The name failed to draw a response from Michael other than a slight quirk of his brow. "Sharon?"

"Her mother," Adrian supplied. "And my daughter."

There was a minor fluctuation in Michael's posture as he leaned ever-so-slightly forward. His interest immediately piqued. "No, she hasn't," he answered.

Adrian gave a little shaky laugh, "Doesn't surprise me." She had forbidden Sharon's name to be mentioned in her house for the past twenty three years, ever since Nikita was two years old. All photos of her had been taken down and locked away in a trunk up in the attic.

"Nikita's a lot like her." Her gaze transferred back to Michael. "Physically, that is."

A thoughtful look came over her. "Her hair's a little lighter than Sharon's was, but she has the same height, build, and eyes... especially the eyes. The only difference is that Sharon's eyes were always filled with a wildness that Nikita's never bore. She was always getting into trouble."

Adrian's eyes flicked up to meet Michael's. "I was so angry and hurt when I found out she was pregnant. I said a lot of things I shouldn't have, but you have to understand, I loved my daughter. Absolutely adored her. I had all these hopes and dreams for her, and suddenly, they were - destroyed."

There was a long pause as Adrian sat, the look in her eyes unfocused as she recalled a time long ago. "Our relationship became worse after Nikita was born. Sharon refused to name who the father was and almost immediately began to take up her wild ways again. There were a lot of arguments, yelling and fighting. Finally it got so bad, Sharon left."

Adrian sighed. "I was devastated and I blamed myself. I forbade Walter from mentioning her name, locked away the photos - - all because I couldn't stand to think that I had driven my daughter away. And, yet, every time I looked at Nikita with those innocent baby blue eyes of hers staring back at me, I saw my Sharon."

Adrian's face contorted in pain as tears filled her eyes and Michael reached across the table and took her hand in his, consoling her quietly through his touch. She , in turn, smiled at him gratefully and continued.

"Nikita was nothing like Sharon. She was always such a quiet child - - too quiet. Walter adored her and showered her with attention whenever he was home, but there was always that trace of sadness in Nikita. She needed a mother. Sharon had abandoned her and I was so caught up in my own guilt and grief, that I didn't realize until it was too late, what I had done."

"All those years I blamed myself, thinking that I wasn't a good mother, when the truth was I had done everything I could to raise my daughter right. But Sharon chose her own path in life. The country life was too quiet for her and she wasn't happy here. She craved the excitement and actively sought it out. Living out here nearly drove her crazy."

"And Nikita?" Michael asked gently. "Do you think she's the same way?"

Adrian gave a brief, harsh laugh filled with, what sounded to Michael, to be regret. "No. Nikita's not the same way. She's a lot more grounded than her mother ever was. She left because I drove her away - - and that's the truth." She gazed into Michael's eyes, wanting him to understand. "I loved her but my own guilt over Sharon prevented me from giving Nikita the open affection that she needed. When she turned eighteen, she left."

Michael sat quietly, digesting all that Adrian had told him. His mind conjured up an image of Nikita as a child and it pained him. He was beginning to understand now why she avoided the topic of her childhood, and why she had withdrawn from him. She was afraid.

He squeezed Adrian's fingers gently to take away the sting of his next question. "Why haven't you told any of this to Nikita?"

"Nikita?" The old woman shook her head. "I've wanted too, but, so much time has passed and... I wouldn't know where to begin" She looked up at Michael. "We still have a lot of trouble talking openly with each other."

Michael's expression softened as he looked at Adrian affectionately. "She loves you," he stated quietly.

"And you love her, don't you?" Adrian asked with a tender look. Although she had disapproved with Walter's meddling, she had seen over the past few weeks the attraction developing between Michael and Nikita. She still didn't know what had happened between the two over the past few days, but she did know that they were both miserable without the other.

The corners of Michael's mouth curved up into a little smile. "Yes."

Adrian took a deep breath and patted his hand. "Good. I've made enough mistakes in my life where my granddaughter is concerned. Lord knows I don't need to make any more." She smiled at Michael. "Maybe one day I'll be able to share with her all that I've told you but that time is not right now. Her heart needs to be healed first and I know just the person to do that."

"Really?" Michael smiled. "Who?"

"Why you, of course!" Adrian scolded with mock anger. "I didn't just tell you all this for nothing, young man."

Michael's smile broadened as he looked at Adrian. "And how do you propose I start this healing process? She won't even talk to me."

Adrian pushed her chair back and stood. "If she won't talk to you, then you talk to her. And you can start by marching yourself upstairs and demanding that she join you for dinner."

Michael laughed softly as he stood and came around the table to give Adrian a kiss on both cheeks. "Thank you," he said warmly, and then added with a little wink, "I'll see what I can do."

************

The small umbrella lamp on the dresser cast a subdued light about the room as Nikita laid in bed with her eyes closed. This was the time Michael usually came in for dinner. In fact, he was probably down in the kitchen right now.

An image of him, freshly showered and hair combed neatly back, floated before her. Some times she could just imagine what he must look like dressed in expensive city clothes; so different from the rugged, outdoorsy image he portrayed here on the farm. She had to admit, either way, Michael was stunningly beautiful.

