Author's website: http://www.templeofthesentinels.com
The characters in this story do not belong to me. I don't suppose they ever will. Nor have I made money from this. Chance'd be a fine thing.
This story was written for SueC, who won this; 'an AU of your choice', in the auction for New Orleans. She wanted a story about 'Gypsy Blair'. Thanks for your extreme patience, hon!
Betaed by Betagoddess, to whom, many thanks.
17th July, 2006.
Character death (not Jim or Blair)
This story is a sequel to:

*"Wind Whispering is the first magic a young gypsy learns. To lie listening to the wind with a question in your heart; ride the wind till the stirrings form softly spoken words, and the answer to your question is made clear. All things have a life of their own; it's just a matter of awakening the spirit in them." -- Gypsy lore.*

*May your doorstep ever be dirty.
-- Romany blessing*

Jim took a deep breath, stepping out onto the porch of his cabin. Leaning up against the smooth timber rails, he scented the clean, cold, air, heavy with the fragrance of pine and leaves, damp earth and the tang of snow lying thick on the distant peaks.

The heady scent of sap that had perfumed the air since spring was fading now - a sure sign of winter on the way - but not yet. Today the sun was rising on a blue and cloudless sky, promising a hot day ahead; another day of Indian summer before the first snows fell. The bright morning sun was just reaching the little town - his town - down in the valley, lighting the aspens into clouds of shimmering gold.

Jim lifted his face, enjoying the warmth on his skin, letting his senses free for one last moment before setting his broad-brimmed hat back on his head and walking out across the gravel drive to his truck, assuming his lawman persona as he went - time to get to work.

Not that much ever happened here in Beaver Falls aside from the occasional drunken tourist. Back in March they'd had a guy fuel up at Tony's gas station and drive off without paying - biggest thing that'd happened in the seventeen months he'd been working here. Major crime - the violence and mayhem that passed for everyday life in the city of Cascade - had become a distant memory, and that was fine by him.

The Sheriff of Beaver Falls clambered into his big, blue pick-up, started up the engine and smiled. No clouds on his horizon. Nothing to disturb his peace, raise his blood pressure or torture his erratic senses. Life up here, high in the Cascades, far from city noise and crime, was very, very good.

"Man, oh man, no! Come on sweetheart, don't do this to me!" Blair Sandburg pleaded as his engine died, and the wheels stopped turning. He prayed to all known Gods and Goddesses as he turned the key; over, and over - getting nothing more than a painful, choking sound in return. Blair laid his head, in defeat, against the wheel.

"Shit," he muttered, sitting up, wiping sweaty palms over his tired face, snapping his seatbelt off. "Shit, shit, shit."

With a shrill, rusted squeak, he forced open the door of his aging VW van and hopped down to peer under the equally rusty hood. "Man, this is so just what I didn't need right now!" he huffed, kicking at the nearest tire.

"Anger only creates more anger, honey," he heard his mother's soft voice say, with a hint of laughter.

"Yeah, well. That's easy for you to say! You're not the one stranded in some yuppified little Aspen-wannabe town. I mean, I've only been on the road four hours! I hoped I'd at least be out of the state by now!"

"Should've gotten that rusty heap checked out before you left..."

"Shoulda gotten that rusty heap checked out before you left," Blair parroted softly, opening the side door, pulling down the steps so he could sit and despair in a little more comfort. "I did get her checked, Mom."

"By Ben Turner!"

"And your point would be...?"

"I meant a real mechanic!"

Blair sighed. "That was a little difficult, mom, considering the state of my finances when I left town. And she is not a heap, she's a classic." Blair fondly patted the psychedelically painted side of his vehicle and home.

"Can I help you?"

Blair glanced up to see a girl watching him from the window of a shiny, new, very expensive SUV; an odd expression on her face.

"I'm sorry?" Blair stood; wiped an oily hand across his face in a sudden nervous gesture that left a dirty smear on his cheek.

The girl giggled. "Do you always talk to yourself like that?"

"Talk to myself?" Blair gaped, his mouth open. The girl laughed. She had a really nice laugh; low and gurgling. She got out of her truck and walked over - long, long legs, Blair couldn't help but notice. He wiped his hand across his face again, deepening the stain.

"You sure were chattering away to someone and I don't see anyone else around. Unless you're seeing ghosts?"

Blair gaped some more.

"Hi, I'm Marla..." she held out her hand, Blair lifted his own, saw how dirty it was and snatched it back.

"Ah. No, you, er... probably don't wanna go touching that," he giggled, nervously.

The girl - Marla - laughed again. "Aw, hey," she purred. "I don't mind getting a little dirty." She cocked her head and smiled, looking right into his eyes. Blue eyes, long, blond hair, tall - taller than him, Blair noted ruefully; slender as a reed in denims and flannel. She was gorgeous - and so out of his league. Blair smiled shyly, covering his embarrassment by looking over at his van.

"She's err, broken down... a little," he shrugged, glancing at her from under his wide-brimmed hat, hiding his eyes from the girl's appraising gaze.

"Just a little?"

"Urm... yeah," Blair said, smiling.

"Let me see." Marla peered under the hood. "Oh my!" she pointed into Blair's engine. "Looks like your fuel pump."

Blair shrugged, glancing away. "Always knew I shoulda taken auto-shop."

Marla laughed again, looking at him fondly. "I guess you should," she said softly, closing the hood, which protested the move with an agonized screech.

"Got a little rust problem, too," Blair said, smiling warmly at her, his nervousness evaporating like the morning mist in the face of Marla's overwhelming interest in him. He didn't understand it, but he liked it.

"Got far to go?" she asked, rubbing oily hands together.

"Only about fifteen hundred miles."

"Then you do have a problem... Sorry, I don't know your name...?"

"Oh! Blair, Blair Sandburg." He moved forward, grabbing her proffered hand, realizing he'd got her all dirty, realizing she was already dirty. Man, he was so jumpy around this woman! - just a mess of embarrassment, nerves and hormones. He slumped back down on the steps, absently wiping his oily hands on his torn jeans.

Marla giggled again. "Look, why don't I give you a lift down to Tony's garage?" she said. "There's a really nice little diner next door. While he fixes your van, we can clean up and get a cup of coffee or something...?"

"Or something," Blair nodded, with a grin. Incredibly - against all known laws of probability, this corn-fed country Goddess was interested in him and he... he was so turned on by that! Well, cool. Mom surely wouldn't mind waiting a while longer. If he was going to be stuck in this yuppy town, he might as well wait it out in the company of a nice looking girl.

"That sounds... that sounds really nice, thank you." He smiled his warmest, most flirtatious smile at her. Oh. My God, Blair thought, this girl is so coming on to me!

"You got a problem, there, Marla?" A clear, masculine voice cut through their happy bubble.

"Oh! No, Sheriff," Marla called back. Blair glanced behind him to see the man glaring balefully at his beaten, broken, beloved old van. "Mr Sandburg - Blair here, his van broke down, I'm just giving him a lift down to Tony's; try and get it fixed..."

The Sheriff was climbing out of his truck, walking, no - stalking, towards them. Shit! The man was about seven feet tall, built like a heavyweight champion and the look in those cold blue eyes told Blair only too clearly what the Sheriff thought of him - same thing men like that always thought about guys like him...

`Long haired little hippie shit. Look at him, he's filthy!' Jim thought, giving Blair the once-over. `Kid was sitting, oh so damn casual, on the steps of some broken down heap of a van. He was wearing real tight pants that left nothing to the imagination and told Jim exactly what was on his mind as he `chatted' to lovely Marla Cunningham. Jim lifted his gaze to a brightly colored vest slung over a dirty white shirt; unbuttoned and way too big for his small frame so that it hung open, almost to his navel, revealing a deal too much tanned skin and chest hair. The kid had one booted ankle up on the knee of his torn, worn jeans, showing the hole in the sole of his boots. Topping off the whole improbable ensemble was a beat-up, old leather cowboy hat; the rim worn soft, so that it flopped lazily over more hair than Jim had ever seen on a human male.

The little gypsy was staring up at him with a pair of startlingly large, blue eyes and a face dirtied by a thick scrape of oil. Somehow, that made Jim madder than ever. `Who the hell is this hippie-gypsy shit and what's he doing in my town, chatting-up Marla Cunningham?' Hell, `chatting up' didn't begin to cover it - the air reeked of sex. Jim couldn't stand it. Resisting the urge to hurl the little bastard over the hood, cuff him and throw him in the slammer till he could shake down this van for the narcotics he just knew were hidden there, Jim peered through the windows of the rusted van, frowning at the psychedelic paint job. Who the hell paints a vehicle so many colors? The effect was strobing on his retinas, inducing a powerful headache, making him irritable... "This your vehicle?" he snapped?

"Yeah," Blair said defensively, muscles tightening as he prepped himself for the inevitable confrontation.

"Lemme see," Jim snapped his fingers at Blair.

Blair met his gaze head-on, got out his license and flipped it under the Sheriff's nose.

"Doesn't look too road worthy," Jim sneered, walking around the old van, kicking at the tires.

"She's totally road worthy, man," Blair snapped back. "Got her checked out by a mechanic friend back in Cascade before I set out. I had a little bad luck, is all. She's just not used to the mountains."

"Uh huh. So, not road-worthy for the mountains," Jim smiled, glancing around him. "'Lot of those around here, Chief," he grinned nastily.

"Well, believe me, Sheriff, I would love to be on my way and out of your hair, but the van isn't running, so I really don't have a whole lot of options right now, do I?"

"Can't leave her here," Jim said, hitching his pants, standing over Blair, getting in his space.

"Well, Sheriff," Blair lifted his arms in supplication. "Where would you like me to leave her?"

"Anywhere you're not blocking the highway, that's not private property of course, or an eyesore. I'll be honest, kid. I really can't think of anywhere in Beaver Falls you could leave a vehicle of this description where she wouldn't be violating any number of local laws." Jim said, grinning down.

"I was just about to tow Blair's van over to Tony's Garage, Sheriff Ellison," Marla said.

"There you go!" Blair said, slapping his hands together, grinning up at the Sheriff.

"You got a tow rope?" Jim asked her.

"Sure!"

"Problem solved!" Blair smiled thankfully at his savior.

Jim nodded at the sky, before fixing his cold gaze back on the hated little interloper. "How about I give the kid a tow?" he said, holding Blair's irritated gaze. "My truck's got a towing hook, and she's a whole lot stronger than that nice little run around of yours, Marla."

"Oh. But, you see..." Marla flashed a look of alarm at Blair.

"And I am the Sheriff. It is my job to take care of all the waifs and strays that blow into town," Jim fixed the gaze back on Blair. Blair held it. Jim smiled - not a nice smile. "So, I guess that means you're with me, huh, Chief?"

"But..." Blair stuttered as Jim hoisted him to his feet, steering him towards his truck.

"Can it, Romeo," Jim muttered in his ear, calling, "I guess I'll see you at Ed's tonight, huh, Marla?" at the girl.

"I guess," Marla sighed, unhappily, watching as Jim pushed Blair into the passenger seat of his truck, slamming the door on him.

"Give my regards to your Dad," Jim nodded, as he opened his trunk and took out a tow rope, leaning against his truck, clearly waiting for her to get on her way, which she did, with a lot of huffing, scowling, crossed arms and door slamming. "Drive safe, now," Jim called as the girl screeched back out on to the road and took off at fifty. Jim shook his head with a smile. "That girl keeps on speeding like that, I'm going to have to give her a ticket."

"You always set out to spoil people's fun that way?" Blair asked him.

Jim's good humor vanished in a heartbeat, his expression darkened as he leaned into Blair's open window, fixing that glare on him again. "I don't like transients and I don't like hippies and I really don't like filthy gypsies trying to seduce..."

"Seduce!"

"Seduce naive girls like Marla Cunningham."

"Naive? Man!She was coming on to me like..."

"Can it, puppy!" Jim snapped.

Blair shut up immediately. The man had a look of incandescent rage in his eyes and Blair was worried. People rarely intimidated him, but his mother had told him plenty of stories about what the law did to people like them, especially the small town law - Sheriffs in towns just like this one. Sometimes people disappeared, or mysteriously died in their cells. It happened all the time, and Blair knew it.

"I'm taking you and this rat trap into Tony's garage," Jim hissed. "You'll wait there till it's fixed. If it takes more than a day, I will escort you to the inn. Should you lack the funds for the inn, I will escort you to my office where a bed will be provided for you in the cells..."

"No way man!" Blair flung open the truck door in a panic, only to have it slammed back shut against him.

"In the cells," Jim repeated patiently. "You will not stray from this agenda. You will not roam around my town un-chaperoned, and when this heap of shit is fixed, you will get out of my town and not return, do you understand?"

"This is a crock of shit, man!" Blair yelled, his anger over-riding his fear. "This is America! I've not broken any law and you've got no right to hold me anywhere..."

"I don't like you, Sandburg. I don't want your type in my town..."

"My type?"

"That's right."

"Your town?"

"As far as you're concerned."

"Whatever man," Blair sighed, knowing he wasn't getting anywhere. All he was doing was making the cop angry - no knowing what a guy like that could do to him if he decided to get physical. He lay his head against the back of his seat, closed his eyes and breathed. OK. OK, he could do this, it wasn't so bad. So long as this Tony guy could fix his crate and he could get on his way. But there was no way he was going to let this Neanderthal lock him in a cell. He had practically no money - not enough to waste on a hotel room in a pricey town like this, that's for sure. He'd work something out. Maybe he had something he could sell...? His thoughts were interrupted by the slamming of the driver's door as the Sheriff got in and started the engine.

"So, where are you heading?"

"Huh?" Blair wasn't expecting conversation from the man.

"Where. Are. You. Headed?"

"Shiprock," Blair said. "Don't worry yourself, man. It's a long way from here. I'm not heading up a hippie invasion of your nice little town."

"Shiprock. `That some sort of commune or something? Some hippie thing?"

"Yeah, that's right, man. A `hippie' thing," Blair sighed to himself. "A promise to my mother" he muttered under his breath.

"You meeting her there, your Mom?"

"Huh?" Blair looked up, surprised Jim had heard him. "Urm, no, not exactly. I'm just... doing something for her. Something she asked me to do."

