surely keen the blades of your mind abide
into the forge with youths' furious light
there is raiment to craft, glittering and
joyfully alive!

besparkle yourself with unquenchable radiance
hands easy and heart light with tomorrows' promise
know always confident feet that trod a path
sure to your soul's binding, always!

greatly does graciousness wend you forward
seeker, with dear hearts beating in adieu without regret joined as you face the new sun;
the way behind warmed with love and pleasures

the way ahead forever calling.

myriad unknowns cast no stain or shadow over
a brow smooth with sensual curiosity anon
no wraith pursuing for ill-gotten gains
your quest for tomorrows' bounty measures naught
to the scales of presumptuous peers

who languor bleary-eyed in alcoves of repose

not for you the comforts and ease of times'
demise; for your heart will always answer

to the waking cry of the peregrine instead of the farm's strutting a-doodle-doo.

feed on wild hearts and harts,

quenching your mouth in undiscovered springs welling
the worthy repast to a new hero-in-training...

(Untitled entry found in Rova's journal)

_____________________________________________________________________________________

Rescued

I was hiking in Pike National Forest near my home in the high country; just a short hike 'cause it felt like it could be trying to do more than the "slight chance of scattered snow showers in the afternoon above 10,000ft," all day. Late April was always a favorite time for me to be out and really cover some ground on the local trails and get a feel for how the forests were looking as everything woke up from the final hard weeks of Winter's denouement. Nearly all of the snow below ten thousand feet had melted, leaving only whalers in sheltered areas. Lupine and columbine and Indian paintbrush were beginning to bloom, as well as countless primitive tiny little white blossoms that were scarcely a couple millimeters across; the latter always in the lee of the occasional tuft of hardy varieties of various poverty grasses. Though it was over 40 degrees out, as the breezes strengthened over the Continental Divide I knew I'd have to hurry to beat the weather. A few persistent aches from old injuries were good personal forecasters to shifts in the all too often unpredictable weather that might otherwise be hidden from view by the craggy topography. Hiking alone, I was mindful and took care - and prayed that I didn't come across some stupid flatlander who was unprepared!

The old stands of pines and firs were looking good, with the aspen groves smelling wonderful as the sap rose and stained the trunks. Pine beetle infestation seemed to have slowed, a blessing as the last several years had seen an explosion in their numbers with whole stands decimated and turned into ready kindling for the next lightening strike or careless tourist. My breasts, pierced with gold rings started to ache as the icy fingers of the cold stole inside my sweatshirt and under my old, over-washed and oversized lavender cashmere turtleneck; and they rose and fell as I breathed the pure, thin air and my hands tugged at the straps of my pack. It was a good day to be alive. The sky showed nothing beyond the usual mid-level wave cloud front further West, an impossible blue only enjoyed by residents of the mountains and the high plateaus, a sign that something might have been blowing in behind me though the weather forecast had showed nothing of significance approaching the State. The effort of carrying my usual 40-pound pack uphill caused little rivers of sweat to wander under my clothing. Over a decade of calling these mountains home meant my legs enjoyed the work, taking the rough path and steep terrain with ease.

The antique silver and turquoise choker around my neck collected those fingers, telling me that the weather might be falling apart sooner than I'd planned. I smiled, remembering the first time my love fastened the gift on me . . .

Rounding a fractured granite knob scored with lightening strikes, a familiar landmark I could see from my kitchen window at home, I heard a terrified scream from just ahead! My heart tried to jump into my throat - a couple of deep breaths and I was back in control of myself and I was on full alert. This was mountain lion country, after all.

Edging around the granite boulder, I saw a girl lying alone on the ground dressed in the latest high-tech designer micro-fiber clothing and gaudy boots. Beside her was an oversized pack. Holding her right side, she screamed again, her jaw clenched. A few flakes of snow were starting to fall – if a full-fledged storm broke from the North from over the crest of the ridge behind me, I was going to be in big trouble. Upslope conditions could make for a snow event that could easily drop a foot or more in a few hours and I was still about three very hard miles from the trailhead of the twenty-two mile loop. I didn't need this. I really didn't need this...

The girl had long, thick wavy red hair, looked like she was in her early 30's, and had that phony salon tan on her face and arms. It's pretty stupid to expose bare skin in that kind of weather. Her wide-set, large, startling blue eyes stared around her in fright. She obviously went to some flatlander designer gym - she definitely had decent tone - but why exactly was she in pain?

As I was licensed to carry a Glock 21and had a pretty serious hunting knife and carnivore-strength capsicum pepper spray, before approaching further I looked at every shadow for predators - human or otherwise - covering the remaining distance with caution.

She noticed me past her grimace and self-absorption. Typical, but if you're hurt in the mountains you ain't got the luxury to just let go and cry. Panic widened those eyes till I started to feel like I was falling into blue pools. I shook my head to clear it, regained my balance and I smiled to reassure her. She smiled back. Perfect teeth. Sudden desire flashed through my body. I would have to be careful.

"Help me? Please, it hurts! I fell…"

"I'm Rose," I responded, my eyes narrowing. "I know some first aid and I'll take a look at it. A snow shower or worse is coming in soon. You shouldn't be in the open . . . "

She sat back against the foot of the granite knob with a sigh. My experience-built first aid pack was on my left hip. She whimpered a little, a wolf cub sound. I unzipped her designer vest, and opened her micro-fiber shirt.

Her breasts were covered with a beautiful hand-stitched teal silk camisole. I saw a nasty gash, bigger than my spread hand on her ribs, deep enough, the blood having coagulated with her spontaneous application of pressure. Easily a couple hours old, judging from the fact that the bleeding that had spread down her side was the consistency of red tar. It must have hurt like bloody hell - and that blood would be able to attract something I absolutely didn't want to have to tangle with. It was a hard, dry season before the snows came; and everything was waking up and hungry and out looking for food; including semi-wild domestic dog packs that formed up when people just abandoned pets that just got to be too much trouble.

Tilting my head to look I gently but firmly palpitated the surrounding area to make sure she didn't have any broken ribs. One or two cracked wouldn't surprise me, though . . . While listening to her breath sounds, I checked her pulse. I inhaled the scent of her, and found my senses swimming from the anise and heather and cinnamon of her perfume washed with the scent of sweat and blood and fear. Her lungs were clear, her pulse was nearing a hundred - and the snow was starting to fall in huge, silent flakes.

Feeling the cold intensify as likely both the mercury dropped and my exertion ceased I shed my pack, retrieved my parka and got it on, wrapping a length of soft red homespun wool into an improvised baklava; my battered wide-brimmed hat going over it snugly. I looked above and behind me and my heart sank. The aches had told the truth - it looked decidedly ominous from what I could make out.

"Focus on the patient, girl;" I thought.

Using trauma shears to clear away the interfering silk, and squirting a generous amount of Betadyne on it, I taped a coagulating pressure bandage on the gash.

I didn't have my cell phone with me so we were going to have to stay put and spend the night - time to get very busy! She murmured, " . . . thank you - I knew someone would come - it hurts so bad . . . " and just as quick as that her eyes rolled up in her head!! She sagged into my arm and I had just time to catch her shoulders and lower her to the ground.

Flat, hard fear gripped me. Unconditioned to the altitude, and maybe going into shock, she could easily die up here. "It happens pretty often, especially to someone coming up here from sea-level . . . " I checked her blood flow to her extremities by pinching her un-gloved finger - hard - and breathed a little easier when I saw the healthy pink color return fast, but she was shivering uncontrollably.

I ripped her pack open, to see what - if anything - she had that could be useful. Dusk had fallen and it was getting too cold to be outside of shelter. Thank the Goddess! She was carrying a popular commercial variation of the military's ECWCS parka in primary blue-and-red, along with a pair of three-layer Gore- Tex zippered black snow pants, a state-of-the-art PolarGuard mummy bag, a laminate ground cloth, an oversize closed-cell pad, almost 2 liters of water, and a Primus stove with a liter of fuel - all brand new. Her food supply only consisted of power bars, though - but that wouldn't be a problem. I always carried way more food than I'd need. Not even spare socks, a cap of any sort or a wool scarf. No rope.

She had a cell phone in an outer pocket of the pack. Damn! It was on, and the liquid crystal display showed it all but dead, the battery indicator blinking a warning. Dumb bitch!

No sense in bemoaning the obvious. I got my 3-person geo-tent set up (I loved being able to have room enough to stretch out whenever I spent a night on the trail, a quirk that had always made Monica shake her head and laugh); scavenged everything even remotely useful I could find from both packs, thankful for the pleated cargo pockets on both my Dutch military surplus pants and my parka. The packs got hung - we always carried rope up here - from a high tree branch about 60 yards away. Back inside the tent with my arms full and every available pocket stuffed I unrolled her pad and bag - it unzipped from either the top or the bottom - and arranged it near the center of the floor.

Then it was back for the girl, lifting her in my arms. She couldn't have weighed more than 110 pounds, and wasn't more than 5' 5" - so her bag would be huge on her. Shivering uncontrollably, her breathing was shallow and rapid. Laying her gently down, I sealed the tent. I needed to get her warm and quickly. Into the mummy bag with her, cover her and start removing her clothes. I left her in her camisole and panties "Oh Goddess! They match . . . " and put a spare pair of my wool rag socks on her manicured feet and zipped the bag shut. I contemplated getting in with her, but not yet, if her body heat would warm her enough. She needed a warm drink on hand, when - oh, please when – she came to.

With the propane stove lit and hissing brightly in the full vestibule and some bouillon cubes in a small pot of water I opened some of my homemade pemmican. My own recipe was tweaked by several seasons of making it myself and practically living off it when Monica and I hunted, traveling light for up to a week. It consisted of seasoned, smoked, dried, ground elk, cashews, dates, honey, thick-rolled oats, and sesame oil shaped into small bricks and triple-wrapped air tight. Lighting two 12-hour candles in their aluminum holders, I turned and saw that she was breathing more easily.

Her clothes went in a roll and with her feet elevated in the bag I sat back on my heels and stuffed my hands in my now empty pockets and I thought about Murphy's Law. The small tent was warming as the stove heated the water. The sound of the falling snow was softer, meaning that there might have already been an inch of it on the tent. Unzipping the bag, I checked her breathing and pulse again. Her pulse was down to 75, her lips and tongue were moist and pink and had the light gloss of some lip balm that smelled of cantaloupe - so I carefully slid my hand down to her firm tummy, and felt that she was still shivering intermittently. I began to wonder how long she might have been there, probably unconscious for a while. I unzipped the bag further to check her bandage, and though there was some nasty bruising that extended some 5 inches on the left edge, the bleeding had completely stopped.

Out of the direct wind and weather and with the basic necessities done for the time being I pulled back the bandage and examined the wound with my mini mag light. It looked like a deep, gouging scrape that peeled the flesh off and showed a bit of intercostal muscle at the apex, and I could see sparkles of granite and fabric fibers still in the wound.

Picking the slenderest point hemostat from my kit, I wiped them with an alcohol pad and in the steady light of the little flashlight I removed all the debris I could find, rinsed the area with some more Betadyne and replaced the bandage, zipping her back in. I fervently hoped it was just a snow squall outside. I wanted to get her out first thing in the morning; but there was a nagging concern that no big cat - or anything else - happened to scent that particular rock outcropping - or neither of us would last the night.

The water boiled. As I relaxed a little, I realized I was getting way too hot in ways that thermometers don't measure. I unwound the scarf and put my battered hat to one side and spread a favorite old rabbit skin for an improvised tablecloth. "She's just so helpless, and blatantly cute lying there in that mummy bag . . . " I poured two mugs of bouillon, turned the stove off to save the fuel and turned to find her eyes wide open, staring at me.

She tried to rise up, but her left hand went to the bandage and she froze. "I remember falling - but nothing about you . . . please, where are my clothes? Where am I? Who are YOU?"

I'd dreamed about a voice like hers, singing a descant to a low Finnish melody with a single drum . . . It was my heart!

"Um, hi. I'm Rose.

"I found you on the trail. You must've taken a pretty good header?"

"I thought I'd try and climb that big rock outcropping to get a view of the valley - but I guess I wasn't wearing the right shoes!" She laughed like a fresh bubbling spring until she took a deep breath and gasped in pain, screwing her eyes shut. Manicured fingers opened the bag and she managed a sitting position clear of the tent wall, wrapping it around her like an oversized throw.

"Can I have some of that? It smells good - but what is that other stuff?"

Realizing that I'd frozen in place so as not to spill the two mugs, I handed her one and a brick of pemmican. "Just sip it, and nibble the other stuff. It's pemmican I make myself, just for hiking. Monica and I love it."

"Monica?"

"My partner of the last ten years." I smiled at her apparent concern that she was alone with not just one, but two strangers; and saw her eyebrows disappear as her eyes got a little too wide.

"She's a medic up here, down in town today working a shift with Rescue - that's why you're likely going to be all right with just a good scar to remind you about your big adventure, instead of lying on the trail out cold, waiting to end up mountain lion food." She sipped, and nibbled. Perfect teeth. Oh. Goddess.

"If we don't die up here," I thought.

"You look like something out of some story, you know? I guess there's not too many places to go shopping around here, huh? What do you do? For a living, I mean."

"I live up here. Better that than anything in a city;" as my eyes took in every pore, every shape and shadow of her.

"But girl, you need some serious work! I mean, your nails are cracked, your hair is a blond mop, and your clothes look like you only shop in thrift . . . "

The innocent barbs hit home hard. A fiery flush rose from my belly to my forehead, my hands became fists and my breath ragged. I drew a deep breath. "One more word, and I put you back out in the snow and go home with a clear conscience - GOT IT?? Never talk like that to someone who's just busted ass to save your pampered butt!!

"Yeah, my shoulders are big, 'cause I cut our firewood; and my clothes weren't formulated by Dupont and marketed by a bunch of Bambi-huggers awash in marketing surveys and political correctness!" In retrospect, I was so mad I was probably spitting the words out like poison blow darts .

"I cut my own hair so it'll stay out of my face when I go shooting or hunting, and I never wear some designer perfume because it'll attract some hungry mountain lion or get you charged by a bear up here! Do you have a brain at all in that pretty head?!"

I think I straightened her hairstyle with that last outburst.

She sat very still, very meekly, and sipped, and nibbled some more. Oh. Goddess . . . Help . . .

"This is good. Thank you. Thank you for everything. The pemmican is kind of smoky-sweet, just like you. Is the storm going to last long?

"Your knuckles are white – you're not gonna hit me, are you? I am very sorry for saying that you know. Your hair isn't all that bad."

She caught my eye and grinned.

All my tension, years and years of it just evaporated, and I laughed quietly and long, listening to the tiny sound of the snow falling on my tent, her gentle breathing, the flickering sounds of the candle lanterns.

"She was beautiful. She spoke in a different rhythm, on-off-on, like a chant running through her mind. She tore my heart to shreds, breaking all those hard, cold walls I'd built so carefully against the outside world all those years ago when I fled the city after surviving rape for a second time - and she didn't know it at all.

"Oh, well - she's definitely 'A-A-O-times three!' Any signs of shock are fading fast," I thought wryly.

"Well, to tell you the truth, I know my hair is a mess and Monica wants me to go to a shop and have it done for real, but I never seem to be able to get up the nerve. I just can't talk to those kinds of people."

"What kind of people?" she asked in a puzzled voice.

"Oh, you know, fashion people and hair stylists and all. City people." I felt my face turning red and I turned and busied myself cleaning up the vestibule of the tent. I knew what it was that made my breath come raggedly between my barely parted lips.

I wanted her . . . Goddess, O so much, I wanedt to do her, to feel her. And then to show her life outside- up here; outside the city, the rules, the fashions, outside time. I swallowed. "She's a patient, idiot!" I smiled gently, hoping my green eyes weren't blazing as I fought for control.

"What's your name?" I thought she didn't notice. I still hadn't moved from the front of the tent, near the sealed vestibule.

"Deirdre." (Of course, it had to be, didn't it? The soft consonant modulation of her name made me swallow.) "Could I have something more to drink? I think your food's wonderful, but it makes me thirsty - maybe one of my power bars too?"

"Just some water for now, all you can manage - here - and I'd never have believed you were going to finish all that pemmican! How do you feel?"

"Safe (Yes. No. Yes.); but my side feels like I left a lot of me on that rock - can you stop the pain? Please?" She winced again, and reached to touch the bandage, her eyes wide and wondering, her breasts profiling against that beautiful chemise.

"Nope, sorry - but you'll feel better if you just lay back down - here, let me help - try and go to sleep?" (Do not think about her matching panties - no - stop right now - stop . . . )

She sighed, pulling her hair to the side, tucking her hands under the edge of the bag, her fingertips peeking, manicured nails catching the candle lanterns' glow.

"You hold me like I'm made of porcelain - I'm going to be OK, aren't I? I'm cold and I can't seem to warm up."

I realized that I was still almost kneeling over her. The palms of my hands were flames of want – I know I couldn't tell if she was anything less than molten. My rings ached, and tried to tug on my old cashmere with every breath. My thong felt like a harness, tight against my pussy as I leaned closer to her. Her name was Deirdre. Goddess. Yes. Yes. No…

I knew what I had to do and I both feared doing it and desired it with every fiber of my body.

"Deirdre, darling, it'll be morning before they get out here for us. And that's if this storm tonight blows itself out quickly. I think you were unconscious for a while out there . . .

"You need warmth and there's really only one way for that to happen. I'm going to slide into that bag with you for a while, maybe a couple of hours?"

She grinned, and shivered.

"I'll tell you what; when we get out of this mess I caused here I'm taking you off of this mountain and you're going to spend at least a day in the city with me and my stylist." Her huge blue eyes twinkled with excitement.

"You'll shop with my personal shopping consultant and have a total head to toe make-over! My treat!

"I really am sorry for screwing up, and yes, please! Get in here with me! After all this, I think I can trust you."

Deirdre snaked a hand out of the bag, pulled my face down next to hers and kissed me deeply, longingly and slowly. My eyes were open, and I saw new colors as my sunburnt blonde fell atop her thick red mane. The scent of her! I swallowed, hard; I wanted to drink, and taste.

When I could get my breath, she said; "That's a thank you for what you are doing for me; it's also a down payment on what I owe you. Would you like to have a new installment? Right now?"

I hesitated, unsure, thinking suddenly of Master. I was on the edge of doing this.

"It's Monica, isn't it; you love her don't you? I could tell just by the way you spoke of her a minute ago."

She took the lead now and zipped the bag open just a bit. I moved towards it and she eased over.

"'Love her' is a very inadequate concept, girl - and I have no experience with what is happening with you and me, here, now; none at all, ever..." She just blinked and her eyes dilated.

Shedding my parka and sweatshirt and boots and jeans and hiking belt with everything on it, I saw her against the blaze orange nylon lining, the pure color filling my eyes and seeming to have a life of its' own in the candle lanterns' light. I moved to lay beside her, to become part of something so new, unforeseen, a real definition of new want and desire I had never dreamed of. This close, her sweetness overwhelmed me.

Embracing gently in the warmth, closing the bag around us I matched her body curve for curve so that my heat flowed into her.

I took care not to touch or bump her bandage; and slowly we found comfortable spots to rest.

Whispering softly, wordlessly and with tender tiny kisses she slowly drew me out. Where sound became that soft chant that need teaches us, finally, sometime in life, I kissed back; her eyelids, her nose, her cheeks and her lips. It was cantaloupe-flavored lipstick! Our tongues touched and countless tiny electric currents flooded over me.

"You're warm," she whispered.

My fingers ached to do what I desired.

"Go ahead and do it before I rip it off for you," she said; smiling, blinking innocently.

I leaned back and found my shears, and - so carefully – I cut the straps to her silk chemise, pushing it free down to her waist. Perfections. I felt their smooth warmth. Her breasts flowed gently from her shoulders in clear easy shapes that formed the focus of my want; I saw her nipples springing from her areola; her rising flush of heat made her scattered freckles vivid. I knew her arousal as I began to touch, to tickle, down her breasts, around the nipples; touching tenderly in spirals that traced my own path inward, on.

I ached, and my rings were begging to capture those soft electric points of energy; screaming to be free from the layer of old cashmere to know her heartbeat, to let them lead me. Swallowing, I felt the silver and turquoise around my neck remind me who I was.

