She'd forgotten how hot the sun out here could be. Having spent the past seven years on the east coast, the mid-west heat, to her, was suffocating. The noon-day sun beat down mercilessly upon her, forming little beads of sweat along her scalp that trickled lazily down her temples. She wiped at the sweat in a distracted manner and turned to look at the rear of the Greyhound bus that had dropped her off. The mechanical gurgling and high pierced whoosh of its gears shifting grew fainter as it rolled further away, and with it - her freedom. Seven glorious years she had been gone with no intention of ever returning to this place - and now, here she was, back at home.

Bending at the knees, she picked up her suitcase. Its black nylon covering was a little dusty from her journey, but otherwise, was in as good a shape as it was the day she had bought it. Hefting the suitcase testily in her right hand, she slung her guitar case onto her left shoulder and made her way toward the white farm house that stood at the end of the dirt lane road.

As her eyes scanned the perimeters of the farm, the thought occurred to her that the colors out here were a lot more vivid than she recalled. Certainly more so than New York City had ever been, yet, there she had existed happily in a world of steel, concrete and glass. What it lacked in natural colors, it more than compensated for in neon lights and artistic flair.

Now, as she trudged her way up toward her grandparent's home, she noted with wonder the brilliant, striking contrast of lush green grass against azure blue sky. It provided the perfect backdrop for the old Oak tree that stood in the far corner of the yard, right next to the barn. The wheat in the field swayed uniformly, first one way than the other, in the afternoon breeze. In a couple of weeks it would be ready to be harvested, in the meantime, its lustrous hue formed a lush golden carpet that surrounded the farm. A white wooden fence enclosed the whole property, forming a border between her grandparents' property and that of the Jenson's, who lived yonder the next ridge.

Despite the coziness of the scene before her, though, Nikita felt little comfort or warmth. Her blue eyes scanned the horizon as she hefted her guitar case higher up onto her shoulder and tightened her grip on her suitcase. Apart from the barn and the shed next to the house, there were no other structures within sight. The land was just as isolated and lonely as she remembered it being. A warm breeze blew against her as she continued her way up the lane toward the house. She lowered her eyes to protect them from the dust and noted with a wry smile that the dark brown leather boots peeking out beneath the hem of her faded jeans, were the same ones she had on when she left this place. Now they brought her home.

Home?

She shuddered. She had grown up here under her grandparents care, her mother having abandoned her after an unwanted pregnancy, but she had never felt at home here. Being abandoned and fatherless in America's heartland, a place where Christian morals reigned supreme, was a scarlet letter unto itself. Grandma Adrian had watched her like a hawk, waiting for the day when she would mess up, just as her Mama had. Even the town-folk had eyed her with suspicion, a few though took pity on her. Unfortunately, there well-intentioned remarks often pained her more than the degrading looks she received from the former group.

Women commented on how she looked just like her Mama and of how poor Adrian had her work cut out for her raising that child. The men, on the other hand, kept verbally quiet, but their eyes revealed the whisperings of their minds as they secretly eyed the statuesque beauty that Nikita was becoming. Adrian dressed purposely clothed her in oversized dresses and forbade her the use of make-up, but Nikita had no need of any artificial enhancements. She had a natural beauty that no amount of dowdiness could conceal, and when she smiled, rare as that was, it was equivalent to watching the dawning of a new day. Grandpa Walt was the only true source of love and warmth she had received here, and it was for his sake that she had returned. Nikita stood and gazed up at the two story house. Grandpa's wooden rocking chair still stood on the front porch, in the corner. She recalled how he use to sit out here each evening and stare out into the horizon. Some nights she joined him and he would tell her stories of his youth, accompanied by the sound of the crickets mating call. There had been a wind chime that hung at the edge of the porch, a simple contraption made up of five thin metal rods, each one a different length. She could still here the musical tinkling sound it made whenever the breeze blew. It had been one of the loneliest sounds she had ever heard.

Grandpa Walt loved this land. It was in his blood, an integral part of him that he could never leave. His father had bought all forty acres back at the turn of the century and had passed it on to him. He had hoped to pass the farm on to her mother but she had never taken to the land. She had hated this place as much as Nikita did, at least, that's what Grandpa had told her. She had been the joy of his life. Naturally he had been heart-broken when her mother left and didn't return. Now Nikita gazed at the farmhouse she had tried to escape and heaved a sigh. She looked up at the left corner window on the second floor. That had been her mother's bedroom, and then hers. Many a summer's night she had climbed out and sat on the roof of the patio and gazed out at the stars in the sky as she dreamt of a future far away from here. Some nights, the voices of her grandparents would drift up from the porch below and she would hear her grandmother chiding her grandfather for spoiling her. Grandpa would quietly shush her and tell her to leave it be. Nikita wiped the sweat from her brow and climbed the four steps up to the porch. Memories of the past came flooding back and she felt the distinctive urge to turn and flee. Swallowing her fears down, she raised her hand and knocked on the door. "Hello?" Tentatively she turned the knob and felt it twist freely in her hand. The door opened with a slow quiet squeak and Nikita peered inside. Familiar white lace curtains stirred from the breeze of the open door as Nikita bit her lower lip and opened the door wider. The thin gauzy material was one of the things she had always remembered about her Grandma's parlor. Her grandmother had made those curtains herself. She remembered wondering as a child how a woman so cold and harsh could create something so frilly and delicate. Looking at the curtains now, she suppressed a shudder and stepped inside. She placed her suitcase and guitar case down on the floor, and closed the door behind her.

The furniture, apart from being a bit more faded, was still the same. The coffee table that she used to wax every Saturday still gleamed a deep mahogany. The quiet which permeated her memory of this place hung thick in the air. "Hello?" A soft footstep caused her to turn toward the hall that led to the kitchen and she blinked in surprise when she saw a stranger standing before her. He was tall with dark colored hair that fell in loose waves to his shoulders. The denim shirt he wore was dusty as were the dark cotton trousers he wore. Nikita took a step back as she turned to look back at the furniture. No, this was the right house, but who was he? She glanced back at him and saw that he was staring at her. She squinted slightly, both as a result of trying to place a name with the unfamiliar face before her, and with trying to figure out the shade of his beautiful eyes. "I . . . I'm sorry," she apologized.

"Your grandmother's upstairs," the stranger stated in a quiet, softly accented voice which revealed to her that he wasn't from around these parts. Nikita glanced toward the stairs, the beat of her heart increasing at the mention of her grandmother. When she looked back, she saw that the stranger had turned and was walking toward the kitchen. It was obvious that he was familiar with the place, and since she had never heard mention of any other relatives, she assumed that he was a hired hand. That would explain how her grandfather had been able to maintain the farm these past years.

She stood a few minutes rooted to her spot, trying to decide what she would do next. She licked her lips, which had suddenly become dry as she contemplated turning around and leaving. Glancing back she looked once more to where the stranger had been and wondered who he was and what had brought him out to these parts. She couldn't fathom why anyone would want to settle out in this lonely land, but obviously this stranger had, and that, oddly enough, had a comforting effect upon her. She turned then and began to climb the steps.