He had made her return home bearable thus far. Somehow he knew just the right words to say after a long day. Often he entertained her with little stories of the culture shock he went through when he first arrived on the farm. Those stories always ended with her giggling at the blatant exaggeration of his tales. Meanwhile, he would sit across from her, smiling.

Nikita rolled over to her side and stared vacantly at the space before her.

She missed him.

There was a soft knock at the door and Nikita raised her head slightly. Her grandmother had checked in on her earlier and she had told her that she would be down for dinner. She was probably back now to ask why she hadn't come down. Nikita sighed and sat up, pulling the sheet up to her waist. "Come in," she called.

There was a slight pause and then the knob twisted slowly.

Nikita frowned as her brows furrowed slightly. "Grand-mama?"

"Not quite," came the soft reply as the door opened cautiously. "Nikita?" Michael stuck his head in, then smiled as he saw her sitting up in bed. "Good, you're decent."

"Michael!" She clutched the sheet up modestly to her chest. On hindsight, she didn't know why she did that, after all it wasn't like she wasn't wearing anything - she was. She had on a worn old jersey whose numbers had long ago faded.

Nikita shook her head, a combined look of disbelief and shock written on her face. "What are you doing here?" she whispered loudly. Her eyes followed him into the room then darted back toward the door. "Do you realize my grandparents are right down the hall?" she asked in horror.

Michael's smile grew wider as he continued to stroll calmly toward the bed. Ignoring the appalled look with which Nikita was staring at him, her eyes as wide as saucers, he bent and kissed her forehead. "Yes," he whispered, and sat down next to her on the bed.

His weight upon the mattress caused Nikita to slant toward him and she instantly raised a hand to prevent herself from falling against him. Her fingers landed on his chest and she recoiled immediately, as if burned, and tried to move away. Michael lifted his own hand, though, and covered her fingers with his, preventing her escape. Gently he eased her hand over to lay directly above his heart.

Confusion clouded her eyes as she studied him with a guarded expression as he lifted her same hand a minute later, up to his lips and laid a delicate kiss across her knuckles. Seeing the beginnings of a blush creep up her neck, he reached out and stroked her cheek, cupping her face tenderly as his gaze held hers. Relief flooded through him when she allowed the caress, but he could still sense her wariness.

"Don't turn away, Nikita," he asked quietly when she tried to avert her eyes.

Her gaze slipped back to his, staring silently as he continued to stroke her cheek. Gradually, she began to relax until finally, she leaned her face, ever so slightly, into his hand and her lashes fluttered close.

Michael held his breath, his heart mesmerized by the tiny acknowledgment of affection she was showing. His eyes hungrily roamed over her face and committed to memory every beautiful line and curve of her features. This was a moment that he wanted to treasure always in his mind. It was over all too soon though as Nikita opened her eyes and moved back from him. Michael allowed her escape this time. He knew that he would have to go slow with her; that he would have to build her faith in him, and in herself.

Tucking her hair behind her ears, she looked up at him through her lashes and asked, "What are you doing here?"

A smile danced about his lips as he placed a finger beneath her chin and elevated her face so that he could see clearly into her eyes. "I got tired of eating by myself."

"So... you came to tell me to... call me to dinner?" she asked.

"Yes."

"You needn't have bothered," she responded. "I'm not hungry."

He was silent for a moment. Reaching for her hand he held it in his, interlacing his fingers with hers, waiting for her reaction. Nikita lowered her gaze to watch the interplay of his hand with hers, but she made no move to withdraw.

"When was the last time you ate?" he asked.

Blue eyes bolted back up. "I don't know," she answered with a dismissive shrug.

"Come have dinner with me."

Silence.

"Please?"

"Michael, I'm not trying to be difficult. I - - I just don't feel like seeing anyone right now."

"Anyone being me, right?"

"I didn't say that."

"You didn't have too. What are you going to do, Nikita? Hide up here in your room and hope that I'll go away?"

She glared at him in silence, then sighed as she slumped her shoulders and lowered her head. "Is that what I'm doing?" she asked in a small voice.

His heart reached out immediately to her. "Yes, you are."

She was silent for a moment, then looked up at him. The anger was gone from her eyes, replaced by a look of resignation. "I'm sorry," she murmured, then shrugged her shoulders again. "I don't know what's going on with me, Michael. I feel like such a fool for the way I acted the other day."

"Why? Because you dared to show that you care for someone?"

She didn't answer, choosing to stare down at their hands instead.

"Do you care about me, Nikita?" Michael asked quietly.

Nikita raised her eyes to look into his eyes and he saw the bewilderment there. "I don't know. I - - think I do."

A slow smile spread across Michael's mouth. "That doesn't sound too convincing."

The corner of her lips twitched as she met his gaze once more.

"No. Don't show me that beautiful smile of yours," he teased. "Keep it hidden away. I'll be fine." He looked back to see her grinning and he smiled. "Much better," he whispered as he stroked her hair. "Now get up and get dressed he teased and was rewarded with a flicker of a smile. . I want to take you into town."

"Town? I thought we were having dinner here?"

Michael stood as he smiled down at her. "We are, but afterwards there's something that I want to show you and its in town."

