Across the River of Yesterday

Mariba, Castellano

The girl's violet eyes were blank and dazed. She seemed scarcely aware of the trio of human carnivores who had backed her against the wall.

Gideon Brandt had seen that expression of dumb, uncomprehending torment once before, and he wanted to look away before the memories of the day in Na Peng came back to him. Hell, he was probably mistaken. It was smoky as the devil, the lighting in the bar was dim, and the girl was on the far side of the room. If she appeared dazed, it was probably because she was on something. Dope was cheap here in Mariba and sometimes it seemed to him that half the population of Castellano was stoned. The clinging white satin gown the girl wore plunged practically to her navel and she was here in Concepcion's place. Those two facts should have made it obvious to him that she was one of Concepcion's girls and here to serve the exact sexual purpose of the men surrounding her.

"Pretty little thing," Ross commented as he picked up his glass from the bar. His gaze appraised the girl critically. "Younger than Concepcion usually hires them. Are you thinking about taking a trip upstairs later?"

Gideon scowled. "For Pete's sake, she can't be a day over sixteen. I don't go to bed with teenagers." He forced himself to look away from the girl across the room, and down at the bourbon in his glass. "And we're not here to try out Concepcion's new merchandise. Where the hell is Ramon? You said he'd arrive before midnight."

"He'll be here. He was very interested in your proposition." Ross's gaze was still on the girl across the room. "Those three jaspers don't seem to have your reluctance to indulge in young meat. Their hands are all over her. Hell, they may not make it upstairs before-" He broke off and gave a low whistle. "Well, I'll be damned. She's barefoot."

"What?" Gideon's gaze swung back to the girl, who was backed against the far wall. She was barefoot. One naked foot peeped out from beneath the hem of the satin gown and for some reason that nudity made her appear even more vulnerable and childlike. As he watched, one of the men reached out and slowly covered the girl's right breast with his large hand and squeezed it.

She didn't flinch. She didn't appear to even feel it. Why was he so damn worried about a hooker who'd probably been turning tricks since she was an adolescent? She clearly didn't mind being fondled by anything in pants, so why should it bother him? He tossed down the rest of the bourbon in one swallow. It felt hot and good going down, but it didn't banish the uneasiness he was beginning to feel.

Ross studied Gideon, shrewdly assessing his mood. "You're edgy," he said at last. "I told you, nothing will go wrong with the dead. Ramon has been looking for a man like you for a long time. Why should you be worried? You'll soon be on easy street."

Gideon's lips twisted. "There is no easy street on Castellano. Even after you've got it all, you have to fight like hell to keep it."

He knew very well that this island in the Caribbean was one of the most lawless spots in the Southern Hemisphere, its government rivaling its inhabitants in corruption. The lawlessness of this place suited Gideon's purpose at the moment, but he had no illusions about longevity in Mariba. He intended to make his fortune and get out before someone could corner him in a back alley and slit his throat.

Ross gave another whistle. "Now, isn't that pretty?" He lifted his glass to his lips, not taking his gaze off the girl across the room. "I might just take a trip upstairs myself and leave you to talk to Ramon on your own."

Reluctantly, Gideon looked again at the girl's slender foot, then at the satin-clad slightness of her body. He inhaled sharply. One of the men had pushed down the strap of her white gown and her left breast was fully revealed: Velvet white, pink crested, surprisingly voluptuous.

He felt an unmistakable tightening in his groin and the muscles of his stomach knotted in a response that was half anger and half lust. Dammit, before long they'd have her stripped naked for every man in the bar to gawk at. Why the hell didn't she choose one of those bastards and take him upstairs? Didn't she realize she was inviting a gang bang? He muttered a curse beneath his breath as his gaze lifted to her face.

She didn't realize it. He doubted if she even knew what was happening to her. It was Na Peng all over. Only this time he couldn't stand by and let it happen. He had been helpless then, but, by God, he wasn't helpless now.

He set his glass down on the bar. "Tell Ramon we'll have to postpone our little chat. I'll send word when I'm available for another meeting." He turned away from the bar.

"Where are you going?" Ross was staring at him, dumbfounded.

"The girl," Gideon said simply. "I'm going to get the girl."

"Right now? Can't it wait, for heaven's sake? She seems a little busy at the moment."

Gideon shook his head. "I'm going to get the girl," he repeated. "I don't think she knows what the hell is happening to her." He started across the room, his tall, lithe body suddenly radiating a near-explosive tension as he cut an unswerving path through the crowded tables toward the girl pinned against the wall in the back of the room.

Ross hesitated, his gaze on Gideon's broad shoulders. He had an impulse to hurry after him and try to persuade him to forget about the girl. Ramon was important to them both. What a helluva time for Gideon's protective instincts to surface. He quickly dismissed the impulse. Gideon might be swayed by arguments if it were a simple matter of his being hot for a choice little hooker, but not if he thought there was a possibility the girl was a victim. Ross was far too familiar with Gideon's large collection of lame ducks ever to make that mistake. Hell, he was part of that menagerie himself. He sighed morosely. So much for easy street.