She breathed deeply, smiling openly into my eyes and as she did her nipples roughened and hardened. (Yes. Goddess; yes. . . )

Her kisses took on a deeper and more insistent tension. I became a supplicant to wants I could never have dreamed of when I stopped for my spare meal in the noon's knowing light. I surrendered, as I could no more resist her and fight my ragged ever wilder need. I relaxed into her, my lips parting fully and I sucked softly on her greedy tongue.

The realization of what I was doing stopped me. She was breathing in deep continuous rhythm, and paused with a puzzled look in her eyes. "It's Monica again isn't it?" she asked.

"Yes," I groan. "It is. And you're a patient!"

"She thinks nothing of this beyond the moment's shared desires! Her injury; this snow - we could very well be found up here entombed sometime next week! Well; as that could well be true, then...." I thought; wondering; uncertain; challenging myself, shaken by the intensities that were sweeping through me.

Her fingers were still tangled in my hair, both of us almost lost beyond any recovery in discovery and abandon; we had broken nothing of this spell she had woven.

"Let me tell you what we will do. This's my first installment of pay back. You just lay back and relax and let Deirdre send you to paradise. We can find a time when the three of us can get together, you and Monica and me, OK?"

While she was speaking to me, her hands were busy, touching and tracing the top of my thong. My eyes spoke as words failed.

I pulled my turtleneck off, and my very soaked thong joined the rest of my clothes at the side of the tent. I arched to her, the fingers of my left hand digging into my palm against my thigh. Naked but for thick socks, I could only wait for her to lead me.

A stray thought: "If our boots freeze in the night, I can thaw them easily enough with hot pacs later - if the snow stops in time."

She unzipped the bag more, wincing as her bandage reminded us both that we couldn't get too lost, not then.

Touching, tracing the thick flowing linked silver around my neck, she reached for the large center stone. "It's beautiful." The light touch brought me to feel the pulse beneath and I could only smile.

Her fingers went right to the right spots, drifting down my thighs, wandering through my bush. She gently and so carefully began to touch my pussy; easing her finger tips to the top of the slit and then inside my lips; carefully she pressed them back and allowed the moist heat there to take her fingers right down into my cunt. I caught my breath, bit my lip; a choking, trembling sigh escaped me.

She laughed and kissed me, pressing her sweet tongue over mine and around my mouth. Tiny kisses on my lips followed as her fingers made little kisses together on my clit.

Her fingers were so soft and her nails so well manicured that they did not scratch. Instead so sweetly they stroked me, stroked me; I felt the beautiful music of Eros ripple through my senses. My breath caught again; my eyes unfocused... My passion built and my rhythm began to move and throb to accompany that Finnish melody; that drumbeat pounding!

Slowly, for a long time; slowly, then deeper. Not yet faster, but deeper, my hips rose to reach her, match her, find her so that each cycle had the same numbers, but each one was deeper than before. For each pulse-beat, she had a gentle thrust. Three fingers. Never too hard and never too deep. Just enough to push my passion to a new level.

I breathed in her scent; and she stopped, one beat, two beats. I exploded to a fluttering tickling teasing touch!

My pussy was locked to her; fingers and wrist and arm surprisingly strong. A cry from my throat wild and clear reached up to the storm's wind.

Again it came and I cried out with passion's lightning's arcing through my mind, my lips, my collar, my rings, my clit; and my toes curled and my thighs locked again on her wrist. Wild-eyed with one final sigh, I stopped, trembling and laughing and the drum-beat gentled, eased from soaring, wild tympani to a warmer, richer, living pulse. A light sheen of sweat covered me, tickling as it found its' way down my shoulders, my ribs, between my legs, there adding to the wetness of my orgasms, making me want her face there, her mouth on me, tasting.

She gave me time to come down from that plateau, watching me with fascination; her teeth gleaming in the candle light, a look of desire and playfulness working at the corner of her mouth.

"It was effortless for her to do this, give me this pleasure - maybe she knows how lousy our real chances are for surviving," I thought, drifting, reality coming back to my mind quietly after a moment.

I felt contentment and complete peace. We smiled. . .

Her lips curved up into that grin, and she brought her fingers to my face, tracing the smile lines around my mouth, touching the crows' feet at the corners of my eyes, wandering to the hollows behind my ears.

Yes.

I reached up with my left hand and capturing her wrist I looked into her eyes and brought her fingers to my mouth. Her pupils dilated to where almost all of that blue was swallowed in widening pools of black as my lips took her fingers, my tongue tracing her, sucking, tasting the pleasures she gave me; and as I scraped my teeth along them she shuddered, and winced a little as she shifted more to her side, her eyes never leaving mine.

"Not now, Rose; not yet.

"That was my gift to you, and that's all we'll do until Monica is with us, OK? I know you trust each other and I won't jeopardize that relationship." She kissed me again and I wondered, "Who was the rescuer and who was the one being rescued?"

We snuggled against the cold and I pulled her clothes inside the roomy oversized bag and helped her dress carefully. The pain from her wound must've been intense but the only sign was a tightening around her eyes; sometimes a passing grimace. I slipped out, sat back and zipped up her bag against the increasing cold.

"Everything's going to be fine girl, I promise. Sleep, and don't worry. I'm going to build a fire so anyone looking will see it - 'cause I didn't check in with Monica before nightfall. She'll have people looking for a fire somewhere up on the mountain as a sign I'm OK.

"They'll be starting up the trail at first light for us. Trust me, and get some sleep."

"Yes, Rose, Mom!" Her sleepy giggle, barely audible,

"I can't wait to see you with strawberry blonde highlights, a real hairstyle and some good clothes. I can't wait to meet Monica and hold the both of you! Good night. . . "

I dressed again, leaving my now cold thong on the tent floor. Outside, pulling on my insulated parka and gloves I looked around. Five inches were down already, and it was still snowing in huge, heavy flakes. I looked up and saw the cloud ceiling was below the crest of the ridge behind me, and turning around I couldn't see the lights of the homes in the valley below. The thermometer on my parka's zipper read 16 degrees.

I gathered kindling and wood enough to make a bonfire that could be seen up on Pikes Peak. With thin shreds of magnesium from my firestarter tin, my knife on the pyrite stone ignited the kindling on only the second try. As the fire blazed crackling and roaring, I knew I'd fallen for the girl in my tent. Her name was Deirdre. I sat on my heels watching the snow fall, a thousand questions unanswered. Master, our relationship, her trust in me, her help that for all these years that had slowly been my healing, these were landmarks; building a life where my name is Rose. The girl read me in an instant as if she had known me forever! I only and always belonged to my love, but as the girl said, perhaps the three of us? "That would be different. . ."

My hands wandered up to my raggedly cut hair. I wondered what I could look like in a fashion-layered crop, and strawberry blonde coloring? "It was another place; a lifetime ago since clothes and such were really important," I mused, focusing inward, thinking about a long-buried past, listening to the wind.

I reached out my hands to warm them on the edges of the heat from the now raging fire. "Deirdre, Deirdre!" my desire called to the storm.

And on the wings of the wind my desire soared into the night.

_____________________________________________________________________________________

Chapter 2

Dawn breaks in the high country with every color and possible expression of the Goddess.

I had gone in to check on Deirdre twice during the night, and found her resting easily; her color good and her breathing untroubled. She'd slept like there wasn't a care in her world; sleeping in a strange woman's tent near timberline was something she simply accepted like a pebble dropped into a lake – a symmetry of ripples spreading, and then peace. Her implicit trust in me to see the both of us safely out of this moved me to reach inside my heart and just accept, too; because there were powerful emotions reaching for me.

I tended the fire all night, watched the sky showing scudding masses that raced towards the flatlanders so many miles away; watched the storm shift to the South and ease – to break, and show me a sprinkling of the brightest stars through a veil of overcast that finally quietly fell apart.

Into the dawn I watched and waited, where the early lavenders and grays and the deep stilted shapes of the forest gave me a knowledge of just how close we came to disaster. There were over 10 inches of thick heavy snow on the ground, and the trees looked like someone in the heavens dropped a bowl of 7-minute frosting on the mountains.

I watched the sun spear the shadows and hillsides below with white gold, and as the rays of warmth reached my face, I looked around and saw that – sigh – that any sign of the trail was completely buried. No choice but to wait for the Search and Rescue guys to come up in their snowmobiles.

We were only about 3 miles from the trailhead, but those were very steep miles; this trail not being one made in endless switchbacks but a hunting trail where the need to quickly and safely cover the miles into the interior was more important than the taming of the terrain.

Checking the thermometer on my parka's zipper, I grinned: it was only twenty-six this morning. "Another perfect day in Paradise." My morning's devotions included a silent homage to the mountains for providing us a safe shelter in the storm - and I was puzzled as I added more wood to the fire: so many hikers came to disaster hereabouts when caught in the open in just such a storm; all saying a fire was either impossible to start, or impossible to keep burning even on still nights.

I paused, reviewing everything. "I didn't see any means for her to make a fire! There is a stove and fuel - but not even matches!" I shook my head, rolling my eyes. "The time to question and observe everything has passed! I have to stop always being on my guard against that time, those people!"

Shaking my head I stretched and yawned.

That nagging little voice in my head persisted. "You were thorough - because the smallest thing can make all the difference between survival or death when the alarm sounds."

Looking over the site where I found the girl would be impossible - the snow would hold all the answers till late Spring now; but, thinking back - I did not find even matches...

My feet were cold from standing still. Time to focus on the priorities and stop growing lichen! I looked around critically.

On my own, I would probably have made it, but even then the risk of twisting an ankle on some buried limb or rock would easily have meant falling off the trail, going a-tumble dozens of feet down the mountainside – and someone "might" find what was left of my tired carcass months later.

I spread a couple green pine boughs over the fire so that the smoke column would rise as a signal to Search and Rescue, and Monica, that I was alive and kicking. The thick layer of coals would keep untended for a few hours: time to rest a little. My large pot full of snowmelt was waiting for the morning's wash by the tent's door.

I brought both packs off the rope and set them beside the tent and found my toilet kit and a few packets of freeze-dried food, stuffing my pockets.

After making my morning toilet beneath a huge fir and burying the sign in the still-thawed earth beneath, brushing the snow off, I came back to the tent and crawled through the vestibule.

Deirdre.

Awake, sitting up, wearing my spare wool sweater she squinted into the sunlight pouring in behind me and suddenly laughed like the glockenspiels of Prague on Easter morning!

Sitting down, my feet outside, I got out of my boots and knee-walked inside and zipped up the door, bringing my boots to rest near my thong and her discarded clothes.

"You really are unbelievable, you know? I've seen you moving around outside for almost half and hour and all I've heard you do is sigh once, and walk past the tent.

"The fire is still going? It smells wonderful! What's on the menu for breakfast? I'm starving! I need to use the bathroom, too – which tree is it?"

Kneeling back on my heels I was struck again with the look and the sound and the – I would behave, and tend to matters in their priority!

Grinning at her spirits I could only sigh and shake my head.

I dug out my bar of pine-tar soap, a packet of tissue, started my propane stove and brought the big pot to the burner.

Moving like a giant exotic caterpillar in her bag, she rolled once, and did the inchworm trick once and ended up beside me, her eyes wide, and brilliant.

"Good morning, hon! You have no idea how good it is to see you feeling so good – stay still! – and let me look at your side. Breakfast will be called soon and I already have everything out that you'll need – so –

She put her left hand up in her hair and bated her eyes at me and sat very straight, her teeth parted.

". . . give me strength. . ."

She laughed again, her eyes catching mine.

The suddenly iron-serious look in my eyes as my teeth ground brought her down only a little; but enough: "Yes, Rose."

I slid my hands up around her waist, lifted my old sweater up around her neck and the mummy bag fell down to her hips and all she had on was the sweater; and I almost voiced the wild sound that tried to rise out of deep inside me, giving breath to want that came, burned, and hungered. Sweat began to trickle down my back, between my breasts, and I clamped into self-control with feral desperation. I could feel my eyes blaze with a green fire that so awed Monica.

Deirdre held pose perfectly as if she were trained in meditation so I peeled the bandage away, looking at her wound in the bright sunlight that was filling the tent.

Clean. Raw, and larger than the palm of my hand, not quite as deep as I'd thought and no fiery redness, no sense of any infectious contaminant – but the spreading discoloration from the trailing edge where she was bruised showed she was already starting to heal! So, how in the name of the Goddess was she coping with the pain?? She must have felt like someone planted one of those old cast-iron frontier irons on her ribs, and forgot to take it off!

She remained in pose. Flawless.

I found a tube of anti-bacterial ointment, the stuff that is also 2.5% lidocaine, and drew a bead carefully, around the edges where the scab was trying to form and applied a sterile 4X4 and some waterproof tape. The old bandage would go in the fire...

I pulled the sweater off her, and she moved like she was in trance, effortless, making no sound, letting me guide her limbs and tend to her as if she had no input at all to her muscles. I had a thick cotton long- sleeve thermal tee shirt in my pack, and I pulled this over her, not letting myself see her shape, her breasts. I would stay clinical; I would keep control. She deserved my care, not my greed.

As my hands pulled the hem to gather at her waist (it was huge on her), she blinked and sighed quietly; and turning her head to face me, I saw her smile was back in full force.

"Did I do ok, Mom? How does it look? Will I scar?"

I shook my head in amazement.

"It's not hypnosis, is it? You're able to go transcendental at will, aren't you – how else could you cope with the pain?"

"I started yoga when I was 6, and I meditate every day! Silly! Don't look so amazed! It's easy – um, where did this shirt come from?"

I laughed till she got a case of the giggles that made her wince and calm. Opening my medic's kit, I took four of the ten self-heating hot pacs and tore the air-tight covers off the, placing two in each of her now- frozen solid hard-as-iron boots. To pass the time, I chased her into her clothes and the sweater and handed her a pair of thick blue wool socks and opened the South-facing window on the tent so we could watch the day develop.

I made a clear statement of being a little too objective in retrospect by having my back to her the whole time. She snuggled in close and we shared a quite couple of minutes and watched the trees begin to move under their burden of purest white as the thermal uplift strengthened with the outpouring of solar energy.

"'Morning-after regrets?' Does this mean I won't get your phone number?"

I laughed, shaking my head, and handed her the tissue and the bar of soap as she pulled on her boots and headed out the door. I picked up the hot pacs carefully with a frown and she sheepishly distributed them in her outer pockets.

"Just follow my tracks to the left, and you'll find the designated tree – and be sure to bury everything carefully, ok?

"I'll bring the kettle of hot water out to the fire when I hear you coming back, so that we can both wash up for breakfast – don't loose that soap, too!"

I watched her turn, and when she pulled her hair aside I saw the taut muscles in her neck. That control was costing her dearly – and standing in the snow she was realizing how close she was to dying, if someone – anyone - hadn't come along in time. She looked a little surprised, pausing , staring into the fire. . .

When she was out of sight (just barely, and my Glock was back on my hip) three deep breaths triggered me and I came to my center and found balance in the space of a few heartbeats. Being near her was like trying to make origami out of flashpaper!

Deirdre was a little more sober when she saw me by the smoking fire and we washed up in silence. I wondered if she'd ever used something as strong as pine-tar soap before but it was the safest stuff to use with the large carnivores that called this place home likely pretty close by.

At the sight of me pulling packets of food out she stopped looking around for signs of the trail (Oh, how I knew that look of controlled fear! ) and perked up.

"Breakfast! What's to eat?"

"Scrambled eggs and cheese with picante sauce, and pemmican, and hot chocolate – and I can do a pot of espresso, if you want."

Her jaw dropped.

"You mean it! OK, sure, absolutely! Espresso? How in the world. . .?"

And she saw my old Italian pot and the bag of coffee waiting beside the tin of cocoa; and I grinned from ear-to-ear.

Serving everything up in my surplus mess kit and filling our tin mugs ( I always carry a spare) with the thick brew of sweet cocoa and strong caffeine, we slithered back into the tent and shared the plate.

She ate ravenously – but somehow, with manners! I felt coarse next to that girl who, controlling pain and fear continued to demonstrate a depth of spirit that I had only glimpsed last night.

As I brought the mugs and mess kit to the fire I heard a thin sound curving closer, and looking to the West I saw a single-engine plane curving around the mountain.

Flying parallel to the campfire's smoke it began to circle, and its' wings rocked once-twice-three times.

Deirdre popped out of the tent like a cork, strain and excitement making her face a mask of hope.

"A plane! They found us! Can they get us out of here?"

"The waggle of the wings is the number of hours we should have to wait before Search and Rescue makes it up to us – wave – you're on videotape!"

We both were laughing, waving, and holding hands (I wasn't about to let her excitement get the better of her, and have her tear that raw scab, so I kept her right hand firmly in my left) – when she suddenly kissed me full on the mouth!

Oh. No. She couldn't possibly know that we were likely under a 450-1,500mm zoom lens, gyro-stabilized, too…

Oh, well. . . and I kissed her back, pulling her to me, her hand bringing my face down to her without a care in the world.

The S&R teams made it up to us before noon and I'd broken camp, packed, and we were headed back out in under an hour.

It was odd.

The guys on the team were all people I at least casually knew; yet they were almost formal with Deirdre, acting professional, like they were under FEMA scrutiny or something. She withdrew, almost as if she were shutting a door as she let the team package her for transport down the trail.

I was offered a ride, too; but pride made me tell them that I'd walk out with the foot team.

With the trail broken from their trip up, it took about 2 hours to make it to the trailhead.

There was a black Range Rover there, and a tall, ice-blond woman in her 40's who walked like she owned the place; and she took charge of Deirdre as soon as Rescue gave her a clean bill of health and had her sign a release form.

The Range Rover drove off, and the guys with S&R gave me a lift back home where Monica was waiting.

I was too tired by then to talk much, but when she had me in a hot bubble bath she asked me, "So, who is Deirdre Alexander, anyway?

"There was this woman in a black Range Rover who had Chicago ID, and said she was her bodyguard! Just who did you rescue, anyway, girl?"

Even with heavy circles under my eyes, I must've looked almost comical as my eyes bugged out.

"Huh?!"

"Itasca Design, out of Chicago! One of their lawyers or something called Walt, and then so did the Governor! Everybody was told in no uncertain terms that nothing would go wrong! Just who was that girl??"

"I dunno. I found her on the trail. I gotta go to bed now, OK? You can get the whole de-briefing after I get some sleep."

Almost four months went by.

In the mornings I saw the sunrise as the seasons changed, and I wondered as my heart still called to the East:

"Deirdre. Oh, girl, where did you go? We can't be done, not yet, please. . ."

And my dreams are of the wind and the sky; the ocean whispers my name as do the winds that wander these forests. Endless wing-beats fill my mind, my senses alive to a landscape that is unmarked to the passage of man. The owl is always my guide.

A Thursday night in late August:

Monica had been acting weird. Over the last 2 days, a couple of times I'd caught her looking at me, chewing on her thumb, grinning, not saying a word!

That's it – today she fesses up, or I swear I'm finally gonna flip her and not stop going down on her pussy until she tells me what I know she's holding back from me!

I'd gotten the house almost spotless, and there was nothing on her schedule with Rescue for the next few days, so I laid out scarves on each corner of our big brass bed, tucked a bottle of Asti in the fridge, and powdered myself with honeydust as sabotage. The leather dildo harness, and a few of her favorite toys were on her pillow – but the clitoral vibrator – the Ladybug – was under mine – and that would be the trap when she'd fallen sound asleep.

Wanting to make as much of an impact as I possibly could, I slipped on my best emerald green chiffon babydoll with the matching string bikini and my black thigh-hi spike-heel boots! I loved the way the silver and turquoise looked around my neck and on impulse took the matching heavy bracelet out of the little jewelry chest and slipped it on my wrist. "Three collars: my diamond pendant, the silver, and the formal steel! Life is so very good. . ."

I heard her check in with Dispatch when she entered the County but this time she was laughing! What the hell? Only another 15 minutes to wait – and oh, but she was gonna get it. . .

Her old dusty Grand Wagoneer with its' full light bar pulled up the hill and slipped into the garage.

When the side door to the garage opened my heart stopped, and I started to shake.

Deirdre.

Holding hands with Monica.

Walking to the front door.

Liquid waves of desire flowed through me and unable to stand I sat on the edge of the bed. All I could do was wait. Three deep breaths triggered the response and I left my walls far away and my wait – only a heartbeat or two more – took me to that triangular space I never spoke about, a wild and sacred place that had held my very being untouched for so long.