"I don't know, Michael."

"Nikita?"

She looked up to see him giving her a semi-stern look. "I'm doing it again, aren't I?"

Michael nodded.

Nikita mimicked the bobbing of his head and smiled. "Sorry. Give me a few minutes?"

"Anything you want, Nikita," he whispered.

"Really?" she asked, raising her brow impishly.

He read in her eyes her silent request. "No. Not really," Michael grinned as he bent down and kissed her on the top of her head. "You're not hiding up here another minute, Nikita."

"That's not what I was going to ask," she laughed.

"Liar," he chuckled and strolled back to the door. "I'll wait for you downstairs."

************

A small smile tugged at the corner of Nikita's mouth, amusement lurking in her eyes. "This is what you wanted to show me?"

Michael turned off the engine and turned in his seat to face her. "I've never been to one of these," he explained.

The building before them was painted a bright pink with lots of flashing neon lights surrounding a sign that read ‘Shelby's Video Arcade and Games'. Nikita tore her gaze away from Michael's and looked about at all the teenagers milling about the arcade.

"Michael, we're the oldest ones here."

"So? Don't think of it that way. Think of it as... being the most experienced ones here."

"Experienced at what?" she asked, a husky laugh escaping her. "Surely not at video games. You said you've never been to one of these places and to tell you the truth, neither have I."

Michael refused to be daunted. "You're not afraid are you?"

"Of video games?" Nikita raised her brows, then smiled. "No. Just of making a fool of myself - - again."

"Ni-ki-ta..."

"I know," she sighed, holding her hand up at Michael's reproaching look. Taking a deep breath, she smiled with false bravado. "Let's go."

After the initial hesitation at trying any of the games, which Nikita felt were way too complicated for her to be able to master without spending all of Michael's money, they settled on a shooting game. That seemed easy enough. You just aimed the gun at the target and pressed the trigger.

As it turned out, the game was a little more trickier. There were several different levels to the game, each one adding a twist that made it harder to hit the target. Nikita was out within a minute of when the game started.

"Ah! What a rip-off!" she mouthed to Michael, who laughed and took up position for his turn. He made it all the way to level four, where you had to distinguish between shooting the bad guys from the innocents. Michael shot eight baddies and two innocents.

The word FAILED flashed on the screen in big red letters accompanied by a loud wailing sound.

"Failed?" Michael asked incredulously. "I kill only two innocents and I fail?"

"At least I only missed the targets," Nikita chuckled. "You killed innocent people."

"All right, Nikita," Michael smiled. "Lets see you do better on your second try."

Nikita took up position, raised the plastic gun and squinted as she tried to aim at the targets that were already beginning to overrun the screen. "Oh my god! I'm going to die, Michael!"

Instantly he slipped in behind her and brought his arms up around her, helping her to steady her aim.

"Better?" he whispered into her ear.

Nikita blushed as she felt the warmth of Michael's body pressed against her. She had to admit, though, it did feel good. Turning her head slightly, she rubbed her cheek against his. "Much," she answered, and Michael laughed quietly.

When they first entered the arcade, Nikita had made Michael promise they would only stay fifteen minutes. They didn't leave till an hour and a half, and almost thirty dollars poorer, later. For Michael, the time they spent together this night was priceless. He would have given his last penny if it meant he could see Nikita enjoying herself as much as she did tonight. He loved hearing her laugh, and especially seeing her slowly, shyly, begin to open up to him.

Afterwards they strolled down a little ways from the arcade and bought ice cream cones which they ate leisurely as they made their way back to the car. Michael slipped his hand into hers, smiling when he felt her fingers curve gently around his. "Do you regret coming out tonight?" he asked.

"No," she answered quietly. She leaned in toward him and rested her head on his shoulder for a second. "Thank you," she whispered, then straightened again.

Michael stopped walking and turned to face her. He took a step closer to her, gazing deep into her eyes before he lowered his head to meet hers for a tender kiss.

"You're welcome," he breathed against her lips.

They rode home in silence; Nikita with her eyes closed as she sat next to Michael. He glanced at her every once in a while, a peaceful look in his eyes. Occasionally he turned his head and brushed his lips against her brow. A smile broke across his handsome face when she moaned softly.

After a while, she stirred. "Michael?"

"Yes?"

They were nearing the house and he could sense tension in her voice. Her fingers crept over his.

"Do you think my grandparents would approve? Of-- us, I mean?"

Michael took her hand in his and turned it so that he could lace his fingers through hers. "I think that they'll have some concerns. Any parent would," he said gently."

Nikita took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. She turned her head away so that he wouldn't see the worry in her eyes. Michael squeezed her fingers reassuringly. "I think they already know how I feel about you, Nikita. In fact, I know they do. It’s what you feel that they're uncertain of."

He waited a moment in which she didn't say anything. Raising her hand to his lips, he kissed it.

Nikita leaned her head against his shoulder as she stared out at the road ahead. "I like being with you," she murmured, then fell silent. There were so many emotions running through her, but she couldn't find words adequate to express them. Turning her head, she gazed at his profile in the dark. "Is that enough - - for you, I mean, for now?"