He set his glass down and straightened away from the bar. Three against one. Saint George might need some help slaying his dragons. He threw a few bills down on the bar and sauntered slowly after Gideon.

"Get the hell out of here!"

Gideon dumped the girl in the backseat of the jeep and jumped in beside her.

Tables and chairs were crashing and splintering in the bar behind them while Concepcion roared Spanish obscenities above the curses of the brawling patrons of her establishment. Gideon grinned with enjoyment and admiration. Concepcion had a magnificent vocabulary.

Ross jumped into the driver's seat, jammed his foot on the gas, and the jeep lurched away from the curb. He cast a glance over his shoulder just as the door of the bar was thrown open, and Concepcion, herself, appeared on the sidewalk. Her curses reached a new high in inventiveness as she shook her fist at them. Ross grimaced. "She's furious at us. You do realize what a sacrifice I made in helping you pluck your little pullet from Concepcion's barnyard? She runs the best whorehouse on the island and she's not about to let either of us back in there after that brawl you started."

"It was the quickest way to get rid of those leeches who were fastened on the girl." Gideon shrugged. "A few indiscriminate punches and the whole place exploded." He leaned back in the seat and stretched his long legs as far as he could within the confines of the jeep. "And Concepcion will welcome you back as soon as she gets over her little tantrum. You're one of her best customers whenever you come to Mariba."

"May I ask where we're going?" Ross asked dryly. "Now that you've got the girl, what are you going to do with her?"

"That's a good question." Gideon turned to the girl beside him. She hadn't said a word since he had appeared at her side, and had allowed herself to be picked up and handled as if she were a doll. Her breast was still naked and he experienced again the hot surge to his loins that signaled instant arousal. He carefully pulled the thin strap up and over her shoulder, then adjusted the satin over her breast. Close now, he could see she wasn't only pretty, she was truly lovely. Her long dark hair was midnight silk against her pale, perfect complexion, and those wonderful violet eyes lent startling beauty to her regular features. How the hell had Concepcion gotten her hands on prime quality like this? The only thing lacking to complete her beauty was animation.

"What about it?" Gideon asked quietly. "Do you live in Mariba? Is there someplace we can take you where you'll be safe?"

She didn't answer. Gideon hadn't thought she would. It was obvious that an emotional shock of some sort had frozen the words inside her. What kind of shock? Rape was a definite possibility, but, if it had been rape, wouldn't she have responded when those apes in the bar were pawing her? Unless she had been given something…

His hands reached out and grasped her shoulders. They felt silken-slender and infinitely delicate beneath his palms. He shook her slightly. "Look, are you on something? Were you given anything? Powders or pills or an injection of some kind?"

She didn't answer. Her gaze met his own with the same blind torment that had first caught his attention across the crowded barroom.

He slowly released her. "It's all right," he said softly. "You're safe now. I won't let anyone hurt you. Do you understand?"

She didn't answer.

"Okay." His voice was as gentle as his palm cupping her cheek. "Talk to me when you feel like it. I'll be here. Are you cold?" The wind was blowing her hair behind her in a gleaming ebony stream as the jeep negotiated the deserted streets. "It's cooling down. I think we're going to have a storm. Come here." He drew her closer, tucking her slight weight in the curve of his arm. "You're not exactly dressed for a midnight drive. Where did you leave your shoes?"

She remained silent, but he thought he could detect the slightest relaxation of the frozen stiffness that was enveloping her muscles.

"Not yet? Don't worry about it. There's no hurry."

His hand slowly stroked her temple and his voice was low. "You know, when something bad happens to me, I try to close it out at first and put it behind me. That doesn't mean one has to close out the present too. I have some friends among the Hopi Indians and they taught me something very interesting: They have no past or future tenses in their language. Only the present. It must save a lot of worrying." He tucked a silken strand of her hair behind her ear. "If you come back to me, I promise there won't be anything to frighten you. All you have to do is live minute by minute and not look back. Then, after a little while, you'll find that your wound has crusted over, and it won't hurt you nearly so much to think about it."

There was a tiny movement, almost a nestling against his shoulder.

He fought the urge to tighten his clasp around her shoulders. He continued to stroke the silky hair at her temple. "My name is Gideon Brandt and that's Ross Anders up front. What's your name?" It suddenly occurred to him that she might not understand English. She didn't look Spanish, but the majority of the population of Castellano were of Latin descent. "¿Como se llama?"

She drew a quivering breath and for a moment he thought she was going to speak. Then she was still, her long, dark lashes lowering to shadow the exquisite violet of her eyes.

"Well, if you don't understand English or Spanish, we may be out of luck. I'm just a good old Texas boy and those are the only lingoes I know."