Jim glanced at the boy. He was looking at his hands, twisting some ring he wore. He seemed... sad? Something about the way he smelled... No, that couldn't be right. How could you smell sadness on someone? Oh God, don't let it be starting again...

"You OK?" the hippie asked.

Jim looked round. The kid was looking at him, curiously.

"Fine," he snapped.

"Oooo Kay..." Blair said, turning his head and staring out the window.

Jim turned the truck into the Garage, holding a hand up in greeting as Tony Falconi emerged, wiping oily hands on a rag. "Hey Jim, what can I do you for? Whoah! Lookee here," he yelped, seeing the dented, rusted, brightly-painted old van dragging behind Jim's truck.

Tony was one of Jim's closest friends; a volunteer fireman and keen fisherman; married to Lori, his deputy's little sister. Beaver Falls was a tight knit, some might say, incestuous little community. It was one of the things Jim loved most about the place he'd chosen to make his home - that sense of community and family. There was something almost tribal about the way he felt a need to protect the people of His Town. A closeness that spoke to Jim's lonely soul. He found it deeply comforting.

Tony grinned, glancing in though Jim's open window at the miserable-looking hippie kid sitting beside him. "How's it going, bud?" He asked Jim.

"Good, Tony. Pretty good." Jim said, getting out of his truck, stretching his back.

Tony beamed, running his hands over the side of Blair's van. "Man! I haven't seen one of these in thirty years. Where'd you find her?"

"Broke down over on the four-ten."

"Uh huh. She yours?" he asked Blair as he climbed down from Jim's truck. Blair nodded as Tony and Jim worked together to free the rusty old van from Jim's tow hook. Blair walked over to watch over Tony's shoulder as he lifted the hood and peered inside. "She's beautiful. A classic," Tony breathed, touching Blair's engine reverently.

"Classic piece of junk," Ellison muttered.

"Oh man," Tony said, shaking his head. "Looks like you need a new fuel pump, sport."

"So I've been told. How much is that gonna cost?" Blair asked quietly, well aware of Sheriff Ellison standing right behind him, arms crossed, listening intently. Tony sighed, thinking. "Can't say for sure," he said, looking over the engine with awe. "Man, this is just great. I haven't seen an engine like this in I don't know how long. What year is she?"

"Sixty nine, same as me," Blair said, trying to smile, deeply worried about what he was going to do if the van was a write-off.

"Yeah? Same year as that old hulk of Ellison's"

"Yeah?" Blair looked back at the Sheriff's truck with a grin.

"Difference being, my truck still runs. How long is this gonna take, Tony?" Jim asked.

Tony pulled a wry smile, folded his arms and shook his head in thought. "Don't have the parts for a vehicle like this, that's for sure. It'll havta come from Seattle. S'gonna be at least a week."

"Oh man!!!" Blair groaned. "How much is that going to set me back? I mean, a ball park figure."

Tony shrugged. "At least three hundred. Sorry, kid."

Blair shut his eyes and let his reined-in panic roam free. Shit, shit, shit, shit! He only had five hundred dollars, total. The repairs wouldn't leave him with anything like enough to make it to New Mexico, let alone whatever he'd have to pay to stay in an up-market resort town like this for a week! He leaned against the hot metal of the van's door, hugged himself and quietly flipped.

The Sheriff's cellphone rang. "Ellison?" he responded. "Uh huh. OK. Yeah. OK, Shirl, I'm only at Tony's, I'll be right there..."

Blair watched through his hair as the Sheriff climbed back into his truck. "I've gotta get over to the school, Tony. Sounds like Daisy Parker's broken her arm."

"Oh boy! Daisy again?" Tony grinned. "That one sure is shaping up to be a real trouble magnet."

"You're telling me," Jim sighed, slamming the truck door, turning the key, the engine roaring into life. "Doc's already on his way, so I shouldn't be long. Keep an eye on Gerry Garcia for me, huh. I'll be back in less than an hour, I hope."

"Sure thing, Jim. Give my love to Daisy's mom; hope the kid's alright."

Jim nodded as he pulled out into the quiet street, and Tony turned back to Blair. "So. Kid..."

"Blair."

"Sure, Blair. Whaddaya wanna do about this?"

Blair sighed. What could he do? He shrugged. "I guess you'd better go ahead and order that pump, I'm not going anywhere without it." Blair sensed the mechanic's hesitation and reached into his jeans for his wallet, counting out the bills and handing them over. "Here's three hundred," he said as Tony shook his head. "Take it," Blair insisted. "If it costs less, I trust you to pay me back. If it's more, well," he shrugged. "I'll get the money. I just need you to know I'm not some down and out, I'm good for it. Go on."

Tony took the cash from Blair. "You know, there's really no need..."

"Sure there is," Blair said, smiling tightly. "Look, man - Tony. I'm sure it's pretty obvious that I don't have a whole lot of cash, right? If I've got to stay here a week, I'm going to need to sleep in this van. Is there anywhere we can put her, where she won't be in the way?" Or more to the point, where she won't arouse the Sheriff's ire.

Tony looked down at his hands, clutching Blair's money, thinking. "Sure kid," he said. "I'll get her towed out back to the orchard, you can stay a while; a week anyways. Ain't no running water or nothing, though. You'll have to drink bottled and wash in the men's room. You OK with that?"

Blair's face split in a grin as he bobbed lightly on his heels. "Oh, I am so OK with that, man. Thank you! That is so... Thanks." He put his hands together, closed his eyes as if praying.

"Hey, no sweat kid, just don't give me any reason to regret it, OK."

"No way, man!"

"Cos I don't think Jim likes you too much, you know what I'm saying?"

"I won't be any trouble, Tony, I promise you. You won't even know that I'm here..."

"Cause, if anything happens, kid, you're out, you hear?"

Blair nodded. "I promise!"

"OK. Well, look... I can't do anything about it till after Joey gets back from lunch. You wanna take yourself off, take a look around town? There's a couple nice places to eat. Ed's down eighth street there, or Barb's diner just next door..."

Blair grinned, remembering how the Sheriff had told him to stay at the garage. "Yeah, I'm starving. And thanks, again. Really, man, you've totally saved my life here."

"OK, kid. See you after One."

Tony turned and walked back inside his Garage; Blair headed off down the street, avoiding Barb's diner where Marla'd said she'd be waiting. The last thing he needed right now was to have the Sheriff find him chatting to her again. If he was to survive this week and get on his way in one piece, his best bet was to stay out of Sheriff Ellison's way, and that definitely meant, no more Marla."

Beaver Falls was, Blair thought, an undeniably attractive place; clean and tidy, with neat brick and wooden buildings; flowers cascading from every window. Beyond the town lay lush flower meadows and thick forests of aspen and pine, dark, wooded hills and snowy peaks; all very beautiful and way beyond his budget.

Main Street was packed with B&Bs, dark little wine bars and expensive boutiques, already stocking designer ski wear in anticipation of the coming season. The restaurants were predictably chic and over-priced, but he kept on going, turning off the main thoroughfare into the narrow streets of a cheaper neighborhood, where he found a funky little second-hand bookstore and coffee shop that looked just his kind of thing.

A bell tinkled as he stepped into the cool interior, grateful to be out of the heat of the street. A girl with purple and red hair, black lipstick and a nose ring beamed at him from behind the counter.

"Howdy stranger!" she said, grinning. "Long time since we saw a new face in here. You don't look like a tourist -not the kind we get in Beaver Falls, anyway."

Blair gave her his best smile. "Well, I'm not a tourist, that's for sure," he said, stepping up to the counter. "I broke down, just outside of town. Hi, I'm Blair, by the way," he smiled.

"Hi Blair, I'm Sugar" the girl said, blowing him a kiss.

"Hi Sugar," he laughed. Man! What was it with the women in this town? Blair wondered. Maybe it was just a fresh-meat-in-the-gene-pool kind of thing. He never got this kind of reaction from women at the U. "I'm looking for somewhere to eat that's not going to max out my credit for the next ten years."

"Well, you've come to the right place," she said, twisting flirtatiously on one heel. "We don't have what you'd call an extensive menu," she pointed to the blackboard menu behind her. "But it's all good."

Blair glanced quickly through the bill of fare. "What's the soup today?"

"Pea," a male voice piped up - a man of about twenty in a stained cook's apron came out through the door to kiss the purple haired girl's cheek and lay a proprietarily hand on her shoulder.

Blair took a step back.

"This is my brother, Jake," the girl said returning the man's kiss.

"Your brother!" Blair grinned, bouncing slightly in relief.

"Twin brother," Jake said, wrapping flannel clad arms around the girl. "She's my big sister..."

"A whole nineteen minutes older than him."

"You new in town?" Jake asked Blair.

"Kinda. My van broke down. Tony says it'll take a week to fix so I'm stranded here."

"Where are you gonna stay, Blair?" Sugar asked. There's nowhere around here `cept upmarket B n'Bs and really pricey ski lodges."

"I'm gonna sleep in my van - I hope. Got an old VW; Tony says I can leave it parked round the back of his garage so long as the Sheriff doesn't object..."

"Sheriff Ellison?" Sugar smiled. "He's a sweetheart!"

"He is?" Blair gaped.

"I don't know about that..." Jake added. "He's a weird sort; a loner, you know. Lives all on his own up in Mac Sandie's old cabin. Doesn't really socialize."

"He's sweet," Sugar pouted. "He comes in here most mornings, always the same order; coffee and a buttermilk donut," Sugar explained. "He seems kinda lonely. I feel sorry for him."

"You so have the hots for him!" Jake grinned.

"I so do not!" Sugar said. "He is very cute, for an old guy, but he's almost as old as Dad."

"He doesn't like me much," Blair said.

"You met him already?" Jake asked.

"When my van broke down. I was chatting to this girl, Marla..."

"Marla Cunningham?" Jake asked.

"Yeah..."

"Man. The town bike!"

"Bike?" Blair asked.

"Yeah, man, you know - everybody's had a ride...?" Jake laughed.

"She's a slut," Sugar added. "A rich slut too. Her Daddy owns half this town."

"Yeah, man," Jake said. "Watch yourself if you get involved with her. Her dad's fought off half the men in town. He's rich and he's got a mean streak a mile wide."

"The Sheriff seemed to think she needed protecting from me."

They both laughed. "You sure he wasn't watching out for you?"

"Absolutely certain."

Sugar giggled. "He probably sees you as some predatory stranger come to town to mess with the women."

"Yeah, that is so my style," Blair grinned, ruefully. "He called me a filthy gypsy, hippie transient..."

"Whoa!" Jake laughed. "Man!"

Sugar laughed. "Transient?!"

"Yeah," Blair grinned. "Cool huh? I kinda like it."

"So, you've got a place to stay - how about a job?" Jake asked.

"A job?"

"Yeah man, we really need the help," Jake said. "It's just the two of us here; gets really busy lunchtimes and at weekends. We couldn't pay you much..."

Sugar rolled her eyes.

"OK, anything," Jake shrugged, "But if you help out here, we'll feed you. And we'll vouch for you, if Ellison's being difficult. If nothing else, if you've got a job, you aren't a transient."

"Oh man, that's... That would be perfect! But... you guys don't know anything about me..."

"Let's just say, I'm a good judge of character, Jake smiled. "And, like Sugar says, it's just so good to see a new face in town..."

"Someone like us. You know," Sugar shrugged. "Not like - them."

It was cold tonight, Blair thought - colder, even, than usual. Always was cold in the van, despite the throws and hangings and cushions Naomi'd decked the place with. But he was snug and warm, wrapped in his favorite afghan - a hand-woven Navajo blanket with a picture of a wolf - with a mug of hot chocolate and marsh mallows, and a pile of soft cushions to snuggle in to; it was his childhood encapsulated in an experience - all the smells and comfort and warmth of Home. He hitched a little deeper under the blanket, laying his still-too-hot chocolate down on the pile of books beside the futon and made himself comfortable as he read; muttering the words to himself, the better to get a grip on the concepts his brain was refusing to absorb.

"How or for what could the soul grieve? Whatever possesses Existence is supremely free, dwelling, unchangeable, within its own peculiar nature. And can any increase bring joy, where nothing, not even anything good, can accrue? What such an Existent is, it is, unchangeably." He lay the book against his knees and rubbed his hands over his face. "Oh man, what does that mean? My brain is mush tonight."

"You work too hard."

"I'm trying to understand!"

"What's to understand? Just let go."

"Detach with love? So, Mom, why are you always in my head?"

"What's this nonsense you're reading?"

"Don't change the subject!"

"Isn't that what you always do when you're avoiding a difficult situation?"

"Yeah! Where'd I learn that?" Blair asked. Naomi giggled. "And it's not nonsense," Blair said, pushing his glasses back up his nose. "It's The Enneads. By Plotinus. He was a teacher, from Alexandria, an early student of the Buddha..."

"Ahhhh. Well he has a very cold way of looking at the soul. To be free is to let nothing touch you? That can't be right."

"OK, how about..." Blair picked up another book, pages fluttering with stickies and quoted; "it is the soul that wanders off when we sleep, that lies in the shadows, and that peers back at us from the surface of the pond. Most of all, the soul explains the mystery of death: a lifeless body is a body permanently deprived of its soul..."

"That sounds more interesting. More Plotinus?"

"Marvin Harris. An Anthropologist."

"Oh."

"Don't say `Oh'! He has some very interesting ideas. I mean, pan-cultural beliefs about the soul are so diverse! Did you know, for example, that the ancient Egyptians believed we all had two souls, and so do many modern West African societies. The Ecuadoran Jivaro tribe believe we have three souls, the second of which has to be captured through a drug-induced visionary experience at a sacred waterfall. The Dahomey say that women have three souls, men have four..."

"All very interesting, I'm sure, but you can cut the anthro-speak with me, baby. It all depends on what you mean by a soul."

"And why you're always in my head? Holy shit!"

Someone hammering loudly and metallically on the door made him jump, dropping the book and almost spilling his drink. "Better hold that thought," he muttered, stumbling free of his blankets, forgotten books falling to the floor, making him trip as he pulled his glasses free of his ears, dropping them back on to the bed. "Urm, just a second!" he called. "Who is it?"

"Ellison!"

"Aw shit."

"Your policeman friend!" Naomi chirped.

"He's not my friend," Blair muttered.