She was surprised when Michael steered the truck over to the side of the road, parking it, and then turned to face her. He took his hands and cupped her face gently as he sought out her blue eyes in the dim light. "Yes, Nikita. It is."

He felt rather than heard her sigh of relief. Michael folded her tenderly into his arms, turning his head to kiss her temple. "I won't rush you, my love. We'll go as slow as you want. I'm not going anywhere."

In answer, Nikita turned her face up to his and brushed her lips against his lips. "Thank you, Michael," she whispered. They drove the rest of the way home in comfortable silence.

************

It was nearly ten o'clock when Michael and Nikita arrived back at home. Michael stepped out from the truck and held the door open for Nikita. She took a few steps away from him and gazed up at the star filled night as he locked up behind her.

"It’s beautiful, isn't it?" he asked. He had come up from behind to stand alongside of her.

Nikita nodded thoughtfully. She couldn't ever recall seeing the sky look as beautiful as they did tonight. It use to be that, before, all she could think of when she looked up into the night sky, was that those same stars were shining over some far away bustling city. In her youth, the hope of moving away to one of those cities permanently filled her mind and dreams. Now, as she stared up at the hundreds of tiny sparkling lights in the black sky, she only saw their beauty.

"Yes," she whispered. "Beautiful." She turned her head and watched him as he gazed up at the sky. Her expression softened and she felt the urge to touch him. She hesitated, then slowly lifted her hand and laid it delicately against his face.

Michael's attention centered immediately on her, his gaze meeting hers as he remained absolutely still. He wanted this to be her moment, to allow her to do what she wanted without any pressure from him.

Nikita blinked slowly, seemingly hypnotized by the feel of his skin under her fingers as she continued to hold her hand against his face. Then, to Michael's pleasure, she moved closer and cautiously laid her cheek against his shoulder as her arms slipped around his waist.

"Ni-ki-ta." Michael closed his eyes and enveloped her in his arms as a wave of love and gratitude washed over him. He inhaled of the sweet scent of her hair, then repressed a groan of desire that welled up inside of him as he felt her snuggle deeper into his arms.

After a few more magical moments, Nikita pulled back, her fingers gliding over to search for his hands. "I had a wonderful time tonight, Michael," she smiled, her gaze held his.

Michael smiled, whispering softly, "So did I."

She turned then and made her way over to the house, looking one final time over her shoulder at Michael as he waited for her to enter the house. She raised her hand and waved good night before disappearing inside.

"Good night, Nikita," he whispered.

After closing the door behind her, Nikita leaned back against it and hugged her arms about herself. She took a deep breath, willing her nerves to calm down from the havoc that Michael ignited in them. Her countenance took on an expression of amazement as she thought of all that they had shared tonight. A warm glow suffused her being and she felt a momentary tightening in her chest. A slight frown formed on her beautiful face. Could this be love she was feeling?

Nikita wandered slowly through the darkened kitchen and in through the living room toward the stairs. She was halfway up the steps when a voice startled her.

"Nikita?"

She froze. "Grand-mama? What are you doing up?" she asked.

Adrian rose and walked toward the side of the steps and looked up at Nikita. "I was waiting for you. I - - I wanted to make sure you got home safely."

Nikita held her breath as she blinked back the tears that sprung to her eyes. "You... were waiting up for me?" she asked softly.

"Yes," Adrian answered. She hadn't missed the tremor in Nikita's voice, nor did she miss the quick wiping movement that Nikita made as she raised her hand to her face. Adrian felt a twinge of pain in her heart. Pain for all the missed opportunities that they could have shared in the past. Was it so incredulous to Nikita that she would wait up for her? Yes, her sub- conscious answered.

Adrian swallowed and made an attempt to begin to heal the rift between her granddaughter and her. "Did you enjoy yourself tonight?" she asked.

Nikita bit her lower lip, grateful that the room was dark and that her grandmother couldn't see the tears that were coursing down her cheeks. "Yes," she answered shakily.

There was a slight, awkward pause before Adrian responded. "Good. I'm... I'm glad, Nikita."

Nikita stood a moment longer then whispered, "Good night, Grandmama," before she turned and headed quickly up to her room.

Downstairs Adrian returned to the armchair she had been sitting on before Nikita entered. They had a long way to go in making up for the past but at least, tonight, they had made a start.

************

From his bedroom window, Walter watched Nikita in the yard below. She was hanging out laundry, pinning the freshly washed clothes up in an orderly manner. He had seen a change in her lately that filled him with the hope that maybe his granddaughter could learn to love this place and find it in her heart to stay. He noticed that there was an air of confidence about her that she never displayed before. The somberness that she normally cloaked herself in seemed to have vanished. She was more relaxed - even around Adrian.

This pleased Walter greatly. He wanted Nikita to be happy.

Walter doubted that he would ever see his daughter, Sharon, again. After twenty-two years with no contact, he accepted that she was lost to him. He didn't even know if she was still alive. The first few years after she had gone, he had grieved but had maintained a small measure of hope that perhaps, one day, she would return home.

As the years ticked by, his hope diminished while his grief grew. Sharon was his only child and the years of estrangement were harder to accept than had she died. At least with the latter, there would be no unanswered questions, no endless waiting for a phone call, a letter, anything to let him know that she was all right.