"Are we going to drive around town all night?" Ross asked.

"No, I guess we'd better go home."

"Right." Ross turned left at the next corner.

"We're going to take you to my place," Gideon said into the girl's ear. "It's right on the edge of town. I won it in a poker game a few weeks ago, and it's a little run-down, but I think it's kind of pretty. I've been batting around the world since I was a kid and it's… it's nice to have a place that belongs to me. I have to warn you, the house is almost empty. The furniture wasn't thrown into the pot and I only made a deal with Garcia to leave the bedroom and kitchen stuff. That was as far as he'd go. He even took the chandelier in the foyer. It's a two- story hacienda with a red-tiled roof and a patio with a fountain. The fountain doesn't work, and the patio has weeds growing between the tiles, but I'll get around to having it fixed up eventually. I've been too busy to bother…" His voice droned on. He was paying little attention to what he said, merely trying to keep the patter bland and unthreatening. When your world had been blown to smithereens, it was always the ordinary that helped to balance the picture. He had found that out a long time ago.

The lights of the jeep suddenly illuminated two beautiful wrought-iron gates. They were standing open and one was hanging drunkenly from a broken bracket.

"I haven't had a chance to fix that either." Gideon made a face as the jeep turned into the pebbled circular road forming the driveway through tangled, overgrown foliage. "I wasn't expecting visitors quite so soon."

The silence was suddenly broken by loud barking interspersed with joyous whines. "Don't be afraid. That's only Frank, my dog. I think he's half Lab and half German shepherd, but only the stork knows for sure."

The jeep rounded a curve and a large white stucco house came into view. Ross drew to a halt at the front doors and turned off the ignition. The carved double doors were set in a deep alcove and illuminated by a single ornate brass lantern set in the distempered white wall.

Gideon jumped from his seat and lifted the girl carefully from the jeep to the patio. "Easy does it." He released her and stepped back to look at her in the glow of the lantern. Dear heaven, she was beautiful, and so heartbreakingly young and vulnerable that he felt guilty as hell about the sexual response her beauty aroused in him. "We'll just get you inside and find you a bed and some clean sheets and you'll-" He was forced to stop in midsentence as a large gray-and-tan fury of affection hurled itself between them, almost knocking the breath from Gideon's lungs. "Down, Frank." He rubbed the dog's ears and then pushed him away. The dog dropped to the ground, but still continued the whimpering cries of ecstatic welcome. "I've been meaning to teach him not to jump on people, but I haven't gotten around to that either. I've only had him for a few weeks. Maybe I'll try-"

"Why does he have only three legs?" The girl's voice was soft, hesitant.

Gideon's heart jerked and he drew a deep breath. Her gaze was on the dog, and as he watched she slowly reached out her hand to touch Frank's long muzzle. "I don't know." He spoke with deliberate casualness. "He was missing his right hind leg when I picked him up. Frank must have had a pretty rough life, judging by the battle scars I found when I was defleaing him."

"Some kids had tied him to the rear bumper of a truck and he was being dragged through the streets when Gideon first saw him," Ross said as he came around the front of the jeep to stand beside them.

"How cruel." An expression of disgust darkened her face. "How could anyone do something like that?" She dropped to her knees beside the large dog, her hand lovingly stroking his neck. "The poor thing."

"You like dogs?" Gideon asked.

"I love dogs. I've never been permitted to have a pet, but I've always wanted one."

Thank heaven for small favors, Gideon thought fervently. If sympathy and affection hadn't broken through her icy shock, it might have taken days before she reached this point. She was poised on a very precarious ledge, but at least she was back among the living. He would have to be cautious to make certain she didn't slip back. "Well, I'm sure Frank is glad to make your acquaintance…" He trailed off inquiringly.

"Serena," she supplied absently. "He looks hungry. Have you fed him today?"

Frank always looked hungry and was a con artist of the highest caliber, as Gideon well knew. "Maybe he could use a midnight snack." Gideon reached out his hand and pulled her to her feet. "Let's go scout around the kitchen and see what we can find for him, Serena."

"Okay." Her hand curled around his as trustingly as that of a small child.

"Ross, why don't you make up the bed in the guest room and see if you can find something for Serena to sleep in."

Ross nodded and turned to open the front door. "Right, it may come down to draping her in a sheet, but I'll find something."

Gideon smiled at Serena as he followed Ross into the house and flipped on the light in the foyer. "I believe we can avoid using the sheet, but I'm afraid you'll have to make do with one of my shirts. I don't think we can find a nightgown for you."

She frowned. "But why would I need a nightgown?" She touched the sleek satin of her bodice. "I'm wearing a nightgown." Then emotion flared behind the vagueness of her eyes, raw and hurting emotion that threatened to burn away the comforting veil of forgetfulness.