"If you can't love your neighbor, then change your neighborhood," Naomi smiled.

"Oh! Nice theory, Mom." Blair pinned a smile to his face and wrenched open the door.

"What's going on?" the Sheriff snapped. "I hear you've taken a job down at Jake and Sarah's caf...?"

"Good evening to you, too, Sheriff, would you like to come in, have some hot chocolate?"

"No. I don't want any hot chocolate..."

"I can make coffee..."

"I wanna know what's going on! You said you were just passing through. Now you've got Tony to set you up here, you've conned a couple of nice kids into giving you a job..."

"Oh, hey now, you just wait a minute! They offered me the job. You were threatening to throw me in jail if I didn't move my van, what was I supposed to do?"

"I don't like you, Sandburg, and I don't want you in my town."

"Well that's tough, Sheriff, because you've got me. For a week. One week, that's all it's going to take to get a new fuel pump and be out of here. Believe me, I want to go every bit as much as you want me gone, but in the meantime, if I choose to work, make friends, date girls, whatever, I really don't see that it's any of your business. I`m not breaking any law, which is where your dealings with me begin and end."

"That remains to be seen," Jim glowered, glancing around inside the van, sniffing past the top layer of smells - chocolate, coffee, incense, candle wax - searching, like a sniffer dog, for the drugs he was sure were there - but coming up empty.

"Whatever, man," Blair sighed. "Look, I've got no beef with you, just - please; just leave me alone. I promise, I'll be gone before you even know I'm here."

"I'm watching you, Chief," Jim said with a glare, turning to leave.

"I'm sure you are," Blair sighed, closing the door.

"Before you judge a man, first walk a mile in his shoes," his mother's soft voice intoned behind him.

"Because then he'll be a mile away, and you'll have his shoes."

Naomi sniggered. "That's very good, honey..."

"Mom, you've gotta get out of my head! I feel like - every time I turn around, I'm bumping into you."

"Like living in the van."

"Yeah."

"You love this van."

"It's my home, but maybe... Maybe I finally grew up, and it's getting a little too claustrophobic in here. Maybe it's time to get off the road and settle down somewhere."

"Not Beaver Falls!"

"No! Like I could afford to live here, even if I wanted to." He reached for his wolf blanket, lying crumpled on the floor.

"Diichi made that, you remember?"

Blair smiled, holding the blanket lovingly, pressing it to his face; the warm, familiar smell flooding his senses with nostalgia. "Of course. Ben said I had a wolf's spirit."

"Yes."

"I always loved Shiprock."

"You got on so well with Ben Skyhorse."

"I loved him. I thought, for a while, he might, you know - be my dad..."

Naomi laughed. "Too old baby! Way too old for me!"

"Yeah, well...What with everything, you know, I've been thinking a lot about Shiprock. We had good times there."

"We did."

"And the Shamans. How they climb the rock, spend the night up there, the whole `vision quest' thing..."

"And...?"

"I'm afraid of heights."

Naomi laughed. "Oh baby! `Come to the edge...'"

"Aw Mom. I'm too tired for poetry."

"Come to the edge," she repeated.

"I can't; I'm afraid!" Blair answered.

"Come to the edge."

"It's far too high!"

"Please come to the edge."

"And he came to the edge..."

"I pushed him off, And he flew!"

Blair turned to rearrange the cushions and blankets on the bed. "Mom, I loved it there so much, why did we leave? Why were we always leaving?"

"There were always new places to discover, greener grass, new horizons... whatever. I don't know. You used to love to explore, to discover new places."

"Yeah. How did I get to be so introspective; so unsure of myself?"

"You died."

Blair sighed. "Yeah. I did. Is that why I've lost the taste for the gypsy life?"

"Freedom is just another word for nothing left to lose?"

Blair laughed, slumping back down on the bed, reaching under him for the glasses he was sitting on, singing back; "Nothin' don't mean nothin' hon' if it ain't free, no, no. And feelin' good was easy, Lord, when he sang the blues..."

Naomi joining in; "You know, feelin' good was good enough for me. Good enough for me and my Bobby McGee."

They lapsed into thoughtful silence, until Blair said; "Is that who I am, Mom? Am I Bobby McGee?"

"He's lookin' for that home and I hope he finds it," she intoned. "But I'd trade all o' my tomorrows for one single yesterday..." They fell into silence again. "I would so, too," Naomi said, sadly.

"Yeah, mom, me too. Me too."

Blair yawned, covering his mouth at the last moment when he remembered he was in company.

Sugar grinned. "Not a morning person, huh?"

"Hmmm?" Blair murmured sleepily, stacking Jake's fresh-baked muffins on to a plate.

"That's your ninth yawn this morning, hon, and that's just the ones I've seen."

"Oh, yeah. Kay," Blair nodded, devoting his attention to stacking the muffins just right.

Sugar chuckled, tucking a stray lock of Blair's hair back inside his hairnet. "Look, why don't you take a break and have a cup of real strong coffee. Then, maybe, you'll be in a better state to face the day?"

"Coffee sounds good," Blair nodded. "I can do coffee. "

Sugar steered him towards the door to the shop. "OK. We open in five; there's always a few early birds and it's going to get really busy by eight so I need you awake, Blair!"

"What about the donuts..."

"Not ready yet. Jake makes `em last thing so they're good n fresh. It's the smell that gets folks banging on our door, begging to come in and spend their money."

"Marketing course at Springvale," Jake said, grinning. "Don't be fooled by the grungy exterior, Blair. She's a hotshot in the making. Won't stop till our little coffee shop's the next Starbucks."

Blair grinned as Sugar thrust the muffin plate into his hands and propelled him into the shop.

"OK, set the plate down there, Blair. Coffee's ready," she took a deep, appreciative sniff. "We make the best coffee in town; always hot n really strong. If folks want it a little weaker..."

"I add more water from here," Blair said.

"Or cream..."

"In the jug in the fridge. Milk - cold in the big jug, hot from the hotplate..."

"Froth it up using the nozzle..."

"Uh huh. And malted milk for Toby Johannsen," Blair said. "Red hair, freckles - he's the only person who ever orders it. Got it. Not bad for a coffee deprived, non-morning person."

Sugar handed him a mug. "You had any breakfast yet, Blair."

"Cupboards are kinda bare. I haven't really had a chance to shop, yet."

"What's your favorite muffin?"

"Urm... I like them all. Banana nut?"

She popped one on a plate and handed it to him. "Drink your coffee, eat your muffin. I'm gonna open up now. And Blair?" she said, unbolting the front door, switching the `closed' sign to open.

"Uh huh?"

"You can lose the hairnet when you're out front," she said, grinning. Blair nodded and pulled the net off. It felt good to let his hair free. He shook it a little. "But you be sure to tie it back when you're serving. Health regs."

"I won't forget," he said taking a swig of coffee.

"First customer!" she sang. "You ready?" She grinned at Blair as the bell on the door rang and Sheriff Ellison walked in, taking off his hat and sniffing the air appreciatively. "Morning Sheriff. You're early, Jake's only just put the donuts in, can you wait a minute or two?"

"Sure thing, Sarah. Man, those cookies smell good!"

"Cookies? Jake hasn't started the cookies yet, Sheriff. Must be the muffins you can smell."

"No, no it's definitely..." The temperature dropped several degrees as Jim's gaze fell on Blair.

"Morning Sheriff!" Blair kept his smile warm, though his heart was pounding. Ellison had a way of making him want to run and hide his head in a bag. "Urm, why don't I go check on those donuts, huh...? Sarah?" he said, with a grin, retreating to the kitchen, after a withering look from Sugar, who only tolerated hearing her real name from Ellison and her mother.

"Why do you dislike Blair so much?" she asked, handing Jim his pint of coffee to go.

"I don't know him well enough to dislike him," Jim said, avoiding Sugar's huge brown eyes.

Sugar `pffed'. "You've had it in for him ever since he got here. He's a sweetheart. I don't understand..."

"I don't like his type."

"His `type'?" she gasped in disbelief. "How is his `type' any different from me, or Jake, or Sally Loomis, or any of the Springvale College kids...?"

"It's not how he looks..."

"It's not?!"

Jim shrugged, uncomfortable. He didn't want to fight with Sarah - Sugar, whatever she was calling herself these days. He liked her and her brother. He just didn't like them getting so close to this Gypsy kid. He was a rogue element, an unknown who'd infiltrated his community, like a virus. He made Jim uncomfortable on more levels than he knew he had. "I don't like drifters."

"Blair's hardly a drifter. His van broke down..."

"He's got no roots..."

"And you can tell this - how?"

"It's just there, it's something in him. I've met his type before and they're always trouble. I'm warning you, Sarah. You've given the kid a job here, but you don't know anything about him. He could be wanted somewhere..."

"Well then you'd think he'd've picked a less conspicuous and more reliable getaway vehicle, now, wouldn't you? I think you're being very judgmental - and harsh! You should try to get to know him. He's a sweet, kind soul. We like having him here, and we do so trust him."

"Look, Sarah, I don't wanna argue this with you. I'm just looking out for your safety, is all."

"I know. I just... I think you're all wrong about Blair. I don't understand why you're being so mean to him for no reason at all that I can figure."

And, truth was, Jim couldn't figure it, either. He was working all on instinct and that wasn't like him. There was just something about this kid - something beyond the hair and the earrings and the clothes, and the damn, psychedelic van - that unsettled him. It was palpable; physical. It made him tingle; made the hairs of his body stand on end; made his nose twitch and his heart pound. He had no idea what it was, just a `feeling'; something that came over him whenever this Sandburg was around. He didn't understand, and that made him irritable; made him angry - made him take it out on the kid.

Right then, Jim's arms goose-bumped and that cookie smell was back; he looked round to see Blair, emerging from the kitchen with a tray of donuts. The kid flinched a little when Jim glared at him - he was scared of him. Of course he was; he'd given the kid reason enough to be wary. So why did that make him feel so guilty?

He switched his attention to Sarah, who was taking the tray from the little hippie. Little was right; for the first time, Jim saw that Sarah had a good inch on him. Skinny too; Jim wondered how long it was since the kid'd had a home-cooked meal. Then wondered why he was wondering that. What did it matter to him what the kid ate? It was probably drugs that kept him so thin. Six days. Just six days now, and he'd be gone and everything would be back to normal...

"Sheriff?" Sarah was holding out a bag. "Your usual? Two buttermilk donuts?"

"Yeah. Yeah. Of course. Sure." He reached into his pocket for the money.

"They sure smell good this morning," she beamed.

"Yeah, they do..." Jim couldn't smell the donut at all. He loved the smell of Jake's donuts. He always knew when they were ready; the delicious scent tracked him down wherever he was, whatever he was doing. Some days, the smell was almost too much, so he felt he could actually taste the scent, on his tongue; through his lungs. But that couldn't be, could it? That would've meant admitting to himself that the old madness, the one that drove him to this quiet backwoods town in the first place, was reasserting itself. So he pushed it down, took a few deep breaths, and the feeling soon abated.

But this... this was even worse.

He couldn't smell the donut because that cookie smell was everywhere. But there were no cookies! Jake didn't bake cookies till the breakfast pastries were done. And that sound - a regular fast thumping. Like a drum, or a heartbeat, pounding in his ears. Suddenly he could smell coffee too, but not the regular, tempting scent of fresh coffee the store always had - this was so strong, too strong; like he'd bathed in coffee essence. Overwhelming and...

"Hey man!" The voice cut through everything; as if every other sound on the planet had suddenly died and there was just one voice, clear in the silence, and...

"Hey. Ellison. You OK?"

...Everything snapped back to normal - super normal. All the warm, homey scents of the coffee shop times ten. It smelled DELICIOUS! Those donuts, that coffee! There were voices, people talking - he tuned them out so he could concentrate on the fantastic sensations his nose was bringing him... Man! This was better than sex...

"Is he alright?"

"I don't know. It's like he's having some kind of seizure. Has he done this before?"

"Never. Shall I call the Doc?"

"I guess... Hold on, I think he's coming `round."

"Sheriff. Sheriff?" Jim realized Sarah was staring at him, round eyed with concern. The hippie kid had a hold of his arm, looking equally worried. He shook himself free of the kid's grasp.

"You OK, man? You had us worried there."

Jim leaned against the counter, squinting, turning his back against the light from the window that flared so brightly, for just a second. When he opened his eyes again, everything was back to normal.

"Why don't you siddown, Sheriff?" Jake was standing at his side now, supporting his arm. Gypsy Boy had moved away some, still regarding him with an anxious look that irritated Jim - how dare he feel sorry for him! But - so dizzy; closing his eyes...

...Finding himself sitting at a table, his coffee in front of him and the Gypsy squatting at his side, watching him. He could hear Sarah on the phone, talking to Doc Morrison.

"No!" Jim called. "Please, Sarah. Don't bother the doc, I'm fine now."

"You sure?" The kid - Sandburg - said. "Cos you look, like, really pale, man. No! Don't get up!" The kid was on his feet, hands pushing against Jim, keeping him from standing. "You look like you're gonna pass out. Just... just take a minute, OK?"

Jim sat back down. He could hear Jake and Sarah murmuring together; probably wondering what to do with him. At least Sarah'd put the phone down; he didn't need a doctor. God, why did this have to happen here, where people could see!?

The kid sat down at the table, watching him intensely. God, his eyes were blue...

"So, what happened there?" Blair asked. "This happen to you before?"

"No. Look, it's nothing. I just felt faint. I haven't had breakfast. It's probably just a blood sugar thing." Jim closed his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose.

"You look like you've got a killer headache brewing, there. You know, my Mom taught me a neat little trick for that. You have to imagine a set of dials..."

Jim flashed him a withering glare. The kid took no notice at all.

"No, honest to God, this really does work. It's like, uh, self hypnosis... No, urm, scratch that," Blair said hurriedly, seeing Jim's look. "More like, bio-feedback. OK? All very scientific. You have to picture these dials, like, on an old radio or TV or something, you know the kind of thing, right? Right?"

Jim nodded.

"OK. Imagine one of those dials is for your head. The pain in your head is really bad, right? About a... what? An eight? A nine?"

Jim gave him a look of pure contempt, which Blair ignored.

"So, I want you to shut your eyes... Come on, man, shut those baby blues, work with me here."