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

As she climbed the stairs, memories of her childhood came flooding back. They crowded round her like ghosts come to welcome her home. She took a deep breath and headed toward the bedroom at the end of the hall. The door was slightly ajar and she could hear movement coming from within. She paused then knocked on the door and pushed it slowly open. On the large poster bed by the window lay her Grandfather, his head resting against a thick white pillow. Long silver and gray hair was combed neatly back, his eyes closed as he lay with his hands clasped over his chest. For a moment she feared that she hadn't made it back in time. He looked so pale against the pioneer quilt bedspread.

"Grandpa?"

A movement to her left caught her eye and she turned to see her grandmother standing at the dresser, a pile of folded shirts in her hands. Adrian stared at Nikita in the same piercing manner that had always caused her as a child to shrink away. "Hello Grand-mama," she whispered. The petite woman said nothing as she turned back to the dresser and resumed her chore of putting the laundry away. Nikita swallowed, clenching her fists to keep them from shaking. Her lips were dry and her throat felt parched. ‘Had this been a mistake?' she wondered. "Nicky?" Her eyes flew to the bed to see her grandfather staring at her, his eyes squinting as if he wasn't sure she was really there.

"Grandpa!" Nikita glided quickly over to his side, tears filling her eyes as she saw his crinkly face light up. "Nicky . . . you came," he smiled up at her. "Of course I came, Grandpa. I'm right here." From the background she heard what sounded like a snort. She kept her eyes focused on the old man lying in the bed before her, her hand reaching out to smooth his hair back. "How are you feeling?" she asked. "I'm fine... fine. His eyes roamed over her as a tear rolled down his face. "You're so grown," he whispered.

Her lips trembled and she reached for his hand, raising it to press against her lips. He continued to stare at her. "You look so much like your mother," he murmured. Behind them, her grandmother closed the drawer noisily. Nikita turned to find her grandmother staring at her with a blank look. "The doctor said he shouldn't talk long. It tires him out," she stated. Nikita nodded in understanding, her eyes forming a silent apology. As her grandmother turned and walked briskly out of the room, she released a breath of air she hadn't realized she had been holding. She felt her grandfather squeeze her hand weakly and she turned to look at him. "Don't mind her," he whispered, "remember, she's all bark and no bite."

She gave him a half-smile. "Grand-mama doesn't need to bite," she whispered back. "Her bark is plenty mean enough."

Grandpa Walt began to laugh. A low raspy sound that sounded more like an asthma attack than a laugh.

"Grandpa are you okay?" she asked. Her brows furrowed together in concern as her eyes scanned over him.

The old man continued to alternate between wheezing and laughing as he waved his hand and nodded his head to assure her that he was all right.

"Maybe I should let you rest," she said, but he shook his head.

"No. . . please. . ." He took several semi-deep breaths to calm himself. "Nicky," he rasped, "I need to talk with you." Twenty minutes later Nikita exited from her grandparent's room and closed the door quietly behind her. She leaned against the door and closed her eyes against the tears that threatened to overcome her. What am I doing, she wondered. Why did I come back here?

She opened her eyes and thought back to the conversation she had just had with her grandfather. He didn't want her to leave. He wanted her to stay here, especially if something were to happen to him, he wanted her to stay and take care of Grandma Adrian. Nikita walked to the opposite side of the hallway and stood at the window that looked out over the east. She stared out at the fields of wheat that all her life had surrounded her. A golden prison that blew gently in the wind. How many times had she looked out this same window and wondered what lay beyond the fields. "She needs you, Nicky."

She had shaken her head at her grandfather's words as he pleaded quietly with her.

"She doesn't have anyone else Nicky." "But Grandpa, I don't know anything about the farm. I can't . . . " He had taken her hand in his. "It’s already taken care of," he murmured. "Michael - you'll meet him - he's been with us for five years now. He knows all there is to know about running the farm."

The image of the stranger came to her mind and she shook her head. "I don't know, Grandpa. Who is he?"

He had patted her hand as he assured her that Michael was a good man. "He's gone through some hard times, Nicky," he explained. " Lost his wife and young son in a car accident and came out here to the west to start over." As she mauled over the information her grandfather provided concerning Michael, the old man had squeezed her and pleaded with her once more. "She needs you, Nicky."

He saw the doubt in her face. "Try to understand, Sugar, she was crushed when your mother left. Your mother was her pride and joy. When she ran off, it was more than your grandmother could stand and she shut her heart off after that."

He had squeezed her hand. "I'm not going to be around much longer, little one. If you leave also, she'll be all alone." The tears had begun then. She had wanted to flee, silently cursing herself for coming back. It was as if a giant vice was closing in on her, sealing her fate. But when her grandfather had asked her to promise she would stay and look after her grandmother, she had agreed.

Silently she turned and walked down the stairs with a heavy heart. She made her way over to the kitchen where she knew her grandmother would be. She found her standing at the sink shelling peas. Nikita walked over and stood a few feet away from her. "Grand-mama?" Adrian glanced up briefly at her and then returned to her task. Nikita looked around feeling more than a bit awkward. "Is there something I can do to help?" she asked. Adrian didn't answer for a long time and Nikita was just about to turn away when the old woman replied in a low tone. "There's a load of laundry in the machine. I reckon it must be finished by now." She gazed up at Nikita. "You do still remember how to hang laundry, don't you?" She nodded. "Yes ma'am." She turned then, grateful for the chore to keep her busy. After hanging out the laundry she ventured back in and hovered in the background, unsure what else she should do. Eventually she made her way over to the sink and stood next to her grandmother watching as she deftly shelled peas. "The carrots need peelin," Adrian murmured. Nikita glanced up at her but noticed that Adrian kept her eyes focused on her hands. "Yes, ma'am." she stated, then went to the fridge to retrieve the vegetables. The rest of the afternoon passed in like manner - she completed the chores her grandmother gave her and then quietly waiting for the next. That evening, after taking grandpa's food up on a tray she returned downstairs and began to set the table but was interrupted by her grandmother. "No need to do that," she stated matter of factly. "I'll eat with your grandfather upstairs. You can help yourself and eat in the kitchen if you like." Nikita nodded and then began to gather the plates back up. She decided to skip dinner that night. Although she hadn't eaten anything since breakfast, she found that she just wasn't hungry.

"What about that man . . . Michael?" she asked.

"I've already set aside some food for him," Adrian replied. "When he's finished with his chores he'll come in and help himself. He knows his way around here."

Nikita nodded, running her palms down the front of her jeans, then excused herself. Slowly she climbed the stairs and paused at the top as she turned to face her grandparents room down at the left end of the hall. After a minute she turned in the opposite direction and went to her room. It was already growing dark outside.

Walking over to the dresser she clicked on the little umbrella like glass lamp on top. All of her personal items that she had left behind had been removed from the room. All that remained was the single bed, an old wooden bedside table and matching dresser in the corner. Nikita walked toward the window and stared out. After a moment, she unlatched the window and raised it up. She stuck her head out then and carefully climbed out. The window seemed a lot smaller than what she recalled it being.. After a few twists and turns she was able to make it out. The sandpaper like roofing was still warm from the sun and she could feel its heat through the seat of her jeans. Nikita drew her knees up and stared out as the sun began to sink into the horizon and the evening descended.