My senses returned when I felt Master's hands stroking my hair.

I came forward in my mind and jumped into their arms, laughing and kissing and tears flowed like rain from everyone, strong arms finding and holding.

They both sat me back on the bed and slipped my boots off, and then their shoes.

"Oh, this is so unfair! You brat! How could you – wait – you PLANNED this!"

"Yep! Gotcha!"

"Hi, Rose – and you have no idea how long I've wanted to say that! I had to leave – business stuff – and it took forever for me to make the time to come back with nothing on my schedule for a week! You see, I know I have to learn more about how the two of you live – without rules – way up here! I have to know the place that made you such a contrast of emotions, of abilities!"

"So, girl – you're going to be very busy for the next week – so let's start with dinner – and you're serving!"

"Yes, Sir."

"It's really true, then; everything you told me – I would have almost not believed, but for the way she surrendered to my touch in that tent!" Deirdre shook her head slowly, an impish smile working across her face.

"You have no idea – but I'll see to it that you do indeed by the time the week's up! You may even know a lot more about yourself . . ."

Their words trailed off as I stumbled into the kitchen.

Need coffee. Strong coffee. Set another place. Dinner was just going to be black beans and rice and some thin-sliced, grilled leftover roast beef. A few fresh plums for dessert. Maybe around midnight. No way. I had to do something better – we'd never had company over.

The whistling teakettle snapped me out of my fog.

I turned, and saw both of then in the doorway, grinning.

Monica laughed, and Deirdre joined in.

"Girl, you fell for this even better than I could have hoped! My favorite babydoll, all your good silver, boots, the works! What's wrong?"

I laughed weakly, "I think this is almost more than I can take – what do you want for dinner?"

"I know perfectly well what's in the fridge – and it'll do just fine – and where did that bottle of Asti come from? DeeDee, she has a wicked, wild streak in her that's a joy to see – but she's capable of the unexpected, let me tell you!"

"At least let me change – get a little space – I want to be able to enjoy just seeing you here; please?"

"Come here, lover. I know your body, and I know something of who you are – and Monica filled in the rest as we planned this. Go jump into your jeans and what – a sweatshirt – if it'll help you cope. I imagine you never expected to see me when you were already so open, just like you would only be for your lover."

She grinned wider. Those teeth. . .

"I don't need to think of you as some girl who should pose for lingerie ads, but I love seeing you without any walls, and protection from people who might hurt you. You shine, you know, when love is in your eyes. I know to see you, not the age you carry like a scarred suit of armor"

"You told her about. . ."

"Yep. How else could I know that I could trust her enough to bring her home? Oops – DeeDee – take her hand!"

I felt those fingers lace into mine, and her arm steadied me.

"Girl – look at me. Watch, and know."

Monica did the unthinkable. She knelt, and kissed my bare feet.

I orgasmed on the spot and screamed; and fainted dead away into Deirdre's arms.

I came to a moment or two later being held by both of them.

"Girl, there was no other way I could show you beyond everything we've ever shared that in this, I will never see you frightened or hurt. I love you. I own you, body and soul, and I will never let you go. Your heart and soul are the most precious and beautiful things I will ever know. I know you better than you will ever know yourself.

"Trust yourself, now. Completely. Yes?"

"Oh, yes. Yes!"

Taking a deep breath I turned and hugged Deirdre hard enough to make her ribs lock to match me.

"You OK, Rose? I've never," she laughed merrily, "seen anyone change colors like that! So, I'm hungry? What's on the dinner menu?"

Dinner was way more fun than three girls should ever get to have – at least as far as the straight world was concerned; and after I cleared the pine table we sat on the sofa and talked most of the night away!

Come to find out ( it was all news to me, but she and Monica had spent most every lunch hour on the phone for over a month now – and that really blew me away ), Deirdre was the senior designer and majority stockholder of Itasca Design Group, something she had started on a shoestring and 22 hour days less than 5 years ago! She did design refinements for the Government (which explained a lot), as well as being a consultant for a clothing line, executive office space, and she did theater sets!

She had over 70 employees and her company was a Forbes 500, and she was 34 years old! She had degrees from Columbia and Stanford, and earned scholarships since High School – so what in the world was she doing up here in the mountains?

"I needed a break! I got done with a client in Denver and I just wanted some time to myself in the mountains, alone, to just get to be something other than a girl in a glass box wearing a power suit! A quick visit to REI, and I figured it would be safe enough for me to do the 22 mile loop!"

"Yep. And you came damn close to becoming another bit of frozen snack food for the critters up there!"

"Seeing the two of you, I know for sure that both of you are right out of the stuff legends are made from – and I don't mean the commercial stuff – but the ones that a few mothers tell their daughters about, sometimes: an earth witch, and her Wicca submissive, living where there aren't many rules yet. . ."

Both cats had long ago claimed the comforter on our bed by the time I started yawning uncontrollably.

Deirdre wanted the sofa, claiming she had to catch up on some jet lag.

We slept, and dreamed.

Friday:

I always wake up around 4am, turn on the EMS scanner low enough to hear, and get my day started.

Monica and the big tomcat were sound asleep; and going into the living room, Deirdre was curled up on her side with my little barn kitten snuggled into her tummy on the futon.

I laid out my thick green hooded velour robe for her, for when she woke up ( her luggage never did make it in the previous night ); turned the stereo on low and put a couple of my favorite CD's in the changer, and got the water going for some tea.

I needed to try and remember, and sort out what had happened. And wonder where this week might lead all three of us.

I had forgotten what Deirdre looked like in the months that had passed yet, on sight, something new bloomed inside of me. I had only a few fragments of feelings and sensations from that tent way up on the side of the mountain; but as I made a cup of strong tea my body seemed to remember tastes, and my eyes, colors.

Dawn was a long ways away yet and the theme from "The Last of the Mohicans" by Clannad played its' untamed chant, teaching each of them that I gave them my permission, my trust, my love, as the melodic phrasing worked into their dreams.

Monica had to go to work this morning, so could I find the gift of such trust in me to go and explore and laugh in the ordinary and quiet ways of my life – when I had never dreamed of sharing the intimate details of my life with a women whose every breath existed in planes of the commercial world? My unstructured life had only known my need to know peace, and that made home a place of casual comfort.

The alarm chimed, and I brought her the old aluminum tray with her green tea and a slice of toasted bread with black currant jam, as I had done almost every morning for the last decade.

Kissing her graying temples, she woke with a languorous stretch that enveloped me.

"I want you to know that you are loved, pretty baby; and so does Deirdre, far more than you could know now."

"Sir. . ."

"Shush. You've never had a girlfriend. I know. Trust her like you trust me. Where we go from here is new to everybody, but it's long overdue."

She sat up and stretched, the heavy muscles rippling under the layer of comfortable padding she preferred to keep instead of trying to stay ripped – and she was terrifying with layers to her I could never understand or remember. I got dizzy, setting the tray on the bed, seeing the shape of her from behind, and pleasure in her took me and I stroked her back with my curved hands, drawing lines down her ribs.

As she twisted to face me her lips parted, and I saw again the feral light in her eyes that she hid from the rest of the world; the light that first shone from her when I came to her bed, my nipples freshly pierced and still bleeding, when I knew I could never leave her, my Master. . .

"Today is to be like any other day when I'm at work, yes? You still have your special chores to do, and you can't let yourself hide from Deirdre. It's quite a leap of faith for me to trust her with you, too – but we've promised each other to live, love, laugh, and explore. No rules, no lies, no fear. She said she needs to find herself, find out who she is, and she needs to be here with you even more than with me, because something in her – and you – connected.

"You look like a walking vision of a Zen priestess. Don't let go of that, because it is letting who you are shine past all the years you've lived.

"I know you went into T-state last night, and you managed to hold onto at least that even to this morning. Claim it, and just let today happen. You'll be fine.

"It's time to start my day."

Monica left quietly an hour later, smiling as Deirdre slept on.

Dozing under the covers, I heard Deirdre stir – and the kitten leapt off the quilt and wandered into the kitchen, meowing for the tomcat to share a late breakfast.

I heard her make her morning toilet, and then the futon creaked again as she sat and stretched.

In comfy bright yellow flannel pj's I came around the corner and saw her wrapped in my robe, her hair tousled, sitting cross-legged on the comforter.

She smiled and yawned, a huge event that I watched in fascination.

"Hi, girl! Come here! This is the official beginning of pay back, Part 2."

I knee-walked over the futon, and she snagged me by the hair and I was on my back in her lap, laughing.

"No more jet lag?"

"I don't think I've ever slept so soundly in all my life! Somehow, your home is everything I thought it should be – but I never expected to see two signed Olivias on the walls!"

Looking up into her face, all I could say was ". . .please. . ."

And I got a quick peck on the lips!

"Oh, no, girl! This is your home, your world, your day – and I'm here to learn how the two of you live, what it means to be alive where there's no pagers, no cell phones, no schedule! I want some hot chocolate!"

"With espresso?"

"Absolutely!!"

After sharing two mugs she asked for her luggage and headed for the shower. I didn't tell her that the hot water heater was small, but after carrying in two smallish soft-sided carry-ons, I heard the sound of the water going from hot – to all the way cold!

She shrieked and burst out laughing and gasping and spluttering, and turned the water off!

"I just had to know how you do that everyday! Monica says the water from your well would be cold enough to send me into shock if I didn't watch out and it almost did, anyway! Whew!! How in the world do you do that to yourself?"

Numbly, my jaw hung open: "You know – everything?"

Laughing, "Yes, silly girl! She wanted me to know you, so I pumped her with at least as many questions all last month, while letting her interrogate me! You're the common ground we both love – so I wanted to know everything!"

She walked out of the bathroom with her hair in a towel, wrapped again in my robe, her face flushed and bright with the blood flow that icy water shocked into circulation.

"Oh, good! Clothes! I was told only jeans and decent boots, but not a word about anything else – so – what do you think?"

Unzipping the smaller of the two carry on's, she upended it on the quilt and a rainbow of silk and lace spilled out!

"Go on and take your shower! This is as close as you're getting, today – but I couldn't help but plant a seed in your mind!"

A glimpse was enough! There was enough in the fabrics and laces alone to beat my entire years' disability income! I knew enough to recognize hand-made Battenburg and Venetian laces when I saw it; and there was hand-loomed raw silk, polished shantung brocade, and the colors! Bright enough to have a girl reaching for glacier goggles – oh!

She obviously knew I was color-blind to all but the primaries from all the years I spent soldering on assembly lines. . .

Getting my cockatiel from his cage, I started the shower, and it sank in: I had no secrets and Deirdre still wanted to be here. I had no secrets. Oh. Goddess.

OK, after the way I greeted her last night, it should have sunk in by now – but – none!

And that new thing, that living bloom grew and filled my mind in a rush with the sting of the shower on my breasts and belly; and Thwack wolf whistled, bringing laughter from the living room and I knew a new feeling:

Freedom.

A girlfriend. Someone Monica trusts with me. We have a week – and I was standing here with my fingers pulling on my rings! Yes!

With the last of the hot water fading I gleefully turned it to COLD and scrubbed furiously with the bristle brush till every pore was screaming with life! I quickly brushed my damp hair out, and started my usual stretches, nude, in front of the big window in the bedroom.

Three deep breath triggered me, and I was floating in a place where I could find the physical controls to reach my body, claiming it past all the damage, the hurts of so long ago. It happened easily.

She stood in the doorway, Thwack busily grooming on her shoulder. Her hands were pressed to her lips, her eyes wide. The wings of her hair were held in an antique silver and tortoise shell clip. A ¾ sleeved rib-knit silk top, scooped front and back over black jeans molded her curves easily, belted with a matching scalloped silver buckle and keeper. Black leather sneakers were a kindness to the soft pine floors.

"She told me, but I didn't understand. I do now.

"I see you, girl.

"The innocent, the girl you will always be, the secret you keep; the you that will never be able to grow old.

"No wonder she is so protective…"

I grinned and turned in a spin, and words failed; but my eyes spoke so much to her.

Lying on the bed, I spread, and drew some lube along the length of my favorite vibrator and slid it into me, the pulses on low.

My eyes closed as the framework of my life as "girl," my Master's property swept me away. I was forever 12 years old, and the pleasure and uninhibited responses my pussy was sending out showed me the limitless path of pleasure I walked anew every day. The orgasms came, cresting surges and waves, washing me, and I craved the fire, the wild, thick-sweet taste of innocent lust and I dialed the pulses up to a shattering limit. My teeth were bared yet my body was completely relaxed, the serenity of peace before the act of creation.

. . .now. . .

With an indrawn, slow breath that must have made my body seem ready to explode, I responded to my need and started bouncing the head of the vibrator as deep as it could go, inside; and the counter-rhythm opened my eyes and I saw the stars and the colors and I came, making myself again the girl I would forever be, a lesbian child of open wanton need, filled with the ceaseless playful desires that only a powerful woman could take and take and take. . .

Swallowing, and laughing with the pleasure, I eased it out of me and dialed it off and found Deirdre still standing in the doorway.

She hadn't moved. It had taken only a few minutes.

"Every day?"

"At least three times a day – sometimes four, when I get lonely. . ."

"I understand your walls, now. . ."

Laughing, my eyes bright, I got up slowly, easily, and took a towlette from the nightstand and locked eyes with her and whispered, ". . .watch. . ." as I wiped my pussy, the cool wetness on my clit sending me into dozens of tiny firecracker explosions.

"I want to go there, somehow, before I have to leave!"

"I know, darling; and it's so much easier than you think. All you have to do is give yourself permission to let go. You have to trust yourself, before you can know who you are and learn to love yourself, right?

"We'll both see that you meet yourself long before it's time for you to start thinking about Chicago."

I wrinkled my nose and stuck my tongue out at her, and fell back on the bed laughing as Thwack sent a wolf whistle right through her head at the top of his lungs.

Deirdre learned how to laugh today. . .

I dressed for comfort. Any thought of trying to approach the easy elegance she had managed to fit into those two small bags would've been like me thinking that if I just really cleaned and polished up my old Bronco it'd hold its' own to that Range Rover that swept her off the mountain all those months ago.

"Be real, girl; celebrate it, and just accept that we come from different worlds, different lives," I thought as I pulled on a clean blue cotton thong and matching bra, faded 501's, and a tee from The Great Alaska Bush Company. Suede-lined tan sandals found my feet and I looked in the old beveled mirror above the dresser.

"Occam's Razor, girl, remember? This isn't the time to get careless!"

I threaded my folding Schrade in its' sheath through my worn Galco belt, and slipped my stainless Walther PPKS into its' inside-the-waistband Uncle Mikes' clip holster, the spare mag going into my left back pocket.

The little Walther nestled comfortably behind my right hip, and if I was reasonably careful, the untucked tee would conceal it well enough. The Federal Hydra-Shoks it was carrying would be effective enough against a lightly dressed goblin at close-quarters – and all I really needed was enough time to make it to one of my .45's, though one of the long guns would be better. . .

I had a few touch-pad pistol safes concealed around the house, as well as in the garage. The constant compromise anyone faces in an ordinary day in a remote locale – balancing comfort, discretion, and a reasonable threat level – would be adequately met.

Deirdre was just finishing unpacking into the steamer chest by the futon sofa, and with having made the coat closet available, any of her things that needed a hanger would have a chance to relax some of the wrinkles.

She grinned at the "mountain range" on my tee shirt.

"What's for breakfast?"

"Waffles sound good? Poached eggs and Canadian bacon to go with?"

"Absolutely! Can I help"

I grinned. I had no idea how she'd cope with there being so little fresh food in the kitchen. The nearest grocers was 30 miles away – but I was proud of my pantry, and my collection of spices and goodies that could make a meal of meats and dry goods close in on the better restaurants of Denver.

Deirdre moved in my little kitchen like she was dancing to some quiet melody, never getting in the way, never interrupting.

I'm a little serious when I cook, and I move like I'm still working as a short-order cook – fast, efficient, and neat.

My 50-year old chrome waffle iron proudly gave us those delicious crisp and fluffy trophies that begged for drizzled butter and some preserves. I went for the peach; she wanted marmalade.

Cholula hot sauce dotted the eggs, and the Canadian bacon went underneath them, lurking with smoky sweetness.

While the little percolator was resting, its' labors done, Deirdre set the table, even going so far as to match the stainless forks, knives, and spoons from the hodgepodge in the drawer.

We ate in silence, the windows wide-open to the morning, while Thwack nibbled the edges of my waffles and both cats rubbed our legs and purred under the table.

The little barn kitten finally deciding the new lady measured up just as good out of bed, he jumped onto the bench next to her and proceeded to lay his head in her lap; looking up at her face, his front paws kneaded her jeans just below her belt. He watched her take the last bite of bacon adoringly, and he licked his chops and rolled on his back, his head still in her lap.

"Hello, little Kallis! You only purr good when you exhale, you know that? Your mama was feral, wasn't she? Such a skinny little kitty!"

"He slept with you all night, you know?"

"Uh, Huh! He's a great little heater – though I really had to pee when I got up!"

I almost sneezed my giggles into my coffee.

"If you sleep on your tummy, he'll probably sleep along your legs and rest his head on your bottom – you'll wake up really horney!"

Her red hair followed her head as she looked at me in surprise.

"I promise – and he'll purr, too, if you start having really good dreams!"

I mopped my plate with the last bite of waffle, getting all the egg yolk, popped the bite in my mouth, and washed it down with the last of my coffee.

"And no matter how hard he begs, never tickle his belly 'cause you'll be bleeding after he thanks you – those claws are really sharp! He is indeed a dear, but he comes with a very high price! He does live up to his name. . ."

Deirdre looked slowly down into the round, innocent eyes and said "I don't suppose you've got any catnip around here, do you?"

"Trust me," I said, "you really don't want to go there!

"Help me with the dishes?"

We moved through the balance of the day like disciples of Fosse, and we sketched out new music in easy penstrokes as the few chores became andante, a tempo a tempo. Her eyes sparkled, and her dancing fingertips would wave me through from a distance with a toss of her head. Her jeans whispered like finger cymbals sending effervescence to my ears, and my feet never touched the floor the entire day.

Five o'clock up here comes early to people who see a slow, winding end to the mundane. The mountains seem to crowd the sky in a greedy effort to take the brilliance of the day and peel startling colors into the falling twilight, rewarding all who live up here for another day in this harsh, unique paradise.

Deirdre and I sat on the front porch sipping iced teas, saying little. The scanner was turned so low inside the house that the routine traffic was all but inaudible, whispering of the follies of tourists who thought that when the highway became two-lane at the County line, the traffic laws no longer applied to them.

Thwack was napping after a long day of being cheerful, inquisitive company – while both cats probably thought we might well be too much of a good thing in a confined space. They were both sound asleep; the big tomcat sprawled on his back on the comforter, while the little barn kitten was nowhere to be found.

"Questions and answers fill in where there are unknowns, but," she sipped from her heavy glass, "sharing your space today couldn't be put into words."

The updraft from the days' warmth had left a few wanna-be cumulus clouds near the ridgeline, and there were oranges and pinks that had an innocent vividness to them.

"There is so much life in the walls and floors here that I could hardly keep from singing all day!"

I couldn't resist, so I turned to face her. "Wait till spider season starts in earnest."

She looked at me and deliberately let her eyes cross, and a bemused smile took control of her face.

"I saw you have more orgasms just as part of your everyday life, than most women know in a month or two! How did you survive out there, before you met Monica?"

I leaned my head back and looked away from the colors, into the edges of darkness and breathed through my mouth slowly. "It was another lifetime ago. A few scars are all that's left, and I really don't notice them anymore. Nobody was ever able to take what I surrendered to Monica the moment I first met her gaze – and they hurt me, because to them I was just a thing.

"To my Master I am the whole of the world, and beyond."

"What does not kill us, only makes us stronger."

I was suddenly drowning in a soft, rising warmth, and my ears started ringing.

"The Book of Five Rings."

She reached over and kissed the palm of my hand.

I breathed deeply and sat up. The colors were becoming sapphire and violet and lavender, and there was an edge of purple rimmed with icy whiteness as the last rays shot upwards. Sunset.

"Are you sure? Not Sun Tsu's The Art of War?

"Does that make you my enemy or my friend?"

Letting go of my hand she straightened up, and there were the colors of sunset in her eyes. "I would go to war with the entire world if you were to come to harm." Tears were forming in those pools of sunset, but her face was calm and shone.