Jim cast a glance at Jake and Sarah, but they had their heads together, talking. They weren't watching him, anyway, so, with a deep sigh, he shut his eyes.

"OK. Now, imagine turning that head dial down, notch by notch. Are you doing that? Can you see the dial turning?"

Jim humphed.

"Alright, so it's going down. The pain's down to seven, six, five... keep turning, keep it slow, alright. Now it's at a four... A three... A two... A one, and... Open your eyes. How do you feel?"

Jim looked down to see the kid's hand was on him again, holding his wrist, no less. But the headache... was gone. He felt great.

"OK?" The kid looked genuinely concerned. Like he actually cared if he had a headache or not. Jim nodded.

"It worked?" He sounded surprised. Jim nodded again. "Alright!" The kid bounced in his seat. "Alright. That's great. It doesn't always, but... That's good." He stood up to go.

"Urm. Thanks," Jim muttered.

The kid looked around in pleased surprise. "That's OK, man, glad I could help," he smiled.

"Yeah, well... Thanks. That was... That helped." The headache was gone, but that wasn't all; everything else - the scents, the sounds - everything had settled into place; strong, but comfortable and so clear! He sniffed at his cup; coffee had never smelled so good, but then, Sarah made great coffee. She might look a little weird, with the purple hair and a ring through her nose, but her coffee was the best in town; Jake's donuts weren't half bad either. They were good kids. You shouldn't judge people by how they look...

"Good," Sandburg nodded, smiling. "Good. Well, you know, it's a good technique. My mom taught me how to do that, when I`d hurt myself, you know. I was always hurting myself! Trouble magnet," he grinned, pointing to his own face. Man, stop gabbling! Blair told himself. You sound like an idiot. God, this man makes me nervous... "Anyway, I gotta..." he pointed to the counter. "You know, work."

"Oh, yeah. OK, Chief. Me too." Jim got up, walked to the door.

"Sheriff!" Blair called.

"Huh?"

"Your breakfast!"

"Oh!" Jim grimaced in embarrassment, so lost in thought, he'd left his coffee and donuts on the table. He grabbed them up, and made a rapid exit.

"Whoah," Blair said when he'd gone. "Now THAT was strange!"

"Morning Sunshine," Linda Walsh, Jim's Deputy said, as he walked through the door. "Mmmmm. Jake's buttermilk donuts!" she said, closing her eyes in bliss.

"You want one?"

She patted her belly with a smile. "The nose says go but the ass," she sighed. "She says `no'."

Jim chuckled with some relief; he really wanted his donuts for himself. "Anything happen overnight?"

"Hmmm, let me see," she said, putting her glasses on and glancing at the duty book. "Got a call at twelve minutes past eleven; Christy Levitan reported a vehicle stuck in the mud near Snoqualmie Point. Officer Walsh went over but the vehicle had gone."

"Uh huh?"

"That's it," she said with a grin. "Another action packed night in Beaver Falls."

"Be grateful," Jim drawled, sitting down at his desk. "A person can have too much excitement; take it from me."

Linda smiled. "So, you don't miss all that `Major Crime', back in Cascade?"

Jim shook his head, dunking his donut and taking a big, dripping bite.

"Mmmmm. That looks goooood," Linda drooled.

"There's another, if you've changed your mind," he said, licking his fingers.

She shook her head. "Get thee behind me, tempter."

Jim bit into his second donut. "You know," he said, "I'm here now, so why don't you go home, Linda? Get to see your husband over breakfast for the first time this week."

"Ooooh, Bill, unwashed and unshaven, slurping coffee down his underwear. A tempting prospect!" she grinned. "A more pertinent question might be; why are you in so early? Again. Your shift doesn't start till nine."

Jim shrugged. "I wake early, I get bored."

"Well, you know what. I'm gonna take you up on that offer, Sheriff, and get off home. I'm beat. I've done nothing all night, but I'm exhausted."

"Nothing like boredom to tire you out."

"Well, this job is nothing if not quiet."

Jim grinned and toasted her with his coffee.

"You know, a little excitement would be nice once in a while."

"And I say, be careful what you wish for."

She giggled, picking up her bag and coat. "Glad I brought this, it's getting cold!"

"Mmm. Snow's coming."

"You think? So early?"

"I can smell it."

Linda laughed. "Yeah, right! What are you, a bloodhound? Anyway, I'm outta here. Enjoy your donuts."

"I intend to," Jim grinned, but when Linda'd gone, he set his breakfast aside and got the computer out of sleep. Getting the Washington State Police database up, he started a search on Blair's van - Legally registered to Blair Jacob Sandburg, resident of Cascade. Address was a trailer park; so the kid had always lived in that damn van. Figured. He checked for a police record, and... Bingo! Nothing much there, though. A couple of arrests; public order violations; one of several arrests, all students - environmental protests, no charges filed, and... Oh boy. The kid had a victim file. Wasn't expecting that. Interesting. And, ah, now there's a stroke of luck - filed by Major Crime, his old department. Jim sat in thought while he finished his donut, licked his sugared fingers, then got busy tapping out an email to Captain Simon Banks...

An hour and twenty to closing and Blair thought he'd never been so tired in all his life. His limbs ached; his head was pounding and his feet...! Man! He finished sorting a crate of books Sugar'd bought weeks ago and never got around to putting on the shelves, straightened with a groan and stretched his neck till it popped. "You work these hours every day?" he moaned, taking the mug of coffee Sugar'd brought him.

"Every day `cept Mondays."

"And yet, you live."

She giggled softly - she was tired too; she was just hiding it better than Blair. "You get used to it," she sighed.

"Tough way to make a living."

She shrugged. "Not really. Not like working at the lumber mill for fifty years."

"Your Dad?" Blair asked, taking a swig from his mug.

"Mom and Dad both," she said. "Like everyone else in town, once upon a time. It's easy to sneer at the tourist trade, Blair, but it's one heck of a better way to make a living than lumber."

"I hear that."

"Mom and Dad run a B&B now. They're doing OK."

"I'm glad," Blair smiled. "How about you?"

"We're doing good." She picked up an old SciFi pulp novel from the pile and flipped through its yellowing pages. "It is hard work, but we work for ourselves. No boss, no clock. And maybe in a year or two, we'll be able to take on some help," she shrugged. "Life could be a whole lot worse, believe me."

Blair nodded. "So, you were never tempted to leave town, head out to Seattle or Cascade? Only, you and Jake, you don't seem the small town type..."

"What? You think small town girls all wear denims and flannel like Marla Cunningham? Not that there's anything wrong with denims and flannel," she smiled.

Blair grinned, being dressed in that very thing.

"No, I know the gothy-grunge thing is a little weird for Beaver Falls, but there's quite a few of us counter culture types up here in the Cascades, babe. Don't you go judging us small town folks."

Blair held up his hands defensively. "Would I do that?"

"I think so, yeah."

"OK, maybe. Just a bit," he grinned. "Only, people who have a different take on life usually leave for the city."

"Well, for your information, cos you are really nosy, you know that? We did go to Seattle. I was at the U. Majored in economics, before you ask. Jake too; he worked in a wholefoods restaurant near Ravenna Park. That's where we got the look and the know-how."

"But you came home."

"Not a city girl. Despite the purple hair."

"It's good," he smiled. "That you wanted to come back. You must really be happy here."

"It's our home," she shrugged.

Blair smiled. "That's nice. That's... It's great that you didn't feel that need to get away from your roots you know; run away from home, like everyone else."

"Like you?"

"Me?" He laughed. "I never had anywhere to run from." He turned to neaten the stacks of books.

"Everyone has somewhere they call home - don't they?"

"The van's my home."

"Wasn't always, though..."

"Yeah, it was, actually. Me and my mom, we went everywhere in that van. So you see, when I need to run, my home goes with me," he grinned. "It's a good arrangement."

"Till the van breaks down."

"Ah. You found the fundamental flaw in my lifestyle."

Sugar laughed.

"Nothing new about that, though; the van was always breaking down! But, if you have to stop somewhere, you turn it into an experience. There's always something you can do, skills to learn, people to meet..."

"You're very positive."

"Yeah, well, positivity's a skill you learn like any other. Mom says, everything happens for a reason, and she's right. A lot of cool stuff happened when fate forced us off the road."

"Life is what happens when you're busy making other plans."

"Ah! A Lennon fan. Mom would like you! She loves her music. We always had music everywhere we went; the radio, mostly, and she taught me guitar, and we'd sing..."

"It sounds great, Blair. You must've had happy times together."

"Yeah, we did. We had really great times," he smiled wistfully, perching on the edge of a table, hiding his face in his coffee cup.

"So, where's your mom, now?"

"Waiting for me."

"She gonna be upset that you're late?"

Blair shook his head with a smile. "Not Naomi."

"She sounds cool, your mom."

"She is. Very."

Sugar patted him on the knee. "You look beat. Why don't you get off home?"

"'Store doesn't close for another hour."

"No one said you had to stay all the time, just help when we get busy. I mean, we're not even paying you! And it'll stay quiet now, till we close at eight."

Blair shrugged, secretly unwilling to trade the warmth of the coffee shop for the cold emptiness of his van. "I'd rather stay; help clean up, you know?"

Sugar rolled her eyes. "If that's what you want. I think you're nuts. I wish someone would order me to go home, I could sleep for a week!"

Blair got up. "Well, I've kinda finished sorting the books. I'll get `em on the shelves tomorrow after the breakfast rush. Would it be OK if I borrowed this one, just for tonight?"

"Don't see why not." She plucked it out of his hands. "Amazon Healer. The life and times of an urban Shaman. Wow! You can keep it if you like. It's been on the shelves forever. I don't think anyone else has ever even looked at it. We sell mostly pulp fiction and kid's stuff," she smiled, handing him back the book. As she did, the envelope he was using for a book mark slid out and on to the floor. "Oh darn, I'm sorry, Blair," she said, reaching for the letter. "Doctor Sandburg?" she read as she handed the envelope to him. "Is that you?"

Blair nodded, blushing slightly, grabbing back the envelope, tucking it carefully back into his book.

"You're a doctor?!"

"Of anthropology."

"Well, aren't you the mysterious stranger, Doctor Sandburg. You sure are full of surprises. I guess that explains the interest in Shamanism. And the nosiness," she smiled; smile slipping some, as she saw how subdued Blair had become. "Sorry. Did I cross a line here?"

Blair glanced back up at her. "Of course not," he said, his gaze sliding away as he played with the edges of the book.

"I didn't mean to pry or anything..."

He shrugged, and refused to meet her eyes. "You know, I think I oughta go help Jake in the kitchen," he said, turning to slip the little book into his rucksack. "There's a lot of dishes waiting to be washed back there."

"No, it's OK," Sugar said, a little panicked. Blair was so moody all of a sudden. She didn't know what to do, what to say. "I always help Jake stack the dishwasher; it's kinda when we connect. And you look so tired..." She felt bad - close to tears. She'd hurt Blair, somehow, but didn't really know how, or why the gentle, cozy atmosphere had suddenly gotten so charged - then felt a warm hand on her arm. Blair held her gaze; a solemn, sad look on his face.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't mean to upset you."

"You didn't."

"Liar."

She looked away. "I thought it was me that'd upset you. I didn't mean to snoop. I didn't know, about you being a doctor and all. It just surprised me. I'm sorry..."

"It's OK," he smiled. "It's not a secret or anything, but it's behind me now. I'm moving on with my life. It's just not relevant anymore. OK?"

"OK. So, are we still friends?"

He laughed. "I didn't know we stopped."

Behind them, the bell on the door rang. Sugar glanced round the bookshelves and groaned. "Marla Cunningham! What does she want?"

"I dunno. This is a Coffee Shop, so, coffee, maybe?" Blair smiled. "Don't worry, I'll get it...

"Hey Marla!" he called, as he got back behind the counter. "What can I do you for?"

"Oh, I don't know," she shrugged, hunkering down inside her jacket. "A skinny cappuccino?"

"Coming right up!" Blair turned to load the espresso machine, casting worried glances at Marla, who had a strange, tense aura about her as she twisted all hell out of the blue silk sweater she was wearing, "Everything OK?" he asked, mindful of Sugar, watching from the bookshelves in the other half of the store. Marla nodded half heartedly as Blair let the steam roar into the jug, frothing the milk for her coffee. "Chocolate?" he asked her, holding the sprinkler.

She shook her head.

"Oooo Kay. Well, that'll be two fifty, unless you want anything..."

"I'd really like it if you'd sit and talk with me," she blurted.

Blair gaped a moment. Marla'd gone back to twisting all hell out of her beautiful sweater. Weird! Blair thought. She wasn't this bashful last time they met... "Well, I don't know, Marla," Blair cast a nervous glance at Sugar, who was watching intently. "I'm supposed to be working, you know..."

"I'm sure it'll be alright for you to take five minutes off," she said airily. "Sarah won't mind. Sarah and I go way back, don't we, babe?" she called to Sugar, who had emerged from behind the books, watching Marla with a look of thunder. "Sarah's her real name, you know," Marla confided to Blair. "The Sugar thing started when she got back from school in Seattle, but no one in town calls her that."

"Well, whatever," Blair muttered, seeing Sugar's rage. Wondering what was really going on, here. "You know, I really have a lot to do..."

Then, Marla took his hand, and the world tilted...

A powerful pain gripped his head and shoulder. He could feel blows raining down, a strong arm gripping his wrist, hard enough, almost, to break bones; and he was pulling away, trying to break free, to escape the frenzied attack that went on and on and on...

"Blair! Blair! Oh my God! Call the doctor! No, get an ambulance... NO! Don't get up. I think you hit your head."

Blair opened his eyes. He could see feet. He was sweating - panicked, confused - what was happening? Where was he?

"Oh my God! Oh my God!"

"Shut up, Marla, you're not helping!"

"Oh no! Oh no! Is he OK? What happened?"

"He passed out. I think he's just over tired. I TOLD him to go home!"

Blair groaned. He must have fainted. Remembering... he was fixing coffee for Marla, then suddenly, feeling... terrible - right after she grabbed him...

Oh no. Not again.

Realizing he must've passed out and was lying on the floor of the coffee shop, he did a quick inventory. He felt sick and his head hurt. He sat up - instantly regretting it as a wave of hot, sick, dizziness washed over him. He lay back down, hearing Jake's voice; "Man, not again! Is it something in the water? They're going down like flies today!"