Walter kept his sorrow private, though, never sharing it with his wife for he knew that she too, was trying to come to terms with her own heartache. At first they avoided mentioning Sharon as a way of dealing with her absence. As time passed, though, it became easier to continue the charade of pretending everything was all right rather than admit to the pain each was feeling.

Little Nicky - - Nikita, had been Walter's lifeline during those years. She gave him a purpose to continue on, to hope. Through her, especially with her uncanny physical likeness to her mother, Walter was able to re- experience his daughter's childhood. He did for Nikita all that he had wanted to do for Sharon when she was growing up, but through one reason another, failed to do. He showered Nikita with love and affection, doting on her as any loving father would his own daughter - - except, she wasn't his daughter.

In time Walter recognized what he was doing and came to realize that it was wrong. Sharon was gone, but she had left behind a beautiful little girl that needed to be loved in her own right. He could love his daughter vicariously through Nikita, but he had to recognize that Nikita was not Sharon.

He suspected that, in a way, Nikita had felt the stand-in role she played and it had affected her; contributed to her feeling of isolation. When she came to him and announced that she was leaving, Walter had suffered a second loss, this one even greater than the first. He may have started off treating Nikita as a proxy for his own lost daughter, but in the end, she embodied that role and became his daughter, born of his heart.

When Nikita left, he was heart-broken. Adrian dealt with it just as she had Sharon's departure; by closing up and hiding whatever emotions she felt, within. He on the other hand, slowly grew despondent. It became harder for him to wake each day and tend to the farm that he had loved all his life. His body ached and he felt as if he were aging at an accelerated rate. Visits to the doctors became more frequent as his health slowly failed. It was during one of these visits that his doctor had advised him that he needed to take it easy; perhaps hire someone to help out at the farm.

Then Michael had shown up.

Something about this city raised pretty-boy had made Walter want to laugh when Michael had arrived at the farm in response to his ad for a farm hand. But he had been intrigued also as to why someone who, if his clothes and car where anything to judge by, was obviously successful and wealthy, would want to work as a hired hand.

Michael had been closed-mouthed though over his reasons, saying only that he was a fast learner and a hard worker. Walter still had his doubts until Michael struck a deal with him that had piqued his interest.

"I'll pay you five thousand dollars," Michael had offered in his softly accented voice.

"You'll what?" Walter grinned at the absurdity of Michael's offer. "You-want-to-pay-me-to-hire-you?" Walter shook his head and gave a short laugh. "Are you feeling all right, son?"

In the end though, Michael had convinced Walter to give him a trial period. "If I can't do the work by the end of the month, I'll pay you," he bargained. True to his word, Michael learned quickly and threw himself into his work one hundred and fifty percent. Walter had found his hired hand.

As they worked alongside each other, Michael slowly revealed the reasons for his move to the country and Walter's heart had gone out to the young man. His career and financial success had been useless when it came to saving the thing he loved most in life - his family. He had been looking for an escape from the maelstrom of pain and desperation that filled his life after the loss of his wife and son, and fate had led him here to the farm.

Walter didn't think Michael would stay long - perhaps only a year or so. Just enough time to get over his sorrow and then he would be gone; returning to his home in the city. To his surprise, though, Michael grew into the land. The farm life suited him, giving him the peace he sought and the satisfaction of seeing the earth yield forth the fruits of his hard labor. The years passed one by one and Michael remained.

Walter's attention was brought back to the present as he saw Michael exit from the barn leading Barron and Julius over toward Nikita. A smile lit up his wrinkled face as he watched the interplay between the two below. Nikita was waving her hand, shooing him with the horses away from her laundry. Obediently, Michael stood off to the side, saying something that made Nikita laugh. After she finished hanging the last piece of clothing up, she strolled over to where Michael was, standing very near, but not touching him. Michael leaned imperceptibly toward her, his eyes locked onto hers, listening intently to something that Nikita was saying. Then, ever so slowly, he closed the distance between them and kissed Nikita gently on the lips.

'Yes! That's my boy!' Walter threw his arms up in the air in a sign of victory, a wide grin splitting his lined face. He knew, knew, from the beginning that they would be perfect for each other. Now, as he watched Michael and Nikita below, he knew that the inevitable had happened. They had fallen in love.

************

Adrian looked up at the sound of the screen door opening, pausing in her sewing as Nikita entered the kitchen. She was looking down toward the ground and didn't see Adrian sitting at the table right away. Nikita was smiling, her cheeks faintly flushed and her eyes sparkled.

"You should hang laundry out more often," Adrian commented, stifling a smile as she picked up her sewing once more. "It certainly becomes you." She didn't need to look up to know that Nikita's cheeks had turned a deeper shade of pink.

In spite of her embarrassment, Nikita couldn't suppress her widening smile. She bit her lower lip, and tried to pull the corners of her mouth down into a straight line - but they curled right back up into a smile. Finally she just gave up and strolled forward and sat in the chair next to her grandmother.

Adrian slanted her eyes up toward Nikita, then paused again in her sewing. "Something tells me that it wasn't the sun that put that glow in your cheeks," she said.