That rising warmth swept over me, and I batted my eyes at her. "You want to shower together? Monica'll be home soon, you know. After all, the hot water heater isn't very big."

"She will learn hate and rage and fear and pain from both of us before this week is out, or we will have failed to free her, completely," I thought as we walked inside.

My clothes went into a heap at the foot of the bed, the Walther and its' spare mag went into the safe by the nightstand, and I found a bottle of liquid peppermint soap under the sink as Deirdre started the water running. Somehow, I just wasn't in the mood for a bar of deodorant soap tonight.

"Silly girl – there's no way I am going to be able to behave in there with you after today! Besides, waiting is at least half the fun, don't you think?"

"You've got to be kidding! Ok, fine then – go start dinner then while I shower, will you? It'll keep us far enough apart to prevent spontaneous combustion! You know what's in the fridge – have at it!"

I heard her open Thwack's cage and his delighted chirruping, and then sounds from the kitchen faded as I stepped into the shower.

"Make it quick," I thought, as I lathered my hair. "She's loose in my kitchen after all, and the last thing I want after such a wonderful day is for dinner to be an unpleasant surprise for Master when She gets home!"

I was out of the water and had just gotten a pair of stretch black capri pants on when Deirdre flew into the bedroom.

"Can I use the grill outside for a little? I want to use the chicken breasts tonight! You know? Digging around your pantry is an adventure all in itself! You have enough food there to feed a small army in four- star style! I counted four kinds of dried mushrooms, at least as many kinds of peppers, and then I saw the whole shelf of condiments!

"Is Tex-Mex ok for tonight? It's pretty quick, and I know a recipe I'm just dying to try up here!"

... and then she burst out laughing, and I swayed a little, holding my bra in one limp hand.

"Um, sure – jump in and enjoy yourself – but if you want to grab a shower and freshen up a little before Master comes home, you'd better hurry, ok?"

"I'll be in the shower in fifteen minutes, I promise!"

Shrugging in resignation, I slipped my bra on and watched as she darted back out. "If that isn't spankable, I don't know what is!"

Drying my hair, I heard a semi-orchestrated cacophony of industry coming from my kitchen. Checking the clock as I finished applying a little sheer makeup, I smelled the legitimacy for her enthusiasm.

When the backdoor slammed and there came the smell of spicy grilled chicken with overtones of apples and peppers, I hollered "Time! Hit the shower, girl, or Monica'll think the worst! Git!!"

Blinking, she appeared, bringing a shot of gold tequila with her!

Downing it with a flourish she grabbed me and took my hair in both hands and kissed me hard and quick – but not before my right hand had managed to dive between her legs and the fingernails of my left drew flaming lines down her bare back under her tank top.

Her fingers straightened and she shook as if she had been hit by lightening, changing colors rapidly from flushed with excitement to pale, and then a scarlet bloom covered her.

Leaning back to her lips I bit her lower lip gently and sucked it while I undid her jeans, and I felt her orgasm into my mouth.

Laughing happily, I said, "I know all about being ambushed, darling! OK, I'm off to the kitchen! You've got 20 minutes before we hear her coming back in-District!

"I'll take it from here – Earth-to-Deirdre! You with me? Hello?"

Glassy-eyed, she whispered "You have. . . Amazing. . . Reflexes."

Shaking that gorgeous mane, she grinned and headed for the shower.

I wasn't sure that she wasn't still seeing three-or-four of everything, but there wasn't time to risk getting snared by her now.

The sight that greeted me in the kitchen took my breath away.

The table was already set, and the girl had found my better blue tablecloth from Ireland, and the matching napkins.

Grilled chicken breasts lay in a bed of seared mushrooms, apples, and bell peppers; and there was fresh melon picante sauce ringed with garlic-stuffed olives.

Looking in the oven, I found a small dish of black bean and cheese enchiladas just starting to bubble.

She'd left the grill on, "Smart girl," I thought. "The last thing we want is a bear following his nose!"

I mixed a pitcher of fresh fruit punch, "Master is on call tonight," and poured myself a small glass while I tackled the dishes in the sink.

With almost five minutes to spare Deirdre appeared in the kitchen wearing black silk Chinese pajamas, completely buttoned up to the Mandarin neck, and a pair of straw thongs. Her still-damp hair was tied up on top of her head spilling down over her shoulders, and she looked like she'd used the bath brush studiously.

I had the counters immaculate again and the grill was scrubbed and cooling. Thwack was overseeing everything from atop the cabinets, and he wolf-whistled, cocking his shoulders.

I let my gaze take her in, crown-to-toe, and she beamed.

"You are remarkable. In a strange kitchen, you managed to cook faster than I do, and easily better! Thank you! I really didn't want to just re-heat something out of the freezer for dinner tonight – but I wouldn't have missed enjoying the sunset with you for the world."

"Can I have some of that? Thanks!

"She's on call tonight, right? Till 4am tomorrow morning?" Sipping, she wrinkled her nose at me.

"That's not the only reason to be alcohol-free tonight. You need at least another 24 hours before you should drink anything stronger! It's been enough of a challenge to keep you in fluids today!"

"I never noticed. You're right. I'd forgotten; sorry."

Grinning at her, I slid across the pine bench and patted the blond wood.

The scanner crackled "Fairplay, Rescue 208"

"Go ahead, 208"

"208, back in district"

"Copy 208, time 1802."

Deirdre was staring at me.

"You look like you're listening to music…. Oh, baby, I've never seen something like that! You're radiant, instantly….:

I smiled at her.

"She is my Master."

My little barn kitten meowed loudly from the office, and raced across the living room, landing atop the recliner by the front door, and he stretched out full length and put his head on his forepaws, and stared expectantly.

Deirdre walked past me and turned off the oven, and with two hot pads brought the steaming, bubbling little dish of enchiladas to the stove-top to cool.

I went into the living room and opened the cabinet under the stereo, sorting through the stack of CD's, picking a few, and choosing a movie for us to watch later on the small combo TV/VCR in our bedroom.

With the opening of Suzanne Ciani's "Hotel Luna" floating through the house, I saw the girl looking a little lost and contemplative, standing in front of the sofa, looking out into the new evening. Reaching and finding her around the waist, I hugged her close.

"Thank you for being here, today. My time, when she's gone and so buried in the outside world is quiet, and loneliness can try and bite me, sometimes. Instead, today there was you every time I might've gotten a little lost."

I snuggled into the nape of her neck, that wonderful hair spilling over the side of my face. She sighed and relaxed into me and said, "Sometimes if we don't get lost, we can never find our way…."

Chuckling, I said, "Wanna get lost tomorrow? We're going to Fairplay for a little shopping, a little sightseeing, and some restaurant food!"

And the Grand Wagoneer pulled in and the big tomcat stretched on the doorframe; Kallis perked his ears up, and Thwack, his crest erect and his shoulders squared out, started whistling for all he was worth.

Monica walked in and swept her eyes around the room, tension vanishing when she saw the two of us holding hands by the sofa, the small backpack landing in the lap of the recliner, giving Kallis a little side- seas roll that he absorbed calmly.

I stepped towards her.

"Sir."

"Come here, girl. I have missed you all the day."

Her arms wide, I melted to her strength, the warm familiar scent of her washing over me as I snuggled inside her jacket. A quiet sigh escaped me as I felt her arms wrap around me, hugging me close.

"You will always be mine."

". . . is be true, say. . ."

Deirdre came over then, and wrinkling her nose into a smile, said, "This is definitely group hug time!"

I could feel Monica's happiness, and the two of us opened opposing arms and we took the red head in close.

Monica's calm voice made the clocks start ticking in the world again.

"Dinner smells wonderful – but I have to change into my uniform first. DeeDee, keep me company, will you?"

We untangled, and there was a little extra pink to the girl's cheekbones and I saw her nostrils flare as she went by.

Kallis got a skritch behind the ears, Thwack flew to Monica's shoulder and stood up straight, chirruping happily, and the big tomcat was rearguard as the pair went into our bedroom.

Monica was the fastest woman out of clothes I'd ever known.

In only a couple minutes she and the red head emerged again, uniform immaculate, eyes bright, arm-in- arm with Deirdre.

We sat down for dinner; a unique experience, because we'd never shared our table with anyone else all the years we'd been together.

The scanner was turned up, and I'd picked up the tone-encoded pager and clipped it to the waistband of my capri pants. I was also wearing my nylon shoulder x-rig with the stainless Kimber compact because this was an on-call night and Monica's attention would be focused on Rescue; relaxing as much as possible. Nights like this were long and I'd always stood guard for her when she had to prioritize her time. Over the years our motto had been, "Prepare for the worst, and hope for the best."

It'd saved our lives twice before, and it'd become almost second-nature.

The food was excellent!

I enjoyed hearing Monica and Deirdre talk about their day, comparing and sharing smiles and laughter between bites that rapidly left clean plates. Thwack settled on the grilled apples as his favorite, and both cats watched the rest of us from the sofa. The scanner only reported the usual smattering of basic traffic calls, and the fire department did yet another of their endless information pages.

Glasses were refilled, and I cleared the table while the stereo began k.d. lang's album, "Invincible Summer."

I noticed that the highlights on Deirdre's cheekbones had deepened during the entire meal, and smiled quietly as I watched Master direct the girl's attention constantly to her hands and her mouth and her eyes in a continuous cycle.

"Verbal and non-verbal NLP is the most effective," I thought, seeing the effects work deeper into the red head's mind, loosening the fasteners on her walls, opening her heart and easing the inhibitions that were carried in the fine muscles around her eyes and mouth and in her hands.

Page tones split the tableau.

"District Five; District Five, Medical Emergency. Two vehicle 10/50 on Highway 285, mile marker 219, multiple injuries reported. Repeat; Two vehicle 10/50 on Highway 285, mile marker 219, multiple injuries reported.

"Rescue, please respond."

I was writing down the specifics as Monica rose from the table fast, heading for the door, radio out of its' holster. Deirdre was frozen in place, a look of fear on her face. The cats had disappeared.

"Fairplay, Rescue 208 acknowledges."

"Copy, 208. Time 1937.

"Fire, please acknowledge page."

Monica took the slip of paper and was almost to the garage by the time the screen door slammed shut. Lights and siren on, she was already heading down the hill when the scanner caught the rest of the traffic.

"Fairplay, 505 acknowledges for Fire. Show Engine Two en-route with five on board, and SCAT-Two en-
route with two."

"Copy, 505. Time 1938."

"Fairplay, Rescue 208."

"Go ahead, 208."

"Please put a chopper on stand-by."

"Copy 208, State Patrol is en-route, ETA 25 minutes; Sheriff's Department en-route, ETA 10. The R/P is not responding to call-back."

"Time 1938."

I refocused and looked at Deirdre.

"You OK?"

She was shaking visibly, the abrupt transition likely having shattered her nerves. Thwack chirruped unconcerned from her shoulder and hopped down to the table looking for crumbs.

"Does this happen all that often? I mean, she's told me that it can get busy sometimes, and yet nothing can prepare you for it – how do you cope? She just changed, right in front of my eyes!"

I shrugged. "It comes with living here, doing what's necessary. Being part of the community means doing your part." I looked at her carefully. "I think I should brew some more coffee – this is going to be a long night."

She nodded, looking at the scanner, watching the LCD check frequencies.

I came back and started clearing the table, just stacking the dishes for later. I'd learned not to try and occupy myself with the mundane like trying to do dishes or maybe some ironing to pass the time when Monica was on a call. It was time to tune in to her, connect to her wherever she was so that I'd be better able to talk her down whenever she made it back home.

"How long till she's at the accident?"

I checked the time.

"Figure nine minutes to get to Rescue base running code; then another couple minutes to head out. That mile marker puts the accident about in the canyon past downtown Bailey."

The scanner crackled.

"Fairplay, 100."

Deirdre looked at me, the unspoken question plain. "It's Walt, the Sheriff."

"Go ahead, 100."

"Show me on-scene."

"Copy."

"Fairplay, Engine Two."

"Go ahead."

"Fairplay, we have a two vehicle 10/50 a quarter mile North of mile marker 219. A Suburban and a full –size pick-up. The Suburban has rolled. We have five injured, one Code Black additional. Break."

"Fairplay, Engine Two."

"Go ahead."

"Please page out an additional Rescue unit with ALS; and dispatch Fire Rescue One for extrication and additional personnel."

"Copy, Engine Two. Time 1947.

"All cars; stand by for District Five: additional pages for the 10/50 at mile marker 219"

I looked at Deirdre. Tears were streaming down her face.

Page tones.

"District Five, this is a page for additional units to respond to the 10/50 at mile marker 219. I need an ALS crew to respond for Rescue. I need Fire Rescue One for extrication and additional personnel.

"Rescue, please respond"

"Fairplay, this is 297, ALS responding Code to Base."

"Copy 297, time 1950."

"Fire, please respond."

Silence. I looked emptily at Deirdre.

"Fire, please respond."

"Fairplay, show Fire Rescue One en-route with three."

"Copy. Time 1951."

"Fairplay, 119."

"Go ahead, 119."

"Please show me on-scene."

"Copy, 119. Time 1951"

I got up and brought Thwack back to his cage and he settled down to his cuttle-bone, cleaning and sharpening his beak. I turned and found myself in a fierce hug, Deirdre having followed me. I kissed her gently and stroked her hair.

"I've only seen this on TV – I don't know how to cope with listening to this for real, waiting to hear from her, imagining the scene she's going to jump into."

"C'mon – coffee should be done soon."

We had just made it into the kitchen when the scanner crackled.

"Fairplay, show 291 en-route. Code, with three."

"Copy 291. Time 1952."

I looked at the girl and said quietly, "They picked up extra supplies before heading out. Triaging 5 victims on -scene would pretty much wipe them out, till 290 gets headed their way with extra help."

I poured two mugs, and brought out the good powdered chocolate from San Francisco, and a quart of half- and-half. My foil-wrapped almond biscotti came out of the freezer and I took half a dozen pieces and put them between the coffee.

The stereo began playing Terri Nunn's "Moment of Truth."

"Fairplay, show 291 on-scene."

She hadn't touched the coffee. I put a generous heaping tablespoon of chocolate in each mug, stirred, and topped it off with some half-and-half.

"Honey, try and get it together. She's one of the best up here, and her usual partner, Wiley – you heard 297 on the air? That's her usual run partner – she'll have plenty of help soon. It's a bad accident, but it's not an MCI, thank Goddess!"

She took the mug and gulped. Picking up a piece of the biscotti and pushing her hair back with her free fingers, she looked at me and focused hard on my balance.

"What's that." Voice still a little too flat, full of stress. Understandable. In all the years Master had been with Rescue, it'd never gotten easier.

"A 'mass casualty incident,' like a bus full of school kids getting hit by a semi."

She shuddered.

"I don't think I want to know."

The scanner crackled.

"Fairplay, 291."

"Go ahead 291."

"Chopper go, repeat; chopper go. LZ will be the top of Crow Hill. Break."

"Fairplay, 291."

"Go ahead, 291"

"Patient is a 29 year- old female, approximate weight 140 pounds with compound bi-lateral rib fractures, fractured pelvis and internal injuries. Break."

"Fairplay, 291."

"Go ahead, 291."

"Patient is diabetic, with a Med-Alert bracelet."

"Copy 291. Patient is 29 year- old female, bilateral rib fractures and fractured pelvis, internal injuries and diabetic; 140 pounds in weight. Flight-For-Life is launched, LZ, Crow Hill. ETA 19 minutes."

"Copy."

"Time, 2000."

"Fairplay, show 290 en-route, ALS."

"Copy 290, time 2000."

"Fairplay, seven-baker-five."

"Go ahead, seven-baker-five."

"Show me on-scene."

"Copy."

"Fairplay, what is the ETA for 140?"

"140's ETA is drive time from Fairplay as of about 15 ago."

"Copy."

I looked at her.

"The coroner."

I took her in my arms and we both cried; the coffee cooling unnoticed for a little.

I got up and found the box of tissue, and we shared.

Coffee rose from the table in unison and we looked at each other, and clinked the mugs. "Welcome to our world, " I said.

"Fairplay, show 290 on-scene."

"Copy, at 2004."

The dry almond cookies were dunked and crunched, and Kallis made an appearance in the silence, jumping on my lap and curling in possessively.

"Fairplay, show 291 en-route to the LZ with one patient for Flight; and two Code Yellows for ground transport to Swedish."

"Copy. 2005"

"Fairplay, 285 Command."

"Go ahead."

"We have one additional patient extricated from the Suburban. Fuel and fluid leaks are controlled. Wreckers have arrived. Break."

"Fairplay, 285 Command."

"Go ahead, Command."

"Patient is a 65 year-old female, Code Red. Launch a second Flight."

"Copy Command. Time, 2006."

"Fairplay, 290."

"Go ahead 290."

"Page out a third crew, and place Elk Creek Rescue on Stand-by; also have South Park stationed at the top of Kenosha Pass for additional coverage."

"Copy, at 2006."

"291, 290."

"Go ahead, Wiley."

"Transfer your two Code Yellows to 292 and return to scene as soon as possible."

"Copy."

Deirdre looked at me, staring. "She sounds so completely in control! It must be unimaginable out there! Where do you think they found the last victim?"

"She could have been under the fifth patient, out of sight, crushed under a back seat."

She closed her eyes and said nothing, visualizing something she'd always been completely disconnected from, insulated by a civilian's life of unconcern. "Someone else's' responsibility, disinfected and detached into a sound-byte in a news report. Just background noise in the course of every-day life. Just another car wreck, till now."

Page tones.

"Attention District Five, I need another Rescue crew to respond to the top of Crow Hill for patient transfer for the two vehicle 10/50. Rescue, Please respond."

Silence.

I grabbed the phone and ran to our bedroom, snatching the Rescue schedule and the member's list from Monica's night stand – punching numbers into the cordless handset as I headed back to the kitchen, looking for other medics at home who might not have their pagers on.

I got two answering machines, and then a live voice.

"Rescue, please respond."

"Alan! Get on the radio, drop what you're doing and go! Yeah, it's Rose. We got a blender – get 292 to the LZ at Crow Hill and find your partner – you got two Code Yellows to transport! Right!"

"District Five, Rescue, stand by for pages."

"Fairplay, 277 acknowledges for Rescue. En-route to Base, ETA three minutes."

"Copy 277. Time, 2009."

"257 en-route to base." "261 en-route to Base." "Trainee 255 en-route to Base."

Blank-eyed, the stress building in the fine muscles around her eyes and mouth, Deirdre started mechanically dunking another biscotti in her almost empty mug.

Standing, rubbing my neck, feeling the knots building there, I refilled both mugs.

We waited in silence, sharing something, connecting, her to me; and I thought, ". . .the ties that bind. . ."

The scanner crackled.

"Platte Canyon Fire, this Flight-For-Life Three, 4 minutes out, calling Ground command on FERN-
One."

"Flight-For-Life Three, this is Crow Hill LZ, Engine Two contact on FERN-One, we have you in sight. Winds are out of the South-West at 12, gusting to 18; temperature is 45 degrees."

"Copy Engine Two. Do you have a patient update?"

"Stand by."

"Copy."

"Fairplay, please show 292 at the LZ with three, for patient transfer."

"Copy 292, time 2015."

"Flight-For-Life Three, this is Engine Two, Crow Hill LZ on FERN-One – are you ready to copy?"

"Go ahead."

"Patient is 29 year- old female, bilateral rib fractures, left pulmonary embolism and fractured pelvis, severe lower abdominal swelling, possible additional thoractic internal injuries and diabetic; 140 pounds in weight. Patient is unconscious, BP 95/62, pulse 150 and erratic, respiration is 40 and shallow."

"Copy."

"Fairplay, show 291 clearing LZ, returning to scene." Monica's voice was calm and unemotional.

"Copy 291. Air-Life One, now 14 minutes out."

"Fairplay, 290 copies. Break."

"Fairplay, 290."

"Go ahead, 290."

"Patient is a 65 year-old female with severe head injuries and possible broken neck, broken back. Break."

"Patient also has left compound femur fracture. Weight approximately 225 pounds. LZ will be Highway 285 at mile marker 218 – seven-baker-five will be traffic control, 285 Command will be ground control."

"Copy at 2016."

"Fairplay, 285 Command."

"Go ahead."

"We are shutting down 285 both directions between mile markers 217 and 219 till further notice. Please also show Fire Rescue Unit One clearing scene and returning to base."

