Nikita looked up from the vegetables she was washing at the sound of little feet pounding across the hardwood floor. She caught a glimpse of blond curls as they disappeared beneath the kitchen table. A moment later there was the sound of a cat screeching and a blur of pale fur streaked out from underneath the table and disappeared around the corner.

"Chantel," Nikita's brows arched as she called her daughter.

Blond curls and large blue eyes peeked out from under the table. "Yes Mommy?"

"Are you chasing Moonbeam again?"

A smile appeared on the little girl's face and Nikita's heart skipped a beat. Chantel may have inherited her coloring but her smile was purely Michael's. A little dimple appeared on her left cheek and her blue eyes twinkled. Even after four years Nikita still couldn't get over the incredible amount of love she felt for this little miracle that had blessed her and Michael's life.

"I'm having a tea party and I want Moonbeam to come," Chantel explained as she crawled out from under the table. She straightened, adjusting the right strap of her overalls which had fallen off of her shoulder, then came to hug Nikita's leg. Nikita smiled as she looked down upon her daughter.

"But what if Moonbeam doesn't want to come to a tea-party? Cats don't really like tea-parties, especially if they're going to be forced to dress up."

"But it’s Esmerelda's birthday," Chantel reasoned. "Who's going to sing happy birthday with me if Moonbeam doesn't come?"

Nikita suppressed the laughter she felt bubbling within at the seriousness of Chantel's tone. "Well how about Pooh bear?" she asked, as evenly as she could. "Or Rabbit? I'm sure they'd love to come to your tea party. And they probably wouldn't mind getting dressed up either."

Chantel shook her head as her fingers curled into the denim of Nikita's jeans. "I want Moonbeam," she said stubbornly. Nikita washed her hands, turned off the faucet, then dried her hands before she squatted down next to Chantel.

"I'll tell you what, darlin. Why don't you help Mommy finish making dinner. Would you like that?"

"But what about Esmerelda's birthday?" Chantel asked, staring at Nikita with eyes that were identical to hers.

"Hmm. Well, how about we make a cake for dessert? To celebrate Esmerelda's birthday."

Chantel nodded, her eyes lighting up. "Chocolate?" she asked, and Nikita laughed.

"Yes, my love. Chocolate cake."

"And can we get all dressed up too, Mommy?"

"Well, sweetie, I don't know about the dressing up part."

"Please?" Chantel hooked her arms around her mother's neck. "I like when you and Daddy get dressed up. But you only do it when you're going out and never to stay home. Don't you want to get dressed up to have dinner with me and Esmerelda?"

"I think you've been listening to your father too much," Nikita replied. "You're getting better and better at persuasion."

Chantel tilted her head to one side. A puzzled expression settled on her face. "Is that good?" In answer Nikita laughed, kissed the tip of Chantel's nose, then hugged her close.

"Come help me," she said. Nikita brought a chair next to her and helped Chantel to climb up on top, then she showed her how to wash the tomatoes, and Chantel soon forgot all about Moonbeam, Esmerelda, or dressing up. Nikita smiled at the look of concentration on Chantel's face. She was growing up so fast. In September she would be starting school and the house would seem empty during the day without her.

"Like this, Mommy?" Chantel held a tomato up for her mother to look at.

"Yes, sweetie. That's perfect. Now can you tell me what color that is?"

Chantel thought for a moment. "Red!"

"Can you tell me something else that is red?"

She thought again. "Apples?"

"Very good!"

The little girl beamed, turned back, picked up another tomato and began washing it. Nikita continued to quiz Chantel on her colors as they worked. She enjoyed spending these moments together with Chantel for they were moments that Nikita had never shared with her own mother. She tried not to think of that. But there were times, like now, when the knowledge of what she had missed in her own childhood, snuck up on her. A dull ache reverberated lightly in her chest as Nikita listened to Chantel sing a song she had learned from watching Sesame Street, then proudly demonstrated her ability to count to ten all by herself. After the salad was done, mother and daughter turned their attention to making the chocolate cake to celebrate Esmerelda's birthday.

"Esmerelda is a very lucky doll," Nikita commented with a smile. "Didn't she just have a birthday last week?"

Chantel giggled as she collected the empty cake mix box and egg shells, depositing them in the trash bin. "She likes birthdays. And I do too."

"I thought so."

Suddenly Chantel inhaled sharply. Her attention snapped around, riveting on the back screen door. Through it came the sound of a truck pulling up in the driveway. "Daddy's home!" she shouted and bounded for the door.

"Don't slam--" there was a loud bang as the screen door slammed shut. Nikita sighed, a small smile of resignation appearing on her face as she shook her head. "Never mind."

From outside she could hear Chantel's feet racing across the porch as she called out to her father. Even without looking, Nikita knew Michael had his arms out, waiting to catch Chantel as she threw herself at him. She listened to the sound of her daughter's laughter followed by that of Michael's and it filled her with a joy that she could never get enough of. She finished mixing the cake batter, poured it into a pan, set in the oven, then went outside to join her husband and daughter.

Pushing open the screen door, she stepped outside to see Michael walking toward her. Chantel was perched up on his shoulders, her fingers laced under his chin. Both were smiling at her. Nikita strolled, leaned up and gave Michael a quick kiss.

"Again, Mommy," Chantel insisted. "Daddy says that the French people like to kiss twice."

"But I'm not French," Nikita chuckled as she looked her husband in the eye then shifted her gaze to her daughter.

"But you're married to a Frenchman," Michael interjected, his eyes warm and full of his love for her.

"And Daddy likes to be kissed twice, don't you Daddy?"

"Oh yes," Michael agreed, laughter making his voice tremble slightly at his daughter's astuteness. "Especially by my two favorite girls."

Nikita laughed and slipped her arms around Michael's waist. "I see I'm not going to win this argument." She leaned back up and kissed Michael again. This time a little longer. She pulled away when she heard Chantel giggle. Looking up at her, Nikita asked. "Is that better?"

Chantel nodded, while Michael gazed at Nikita with a look that said he wanted more. He lowered his head but Nikita, her eyes teasing, stepped away and held her arms up Chantel.

"Come down, sweetheart. Let Daddy get washed up."

Suddenly remembering that she was celebrating her doll's birthday, Chantel leaned over and whispered into her father's ear.

"Again?" Michael asked, his eyes crinkling with laughter. "How many birthdays can a doll have?"

"Chantel..."

"Please Mommy? I'll take a bath all by myself and I'll scrub behind my ears too. Daddy, you don't mind getting all dressed up, do you?"

Michael laughed as he lifted Chantel up and carried her with his left arm while he slipped his other arm around Nikita's shoulder. "No," he answered. "I don't mind getting dressed up at all. And I think it’s an excellent idea. We can have candles and Mommy can bring out Grandma's good plates..."

"Michael!" Nikita stopped and turned to give him a look that said, 'I'm not bringing out Grandma's china'. Chantel, on the other hand let out a squeal of delight and hugged her father tighter. Unable to resist her daughter's happiness, or the joy she knew Michael got out of making Chantel happy, Nikita gave in. She sighed and leaned in to him, laying her head on his shoulder. "You're terrible," she murmured to Michael, as Chantel giggled and proclaimed the exact opposite. In response Michael merely laughed, contentment shining in his eyes as he tightened his hold on Nikita and walked with his two favorite girls into their home.

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

Michael entered the kitchen just as Nikita finished washing the last of the dishes. She had slipped an apron on over the purple slip dress she wore. Her shoes lay abandoned next to the fridge. Michael walked up to her from behind, wrapped his arms around her waist, and placed his chin on her shoulder.

"She finally went to bed."

"How many stories did you have to read?" Nikita asked with a knowing smile.

"Three stories, four songs and a kiss to each of her dolls and stuffed animals," Michael replied wearily.

"Aw -- poor baby." Nikita chuckled as she wiped her hands dry and turned to face him. "That's what you get for spoiling her." She stood silently as Michael untied the apron, lifted it off and tossed it on the counter.