Nikita pulled the basket of clean clothes that was next to Adrian's feet toward her and began to fold the clothes inside. "The sun is rather hot out there," Nikita replied, trying her best to keep from grinning.

"Hmph! Not as hot as a certain Frenchman's lips, I bet," Adrian retorted.

"Grand-mama!" Nikita dropped her hands with the shirt she had been folding onto her lap, a look of shock in her eyes as she stared at her grandmother. A second later both women burst into laughter.

It had been nearly a month since that night when the tension between them had lessened, and each day brought them a little closer. As Adrian watched Nikita laughing now, a part of her was pained to realize that this was the first time she could recall that they ever shared such an experience.

Tears stung her eyes and she wiped at them quickly.

"Grand-mama?" Nikita's laughter subsided but a gentle smile remained on her face. She raised her hand, hesitating a moment, then placed it softly upon her grandmother's. "Are you all right?"

Adrian nodded. "Don't mind me, girl," she stated with a shaky little laugh. "It’s nothing."

Nikita bit her lower lip, then, slowly closed her fingers over those of her grandmother's. She sensed what it was that her grandmother was feeling, for she felt it too. It was a feeling of incredulousness that they, her grandmother and herself, could actually be bonding. It was implausible, even miraculous, but it warmed her heart so.

Adrian looked at Nikita and saw the telltale shimmering of tears in her eyes and she squeezed her hand back. There were no words to adequately describe this moment, or the emotion she was feeling. Wisely, she turned to a subject that they could talk about.

She patted Nikita's hand before withdrawing hers to resume her sewing. "Where's Michael now?" she asked.

Nikita took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, the tender look she had on earlier, returned. "He's gone out over to inspect the fence over in the west field."

"You didn't want to go with him?" Adrian asked. She peered at Nikita though the top of her glasses. "I thought I saw him bring Julius out along with Barron."

"He did," Nikita replied, then fell silent.

"But..." Adrian prompted.

Nikita shrugged her shoulders as she pulled out another shirt from the basket and began folding it. "I told him I had chores to finish. Besides, I'll see him tonight. We're suppose to go into town to catch a movie."

Adrian lowered her sewing as she focused her eyes on Nikita. "Suppose to?"

Blue eyes flicked up, then lowered again. "I don't know if I really want to go."

This time Adrian not only put her sewing down, but she reached over and moved the basket of clothes away from Nikita also.

"Nikita, look at me," she ordered. When she was sure she had her granddaughter's undivided attention, Adrian asked her a question that had been bothering her for a while. "Are you afraid of Michael?"

Nikita's eyes widened and she gave a short laugh, "Of course not, Grand-mama. Why would I be afraid of Michael?"

"Maybe I put that badly," Adrian stated. She rephrased her question. "Are you afraid of loving Michael?"

Her question was met with a silent pause. Nikita lowered her eyes, suddenly becoming entranced with the delicate swirl of the lace table cloth. As the silence stretched, she finally looked up at her grandmother and answered honestly. "I don't know."

Adrian's eyes softened and she reached for her granddaughter's hand. "Would you like to talk about it?" she asked.

Nikita hesitated, then shook her head. "No. It’s all right."

"You're afraid of falling in love, aren't you?" Adrian asked quietly.

Blue eyes gazed at her and in their depths Adrian saw the answer to her question.

"I know it’s silly," Nikita said. "But I don't know what it is that keeps pulling me back. He's the kindest man I know. He makes me feel special and I enjoy being with him..." Nikita fell silent.

"Has Michael told you how he feels about you?" Adrian asked.

There was a small pause and Nikita looked at her grandmother. "He says he loves me."

Another pause.

"And you don't believe he loves you?"

Nikita pushed her chair back and stood, walking over to the sink and staring out into the yard. It was difficult for her to verbalize her fears, especially to her grandmother. She folded her arms tighter about her as she chewed on her lower lip. Meanwhile Adrian waited patiently at the table.

"I want to believe him," she answered shortly, quietly.

Adrian stood then and walked over to her, standing alongside her without touching her. "And?" she prompted gently.

Nikita turned tormented eyes to her. "Grand-mama, how can a man like Michael love someone like me?" she asked quietly. The tears that had been gathering in her eyes spilled over and ran down her cheeks.

"What could I possibly have to offer him? I have nothing. I'm fatherless, and my own mother didn't want me - - so why should he?"

Adrian hesitated only a fraction of a second then stepped forward and gathered Nikita into her arms. The truth was finally out. The real reason why Nikita was afraid to let herself love Michael, and as Adrian suspected all along, it was tied in with her childhood.

Adrian held Nikita, rubbing her hand soothingly against her back as she whispered to her comfortingly. When her tears had subsided, Adrian reached for a napkin and handed it to her to dry her face. "Come with me, Nikita," Adrian invited. "I have something to show you. Something I should have shown you a long time ago."

Nikita wiped at her face as a sniffle escaped her every few seconds. Adrian stood at the door that led into the living room and looked back over her shoulder to Nikita, waiting for her to follow.

In the living room, there was a carved wooden chest that was covered with one of Grand-mama's hand-made lace cloths. The chest used to be up in the attic, then several years ago her grandmother had it moved to the living room. As far back as Nikita could remember, it had never been opened in her presence. Adrian did so now and the contents within made Nikita's heart jump.