"Copy, at 2017."

"Fairplay, Crow Hill LZ."

"Go ahead."

"Show Flight-For-Life Three safely on the ground; hot load of critical patient in progress."

"Copy, at 2018."

"Fairplay, show 291 on-scene."

"Copy."

"Copy 290, Code to Saint A's with two. Jefferson County has been advised. You are guaranteed a reservation in Trauma-2."

"Copy Fairplay, and thank-you."

"At 2020."

"Fairplay, Crow Hill LZ."

"Go ahead."

"Flight-For-Life Three is safely off the ground, en-route for Swedish."

"Copy, at 2021."

"Fairplay, 292."

"Go ahead 292."

"Please show us en-route to Lutheran with two, non-emergent at this time."

"Copy, 292. Lutheran's ER board shows green. They're expecting you; at 2021."

"Copy; and thank you."

Deirdre stood up suddenly and started pacing, living room to kitchen. Thwack whistled, looking for company. She tried to smile, and came back in view with the little cockatiel busily grooming that deep red mane.

"I feel like something is going to snap inside of me." Voice still flat.

"I know. This is a bad one, but so far it sounds good. What can I do for you, baby?"

". . . do you get used to it, somehow?"

I stood and grabbed her hands and held her eyes. Thwack hopped to my shoulder. I shook my head.

"Fairplay, South Park Ambulance One."

"Go ahead, Ambulance One."

"On station at the top of Kenosha."

"Copy, at 2025."

"Fairplay, 140."

"Go ahead 140."

"Show me on-scene."

"Copy, at 2026."

"Fairplay, 291."

"Go ahead 291."

"Stand by for patient update."

"Go ahead, 291."

Silence.

"Go ahead 291 with your patient update."

Silence.

"Fairplay, 285 Command."

"Go ahead."

"Female patient has cored – Advanced Life Support in progress. Give me an ETA on Air-Life One, please."

Wiley's and Monica's voices were heard, the mike accidentally left open; undistinguishable words, but the intensity of their voices unmistakable.

The mike closed.

Silence.

"285 Command, this is Air-Life One, three minutes out, on FERN-One; do you copy?"

"Air-Life One, this is 285 Command, copy you on FERN-One. We are 2 miles South of Bailey, LZ the Highway. Traffic is closed in both directions."

"Copy, we have you in sight. We'll be down in about two. Can I get a patient update?"

"Air-Life One, 285 Command. Patient is a 65 year-old female, severe head injuries, possible broken neck, possible broken back, compound fracture left femur; weight approximately 200 pounds; break."

"Copy."

"Air-Life One, 285 Command. Patient cored one ago, on ALS, non-responsive at this time."

"Copy, Command."

"Air-Life One, 291." Wiley's voice; cool, but tired.

"291, this is Air-Life One; go ahead."

"Patient is now in trigemini, B/P 70/40, pulse 40,semi-conscious, not responsive to any stimuli on left side, left pupil fixed. Respirations 30. Visible cranial fracture left side, possible C-4, C-5 fracture; break."

"Copy."

"Probable L-3,4,5 fractures, exposed left compound femur, not reduced at this time."

"Copy. Landing."

"Dear God."

I looked up from the scanner at Deirdre. Silent tears were flowing down her face. "I lost my grandmother in a car accident while I was in school. I never thought that much on what she went through when she died – she was hit head-on by a drunk driver. . ."

"Fairplay, 285 Command."

"Go ahead."

"Show Air-Life One safely on the ground."

I leaned over and quietly kissed her tears.

"I mean, I'd convinced myself she never felt anything – I never even thought of what the rescue crews went through."

I looked at her hard, frowning. Shaking my head. "You just found it more convenient to keep it all nice and tidy? I overestimated you. I'll remember that. About time you got a good dose of reality, girl!"

Silence.

In a quiet voice, I heard, "I'm learning."

"Maybe so; maybe not. This is just a little taste of life outside your self-built life of bloodless achievement and privilege. It's going to be a very long night," I thought.

"Fairplay, 285 Command."

"Go ahead Command."

"Show Air-Life One safely off the ground, en-route to Swedish."

"That makes seven accounted for, and it's not even been an hour yet."

"It feels like it's been forever."

I got up and retrieved the Navajo wool throw from the sofa and wrapped it around those elegant silk pajamas, feeling some compassion for her: after all, we've become immune to so much. . .

"Fairplay, please show 140 clearing scene, en-route to Denver."

"Copy 140, at 2036."

"Fairplay, 291."

"Go ahead."

Monica's voice. Perfectly calm and clear.

"Show 291 clearing scene, heading back to quarters, back in service. Please release South Park and Elk Creek with our thanks."

"Copy, will do; 2036."

"Fairplay, 285 Command."

"Go ahead, Command."

"285 is re-opened in both directions; and show Engine Two and SCAT-Two clearing scene and returning to quarters, all members accounted for. Command is terminated."

"Copy, 2037."

"Fairplay, seven-baker-five."

"Go ahead."

"I'll be remaining on-scene for follow-up investigation with your unit for a while. Please notify Swedish to check their patient for ETOH."

"Copy. Specifics?"

"Two plastic gallon jugs of vodka."

"Copy. 2039."

"Fairplay, 119."

"119."

"I'll be 10/8 assisting in the investigation with baker-five."

"Copy. A message has been left at your 42."

"Thank you. It'll be a late night."

"2040."

Deirdre looked like she was seeing a ghost somewhere far back in her mind.

"Baby, vacationers come up here to get their wilderness experience, and sometimes they drink and drive; never realizing the effect just one shot has. It's awfully common – but even more so with locals who think they can handle drinking, ok?"

She shook her head, and I saw some focus coming back. Maybe a little color, too.

"What now?"

"Figure a couple hours at Base to clean and re-stock the rig, and write the reports – this is going to be a pretty involved report. They'll probably hang out there till the other rigs get back, so that they can talk it down and help with the other rigs getting set back up.

"She probably won't be back till sometime around midnight, unless there's another call."

I took her to our room, and we sat on the bed side-by-side, wrapped in the wool throw watching a b-grade sci-fi movie unseeing, and the companionship felt really, really good to me. Thwack fell asleep on my shoulder, his tiny head resting on my ear, leaning on me for stability and warmth.

I'd brought the scanner in with us, and just when the credits were scrolling, I heard the other two rigs back in district, back in service. "Another hour or two; I wouldn't be surprised at all," I thought.

The phone rang, startling Thwack into a mad flight through the house; Deirdre starting badly, looking at me wide-eyed.

I gave her a little smile, and motioned for her to get the bird and put him to bed in his cage.

"Hello? OK, I'll see you in about half an hour. Everything OK? Yeah, she got a little rattled, but we're fine. You better undress outside, then – thanks for the warning. Always. Bye."

The girl looked at me, turning from closing Thwack's cage.

"Warning."

"She's kind of messy. I don't think you want to see her uniform – but she wouldn't mind some help in the shower, if you feel up to it. Are you too squeamish? She'd appreciate you helping her come down from the call – you did agree to being a part of our home, yes?"

She took a deep breath, and smiled. A little closer to a center. Good.

Monica drove up some 40 minutes later, about a quarter till midnight. I got a good look at her while she was stripping down in the light by the door to the garage. The washer was already filled, with lots of dry enzyme bleach added to the laundry soap; ready to start the soak. Deirdre was in the bathroom, nature finally getting her due for all that coffee.

Messy, yes; as bad as I'd seen? No.

I called out, "Get that shower going, girl, good and hot – and make sure you have a fresh bar of that anti- bacterial soap in there with you! Splash some peppermint soap on the floor of the shower, too, when you get in; 'cause it's going to smell kind of bad in there when she gets wet!"

I heard the toilet flush, and then the shower start – pressure low, as she'd forgotten about us being on a well. "Oh, well," I thought, "it should be back to normal before Master gets in."

She opened the front door, and silently handed me her wadded-up uniform. Worse than I thought. There was a fierce light in Master's eyes, though; and she just rubbed noses with me – something of a tradition when she came back from a run almost a walking bio-hazard.

Straight to the shower.

"Hold your nose, DeeDee – I stink really bad!"

Coughing.

Monica's chuckle. "Get going on me with that wash cloth and soap while I start on my hair! Scrub hard, girl, I feel like I've been playing in a butcher shop!"

Fifteen minutes later, I heard the shower curtain open, and Monica's voice again; "Rinse off well – and do any washing up pretty quick before you run out of hot water!"

Master came around the corner, toweling hard as she could, and she handed me another to scrub her dry.

"We got her back."

"I heard. Bad?"

"A real blender. Three-quarter ton older Dodge pickup nailed by the Suburban, oblique head-on. Figure combined impact at about 125. No skid marks. Driver of the Dodge wasn't wearing a seat belt, and ejected into a stand of aspens. Impaled several times, and decapitated. The Suburban accordioned and rolled a couple times. Only the driver was belted in. Lasagna central in there. Six vics in it, just the driver in the truck."

"The ETOH question?"

"Hard to say." She shrugged.

Tossing the towels onto the hamper, she got me into a bear hug and squeezed and stayed there. The entire universe stopped for a time, feeling the exertion and the concentration and the power of her life bonded to me in that wonderful embrace; a reunion of what had never really been apart. She smelled clean, a little harsh from the soap, but glowing from the overall success of the call.

"I need lotion! DeeDee's got strong hands, great for the dirty work – and she coped pretty good, considering I'm probably the worst shower partner she's ever had. That's why I decided to come home – there were another nine at base, even another trainee showed up to help; and I think I was going to make him throw up if I walked past him again. . ."

We chuckled together. Deirdre came out, damp now in her pajamas, running fingers through the wet tangles.

"I'm getting a drink! I have a little bottle of gold mescal from Guadalajara – any takers?"

"Bring a pitcher of water with you and a couple of glasses and we'll both join you. Wiley took me off shift for the rest of the night. At worst, I'll be third out; and a sip will do wonders for getting that smell out of my head."

"Coming right up!"

Monica followed the retreating view with her eyes, smiling.

We only had two old shot glasses in the house, engraved with scenes from sometime back in the 50's. Master took a small sip from the one I held for her and swallowed gratefully, head back, eyes closed. Deirdre tossed hers back easily, but caught my warning look and didn't pour herself another.

It was the real thing, delicious, a rare treat; and something I would avoid in the future. I wasn't ever going to wake that sweet tooth up again.

Downing a glass of water, Master sat on the bed nude and looked at me.

I grinned and started working the soles of her feet first, the lotion warming in the palms of my hands first.

Deirdre leaned against the door- jamb and watched, learning what couldn't be put into words. This had become something of a personal ceremony for us over the years; my touch and her attention connecting us in polar designations of identity; her need and mine making a unison that helped both of us unwind from the different stresses of calls like that.

Master had finally laid down to let me finish with really working on the knots in her back when Deirdre moved to my shoulder and asked, "May I, Hon?"

Monica opened one eye. "Sure. Give it a try. Rose will finish when you get tired."

The girl straddled Master's hips with an almost clinical aplomb, one which evaporated when my love stretched to accommodate the weight on her back and the muscles flexed.

I grinned into the red head's widening wide eyes, catching sight of a downward-traveling blush that sped past her Mandarin collar.

"She is much, much stronger than she looks. Call me when you get tired. I'll be in the kitchen, getting things ready for later today."

Time passed and I heard low voices occasionally drifting through the house. Kallis was fast asleep on top of the recliner and the big tomcat was probably entombed in the linen closet, what with the disruptions of the night and all.

The washer was on its' second cycle, food was packed for the following day as were a couple bags when I heard Deirdre's voice coming softly, "She's asleep.

"Come help me up? I don't think I can stand, right now."

I walked into our room and saw a truly wonderful sight: Master was completely asleep, snoring softly. Deirdre had partially unbuttoned her top, beads of sweat glistening in the night light's glow on her face, making a spreading dampness down the back.

Her hands were trembling, and when I caught them to help support her there was almost no strength in them at all.

Leaning over the bed I said, "Take me around the neck , and get your legs clear of her before you try and find the floor. I won't drop you, I promise."

With a quiet, deep breath, I felt her arms lock into my bending extension, and when I lifted, her cramped legs cleared my sleeping Master with inches to spare.

"I don't think I can straighten them," she whispered, some pain clear in her voice.

"To the sofa with you."

"Yes, Mom."

Walking with care, I smelled the warmth of her, hair still a little damp, and the softness of curves that had worked very hard to do good under that challenge.

The futon took her with only a creak and I straightened, breathing a little from the effort, reaching for her ankles, slowly pulling those legs straight. She gasped, with circulation returning, and she bit her lip, wincing.

"That's a first, girl. Truly. There are some massage therapists, and even one chiropractor that couldn't do what you managed. Thank you.

"Time for some sleep. I finish up, and then it's off to bed for me, too. We'll get up when we have to, OK?"

Sighing, yawning, she could only nod.

I pulled bedding over her and carefully, gently tucked her in; watching such a simple act release the wave of fatigue, sleep pulling her down, down into the now-quiet night.

I was in bed before the hour was over, stripped down to just a thong and softly kissing Master on the shoulder when I found my own dreams reaching for me; taking me to a triangular meadow of lush grasses and gentle breezes where I heard a girl singing low, loving songs I'd never heard before, in a voice that looked for harmony.

Saturday

The big tomcat was standing on my neck, meowing authoritatively.

It was daylight out, bright, maybe after 9 sometime; and as soon as I stirred Thwack chirruped, too; looking for breakfast, stretching his wings, crest erect.

Monica was still sound asleep, not having moved once in the night from where we had molded together. I heard soft sleepy sounds from the living room, and then silence.

I arose with care, tucking the warmth back in around she whom I would always see with wonder and awe, watching her find the blankets tucked in just right, her slumbers undisturbed. So I thought.

"What time is it, girl?" Her voice was low, modulated, but furry with sleep.

"A little after 9am. Are you awake?"

"Not yet. Omelets and muffins for breakfast."

"Sir." I went around, and kissed her lips, getting snagged by a warm arm that smelled of lotion and sleep.

"Off you go."

Deirdre was sprawled, mostly out of the blankets, little Kallis having decided to turn her into his most desirable of loungers, and the sight made me chuckle. He looked at me inquisitively – and before I could do anything, he stretched, and sank twenty needle-sharp claws into Deirdre's thighs!

I think she levitated four inches, straight up; an amazing sight and one I sympathized with.

"Aaaaaaaah!"

Not quite a scream, more a rising note of complete surprise; complete with limbs moving very fast while she landed sitting straight up, looking around a little wildly; her hair a tangle of color in the sunlight, mouth twisting into a half-grin when she nailed me with a look of complete disbelief.

"What. . . In. . . The. . . Name. . . Of. . . Heaven!"

I could only smother a laugh and look pointedly down to her lap.

Kallis was on his back completely unconcerned, staring up at the girl, the epitome of comfort; all four paws curled around his white belly – cute and helpless and innocent as the new day!

She swallowed hard, and burst out laughing.

"Beast! Monster! You little monster! How can you do that to me and lay there looking so cute??"

"He surfs blankets quite well, don't you think?"

"God!"

"G'morning! Now that I'm sure you're quite awake, keep it down a little. Master is trying to get caught up, and has placed her orders for breakfast – but completely intends to commune with her pillow in the meantime."

I heard a fist hitting a pillow twice from the next room.

Opening the blinds above the futon, the morning light came in with a flood of pure energy. A cloudless day; the sky that impossible azure, and just a light breeze tickling the aspens.

"Go ahead and hit the bathroom and then get back to bed. Breakfast will be served before too long. He," looking pointedly at the kitten, "will be after me as soon as I open some breakfast for the two of them."

On cue, the big tomcat walked up and head-butted me in the shin, purring and meowing.

A soft, happy chuckle accompanied with the sounds of bare feet headed around the corner as I made my way into the kitchen, two feline appetites in tow.

Within two hours a late breakfast was gone, my old Bronco was packed with an assortment of supplies and bags for the following days, and we were headed out for some shopping and simple indulgences in Fairplay.

fairplay

I never get tired of the drive. Coming up here a couple times a month during decent weather to go practice tactical defensive pistol drills at the Sheriff's range, the incredible panorama you are greeted with when rounding the final curve off of Kenosha still catches my breath. It's never the same, what with cloud-shadows, the changing seasons of the aspen groves, and the realization that this alpine plateau is second only in size to Peru's – and just out our front door, in relative terms anyway.

We hit the pass before noon, and were greeted with the jagged peaks still crowned in icy brilliance, their harsh edges a warning that had stood geological ages unchanged. The sloping rises of low hills scattered across the valley were clothed in bright greens of aspen trees with only the occasional trophy home ruining the flowing sight. In the valley floor, even from the height of the pass, wild pastureland looked lush, the line of the highway a demarcation crossing off into the hills to the right.

Passing through Jefferson I looked in the mirror and saw Deirdre's eyes wide, just drinking it all in.

"People live most of their lives here, even in this day and age."

She saw me and smiled; "What an experience! How do people ever cope with cities, with this as a baseline of sanity?"

Monica chuckled. "Most of us dread them; leaving only out of extreme necessity for as short a time as possible."

The girl could only nod mutely, and look out the windows as the 200 yards of Jefferson disappeared behind us.

Up and down rolling hills; we were starting to wind further into the corner of the Mosquito Range, Como's turn-off passing in a blink. Monica pointed out the burros in the meadows, talking about their history up here; and the annual races held up in Fairplay – the most extreme marathon in the world.

Red Hill Pass wound us up to a hairpin curve and down, and in the very crook of the mountains was our destination.

We turned off the highway and parked on Main Street not far from the old courthouse. One of the State Patrol cruisers flashed its' lights at us, and Monica grinned and waved. "Baker-four, from last night."

Deirdre and I walked arm-in-arm, me with a real purpose in mind; she, oblivious to likely anything but feeling like she was stepping back in time couldn't have cared less. The sun was almost fierce now, and there wasn't a cloud in the sky. My destination was completely logical and when I turned to look at Monica at rearguard, she nodded wryly in silent agreement.

The hat shop.

Seeing the sign, the girl on my arm came to life and suddenly kissed me on the cheek!

"Absolutely! Can they do anything I want?"

Monica came abreast and I untangled myself, letting them go on ahead.

"Flannel, beaver, you name it; they're about as good as you can get in the State – it's only going to be limited by what blanks they happen to have in stock. You shouldn't be hard to fit."

I let the two of them go up the two wooden steps and into the shade of the store's front porch where the more gaudy wares for tourists were in view. Monica's silent transfer of watchfulness had let me spot the two locals who had tolerance levels to the likes of us that dated back to the late 40's – though both were in their 20's, I figured.

Seeing me stop and face them, one spat on the street, and they both retreated to the bar further down. I made a mental picture of them, getting a read of sickness, a spreading disease that went beyond their mindset, printing their body language and clothing and physicals for later. The curb was reasonably clean, so I sat down and lit a cigarette and watched and waited patiently.

The street was quiet, typical, with only one old rusty Ford making its' way down to the garage down at the far end. Finished with my smoke, I pinched the cherry off the butt, rubbed it out, pocketed the filter and headed into the store where I could hear voices rising and falling happily.

The furniture was all made out of old, recycled wood from homesteads, planed into satin smoothness, holding a patina that spoke of comfort and held warmth in the diffused light. Walls were all but buried in hat forms, and the smell of the steamer was coming from the far corner. Drawer after drawer was filled with blanks, their brass holders stating, "XXX #5 BLONDE," and "XXXXX #1 ASH," and so on, sequentially, row after row.

Monica was relaxed in a carpetbagger's sofa, and she caught my eye.

"They went back in the bar?"

"Both of them. They don't like bright light, it seems."

She sighed.

"Syphilis, most likely. They may have friends."

"Yes."

"Ida pointed them out to me from the chocolate shop. They did seem to squint a little too hard, but they didn't have any trouble walking."

"She's a dear. Fifteen, sixteen years retired from the Feds, and she still doesn't miss anything."

"I transported her husband."

"I know. You couldn't have done anything – he was dead when he hit the floor in the tool shed."

"Here's our shopper. . ."

Deirdre came round the corner, sparkling, holding two different blanks, both 5-X beaver from the look of them. One, a dark oak; the other, copper.

"I've never felt anything so lush! In clothes, sure, but drawer after drawer of this stuff? Never! Which one do you think?"

"Oak."

"The copper-colored one."