Gideon silently cursed his lack of luck in making the seemingly innocent remark. He said quickly, "I just thought you might want to change after you shower. Are you hungry? Maybe it would be a good idea if we found something for you to eat too." He took her elbow and gently propelled her down the corridor in the direction of the kitchen. The pain was fading from her expression and she was casually petting Frank's head as he trailed beside her down the hallway. "I'm not much of a gourmet cook, but I can whip up an omelet. Do you cook?"

She shook her head. "The sisters at the convent were always more interested in feeding our souls than our bodies." Her lips curved in a tiny smile. "Sister Maria said we thought far too much about the worldly pleasures."

A convent! "I wouldn't call eating a particularly worldly pleasure."

"You aren't Sister Maria."

"For which I'm profoundly grateful. I'm far too irreverent to fit into a religious community."

"I wasn't very comfortable there either." Her smile widened to breathtaking beauty. "I was always getting into trouble. I always laughed too much. In chapel and vespers and at-"

"Good." His hand tightened on her elbow. "I like a woman who laughs. The world doesn't have enough laughter to go around." He pushed opened the door to the kitchen and flicked on the ceiling light. "Now suppose you and Frank go sit over there at the table and watch me prepare the most splendiferous omelet you've ever tasted."

She smiled again and he felt his breath stop in his throat. What was going on here? One minute he felt only aching sympathy and the next he was ready to pull the girl into the nearest bedroom. She was the walking wounded, for heaven's sake. He turned away and opened a cabinet above the stove. "And you can tell me more about Sister Maria's definition of sin."

Serena finished the last bite of omelet and set her fork down on her plate. She had been very hungry, she realized with dull surprise. She tried to remember the last time she had eaten. It had been this morning at dawn. She had shared warm croissants and strong black coffee with- She shied away from the memory with a sense of panic. The Hopi Indians. No past and no future. Only now. Now was safe and free from pain. Gideon had told her this was true, and in a shifting world of lies, his words were the only honest, solid anchor to which she could cling.

"Maybe I'm not such a bad cook after all. You managed to clean up your plate anyway." He pushed back his chair and stood up. "I'll get you something to drink. I should probably give milk to someone as young as you, but I hate the stuff and never keep it in the house. How about some orange juice?" He crossed the room to the refrigerator on the far side of the kitchen. "It's the only nonalcoholic beverage I have."

"That will be fine." She watched the slide of muscles beneath his khaki shirt as he opened the refrigerator door. He was tall, over six feet, and every inch was lean and powerful. She suddenly had a hazy recollection of how those muscles had exploded into lethal, totally devastating force tonight in the bar. She couldn't seem to connect the memory with the man who had held her with almost feminine tenderness in the jeep, or the master Frank was gazing up at with such hopeful adoration. Surely no one could look less threatening. He was dressed in faded jeans that hung low on his lean hips and a short-sleeved khaki shirt, unbuttoned at the collar to reveal the strong line of his tan throat. He was wearing brown cowboy boots, scuffed and weathered by the elements. Weathered was the word that described more about him than his boots. He looked totally experienced, as if he had gone through all the storms and droughts life could offer and had emerged not broken, only seasoned and tougher.

His skin was tanned by sun and wind to a deep bronze and laugh lines radiated from the corners of his brown eyes. His hair might have been a dark brown at one time but now it was sun- streaked, tawny, slightly tousled with… a cowlick. She smiled when she noticed that unruly lock of hair. No, she must have been mistaken about the lethal side of Gideon Brandt she thought she'd glimpsed in the bar. Who could be afraid of a man with a cowlick? "I'm not really that young. I'm seventeen."

"So old? I've got ten years on you." He poured the juice into a tall glass and looked up to smile at her. Dimples. Deep slashing dimples indented his lean cheeks. The shape of his face was almost square, his features more rugged than handsome and his smile the warmest she had ever seen. She suddenly felt as if she had been enfolded in a magical fleecy blanket, gossamer light yet capable of generating sunlight and tenderness and… His gaze held her own as he walked toward her with lithe, vital grace. "You look younger."

"Do I?" She didn't feel young. She felt a million years old and suddenly so weary she had to keep her spine very straight to keep from falling off the chair.

He nodded and there was a flicker of understanding in his face, almost as if he had read her thoughts. "You'll feel young again, you know," he said gently. "Maybe you'll never be a child again, that's probably gone forever, but youth remains.

Sometimes we have to work to keep it alive in us, but it's important we never lose a sense of youth and joy." He grinned and the creases deepened around his eyes and in the long dimples on each side of his mouth. "Personally, I intend to still be a kid when I am a hundred and two."

"I think you'll make it," she said softly.

"I'm sure I will." He set the glass of orange juice down in front of her. "And so will you. Now, drink. You'll need your vitamins if you want to survive and stay healthy." His gaze met hers. "And you do want to survive. Life can be damn good, and you can solve any problem if you just face up to it." He reached down and patted the dog's head. "Ask Frank here. He's a prime example."

"He had help."