"Jake, call a doctor!" Sugar said.

"No Jake, don't call a doctor!" Blair muttered weakly from the floor. "I'm fine - will be, fine. I just fainted. It's nothing."

"You hit your head. You're bleeding!" Marla whined. She sounded like she was crying.

Blair reached up to where the pain in his head was worst; it was wet. Checking his fingers - there was blood, but not too much. He sat up again, leaning against a table, closing his eyes against the dizziness that wouldn't clear. "It's just a cut, really, I'm OK. This happens sometimes. Sorry."

"You do this a lot, Sport?" Jake was looking at him, smiling to hide the worry.

Blair smiled back. "I wouldn't say a lot, exactly. I'm just not used to real work, I guess."

Jake laughed. "OK. Look, we'd better put something on that cut, but your eyes look OK. I don't think you're concussed or anything."

"We should get him checked out," Sugar said.

"I can't afford a doctor," Blair said. "And I really am fine, now."

"Jake, can you get Blair some tea, good and sweet. You need to get your blood sugar up."

Marla reached over and slid a sugar cube between Blair's lips. "Here," she smiled. "This should help."

Man! Blair thought. The old Marla's back...

"OK, Marla," Sugar snapped. "I think me and Jake can take it from here."

"But... I have my car out front. I really think we should take Blair to see the Doc. Like you said, he could be concussed!"

"Blair says he's fine. We're about to lock up, Marla, so you have to leave now."

Marla glared at her rival as Blair watched; fascinated, confused and - OK, maybe a little flattered. More than a little. He'd never been fought over before. It was kinda cool...

Marla scowled in defeat, grabbing her coat and bag. "I'll come around tomorrow, see if you're OK, Blair," she said, standing and making for the door.

"You do that," Sugar called as Marla stomped out the door.

Blair cast a quick glance at Jake, who was giggling, shaking his head.

"What?" Sugar asked, glaring at both of them.

"Nothing. Nothing at all, big sis," he grinned. "You sure you're OK, Blair?"

"I'm sure," Blair grinned back.

"OK. Well, in that case, I'll get back to my kitchen."

"I can't see what's so funny!" Sugar said, after Jake had gone.

"I'm not laughing," Blair said, hauling himself to his feet, keeping his head down; his grin hidden behind his hair.

"You'd better sit down while I get you that tea," she said, holding Blair by the arm as he lowered himself into a chair. "You're REALLY sure you're OK, Blair, cos you still look a little peaky, you know?"

"I'm sure," Blair said, sincerely; holding his head in his hands when she turned away to make his drink. He felt bad! But it wasn't the faint or the blow to the head; it was the memory of those images - that terrible beating he'd lived through by proxy when he held Marla's hand.

"You know, Blair, you oughta watch out for Marla Cunningham," Sugar said from behind the counter. "She's engaged, you know; to Ed Brownlow - a big, dumb jock from Springvale."

"Uh huh," Blair murmured, massaging his temples.

Sugar slid a mug of hot tea under his nose. "Drink up," she said softly. "You need the sugar lift." She tipped his chin up, so he was looking up at her soft, brown, sympathetic eyes as she took an alcohol wipe and started dabbing at his head. "You gave me a horrible scare," she said softly, peeling a butterfly bandage from its wrapper and laying it gently over his cut. "That's quite a lump you've got there; it's going to bruise. Do you really do that a lot? Pass out that way? You should get some tests done. You could be borderline diabetic or something."

Blair smiled. It was nice to have people worry about him. It was a long time since anyone had. "I'm OK, Sugar, really. I'm just tired; I haven't been sleeping too well lately."

She sat back and watched him sip his tea. "I meant what I said about Marla, though. She always does this; hits on any new man who crosses her path. She's a pretty girl and a lot of guys take her up on her offer, if you know what I mean? And her fiancee's a really big guy. Big and dumb and jealous as hell. He has Marla's Dad on his side and you do not wanna cross either of them."

"Go on," Blair said.

"Red Cunningham owns half this town, including the sawmill and most of the lumber this side of the mountain, which means he holds a lot of livelihoods in the palm of his hands. Ed Brownlow's Dad owns the mill and practically all the lumber in Springvale, on the other side of the mountain. You get what I'm saying?"

"It's some dynastical thing?"

"Practically an arranged marriage. Marla and Ed have been `meant' for each other since they were born."

"How does Marla feel about that?"

Sugar shrugged. "Daddy gets what Daddy wants. Marla wants to go on being rich. That means doing what Daddy says, and Daddy says she should marry Ed Brownlow."

"Does he beat her?"

"Who, Ed?"

Blair shrugged.

"I don't know. She looks a little bruised sometimes. Says she's come off her horse. She has lots of horses," Sugar said, rolling her eyes. "Why. What makes you think he hits her?"

"Just a feeling."

"Well it wouldn't surprise me, that guy's got way too much testosterone. `Looks like something hanging in a butcher's shop." She grimaced.

Blair nodded, shaken by the images still haunting his head. But Sugar was patting his arm, saying; "Here's another one who never goes home. Are you ever off duty, Sheriff?"

Blair looked up to see Ellison walking in.

"I thought I'd missed you," Jim said, checking his watch. "I know I'm a little late tonight..." he cast a quick glance at Blair, sitting with his mug of tea. "Are you closed? I'm sorry, I'll come back..."

"It's OK," Sugar smiled. "We haven't had a chance to close up yet. Siddown," she said, leading Jim to a seat at Blair's table. "I'll fetch you some coffee."

"Actually, it was a cookie I wanted. One of those big ones, with the white chocolate chips, if you've got any left."

"OK!" Sugar said, surprised. "I've never seen you eat a cookie before."

"No, I don't... But I've been craving... all day... I..." he shrugged. "Not sure why..."

"Well you're in luck!" she slipped a bag in front of him. "Last one in the store! On the house."

"Oh! No, I..."

"It would just have gotten thrown out, otherwise."

"Well, thanks," he smiled.

"Might as well drink the coffee too," she said, putting a mug in front of him. "I already poured it, and you look like you need it. Keep your money," she said, touching the arm, reaching to his pocket. "It's on the house too.

"I'm just going to go check on Jake," she said to Blair. "I feel bad, leaving him to do all the work in there. It's just been one excitement after another, today," she grinned. "I'll be right back," she winked, disappearing through the door to the kitchen, leaving Jim and Blair alone, sitting across from one another; staring into their cups in embarrassed silence. Blair was acutely aware of Ellison casting glances at him, like he wanted to say something, but couldn't quite pluck up the courage.

"So... what happened to your head?" Jim said, after a long silence.

Blair touched the little bandage. "Nothing. I mean, nothing much."

"S' quite a bruise you got coming. You been pissing off the womenfolk, Sandburg?"

Blair glared at the Sheriff who was grinning as he sipped his coffee. Blair smiled back, recognizing a tease - acknowledging the attempt to break the ice. "I fell, actually; hit my head on a table."

"That musta hurt."

"Yeah, it did." Blair touched his head, gingerly.

"How'd you do that?"

"I just... fell." Blair murmured.

They lapsed back into a silence periodically shattered by the clatter of dishes being stacked in the kitchen.

"Urm... That dial thing..." Jim muttered.

Blair looked up at him warily. "Yeah...?"

"Tell me again how it goes."

"Urm... Well," Blair began, quietly astonished. "You picture the dials. You have one for your head - the pain in your head. Turn it down slowly, notch by notch, till the pain is gone. It's harder than it sounds to make it work. I was really impressed, the way you got it first time. You must have amazing mental discipline."

"Urm. Well. I don't know about that, Chief," Jim cast about the store in embarrassment. "I just... I... it helped, OK. So... thanks."

Blair smiled. "No problem, man. Glad to be of service."

"Anyway..." Jim leapt to his feet. "I've gotta be..." he pointed at the door.

"Yeah. Sure." Blair nodded.

"Things to do..."

"Uh huh," Blair nodded.

"Give my regards..." Jim gestured to the kitchen door.

"For sure."

"For the coffee. And the cookie. You know."

"Sure, man."

"OK, then. Well... I guess... I guess I'll see you..."

"Tomorrow."

"Uh huh."

"Pint of black coffee, two buttermilk donuts."

"Right!"

"Kay."

"Right. Well. I... gotta go..."

"Sure thing. See you around, man."

Jim nodded, flashed Blair a tight smile, then bolted for the door.

Jim stood on his porch, breathing deep, craving coffee. He meant to pick some up on his way home last night, but his stop off at Jake and Sugar's had made him late and the store was closed. He sniffed at the pre-dawn air - the weather was about to change, and soon. He could taste the ice, see it in the pinkness of the clouds hanging over the town below. The heady summer scent of pine sap was fading; nature was shutting down - winter was almost here. He'd better go see Tony about getting chains fitted to the truck before the snows came.

It was just hitting dawn; the first red rays of sunlight glowing in an indigo sky as Jim pulled into Tony's drive. Walking round to the office where the doors were all locked and the shutters down, he checked his watch; still only six-thirty. Damn! He should've checked the time before he left the house - this is what happened when you ran out of coffee. Now he'd have at least an hour to wait till Tony got here. Well, no sense in hanging around; he might as well go in to work and come back later. Even Jake n Sarah's wouldn't be open yet, and Goddammit he needed his coffee!

He was about to head back to his truck when the door of Sandburg's van shrieked open and the kid emerged with a steaming mug. The delicious scent wrapped around Jim's senses. Coffee...! Before he knew what he was doing, Jim was walking over to Sandburg's trailer.

The kid'd sat down on the van's steps, wrapped in an Indian blanket, warming his hands on his mug. His breath misted on the cold morning air and he was coughing slightly; his chest sounded... bad - wheezy and bunged up as hell. `It's cold,' Jim thought. `It's going to snow, for God's sakes, and he's sitting out in the open with an infected chest!' Jim forced down his irritation at Sandburg's infuriatingly casual attitude to his health. It's a free country. If the kid wants to sit out on a freezing day and catch his death from pneumonia, it wasn't his job to stop him and why should he care anyway? Five days... Five days and the little Gypsy shit'll be on his way - gone, and out of what's left of your hair, Ellison. Five. More. Days...

Blair's eyes tracked Jim as he walked over. Jim watched him tense, no doubt wondering what new bone Jim had to pick with him. Easy, easy, Jim told himself, moderating his stride, gentling his approach. "Morning," he called, cheerily; tipping his hat. Blair nodded, suspiciously. "I'm looking for Tony,"

"You're kinda early. He doesn't open till eight."

"Yeah, I..." he shrugged. "Hadn't noticed it was still so..." he gestured to his watch.

"Man, the sun's hardly up, yet."

"Yeah," Jim sighed, pushing his hands inside his pockets; leaning up against the van. Sandburg watched him, impassively, sipping at his coffee. There was a long pause.

"So... you want me to pass on a message?" Sandburg asked, before dissolving into another bout of coughing.

"Aren't you usually in work about now?" Jim asked.

Blair's eyes narrowed. "Sugar gave me the morning off," he said, defensively.

"I'm not surprised," Jim said, gesturing at Blair's bruised face. "'Fell' huh?"

"Yeah."

"Not the way I heard it."

Blair shrugged; looked away. "Word travels fast."

"Welcome to small town life, Sandburg." Jim looked out at the mountains; their snow covered peaks glowing pink and apricot in the sunrise.

Blair sighed and waited to see what the Sheriff really wanted. He was building up to something; probably some new harassment he could lay on him. There was another tense pause. Blair couldn't stand it a minute longer. "You want some coffee?" he asked.

"Thought you'd never ask," Jim grinned.

Blair smiled. Mollified -just a little. The guy seemed - what? - warmer, somehow, almost jovial, this morning. Maybe he'd misjudged the guy. Remembering how unexpectedly receptive he'd been about the dials and wondering if, maybe, he'd had that migraine all week? Blair knew all about bad headaches; be enough to make anyone grouchy. Now the Sheriff was feeling better, maybe he'd be a little less in his face? Maybe he'd be able to get through the rest of the week without getting himself arrested, or worse, after all?

Clutching his blanket round his shoulders and fending off another cough, he heaved himself to his feet and went back inside. Jim leaned over, curiously watching The Sandburg in his native environment, moving easily around a tiny kitchen - walls painted green, the ceiling, blue, with clouds. There were pine shelves that looked home-made, and brightly colored mugs hanging from hooks - everything had a home-spun feel to it that Jim found, he kinda liked...

"Black, two sugars, right?" Sandburg stood in the door, holding out a mug, still clutching the blanket; still coughing.

"Thanks," Jim said, taking a swig, feeling the hot, sweet liquid pool in his stomach. He smiled. "Oh. That's good," he sighed.

Blair sat back down on the step, watching with amusement. "You really love your coffee, don't you, Sheriff?"

Jim smiled some more. "Ran out. I was wondering what I was gonna do. It's another hour till Sugar opens up. Course, if I got truly desperate, there's always a jug of bitter, burnt stuff at work; God bless her, but Linda, my deputy, makes just about the worst coffee this side of the Cascades."

Blair chuckled, bringing on another bout of coughing.

"You should see a doctor."

Blair snorted. "Yeah, I should, shouldn't I?"

"Weather's on the turn. That chest sounds bad. You shouldn't sit out in the cold."

Blair looked up at Ellison, curiously. The man just went on drinking his coffee, eyes on the horizon. "Yeah, well..." Blair said eventually. "To be honest it's just as cold inside as out." He pulled the blanket closer about him.

"Maybe you should find somewhere else to live?"

Blair flashed a defiant glare at him.

"Just till you get on the road - hit warmer climes."

"You offering me a place?" he smirked.

Ellison shrugged. "It doesn't look too comfortable in there."

"It's very comfortable. I'm fine right where I am, thanks."

Jim nodded, racking his brain for something to say. Anything to keep on chatting. "Nice blanket. Navajo?"

"Uh huh,"

"That where you from, originally? New Mexico?"

Blair shrugged, regarding the man, a little puzzled. "I've lived in Cascade the last eight years. I guess, if anywhere's my `home', that is. What's with the third degree here, Joe Friday?"

Jim chuckled. "So, why'd you leave?"