"I can't help it. Everytime I look into her eyes it’s as if I'm under a spell. I think she must be part witch. I hear her mother is one."

"Really?" Nikita laughed as she slipped her arms up around his neck. "What else have you heard about this woman?"

"Just that she's very beautiful." Michael kissed her lips as his hands followed the curve of Nikita's hips and pressed her closer to him. "And sexy."

"A dangerous combination," Nikita whispered, then moaned as Michael's lips brushed against the pulse at that curve of her neck.

The top buttons of his ivory colored shirt were unbuttoned and there were smudges of chocolate on the right shoulder in the shape of Chantel's hand. Nikita began to open the rest of the buttons and pulled the bottom out from the waist of his pants. "Let me wash this off before it stains."

Michael sighed and allowed her to take the shirt off leaving him wearing a sleeveless undershirt. "Thank you," he said, bending to kiss her cheek. Then he walked over to the freezer. "Do we have any more ice cream?"

"There should be some Rocky Road left."

"Would you like some?"

"Sure -- put an extra scoop in your bowl for me," she replied, as she scrubbed at his shirt under the kitchen faucet. Afterwards she wrung out the corner of the shirt that was wet, then headed toward the screen door.

It was a nice night out. Not too hot and the stars were out in force. Nikita smiled as she crossed over to the far side of the porch where a small clothes line hung. She unclasped two clothespins from the wire and pinned Michael's shirt up to allow it to dry overnight. A warm breeze blew over the land, whispering through the wheat fields. It lifted her hair and cooled her skin. Behind her she heard the screen door open, then the sound of Michael's boots as he walked slowly toward her. Nikita turned when he reached near and she smiled up at him.

"Open," he said, as he scooped a spoonful of ice cream and lifted it to her mouth. Nikita parted her lips and partook of the creamy coolness, swirling it around on her tongue. She chewed the bits of almonds and marshmallow, then swallowed. "Good?" Michael asked, and she grunted.

Michael placed the spoon back in the bowl then reached for her hand and pulled her toward Granpa Walter's faded winged armchair that still occupied the corner of the porch next to the screendoor. He sat down, then held his arms out to the side as Nikita settled on top of him. Her legs hung over one side as she leaned back against him. Nikita took the bowl from him, allowing Michael to circle her waist with his right arm while his left hand rested on her thighs. Nikita alternated feeding spoonfuls of ice cream to Michael and herself. In between mouthfuls they talked of their day and the farm.

"Any word from Grandma?" Michael asked at one point.

"Mmm." Nikita swallowed the ice cream in her mouth. "I forgot. We got a postcard from her today. She's enjoying herself but said that she misses her soap operas."

Michael chuckled at that. "She doesn't miss us but she misses her soaps?"

"I know," Nikita laughed as she fed Michael the last spoonful of ice cream. "Sending her on that cruise was a wonderful idea. Get her mind off of Grandpa. She really misses him."

"And how's Hillary?"

"Grandma says that Hillary's having the time of her life. And of course Grandma is proud as a peacock to have such a wealthy grandson to treat her and her friend on a Caribbean cruise. She'll be the talk of the Sunday School ladies auxillary for the rest of the year."

"I was glad to do it," Michael stated. "Especially since it means we can have more free time to ourselves."

"Don't tell me you don't like having Grandma's bingo friends pinching your butt." Nikita laughed. She placed the empty bowl down on the ground, then snuggled against Michael.

"The only one I want pinching my butt is you," Michael murmured as he slipped his hand up underneath the hem of Nikita's dress. Nikita moaned softly and she pressed her face against his cheek. Her left arm curled around his neck. Her right hand sought out his, pulling his warm fingers away out from beneath her dress.

"Later," she whispered into his ear, then sat holding his hand in quiet contentment for several minutes.

It had become a habit with them to spend their evenings out on the porch like this, listening to the comforting sounds of the night while their little girl slept in the room directly above them. For Nikita, this was their own little heaven on earth. It reinforced the love they had for each other and the joy they found in simply being together. By and by Nikita heard Michael's breathing become lax and even. She smiled. He was sleeping. Leaning forward she kissed his cheek tenderly.

"Michael -- darling, wake up." She shook him gently and he roused, then yawned. "Come on," Nikita said, climbing off of him, then turning to help him up to his feet. She bent and picked up the bowl, then reached for his hand. Michael gathered her into his arms, hugging her as he whispered his love for her in her ear and Nikita laughed as she pulled him toward the door. "Come on loverboy," she chuckled. "Let’s go to bed."

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

Michael woke to the sound of heavy purring in his left ear. A moment later he felt a cold wet nose pressing against his cheek. Michael groaned as he reached up and lifted Chantel's cat up and placed him on the floor next to the bed. "Go away, Moonbeam," he shooed him. "Go."

With a sigh Michael rolled over and pulled the sheet up as he reached out for Nikita. She had her back to him and he curled up next to her, fitting his body against hers. Michael gathered her hair and moved it out of the way, then nestled his face into the back of her bare shoulder as he nudged her legs apart and slipped his thigh between hers. Nikita muttered something unintelligible, then quieted when Michael wrapped his arm about her waist and pulled her against him. Slowly he drifted back to sleep.

A few minutes later, Michael felt a light pounce on the bed behind him and soon he felt Moonbeam rubbing his fur against his back. The pale colored cat meowed, then promptly climbed up on top of Michael's head and treaded rudely across the side of his face.

"Moonbeam!" Michael hissed, unwrapping his arm from Nikita to reach up and push the cat off.

"Rrreow."

Moonbeam normally remained indoors or on the porch during the day, but in the evenings, especially when the moon was full, he would disappear. "Where does he go, Daddy?" Chantel asked one night, and Michael had begun to weave a magical tale about how Moonbeam was a mooncat and at night he, along with all the other mooncats, went to the moon for a wild night of dancing and partying. Chantel had been fascinated, whilst Nikita had rolled over laughing.

"What?" Michael had asked Nikita later when Chantel had gone off to bed.

"A mooncat?" Nikita smirked, laughter sparkling in her eyes.

Michael pulled Nikita in his arms and wrestled her onto the bed. "Didn't you like my story?" he asked, his voice low and husky, his accent thick.

"Oh, I loved your mooncat story," Nikita giggled inbetween showering Michael with kisses. "I just hope you're prepared to tell that elaborate story every night."

Nikita, of course, had been right. Chantel insisted on the mooncat story being a part of her nightly ritual with her father every night before she would go to bed. And, oh the questions that his little girl would fire at him as she lay in bed staring up at him with her large blue eyes and long lashes: how do the cats get to the moon, Daddy; can people go there; how come the moon only likes cats? And to Michael's credit, he came up with some very interesting answers.

"The moon is made of cheese," he told his starry-eyed daughter. "And the mice found a way of making a special rocket that take them to the moon. Once there they would chip away at the cheese that make up the moon till there's barely any moon left to shine down on us. Cats --" Michael told her, "-- are the moon's protectors. When they looked up and see that the moon was almost gone, they know that the mice have been up to no good again and all the mooncats in the world report to the moon for mice duty."

"But if the mice go to the moon on a rocket, how do the cats get there?"

"Uh... by stardust. That's why they're always licking at their fur," Michael replied, his face very serious. "So whenever you see a cat cleaning his fur, you know that he was probably up on the moon the night before chasing mice."

"Do they eat the mice?" Chantel asked, her eyes bright with curiosity.

"Oh no." Michael shook his head while making a face. "Have you ever tasted mice?" he asked a giggling Chantel. "They taste awful! Like rubber only worse. No -- the mooncats only take the cheese back from them and return it to the moon."

Thus the story of the moon, the mooncats and mice became a part of Michael and Nikita's family heritage. The only problem was that when Moonbeam returned from these so-called visits to the moon, the house was usually locked and his owners all in bed. Moonbeam would then climb up the oak tree outside, hop over onto the roof of the porch, then search out which window was open. Most times, like tonight, it was Michael and Nikita's window. And unfortunately for Michael, Moonbeam - who normally slept at the foot of Chantel's bed - would enter through their window then proceed to wake Michael. This he usually accomplished by prancing about on Michael's head. Finally, Michael would rise and open the bedroom door so that Moonbeam could make his way to Chantel's room.