"So will you, if you'll accept it." Gideon carefully kept his gaze on the dog's mottled fur. "And he probably didn't have any help when he lost that leg. He survived it all by himself and still didn't lose the capacity to care. Toughen up, but keep the loving. It's important, Serena." He straightened. "Now I'd better stop this preaching and feed this particular survivor. He's been giving me a guilt trip ever since I started cooking your omelet."

"I noticed." Serena took a drink of the orange juice. "I also noticed you gave him half of that pound of bacon you sprinkled on my omelette."

He made a face. "So I'm a sucker."

"That's what I've been telling you for two years." Ross stood in the doorway. He strolled forward, a grin lighting his plain features. "Do you know why I had to put Frank's bowl and food out on the patio, Serena? The first two days after we brought him home, he gained five pounds and we each lost three."

Serena laughed. In spite of Ross's caustic tone, it was clear the bond of affection between the two men was very strong. Strange. They appeared to be complete opposites, both in physique and personality. Ross was a few inches under six feet and built with blocky muscularity and deep-chested strength. He was closer to forty than thirty, and his dark hair was flecked with silver. The blue eyes looking into her own were shrewd, and she had an idea the affectionate smile softening his face as he regarded Gideon could turn cynical in the flicker of a second.

Ross turned to her. "Your chamber awaits. It's the first guest room at the top of the stairs."

"She has to finish her orange juice first," Gideon said. "Stay with her while I take Frank out and feed him. Did you light the hot water heater?"

Ross nodded and explained to Serena. "The gas heater is an antique and the pilot light keeps going out on us." His lips twisted. "Another thing we're going to get fixed." He waved his hand. "Go on and feed the bottomless pit. I'll watch over your other… over Serena."

Stray. He had been about to call her a stray, Serena thought. The realization brought no resentment. Rather it filled her with a comfortable sense of security to be referred to as belonging in any way to Gideon Brandt. He obviously showered those he took under his wing with warmth and love and she desperately needed that security to help fight off the darkness surrounding her.

She watched Gideon leave the kitchen, the big dog skittering unevenly at his heels. "He's so kind," she said huskily. "Have you known him long?"

"A few years. We met in Tucson and took to each other right away. We've been together ever since." He sat down and nodded to the glass in her hand. "You'd better finish that. He won't let you go to sleep until you drink it down."

She laughed uncertainly. "You have to be joking. Gideon wouldn't force me to drink something I didn't want."

"He won't ever force you, but you'll find yourself doing what he wants anyway." He shrugged. "It's easier just to do what he tells you in the beginning."

She took another swallow of orange juice. "I think you're mistaken. He's too gentle to-"

"I didn't say he wasn't gentle," Ross interrupted briskly. "He's one hell of a human being and the best friend I've ever had. I'm just saying there's another aspect to his character that's equally strong."

She frowned. "And what is that?"

"When he makes up his mind, he's completely relentless. He never stops. Not ever. He might feel compassion, but it doesn't sway him. He never quits until he has what he wants."

She shook her head in disbelief.

"Yes," Ross said flatly. "It's something you should know, because I don't think Gideon has quite made up his mind about you yet. He's chewing it over and trying to come to a conclusion. Once he does, there's no way out. Gideon will be as much a prisoner of his determination as you, and probably more vulnerable. Something has knocked you for a loop and I'm sorry, but my first loyalty is to Gideon."

"You act as if you think I'm going to try to hurt him," she whispered. "How could I… I would never do anything to hurt anyone." There was too much pain in the world and not enough laughter. Gideon had said something like that, she remembered vaguely. He had said a great many things tonight. All with a touch as light as a summer breeze, with an underlying salve that had healed before she had even realized any balm had been applied.

"I just thought I'd drop in a savvy word or two. No offense?" Ross smiled. "Gideon would have a fit if he thought I'd upset you. Don't worry, he'll see to it that you're well taken care of."

She smiled back at him. "Like his other 'strays'?"

He grimaced. "You caught that? I was hoping I'd covered myself in time. I didn't mean to hurt your feelings."

"You didn't." She took another sip of orange juice. "How many strays does Gideon have here?"

"On the premises? Just one cat and a blind parrot. He usually tries to find homes for them before they become too attached to him. He moves around a lot and he doesn't think it's fair to leave them alone." He stood up. "Now, drink the rest of that down and I'll take you to your room."

The tall glass was still a quarter full. She deliberately pushed the glass away. "I've had enough." She scooted back her chair and rose to her feet. "I'm ready to go."

"Are you?" A curious smile touched his lips as his gaze rested on the glass. "Some people just have to learn for themselves." He turned away. "I found a clean shirt of Gideon's for you to wear tonight and I put a pair of my shorts and a T-shirt on the chair in your room for you to wear tomorrow. They'll be a little big, but I'm smaller than Gideon."

"Thank you. I'm sorry to be so much trouble."