OK, Blair thought; he was being checked out. Well, that was alright, he had nothing to hide... "Eight years is a long time to spend in one place."

"Most folks stay one place their whole lives."

"Not me."

"The eternal gypsy, huh?"

"That's right."

"So, you didn't like it in Cascade?"

"I liked it just fine."

"So, why leave?"

"Oh I don't know. Why would a person wanna leave all that rain and fog and snow and ice to spend the winter in New Mexico?" Jim grinned. "I'd finished school. There was nothing to keep me there anymore..." He looked up at Jim, who was looking down, scrutinizing him. "Sometimes it's just time, you know?"

Jim nodded. "And you made a promise to your mom."

"That's right." Blair fixed his eyes on his coffee. "We have stuff we have to do together."

Jim glanced down at the kid, who was staring into his coffee, the pulse in his neck was jumping from the pounding of his heart, but it was steady; not too fast. He clearly believed what he was saying. "Is it so important that you've gotta get down there right away, whatever the cost?"

"Actually, yeah, it is." Blair looked up at Jim, startled, realizing... God! Ellison felt SORRY for him. Damn the man! He had no right to pity him! "Look, I don't know where you're coming from on this, man, but, I'm not running away from anything, you know? I'm doing what I want to do." He started coughing again.

"You shouldn't be living in that thing with winter on the way.

Blair laughed. "I've been living in this `thing' all my life. I was born in this van, and I'm not plotting to take up residence in this cute little yuppie town of yours, if that's what's worrying you. I really, truly wanna be on my way, and in a few days, I will be. So don't fret yourself, soldier. As soon Tony gets my new pump fitted, I am SO out of here!"

"Kid, your chest's really bad. If you don't get it seen to and sorted out, you're gonna wind up with pneumonia." Again. "Why don't I take you over to Doc Morrison's? Just let him take a look. He can prescribe you some antibiotics that'll..."

"No way, man! No way am I putting stuff like that in my body. And you seem to forget, I'm not exactly burdened with wealth, here. I don't have the money for doctors and their drugs. I got my herbs n oils and stuff. I'm doing OK."

Jim snorted. "Suit yourself, puppy. You're gonna need more than a few herbs when the snow comes."

Blair shuddered involuntarily at the mere mention of snow. "I'll be long gone by then."

"You think?"

Blair risked a glance the Sheriff's way. Ellison just radiated concern; genuine concern. And worry. For him! Now he was confused as well as angry. "What do YOU care, man?"

Jim looked away with an exasperated sigh. Why did he care? And why was the thought of the kid in that freezing van, with an infected chest make him so anxious? It didn't make any sense! None of this made any sense. "It's gonna snow. When it does, you'll never get that wreck down these mountain roads."

Oh. OK. So that's it, Blair thought, strangely disappointed. "Well whaddaya want me to do, man?" he said, glaring up at the Sheriff. "I want to get out of town as quick as you want me out. I just don't have a whole lot of choices, here."

Jim shrugged, looked away. "Find some alternate way out?" Did he really say that? What was he thinking...!

"You want me gone that bad, huh?"

No.

"I mean," Blair gasped an exasperated little laugh. "I don't know what to do to get you off my back, Sheriff. I got a job, I'm paying my way, I'm even paying that damn transient tax you had your Deputy come over and lay on me. What have you got against me? Is it Marla? It is, isn't it? Oh man! Isn't she a little young for you...?"

"You got it all wrong there, sport. Marla's gonna marry Ed Brownlow..."

"And what, you're some self assigned protector of her virtue? Knights in armor went out with chastity belts, man. Or is it her Dad? He paying you to keep her away from doing what she wants?"

"None of this has anything to do with the Cunninghams!" Goddamnit! The kid had made him lose his temper, something he rarely did, and never when he was on duty. He clenched his jaw, swallowed his anger; lowered his voice. "All I'm telling you, is that it's going to snow, and when it does, this piece of junk is not gonna make it down the mountain. You could get yourself killed. You're sick, it's cold - only gonna get colder too, and if you want to spend the winter in New Mexico, you are gonna have to find an alternate way out."

"That's easy for you to say. What about my van?"

"Tony'd buy this piece of crap in a heartbeat..."

"Sell the van?! This is my home! She was my Mom's, I could never..."

Jim felt a wave of compassion for the boy wash over him, knowing what he did... He lay a gentle hand on Blair's shoulder. "She's on her last legs, kid. Sometimes you just have to let go."

Blair snorted. "Detach with love, huh?"

Jim shrugged; sighed. "Look, I gotta be going, I'm gonna be late. Tell Tony I'll be over later. You think about what I said."

Blair just glared at him.

"Thanks for the coffee," Jim said, starting over towards his truck.

"Whatever, man," Blair muttered with a sarcastic tone. "You drop by anytime."

`I will', Jim told himself, grinning; throwing an airy wave out the window as he drove off.

Blair looked up; tilting his face to the sun, shining brightly down, deliciously warm, as it climbed into a cloudless blue sky. "It is SO not gonna snow."

"But he's right about the van. You need to move on."

Blair sighed, pulling his blanket tighter; chilled all of a sudden. "Mom, I'm not selling the van."

"I know, but I worry. You're not strong. You know how the cold affects you..."

"I'm just fine."

"You died!"

"I did, didn't I? Doesn't change the fact that until that pump gets here, I'm stuck."

"You could find somewhere else to stay, till you leave..."

"No."

"Sugar offered..."

"I like my space."

"Of course, this is a nice place to be stuck."

"Nice enough."

"Could be a whole lot worse."

Blair nodded vehemently. "Bakersfield!"

"Muskagee!" Naomi shuddered.

"Hinton!" they chorused, laughing.

Blair giggled. "OK, I'll grant you, Beaver Falls is a nice enough place to be stranded."

"Sheriff's growing on me."

"Mom...!"

"He's very good looking."

"Every man you meet!"

"What if he's right?"

"It's not gonna snow!"

"How can you be so sure?"

"Because it's not. Because it can't."

"...Sam Waterstone spent the night in the cells." Linda said, going over the night log with Jim.

"Again," Jim grinned, rocking back in his chair.

"Had to take him out of Ed's Bar, drunk as the proverbial skunk."

"He give you any trouble?"

"Hell, no! That man's the nicest drunk who ever lived."

"He is very polite."

Linda grinned. "I couldn't let him go walking the streets in that condition, Ed couldn't serve him any more and wanted him out of the bar."

"Where is he now?"

"Still in the cells,"

"His home from home."

She smiled sweetly. "Thought I'd save something for you to do today."

"How thoughtful."

"That's me. So... A cookie?"

"Hmmm, urm... yeah," Jim muttered, mouth full of crumbs.

"No donut?"

"Felt like a change."

"Felt like a change?! Jim Ellison, you never feel like a change. You're Mr Routine. Today, you roll in late, something that has never been known to ever happen before, bringing coffee and a COOKIE?!"

"You know what they say, change is as good as a rest."

"If you say so, Sheriff. But, three calls in one night and Ellison eating a cookie for breakfast - I feel like the world's about to end." Linda started gathering up her belongings. "I am so looking forward to the weekend, I can't tell you. How about you, got anything planned?"

Jim shook his head. "I'm on duty, Saturday."

"You gone volunteering again?"

"It's Tom's daughter's birthday this weekend. I don't need the time," he shrugged.

Linda put her hand on his shoulder. "Yes, you do. You're looking tired, Jim. You feeling OK?"

"I'm fine."

"Sure you are. Headaches still bothering you?"

"Not much."

"See the doc."

"Maybe. If it gets worse."

• Jim found himself tuning into to Linda's heartbeat; steady and true. How could he hear that? But he could, though he had to reach with Linda, un like Sandburg. When he was with Blair, it was `there', all the time, at the edges of his consciousness, soothing; like running water, or birdsong.

He was doing that a lot lately; listening to folk's hearts. As if his senses were acting of their own accord; seeking one heartbeat in particular; one that he found especially grounding. He didn't like to think too hard about that, or who it was he was searching for. And anyway, how could he imagine he heard people's hearts beating? That wasn't normal - was it?

"Hey. Anybody in there?"

"Huh?" Linda was talking to him. "I'm sorry, I drifted off a little, I guess."

"My point exactly! Jim, how long you been getting these headaches?"

"A while," Jim sighed.

"A long while." Linda glared at him as she picked up her bag and coat. "Go get yourself looked at, Sheriff."

"Maybe I will."

"Do." Linda gave him a meaningful look before walking out the door.

When she was gone, Jim's smile slid away and he pinched the bridge of his nose. The headache WAS always there; the pain dulled now, but still present; like a mist, drifting around the backwaters of his head, the way the TV sometimes invades a dream. If he didn't think about it - didn't chase after it, the pain stayed manageable, but he needed distractions to keep it at bay. He picked up the remains of his cookie, changed his mind, put it back in the bag. He didn't know why he'd bought the thing.

Yes, he did. It was the smell; that delicious cookie smell that'd been haunting him for the last couple of days. He loved that smell. It took the headache away. He'd felt a powerful need to have it around him all the time; soothing, relaxing - easing the pain. So he kept buying cookies and kept being disappointed - the actual item didn't work. It was just another manifestation of this madness.

Then Panic started to rise as he remembered his last weeks as a detective in Cascade, when it all started; the stink, the noise, the unbearable brightness of light; hiding behind drawn blinds on moonlit nights; days spent indoors, in sunglasses, like a vampire - unable to bear the searing light of day.

Simon Banks began threatening him with doctors, then psychiatrists; all of this going on his report. He thought he'd never work in law enforcement again, eventually resigning before he was dismissed; leaving behind a job he loved, a home he adored...

But he'd made a new home here; he had no regrets. And things had gone great, until last June, and the search for little Daisy Parker; lost in the wilderness. Now he was relying on cookies to get him through the day. He grabbed the thing and threw it in the trash, suddenly revolted by the idea of eating any more. The insanity was back, and he was seeing things he couldn't see, hearing things he couldn't possibly hear - like heartbeats, God help him!

Which brought his thoughts back to Sandburg. He snorted to himself; another fruitcake! Maybe that was why he felt so drawn to the boy? Just thinking about that email from Simon; what that poor guy had gone through... No wonder the kid was a little cracked around the edges, imagining he was going south to meet his mom. But that wasn't his problem, and Sandburg would be gone, soon.

Jim wasn't sure how he felt about that.

"Marla's back. She's asking for you," Sugar said, leaning against the kitchen door with a `look'. "That girl just won't take no for an answer," she drawled with a smile.

"Dammit!" Blair threw down the kitchen towel he'd been using to dry dishes and cast Sugar a pleading look while her brother just grinned his face off.

"Cut it out, Jake, it's not funny," Blair snapped. "What am I gonna do?" he pleaded. "She won't leave me alone."

Sugar sighed. "I've told her you're busy. She says she'll wait."

"She came in this morning, too," Jake said, sliding the afternoon cookie batch into the oven. "She was out of here so quick when we told her you'd taken the morning off; I thought she must've have gone right over to your place."

"Maybe she did. I slept the morning through. Maybe she thought there was no one home?"

"Well she's back now. You want me to tell her to go?"

"No," Blair sighed, stripping off his apron and hairnet. "I'll do it myself."

Marla's face lit up when Blair shuffled out of the kitchen.

"Hey. Marla," Blair smiled, unenthusiastically.

"Ow," she winced, reaching up to touch his cut forehead. "I came by this morning but they said you were still sick. I was going to come over, but thought you might, you know, be resting and all."

"Yeah. I was. But thanks. For thinking of me," Blair said, looking anywhere but at Marla. "So... What was it you wanted?"

"Oh, I... I just wanted to talk. Could we maybe get a coffee and sit somewhere, a little, you know..." she threw a glare at Sugar, who was leaning against the counter, blatantly eavesdropping. "Somewhere a little more private?"

"This is a coffee shop, Marla. There isn't anywhere private."

"No, but I thought, we could go someplace else, somewhere like Ed's or the Copper Kettle or..."

Blair shook his head. "Marla, I'm working. I can't just walk out of here in the middle of the day."

"Oh come on, it's not exactly busy in here," Marla started to whine, switching to a pleading whisper. "Just a few minutes. I really need to talk."

"Why me?"

"What?"

"Why do you need to talk to ME? We only met a couple of days ago. We've hardly exchanged more than a few sentences since. I don't understand why you're so fixated..."

Marla looked away, hurt. Blair felt like a heel.

"Look, I didn't mean that like it came out," he said. "I just... you must have friends you can talk to, if it's something important?"

"No, I don't. Not real friends, anyway. The people I know are all too busy trying to score points off each other to listen - I mean, REALLY listen. And if it's something important, something REAL, well... They just get embarrassed. They don't wanna know."

"I'm sorry," Blair said, genuinely sad. "Everyone needs friends."

Marla shrugged, not meeting Blair's eyes. "There's no one I can trust to keep a secret," she muttered. "Not go running to spread the gossip. I guess you didn't grow up in a small town, did you Blair?"

"Well, no..."

"You have NO idea what it's like!"

"Look. Marla. I..." Reaching - what could he say? "I don't think it's such a great idea for you to hang around with me. I'm not exactly popular around here, you know, and... I won't pretend I'm not flattered by the attention and all, but the fact is, I'm going to be moving on in a couple of days. And you're engaged and all..."

"Who told you that?!"

"It's pretty common knowledge, isn't it...?" Blair said, realizing, then, that she wasn't wearing a ring.

"Was it the Sheriff? I'll bet it was!" she hissed. "He's so friendly with Dad. He tried to chase you off that morning we met, didn't he? What happened? Did he warn you about Ed? How jealous he's supposed to be, cause he's not!"

Blair gaped a little at the vitriol behind her quiet little outburst, wondering how much he should say. "No! Look, I don't know anything about your fiance, Marla. I just think... I'm just passing through, and..."

"Exactly. We're nothing to each other. I like having friends who aren't from around here. People who don't know every little detail of my life since I was born - someone who isn't involved, you know? I just want to be friends, Blair. And you... You seem so... nice, you know?"

Oh man. What could he say to that?

