the way he did now--miserable. How could he go on like he was?

Ray thought about the past few months. From Cat's letters to Trevor's phone calls to the photos of Casey, she was never far from his mind. It seemed like there was always something there to remind him of her. Sooner or later, Ray realized, he would have to contact Casey or go crazy. Could he forgive himself for what he'd done to her? Could he accept her forgiveness when he couldn't forgive himself?

Crawling into bed, he hugged a pillow to his chest. A tear escaped from his eye, soon followed by more. Burying his face in the pillow, he cried for his own stubbornness and regrets. Why did he love the one woman he couldn't have?

Phil quickly shut the oven door and wiped her hands on her apron. She filled the reservoir of her cappuccino machine with water and placed her special blend of coffee in the metal filter then slid the machine to the rear of the countertop. She'd make cappuccino when Martin arrived. When that would be she didn't know, he'd been called away from the polo game to attend some emergency at the hospital. She smiled to herself--guess she would just have to get used to having him pulled away at all hours.

Hurrying to her room, she shed the shorts and T-shirt she wore. Not knowing when Martin would arrive dictated her actions. If she hurried she could take a quick shower and be done before he arrived. Digging through her lingerie drawer she pulled out a white lace teddy. "What have you done to me, Cat?" she mumbled to herself as she crossed the room to the small bath. Minutes later, she emerged dressed in white lace and gently toweling her damp hair. Quickly donning a pair of white slacks and a pale blue T-shirt, she was ready for Martin's arrival. Martin didn't know it yet but, tonight, Phil planned on fulfilling his every wish. Just the thought of Martin seeing her teddy sent shivers up and down her spine.

The smell of poppy seed pound cake drifted to her from the kitchen and she hurried to check on it. Martin was leaving soon for Southeast Asia and she had a special night planned for him. She thought of the food residing in her refrigerator for their breakfast tomorrow morning--a late breakfast if she had anything to say about it.

*Meow* Chance wrapped himself around Phil's ankles.

Reaching down, Phil lifted the black cat into her arms. "What is it, Chance?"

*Merrooh*

"Yes, I know what I'm doing and I don't need you questioning my decisions." A shiver of apprehension ran up and down her spine. "I love Martin and it's about time I showed him how much. After all, it's not as if something's going to happen to him while he's gone, Chance. Martin's made this trip three years in a row. Still..." Phil knew the dangers inherent in mercy missions to countries subject to terrorism.

The timer on the oven dinged and Phil shook herself before placing the cat back on the floor. "I'm old enough to take care of myself, Chance...old enough." Why did that thought suddenly bring a wave of panic? Sure she was getting older, but, then again, so was everyone else.

Grabbing a potholder, she removed the cake from the oven and set it on a cooling rack. Maybe it wasn't the thought of growing older that bothered her; maybe it was the thought of growing older alone. But that wasn't going to happen, Martin would see to that.

The doorbell rang and Phil tossed the potholders on the cabinet. Racing to the door, she stopped long enough to smooth down her close-cropped hair. Taking a deep breath, she opened the door. Martin leaned in the doorway, a tired smile on his face.

"Hello, Phil." He reached for her and Phil slid easily into his arms.

Sharing a kiss, Phil whispered against his neck, "Hello yourself, Martin." Taking a step back, she looked him over from head to toe. "You look tired."

Martin ran a hand through his sable locks and shrugged his shoulders. "Had a long stint in OR this evening-an accident--messy affair."

Phil bustled him into her apartment and situated him on the sofa. Kneeling down before him, she removed his shoes and briefly massaged the arch of each foot.

"Damn, that feels good, Phil." Martin smiled down at the slender woman on the floor at his feet. He leaned forward and, placing a hand on either side of her face, drew her up into a kiss. "You're spoiling me."

"So what? If I want to spoil you then I will. And don't try to change my mind, it's already made up." She grinned at Martin before rising to her feet.

Martin leaned back against the back of the sofa and half-heartedly waved a hand at Phil. "Your brother was right. You are stubborn and you definitely have an attitude."