"I should have bought her a dog instead," Michael muttered as he climbed out of bed and reached for his robe. He heard Nikita laughing softly.

As soon as he opened the door, Moonbeam ran out and disappeared down the hallway. Michael followed slowly, wanting to check on Chantel. By the time he reached her bedroom, Moonbeam was already at the foot of Chantel's bed in preparation for his own nighttime ritual of stretching and preening before he settled down to sleep.

Michael checked on Chantel. She was curled up on her side, fast asleep. Michael reached down and smoothed her curls back from her face, then kissed her cheek tenderly. "I love you," he whispered into her ear, then turned and made his way back to his own bed and Nikita.

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

Michael was working out in the north pasture replacing the wooden fence which had rotted. Helping him were two young men, Birkoff Seymour and Gregory Hillinger, from nearby farms whom Michael had hired. He looked up as a horn sounded and saw Nikita's emerald green Explorer pull up alongside the road. She rolled down the window and waved a greeting to Birkoff and Gregory as Michael made his way over.

"What brings you out here?" he asked, leaning in for a kiss.

"I'm heading out to town and wanted to take Chantel with me. I need to get her some shoes for church. You know how picky she is about which shoes she'll wear."

Michael turned around and looked beyond the fence to a grove of trees nearby. Chantel, who had tagged along with him today, had spread her blanket under an acorn tree and was playing with her dolls. Michael smiled as he faced Nikita again. "Good luck. I don't know if she's going to want to leave."

"You're a lot of help," Nikita laughed as she opened the door and climbed out. She walked alongside Michael toward the fencing. "Hi Birkoff, Gregory."

"Mornin' ma'am," the two boys replied, and Nikita cringed inwardly. No matter how hard she tried to get them to call her Nikita, Birkoff and Gregory insisted on calling her ma'am, or, Mrs. Samuelle. It amused Michael because he knew it irritated Nikita to be addressed as such.

"They're just being respectful," he whispered in her ear, laughing as Nikita scowled.

"I know," she grumbled, "but it makes me feel so old."

They talked for a few minutes. Nikita added on to her list of supplies things that Michael wanted her to pick up, then she turned to call Chantel. "Come on, sweetheart. Let's go."

"I don't want to go to town," Chantel answered, and Michael chuckled.

"You have to, sweetie. We need to buy you some shoes."

"I don't want new shoes."

Nikita rolled her eyes and trudged off toward where her daughter sat. As she neared Nikita saw that Chantel had gathered wildflowers and had stuck them in her doll's hair as well as hers. She looked like a little nymph as she looked up at her mother and smiled.

"I don't want to go, Mommy." Chantel repeated.

"You have to go, darling. I won't take long. And afterward, if the weather's still nice, I'll drop you back off here with Daddy."

"Promise?"

Nikita smiled. "Yes, darling. I promise."

"Okay." Chantel stood, dusting off flower petals from her shorts and shirt. She picked up Esmerelda with one hand and slipped her other hand into her mother's. As they drew near Michael, Chantel tilted her face up toward him and Michael bent down to kiss her on both cheeks, then tweaked her nose while she giggled. "I'll be back," she told him, then marched off to the car with Nikita.

The town of DeRidder had a population of roughly 2,500 people and only one shopping center. Nikita parked in front of the supermarket then she and Chantel walked two doors down to the shoe store. Chantel stood without fidgeting while George, the store's owner, measured her foot. He wrote down her size on a slip of paper, handed it to her, then directed her to the part of the store where she could find shoes in that size. Nikita thanked him and followed. Within ten minutes Chantel had picked out two pairs of shoes, and a purse with a Winnie the Pooh snap.

"Can we go now?" she asked.

"Almost, sweetie. We just need to stop at the hardware store to pick up some things for Daddy, check the mail, and then we're done."

Everything was going well until Nikita opened their post office box and found amongst the usual assortment of bills and magazine subscriptions, a thick beige colored envelope, like an invitation, addressed to Walter and Adrian. Nikita's brows puckered. Grandpa had died nearly a year ago. Obviously whoever sent this wasn't aware of that. Nikita looked up at the return address and the color drained from her face. Her knees felt weak and she felt the world begin to spin around her.

Chantel tugged on Nikita's jeans. "Are you okay, Mommy?"

Nikita wiped hastily at her face and tried to swallow the sobs rising in her throat. "Y..yes. Mommy's fine, sweetie," she said, then swooped down and picked Chantel up and hugged her close.

Chantel placed her doll in the crook of her left arm, then used her small hands to brush Nikita's hair back as she had seen her father do so many times. She pressed her head against her mother's. "Why are you crying?" she asked, in a worried voice.

Her daughter's concern for her made Nikita's eyes water more. "It’s nothing, sweetie. I just got something in my eyes but it’s okay now." She forced a cheery smile onto her face and kissed Chantel's cheek. "Come. Let's go home to Daddy."

Chantel was quiet the whole ride back to the farm. When the car stopped over at the field where Michael was working, she unbuckled her seatbelt and waited for her mother to come around and open her door. "Are you coming?" she asked, as Nikita helped her down to the ground.

"No," Nikita smiled. "I have a lot of things to do at the house. Tell Daddy I'll see him at later at home." Nikita kissed Chantel again, then waited as Chantel ran across the field to where Michael was. She climbed back into the car, started the engine, then drove off back to the house. Parking the car in the garage, Nikita unloaded her shopping and took it in the house. Then she picked up her purse, along with the mail, and went upstairs to her and Michael's bedroom. It was there that Michael found her fifteen minutes later, sitting on the floor next to the bed, crying.

"Nikita."

He walked quickly over to where she sat and pulled her up off of the floor. Nikita went to him, circling her arms around his waist as she buried her face in his chest. She was trembling. "What is it?" he asked.

After a minute, Nikita pulled away. She turned slowly toward the bed, reached down amongst the envelopes scattered there, and picked up the beige colored one. Wordlessly she handed it over to Michael. Michael studied the envelope but, other than that it was addressed in part to her grandfather, he didn't understand why the letter would have such an effect on Nikita. She turned pained blue eyes up toward him and said quietly:

"It’s from my mother."

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

"Your mother?" Michael blinked. Shock showed clearly in his eyes. His lips parted as if to say something, then closed without uttering a word. Finally, he reached forward and pulled Nikita close, holding her tight without saying anything.

"Mommy?"

Nikita lifted her head away from Michael's shoulder and looked toward the door. Chantel stood hesitating, uncertainty in her eyes. Nikita pulled away slightly from Michael and held her arm out. Immediately Chantel ran into the room and hugged her mother's leg tightly.

"She was worried about you," Michael whispered.

Nikita nodded and took a deep breath. "Go on back to work," she said to him. "We'll talk tonight."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. I'll be fine. It was just --" Nikita looked down at Chantel who was staring up at her, then turned back to Michael. "Never mind. We'll talk tonight."

"Alright. I'll be home as soon as I can," Michael leaned in and kissed her, then crouched down next to Chantel. "You'll stay with mommy?" he asked, and she nodded. Michael smiled and kissed the top of her head before he straightened, gave Nikita another look, then left.

Nikita took another deep, calming breath, then gently untangled Chantel from her leg and lifted her up into her arms. Chantel wrapped her legs around Nikita's waist and hooked her arms around her neck. She buried her face in her mother's neck and was quiet.

"Oh, my baby girl," Nikita sighed, kissing Chantel's cheek. "I love you so much."

"I love you too, Mommy."