"Look, would you come out with me Saturday?" she asked, finally looking him in the eye. "It's my birthday on Sunday. Dad's throwing a big party; all my family will be there, school friends, lots of people, including Ed, back home from school, so he'll be around all the time and... then you'll be leaving," she squeezed his hand, locking a tearful glance on his eyes. "Saturday'll be the last and only time I'll be able to get away, on my own. I don't need for anything to happen between us, I know I have a reputation, but honestly, I just want to talk. I need a friend, Blair," she stroked her hand over his. "Please, be my friend"

Marla's sadness washed over him like a wave. He took her hand - cautiously, as if it might give him an electric shock. Unhappiness rolled off her, pulsing, unceasingly - she was broadcasting the depth of her misery for all to feel, but, it seemed, he was the only one picking it up. His eyes filled with tears in sympathy with hers, now rolling down her face. Blair swallowed hard, but his voice still came out rough - "Sure, Marla. I'd love to go out with you. Want me to pick you up...?"

"No!" she hissed. "Oh Lord no, don't... I'm sorry, I didn't mean for that to sound so..."

"It's OK," he said, squeezing her hand. "I understand. So, where should I see you?"

"Do you know Ditzy's? It's a wine bar on eighth. The front is painted bright red. Can you meet me there? About five o' clock?"

Blair nodded. "It's a little early, I'll have to check with Sugar..."

"It's just, the less like a date it looks, the better. Dress casual, and please, don't be late."

"You make it sound so clandestine."

She shrugged. "Please say you'll be there?"

"I'll be there."

"Thank you!" she said, with genuine relief, leaning over the counter to peck him on the cheek, before running for the door.

"What was that all about?" Sugar asked, sidling up to him.

Blair shrugged. "I honestly have no idea." He could still feel the aura of sorrow Marla'd left behind, like an unhappy memory that still had the power to torture, years after the event. "She asked me out."

"Blair, I'm warning you..."

"You're wrong about her, Sugar. She's so sad..."

"Sad? Geez. I wish I had a few thousand of sadness like hers."

Blair shook his head. "No. You don't. Take it from me. There's something very, very wrong with her life."

"So let her sort it out for herself. I mean it, Blair. Blair...?" Sugar grabbed his arm tightly, drawing his attention back. Blair's thoughts were all with Marla. The terrible things he'd seen, the pain he'd experienced - pain in body, heart and soul - still haunting him. "Blair, I don't think you get how serious this is! I like you a lot. I don't want to see you get hurt and bad things happen to men who get mixed up with that girl. If she's got problems, she's got the time and the money to sort them out for herself. Just... let it be!"

Back in his van, Blair lay reading, on his futon, fighting off sleep. He needed to read, to think, to sort things out in his head, but the day was catching up; the long hours, the stress, the psychic burn-out of his `chat' with Marla. He yawned deeply.

"You're going to try and help that girl, aren't you?"

Blair lay his book on his lap; let his glasses slide down to his nose. "What do you think I should do, Mom?"

"Whatever your heart tells you."

Blair snorted a humorless laugh. "Well that's good advice! I mean, that's what got me into this mess in the first place!"

"It's the only advice I know how to give."

Blair sighed deeply. "Don't you have some way of `knowing', Mom? I mean, being where you are, and all. Can't you just sorta... `SEE' what I should do or something?"

"I'm still just me; plain old me, honey. I have no special insight into the workings of the universe."

"It's just..." He hitched himself up, took his glasses off and crossed his arms in a businesslike fashion. "There's something so wrong with Marla, you know?"

"What do you feel, baby?"

"Just this..." he waved his hands around, helplessly. "Sadness. This incredible, soul-deep sadness."

"You said someone was beating her?"

Blair nodded.

"You can't see who it is?"

"No. Just that it's someone much bigger and stronger than her. There's something else, too. I think she's been raped."

"By this boy of hers?"

Blair shrugged. I just don't know. I can't see faces, anything. It's just this `feeling'; being beaten, being... touched. God!" He covered his eyes, wiped his hands over his face.

"Baby, don't. Don't reach if it hurts!"

"It doesn't, not really. But God, Mom, that poor girl! If someone's doing that to her... they've gotta be stopped, right?"

"Don't do anything that could get yourself in trouble, hon. Leave it to the professionals. Leave it to Jim..."

"So he's `Jim' now?"

"That's his name..." she said, defensively.

Blair chuckled. "Oh Mom! I wish..."

"What do you wish, honey?"

"I wish you were here. Really here, you know. I miss you."

"And I worry about you. I don't like you getting mixed up in this business with the girl. Go to the police..."

"Never thought I'd hear you say that!"

"I'm serious."

Blair laughed.

"What's funny?"

"I'm just trying to picture the scene. I'm walking into the Sheriff's office, you know, what with Ellison and his brave men and women in blue being such a fan of guys like me, and I walk up to the Sheriff and I tell him about these visions I'm having.

"You know, what, Sheriff Ellison? Someone, I don't know who, exactly, but Some Man is beating up Marla Cunningham, probably assaulting her sexually, too. It's probably her boyfriend, you know, the guy from the next town; the one whose dad owns half the mountain and is probably standing for Senator next year, or something.

"And I know all this, even though Marla herself has never reported these crimes, because I'm seeing it all, IN MY MIND! And I know for a FACT that it's true, because the VOICES IN MY HEAD back me all the way...' Yeah Mom," Blair picked up his book, put on his glasses and smiled to himself. "That'll go down real well. That's sure to endear me to Ellison and, indeed, the whole town."

"Smart ass."

"Takes one to know one."

"So what are you gonna do?"

Blair put down his book with a sigh. "I'm gonna meet Marla in Ditzy's on Saturday, find out what it is she wants to tell me."

"And if she confirms what you already know?"

"I'll tell her to go see the Sheriff, or call the police or... something. Mom, I'm not an idiot. I'm not going to go marching up to the Cunningham place, six guns blazing, now, am I?"

"I guess not."

"You guess right."

"You be careful."

"You know it."

"I love you, Blair."

"Love you too, Mom."

"What are you reading? Is that that Sentinel book?"

"Uh huh."

"Why are you reading that?"

"I like reading it. It was the subject of my thesis..."

"But why are you reading it now?"

Blair sighed, lowered his book yet again. "Because I want to. I love this book, It got me my doctorate."

"At what cost?"

"Mom...!"

"The last time you started reading that thing..."

"I know. But - it's different this time."

"Oh baby! Please don't tell me... Not another one?"

"...I don't know."

"Oh honey, no! Be careful. Better still, go. Get out of here!"

"I can't leave."

"Do what Ellison said, take the bus back to the city! You can get a train south..."

"I'm not leaving the van here all winter! It'll be a rusted wreck by the time I make it back."

"But Jim warned you, about the snow...!"

Blair marked his page and set the book down. "You like Jim don't you, Mom?"

"Yes. I don't know why. Me and the police have never exactly seen eye to eye, as you know, but he seems so... I don't know. Safe, somehow. Solid. Honest."

"Well how would you feel if I told you; I think he's the one."

"The one...? What? Not?"

Blair nodded.

"Oh honey! You think?"

"He's got all this weird stuff going on. I hadn't even considered it, till I started thinking - it was the way he took to the dials..."

"That's just a bit of self-hypnosis. Anyone could do that!"

"No," Blair shook his head. "Not right off, the way he did. And there's been other stuff too. Not least..."

"Go on."

Blair swallowed. "The way he's suddenly all over me."

Naomi gasped.

"He hated me when I first got here, you saw that. Now... It's like he can't get enough of me, you know? He can't keep away. I think it's that `Guide' thing, again. They're all drawn to me, Mom."

"I wish you'd leave town, get away. Be safe!"

"If I'm right and this Guide theory checks out, then..." he shrugged. "Let's face it, nowhere will be safe. They'll seek me out wherever I go."

"Oh honey...!"

"Look, Mom," he chuckled with mock bravado. "You said it yourself; Ellison seems like a good sort; safe and trustworthy. I mean, unless Burton was completely wrong, they can't all be like... You know? I mean, everything happens for a reason, right? And, here I am, broken down in this hick town and, maybe... Maybe destiny's at work, here?"

"Be careful, Blair."

"Once bitten, twice shy, right? Right?"

"I guess."

"And I've got you watching out for me, this time."

"Always, honey, you know that."

The Jaguar; glossy, black, sleek and strong, padded noiselessly through the forest. Blair stood, mesmerized; terrified by the animal's strength, grace and beauty. This couldn't be happening, could it? Not again? Remembering the last time he'd seen this scene played out; different Jag, same scenario, and he knew he should run and hide, but couldn't move, standing, transfixed; helpless as a baby bird as the massive animal loped ever nearer...

Then stopped, and sat, watching him, intently. Blair's heart seemed to pause with the animal as time slowed, each second seeming to hang in the air - and still the panther sat, inspecting him, waiting patiently for him to... What?

After a while, the big cat grew tired of waiting, letting out a mighty roar. Blair trembled, still rooted to the spot in stark terror, waiting for the dream to play itself out - waiting for the animal to pounce and rip him to shreds.

Instead, the Jaguar turned back to the forest's edge, pausing a moment to look over his shoulder, as if waiting for Blair to follow. When he didn't, the Panther roared once more, in obvious disapproval, casting the forest into breathless silence; birds fell quiet, even the rustling of leaves on the breeze seemed to still, until the big cat turned away at last, loping off into the shadows.

The banging that followed almost gave him a heart attack; so loud in the silence of his dream it tossed him right out of bed, where he came to himself, lying in a tangle of blankets and books, his glasses askew on his face. The banging was real, though. It was coming from the door.

"Oh, man." He swept a hand through his hair, pulled his glasses from his face and shook himself awake. "Just a minute!" he called, checking the clock - six am! Damn it! He'd be late for work. And who the hell was knocking on his door at this hour of a Saturday?

The knocking kicked off again; that loud, hollow, metallic banging that made his nerves twitch. "Alright, alright, give me a break here, willya?" he sighed, dragging the rusted door open to find Tony Falconi; unshaved and uncombed, his flannel shirt mis-buttoned and an angry, harassed look on his face. Blair pulled his hair back out of his eyes, thrown for a second - "Urm, hey man," he muttered sleepily after a long, confused pause. "What's up, did the pump get here...?" Obviously not, no one comes banging on another man's door before dawn on a Saturday because a motor part arrived. "What's up, Tony?" he asked.

Tony leaned one hand against the van. Taking a deep breath, he shot a glance at Blair, looking away again as he blurted; "sorry for the early wake up, Sandburg, but you're gonna have to find somewhere else to stick your van."

Now that, he hadn't been expecting. "What?"

"You heard me." Tony still couldn't meet his eyes.

"Oh man, come ON! Don't do this to me!"

"I'm sorry."

"What are you talking about?!" Blair practically yelled. OK, he was panicking. Where else was he going to keep the van? There WAS nowhere else. "I don't understand? It's just a couple more days..."

"Look, there's no point... This is not up for discussion. I had no right to say you could stay in the first place."

Blair just stared at the man, helplessly.

"This place, it doesn't make a whole lot of money, you know?" Tony blustered. "I'm mortgaged to the hilt, I've got my kid's college fees due and I just... Just be out of here by tomorrow, OK?" He turned to go.

"Tony, come on, man!" Blair pleaded. "At least tell me what's going on? What did I do?"

Tony paused in his retreat, not looking back; holding out his arms in defeat. "I'm sorry, kid. It's out of my hands" - he said, marching back to his truck, driving off in a screech of tires and splattered mud.

Blair slumped down on to the steps of his van, too stunned even to be angry. "Oh man," he sighed at the universe in general. "What the hell am I gonna do now?" *

"...So on top of everything else, I have to find some place else to put the van."

"Shit, Blair," Jake sighed, wiping his dough-covered fingers on his apron. "That's... that's gonna be a real problem."

"Tell me about it," Blair sighed. "I mean, he wouldn't even tell me why! Just rambled on about his mortgage and stuff..."

Jake and Sugar exchanged a look.

"What am I gonna do? It's just a couple more days! Why does everyone in this town seem to want to make destroying my happiness their life's work?"

Jake and Sugar exchanged another look.

"What?" Blair asked. "Do you know something I don't, `cos I am all ears, my friends."

"You know Tony's in business with Red Cunningham?" Sugar said.

"No, I didn't know. What has that got to do..."

"Like we told you, Cunningham owns half the town," Jake said, rolling balls of cookie dough and placing them on the oiled sheets. "Hotels, restaurants, garages..."

"And you think this Cunningham guy's told Tony to throw me off his property?"

Another look was exchanged. "We warned you," Sugar said. "About Marla."

"Marla?! What has Marla got to do with any of this?"

"...Warned you that her Dad doesn't like her playing away from home?" Sugar sighed, impatiently. "Bad things happen, Blair, I told you to be careful!"

Blair gaped, and laughed; a humorless, disbelieving `huff'. "And you seriously think that my exchanging a few words with the girl - unwillingly, I might add, I mean, she's the one who's been chasing after me, not the other way around! - You think THAT's why I'm being run off Tony's place?"

"Can you think of a better explanation?" Sugar asked.

Blair sagged against the table. "That's unbelievable! That's... It can't be!"

"Oh, it be," Jake said, continuing to space out his cookies.

Sugar nodded, sadly. "We know this town, Blair. We know how things work."

Blair stared at them in disbelief. "And he gets away with stuff like this?"

Sugar and Jake laughed.

"But it's INSANE! Even if I were planning to make a move on the girl, which I'm not, we've hardly exchanged more than a few words across the counter here. How could anyone think...? And who? I mean...? You're saying someone's been spying on her - us - talking here, and gone running to her Dad with... God, I mean, what have they been saying?!" Panic started to set in, then, as Blair began to understand the full implication of what Jake and Sugar were telling him. "But I've only ever talked to the girl! How could anyone think there was anything going on here?"

"Blair, we warned you."

"Yes. You did," Blair sighed. "I mean, what's going to happen if I see her again? Is the guy going to have me bumped off or something?"

"Don't think it couldn't happen," Sugar said.

Blair threw a glance her way, expecting a smile, but there was none. "You're serious?"

Jake shook his head. "I don't think he'd have you killed or anything, but he has the power to make it pretty hot for you."

Blair shook his head in disbelief. "This is unbelievable. I mean, it's like a movie. It's like `Deliverance' or something." Blair started untying his apron, all nervous energy.

"Blair, what do you think you're going to do?" Sugar sighed.