When the first star appeared in the sky, she closed her eyes and wished, as she used to when she was young, that when she opened her eyes, she would be a thousand miles away from here. But when she opened them and saw the same scene staring back at her, she closed her eyes and began to cry silently. From underneath the shadows of the Oak tree in the far corner of the yard, the stranger named Michael leaned against its trunk and watched her.

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

After a minute, Nikita raised her head and wiped at her eyes. Staring out into the darkening sky, she berated herself for being weak.

"I can do this," she whispered. "I can."

Thinking back over the past several years, she had to admit that even being a thousand miles away from here, she hadn't found what it was her soul was looking for. A heaviness tugged at her heart. ‘What am I looking for?' she wondered.

The first star appeared in the sky and she stared at it with a feeling of nostalgia. When she was a child, she had often waited for that first faint twinkling of light to appear and then would whisper her heart's desire into the night air, not really believing, but nonetheless hoping that the nursery rhyme she had learned as a youngster would have some power to grant her wish.

‘ I wish for peace.'

Nikita let out a brief laugh as she recalled her childhood wish. At twenty-five, she still hadn't found that peace and she wondered if she ever would. Maybe there was no peace to be found. Perhaps peace came from just learning to accept what life offered you.

She rose to her feet and surveyed the land. Grandpa had accepted the lot given him and he seemed to have lived a relatively happy life. She had never once heard him speak of regrets, of unfulfilled dreams and desires. For him, life and happiness had been here at his fingertips. ‘ Why can't I be like that?' Nikita wondered.

A warm breeze blew against her, lifting long golden strands of hair, tossing it gently back from her face. Nikita closed her eyes as she raised her face to the sky and inhaled deeply, then shuddered as she exhaled.

"I can do this," she murmured once more, then turned and climbed back in through the window.

Across the yard, Michael stood watching her, his expression a careful blank. He knew of Nikita only because Walter had mentioned her on several occasions. He loved to talk of her when they sat in the evenings out on the porch, after the days work was done, and look with quiet satisfaction over the land. The light in his eyes and the joy in his voice when he spoke of her had revealed to Michael how much the old man loved her. Walter had never explained why she had left, though, and Michael had never asked. He had noticed though that Adrian never mentioned Nikita, or Nicky, as Walter was fond of calling her. He also noticed that the old man never spoke of her when his wife was around.

When Michael had walked into the living room earlier that day and seen a young woman standing there, a suitcase and guitar case down by her side, he had instinctively known it was her. Nikita. Something about her struck him instantly. She was beautiful, no doubt about that. Walter had mentioned on several occasions that she was a beauty, but it wasn't her physical beauty that had intrigued him this afternoon. No. When she had turned wide blue eyes toward him, it was as if he could see into her soul, and what he saw was pain, and uncertainty. What surprised him, though, was his own reaction. Watching her standing there like a lost child, had stirred him. A faintly familiar sensation flowed through him of wanting to reach out and assure her that all would be well.

As he watched her standing on the roof outside of her room just now, he had felt the same effect as earlier. Aside from a slight downward curve of his lips, his face remained impassive as he watched her turn and carefully climb back in through the window to her room. He remained there for a long time afterward, staring out into the darkness, lost in his thoughts.

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

Nikita woke early the next morning. It felt strange waking up back in her childhood surroundings - - nostalgic, yet, unsettling. She lay for a few minutes studying the room about her, recalling the hours she had spent in here playing quietly with her doll, daydreaming, hiding.

When she had turned eleven, her Grandfather gave her a guitar and taught her a few basic chords. Every spare minute she had after that was spent on learning to play and sing. Nikita glanced over to the corner where her guitar case stood leaning against the wall. Music had helped her escape from the pain and confusion of childhood and it had helped her to survive in New York. She smiled gently as she rose from the bed and began to prepare for the coming day..

Rummaging through her suitcase she found an old pair of jeans and pulled them on along with a plain white t-shirt. The early morning air was chilly, but not so much so that she would need a sweater. She brushed her hair back in a ponytail and then made her way downstairs.

The house was still dark though there was a slant of light coming from beneath her grandparent's bedroom. Nikita picked her way through the house, being careful not to knock anything over or to make any loud noises. When Adrian entered the kitchen ten minutes later, she found Nikita busy making coffee. She glanced up at the sound of the door opening and gave her Grandmother a tentative smile.

"Good morning, Grand-mama."

Adrian flicked her gaze over at Nikita. "Morning," she mumbled.

Like Nikita, she was dressed in jeans but instead of a white t-shirt, she wore a light sweater. Her short reddish blond hair was parted on the side and slicked back. Although petite, her strength of character shined brightly through her hazel eyes and the determined set of her mouth. She immediately set about making breakfast and ignoring Nikita in the process.

"Is there anything I can do to help?" Nikita asked.

"I've been doing this for the past forty years without anyone's help," Adrian replied flatly.

Her words stung, causing Nikita to fall into silence for a moment. "I didn't mean to insinuate that you couldn't do it by yourself..." she stated softly.

"I know what you meant." Adrian glanced at her granddaughter. She paused a moment, frying pan in hand, the expression in her eyes seemed to soften for the merest fraction of a second, as if regretting her choice of words, then she turned and continued with her task.

As the minutes ticked away, the tension in the room seemed to thicken, accented by the hissing sound of butter melting in the frying pan and her grandmother cracking eggs into a bowl. Unable to stand the silence from her grandmother any longer, Nikita turned and walked quietly toward the back door.

The screen door gave a long tired squeak as she pushed it open and stepped out onto the back porch. The sky was just beginning to lighten, streaks of pink and gold from the early morning sun merging into delicate blue . Being careful not to slam the door behind her, Nikita took a few more steps out and gazed about. To the right, about fifty feet from the main house, was the old storage shed. She could see though that it had been renovated and enlarged. The roof had been patched and there was a fairly new coat of paint on it. Shuttered mini-blinds hung in the windows. An image of the stranger she saw yesterday came to mind as she guessed that that was where he was staying.

She turned in the opposite direction and headed out toward the barn. She didn't fancy meeting up with anyone this morning, especially a stranger who seemed more at home here on the farm than she did. She recalled that her grandfather had said Michael had lost his wife and son in a car accident and that he had moved out here to the country to get away from the city. Nikita wondered idly if his wife had been from around here. One thing for certain was that he wasn't. His accent was distinctively foreign - - French maybe.

She sighed, pushing thoughts of the stranger from her mind as she swung the barn door open and stepped inside. The smell of hay and horses greeted her accompanied by a loud neighing. The unpleasant encounter with her grandmother was forgotten as Nikita smiled and strolled over to the stall in the far left corner.

"Sugar?" she called, then halted as she saw the dark horse housed where her Grandfather's horse once was. The magnificent beast stared back at her with large dark eyes, snorted and danced around a little as he bobbed his head up and down, then moved forward and stuck his head toward Nikita.

Her smile widened. "Well hello there," she murmured, and reached out carefully to pat him. "Who are you?"

"His name's Julius," came the soft reply.