"Can you give your mommy a kiss then?" Nikita asked. Chantel immediately pulled back a little, nodding her head before she puckered her lips and gave Nikita a loud kiss on the lips. Mother and daughter grinned, then laughed as Nikita spun Chantel around and then they tumbled onto the bed. Nikita began to tickle Chantel and the room was filled with her pealing laughter. Outside, Michael paused as he was about to climb back into his truck. He listened to the sound of Nikita and Chantel laughing and he felt a wave of gratitude and relief flow through him. Climbing into the truck, he started the engine and drove off.

True to his word, Michael came home early. It was just past two when he arrived back at the house. Nikita came out on the porch, wiping her hands on a dish towel and waited for him on the top step. Michael walked toward her, his arms full of Chantel's blanket and dolls that she had left at the field. He was glad to see Nikita smiling at him. Stopping on the middle step, directly in front of Nikita, he tilted his face up to her. Nikita slipped her arms around his neck, lowered her head down to his, and kissed him deeply.

"God, I needed that," she whispered.

"Where's Chantel?"

"Taking a nap."

"Do we have time..."

Nikita nodded, knowing exactly what Michael was asking. He knew her so well. Knew she needed to feel him and his love for her. Silently they entered the house, their hands entwined, pausing only to lock the door and turn off the stove... then headed upstairs.

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

Michael sat leaning against the headboard. Nikita sat beside him, her body curled around his, her head resting on his shoulder, her arms encircling his waist. His fingers lightly stroked her bare back. She trembled and burrowed closer, turning her head to kiss the muscled chest beneath her once, then twice.

"Thank you," she whispered, her voice low and husky.

"Ni-kita." His eyes closed for a moment, then he curved his head down to place a kiss on her brow. "I love you," he breathed against her hair. "You're my life... my heart... my soul."

She drew a deep, shuddering breath. Her arms tightened about him. "Why do you think she's finally written after all these years?"

"I don't know," Michael answered. He shifted so that he could look into her eyes. "I'm more concerned with how you feel about all this."

Nikita stared back at him blankly. "I'm not sure how I feel, Michael. I had given up hope years ago that she would ever come back. But, deep down inside, I think there was a small part of me that continued to believe." Nikita pulled away from Michael and hugged her knees. "Is that pathetic, or what?"

"No." Michael's voice was gentle. His touch soft and soothing. "It’s understandable. She's your mother."

Nikita tensed, and she looked over her shoulder at him. "No." Her mouth was set in a determined line and her brows furrowed together in a frown. "She may have given birth to me, but she has never been a mother to me. She's never felt about me the way I do about Chantel."

"Nikita, you don't know that."

"Yes! I do, Michael." Her eyes flashed with anger and pain. Her lip trembled as she fought back the tears that threatened to spill over onto her cheeks. "When the nurse at the hospital placed Chantel in my arms --" Nikita paused and the expression in her eyes became tender, "-- I was overwhelmed with emotion. She was a miracle and my heart felt as if it would burst with my love for her, Michael. I knew there was nothing - nothing - I wouldn't do to protect her. I would die before I let anyone take her from me."

Nikita shifted, as if to get out of bed, but Michael reached forward and pulled her into his arms. Nikita lay her head on his shoulder and held onto him tight as Michael stroked her hair.

"I hate her, Michael."

"Shh -- don't say that, Nikita."

"I do. I hate that she didn't care about me. That she just left me." Nikita pulled back and she looked with tear-filled eyes into Michael's. "What did I do? Was I so hard to love that she couldn't stand to be around me?"

"Stop that, Nikita." Michael grabbed her by the shoulders and stared into her eyes. "You didn't do anything wrong. And you have to stop blaming yourself for whatever fears or shortcomings your mother may have felt."

"Stop calling her my mother."

Michael was silent a moment. Then he cupped her face between the palm of his hands and he wiped at the tears with his thumbs. "What do you want me to call her then?" he asked gently. Nikita frowned, then she reached up, took hold of his hands and pulled them down to circle her waist.

"I don't know," she murmured. "Just hold me for now."

Michael sighed and leaned his head against hers. He wished there was a way he could take away this pain from her. Silently he held her, feeling her tears as the dripped onto his chest. "Shh--" he comforted her, kissing her temple. "Everything will be alright. I love you."

They held each other for another minute, then Nikita stirred, moving reluctantly away from him. "We'd better get dressed," she said. "Chantel should be waking soon." Michael followed her out of bed and they dressed quietly. Before they left the room she came to him and hugged him. "I love you, Michael," she said as she looked up at him, and he smiled.

"We'll get through this."

Nikita nodded, feeling better after their talk. "Go check on Chantel and I'll go finish making dinner."

*

"You're home?" Chantel asked sleepily when she opened her eyes and saw her father sitting on the edge of her bed.

"That's right, sleepyhead."

She yawned, then sat up and looked around. "Did you bring my blanket?"

"Yes."

Chantel got on her knees and crawled over to sit on her father's lap. "And my dolls?"

Michael smiled. "Yes." Then he added, "You're getting to be very female."

She turned curious blue eyes up to meet his laughing green ones. "What's a female?" she asked.

Michael stood, carrying her with him. "It means you're getting very good at being a boss."

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

Chantel woke early Saturday morning and trudged downstairs in her pooh bear jammies, dragging her favorite faded pink baby blanket with one hand, while holding a rather tousled looking Esmerelda in the other. She found her parents in the kitchen. Nikita was sitting at the table, her elbows on the table, chin in hands, as she watched Michael who was at the stove cooking. Chantel walked over and pressed a sleepy face against her mother's side.

"Morning, sweetheart." Nikita lifted Chantel up onto her lap, hugged her and kissed the top of her head. Chantel yawned and leaned back against Nikita as she eyed the food on her plate. Deciding that she didn't want anything there, she looked toward her father.

"Daddy, can I have ice cream?" she asked in a small hopeful voice.

"Chantel!" Nikita exclaimed, surprise causing her brows to arch. "You don't eat ice cream for breakfast."

"Daddy let me."

Nikita's gaze cut across to Michael who had a guilty look on his face as he looked from Chantel to Nikita. The corner of his mouth lifted in a half-smile.

"Is that right?" Nikita asked Chantel, but before her little one could answer, Michael turned and walked over to the table carrying the frying pan in one hand and wielding a spatula in the other.

"Look Chantel," he said, "I made pancakes. You like pancakes, right sweetheart?"

"I like ice cream better," she answered, then slipped down from her mother's lap, dropping her blanket and Esmerelda as she ran after Moonbeam. Moonbeam, so named because of his off-white coloring, sauntered lazily into the kitchen. Chantel captured him, then sat down on the floor and held him on her lap. She was careful to hold him gently as her mother had instructed her.

Over at the table, Michael grinned at Nikita as he scooped pancakes onto a plate. "Don't worry," he whispered, referring to Chantel's revelation about the ice cream. He bent and placed a quick kiss on Nikita's mouth. "Think of it as frozen milk."

"Can Moonbeam have some pancakes?" Chantel asked, still hoping to avoid the breakfast her father had cooked.

Nikita arched her brow at Michael, a smile on her lips. "Well, Daddy?"

"Uh... no pancakes for Moonbeam, sweetheart," Michael answered, trying to sound authoritative as he walked back to the stove and placed the frying pan and spatula down.

"Why not?" Chantel asked, turning to face her father as she waited for an explanation. Her father always had explanations. Not like her mother who, oftentimes, when Chantel asked 'why' or 'how come', replied with a simple, 'because Mommy says so' answer.

"It'll make him too heavy and then he won't be able to chase any mice," came the reply.

"Then I don't want any either," Chantel proclaimed, explaining her reasoning. "It'll make me too heavy to chase after Moonbeam."

Michael, who was in the process of cutting her pancakes into bite-size pieces, stood with his mouth open, at a loss for words. Behind him Nikita chuckled as she rose to her feet. "Way to go, daddy," she murmured in his ear as she passed by, then pinched his butt playfully.

"Come on, Chantel," she said out loud, as she walked toward her daughter. "Stand up. Let's go wash your hands and then you're going to sit down and have some pancakes and yummy orange juice."

"Do I have to?"