Deviltry played across her face as she replied, "But you've know that from the very beginning, Dr. Stevenson."

Martin chuckled then reached for Phil's hand. Pulling her down onto the sofa with him, he laid his head on hers. "I'm glad I'm here with you, Phil."

"I'm glad, too, Martin." Phil turned her face and met Martin's lips. Her hand slid up his chest and circled around behind his neck prolonging the contact between lips. Her tongue brushed across his lips and darted into his mouth when that portal opened.

"Phil," Martin groaned and ran a hand up to cup one of her breasts. Using a thumb he stroked the sensitive flesh feeling the hardening nipple beneath the fabric of her shirt. He loved her and desired her more than any woman he had known before. He knew now that he wanted to marry her and was waiting for the right moment to present itself.

Thoughts of marriage brought back memories of his evening at the hospital. He'd been called away from his polo game to the handle an emergency. A large truck had struck a newlywed couple as they drove through an intersection. The brakes had failed on the truck and, unable to stop, it had swerved around one car only to plow into two more.

The driver of one car was badly shaken but the car carrying the newlyweds had been crushed. The young man was dead on the scene and the young bride had been transported to Cook County Hospital. Martin had been called in when his skills were needed. Bursting through the door of the room, he'd watched the emergency staff cut away the bloody remnants of her wedding dress. He studied the x-rays and shuddered at the damage revealed. Her pelvis was crushed.

Seven hours later, he still didn't know if she'd live. If she did, she still faced months of physical therapy, and would, most likely, walk with the aid of a cane, if at all. Sometimes life didn't seem fair--a young couple just beginning their life together only to have it destroyed in a matter of moments.

No wonder he was so tired. He wearily shook those thoughts away and focussed on Phil. "I'm sorry, Phil. I...I'm..."

"I can tell that look in your eyes. You're worried about whatever called you away to the hospital." Shaking her head, she placed a finger on his lips forestalling his reply. "Don't worry, I'm not going to make you relive whatever hell you went through today." Smiling crookedly, she continued, "When you're ready to tell me, I'm here. I'll always be here for you, Martin."

"I know that, Phil, and I love you."

Phil felt a warm glow flow through her. "I love you, too, Martin. Now, let me go cut the pound cake and fix you a cup of coffee." Martin nodded his head and, leaning back against the sofa, closed his eyes. Phil smiled and placed a kiss on his lips then rose. Turning away from him, her eyes raked across her wall of photos. Unerringly her eyes focused on the one image of Benton Fraser. It seemed to be mocking her and her plans. Angrily, she shook that thought from her mind and hurried to the kitchen. No doubt about it, hanging his picture had been a big mistake--one she planned to rectify at her earliest opportunity.

"Benny, I think I'll take a shower then go to bed." Becka grabbed a towel, her toiletry bag, and left the apartment, heading for the communal bath down the hall.

Allowing Becka a couple of minutes, Ben followed and took up his post outside the small bath. It was rather silly, he knew, but still he guarded the bath while his sister showered. He smiled when he heard her singing. Maybe he would drag out his guitar and they could sing together. He recalled some of the times Becka and he had sang together. Lost in his musings, he didn't hear the water cease.

"Benton Fraser! What are you doing out here?"

Ben sprang away from the wall where he leaned, his face taking on its telltale rosy hue. "I was just...I mean...this is a rough neighborhood and I...you see..."

Becka smiled up at her brother. "You were standing guard over me?" Ben nodded. Becka placed a hand on his cheek and lightly caressed it. "Thank you, Benny. Did you stand guard over Cat when she was here?"

Ben hung his head then quickly nodded. "She never caught me, though." He smiled then looped Becka's arm in his. Strolling back to his apartment, he introduced Becka to each of his neighbors as they glanced out of their apartments. "Mr. Mustafi, have you met my sister?"

Becka shook each hand, pleased at how Ben's neighbors held him in such high regard. It was nice to know that others thought as much of him as she did.

Finally reaching Ben's apartment, the two entered and prepared for bed. Dief padded across the silent room and placed his head on the side of the bed. Becka smiled and patted the bed. Dief jumped onto the bed and curled at her feet.