Nikita spun around in surprise to see the stranger from yesterday emerge from the stall behind her. "I'm - - sorry," she muttered, suddenly feeling uncomfortable as she noticed that he was dressed only in faded black jeans and no shirt. A warm golden tan covered the muscles of his upper body. Nikita forced her eyes back up and encountered slightly amused green eyes. "I didn't think anyone would be in here," she explained.

The man walked over to the side of Julius and picked up a denim shirt folded neatly over the wooden partition. "There's no need to apologize," he stated quietly.

Nikita averted her eyes as he slipped on his shirt and began to button it. "I better get back to the house," she murmured and turned to head back out.

"Wait."

She looked back over her shoulder to see him stepping out from the stall. His shirt was half-way buttoned and untucked.

"I don't think we were ever properly introduced." He held out his hand to her and smiled. "My name's Michael."

Nikita stared at his proffered hand for a second, then reached out and placed her fingers in his grasp as she looked up into his eyes and smiled. "It’s nice to meet you, Michael. I'm Nikita."

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

Michael turned to look back at the horse behind him. "I see you were getting acquainted with Julius here."

Nikita smiled as she took a step forward and reached up once more to the steed before her . "I was actually looking for Sugar." Sugar had been her grandfather's horse.

Michael glanced back at her with an apologetic expression as he ran his hand down the muscles of Julius' neck. "We lost Sugar two springs ago."

"Oh." Her hand faltered over Julius' mane as she glanced over to Michael. "I didn't know," she said quietly. "I guess I have a lot of catching up to do."

Michael smiled and turned, disappearing around the corner. "Your Grandfather bought Julius and Barron shortly afterward."

"Barron?"

Julius lowered his head and poked his nose at her pockets. "Hey, stop that." Nikita chuckled as she stroked her fingers over his head.

"Barron's out in back," Michael answered as he reappeared with a brush in hand and gave it over to Nikita. "I take turns taking him and Julius out so that they can get some exercise."

Nikita made her way to the side and began to brush Julius' shiny coat as he snorted and turned his head, trying to follow Nikita round to the side.

"Stay, Julius," Michael ordered. The horse turned back to the front, shaking his head gently. "He thinks you have a treat for him," Michael explained as he slipped thick leather gloves on and walked over to the adjoining stall.

Nikita was silent for a while, lost in thought as she continued to brush down Julius. "My grandfather said that you've been here for nearly five years." She glanced up to see him return carrying a hefty helping of fresh hay which he spread around Julius' feet. He crossed back to the other side and began scooping oats into a pail. She paused in her brushing to stare at him.

"Thank you."

Michael peered up at her. "For what?" he asked.

She raised her gaze and looked about the barn. Like the rest of the farm, it had been well maintained. Her grandparents would never have been able to keep the place in order without help. If Michael hadn't come along, they would have had to hire someone, maybe even sell the place.

She returned her gaze to meet his. "For being here," she replied, then turned and resumed her brushing. "I guess you must know what a big disappointment I've been to my grandparents," she continued quietly.

Michael rose to his feet and stood watching her. "What makes you think that?" he asked.

Nikita shot him a glance accompanied by a lopsided smile. "It’s not exactly a big family secret," she said, then turned back to Julius.

Michael reached behind him, on the shelf, and retrieved a second brush. Silently he began to brush the stallion down on the opposite side of Nikita. "Actually, I've only heard good things about you," he stated. His eyes met hers and he smiled. "I think maybe you're being too hard on yourself."

Nikita rolled her eyes and gave him a "yeah, right..." look as she finished up her side.

"Your grandparents love you very much."

She paused her hand mid-stroke, her eyes flying back up to meet his.

"Is something wrong?" he asked.

"N-no," she drawled, then shrugged her shoulders as she resumed her task. "It’s ancient history anyway."

"You don't believe they love you?"

She didn't answer for a while, concentrating instead on the long strokes with which she brushed Julius. "I don't doubt my grandfather does," she stated. "But my grandmother - that's another story." A minute of silence passed and Michael allowed it, waiting for her to continue.

"Oh, I guess she does," Nikita mused. "And I love her. We just have a difficult time showing it." She took a deep breath and smiled at Michael. It surprised her how at ease she felt with him. She'd already said more to him than she had ever intended.

"Maybe this will be a good opportunity for you and her to learn how, Ni-ki-ta."

She glanced up at him, her mouth parting as if to say something, then closed again.

"What?" he asked.

She laughed then admitted, "It just seems strange hearing you say my name. I don't think I've ever heard anyone pronounce it quite like you do." Michael remained silent, the sound of their brushes stroking against Julius's coat filling the silence. "I like it, I think," she murmured.

Michael raised one brow as he looked back at her. "Like what?" he asked.

Nikita turned and walked over to the shelf and replaced the brush she had been using. "The way you say my name," she answered.

"Ah." He smiled as she stood with her hands on her hips looking around. She was strikingly beautiful and didn't even seem to be aware of it.

"I'd better get back to the house and see if Grand-mama needs help." Though I doubt she'll want help from me. Nikita glanced back at Michael and smiled. "Will you be joining us for breakfast?"

"I've already had breakfast," he answered, and wondered if that was disappointment he saw in her eyes. She probably didn't want to be alone with her grandmother. "If you'd like, though, I'll join you folks for dinner," he offered.

Nikita looked back at him. "Would you, please?" She hesitated a little, a frown forming on her face. "Grandpa's sick and that just leaves me and Grand-mama..." her voice trailed off as the frown on her face deepened. Lost in her thoughts, she didn't hear him approach until she felt a light touch upon her shoulder and she turned to see him staring into her eyes with a kind expression.

"I'll be there," he reassured her quietly.

He was rewarded with a grateful smile. "Thank you," she whispered, then turned and left.

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

Nikita sat on the bed dressed in a silk slip, her guitar in hand. There was a tune that had been floating around in her head all day and she attempted to vocalize it now. Humming, she worked her fingers over the strings, her expression one of intense concentration. Silky blond locks fell forward, swaying in rhythmic time with the rocking motion of her head.

"Turn the light way down low, let me see you in the glow. I can feel your love shining through...,"

She paused, frustration becoming apparent in her eyes. It was a song she recalled hearing years ago when she was a child. It had peeped out of her memory today, materialized while she was sweeping the back porch. The tune had come first, a lonely little melody with a haunting quality, and it had stuck with her the rest of the day. It wasn't until later, as she stood by the kitchen sink washing dishes, that the single phrase of the song she remembered, emerged. She had glanced up to see Michael unloading a stack of lumber from the back of the Ford when it had happened. "...let me see you in the glow..." She had shaken her head, smiling as she returned her attention to the soapy water her hands were immersed in. The song, though, had stuck with her.

Nikita shut her eyes and tried once more to recall more of the lyrics but it continued to evade her. She wasn't even sure if the words she recalled were correct. After a few more unsuccessful attempts of humming and plucking at the guitar strings, she blew out an exasperated sigh and placed the instrument over to the side. The darkening room told her that it was almost dinner time. Maybe Michael would know the song. Then again, she wasn't sure he had been raised in the states so maybe he wouldn't.