"Oak."

"Oak. Sir."

Julia and her husband looked at the three of us like were mad; but considering they were looking at turning a $400 profit in the next half an hour they smiled pleasantly. Monica laughed out loud.

"Oak it is!"

"Miss, have you decided on the three, or the four inch brim – and there's still the matter of the style. . ." leading the girl back to the multiple mirrors around the corner, her husband in dutiful tow.

"If she comes back with that in a Sam Mix crease, I'll never speak to her again; much less look at her!"

Monica chuckled.

"I give her more credit than that."

"She's from Chicago."

She just looked me in the eye, raised an eyebrow, and grinned.

"Runaway Bride, in 5-X."

I think I turned green around the gills.

We waited, till Monica cocked a head at the door. I rose silently and meandered out for another innocuous smoke on the curb.

A couple out-of-state land yachts had pulled in across the street; three polyester-clad seniors with camcorders talking noisily about the "locals." The younger pair of yuppies caught my eye as both were in travel-worn L.L. Bean casuals and Sperry Docksiders, headed down to the chocolate shop. "He's got a mini-Glock, SOB, left-hand under that polo shirt and travel vest, and her fanny pack looks like it's been adapted. Wish I'd seen what car they got out of. Wrist watches are both on right wrists, too! Interesting."

Our light-sensitive bar flies were nowhere to be seen, but to be thorough I stretched and wandered around the back of the shop to the edge of the bluff to just enjoy the sight of kids playing in the old gold fields, flooded now with icy run-off. Nothing.

I heard the steamer inside going full-blast: Deirdre had made her choice, and committed a sizeable chunk of change to it. I tried to think nice thoughts.

Monica met me at the door in the shade of the porch.

"I need to stretch my legs after this! You won't believe what that girl has chosen."

"Pancho Villa, with contrast whipcord lacing."

I got a rather dark look, deservedly; but we'd seen out-of-towners come up with everything from the superb basics to the utterly absurd and they'd wear them with pride, to the indigestion and caustic looks of innocent bystanders.

Deirdre emerged at that moment.

My mouth hung open.

My hat. My old canvas hat, duplicated in the most exquisite, most expensive beaver. Perfect for the high country, it had a four-inch brim, threaded invisibly with fine steel wire for shaping if needed; a rawhide loop running to a turquoise-and-silver slip-bead on the end of it, meeting the ends several inches under her chin. A conservative, soft center crease in the crown, just tipped a little forward. No vent.

Monica chuckled.

On Deirdre, with her deep red mane the look was painfully erotic somehow. Her face was in shadow, highlighting the braid falling from the back of the brim, making me notice her eyes asparkle with mischievous triumph!

"You approve!"

I choked. "You looked through everything I own, to come up with that, right? Our hats are stored together, in the same part of the front closet, the….." I paused, realizing that I'd given her that closet for her clothes the first night.

I sighed; "You win. Yes! It's perfect on you!"

I got swept up in a happy hug, the tips of my boots only guessing that there was terra firma reasonably near by.

"It's not too late in the season for this, is it? I just didn't feel like a pre-fab straw."

"You pull it off, trust me."

"Monica?"

"I approve. Yes. Now I want to get some exercise, before we get too wound up in all this."

"Where we headed?"

We walked to the bluff behind the store and she pointed at the old gold fields. "Over there is a nice place we go to. It's only just over a mile. You up to it?"

"How do we get down, first?"

She grinned, as there was no obvious track, just the thread of a deer path if you knew what to look for.

"Follow me."

Taking the rear, I found I really had to concentrate on my own footing, though I'd climbed that bluff dozens of times. In those jeans, I had a wonderful view just out of reach ahead of me!

It was about a hundred foot drop, and all but straight down. The deer trail was clinging to the tiniest outcropping of juniper root and river stone exposed by the weather. "Thank Goddess it hasn't rained recently," I thought wryly; "because the view there could snap green timber."

Deirdre was sure-footed but was breathing deeply when she got to the rolling field below. Monica was waiting patiently, hands on hips, her drover thrown wide to catch the breeze. I caught a glimpse of her Trail Master Bowie behind her right hip.

"You said gold fields? That's what all these huge piles of river rock are from? Dredging?"

"Yep. We're headed to a nice deep pool on the other side. If you can find walking there in real boots functional you may have the makings of a country girl in you, somewhere beyond your concrete-and-glass fortresses of what you think of as home!"

"Onward, then!"

We took our time across the stone fields and ravines, getting to a private pool in just under half an hour.

Boots came off and I dug green apples, hard and tart out of my pack, along with muffins from breakfast and a couple bottles of water. That got me a quizzical look.

"Why not just drink the snow melt? It looks as pure as can be!"

"Because there may be a dead sheep or something twenty yards away, or a pile of deer droppings in it."

She blanched, blinked.

I chuckled and sighed as my bare feet plunged into the icy water. Two other pairs of feet splashed the water in unison, and accompanying sighs and gasps were heard amidst crunching and munching as I looked to the mountains.

I took my bandanna from around my neck, soaked it in the pool, and draped it loosely around my neck. "Climate control," I sighed, "like no other!"

We passed almost an hour there while I listened to Deirdre and Master talk about the history of the place, questions and answers about the most minute of specifics coming with confidence born of a lifetime there and beyond in those mountains.

Footwear back on and all traces of our visit cleaned up, we walked over to the North to the fishing bridge to see what luck was being had by the die-hards. Several had 12-to-14 inchers, gorgeous trout; and one craggy old man with the ugliest dog you ever saw rose with an ear-to-ear grin when he spied Monica coming near.

"How's the hip, Charlie?"

"It only aches when it's cold – and then I just add a little more whiskey to my tea. Good to see you little girl! How's your Dad? He goin' hunting still this year?"

"Yep. He figures next year may be his last, though. Too many flatlanders hunting up near home for him. It's going on sixty-two years, this season."

"Your freezer full? I always got more than enough."

"Charlie." She gathered the old man in the most tender of embraces imaginable. "I do just fine. Rose is good in the woods, and we never lack; you know that."

"Fuzzy, I'm goin' to watch out for you till my eyes just don' open some morning. You were the best, ever, my opinion, in the deep rock." Looking steadily with a bright smile at Deirdre, he poked Master in the ribs.

"Who's that looker? You taking a guided tour, pretty lady? Fancy hat – sensible, but fancy! You moving up here to learn how to really live? You like cutthroat trout? I always got more than enough!"

"Deirdre. Hello, Charlie! You like my hat? Thank you!" She held her hand out to him, and he gallantly took it and kissed it.

He nodded, looking at me. "So this is the lady you rescued!"

"Yes." Grinning.

"Stupidist fool stunt!" Looking at the girl sternly. "You trying to die? What a waste! There's too much livin' to do!"

She blushed, but held his eye. "They're teaching me; and I hope I'm learning fast enough. I'm just up here for a couple more days; but maybe next time I'm up we can do a turn round a dance floor? I'd like that!"

He sighed noisily, and beamed.

"The spirit is willing, but the flesh may be gettin' too far along in years, sweet thing. I see you again, I'll hold you to that, a promise! Bet I can even find my good suit and get it cleaned, just for you!"

The girl shone.

"I'll give you a day's warning, just so you can have enough time to do your boots up right, then!" She actually curtsied.

Charlie winked conspiratorially at me.

"That one was worth savin'. Now get some more sense into her, 'cause she's got a lot of people lookin' up to her, waitin', and she don't even know it yet."

Monica kissed him softly on the cheek.

"We gotta be goin', Charlie. I'll always remember you and Shaft Seven, that Winter day. Always."

"Fuzzy, an' you and that loader and the crusher. Say hi to your Dad."

Turning and heading up the public path, we both saw tears in her eyes as Charlie went back to fishing, his old ugly dog still laying in the shade beneath his folding chair. She was walking fast.

Nobody spoke the entire time, till we got back up the bluff behind the Hand Hotel and found a bench on the porch.

Monica looked at Deirdre.

"We go way back. He called from a phone somewhere out there during the snowstorm to say everything was all right, and to look for smoke behind the knob on the Meridian Trail – and then he hung up. My Dad and him grew up together.

"I transported him three years ago, when he fell and broke his hip, falling off a roof, fixing some shingles on a friend's home in a thunderstorm – and I hadn't seen him in almost twenty years. He knew me on sight, said he'd been keeping tabs on me all that time.

"Nobody really knows where he lives any more; he just shows up at the damndest times with that old dog."

Deirdre asked, "Fuzzy?"

"Never mind. A nick from the mines."

She looked at me; that sparkle back brighter than ever. I heard the sound of wings, somewhere. . .

I laughed and asked, "OK, what do you want next?"

"I want a treat for you!"

I smiled quietly and said, "I need nothing…"

"Monica, can I do something for her? Please?"

"Boots." Monica came back to the present, curtains slipping back over her past silently, almost unnoticeable as a change. She had no closed doors in her to me; but there were places I did not go without being invited.

Master stood, purpose epitomized. "Girl, you are getting new boots today!"

My shoulders slumped.

I hate having to get new shoes, boots, almost anything; even getting my hair trimmed was a trial.

"Smile, girl; and lead the way."

I stood. I smiled. And seeing the resolution in my Master's stance, I broke out laughing.

"Sir."

I led the way. Deirdre was asking, "What does she like? Can I get you some new ones, too? Do they make them in the store, just for you?"

"Yes. Maybe; and yes."

My ears perked up. "Master, agreeing, even remotely to the possibility of new boots? I'll go along with almost anything to see this!"

The bootmaker's was around the corner from the huge antique barn. The blue door was open, and the small room was a little cramped by the priority given the back work area. A very tall man with salt-and- pepper hair, slightly stooped in the shoulders, immaculate in creased jeans and a white shirt was drinking coffee from an elegant china cup, the saucer resting on a polished burl table. The work apron was hanging from an antique buffer that was also immaculate, gleaming chrome and enamel and function.

Pictures of the old mining operations, and engineers' drawings covered the walls. The entire place was absolutely spotless, and held the rich scent of leathers and polish and waxes. I got a little dizzy from desire, knowing he also made some of Monica's more personal custom leatherwear.

"Monica."

Huge hands.

"Tom, this is Deirdre – and you already know Rose."

He fixed me with a brief look that felt like he had just taken a hologram of my soul. Blinked.

Shaking hands with Deirdre, he asked the two of them to sit.

"Repairs again, or something new?"

Deirdre laughed, not understanding, and said, "I want to treat my friends and me to new boots! Can you help me do that now, today?"

With a smile, he looked at her and said, "Of course. What do you have in mind, precisely?"

"Real boots, good soles, undercut heels, leather-lined; nothing with laces of course, and nine-needle shaft stitching on them?"

"Colors and leathers?" A quiet smile was spreading across that face. A rare occurrence. He didn't look at me. Deirdre didn't notice.

"Lighter than my hat, for me; do you have polished elk?"

"Of course."

"Chocolate brown for Monica, rough-out suede?"

"That I can do, too."

She looked at me seriously. "What do you really want, Rose? Really, really want?"

Three pairs of eyes on me; three completely different emotions behind them. I wanted to hide under something and hope I could escape into the dark.

"Girl."

"Sir."

"Choose."

I managed to look up at Tom. Waiting patiently. He'd made Monica's favorite flogger, to her specifications just two months ago – one of among many personal accessories…

I said clearly and calmly, "Espresso foot, bull-hide; with a honey elk shaft, please, Tom."

"A rounder toe for you, yes?"

"Please."

"Appropriate. Get yourselves comfortable, we will be here for a little while."

In order, he carefully made a mold of each pair of feet with quick-setting plaster, and took the halves in the back of the work area. He worked with precision, never making the slightest mess with the whole process.

Coming back out with whole hides, he reviewed each color and leather weight, seeing that Deirdre and Monica were satisfied.

He took exactly two hours, start to finish once he went back with the hides. The sights and sounds were that of a master craftsman; and I hoped that Deirdre didn't catch on to the extent of the equipment he had there. Opening a cupboard, facial molds came very briefly in view, as did full torso castings.

Tom was a recognized master in leather in the BDSM community in an area that covered several States. He never advertised, never needing to. A retired engineer from the aerospace industry, he'd taken his successful investment in some dot com stocks and settled here about ten years ago. After completely restoring a Victorian mansion on the outskirts of town, he focused on leather, opened his shop, and he lived quite invisibly.

Trying to read him was like trying to penetrate a monolith of obsidian with a flashlight. Nothing. All I got back was the sensation of dark light.

Bringing three pairs of boots out to us, Monica and Deirdre stopped chatting amicably about the view out of the window, and Deirdre clapped in amazement.

"They're beautiful! You lined them with calf skin!"

"Monica, please try them on."

She did, and sighed, pleased.

"Perfect, Tom."

"Deirdre?"

"Gorgeous! I feel like my feet are being caressed; not like clunky shit-kickers, you know?"

Tom smiled, completely unoffended.

"I'm glad you like them, Deirdre. Walk around in them for me, and then let me check the fit, will you?"

"Sure! What is the last in these?"

"Maple, kiln-dried."

She paused, and stared. "You're kidding! In that short of a time?"

"I am among the best at what I do. When you return home, remember that I have a casting of your feet, and can make any footwear you would ever desire. I also do special orders."

His voice was like Autumn's winds on glass.

"Stand here, please."

He checked, carefully.

"How do they feel?"

"Perfect! Now you, Rose!"

Tom knelt and took my calf in one hand, and effortlessly slid the right boot on; then the left. The strength in his hands let me know he could reduce the bones in my legs to splinters with a squeeze. His eyes met mine, and a cool wind blew through me. He stood.

I stood, and he gave me an imperceptible bow. I smiled, and looked down with my eyes, my hair hiding the exchange from Deirdre.

"Excellent. Walk around for me, and I'll check the fit, if you need."

I did. They were incredible. He'd gone ahead and made the soles of my boots a little thicker, the heels about half an inch higher than the other pairs. The better to display me when I was nude but for the boots. Outwardly, the difference was barely perceptible, but I felt like I may as well have been in stiletto thigh- highs.

My pussy throbbed suddenly.

Looking to Monica, he calmly said, "Matching chaps would be beautiful."

She grinned at him, and he smiled in return.

"Another time, Tom."

"Of course."

Deirdre, digging into her jacket, asked, "What do I owe you."

"Eighteen hundred dollars."

She didn't even blink.

She pulled out a marcasite and hammered gold money clip, peeled three $500 bills, and four $100's from the inside. That clip was over a full inch thick. I could only blink; and turning to look out the window, I was acutely aware of my status, financially.

Pride washed through me. Unpretentious, complete quiet pride. "I own nothing. I am slave."

Deirdre was taking his card, smiling warmly. "I'll stay in touch."

Tom smiled, nodded to Monica, and the two of them left ahead of me.

"I would never challenge her, for you; though it is a tempting thought. She is family, and respected. You have nothing to fear from me. Ever."

I turned, and received that slight bow again. I knelt, fully and easily. "A girl is grateful, Tom."

I rose, and walked out the door into the fading sunset, Monica holding Deirdre's attention in the spectacular colors. The bag with our old boots swung from my hand. I heard an owl hooting, and looked sharply up.

Nothing, though the sound came from somewhere mid-air. I looked behind me, and saw Tom's door was shut, the blinds drawn.

Monica turned, sensing something.

I smiled, and shook my head.

Joining the two of them, we linked arms and headed for the Fairplay Hotel.

The night was falling fast; and the night was young.

It's actually a nice-size room, considering the Hotel had been around for over a hundred years: a heavy, overstuffed armchair was in the far corner and two oak chairs waited around a small square table beside the West window. Blue and green and white striped wallpaper. A decent, clean, knotted rag rug was on the floor. The usual turn-of the century bath, in white tile and enamel meant we could soak the days' adventures away. The clerk gave us a knowing toss of her head when she grinned when I asked her for a "nice big room; you know where, if we make a little noise, we won't bother anybody?" In her purple, skin-tight tie-dyed tank top and hip-hugger jeans, she gave Monica a look that told the three of us she would be available after she got off shift.

Deirdre and I had to almost drag Monica away. I knew that look all too well; and she was breathing through her teeth!

Up two flights of stairs, the dry oak floors creaking a little, as three pairs of western undercut heels walked to the end of the hall, Northwest corner. A few bags had been retrieved from my Bronco, a light load shared. "Good! The sunrise wouldn't blind us tomorrow!" I had a bottle of the local sake' in my pack – something Deirdre was astonished to find.

The three-panel door was thick and still quite solid, and we were greeted to a huge four-poster bed with a thick rose chenille cover atop a down comforter and snowy sheets. The old gas lights had been converted to electricity years ago, but Monica found that the wall sconces were still oil lamps for when the power went out and she went to each, lighting all four in turn. The scent of vanilla and cherry filled the room quietly, and the wainscoted walls seemed to welcome the break from the electricity.

Deirdre was already shedding her boots, looking around as if she were in a frontier museum, eyes wide, and a full smile taking in everything. The wrought iron headboard and footboard were the real thing, solid and welded and likely from the old whorehouse-days.

Monica and I tossed a fast glance back and forth, and she dug four, two-inch wide black satin ribbons from her drover pocket and tossed me two while Deirdre was checking out the bathroom's oversized cast iron enamel tub, shedding clothes as she went.

We had them secured and trailing down to the floor when she walked back in, wearing only peach organza tap pants that buttoned down each thigh and a matching halter-top.

Monica's eyes dilated and her body rose to the girl as her hands ripped off the plaid shirt, tossing it right in my face where I still knelt beside the headboard (I couldn't tie knots as fast as Monica!).

"I knew this would be the right time to really dress up a little," and then all she could do was gasp in pain as Monica's hands dug into her thick hair and bent her backwards, taking her mouth, making no other contact to her at all. The isolated sensations Deirdre was experiencing were ones I knew so very well, and my quiet laughter warmed the goose-bumps that had threatened to reduce the lush redhead to shivers.

Nipples taut and her ribs rising in deep, gulping breaths, the girl tried to raise her arms over Monica to capture her in an embrace, but she found only air! Monica ducked and stepped back, her tongue tracing the taste of the treasure she'd found, savoring it. Teeth parted, she wrinkled her nose at the wild-eyed prize, blinked hard twice and chuckled.

"You do look good enough to eat." Calm, and balanced, there was enough real threat in the tone of her voice to carve the depths of her possible intentions on the girl's mind for years to come. Whether anything ever was to come of it remained to be seen, though. "Our shower together had a clinical aspect to it, by necessity – and I was only focusing on your abilities with a washcloth."

"Do you like these, Rose?" Deirdre spun slowly on the scrubbed oak floor, on the ball of her left foot.

In a heartbeat – ok, maybe three – I was down to just my white embroidered tee shirt and cotton thong, and I went to her, curiosity consuming me. Monica threw back the covers and opened the valve on the brass steam radiator wide, cracking an opposing window a little, top and bottom. She drew the thick shades over the daytime sheers, and kept her cowhide jeans on. I heard water running in the sink, and heard the tiny clink of the bottle of sake barely bump against the porcelain. (That's one way to heat sake' – clever!)

I carefully touched the girl, my hands wondering at the union of curve and muscle and the soft markers of her. Her freckles went below the edge of her hair. She had to have been stitched into that lingerie, because the buttons looked far too fragile.

I came to her scar. It was less than a quarter the size of the original wound and the edges were smooth. It was barely visible, more of a cream birthmark than a blemish to detract from her. My fingers repeated their remembered inspection of her ribs and muscle that surrounded it, and found no sign of her fall having left any further harm.

I stood, and there were tears in both our eyes.

"You healed."

I hugged her then, our laughter and tears finally washing the months that had intervened, away and gone.

She had been working out more. I had suspected as much during our day's adventure in and around Fairplay, but she had been lifting more, too. The feel of her holding me, cradling me and keeping me molded to her clear beauty was getting me light-headed, and my lips reached for her.

Monica pounded on the mattress!

"Girl, come here!

We broke apart, and looked. Monica was wearing a studded black leather halter top and matching thong. I knew those leathers so very well. She held my flat, stainless steel collar in one hand, and the other, the belt she had worn all day!

We were going "formal" tonight: and that could mean anything.

In the years of our relationship we had gone far beyond the familiar rules and enforcements other lesbian D/s coupes had seemed to know, but there were times when Monica delighted in returning to our beginnings. We called it going "formal," and it always meant that she was primitive again, the veneer of being in public gone. Consumed with a tribal hunger to own me, without rules, I effortlessly released all knowledge of self and went to her side. Deirdre. Be careful what you ask for, girl. I took three deep breaths. . .