"No trouble. These little adventures are what make living with Gideon interesting."

A glass of orange juice was on the white rattan nightstand beside the double bed when she came into the bedroom after her shower thirty minutes later. The glass was exactly one quarter full.

Gideon was lounging in the cane-backed chair by the window, one leg over the arm, a booted foot swinging lazily. "Hi, you look better in that shirt than I do. It kinda reminds me of those ads on TV where they have all those luscious ladies wearing their men's dress shirts."

"Does it? I've never seen them. They didn't have a television set at the convent." She touched the soft blue cotton of the shirt that came almost to her knees. "Thank you for lending it to me. It's very comfortable."

"We aim to please." He swung his foot to the floor and stood up. He exuded so much power and vitality that Serena suddenly felt very small and helpless.

"I'm glad you didn't wash your hair. It must take a long time to diy and I was worried you'd go to bed with it wet." He crossed the room and drew back the top sheet. "In you go. I'll tuck you in and turn out the light."

She found herself obediently sliding into bed. He drew the sheet up around her shoulders and sat down beside her. "I've left the windows open. The screens will keep out the critters and it will be cooler for you. If it starts to rain, you'd better get up and close it." His gaze was gravely holding her own while his hand stroked the hair back from her temple. "You've done just fine so far, but I thought I'd better warn you that sometimes it comes back to you right before you go to sleep. It sort of waits like a bushwhacker until all your defenses are down and then it ambushes you." He smiled. "You just fool it and start thinking of something else. Frank or Ross or me… anything. Okay?"

"Okay," she whispered.

"And, if you get scared or want company, I'm just across the hall. I'll leave my door open to hear if you call out."

"Thank you." His hand on her temple held mesmerizing gentleness and his expression was… beautiful. "Gideon, I…" She trailed off as she felt the tears burn behind her lids. "Just thank you. For everything."

"For nothing." His grin lit up his rough features with warmth. "All I did was cook you an omelet and lend you my shirt." He touched the tip of her nose with his index finger. "Go to sleep now and remember my very wise Hopi friends." He leaned forward and brushed her forehead with his lips as if she were a small child, his child. "Sleep tight."

"You too."

"I always sleep well." He rose and looked down at her. "You just have to remember to watch out for those ambushes."

"You have them, too?"

"We all have them." He smiled again. "You're not alone, Serena." His gaze suddenly fell on the glass on the nightstand. "You forgot to drink your orange juice, so I emptied it out and brought you some fresh. Just what you need for a nightcap." He sat down again, picked up the glass and gathered her up into the curve of his arm. "Bottoms up."

"No, I don't-"

"Shh." His voice was velvet soft and coaxing. "You need it." He smiled that smile that enfolded her in sunlight and caring. "Come on, there's just a little in the glass and I want to feel I've done my duty to appease the gods of nutrition. I didn't have any milk to give you. You wouldn't want to make me feel bad, would you?"

Who would ever want Gideon Brandt to know sadness or discomfort? He was everything that was caring and loving, and so dear she could feel her throat tighten with emotion as she looked up at him. What difference did it make if she didn't want the orange juice? It wouldn't hurt her. She opened her lips and finished off the juice in a few swallows. As he took the glass away, she wrinkled her nose at him. "Satisfied?"

He nodded as he set the empty glass on the nightstand and laid her back against the pillows. "For now. You've been a very sensible girl." He stood up and flicked off the lamp. She could see his shadow move across the room to the door.

"Now watch out for those bushwhackers and get to sleep." He paused at the door. She couldn't see his face but she didn't need to see it. It was all there in his quiet voice. "I'm here for you, Serena. Always."

A moment later, he was gone, leaving the door ajar.

He heard the swift patter of her feet on the tiles and knew she was coming to him.

He had been lying awake, thinking and listening to the thunder and the rain beating against the tile roof. He had always liked rain. There had been precious little of it in the desert country where he had grown up and, when it did come, it was like a blessing on the parched land.

"Gideon?" Serena's voice was shaky and uncertain. She was standing in the doorway.

"I'm awake. Bushwhackers?"

"I did what you told me and went to sleep, but the thunder woke me and-"

"Ambush," he finished for her. He sat up in bed. "Bad luck. I hoped you'd get a good night's sleep. Come here."

She hesitated. "I don't want to bother you. I only thought…" She stopped. "I don't know what I thought."

"You thought you'd come see your friend and together we'd blow those bushwhackers to kingdom come." He chuckled. "Now come over here and we'll get down to it."

She came slowly to him. "Shall I turn on the light?"

"Not unless you want to. Sometimes darkness is better. You might toss me that robe on the chair. I'm naked as a jaybird and I don't want to shock your convent sensibilities." He stood up and shrugged into the white terry cloth robe she handed him. "There. Now come to bed and snuggle." He drew back the sheet, pushed Serena down on the bed and then lay beside her, pulling her into his arms. She smelled clean and sweet and felt wonderfully right in his arms. As he tightened his clasp about her he realized she was trembling. He had thought she would be when he had heard her voice. She wouldn't have come to him if the pain of suppressing those memories hadn't been impossible to bear alone. He experienced a sudden aching regret as he realized what that meant. It was time.