Strolling over to the closet she looked over her clothes which she had hung in there. Skipping over the selection of slacks and jeans, she settled upon a slim short sleeved cotton dress in light blue. The day had been sweltering and she had been glad when the opportunity finally arose to take a long cool shower. A thorough shampoo and scrubbing of her skin did much to revitalize her. Afterward, wrapped in a thick white terry robe, she had smoothed on perfumed lotion over her legs, stomach, and arms, relishing the delicate feminine feeling that it gave her. Just because I'm on a farm, doesn't mean I can't pretend to be somewhere else. Escapism, she admitted with a slight smile, was something she was very good at.

Actually, the day had gone much better than she had anticipated. After leaving Michael in the barn that morning, she had returned to the house and had breakfast alone. Grandma opted to eat breakfast with Grandpa up in his room. Her decision hadn't surprised Nikita, but it did dampen her spirits.

Perhaps this will be a good chance for you and her to learn, Ni-ki-ta.

She raised her brow and shook her head at Michael's suggestion of improving the communication between Grand-mama and her. All her grandmother had to do was glare at her and she felt like fleeing.

Nikita pivoted in front of the mirror checking out her appearance. Chicken. She wrinkled her nose in semi-disgust then turned and departed.

Her grandfather's door was open. Looking in, she saw that he was lying with his eyes closed. "Grandpa?"

His eyes opened and a smile formed on his lips as he patted the bed beside him. "Come here, sugar," he rasped.

Worry reflected in her eyes as she settled down next to him and leaned over to kiss him on the forehead. Long smooth fingers glided over his tired face. "Are you okay, Grandpa?"

Walter raised his hand to capture hers and pressed it to his lips before resting it on top of his chest. "I'm fine, Nicky. Just old, that's all."

She smiled and sat with him in comfortable silence, her thumb rubbing against his.

"I love you. You know that, don't you?" she asked softly.

Moisture filled his eyes as the corners crinkled into a smile and he nodded.

"Did you talk with Michael?" he asked.

"Yes."

He continued to stare at her expectantly.

"You made a good choice," she conceded. "He's a good man. Kind."

Walter sighed, pleased that she liked the young man whom he had come to think of as a son. "We wouldn't have been able to make it without him."

Her fingers tightened slightly around his as the smile disappeared from her face. "I'm sorry I wasn't here," she whispered.

"Shhh... nonsense!" He tried to brush her apology away but she wouldn't allow him.

"No. I need to say this, Grandpa. Please."

The imploring look in her eyes stilled him. Reluctantly, he allowed her to continue.

Staring at their clasped hands, Nikita spoke. "I shouldn't have stayed away so long." Long lashes flickered up and she gazed into gentle eyes. "You and Grand-mama did so much for me - raising me since I was a baby - and all I could do was dream of getting away from here."

"Nikita..." Walter squeezed her hand. "Life here was never easy for you. I know that."

"Yes, well, that was the whole problem," she confessed. "All I could think of was me and how hard it was for me. I never stopped to think about things from you and Grand-mama's point of view." She paused as she stared into his eyes. "I never should have left you two alone. Grand-mama was right. In the end I turned out just as bad as my mother."

"I never said that."

Nikita's head spun to see Adrian standing at the door carrying a tray of food. She stared at her grandmother, surprise registering in her face. As Adrian made her way further into the room, Nikita stood and went to her, taking the tray from her and placing it on the table beside the bed.

"I didn't mean no disrespect," Nikita murmured as she faced her grandmother.

"I didn't say you did," Adrian replied.

Oh god, how do I always end up putting my foot in my mouth? As a remedy, Nikita decided it would be best if she just remained silent.

Her grandmother glided slowly forward and stood a foot away from her. She stared up at her grand-daughter with an expression devoid of emotion for, what seemed to Nikita an awfully long time, yet, was only a few seconds.

"I'm sorry if I gave you that impression, Nikita," she stated slowly. "But the truth is, you're nothing like your mother."

"I--I'm not?" Is that good or bad?

Before Nikita could ask any question, though, Adrian stepped around her and busied herself with the tray of food. "I'll be having dinner up here with your grandfather," she stated briskly, effectively ending the previous topic of discussion. "You can have dinner with Michael downstairs."

Nikita took a few steps away from the bed and glanced over at her grandfather who winked at her and gave a slight nod. All bark, no bite, he mouthed. He shooed her away then, a smile lingering in his eyes. "Go on," he urged. "Have a nice dinner and tell Michael I'm still waiting to challenge him to another game of poker."

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

"And so I stabbed him, stuffed him in a trunk, and threw him into the river."

"Mmm... that's nice," she murmured. Her eyes flew up. "Wait - - what did you say?"

Michael laughed, a tender sound that rolled forth, his eyes lighting up as he stared across at his dinner companion who sat blushing before him.

"I'm sorry," Nikita smiled sheepishly and placed her fork down on her plate. "I'm not being very good company, am I?"

He leaned back in his chair, eyes softening as he regarded her silently. There was something endearing about her. An innocence and guilelessness that appealed to him. "Do you want to tell me about it?"

A grin played across her mouth. "No."

Picking up her fork, she resumed her earlier action of pushing her food methodically around her plate. She looked up in surprise when Michael leaned forward and reached across the table to still her hand. Green eyes met blue as he asked quietly, "Are you sure you don't want to tell me about it?"

Her lips parted in hesitation, eyes lowering to gaze at his hand on hers. "It’s nothing really," she stated softly. The feel of his hand was warm and comforting - - safe. She looked up at him with a puzzled look. "I just wish . . . No. Forget it."

"Ni-ki-ta." His fingers held hers firmly as he gave her a patient look. "Tell me," he ordered softly.

Nikita smiled and gave his hand a squeeze. "Do you have any sisters?"

"Sisters?" He shook his head and smiled. "No. Why?"

She withdrew her hand from his and patted it gently as she stood. "Because you'd have made a great one, that's why," she smiled.

"A brother?" He rose and helped her to clear the table. "Does that mean you think of me as a brother?"

A thoughtful look settled upon her face. "Yeah. I think so. An older brother."

Michael laughed softly. "A brother," he murmured.

"Haven't you ever wanted a brother or sister?" Nikita stood at the rubbish can scraping food off of their plates as Michael took up position over at the sink. He was silent for a moment as he contemplated her question.

"I never really considered it." He turned on the water and began to fill one side of the sink with water. "I suppose it would have been nice," he stated thoughtfully.

Nikita strolled over and placed the plates and utensils she had into the sink, then turned back to clear off the rest of the table. "I always wanted a brother or sister when I was growing up," she admitted.

"Why?"

"I dunno," she shrugged. "It just would have been nice. Having someone around to talk to - - that would have been nice."

A hint of a smile quivered upon Michael's lips. "Someone like me?"

She grinned and he felt a warm glow spread throughout him.

"Yeah. Someone like you."

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

"Would having a sibling made things easier for you?" He glanced up from the dishes to watch her as she covered the leftover with aluminum foil.

"You mean growing up here?" she asked as her eyes met his. He nodded. Nikita sighed and turned to lean her back against the counter and folded her arms.