One by one, Adrian removed photos, some black and white, others in faded color of a young woman that, at first glance, could easily have been mistaken for Nikita.

Nikita's lip trembled and new tears filled her eyes as her heart pounded. She knelt down on her knees and sat back. Slowly she reached forth and picked up a photo. With her other hand she wiped the tears from her eyes, clearing her vision, and then staring at the picture. Nikita looked up at her grandmother. "Is this - - is this her?" she asked.

"Yes," Adrian replied, her own eyes filling with tears. "That's your mother."

Nikita spent the next hour in a daze, hungrily poring over the photographs as her grandmother explained a little of each one. At the end of the hour, though, she carefully stacked the photos and album books, and handed them back to her grandmother.

"Thank you for showing me these," she said.

Adrian stared at her for a minute, noticing that the tormented look Nikita had earlier, still lurked in her eyes "There's a reason that I showed you these photos, Nikita," she stated. "Especially the photos of your mother and you when you were a baby."

Nikita remained quiet as Adrian continued.

"You can't go through life blaming yourself for something you had no control over, Nikita. Sharon is my daughter; my only child." Adrian's voice broke and she wiped at the tears that fell freely from her tired eyes.

"It broke my heart when she left," she whispered. "I convinced myself that it was me, I was the reason that she left. Because of that, I prevented myself from giving my love to someone else who was very dear to me and whom I love with all my heart." Adrian lifted her hand and touched Nikita's cheek. "That's you, my dear."

Nikita raised a hand and covered her mouth, suppressing the cry that threatened to tear through her at her grandmother's words. It was as if a dam was bursting within her and she fought against the sea of emotion that threatened to overcome her. The intensity of her reaction to hearing her grandmother admit openly that she loved her, proved to be overpowering though, and Nikita broke down and wept.

"Shh, sweetheart," Adrian comforted her, holding her in her arms as her own tears mingled in with Nikita's. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," she whispered into her hair.

In time, their tears subsided and Nikita pulled back to smile at her grandmother. Her eyelids were swollen and her nose red, but she never felt better in her whole life. Picking up the nearest photo of her mother, Nikita looked over at her grandmother and thanked her for her gift. "I've always had so many questions about her," she said, looking down at the photo in her hand. "But today, looking through these, I've come to realize something very important."

She replaced the picture with the rest of the other photographs and turned to take her grandmother's hand in hers. "You're the only mother I've ever known in my life, and hearing you say that you love me is the most precious gift I've ever been given." She leaned forward then, hugging her grandmother tightly as she said the words that she had hidden in her heart all these years. "I love you, Grand-mama. I love you so very, very much."

*

Michael squatted alongside the white wooden fence and ran his fingers along it, probing gently. He straightened then to his full height and removed his hat with his right hand as he raised the other to wipe at the sweat on his forehead. The wood was rotting along the ends and would need to be replaced soon. Glancing down the lane, his eyes followed the boundary line for several hundred yards. He would speak with Nikita tonight to see if there was enough funds available to replace the whole fencing. If not, they could probably start up in the west sector which needed the repairs the most. The money they got after selling the first crop should then be enough to finish the repairs.

Michael replaced his hat and was about to head back to Barron, who was nibbling at the grass beneath the shade of a grove of trees, when he heard the beep-beep of a car horn. Looking over his shoulder, past the fencing and onto the road, he saw his black truck heading his way. A smile formed on his lips.

Barron was forgotten for the time being as Michael changed direction and strolled toward the fence. The truck pulled up on the other side and shifted into park. A few seconds later the driver's door opened and Nikita slipped out.

Michael waited till she had come around the truck and came to stand before him, separated by the wooden boards of the fence.

"Finished your laundry?" he teased softly, then stopped, his eyes turning serious as he saw the evidence of recent tears in Nikita's eyes. "What's wrong?" he asked. "Did something happen? Is Walter all right?"

"No. Everything's fine," Nikita assured him. She stepped back and evaluated the strength of the boards before stepping up on the third one and hooked her arms around Michael's neck. He immediately grabbed hold of her waist and lifted her up and over the fence, setting her down before him. His hands moved directly to her face, smoothing her hair back as his eyes searched hers.

Nikita looked up at him and a brilliant smile lit up her face. "I missed you," she stated simply.

Michael took a moment to absorb what she said, then smiled back as his thumb stroked her cheek. "You were crying because you missed me?"

Nikita laughed, and Michael felt his heart expand. "No silly," she said. "I came because I missed you. The tears were for a whole different reason." Nikita shifted her gaze up to meet Michael's; pausing a moment to enjoy the feel of his gentle caress. Raising her hand, she took hold of his fingers and brought it down to her side as she took a step closer to him. "I'll explain later. For now, would you just hold me, Michael. Please?"

He was taken aback, but not displeased, with her request. He pulled her gently into his arms and held her. His lips brushed against her brow and he felt her tremble as she burrowed deeper in his arms. He was at a loss for words. Nikita was almost never this demonstrative. Once in a while, if he prompted her, she would make some sort of effort at a show of affection toward him, but never anything like this. She had actively sought him out, even driving his truck which he had given her a spare key too, told him she missed him, and then asked him to hold her - all on her own - without any prompting from him.