"Yes, my love, you do. No arguments. Up-up-up."

"How come?"

"Because mommy says so, that's how come."

Chantel released Moonbeam and clambered up to her feet. She placed her hand in Nikita's and walked with her over to the sink. After Nikita washed then dried Chantel's hands, Nikita carried her over to the table and sat her down. "Now eat your breakfast."

"Mommy, you're a female," Chantel said decisively.

Michael, who was sitting watching with amazement how Nikita was able to get Chantel to obey her, swallowed. He was in trouble for sure now as Nikita looked from Chantel, to Michael, and back again.

"What do you mean by that, sweetie?" she asked, casting Michael a suspicious look.

Chantel smiled proudly at her father. "Daddy said female means you're the boss."

"Oh he did, huh?"

Michael shrugged his shoulders innocently.

"And what else did Daddy tell you?" Nikita asked.

Chantel chewed on a mouthful of pancakes. "He said I'm a female too."

Nikita began to laugh, looking with affection over at Michael who sat grinning back at her.

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

Both Michael and Nikita believed that it was important to teach Chantel the value of work. They had a deal with her that if she did her chores all week, then on Saturday afternoons, she could choose an activity she wanted to do with her parents.

After she finished eating her breakfast, Chantel climbed down from her chair and ran over to the fridge. Nikita posted Chantel's 'chore' list there, down near the middle of the refrigerator door so that it was easy for Chantel to see. Since Chantel couldn't really read yet, Nikita drew pictures to remind her of what those chores were.

They were very simple ones really: (1) Brush her teeth every morning and night, (2) Put away her toys every evening before dinner, and (3) dust the coffee table in the living room. The first two always remained the same but the last one changed on a weekly basis. Sometimes Chantel was asked to water the plants, other weeks her assignment was to take the bathroom rugs out and hang them on the porch railing to air, or other similarly simple chores around the house.

Chantel removed the mushroom-shaped magnet that held her chore chart to the door and took the list over to her father. Michael lifted her up onto his lap and then studied the chart. He made a big pretense of studying the slightly crooked, colorful crayon-made checkmarks with which Chantel marked off each chore as she completed it on a daily basis. Chantel looped her arm around his neck and waited patiently for him to ask her the questions he asked each week.

"Lets see how well you've been brushing your teeth. Ahhh," he said, opening his mouth. Chantel obediently mimicked his action, opening her mouth wide as Michael placed his finger under her chin and pretended to be searching her mouth for hidden creatures.

"Helloooo," he called, "Anybody in there?"

Chantel giggled, her eyes sparkling with laughter at the funny faces her father made. "Alright," Michael proclaimed. "No creatures. Just a whole bunch of very nice, sharp-looking teeth."

He looked at the list again. "And did you remember to put your toys away everyday?"

Chantel nodded. "Yes."

The interview continued for several minutes between father and daughter as Nikita sat back and watched them. She loved seeing the two of them together and the obvious love they had for each other. Michael was such a wonderful father. He worshipped Chantel, showering her with love and attention and it caused Nikita's heart to ache with overwhelming love for him. There were times, though, when she watched him with Chantel that Nikita wondered if he ever thought of his other child. His son that he had lost so many years ago in a car accident along with his first wife.

He had never spoken of them other than to tell her that it was the reason he had come out here to the country in the first place. There had been too many painful memories in the city for him to bear. Nikita looked at Michael now, his eyes aglow with his love for Chantel, and Nikita knew that in his heart, there had to be a part of him that still ached with the loss of his son and his first wife.

Nikita stood and walked over to where he and Chantel were sitting. Standing behind them, she bent down and kissed his temple, then whispered in his ear, "I love you." He turned and looked at her. Surprise and unexpected pleasure deepened the color of his eyes to the color of emeralds. He captured her hand with his own, then lifted it to his lips and they stared silently at each other.

"Can we go to watch Tarzan?" Chantel asked, having decided how she wanted to spend her afternoon with her parents.

"Tarzan?" Michael held on to Nikita's hand as he turned and looked at Chantel, then smiled. "A movie. That sounds nice. But only if I get to sit in the middle of you two females."

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

Adrian was due to arrive on Tuesday morning from Orlando. The airport was a three hour drive from the farm so Nikita and Michael decided to drive out a day early and spend the day in the city. They took Chantel to the zoo, did some shopping, and had dinner out at a nice restaurant. Chantel chattered all through dinner about the animals she saw, her new outfits, and the neat hotel room they were staying in. She began to yawn by the time dessert was served and fell asleep in the car on their way back to the hotel. Michael and Nikita decided to follow Chantel's lead and call it an early night also. But Nikita couldn't sleep. Turning she looked at Michael who was right next to her sharing her pillow. His warm breath caressed her bare shoulder. Nikita rolled her head closer to his, kissed his brow, then lay listening to his breathing. It didn't take much for her to figure out why she couldn't sleep. She couldn't get her mind off of the letter that her mother, Sharon, had sent. With Adrian's return on the morrow Nikita would finally be able to find out why Sharon was contacting them.

Nikita sighed then carefully, so as not to wake Michael, slipped out of bed. She put on her robe then made her way over to the other bedroom where Chantel was sleeping. Nikita turned on the bedside lamp and stood gazing down at her. Nikita had only been a year old when Sharon left. What was it that made her leave, Nikita wondered? Had Sharon ever stood at her bedside and watched her sleep, like how she watched Chantel? Had Sharon ever felt the swelling in her heart of love when she looked at her like Nikita experienced when she looked at Chantel? Or had she felt nothing?

Nikita tucked the blankets tighter about her daughter and brushed her hair back with her fingers. Chantel didn't even stir. Bending, she kissed her daughter's forehead, then turned off the light and headed back to her room. On the way she bumped into Michael.

"There you are." He stood there looking sexy with his sleep tousled hair and pajama bottoms. Nikita leaned against him. He was warm and grizzly and she loved the feel of his arms as they circled about her.

"Miss me?" she asked, and Michael grunted a reply.

"I was checking on Chantel," she said, smiling as he slipped his hands down over her hips and pressed her close.

"Can't sleep?"

"Mmm," she answered. With their arms around each other they walked back to their room..

"I can help you relax" he said, stifling a yawn.

Nikita chuckled as she rubbed her hand across his back. "What did you have in mind?"

Michael closed the bedroom door behind them, then reached for her nightgown and lifted it up and off of her. "I'm sure we can think of something," he murmured a second before his mouth descended upon hers.

*

"There's Grandmama," Chantel cried, jumping up and down as she pointed to the group of people exiting the jetway into the gate area. Adrian, hearing Chantel's voice, looked over and began to wave. Michael and Nikita smiled as Chantel ran up and hugged Adrian.

"Oh my," Adrian exclaimed, stepping back to take a better look at Chantel. "I swear you've grown at least six inches since I last saw you."

"You cut your hair," Chantel observed as she slipped her fingers into Adrian's and pulled her toward her parents. "I like it. It’s pretty."

"Well thank you, dear."

Adrian greeted Nikita and Michael with kisses and hugs. She looked good, happy, and there was a healthy glow to her skin. They walked down to the carousel where the luggage from her flight was being unloaded and Michael retrieved her two bags, then went out to the car. Chantel was an endless source of curiosity, posing question after question to Adrian about her trip, and the ship. She wanted to know if Adrian had seen any whales or mermaids, and if she brought her anything back.

They stopped at a small restaurant for breakfast and, after ordering, Michael discreetly disappeared with Chantel, giving Nikita a few minutes alone with her grandmother. As soon as they were out of hearing range, Adrian turned to Nikita. Concern filled her wise eyes. "Alright, what's wrong?" she asked.

Nikita smiled. "What makes you think anything is wrong?"

"You and Michael have been sending each other silent looks ever since I arrived. I was married too, you know," Adrian chided lightly. "I can tell there's something bothering you. So come on. Out with it, child."