A voice carried from the floor on the other side of the bed, "You're spoiling him, Becka." A soft chuckle was the only answer Ben received.

The cool air of the air conditioner soon lulled them to sleep. The dreamcatcher above the bed trembled slightly as it caught the dreams of both Frasers.

Phil carefully carried the two steaming cups of cappuccino into the living room and placed them on the coffee table. Turning to Martin, she rocked back on her heels and sighed. Martin shifted slightly, muttered a few incoherent words, and continued to sleep. It looked like all of Phil's plans for this evening were for naught.

Phil picked up the cups of cappuccino and carried them back to the kitchen. Returning to the living room, she moved the coffee table further away from the sofa then gently maneuvered Martin's slumbering form until he lay on the sofa. Standing, she headed for her bedroom returning with a pillow and a sheet. Placing the pillow under his head, she smoothed his hair out of his face and placed a kiss on forehead.

Sighing once more, she retrieved one of the cups of cappuccino and settled onto the overstuffed chair opposite the sofa. Sipping the fragrant brew, she studied the man she hoped to marry. In sleep, the lines of worry that occasionally creased his brow were gone and a couple of dark curls fell across it. Closed now, his blue eyes had charmed her from the first moment they'd met. What was it about blue eyes that caused her heart to flutter? Her eyes strayed to the wall of photos already knowing the answer. Ben's eyes were blue, too, but Martin's eyes were lighter, paler than Ben's were.

Shaking herself, she turned her contemplation back to the man asleep on the sofa. If only he hadn't fallen asleep, she'd know what the rest of his body looked like. Taking another sip of her drink, she closed her eyes and imagined Martin slowly undressing her, feeling his hands and lips roaming over her body. Throwing her head back, she moaned deep in her throat imagining the meeting of those questing lips. She smiled at her dream lover, drowning in the depths of his blue eyes and, with a start, realized that it was Ben not Martin she made love to. Startled, her eyes flew open and she placed a hand over her racing heart. How could she imagine Ben in Martin's place, especially with Martin asleep on the sofa across from her? How could she betray his love?

She drew in a sharp breath. Betray his love? Whose love? Martin's? Or Ben's? Confused, Phil rose from her chair and carried her cup to the kitchen. She reached for the other cup of cappuccino and, placing it in the microwave oven, heated it. Returning to the living room, she settled once more in her favorite chair.

Glancing around the room her eyes were drawn to her wall of photos. Although not as extensive as Cat Madden's, it filled her wall with images from her past--images of her past loves--images of Ben Fraser. 'That does it!' she swore to herself. 'Tomorrow that picture comes down! I won't have you destroying this chance for happiness, Ben. Don't you think you've done enough to me? Why can't you leave me alone? I don't need you anymore. Go haunt someone else--someone who cares!' She tore her eyes away from the photos on the wall and rested them on Martin. But even there, Ben's images imposed on her thoughts. The tapestry of Thunder Basin overshadowed the sofa where Martin reclined--almost as if the memory of Ben sought to overshadow Martin.

"Damn, damn, and double damn," Phil swore under her breath. With a particularly energetic push to the arms of the chair, she rose to her feet and strode to the kitchen. Rinsing the two cups, she placed them in the dishwasher. Hefting the cat that curled around her feet, she headed toward her bedroom and the bed that awaited her. All her plans for not sleeping alone had gone awry and, once more, her bed would only see Chance sharing it.

Later that night, as Phil slept, the one man she continued to swear meant nothing to her invaded her dreams. The dreamcatcher above her bed trembled slightly as it captured the longing buried deep in her heart. Yes, she loved Martin and would marry him when asked but there would always be a part of her heart that belonged only to Ben-a part that no one could replace and sorrow filled her dreams because of that emptiness.

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; the McKenzies and friends belong to me. Cat Madden belongs to Carol Trendall and is 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 I Will Remember You by Sarah McLachlan, Seamus Egan, Dave Merenka are used without permission.

Copyright November 1998 by Cassandra Hope