Eventually Nikita pulled back and looked up at him and smiled. "Thank you," she said. She turned her head then and looked over the sweep of land before them and there appeared in her eyes an expression Michael had never seen before when Nikita would look at the land. She seemed almost - enchanted.

From where they stood, they had a panoramic view of most of the farm and the neighboring lands. Michael watched as Nikita stared, spellbound, over the landscape. The gentlest of smiles graced her lips as a look of profound happiness glimmered in her eyes.

Becoming aware of Michael's gaze upon her, Nikita turned her attention back to him and her smile deepened. She could almost read the thoughts behind the incredulous look in his eyes. "It’s beautiful, isn't it?" she asked as she pointed with her head out over the land.

Michael took a step closer to her and placed his hand beneath her chin, turning her gaze back to him. He peered deeply into her eyes, as if searching for some vital piece of information. "Is it, Nikita?"

Although she had never spoken of it in so many words, he knew from watching her reactions over the past months that Nikita had never held any special love for this place. There were too many painful memories of her past associated with it. A part of Michael feared she would never learn to love this place as he had learned to love it. He worried that she wouldn't be able to find the peace that she sought, here, as he had. But now, as he searched her eyes, hope blossomed within his heart.

Looking back at Michael, she smiled and reached for his hand, twining her fingers with his. "Yes, Michael," she whispered. "It is."

Her answer astounded her as much as it did him.

Nikita turned her head to search for Michael and she found him watching her; his love for her showing plainly in his gaze. The joy in her eyes intensified, darkening them to an ocean blue. Her heart jumped, its beat pitter pattering in a wild dance as his eyes glided over her face. There was a hunger in his gaze that ignited a similar craving in her. She wanted to touch him, to run her fingers over his mouth, down his throat and onto his chest - - and she wanted him to touch her.

"Michael," she whispered his name huskily.

He heard her, but he didn't move.

She was looking at him in a manner that made him want to pull her down into the soft grass and make wild, passionate love to her, right here, right now. He doubted she even knew how he burned for her; how his dreams were filled with images of her; of how much he truly loved her. That was why he refused to go to her now.

He had already confessed to her through action and words, that he loved her, but he knew that she would never truly believe him until she was willing to let her guard down completely and allow herself to love, and be loved.

Nikita continued to stare up at Michael. Her heart was thumping loudly in her ears and her throat had suddenly gone dry. Cautiously she moved back within the circle of his arms, then, raising her fingers to his face, she looked directly into his eyes and whispered the words he had waited for months to hear.

"I love you, Michael."

His eyes lit up as he grabbed her to him and swung her around. Laughter erupted from him as they tumbled to the ground, arms still tightly embracing one another, and then he kissed her deeply.

* (Four years later)

"Mommy! Mommy!”

Nikita looked up in time to see Chantel, her blond curls gathered up in two ponytails tied with pink ribbons, riding in front of her father atop Barron. Nikita rose to her feet, smiling as she walked over to meet them.

"Hello, my sweetheart!" she greeted her daughter, raising her hands to accept her from Michael. Chantel giggled and jumped the last few inches onto her mother, hugging her tightly.

"Daddy let me drive Barron all by myself," she gushed. Long silky lashes blinked excitedly as baby blue eyes gazed up at her. "I wasn't scared, Mommy, but I think Daddy was."

"Oh you think so?" Nikita laughed and kissed her cheek, hugging her daughter close to her before Chantel began to wiggle her way down her body and onto the ground. Soon she was off and running toward Adrian who was waving at her.

"Grand-mama! Guess what?" Chantel called to her.

Nikita watched her daughter running and her heart overflowed. She heard Michael approach from behind and she looked over her shoulder to see him glide up behind her and felt his arms wrap around her. She moaned softly and leaned back against him. His arms were safe and solid. She wanted to stay there forever.

"How's Grand-mama doing?" he asked.

Nikita sighed, then nodded her head. It had been six weeks since Grandpa had died. "She's going to be all right," she murmured as she watched their daughter bend down to help Adrian plant the last of the flowers next to his grave.

"And you, my love?" Michael inquired.

Nikita lifted her eyes and gazed out over the land that her grandfather had loved all his life. She studied the softly rolling hills with its golden fields; the cloudless sky that seemed to stretch for miles and miles; her grandparents farmhouse in the distance.

This place that she had hated all her life; had considered barren and lonely; now filled her with sweet nostalgia. In the land she saw the happy memories that filled her life these past few years. Memories of her grandfather crying when Michael asked for permission to marry her; of countless happy hours spent in her grandmother's company; of marrying the man she adored more than life itself; and the exquisite joy of having his child. She lifted Michael's hand and placed it over her heart as she turned her face to look at him. "I'm fine, Michael," she whispered, her love for him shining in her eyes. "Just fine."

And indeed she was. The pain and loneliness of her childhood had finally been erased and the restless spirit that had haunted her early years, quelled. Here, in this land that she had tried to escape from for so many years, she had finally found peace and love. She had finally come home.

The end.

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