He cradled her cheek against his shoulder, his palm cupping the back of her head. Thank heaven, she had come to him. She was very close to breaking, and she mustn't be alone when it happened. "Now, we're going to talk a little. Is that all right with you?"

"Yes." The assent was muffled against his shoulder.

"I think it's time we got to know each other. I was born on a little ranch in Texas and spent most of my childhood there. We lost the ranch when I was thirteen, and my parents died that same year. I was in an orphanage until I was sixteen and then wandered around the country, taking any job that came along." His fingers were soothingly rubbing her temple. "Then Vietnam and some more wandering. Recently I decided it would be better to be rich than to be poor, so I guess I'll have to settle down for a while. Ross will be very relieved. He has a taste for the good things of life. There. Now you know all about Gideon Brandt, Esquire." He looked down at her. "Have I talked you to sleep?"

"No."

"Are you an only child?"

"No, I have a younger brother. I don't see much of him. He attends school in England. My stepfather was awarded custody of-" She broke off and he felt her stiffen against him. "I don't want to talk about it."

"You don't have to talk about it, you don't have to talk about anything." His voice was very soft. "But it's time we shot those bushwhackers out of the saddle and there's only one way to do it, Serena."

"Gideon, I-"

"Shhh. You've got to invite them in and let them take their shot at you. You've got to remember. Then you'll be in control again."

She could feel the panic rising within her. "Nol"

"Yes." His voice was totally certain and she suddenly remembered that Ross had called him relentless. "It's time to face it. Then it will be all over and you can start to heal. You're not alone. I'm here. I'm holding you. Now, remember, Serena."

She began to shake as if in the throes of malaria. "Gideon…"

"Don't talk about it, unless you want to, but admit to yourself that it happened. It did happen."

"No!" The word was uttered through clenched teeth. "Don't make me!"

"You were in your nightgown, and your feet were bare."

And she remembered.

The tears were suddenly raining down her cheeks and harsh sobs were wracking her body. "Ugly. Oh, God, so much ugliness. Gideon…"

"It's all right, baby." His voice was a low croon in her ear. "It's all over, it's gone now."

"It will never be gone. I'll always see…"

"No, you'll always remember, but after a while you won't see it anymore. There are so many beautiful things in the world, and I'll show them all to you. Whenever you start to remember, I'll pull another one out of the hat and then it will fade away again." His voice was a level above a whisper as his hand stroked her hair. "Do you believe me, Serena?"

"I don't know. I just don't…" The sobs were no longer tearing at her body, but she couldn't seem to stop the tears from flowing. "I can't think."

"Then I'll quit my jawing and let you rest." His lips touched the top of her head. "I'm not going to hassle you, baby. Relax now. You can think about what I said later. Right now, we'll talk about something else. What do you want to do?"

The sudden switch of subjects bewildered her. "Do?"

"You know, do you want to swim the English Channel or be a clown in a circus or be the first lady to go to Mars?"

"Oh." She wiped her wet cheeks with the back of her hand. "I've always wanted to be an artist. I love to paint. My mother took me to the Louvre once when I was a little girl and someday I'm…" She trailed off, floundering. She was actually thinking about the future, she realized with astonishment.

"See?" Gideon said softly. "There is a tomorrow. Now that you've faced the past, you can go on. One of these days you'll be as famous as Titian or Da Vinci or Rubinoff. Will you paint me a picture?"

Her arms tightened around him. "I'll paint you a mural," she said with passionate intensity. "I'll paint you your own Sistine Chapel, if you like."

He chuckled. "I appreciate the gesture, but a painting will do. A Serena original."

The tears had stopped. The wound was still throbbing, but it was already beginning to heal. "You'll have it," she whispered. She wanted to give him the moon, gift-wrapped. He had given her so much. "Anything you want."

He became very still. "Lord, I wish you hadn't said that. I'm trying to remember what a youngster you are." His hand resumed its gentle stroking. "Listen, before you came I was lying here thinking about you, about us. When I was over in the Far East I picked up a lot of kind of strange ideas and one of them is about destiny. I believe some things are meant to be. Some people are meant to be together." He paused. "I think we're meant to be together, Serena. I know it sounds crazy, but almost from the first I realized we were right for each other. Can't you feel it? We're meant to love each other, to pleasure each other and help each other to be everything we can be. Why else were we both in that bar tonight? I think it must have been because we've been heading for each other all our lives and the time has come for us to be together. Now you're going to belong to me and I'm going to belong to you."