Nikita took a deep breath, then reached down into her purse and withdrew the letter from Sharon and slid it across the table. Adrian looked at it curiously, picked it up, and then grew pale. Her eyes flew up to meet Nikita's.

"It arrived last Tuesday," Nikita said quietly.

"My god..." Adrian whispered, her fingers trembling.

"I know." Nikita reached over and took her grandmother's hand in hers. "Are you alright?"

Adrian blinked, then nodded. "Yes... yes." She expelled a breath of air. "I'm just ... surprised." Her gaze shifted back to the envelope in her hand. "I don't believe it."

"I know," Nikita said quietly. "I was shocked too. I still am." The two women stared at each other for several long seconds without saying anything. A myriad of emotions passing between them. Then, Nikita said quietly, "It’s up to you, Grandma if you want to open it or not. The letter's addressed to you and Grandpa."

Adrian looked down at the letter, and after what seemed an eternity, raised her gaze again to meet Nikita's. "Nicky... did you.. did you think I wouldn't open it?"

Nikita withdrew her hand, folded them on her lap as she looked away. "I don't know. Maybe."

"Oh sweetheart." Adrian stood and came to sit next to Nikita. She took her hand in hers and waited for Nikita to look at her. "You're still hurting over this, aren't you?"

Nikita's eyes filled grew moist and she squeezed her grandmother's hand. "I guess so." She took a deep breath to calm herself. "For so many years I waited for her to return. I imagined this big happy reunion and she would tell me she was sorry for leaving me and that she loved me." Nikita gave a short, derisive laugh. "I never expected to feel this anger and bitterness. But I do."

"I know what you mean, child." Adrian sighed as a distant look entered her eyes. "For years I let those feelings rule my life. You of all people know the truth of that statement. It took me a long time to learn to let go. And that's what you've got to do also, Nicky."

"I thought I had."

"But you haven't," Adrian replied quietly.

"Grandmama." Nikita's voice was strangled as she closed her eyes. When she opened them again her grandmother saw the pain reflected within. "I keep telling myself that I don't care --"

"But you do," Adrian finished for her in a gentle voice, then sighed. "I think this may be harder for you then it is for me. A parent expects that at one time or another their child is going to grow up and leave home. But for you, Nikita, you never even got the opportunity to know your mother. I know how difficult that has been for you."

Nikita shook her head slowly, confusion clouding her eyes. "Maybe you're right. I need to get past this and I think the only way I can do that is to know what's in that letter."

Adrian smiled encouragingly at her, then picked up the envelope and began to open it. Nikita sat, twisting her hands in her lap, her eyes glued on the letter that her grandmother was opening. Inside was a second envelope, unsealed. Adrian opened it and took out what looked like an invitation. Nikita's brows furrowed as she leaned closer to her grandmother and looked at the picture on the card. It was of a young woman with dark blond hair and blue eyes and a fair-haired young man. Underneath the photo were the names, Jenna and Brian.

"It’s a wedding invitation," Nikita murmured, her mind racing. Why would Sharon be sending a wedding invitation unless...

Nikita focused again on the picture. The girl. Jenna. There was something familiar about her. Her eyes -- they were like Chantel's, like hers. A cold numbness stole over Nikita as she stared at the picture. "Oh my god," she whispered. "It’s her daughter."

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

Shortly after Grandpa Walt's death, Adrian announced that she was moving into the studio Michael had lived in before he married Nikita. Michael and Nikita had objected but Adrian insisted.

"You two need your own space," she proclaimed. "And so do I."

So Michael fixed the place up, extending it to include a small kitchenette, and Grandma stayed there. It worked out nicely. The studio was adjacent to the main house. It had its own little garden which Grandma tended diligently. It also gave her the freedom to entertain her friends, ladies from the Sunday School auxillary, whenever she wanted.

When they arrived back from the airport, Nikita excused herself and went straight into the main house. Chantel ran off in search of Moonbeam leaving Michael alone with Adrian. He looked at her with worry-filled eyes. When he and Chantel had rejoined Adrian and Nikita at the restaurant, Adrian had been trying to console a pale, blank-eyed Nikita. All through breakfast Nikita remained quiet. During the drive home she faced the window and pretended to be asleep. Michael had slipped his hand over and touched her leg. She didn't respond.

"What's going on?" Michael asked Adrian when they were finally alone. The happy facade Adrian had been wearing for Chantel's benefit turned into a look of weariness.

"You'd better come inside," Adrian said as she pulled her carry-on out from the car. Michael retrieved her suitcases from the back of the Explorer and followed. He looked back to check on Chantel and saw her playing on the porch. Inside the studio he put Adrian's bags down then turned to her for an explanation. Adrian sighed as she reached into the bag and withdrew the letter from Sharon and handed it over to Michael. Wordlessly he opened it and withdrew the invitation. He looked at the photo for a second, then flipped it open and began to read. His mouth clenched and his eyes closed for a brief moment.

"I have to go to her," he said at last, turning to leave.

"Wait!" Adrian stayed him with a hand to his arm. "There's more." She handed Michael a hand-written note that had been enclosed in the invitation. As Michael read, Adrian turned and walked over to the sofa and sat down. In the note Sharon apologized to her parents for having stayed away so long. She explained that she had gotten married shortly after leaving home and had three children. Jenna at twenty-four was the oldest, followed by Kimberly who was twenty-one, then nineteen year old Daniel. Jenna's upcoming marriage had turned Sharon's thoughts toward family and the desire to re-establish ties with her parents and with Nikita. She had included a phone number and an address along with a plea for forgiveness.

Michael lowered the note. Then he turned, dropping the slip of paper on the table, and headed toward the main house.

"Daddy can you play with me?" Chantel called, looking up from where she was seated on the porch floor playing with her doll.

"Not now, sweetheart." Michael opened the screendoor, stepped inside and looked quickly around. The kitchen was empty and the house seemed too quiet. "Nikita?"

His long stride led him through the door to the living room. After another quick perusal he turned to the stairs and climbed them two steps at a time and headed straight for their bedroom. Their was a large oriental chest at the foot of their bed which Adrian had given Nikita just before they married. As he stepped inside the room Michael noticed immediately that the lace cloth which normally covered the chest, now lay on the carpet. The chest was open and the contents within ransacked.

"Nikita?"

The bathroom door was open and there was the distinct smell of something burning coming from within. On the floor next to the door lay the cardboard cover of a shoebox along with a black and white photo. Michael stooped to pick it up then rounded the corner. "Nikita?"

She stood at the sink with a lighter in one hand and a photo in the other, the corner of which was burning. On the counter was the shoebox and two photo albums. Other photos were strewn about on the floor. As the photo in her hand burned, Nikita dropped it into the sink and reached for the next one in the shoebox. Michael moved forward and removed the lighter from her hand.

"Nikita, no."

"Give it to me, Michael," she said tersely, trying to grab the lighter back from Michael.

"No." He threw the lighter out into the bedroom then pulled Nikita around to face him. She resisted, though, her eyes cold and hard as she pushed against him.

"Let me go!" Nikita broke from his embrace and grabbed several photos from the box and began ripping at them. There was a wild look in her eyes as the photos tore in her hand. "I hate her!" she cried, as she reached for another photo. "I hate her! I hate her!"

"Nikita, no..." Michael made another move to remove her from the photos and in frustration Nikita swung, hitting the box forcefully. The pictures went flying as the box tumbled to the floor. In one last act of rage Nikita picked up a small ceramic statuette from the sink counter and hurled it toward the shower. It smashed into the glass door, shattering it on impact.

There was silence.

And then the tears came.

Nikita stepped back, leaned against the wall, and slowly slid to the floor. A look of torment filled her eyes as tears flowed down her cheeks. From deep within, a cry of utter grief wracked her body and she began to moan, a terrible aching sound, as she rocked back and forth. "Why?" she cried, burying her face in her hands.

Michael watched helplessly, his heart breaking for the pain Nikita felt. He reached for her but she recoiled from his touch.

"Don't... don't," she whispered, crossing her arms in front of her.