"I think so," she replied quietly. Angling her head, she stared into his eyes. "When I moved to New York, it was the first time I saw homeless people. I hadn't realized until then how fortunate I'd been to have had a house to live in all my life. Some of those people were so young."

She turned then and picked up a dishtowel to dry the dishes with. "Growing up here wasn't so bad. It was just . . ." She fell silent, searching for the right word with which to express herself.

"Lonely?" Michael offered. He turned off the water and turned to face her.

Blue eyes smiled wistfully at him. "Yeah. I guess so," Nikita admitted. "It was lonely."

"And now?"

She smiled as she grabbed a dish from the rack and began to wipe it. "Now it’s better."

The room grew silent as Michael watched her dry the dishes and put them away. He'd been surprised by her comment about him being like an older brother, but not displeased. He was glad that she felt comfortable around him, though, a part of him found it difficult to think of her as a sister.

"Do you know how to ride?" he asked.

She looked at him from over her shoulder. "Yes," she said. "Why?"

He looked up at her through his lashes. "I usually take one of the horses out for a run in the early mornings. If you like, you can join me. You can ride Julius and I'll ride Barron."

She considered his offer for a few seconds, then smiled. It had been a long time since she'd ridden. She was an excellent horsewoman though, and she had to admit that the thought of riding with Michael seemed fun and exciting. "I'd love too," she responded.

"Great. I'll see you in the morning then. Thanks for dinner." The gentle smile she was growing accustomed too lingered on his lips as he moved toward the door and waved goodbye.

Nikita stood a while smiling to herself after he had left, then turned her attention back to the dishes. Not a bad day at all.

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

The morning air was refreshingly cool as dawn settled upon the countryside. The stars had long ago melted into the sky, which was not yet quite blue, but more of a light gray, with a few puffs of clouds scattered about. The remaining mist, in the absence of wind, lifted slowly from the hills leaving its moist dew upon the leaves of trees and plants, and the faint chattering of birds drifted in the air.

This serenity, was broken by the thundering of hooves as two riders appeared, galloping at full speed, from over the treeless ridge. The rumbling rolled forth, alarming the birds and other small creatures just waking to the new day, and escalated into two distinct patterns as the riders approached their destination. Despite having seen Nikita clear the fence ahead several times, Michael still tensed at seeing her lithe form bend low against Julius, long golden hair flying in the wind, as she urged the stallion on.

Julius, his dark eyes bright with anticipation and nostrils flaring, responded immediately to his rider's prompting and soared over the barrier to land gracefully on the other side as Nikita let out a victorious whoop and turned her head back to watch as Michael, atop Barron, cleared the wooden hurdle after her. It was the first time she beat him and she was ecstatic.

Facing forward again, she slowed Julius down, patting his neck as she leaned forward and laughed. "That's my boy! We did it!"

Riding, and feeling the wind as it beat against her, whipping at her hair, stinging her cheeks, while beneath her, Julius' powerful muscles surged with magnificent fluidity, had been exhilarating. Her heart was still pounding and her breathing heavy as she beamed. She hadn't felt so utterly alive in a long time.

Michael reigned in alongside and glanced at her, a serious look filling his countenance. Nikita caught his glance and the smile on her face faded a little. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," he smiled, forcing the thoughts he had been thinking to the back of his mind. "That was excellent riding, Nikita."

Her smile deepened once more. "I finally beat you."

Michael grinned, casting his eyes down sheepishly for a moment, then returned his gaze to her. "You and Julius were just lucky, that's all." She laughed and leaned down to hug Julius as Michael glanced away, pretending to look at the landscape around them.

When Nikita had approached the fence, he had felt a lurching in his chest that, at first, he attributed to anxiety. But when she had turned back and flashed him that brilliant smile of hers, the tightening in his chest burst and a hot glow suffused him. In that second, as man and beast sailed through the air, he became keenly cognizant of his surrounding - and of her.

His gaze locked onto hers, noticing the intense shade of blue which they had become. Her laughter trickled back to him, swathing him in its husky warmth until he felt almost suffocated with the need to - - what?

Barron landed with a jolt that startled Michael's senses. Or was it something else that startled him?

A barrage of images filled his mind; images of Nikita as she appeared the first day he laid eyes upon her - lost and frightened; another of Nikita sitting atop the roof staring out longingly at the stars; the hesitant smile she gave when he introduced himself; images of her at dinner with him; more of him and her out riding . . .

"Michael?"

He glanced back at her, momentarily caught off guard. "Yes?"

As she smiled at him, Michael became aware of a change in her. The haunted look that almost always lurked in the background of her eyes over the past few weeks, was gone. It was gone and she looked - happy.

Pleasure rippled through him as he smiled and surveyed the land around him. Despite having lived here for over five years, he couldn't recall the land ever having looked as beautiful as it did today.

"Is everything all right?" she asked.

Michael turned back to Nikita and his expression softened. "Yes," he murmured, green eyes lighting up. "Everything's fine."

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

Walter grimaced as he picked up his spoon and stared at the bowl of hot cereal before him. Using his spoon, he cut into the middle of the thick porridge and stirred, releasing a thin wisp of steam, but as he inhaled, he found there was no scent. He raised his eyes to look at Adrian who sat on a chair beside his bed, a tray bearing her breakfast in front of her. Her cereal was darker than his, and it smelled sweet. Walter's mouth watered and he swallowed, then raised pleading eyes to his wife. "Can't I get a little bit of sugar? Or honey?"

"Now, Walter. You know what Paul said. You have to cut down on your sugar intake. Drink some of the orange juice."

Walter's grimace turned into a scowl as he jabbed at the cereal with his utensil. "What does Paul know?" he muttered.

"He's your doctor."

"Yeah, yeah." The tip of the spoon clinked against the bottom of the white ceramic bowl in a rapid staccato. "I'd like to see him eat unsweetened cereal day in and day out. I might as well die!" he exclaimed, his eyes wide as he glared at Adrian. "What's the use of keeping me alive if I can't even enjoy living?"

"Hrmph," she snorted. "Stop complaining and eat your food."

With a sigh, he gave in and reluctantly shoved a spoonful into his mouth. "Yuck."

Adrian regarded him with amusement, a smile quivering on her lips. He could be such a baby at times. Ignoring the sour look upon her husband's face, she set about eating her own bowl of sweetened cereal.

"Where's Nikita?" Walter asked after a few minutes of eating in silence. Maybe she could get him something sweet, or even sour. Just as long as it had some sort of taste. He was tired of eating bland foods.

"She hasn't returned from her morning ride," Adrian answered.

Walter glanced up, interest filling his eyes as he placed his spoon down next to his half-eaten bowl of cereal. "How are those two doing?"

Adrian ate her cereal slowly, blowing gently on each spoonful before placing it carefully in her mouth. She savored the warm taste of cinnamon and honey before swallowing, then looked over at Walter. She knew very well what he was trying to do, and though she didn't actively disapprove, she also did not want any part of playing the matchmaker. "You should stop meddling, Walt," she warned.

"Meddlin? Me?" Walter scoffed and picked up his spoon again. "All I asked was how were they doin. It’s not like I'm asking you to spy on them..."

"Good, because I'm not."