Wordlessly, she and Monica tied me belly down on the bed, and I broke out into a fine, light sweat when I felt my collar lock around my neck. The thick satin ribbons would be impossible to break; though effortless to cut. A rubber mouthguard was slipped between my teeth, and I was blindfolded.

"She will take me far tonight." A flowing thick desire began to wash over me.

"Turn around for a sec, will you?"

I heard the sound of handcuffs; Monica's old S&W's ratchet shut, locking around Deirdre's wrists!

"What??? But, I want!"

There was the warm small dry sound of the end of the looped, thick leather belt falling to the floor. Monica chuckled.

"You'll learn a lot more of your wants tonight, dear; trust me. The cuffs are to keep you from getting in my way, and to keep you from touching yourself too soon. By sunrise, you probably won't be frustrated. Now, try to keep quiet, and you'll have a good time."

In a moment I heard her in the bathroom. Clink. The brief splash as warm sake went into a mug accompanied the scent, and my mouth watered.

"Here's a little something to keep you from getting chilly until things heat up. Don't give me that look; I'm not interested in getting you drunk; what fun would that be? Open your mouth – that's right – all in one swallow. Tonight is when you learn a little, and when I see just how much self-control you really have!

"Now come sit in the chair and watch!"

I heard Deirdre's breath grow a little ragged, and then calm. I heard Monica rummaging around in my purse for a moment. I knew what she was after!

My boot knife. It's small, with a double-edged blade that's only four inches, with a black epoxy hilt and black leather sheath. It's very, very sharp, and the point. . . I knew that point very well.

I kept it there all the time as a back-up weapon, something I could slip on discretely if I got uncomfortable in a crowded room.

I heard the thin, slick sound as it came free from the sheath. There was a light tug twice on both my shoulders and a whisper as the blade sliced the cotton over my shoulders. The sound was long and Monica must be very focused, because she cut the back of the tee-shirt from my neck, down; and delicately traced a line with the point of the blade, fiery-cold, from the nape of my neck; the point a precise touch as it never left my skin, drawing a line down my spine.

I heard her breathing through her teeth. It hissed, sometimes.

She left the cotton beneath me. I was being displayed for a whipping, and the cotton would soak up some of the extra sweat.

A tug at each hip, and my thong was pulled from my hips. It was already soaked, and my pussy must've been a sight for Deirdre to see, judging from the sound of her breathing.

"Now."

And it began. Ten, and then twenty. Even, and powerful, the belt lashed across my legs, bottom and back.

I was bathed in sweat, every pore open and alive, and I was silent save for my breathing.

She had the power to take the flesh from my bones, but this was not to punish me, but to release us completely. "She has never marked me; ever."

There was silence suddenly.

I was immersed in the feel of her laying full on me, rubbing and flexing up and down, arching and landing. I felt her leather and her skin as if I was transparent, as if I became spirit. Free, tribal, alive beyond the bounds of sanity.

I heard Deirdre's breath. Deep and clear.

Monica suddenly bounced off the bed, and I was left ablaze, aching for her to return. It couldn't possibly stop, not yet; no, please.

Clink.

The brief, soft splash. She was getting more sake'.

"This is not the place for your meditation, girl. Drink up." Master's voice had a low, furry quality; a focused calm that terrified people.

"Again."

I screamed. She was in her power now, using me to break Deirdre's composure. My thoughts were wild, detached, images of desperate pleasure. I was losing my mind, uncontrolled now, free; and I writhed under her blows. A fiery rain was bathing me, focused on my thighs and bottom.

I screamed. I was losing consciousness, and I did not want to fail. The scream was different, pure.

Silence.

A small, clear voice escaped between ragged breathing.

"Give her to me, please, please, please. . ."

Monica chuckled. The very ends of the satin were cut, and my blindfold and mouthguard was removed.

I saw Deirdre. She was bathed in sweat, her flesh mottled with spreading areas of pinks and reds. Her posture in the chair was forward, and tears flowed from her eyes.

Her eyes. On me. I arched, twisted and rolled to a careful kneeling posture on the bed. I was barely sane, but I saw the dangerous hunger for me in those deepening, spreading pools of black that had left so little of their blue.

I leaned forward till my fingertips were barely touching my knees and I posed carefully, and turned my head to look to the right.

"Master."

"You are beautiful, girl. You did very well. I'll get you something to drink. Don't move."

She brought some sake' and a pitcher of water. I drank two glasses quickly, and she chuckled. I knew to take the sake' in tiny sips, holding pose for her to watch, to savor me.

Deirdre made a soft, fox-like sound.

Monica nodded and handed me the key, indicating that I take the cup with me.

"Stand."

She could barely control herself, but rose to her feet. Sweat was making the fabulous lingerie into a desperate offering to take her, clinging to her, transparent. The scent of her was a drink of pleasure to my body's screaming need. I felt the wetness of my dripping sex trickle down my legs. My back was a demand for her softness, but I saw the danger in her.

Reaching around her, I unlocked the handcuffs easily and the heat of her washed over me. Her hands came to my steel collar and she reached to pull me to her.

Her hair was wet with her sweat and followed her arms, clinging.

Monica laughed, a loud, ringing recall.

"Come here you two! Deirdre, take what's left of Rose's underwear and throw it away, and then come lay on the bed. Girl, now we see if your friend can find herself in a simple exercise!

"If she succeeds, we'll all go to Westin Pass, tomorrow, bright and early. Want to spend the day up there?"

I went into the bathroom where Deirdre had disappeared. She was leaning against the sink, my sweat- soaked cotton tee in her hands. Her legs were trembling.

"Dirty books and pictures don't prepare you for this, huh?"

She gave me a wild look, and I saw that she's bitten her lip till it was bleeding slightly. She shook her head, inarticulate; but her eyes and her body were telling all kinds of stories!

I twisted and looked at my back in the full-length mirror next to the tub. An ice water soak would likely boil in seconds. There were only a few thin lines of blood, very unusual but nothing a little anti-bacterial ointment wouldn't take care of in the morning.

Cotton into the trash, and I lead her back to the bed by the hand.

"Lay down, honey. No, silly, on your back. You probably aren't going to be whipped tonight; but I don't think she's going to let the sun rise on the same girl you were when you came here."

She trembled from head to toe when her body found the wet outline of my pain from only minutes earlier.

Monica was down to her leather thong, hands on her hips, and she threw me a quick wink.

"Girl, I'm not going to hurt you tonight: I just need to look into your self-control a little. Depending on how you do, we may go further."

Looking at me, she said, "Take her. Make her your slave."

As Deirdre screamed, I pounced.

All or nothing stakes. She could be mine!

Her fingers locked in my hair and our kisses were greedy, her breath deep and urgent. My thighs scissored around her waist and my rings were tearing at her halter-top as electricity finally made the four points connect. My fingers traced the wondrous beauty of her, she wild and open and begging for more.

The smell of sweat and pheromones and estrogen and blood made me dizzy, and she had far more strength than I had guessed.

Hooking a thumb suddenly into the ring on the front of my collar, she twisted to the side and rose up to her knees, flipping me on my side. I ripped the crotch out of her silk and my fingers were inside her, reaching for that place inside here where she would lose all control.

She shoved up with her arm, and I choked on my collar and her teeth found my rings. She bit me hard, first one, and then the other. My fingers failed, and she forced a thigh between my legs and locked her hips to mine, her clit grinding into my pussy.

I was taller, but she had me. I was locked onto her; and my arms were reaching, trying to reach her breasts.

She cried out, and pounded her hips against me and I could only claw desperately at her thigh, leaving ten welts the full length as she hooked her ankle around my throat and released my collar.

Monica laughed.

Deirdre reached down, and I ripped away her halter as she twisted my head to the side and I knew fear, because I knew she could snap my neck like a twig, pinned as I was.

I lay very still, and saw her reach to her breasts with those beautiful, manicured fingernails.

In a dream I saw her claw herself across both breasts twice, as she straightened and rippled in her orgasms, her eyes never leaving mine.

Shifting quickly, she pulled my wrist behind my back and I had to arch completely, bringing my pussy to her mouth.

Nearly upside-down, my face sideways into a pillow, I felt her graze her teeth across my labia, and her tongue slip in-and-out, and then she was flicking my clit so very fast.

My cries were softer now, wordless and yielding.

She straightened her legs, and locked both ankles around my neck releasing my wrist and enforcing my incredible arch.

I came repeatedly, and her fingers found my flattened breasts and took my rings, tugging in synch to the pace of her tongue, flicking, licking, then soft-spaced-kisses and then her teeth!

Consciousness vanished with a thunderclap and a brilliant flash!

She set me up, all of this.

I swam in the starry hem of the Goddess, and my mouth opened in prayer to meet other lips on mine. The lower was a little swollen, and the taste of her was my own taste and her breath was hot and sweet.

Awareness flowed into me like a thunderstorm in the desert.

She had me sitting cross-legged, her ankles locked behind my back. I was resting on her shoulder, my mouth just reaching hers. I focused, and saw Master looking at me with a smile, the heat of her still in full wonderful bloom and fury.

"I always did love watching a rigged fight! Girl, you couldn't have known I told Deirdre to do more lifting, and less aerobics for her visit here. I figured both of you needed that, so let's begin, shall we?"

Deirdre laughed, "You mean to tell me this, all this was just to warm me up?? Oh, I can't wait! I need to get some water first, though!"

As she walked a little unsteadily to the bathroom, Monica asked, "Better, now? Girl, I thought you were going to steam the paper off the walls. I wanted you to be able to focus. Here's what I want to do. . ."

Three cups in one hand, and the full pitcher in the other, Deirdre came back to find me kneeling on the rug in front of Master, licking and kissing her favorite dildo. The leather harness she wore was old and obviously well-used, and the lavender dildo was only an inch and a quarter around and five inches long, but it had a few secrets.

She almost tripped and very nearly spilled everything, but recovered in an instant, and her laughter was a joy to hear.

Monica pretended not to notice her at all.

With a tube of lube, she coated the dildo thoroughly and I knelt on the bed, head down, legs wide.

Slowly, gently, she eased the tip of the dildo inside, past my sphincter. With a gentle rocking motion, she began to take me, her hands holding me on my hips, telling me of her need.

"Deirdre. Come kneel in front of my Rose. I want you to touch yourself, to react and give in to the scene you see so close to you. You may not touch her, only yourself, and you may not stop until I do. If you do, you get on the plane tomorrow, and leave us, and never come back. These are the only rules. Do you agree?"

She had removed the last shreds of her torn silk, and was finally nude.

"Certainly! She needs to see why she lost, after all, and watching her be taken by you should be a wonderful sight!"

"Then we begin."

Deirdre's arousal rekindled, and she couldn't have known the trap that awaited her as she knelt in front of me, her back against the headboard, her thighs wide, her pussy full and ripe and wet almost in my face.

Monica's power and her fight would be to keep from really hurting me, while using me to the extreme point of my calling her name.

In one swift motion she began a shattering, violent pace, pumping me too deeply, too hard. I screamed! Master pounded me harder and her hands dug into me like they were made of steel, forcing my rhythm to hers.

Eyes wide, Deirdre's hands found her pussy and began to match our pace, all pretense of her showing off abandoned as she desperately sought release. But she was already overstimulated. . .

And I was being raped deliciously! I felt how Master had managed not to hurt me: she was wearing a thick ring on the base of the dildo, so it wouldn't go too deep! It had hurt because she hadn't applied any lube to my bottom, first!

I gave in to the thick-sweet feeling of being so lusciously raped, and found myself being swept away about when I also noticed that Deirdre's hands were getting uncoordinated, and her thighs were starting to jerk and spasm!

I raised up a little, and began matching Master, motion for motion, in the glory of my submission to her. I closed my thighs and felt her shift, to capture my bottom between her thighs, and I called out in a small, frightened little voice, "Please, mister, do me; do it harder, please, mister…"

Monica roared, and turned the secret vibrator control on!

I collapsed, and my mouth found Deirdre's pussy! I began sucking, taking her whole sex into my mouth and tugging on it.

Her hands went to her breasts as she screamed " OH, MY GOD! YES!"

And the three of us didn't stop until Master came with the force of a Level 4 tornado almost half an hour later.

Monica, the vibrator off, carefully slid her dildo out of my bottom. I kept up the rhythm on Deirdre, whose eyes were likely seeing colors beyond her wildest dreams as her breasts, unmolested now, were shaking uncontrollably as her hands had long ago simply gone to hold onto the bed.

In a quiet, low voice, Master said, "Come now, pretty slave."

And I did, and then she did, and so did Monica who fell on top of us laughing and crying out,

"I should have brought a CAMERA!"

Room Service

The empty bottle of sake was placed in the trash, the sink drained and refilled with steaming hot water, a splash of peppermint soap added; while Deirdre tidied the room up a bit, looking a little worse for wear but radiant, like a pagan pilgrim who's glimpsed enlightenment; a promise perhaps only dreamed in solitary dreams when the heart found space to speak.

Monica posed languorous by the tub, her body quiet and easy like warm steel sheathed in thick silk; the tapestry of her mind an interplay of subtle movements. I soaked a coarse hand towel in the scented water and she sighed and stretched as my hands wiped down and across and around, fingertips to toes, repeating; then toweling her till she smiled, teeth bared a little, pleasure and intent clear.

Looking over my shoulder, her eyes dilated and she chuckled; "If you want it, here it is; come and get it isn't your new soundtrack! Not yet, anyway."

I turned to share the view: Deirdre was erect in the doorway, leaning back against the jamb with one of the ribbons trailing, forgotten from one hand; greedily taking in the view with obvious hope, breathing slowly and deeply through her open mouth; her hair a surrealist's vision of recent history, dark tangles telling all.

Walking past her, watching her hands from the corner of my eye, I picked up the old rotary dial phone and innocently asked, taking a perch on the smoothed bedspread; "Something from the kitchen, anyone? They're still open and I for one am noticing we didn't have a real lunch!"

Deirdre's head snapped around, and I couldn't help grinning as the expressions on the girl's face reminded me of little Kallis' trick of stepping on the remote; channel changing at dizzying speed without warning.

"Certainly. Order enough for all of us. Something fresh, something sweet would feel good going down; and ask for a pitcher of Cutthroat Creek."

"Not tea?"

"No."

On the second ring the girl in tie-dye from the lobby picked up and I couldn't help smiling as she repeated the order for the venison steaks, salad and deep-dish apple pie along with the beer, her voice catching as I gave her the room number.

"Oh! You three! Listen, can I bring up some brownies, fresh out of the oven? I'm off in five, and I'd love to come by and chat. My boyfriend dumped me, and I really don't feel like going home right away, that is if you don't mind?

"You said you'd love to get together to talk the next time you were up, remember? Last month, when you were going to the range to shoot, and you stopped for gas? I was taking my Morgan and my dad's quarter horse to Buene? I mean, I know it's kind of late and all."

An arched eyebrow greeted me when I turned, wincing a little as my back brightened and flared, and with complete innocence, covering the mouthpiece, I told Monica what was to transpire, feeling not at all out of sorts:

"Life, and the universe," I thought. "The razor of reality and happenstance really can't be predicted."

Deirdre was washing up, following suit with the hand towel and brush. Monica shrugged, smiled, and said, "I should've known. She'll either run, or stay so catch the tray first, at least; yes?"

_____________________________________________________________________________________

Lisa's Story:

I grew up on the road with Daddy, back when he was doing sound for a brass band.

Mom left when I was really young, like six; why I never really understood, but I stopped worrying about it because I always had friends around, guys who could play anything; and girls who could sing all the old songs from way back, like the torch singers - and they were so beautiful!

Daddy came back home to Buene when he had enough money to buy the small ranch he'd always wanted - and that's when I really had to try and deal with school, and other kids my own age - I mean, staying in one place wasn't a big thing, but there was a lot to get used to!

I guess I was in the tenth grade, and my teacher reminded me a whole lot of Audrey, the brunette who used to be my best friend, a singer that traveled with us for a couple years when we went through Canada. She was really special, 'cause when I fell off the light rigging in Calgary and broke my leg, she took care of me, all her time off.

We played, reading old stories like the old-time radio shows, you know? To keep me from getting bored, really, and we'd end up laughing so hard we couldn't finish most of the time, making up our own sound- effects - and when we'd get carried away too much and my leg would really hurt, she'd sit behind me and rub my back, her legs wrapped around me - her hands were so nice, and I'd fall asleep leaning back on her every time.

There was this guy, Brent, who played this gorgeous old acoustic guitar - a sound guy that worked with Daddy?

Brent would play these old songs sometimes, from back before rock-n-roll, and Audrey would sing, sometimes in French, sometimes in Italian, and I could just sit and listen to her sing for hours and hours at night - they'd exchange these knowing smiles when they thought I wasn't looking, like I was asleep. Daddy used to come by, and sometimes he'd get upset, and tell me to go do homework or something - I never understood why.

We were in upstate New York when things blew up, an argument between the three of them that got out of hand.

My cast had come off before we'd left Canada, and Brent had left, going off to take a job as a partner in a big music store, but he'd come down to visit us, the band only playing for a bunch of lumberjacks in the woods - it was a State trapping competition, a little gig.

The show was over, and I'd gone looking for Daddy.

He wasn't around, anywhere, so I went over to Audrey's room over at the hotel.

When I went in the lobby, I saw Dad looking like he'd had too much to drink, hanging all over

Audrey, pushing his hand down her blouse, and Brent was grabbing him and telling him to go and sleep it off - and the three of them all saw me at the same time.

Daddy was saying that all Audrey needed was a good man to "straighten her out" and she'd like men just fine - and he was all red in the face; and Audrey started crying, her blouse was all twisted up and the top buttons had come off - she always wore these gorgeous old silk blouses with embroidery, you know? Not tacky stuff, like out of "Leave It To Beaver" or anything, but really beautiful ones - she loved to wear them with jeans.

Brent saw me and got really mad, but quiet, and he twisted Dad's wrist hard, till he fell and let go of Audrey; and he said you're going to go sleep it off, buddy, and I'm taking you to your room NOW and they both left.

I'd never seen Daddy get really drunk before, and it got me mad, and I hurt, like I was really embarrassed - and all I wanted to do was go and be with Audrey and help her stop crying -make her smile again.

She'd found me this gorgeous satin shirt, western-style, with pearl snaps. It was a little big on me, gold with these big rose blossoms, and I wore it like she did, tucked into jeans.

I walked over to her, and she was blushing 'cause people were staring, even from over in the lobby, and I gave her a big hug and buried my face in her neck.

"I love you, you know? You're my best friend, ever!"

It got quiet enough in there to make a cat's meow loud enough to break the glasses.

She looked around, and got this defiant, proud look to her face and hugged me right back, and said, "Let's get out of here - I could use some fresh air, ok?"

I was a tall girl for being a baby of fourteen, and kind of skinny, but I was really happy to hold hands with her as we walked out - and it was still really, really quiet in there.

For some reason, I was kind of like floating, not noticing walking to her room - and I used to trip over my feet sometimes back then, a real klutz; but not then, even over the old commercial carpeting.

We got to her room, and she locked the door when I got inside.

She hugged me, sniffling a little, and sat on the bed, and kicked off her shoes.

"Men can really be jerks, even the ones you think you can trust. Your Dad is a nice enough guy, but he'll always think he's God's gift to women, no matter what."

I got embarrassed, didn't know what to say - so I helped to get her undressed and tucked her into bed, pillows behind her back, covers almost up to her chin. I went and got her brush and started on her hair, sitting beside her, trying to make her feel a little better, not knowing what to do.

After a couple minutes, she sighed, and laughed a little.

"You remind me so much of myself, from thirty years ago. You are the sweetest, and you have a wonderful touch."

She turned, and kissed me full on the mouth, just once.

"Good night, angel. You should go now - and I need to get to sleep, to forget the ugly things that happened today. I'll think of you, instead, I promise."

I got up and folded her clothes, and as she snuggled down into the sheets I knew I'd never forget the sight there because I knew something, a first-time-something, something wonderful that left me with more questions than answers; but something I knew I'd never forget, ever.

And then she said, "I love you, too."

I closed the door quietly, on my way out my heart singing like her voice was making my pulse pound, Brent's guitar strings filling my mind, vibrating my fingers and toes.