He glared at her. "I'm going to see the Sheriff."

"What for?" Jake asked. "'Sheriff can't do anything, even if he wanted to."

"Tony's not doing anything illegal," Sugar said, matter of factly. "He did you a favor, now he's rescinding it," she shrugged. "What's Jim gonna do?"

"And the Sheriff's a friend of Cunninham's," Jake said.

"I wouldn't exactly call them friendly," Sugar said.

Jake snorted. "Red Cunningham's had every Sheriff to date in his pocket, what makes you think Ellison's any different?"

"Ellison would never take bribes," Blair stated. Jake and Sugar looked at him. Blair shrugged. "Well, he wouldn't!"

Sugar smiled. "I agree. I'm just surprised to hear you saying it."

Blair shrugged again. "Just `cos we haven't seen eye to eye the whole time, doesn't mean I dislike the guy."

Jake and Sugar gaped at him.

"Well, I don't! I certainly don't think he's dishonest."

"You don't need to be taking money to be in Red Cunningham's pocket," Jake said. "Strings get pulled, people get jobs."

"You think Cunningham got Ellison his job?"

Jake shrugged. "Rumors were rife when Ellison came to live here. Folks were saying he'd gotten thrown out of some high-flying, high-paid job back in Cascade. No one knew why he had to leave, but whatever happened in the city, he pretty much walked into the job here. He was up against some stiff competition, too; local boys; popular guys, you know? Then Ellison turns up, right out of the blue and gets the job, just like that. Seems pretty strange to me."

"Maybe he was just the best candidate," Blair said, uncertainly.

"Yeah. Maybe," Jake snorted. "Look, Blair, you're wasting your time complaining to the law. And Ellison's not exactly your biggest fan."

Blair hung his head and sighed. "You're right, of course," he said, tying his apron back on. "It's just... it really sucks, you know? What am I gonna do? I've no place else to go. Oh man!" Blair rubbed his face, suddenly very tired.

Sugar rubbed a floury hand between his shoulder blades. "You could always sleep here; you know that. We have a spare room."

"Thanks, I appreciate that, I really do" Blair sighed. "But what am I going to do about the van?"

Jim parked the truck, but stayed in his seat; head back, eyes closed, listening to himself breathe, too exhausted, even, to open the door and step outside. The headache had been bad today; all he wanted to do was get home, crawl under the covers and sleep the winter through. Those bears had no idea how good they had it.

Man. He could smell everything, hear everything - things no human being should be forced to smell and hear. It made it worse that he was alone in the office with no distractions; everyone had the weekend off but him. It was his own fault. He'd volunteered, but they all had families; unlike him they all had lives beyond the station. In these last quiet days before the start of the tourist season, it was only fair that he take the weekend shift.

But he was so damn tired! How was he going to make it through till Monday? Jack Johannsen was doing the night shift tonight, which was a major relief, but his `problems' meant he couldn't sleep. It was getting worse with every passing day. He couldn't even raise the energy to drive himself home.

How he found himself parked outside Ditzy's was a puzzle. He hated this place with its bright lights and loud music and underage drinkers. But they had beer, and his shift was over; suddenly, the thought of a cool beer sounded very, very good.

Resisting the urge to card every other person in the joint, Jim averted his eyes, sat down at the bar and ordered a beer. Feeling strangely calm for the first time all day; thinking to himself how, it really must be simple exhaustion that was bringing the weirdness back, because, the minute he'd sat down, it was like the world, which had been slightly out of synch all day, abruptly snapped into place; everything was suddenly crystal clear - and the beer was good! Oh, so GOOD! God, what beer is this? He checked the label; some Belgian stuff. He should get some for the cabin. This was the best beer he'd ever had! These chips weren't half bad, either...

Blair sipped at his beer; the cold liquid felt so good; tingling on the tongue, sliding down his throat to pool deliciously in his near empty stomach. Better go steady, he thought, putting the bottle back on the table, resisting the urge to chug this one right down and order another. He hadn't eaten all day and the alcohol would go right to his head; add to that, he hadn't got much money and assumed Marla would expect him to be doing all the buying.

He sighed, leaned his head back, against the booth and closed his eyes, wondering again about the wisdom of this. He was just passing through, for God's sake. He had no intention of getting himself mixed up with local power-plays and politics and the love-lives of heartsick girls...

Ay, but there's the rub. He knew too much about people. His mom called it his `gift', but it felt more like a curse. He knew everything about anyone who chose to let him in, and Marla... Marla. He sighed. Man, that girl was a mess. Even after everything he'd heard - and they'd talked of little else at the shop, today - he still couldn't bring himself to let Marla go it all alone.

He had thought long and hard about coming here, tonight, after all that he'd heard from Jake and Sarah and their friends. Seemed Beaver Fall's entire counter culture - a half a dozen kids in piercings and kohl - met at the coffee shop on a Saturday afternoon; all keen to share stories and opinions on the Cunningham's, the Brownlows and the Police who were, like, SO corrupt and totally into preserving the status quo (man).

Not that he was inclined to discount anything they said. Their opinions were pretty much in line with his own, most of the time. His moods swung wildly through the course of the day; one moment skeptical, discounting it all as small town paranoia, and then he remembered how Tony'd looked this morning, when he'd ordered him off his property. Tony was frightened, and, let's face it, he lived here; he should know how things went down. What if Marla's dad really was as powerful as they said, and thought Blair was a potential threat to his little girl? Then Blair got angry - angry that he'd been spied on and gossiped about and that so much idle chatter was giving him so much grief.

Whatever the mood, his determination to go ahead and meet up with Marla, as requested, never wavered, because sadness filled her to overflowing, and it was more than he could stand. He'd tried to explain to Sugar, but she just didn't get it. How could she? All she saw was a rich, beautiful, Golden Girl - someone who would never have to get up at five am to bake muffins, or worry about meeting next month's mortgage. Marla had everything, and yet she had nothing. Jake and Sarah, in their small, harassed way, already had most things that would ever really matter.

As spoiled and annoying as she was, he had to try and help her. He couldn't live with himself if he didn't try. Standing the girl up was never an option.

He ran a hand, cold and clammy from the beer, across his face. It was so hot, still - a real Indian summer - glad he was only wearing a t shirt; an old red and black tie dye. He picked absently at a bit of dried dough that had stuck to his jeans, having taken Marla at her word to dress casual; not make this look like a date.

He felt sorry for the guys in suits, glancing round the edge of the booth at the row of sweaty men, ties hanging loose, lined up at the bar, getting a quick cold one in before returning home to the wife and kids after working yet another Saturday to pay the mortgage; pulling his head in like a frightened turtle, as Ellison stepped through the door and up to the bar.

Geez! What was HE doing here? Blair wouldn't have thought the Sheriff was a Ditzy's kind of guy. The place was all neon and chrome; serving overpriced, overchilled imported beers, and cocktails with pornographic names in radioactive colors to giggling co-eds and their jock boyfriends. This was a Marla place; not Ellison's bag at all. But here he was, propping up the bar with the corporate flotsam. The noise alone - eighties techno at concussion volume - must be killing him.

"Hey. You came!" Marla said, sliding into the seat opposite him.

"Did you think I wouldn't?"

She shrugged. "You weren't exactly what I'd call, keen."

Blair looked away. "I didn't want to date, you, Marla..."

"This isn't a date."

"I know. That's why I'm here."

"Am I really so ugly...?"

"Oh purleese!" Blair spat, then smiled, to take the edge off. Could this gorgeous girl really be so insecure? "You know you're not ugly! There's not a man in town wouldn't wanna be where I am now. If you weren't already engaged."

She shifted in her seat, glancing nervously around and sliding deeper into the booth. "Well, you see, that's kinda what I'm here about..."

"OK..." He waited for the rest of it, but got only nervous silence. "So, can I get you a drink?" He asked, as much to fill the silence that followed, as out of politeness.

She shrugged, glancing up at him with fearful eyes. "Can't I just share yours?"

"Go ahead," he said, pushing it towards her.

"Thanks," she smiled, lifting the bottle to her lips; drinking down most of the bottle in a single swig.

She took a deep breath and kept her eyes on the table. "Look, Ed, my fiance, is coming home tomorrow so I won't get a chance to talk to you again..."

"Go on."

"Tony says your pump should be here, Tuesday."

Blair shrugged, "Good. He hasn't said anything to me, but, then, we're not exactly on speaking terms at the moment..."

"When your van's fixed, I want you to take me with you."

"What?"

"When you leave, I'm going too."

"Marla..." Blair shook his head, as a vision of gun totin' Red Cunningham - played in his mind-movie by Brian Dennehy - in a big, black, bullet-proof car sped after his runaway daughter and her trailer-trash abductor, gunning him down on some lonely mountain road... This was getting more unreal by the minute.

"I don't wanna marry Ed..."

"So don't."

"You make it sound like it's so damn easy. It's not! You have no idea what my life is like!"

"Marla, you're over eighteen, you're smart and beautiful. You're a free agent. No one has the right to make you do anything..."

She flung herself back against the back of the booth with a gasp of irritation.

"...Walk away; get a job, get a place; make yourself a new life. I'll take you with me, if that's what you want; drop you off in Pullman or Boise or somewhere; but I'm not running off in the night. I don't want your dad chasing after us like a pair of runaway teens."

"You just don't get it, do you?" She said, tears brimming in her big blue eyes, leaning in close so she could keep her voice low. "My Dad has this town in his pocket. He owns everyone and everything..."

Blair huffed. "Marla, he's not God!"

"He might as well be! As far as Beaver Falls is concerned, he is. He's had this wedding planned for - ever!" She finished off the beer, playing with the bottle, fixing her eyes on her fingers. Taking a breath, calming herself, she went on - "Ed and I got on great when we were small. We were the only two rich kids around. Other kids didn't want to play with us, so we spent a lot of time together. Then we hit puberty and the marriage thing - it was like a done deal. Our Moms've been planning this wedding since Ed and I turned twelve. Our Dad's have set up plans, so their businesses work together; don't compete..."

"Isn't that illegal?"

Marla rolled her eyes. "Oh, it's a real cartel! Who's going to complain? They've already drawn up plans for how the merger will work when we're married and everything's in Ed's and my name; there are tax reasons for that, naturally. Neither dad or Sam Brownlow ever intend to retire."

"How does Ed feel about all this?"

She looked at him thoughtfully. Blair could see the idea had never entered her head before. Eventually, she shrugged. "I've never asked him."

Blair laughed lightly. "Well maybe you should? I mean, if he feels the same way..."

Marla shook her head. "It wouldn't make any difference. It doesn't matter to any of them how we feel. If I... he... we... if we tried to back out now..." she glanced around nervously, leaning in closer to whisper. "Even talking about it scares me. I don't know how much all this has cost already; I'm not just talking about the wedding; I mean all the legal stuff, business stuff. It's probably hundreds of thousands of dollars. At least! We can't call it off. He'd kill me."

"Who'd kill you? Who's hurting you, Marla? Is it Ed?"

"Ed?! No! Ed's the sweetest man. I love him. Just, not in that way, you know?"

"Well, Marla, I don't know what to say to you. It seems to me, you should talk to Ed, and maybe... Maybe you should go talk to the Sheriff?"

"The Sheriff? What could he do?"

Blair shrugged. Arrest the man that's hurting you, sprung immediately to mind. "I'm sure he could help you. He's a good man."

"No. No!" she gasped. "I couldn't go telling Jim the things I told you!"

"Why not? I'm a total stranger; Jim knows you, he likes you. I know for a fact how protective he feels towards you. Don't you trust him? I'm sure he'd help, if you'd let him..."

"No! God, Blair, no! Don't you go telling ANYONE what I've said, here. You have no idea. God, Daddy's so possessive. If he found out..."

"Marla, of course I wouldn't..."

"This is in total confidence! Blair, I trusted you...!"

"Marla, I swear, I won't tell a soul!" He laid his hand over hers, and there it was again - a wave of pure energy tearing through him like a nuclear blast, stripping the flesh from his bones. He had to put his head down on the table, gasping; heaving breath into paralysed lungs...

Trapped! A bird fallen down the chimney, beating its wings in panic and PAIN... Oh God! The terrible agony - kicks and blows, but, more... Worse - So much worse than mere physical pain was the mental anguish; the hopelessness; the all-consuming dark, utter despair and falling, falling, falling...

"Blair, Blair? Blair!" Marla's voice, dragging him back up from the well of despair he'd tumbled down. "Urghhh. Urmmmm..." Was that him making that God-awful noise?

"Are you OK?"

Marla was sitting beside him, in the booth...? Oh yeah, they were at Ditzy's. They were on a date - no, not a date; mustn't call it a date...

"I thought you'd fainted again. You were acting really weird, Blair, mumbling crap and DROOLING and stuff," she said, with distaste. "Do you have these seizures a lot? You should see a doctor, really, I mean, you're not safe to drive..."

"Oh man, thank God! I thought it was you!" - Blair looked up to see the barman - a tall, ginger, freckled kid with the most enormous Adam's apple bobbing hypnotically. "You're a doctor, right? Sugar Denevan said you were a doctor..."

"Toby, Blair's not a doctor," Marla sighed, rolling her eyes.

"Sure he is, Marla. Sugar says..."

"Well what would Sarah know? She doesn't own Blair, you know," Marla sneered, stroking Blair's arm possessively.

"Toby, right?" Blair interrupted, groggily, still addle headed from his little trip to The Twilight Zone. "Toby Johannsen. Steamed malted milk and a choc chip cookie."

"That's me, man," Toby grinned. "Look, I don't know what's happening, but I really need your help over here."

"What's the problem, Tobe?"

"It's the Sheriff. He's having some kind of seizure; raving about the chilli on the chips and the stink of garbage; says it's a health hazard and he's gonna get us shut down. I mean, I'd think the guy'd had just a little too much to drink, you know, only, he hardly even touched his beer."

Blair glanced `round to where Ellison stood leaning against the bar, gripping his head as if in terrible pain. Panicked at the sight, Blair jumped to his feet; forced to pause and grip the table for support as the room swam around him.

"Whoa, man, whoa!" Toby gasped, grabbing Blair by the waist. "You don't look so hot yourself" he said, gripping Blair's arm in support as he tried to get his body under control, step past