Walter fell silent for a moment as he watched Adrian eat her breakfast and then he released a loud breath of air. "Don't you want her to be happy? And Michael too?" he asked. She didn't utter any reply, nor look at him. Adrian just continued to eat her cereal in the slow manner with which she always ate.

"Adrian." She still refused to look at him so Walter called her name again.

Her eyes flicked up to look at him blankly.

"This is our home," he said in a low voice. "I don't know how long I'm going to be around, but before I go, I want to make sure that all of you and Nikita are taken care of, and that the land is cared for."

"I can take care of myself, Walter," Adrian's voice grew louder. She dropped her spoon onto the saucer with a clanging, as she picked up her napkin and dabbed at her mouth. "I don't need, nor want, you trying to - - to bribe people into staying here for my benefit."

Walter shook his head as he heaved another sigh. They'd had this argument several times already. She was a stubborn woman when she wanted to be - which was almost always. "I didn't bribe anyone," he rasped. His rising temper was beginning to make it difficult for him to breathe. "Don't you want to see our grand daughter happy?" he asked.

"Of course I do," she answered stiffly. "What kind of question is that?"

"Well think about it!" he argued. "Michael is perfect for her. She's even told me herself that she thinks Michael's a kind man!"

"Kind and love are two separate things, Walt." Adrian moved her tray away from her then leaned over to retrieve her husband's. "Just because Nicky thinks Michael's kind, doesn't mean she's going to fall in love with him. And then there's Michael. What makes you think Michael even wants to get involved with anyone anymore. You saw how devastated he was when he came here. That man was deeply hurt when he lost his wife and child."

"Which is exactly why he needs someone like our Nikita in his life!"

Adrian snorted again as she gathered the two trays up and headed out the door. "It'll never work," she muttered.

"We'll see about that," he replied as he sat back against his pillows and folded his arms. "Women" he grumped. "They think they know everything."

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

Nikita followed Michael's gaze as he looked out over the land and a slight shiver went through her.

"Are you cold?" Michael asked. She was wearing a long sleeved cotton plaid shirt over a t-shirt, and it wasn't that cold out, but after riding through the plains at break-neck speed, it was possible that she was feeling chilled.

"No," she smiled at him. "Just - - memories, that's all."

They had reached a small pond and Nikita dismounted and led Julius over for a drink. Michael remained where he was for a minute staring at her.

She stood upon a large slightly rounded boulder that was covered with lichens. Beyond her, the pond lay still, its glassy surface mirroring the beauty of the sky and the trees around it. Nikita bent at the knees, crouching beside Julius as he drank. Michael could see the that the corner of her lips curved slightly upward as she whispered to the dark stallion.

After a while, she straightened and looked back at him. "Aren't you going to give Barron a drink?" she asked.

"What? Oh. Yes, of course," Michael responded, once again caught off guard. He raised himself up and off of Barron and led him over to the opposite side of Julius.

By now, the dark stallion had drank his fill and made to turn toward Nikita just as she was preparing to step off of the lichen covered rock. In the next instant Nikita cried out as her booted leg slipped out from beneath her and she fell backward into the water.

"MICHAEL!"

He was instantly in the water, reaching for her as she disappeared underneath. The water wasn't deep though and Nikita reappeared just as Michael reached her. His hands clasped onto the front of the plaid shirt she wore and he pulled her up.

Nikita gasped and sputtered, as her blue eyes stared out in shock from beneath dripping strands of blond hair. "Arghhh!" she cried, and clung to him. The water was freezing.

Michael lifted her up into his arms and carried her out of the water, holding her close to him. "I've got you, Nikita," he murmured. She was coughing, having swallowed some of the water when she went under. Barron and Julius had moved off to the side and stood side by side staring as Michael set her down on her feet, but didn't release her from his hold.

He raised one hand, clearing her hair back so that he could see her face. She shivered violently and instinctively burrowed into Michael's chest, wrapping her arms around his chest. Michael hugged her tightly, not heeding the cold water that was seeping through his clothes. All he was conscious of was the need to keep her warm. "Shh, N'kita. I've got you. I've got you," he whispered. His lips pressed against her temple as he whispered to her in French, soft phrases that she couldn't understand. The only thing Nikita was aware of was that she didn't want to leave the warmth of Michael's arms.

Michael rocked her gently, his hands rubbing up and down her back as his lips found their way to her brow, her eyes, and then lower.

"Michael?" Nikita knew a moment of confusion as she felt Michael's lips descending, and then all was lost as she raised her face to meet his, and her lips parted beneath his.

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

Michael lowered his head until his open mouth hovered just about hers. His lashes lowered, but did not close, as he watched her carefully. There was no doubt in his mind that he wanted this. From almost the very beginning, he had felt an attachment to this woman; a sort of foreordained nexus that drew their wandering souls together as if to say, Here is the answer you seek.

In his case, Michael hadn't even been aware that he had been searching, after all, he had come here to the farm to forget, to lose himself in the blessing of physical labor. He had welcomed the solitude that life out here had offered him, embraced it even. All of the mad rush of his previous life - - and family - - slowly melted into the background, until he was able to function automatically.

He had made no long term plans other than to live from day to day. In the beginning, that had been his challenge, to go on living when there seemed to be nothing worth living for. He still recalled the day he had arrived here, dressed in his designer brand clothing and Mercedes. He recalled even clearer still the reaction Walter and Adrian had when he announced that he was responding to their ad for a farm hand. Walter had folded his arms over his dusty overall and raised one amused eyebrow; Adrian looked at him, slowly, from head to foot, then muttered loudly, " Hrmph!" and continued about her chores.

But as fate would have it, Walter had hired him, and he had remained. The fancy clothes had long ago been donated to charity and his car traded in for a Ford pick-up. Walter and Adrian gave him a place to hide and tend to his wounds that life had given him. It wasn't until Nikita arrived , though, that he realized those old wounds were healed and he was once again ready to enter the arena of life.

Michael gazed down upon Nikita and felt the vibrant beating of his heart. He had seen in her, when she first arrived, that same feeling of being lost which had permeated his life earlier. His soul had felt her pain - and had been drawn to it. You would have made a great brother, she had said to him. There was nothing brotherly that he felt toward her now. No.

Michael lifted his hand and caressed her cheek gingerly. The bond he felt for her was not of a consanguineous nature, but one that was as old as the earth itself; the bond of love between a man and a woman.

With the utmost tenderness, Michael lowered his head completely and caressed her lips with his.

Nikita stood, awed, paralyzed, yet alert to his every movement, his every breath. His kiss was gentle and sweet; little butterfly kisses that soon had her wanting more. The freezing water was forgotten, the chill of her skin ignored as her every nerve tuned into the bewildering sensations that Michael's lips were creating in her.

This is insane. This isn't happening. Her mind repeated insidiously until it penetrated her consciousness and she pulled away with a start. She stood a foot away from him, water dripping from her hair and clothes, her breathing uneven, and slowly shook her head. "This isn't right," she whispered.

He stood staring at her for a little while, then took a cautious step forward. "Why isn't it right?"

She seemed taken aback by his question, her eyes revealing her struggle to find an answer. "I--I don't know."