"Let me help you," he pleaded softly as she stared at him with her pained expression. Cautiously he moved forward, wanting to comfort her, when suddenly from behind him he heard Chantel's voice.

"Mommy?"

Michael turned to stop Chantel, not wanting her to see Nikita crying. But Chantel was just as stubborn as her mother. Panic filled her voice when she saw Nikita sitting on the floor crying amongst the scattered photos and broken glass.

"I want my mommy!" she cried, as Michael tried to usher her out. "Mommy!"

Nikita looked up, her vision blurred by her tears, to see Chantel trying to push past Michael. Her little arms were stretched out toward her and there were tears flowing down her cheeks. "Please, Daddy, I want my mommy!" she cried. "I want my mommy!"

Something inside Nikita broke and she suddenly saw herself in Chantel's pleading eyes and outstretched arms. Her daughter needed her. Slowly she moved away from the wall and reached out to touch Chantel's fingers.

"Let her come, Michael."

Chantel burst past her father's legs and hurled herself into Nikita's arms. She flung her arms around Nikita's neck and clung to her.

"Shhh... my darling," Nikita soothed her, as she hugged Chantel and brushed her hand over her daughter's hair. "Shhh... it’s alright. Everything's going to be alright." As Chantel's crying subsided, Nikita looked up to see Michael staring at them, his eyes moist. Silently Nikita held her hand out to him and he came to her, kneeling beside her. Holding Chantel with one arm, Nikita slipped her other arm around Michael's waist and eased herself against his chest as he wrapped his strong arms around both her and Chantel.

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

Michael carried Nikita into the bedroom and placed her on the bed. "Get some rest," he said softly, bending to brush his lips over her brow. Confused and frightened by what she had seen, Chantel refused to leave her mother's side. When Nikita fell asleep, Chantel crawled under the blanket beside her and soon fell asleep also. Nikita woke several hours later to find Chantel's little body curled around her. Feeling her mother stir, Chantel lifted her head and waited.

"Chantel?"

Chantel blinked, and studied her mother's face. "Are you better?" she asked. There was a tremor in her voice.

Nikita pulled herself up and leaned against the headboard. "Yes sweetie. I'm feeling much better."

Chantel climbed up on top of Nikita and wrapped her arms around her. She lay her cheek against her mother's chest, then lay quietly as Nikita stroked her hair and kissed her forehead.

"I'm sorry if I frightened you," Nikita whispered. Chantel turned her head and gazed up at Nikita.

"Why were you crying?" she asked.

Nikita drew a deep, shuddering breath as she held Chantel closer. "I was sad about something."

"Were you sad because of the lady in the pictures?"

The corner of Nikita's mouth curved up into a small smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. Children were so observant, she thought as she brushed the back of her fingers against Chantel's cheek. "Yes," she answered honestly in a quiet tone.

Chantel frowned and a mulish look entered her young eyes. "Then I don't like her," she declared stubbornly. There was such a look of pure determination in her blue eyes that Nikita found herself smiling and her heart overflowing as she gathered Chantel into her arms.

"Do you know how much I love you?" she asked, and Chantel shook her head.

"How much?"

Nikita pushed Chantel’s curls back behind her ears as she smiled at her. "I love you to the moon and the furthest star in the sky and much much more," she replied. Chantel smiled then snuggled back against her mother. Nikita took another deep breath as a welcome sense of peace washed over her. She held Chantel, rocking her gently and kissing her golden hair. Then after several minutes she placed her fingers under Chantel's chin and turned her face up.

"Chantel, I have something important to tell you and I need you to listen carefully. Okay?" When Chantel nodded Nikita continued with a sigh. "I don't want you to be angry at the lady in the picture."

"How come?"

Nikita paused and held Chantel's face in her hands, "Being angry at someone isn't good for you, Chantel. It’s not good for you in here --" Nikita pointed to Chantel's heart. "Do you understand?"

"But she made you cry, Mommy."

"No --" Nikita leaned forward and kissed Chantel's brow, "-- I was crying because I was sad. And I was sad because I... because I miss that lady."

Chantel frowned. "You miss her?"

"That's right." Nikita smoothed her hands over Chantel's hair as she acknowledged the truth behind her statement. She did miss Sharon. It had hurt her deeply to learn that Sharon had had other kids. Children who had grown up with her and had a mother/child relationship with her. It was what Nikita had wanted all her life. She had reacted out of her pain in trying to destroy all of the photos that Adrian had given her of Sharon, but now, having slept off the initial shock and pain, Nikita realized that what she really wanted was to learn more of Sharon and the life she had led after leaving the farm. There was a noise from the doorway and Nikita looked up to see Michael standing there. He was leaning against the doorway, his arms folded over his chest, and he watched her with a peculiar look in his green eyes.

"Do you still miss her?" Chantel asked.

"Yes."

"Why?"

Nikita's gaze flickered up to meet Michael's and he nodded. Nikita looked back at Chantel, then said very softly, "Because, Chantel, that lady - the one you saw in the pictures - she's my mother."

Chantel's expression became more confused. "I thought Grandma Adrian was your mommy."

Nikita smiled as she slowly shook her head. "No darling. Grandma Adrian is my grandma. Her daughter is the lady you saw in the picture. Her name is Sharon and she's my mother."

"Well how come she doesn't live here?"

Nikita felt a twinge of pain, but she swallowed, forcing it down. "She had to leave a long time ago."

"How come?"

"I don't really know why, sweetheart. She just did and couldn't come back home for a very long long time."

"Did she get lost?" Chantel asked.

"Maybe," Nikita answered, her voice quiet and her eyes sad.

"Chantel." Michael stepped into the bedroom. "Sweetheart, let your mother rest. Go downstairs and help your grandma."

Chantel looked from her father back to Nikita. She hesitated as Nikita kissed her and pat her leg. "Go on, love. Listen to Daddy."

Chantel nodded then climbed off of Nikita and hopped down onto the floor. Michael stopped her as she passed by and bent to give her kiss. Then he walked to the bed and sat down beside Nikita. He gazed silently into her eyes. "I'm very proud of you," he whispered. Then, seeing the simple need in her eyes, he leaned forward and kissed her tenderly. Nikita closed her eyes and relished the feel of Michael's lips on hers. Her arms reached up and looped around his neck as he put his arms around her and held her close.

"It’s time to put this behind us," she said quietly. When Michael looked at her questioningly, she added: "It’s time that I met my mother."

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

"Will you sing me a song?"

Nikita smiled at her daughter's request as she tucked the blankets about her. "It’s late, darling. You should go to bed now."

"You never sing to me anymore."

"That's because you usually prefer to listen to daddy's stories. Now close your eyes and go to sleep."

"Please? Just one song."

Nikita relented with a sigh. "Alright. One song."

"With the guitar."

"Chantel --"

Blue eyes pleaded silently.

"Alright." Nikita stood and walked to the corner to pick up the guitar case. Chantel was right. It seemed like ages since she had done this. Removing the guitar from its case Nikita returned to the bed and sat down once more next to Chantel. She strummed the strings, tuning it quickly, and after some thought, began to sing in a quiet voice an old favorite of hers that she used to sing to Chantel when she was younger.

Tonight your mine completely You give your love so sweetly Tonight the light of love is in your eyes But will you love me tomorrow?

Chantel smiled and burrowed deeper under the covers as she listened to the comforting sound of her mother's voice. Slowly her breathing deepened and her lashes began to close.

Is this a lasting treasure Or just a moment's pleasure?

Nikita watched, her mouth forming into a smile as Chantel struggled to keep her eyes open. But a day full of play and a picnic had exhausted her and soon Chantel was yawning. She rolled onto her side, hugging her doll close, and watched her mother through heavy-lidded eyes.

Can I believe the magic in your sigh Will you still love me tomorrow?

Downstairs, Michael finished locking up and was at the base of the stairs when he heard the faint sound of Nikita's guitar playing. Quietly he made his way up the stairs and down the hall to Chantel's room. He paused at the door watching and listening.