Serena felt a wild surge of joy. To belong to Gideon would be to belong to gentleness, laughter and beauty. Then her spirits plummeted. It wasn't possible. Sin. She couldn't take any more than she already had from Gideon. "No, I can't…"

"Hush." He placed two fingers over her lips to silence her. "I know you're not ready to think about any of this yet, but I wanted you to know how I felt. I'm not going to push you. You've still got some growing up to do, and I have to make enough money to keep us comfortable. But after all that's taken care of, we'll be together. It's important we both know that's going to happen."

Serena felt her throat tighten painfully. In a way this pain was worse than what she had undergone before. "Gideon, there's no way."

"There's always a way. We'll just have to find it." His fingers moved from her lips to cover her eyes. "I'll start working on it in the morning. Go to sleep now."

He wouldn't listen. He was already assuming control with the loveable autocracy she was beginning to recognize as a primary element of his character.

He never stops. Not ever. Ross's word came back to her and she felt a wild surge of regret and despair. He would face that ugliness and try to conquer it, but she couldn't stand that to happen.

"You're worrying again."

She shook her head. "No, not really."

"Then what are you thinking about?"

"Your Hopi Indian friends." Now. Snatch joy and safety now, for it might be a long time before she felt this happy again. "Tell me how you came to know them. Tell me all the places you've been and the people you've met and… oh, everything."

"Bedtime stories?" He laughed softly. "Okay. I guess I can think of some that aren't X-rated. I've done most everything at one time or another, from riding the rodeo circuit to roughing it on an oil rig. I never finished high school so I had to stick to what I knew. Once when I was about your age I got a job on a freighter to the South Seas and…" His voice murmured on, spinning stories, sharing experiences, giving her glimpses into a life rich with color and the sheer joy of living.

He finally stopped and she could sense him looking down at her. She knew he thought she had fallen asleep. He carefully settled her closer against him and she felt again the gossamer touch of his lips against her forehead. She didn't move and kept her eyes firmly closed. Soon she felt his long, lean body relax and the sound of his breathing. He was asleep.

Serena's eyes opened and she stared unseeingly into the darkness.

The rain had stopped by the time the gray of predawn touched the horizon. Serena paused in the doorway to look back at Gideon still asleep in the big double bed. His tawny hair was rumpled on the pillow and he was sprawled like a weary little boy tucked into bed after a long day at play. She experienced a moment of maternal tenderness before she forced herself to turn and walk quickly across the hall. She hurriedly slipped on Ross's khaki shorts, but left on the blue shirt in which she had slept. It belonged to Gideon and surely it wouldn't hurt to keep a remembrance.

She had to try two doors along the corridor before she found Ross's room. She moved quietly across the shadowy room to stand beside his bed. "Ross?"

The figure beneath the sheets growled, mumbled and then raised himself on one elbow. "Serena?"

"I want you to take me back to the waterfront," Serena said quietly. "Now."

"The hell you do." He sat up and the sheet fell to his waist to reveal a brawny hair-roughened chest. "Gideon would cut my throat if I took you back to that bar."

She looked at him in surprise. "Why would I want to go back there? I wandered in there by mistake and…" She made an impatient gesture with her hand. "I just want you to take me to the waterfront and drop me off. I'd walk, but I don't have any shoes and I'm not sure of the way."

"Just drop you off." Ross's lips twisted. "Drop you on the streets of one of the wickedest cities in the Caribbean, barefoot and with no place to go."

"I have a place to go."

"Then wake up Gideon and tell him about it."

"I can't." She moistened her lower lip with her tongue. "You remember what you said about Gideon not having made up his mind about me yet?"

"Yes."

"Well, I think he's made it up now."

Ross's dark eyes narrowed on her face. "So?"

"It's impossible."

"Gideon doesn't understand the meaning of the word."

"Ross." She swallowed and then drew a deep breath, "I'm married."

He went still. Then he gave a long, low whistle. "Trouble."

She shook her head, blinking rapidly to keep back the tears. "Please, I don't want to hurt Gideon. I'm all right now. It will be perfectly safe to take me back."

"To your husband?"

She closed her eyes for a fraction of a moment and then opened them again. They held only sadness and determination. "To my husband."

He hesitated. "You're sure this is what you want?"

"I'm sure."

"Then I'll take you. Go on downstairs and wait in the jeep while I get dressed."

She turned away.

"You know this probably won't do you a damn bit of good. Gideon's not going to give up."

"He'll give up." Serena started for the door.

She heard a sharp bark of laughter behind her. "You don't know him at all if you think that." His voice was soft and slightly amused. "Tell me, Serena, did you ever drink the rest of the orange juice?"

She paused, her hand closing on the door knob. "That was different."

"Was it?" The amusement deepened. "Ill do what you ask, but don't think running away will do you any good if Gideon decides he wants to find you."

She drew a shaky breath and opened the door. "Please hurry. I want to be gone before Gideon wakes up." She closed the door behind her and walked quickly down the hall toward the curving staircase.