Michael took another step and reached up slowly to hold her shoulders gently as he gazed into her eyes. There was fear reflected within. Fear that he understood only too well. She was afraid of falling in love - - of being vulnerable.

Gently, he glided his hands around to her back and gathered her to him. He held her thus for a minute or so, until he felt her relax slightly against him. He kissed her hair and closed his eyes, suppressing a moan as he felt her hesitant touch.

"Nikita," he whispered, "I would never hurt you."

He pulled slightly back so that he could look into her eyes, and said, "I love you."

He saw the uncertainty in her eyes as she looked at him. "I don't know what to say," she whispered.

"Don't say anything," Michael replied softly. "Just follow your heart."

She hesitated still then, cautiously, raised her hands to hold his face tenderly as she reached up and kissed him. She pressed her lips to his as her fingers caressed his cheek, then glided down to where their mouths locked. "Michael," she whispered, then stroked his lips with her tongue.

Michael closed his eyes and breathed softly, oui, Nikita, as she circled her arms around his neck and pulled him closer. His hands slid around to the small of her back and pressed her intimately closer to him and he smiled when he heard her gasp, then moan deeply. A few minutes later though, when he felt her trembling in his arms, he was reminded of her condition and he pulled reluctantly away.

"We have to get you home before you get sick."

Nikita smiled at him and nodded. In spite of the warmth and pleasure of Michael's arms and kisses, she was beginning to feel a chill seep through to her bones. She was about to turn around and head over to where the horses were when Michael stopped her. Nikita watched as Michael unbuttoned the long sleeved shirt he was wearing, removed it, then draped it around her shoulders. "The front's wet," he smiled, "but it should keep you a little warmer."

She reached out one hand and touched his bare chest as she gazed up into his eyes. "What about you?" she asked.

Michael smiled as he replied, "I think a little cold air will do me good right now."

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

Nikita hesitated, then offered, "We could ride together..."

His silence caused her to blush and she added quickly, with a small laugh, "Forget I said that. Let's go."

"Hey." Michael reached out and grasped her arm, spinning her back around to face him. "There's no need for you to be embarrassed, Nikita." Stepping closer, he slipped his hand beneath her chin and tilted her face up.

Big blue eyes gazed up at him. "No. Really. It was inappropriate of me. Let's just forget I said anything."

Michael chided himself as Nikita walked away. He had been elated at her suggestion, and would have loved to ride with her, but wasn't sure he could control his desire with her so close. The last thing he wanted to do was frighten her off. She, however, had misinterpreted his delay in answering.

Nikita swung herself up on to Julius' back and brought him around to where Michael was still standing. She looked at him, trying to avoid gazing at the sculpted muscles of his chest and forearms as she removed his shirt from her shoulders and tossed it to him. "Thanks. I'll be all right." Before Michael could say anything, Nikita steered Julius around and galloped away.

Nikita went over what had transpired between Michael and her; the kissing, the touching, her suggestion...

Things had been going so well between them. Over the past weeks they had developed an easy rapport between them and she had come to think of him as a good friend . . . Now all that was gone. Hot tears rolled down her cheeks and she swore. Damn! I must sound so pathetic to him.

I love you, Nikita.

Nikita snorted in disgust. First guy to say those words to you, and you crumble like some stupid fool! God, what would Grandmama say? Nikita sighed. She knew exactly what she would say. You're just like your mother.

Nikita wiped at her face and made an effort to calm herself as she drew nearer to the house. It was best if she pretended that none of this had happened. Her grandmother didn't need to know, and as for Michael - her cheeks flushed hot red. Hopefully in a couple of days all this would blow over and she wouldn't feel so embarrassed to face him, but until then, she planned to avoid him at all cost.

*

"What happened to you?"

Nikita stood just inside of the back kitchen door, fidgeting briefly under her grandmother's watchful stare. "I, uh, fell in the pond." She quickly excused herself, saying that she didn't want to ruin the floor by dripping all over it, and escaped upstairs.

Closing the bathroom door behind her, Nikita stripped off the wet clothes and placed them in the sink. Glancing up, she saw her reflection and cringed inwardly. She looked like a drowned rat. Her hair hung in limp strands about her face; her eyes were red, nose and cheeks flushed.

Nikita closed her eyes and turned away in revulsion. What made her believe, even for a second, that someone like Michael could love someone like her.

Yes, but he kissed you. He said he loved you.

Angrily she stepped into the shower and turned the water on full blast and hot. Maybe he was just feeling sorry for her... or reacting to the way she threw herself at him. Oh, god, what a fool I made of myself. Nikita tilted her face up to the spray of water, welcoming its sting.

After a while the heat washed away most of her self-anger and embarrassment and she was left feeling blessedly numb. She adjusted the water to a more bearable temperature, then leaning her back against the wall for support, slid down into a sitting position and let the water run over her.

*

"How is Nikita doing?"

Adrian glanced up at Michael who was sitting at the dinner table, grey eyes watching her. It had been two days since Nikita came home soaking wet. Two days since she'd stepped foot out of the house, or even downstairs for that matter.

She'd had a slight cold the first day and Adrian had warned her to stay in bed, saying that she didn't need her spreading her cold to Grandpa or to her. Nikita had obeyed meekly; staying in her room and sleeping the whole day. Michael didn't mention her absence at dinner that night, but he had been strangely withdrawn and quiet that night. Tonight was the first time he inquired as to how she was.

"She's fine, I suppose. Just a little cold from yesterday but I think she might be coming down to dinner tonight."

Michael's eyes flickered up and met her gaze.

"I don't think she's eaten anything since yesterday morning. Keeps saying that she's not hungry," Adrian added. There was an inflection to her voice that suggested there was more to the story of Nikita's absence than either of them were letting on.

Michael returned his gaze to the plate before him. He hadn't had much of an appetite either lately. He wished he knew more of Nikita's childhood, but every time he broached the subject, she always found a way to skirt around it.

Adrian wiped her hands on the end of her apron as she made her way slowly over to the table and sat down opposite of Michael. Clasping her hands together on the table, she waited until he looked up at her. "Is there something on your mind, Michael?" she asked.

He stared at her a moment, wondering if he should confide in Adrian, and if so, how much? In the years he had stayed here, Michael had developed an open relationship with both Walt and Adrian, and he had no problem with speaking frankly with her, but he worried at how what he had to say would effect Nikita. One thing that had become apparent to him as he had gotten to know her better was that Nikita's relationship with Adrian was a strained one. The last thing he wanted to do was to make that situation worse. He'd already, somehow, caused her to shy away. If he confided in Adrian and Nikita found out, he might lose her for good.

Looking into the older woman's eyes, he replied quietly. "No."

The corner of Adrian's mouth quirked as she raised one finely arched brow. "Really?" A thoughtful expression filled her eyes before she lowered them for a moment, then raised them again to meet his. "Well. Maybe I should say something to you then."

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

Michael returned Adrian's gaze steadily. He was curious as to what it was that she had to say to him, especially if it was related to Nikita. "Yes?" he asked.

Time ticked by with Adrian staring silently back at Michael, uncertainty fleeted across faded blue eyes. Finally, with a little hesitation, she asked, "Has Nikita ever mentioned. . . Sharon to you?"