Tonight with words unspoken You say that I'm the only one. But will the spell be broken When the night meets the morning sun?

He walked around to Nikita's side, sat down and gazed into her eyes as she turned her head to face him.

I'd like to know if your love Is a love I can be sure of So tell me now and I won't ask again Will you still love me tomorrow?

Nikita gave the guitar a final soft strum, then smiled as Michael raised his hand and stroked her cheek. She turned to check on Chantel and saw that she was fast asleep. Nikita reached over and kissed her cheek. "Goodnight, my love," she whispered, then stood to return the guitar to its case as Michael finished tucking Chantel in, securing the blanket around her and placing a kiss on her brow. He stood and took Nikita's hand and they walked back to their room.

"Grandma's gone home?" Nikita asked, surprised that Adrian had left already. Usually she stayed and visited a while. Michael gave a small grunt as he placed his arm around Nikita's shoulder.

"She said she wanted to call Sharon."

As he knew she would, Nikita pulled away from him and pretended to busy herself with preparing for bed. Several weeks had passed since the day they had discovered Sharon's whereabouts and the fact that she had three grown children. And though Nikita had expressed a desire to get to know Sharon, she had yet to even speak with her on the phone. Instead it was Adrian who had called Sharon. Adrian who had gone to Jenna's wedding and returned with tales of Sharon's family and how well she looked, and how sad Sharon was that Nikita had not flown out with Adrian. Nikita, as she always did when Adrian began speaking of Sharon, remained silent. If asked about her feelings toward Sharon, she replied, "I need more time."

Michael watched as Nikita undressed and slipped on a nightgown. He walked up to her and placed his hands lightly on her shoulders, then turned her around to face him. Nikita looked up at him with questioning eyes. Slowly, Michael bent and began to kiss her. His lips skimmed over hers in a teasing fashion, nipping at her lower lip, then withdrawing just as she advanced.

"Michael..."

Her fingers reached up and curled into his hair, relishing their silky feel as she pulled him in close and held him to her mouth. Michael laughed softly, enjoying the pleasure of knowing she wanted him, and then he gave into what she wanted, kissing her fully.

Nikita moaned her approval as her hands moved down and began unfastening the buttons of his shirt. A few seconds later it slid off his shoulders and fell to the floor, then she began working on his pants. When she had freed Michael from the rest of his clothing, Nikita took a step back and let her gaze wander over him, admiring his body as she ran a palm down his chest and stomach. Her eyes heated with desire at his beauty. After a few seconds, Michael pulled her back to him and reached for her nightgown. With a swift, practiced move, Michael divested her of the thin material and it landed on the floor on top of his discarded clothes. Taking her hand, he raised it to his lips, kissed her fingers, then pulled her gently toward the bed.

Some nights their lovemaking was wild and passionate, other nights they were playful. Tonight Michael wanted to savor the pleasure of making love to Nikita by taking things slowly. She read his desire in his emerald eyes and in the way he restrained himself, and she acquiesced by relaxing against the pillows and allowing him to take his leisure in pleasing her.

She gazed up at him lovingly as Michael lay beside her, propped up on one elbow, and caressed her body slowly with his eyes. His fingers stroked a fiery path down the trail his gaze set; down the slender curve of her neck and onto her shoulder. He drew a tormenting path down and around one perfectly rounded breast, smiling at how her bud hardened with anticipation under his gaze. He touched it with one finger, looking up to watch the response in her eyes. His smile broadened at seeing her brows pucker in slight frustration. Then he lowered his head and gave her a soft lick, just enough to tease before moving on.

Nikita sighed and resigned herself to the fact that Michael was going to torment her with his talented fingers until she writhed with need for him, which wouldn't be too long she judged from the heat spiraling upward from the core of her body. She closed her eyes, enjoying the sensuous agony of his teasing, her body twitching as it responded to his every touch and kiss.

Michael explored her deliberately, leisurely, as if this were the first time they made love. He reacquainted himself with every curve and dip of her body; gazing at her with loving eyes, touching her with inquisitive fingers, then marking her with his hungry mouth. Her long legs were restless as they shifted back and forth, her fingers moved incessantly against the sheets as she arched her body, then fell back against the mattress with a tortured groan. Still he teased her, shifting his position so that he could pay more attention to her most sensitive area.

Nikita moaned, her breathing becoming labored as his fingers parted her and he blew his warm breath against her heated skin. Her hands flew downward, tangling in his hair as she lost patience and tried to direct his mouth to where she wanted him most. He appeased her briefly, stroking her need with the tip of his tongue, then withdrew. Nikita gasped his name in frustration, then wilted in pleasure as she felt his fingers move within her. Her eyes closed and she wallowed in erotic bliss at his ministrations.

"More," she whispered, and Michael readily complied. He pleasured her, loved her, brought her to the brink of fulfillment, then withdrew to her agonized cry.

"Sadist," she groaned, even as she opened her arms and welcomed him into her embrace and joined her lips to his.

"I love you," he breathed against her mouth, and she flushed with fever, forgiving him for the sweet torture he was putting her through. Then she buried her fingers in his hair, tightening her grip roughly as her need for him became unbearable. She could feel his need, thick and heavy, pressing against her and it inflamed her anew. "Enough," she begged, looking up into his passion darkened eyes. "I want you now, Michael."

He smiled, bending down to kiss her quickly, then leaned over to the bedside table and quickly opened the top drawer. He reached inside, then stiffened.

"What's wrong?" Nikita asked as he leaned further over and peered into the drawer then closed his eyes and sagged against her, burying his face in her hair.

"Michael?"

With a groan Michael lifted his head and looked down at her with a look of tortured disbelief. "We're out of condoms."

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

Michael and Nikita gazed at one another, nose to nose, and then the room filled with Nikita's warm laughter as she reached up and hugged him.

"I swear I thought you just bought a box a few days ago."

"I did," Michael smiled, then shook his head as an amused look entered his eyes. "Mick's eyes are really going to bulge now."

"Who's Mick?"

"The guy at the drug store," Michael answered with a big grin. "He says that I'm his best customer."

Nikita gasped, then blushed. "Oh my god. Mick Schtoppel? The one that goes to our church?"

Michael nodded. "That's the one."

Nikita covered her face with her hands. "No wonder he's always staring at us! Oh god, how embarrassing. He must think we're some sort of oversexed couple or something."

"Can I help it if you're insatiable?" Michael asked, his eyes teasing.

"Me?!" Nikita arched her brows at him. "Hey, mister, you're the one that started all this."

"Yes. And I'm paying for it now," Michael groaned as he pressed his lower body against Nikita with aching desire. "Do you think Adrian might have some?"

"MICHAEL!" Nikita looked horrified as she pushed at his shoulder, then broke into laughter as Michael grinned down at her. "I'm going to tell Grandma what you said."

"Kita, don't you dare."

They kissed, long and slow, and Nikita found herself become deeply aroused again. She pulled away again and stared up at Michael with desire sparkling in her eyes. "You're my husband," she said softly, as her fingers caressed his face. "Let’s forget the condom."

Michael smiled. "Shall I remind you of that if 9 months from now you're in a delivery room swearing you'll never let me touch you again?"

Nikita's eyes widened. "I wouldn't say that!"

"You did when Chantel was born."

"I did not!"

"Shall I call Dr. Schlacter? I seem to recall she was quite amused at your proclamation."

Nikita laughed softly as she wrapped her legs around Michael, to his agonized groan, and pulled him closer against her. "If I did say such a thing, and I'm not admitting I did, you have to understand I was in a LOT of pain."

Michael sighed, then lowered his head and kissed Nikita hard. She was tormenting him with subtle little thrusting movements of her hips. Reaching down, he carefully unlocked her legs from around him, then rolled off to the side and stared up at the ceiling. "How do you feel about having another baby, Nikita?" he asked quietly. He felt her shift and turned his head to see her roll onto her side to face him. She raised herself up on one elbow and rested her head on the palm of her hand.