Brent never came back to visit the band again, and a year later, Daddy and I left to come back to Buene and settle down. Audrey and I saw each other every day that whole time, but for some reason, we never mentioned that again - but you could see it in her eyes - like I bet, if you knew what to look for, you'd have seen it in mine, too.

She taught me some of her favorite songs, and I could sing pretty good, even harmonizing with her - but for some reason, we never sang together if anybody was around - and I never had to ask why.

After my first year of school, what with helping Dad get the ranch going and me learning to ride fast - 'cause I worked the horses out at least four days a week, and started barrel racing, too, this wild energy always taking hold of me, nothing else seemed to help, you know? I got my share of attention from boys, and they were usually more fun to compete against than any girls I knew.

Daddy didn't ever drink more than one drink a day anymore, and he looked really happy to see me "coming into my own," as he put it.

I did ok in school, usually B's, and I took a liking to Shakespeare when we started studying it in English class. For some reason, the physical resemblance my teacher had to Audrey opened doors in my heart, and words started flowing like water, like standing in a cold, fast-rushing stream, you know, how the pressure against your thighs can feel like the softest touch, so persistent, almost beyond imagination? Old poetry and prose took over my soul, and I started finding myself feeling guitar strings in my fingers sometimes when I would head out with my Morgan, a powerful young mare that had a penchant for streams herself, when she could find one big enough, that is.

Riding clear out into the plateau one day early last Summer, I was amazed to hear somebody playing a flute - Jethro Tull songs - and doing so good at it that I dismounted and walked over to the stand of aspens where this gorgeous Palomino stallion was, just standing in the shade, munching.

This guy from school, Glen, I mean, I hadn't paid any attention to him before, kind of a quiet type; he was just in jeans and boots, with a blue bandana around his neck, curly brown hair all tangled, dancing around in the middle of playing this flute!

That's how we met!

He was comfortable to be with, more than other guys for some reason, like he never tried anything with me, like copping a feel or staring at me when I walked by - he had this really genuine smile. His playing the flute really got his Dad furious with him, saying only fags did crap like that; so he would only go out and play when he was alone.

We went out on a couple of dates, to the movies in Junction, or pizza in Leadville, and it was just kind of nice to have a guy I thought of as a friend.

His horse was named Arthur - and he had a bad habit of munching an orange - only to sometimes spit it back out at you without warning!

Last month, both of us Seniors now, we were going to go to the big rodeo in Junction, and I was dressed up real nice, hoping we might actually happen, you know, more than just friendly kissing? Maybe I really was wanting sex - 'cause I was still a virgin and all - I don't know. What I do know was that it went all wrong right from the start!

I still had that satin shirt, you know, the one Audrey found for me? I got a terrific, tight-fitting pair of Wranglers, a new black belt from Galco, and spent over an hour on my good boots. I'd decided not to wear a hat, 'cause my brown hair was getting really long - so I just did a complex braid I'd seen in a picture.

He showed up right on time, his Dad's truck as close to looking spotless as maybe it had ever, at least in the last decade. Both of our folks were OK with us going out, so I just grabbed keys, shoved my wallet in my back pocket, and jumped in the truck and we headed out.

Glen kept looking at me, grinning sometimes. OK, so maybe I should've seen it coming, but I swear I didn't.

"Damn, but you look good!"

We were about half-way through the cut between the plateau and Junction when he pulled over. Opening the glove box, he pulled out a pint of Jack Daniels, and took a long drink. Waving it in my face, he said, "Have some, girl - this is your lucky day!"

"No, not me - and what's luck and booze got to do with anything!"

"You dress like that, either you're a dyke cruising, or you're ready to put out! God knows I've put up with enough crap from everybody for going out with you, and never scoring - lemme guess, you're still cherry, right?"

Cold, sticky sweat started trickling down the nape of my neck.

He took another couple gulps from the bottle. An ugly, cruel look was going over his face, he didn't look like I'd ever seen him look - Jekyl and Hyde, you know?

"I nailed six of you bitches so far this year, and all the guys say you're the iceberg that can't be broken open - this is your lucky day! C'mon, have a drink and loosen up - you ain't going nowhere less I say so!"

Grabbing me by the nape of the neck with one hand, hard enough to make me almost scream, he pushed the bottle's wet mouth past my mouth, me feeling my upper lip split open on my teeth and the glass, a gag rising as the stink hit me, and he upended it, making me choke and swallow, the whiskey all over my face and running down my beautiful satin shirt, my mouth burning like mad, and the raw liquid hit my stomach and I threw up bad.

I hadn't had anything to eat, all that came up was bile and booze, and the heaves felt like they were going to make my stomach tear in half. I knocked the bottle against the windshield, and it broke just when his fist came crashing on my head.

"Bitch! Stupid bitch!"

He ripped my shirt clear down to my waist, and grabbed my breasts with both hands, his nails digging in.

I screamed and hit him in the face, and hit the door and lunged out, his grip on my breasts leaving fiery claw marks as I got loose and landed in the dirt road, dry heaves and pain matching the hate I felt.

I heard the truck start, "Bitch! You broke my nose, you fuckin bitch! I'm gonna tell everybody you're a fuckin dyke!"

Gunning it, I got covered in dirt and gravel as he left me there by the road.

I sat back on my knees, and screamed and cried in the silence of that lonely road, till I got it out of my system.

"Fool me once, shame on you; fool me twice, shame on me," I thought. "Never again - I was warned, and I thought it wouldn't happen, not to me, not with him. . ."

It was a long hike home, and Daddy wasn't in to see what a mess I was - so I never told him, but he had to wonder why I completely stopped going out after that. He never asked, though.

I decided to stay on the outside, as far as people around me, so I cut my hair and dyed it and jumped into the hippie look, and I didn't ever get into trouble with it. School got hard for a while, till I learned how to fight - and win; till the guys didn't want to push it much - but some of that was probably up to Daddy, when the phone would ring with some jerk swearing and saying he and his friends were going to see me dead.

He'd place a few calls, and that'd be the end of it, pretty much, anyway.

I took the job in the hotel in Fairplay to get away a little; still close enough to go home, and far enough away to make a break with my old friends. I guess I realized I'm gay when I read "Awakening The Virgin" last month - and I got turned on till I started singing in the shower as my hands played and I visualized the stories - songs I hadn't thought about for years; songs that brought reality and my own awakening completely, finally to light.

I still love to ride, and I help Daddy out with the ranch as often as I can, 'cause there isn't much of a social life for a new lesbian up here - but there's this cute, older blonde girl named Rose from down East near the County line that comes up to shoot out at the Sheriff's range; and she's all the way out! Calm, and kinda quietly happy about her life, I've heard stories about her and her partner - this is a SMALL community that covers a lot of area - and my heart went into my throat when I took her order for a late dinner. . .

"Twenty-five minutes?"

Deirdre had this half-smile on her face, and she'd slipped into an opaque black body stocking and her boots, curled up in the old easy chair. I'd have bet a plate of cinnamon rolls that it was silk, knowing her - and I started thinking about liquid latex.

Monica had her old brown cowhide jeans on. Nothing else.

"Why did you have to ask, girl?"

"Our paths crossed last month when I went to practice drills for the shoot. I read her fast, and I know she's searching; but I think she knows who she is, Sir. Nothing more than that. I would never presume."

"Fair enough."

Deirdre snuggled in a little more, and held out a hand to Monica, who came, ignoring the supplication, and with a wrinkled-nose grin, started working pressure points in the girl's neck and shoulders. She was patient; and I recognized the chakra points and the pattern: energy and balance would rise to the forefront, making the girl extremely aware of the body stocking without any abrupt transition.

I took a deep breath, and laughed. Even with the window open, the sweet rich scent of sex saturated the air, clinging, whispering, insisting. I went over to my bag and found matches, and refilled and re-lit the four oil lamps on sconces on the walls, having discovered the spare lamp oil in the cabinet in the bathroom earlier. Almond, and vanilla now started clearing the way for more lucid thought as the steady flames took my eyes and led me inward, remembering lamps from another time, another place.

_____________________________________________________________________________________

About twenty miles out of Leadville, we'd packed rucksacks for a day hike into the vertical ridges that surrounded the Northern end of the valley. Monica had mentioned something about an old observation post or something built with and out of the living rock back in the decade after WWII; a place she said was curiously abandoned almost as if everyone had just stepped out, if you didn't take much notice of the dust. We climbed an unused, but obviously improved trail, with occasional stairs cut out of the sheer face when the way seemed to all but disappear.

Hiking till just before dusk we rounded a shelf filled with scrub fir at timberline, and I saw thick glass set into the rock, a narrow iron doorway beside them leading in. The heavy door was chained shut, a minor deterrence; the lock fell open to a pair of broken bobby pins and a few drops of gun oil under my probing in a few seconds.

Monica grinned, and said, "The mystery begins! Let me know if you pick anything up from this place, will you?"

The ceiling was higher than I'd expected, but still only about eight feet, lined with tongue-and-groove boards, and a short hallway raised my eyebrows.

"Go on, ahead and left."

Enameled tin dishes were stacked in the cupboards, books filled a set of shelves in a great room where a pair of pot bellied stoves stood silent in opposing corners, and three long tables made of heavy pine boards waited for the dozens of people who would come here to review. . . something.

"I found this place when I was about eleven, and I've explored it pretty thoroughly. There are steel doors that open to a long stairway leading into the rock, but I know better than to head into old tunnels."

There were stenciled signs, faded badly but still readable in the bone-dry air in the adjoining rooms. "NO PHOTOGRAPHS" was the most common one, with others listing things like "US CODE 12.199.a FORM REQUIRED" and "QUIET PLEASE."

She led me through a heavy plank door with an old, heavy mortised lock into another room that had an entire wall of thick windows that looked over the valley floor far below. A smaller table stood there, along with a steel filing cabinet and a pair of cracked, green leather armchairs. Old oil lamps hung from the ceiling. Iron "D" rings were bolted into the living rock wall.

Monica said, "There's no record of what this place used to be used for. It's been a favorite place of mine to get away for years.

"Light the lamps, Rose, will you?"

She went to the filing cabinet and pulled the top drawer open, drawing out a couple sleeping bags in their stuff sacks. The second drawer held canned food, soups and stew, Sterno, and bottled water. The third held a Remington trench gun, boxes of shells, old binoculars, a parkerized Colt 1911 .45 on a web belt and about a half-dozen mags and some rope. The brass was bright the sleeping bags were new, and the labels on the cans were new, so I knew she'd upgraded some of the inventory.

"The guns you found here? That trench gun is worth a pretty penny!"

"Cosmolined, in a box under the floorboards under the table, along with the binoculars, along with a can of kerosene. When I was just a kid, I saw the reflections of these windows from down below."

"Weird place. I get nothing from all of this, not even a whisper of what went on. The walls are silent, and even the lamps don't seem to have been used."

"I wondered what you'd read here."

"Just quiet. Not empty, or abandoned, just completely quiet."

"Check the floor."

Heavy, green with age copper strips ran between the plank floor, riveted with copper to some sub-floor, about two inches wide, about sixteen inches apart.

"Lightening protection, maybe?"

"Who knows."

She came up to me, and quietly began to strip my clothes off. A loop of rope went around my wrists, and the loose end went between them and then through a ring in the wall. I shivered, not from any cold, but with uncertainty, and anticipation.

"Here, no one will hear you. Now, I want all of you, no reservations, no escape."

We spent two days there, and the stone took my cries of pleasure and whispers of need till the food ran out; quietly, uncaring, the place neither intruded not demanded any attention. Oddly enough, it never got cold anywhere in there, nor did it ever feel hot or stuffy.

And the lamps smelled of pine, though they were just kerosene.

_____________________________________________________________________________________

There was a knock, and a voice that spelled mischief and nerves sing-songing "Room Service!"

Monica threw me a vest and grinned, motioning me to get the door.

A little disoriented, I smiled anyway, looking back at the tableau we must present to the girl, inhaled deeply and found my feet. In only a borrowed vest of tapestry, greens and blues and browns, thick and soft on my back, my rings standing, leading me on, I opened the door with a small flourish and promptly caught the heavy, oversized tray.

Lisa's eyes were like saucers filled with ink.

She blinked twice, rapidly, and then a beautiful smile spread across her elfin features. She steadied herself on the doorjamb with one hand and then stepped in, shut and relocked the door, and spread her arms wide.

"And I never said a prayer, not even once."

I managed to get the tray to the table safely before she flew past me and twirled, inhaling, head back, laughing, and tears started to leak from under her bangs.

She grabbed the foot of the bed and hung on, tottering a little, sniffled once and gulped.

"You are Monica," blinking fast and looking for composure that had completely disappeared in a flash of joy.

"I am."

She came up to the girl, looked at the table, smiled, and asked in a voice of warmth and welcome, "You need a beer?"

All the girl could do was blink rapidly, smile again, and nod. She looked at the red-haired vision of cream and shadow on the armchair and swallowed again, letting go of the wrought iron, taking two careful steps to Deirdre.

"I can be trusted, you pretty thing. Need a hug?"

"Yes, oh yes, please. . . ?"

"Deirdre."

"Yes."

I was spreading the plates and silverware and glasses around the table, gathering three chairs, setting a place for myself on the bed where I could serve unobtrusively, and I glanced over at the twined pair, Lisa reaching up, molding and holding and standing on one foot, the other leg already trying to wrap around the taller girl; Deirdre glowing like ivory in a thunderstorm, tangled in a riot of primary colors.

Monica snapped her fingers.

Three heads swivelled her way as one, and Lisa untangled herself and laughed, breathing deeply.

"Hello, Rose!"

The brownies smelled wonderful. I poured four glasses of the warm amber ale before answering.

I turned and gathered a vibrating armful of happy girl who smelled of Castile soap and tears.

"Not even a prayer?"

"Dreams, sometimes; not about anyone in particular, you know; just from some stories, good to read during a long bubble bath?

"There are stories about you two. Nothing comes close to this."

Deirdre and Monica each handed us a glass; and four unevenly spaced clinks later, the toast came, "To believing in yourself, no matter what!"

"Nils carborundum est!"

"Indeed."

"I wouldn't drink it that fast, if I were you!"

"I'm hungry!"

Deirdre's eyes were watering a little, but she'd drained the glass anyway.

Lisa, Monica, Deirdre; in an arc around the table, a folding chair appearing from behind the bathroom door. Monica was already on her second forkful of venison; salad would come later with her.

"Just what is this stuff, anyway? Is it spiked, or something?" Deirdre was blinking a little irregularly, a mystified smile working on her mouth.

"It's seven and a half percent; brewed here in town. This is the good stuff; we don't send it out of the County! Like it?"

"You raise babies on this, right?"

Lisa laughed. Shrugging, grinning from ear-to-ear, she said nonchalantly, "It's popular."

"Eat, girl." I had yet to touch my plate, and was half-rising to refill glasses.

"Sir."

"We'll manage."

Lisa stopped and looked from me to Monica, a bite out of the brownie half way back to the table.

"Tell me, please."

Monica just smiled, and said, "We're just us, just as you see us."

"You own her, really?"

"She is her own woman; and she will always be mine."

"How can it be that simple?"

Monica reached and caught the girl's head, and kissed her deeply, patiently - and Deirdre's nails started digging into the table, food forgotten.

She let go and said to eyes filled with light, "Reality is simple: lies make everything complex."

Deirdre took the girl's left hand and slowly started sucking the girl's fingers, kissing the palm of her hand.

Lisa twisted in her chair slightly and caught Deirdre's hand and began to mirror the kisses till their breathing matched and the girl's posture began to simultaneously become erect, and relax. She broke off with a sigh, tugging her hand away from the woman, "Gimme that back!

"Whew!"

I thought, again, smiling; "Be careful what you wish for; it might all come true!"

"Eat, first."

The three of us just smiled, and food was devoured with enthusiasm till only the chocolate remained. Lisa had been openly looking at us, each in turn, as if she was trying to fit all the pieces together; trying to learn, to find how she could so easily be completely comfortable in such exotic company. It looked to me like she was succeeding.

I lit cigarettes for both Monica and me; a familiar pattern to unwind with. Comfortably full, the last of the beer poured, Lisa came and sat beside me on the bed. Deirdre was taking smaller sips, that mischievous smile rapidly becoming a fixture. She stretched slowly, watching.

"In my mind, I think I've been believing, even when the rest of my world told me this," gesturing, "would never, could never happen!"

"And still you came in, and locked the door behind you?"

"Ya gotta have faith!" She bubbled with happiness, surrounded by intelligent, highly sexual older women from widely diverse backgrounds; none of us were even remotely acceptable to the local community; we were at best costumed, not dressed, and the room had yet to see any of us actually sleep.

Lisa impulsively gave me a hug, making me gasp, and her look of surprise was marinated with Deirdre's laughter; it filled with nothing but light and warmth. She blushed, scarlet, and smiled shyly, but kept her arm tight. The heat began to spread beyond my back, down, and around.

I finished my chocolate, and drained the last from my glass; and found the girl kissing the crumbs from my mouth, her tongue touching inside my lips, playful and soft and so very curious.

"Do you want to stay, honey? You seem to want to celebrate so much, to discover so much, to have everything tonight, all at once?" Red hair was tossed once, landing heavily on her left shoulder, "Wings," I thought, "Thunderous, wings: she could become a bird of prey instead of an endless source of mischief and cleverness!"

"DeeDee, I'd trust you with this sweet girl about as far as I could throw you!" A little of the silk fell away in her voice, the steel still warm, though, and bright. "You have about as much self-control as a one- legged juggler tossing nitro vials in an earthquake!

"Answer us, and yourself, baby. Yes, or no; all the way or not at all. Honesty and trust without reservation are the rules here, first and last. Decide."

She looked at me, her lower lip trembling a little, and hugged me closer. "As long as it begins with Rose, then I don't care. I want so much! Please; yes, please!"

Monica stood, arms crossed against her bare breasts, leather clad legs in a fighting stance, knees slightly bent. "Go take your clothes off in the bathroom, then; otherwise they'll likely get lost. Come out when you're ready."

When the door had closed, I went and turned down the lamps till the room was bathed, just barely, in a soft glow. The comforter was folded to the foot of the bed, the cotton blanket left as a padding to the sweat-stained sheets below. Deirdre took up the armchair again, and Monica took up post at the door to the outside world.

We waited in silence.

One, Beginning

A few minutes passed; enough time for both of us to finish our cigarettes and move the ashtrays to safety. I took butterscotch from my bag and smelled cherry lip balm in Deirdre's hand. Monica closed the windows, and turned the radiator down a little.

In that flickering, warm darkness, the door opened.

Lisa was completely nude; and as she walked silently over to me her body took the light like copper- colored sheers sliding over porcelain. Her poise was calm, with a movement that reminded me of a virgin=s approach to her wedding bed; measured, serene, and yet almost unbearably excited.

She moved past me a little, climbing fully onto the bed, sitting on her heels, knees wide, hands light atop them. Master's voice was a throaty, low and steady whisper, reaching for the girl=s sub-conscious:

"To begin, there is a first step. It must be a perfection, an opening move of permission and want spoken and taken in fulfillment of every need you have ever known. Speak your heart with sounds, or not; open the doors wide.

"I will guard you with my life."

I moved to mirror her, a matching pose of surrender, a little taller at the shoulder than she was, my hair tumbling over my left shoulder.

Her chin lifted, and she smiled and reached for my rings tugging them gently in unison, an easy heartbeat of rhythm, hooking them with her index fingers, both palms cupping, lifting to my breathing.

The quiet, building sensation was exquisite. I gave myself over to it, leaning back, swaying gently, following, leading, following, leading......

She rose to her knees, reaching to keep the contact; her breasts round and firm, the taut nipples swollen, the aureole darkening and I knew I wanted her. I leaned further back with each rise, till she was overbalanced now; me in the starting position for a dancer=s sit-up on my back, and she freed me to keep from falling, making fists beside my head as she held herself, a mutual two-point contact now matching each others= breathing and she chuckled.

She lifted, freeing her hips to let my legs straighten beneath her, and she knelt on top, looking over me with care.

"How old are you?"

"Forty-five."

She kissed my forehead, my eyes, my ears, whispering over and over; "Not here; not here either, not there. . ."

"OK, so it may not be just the years, but is sure is the mileage!"

Lisa froze, sat up, blinked, and burst out laughing. "Fiend! This is the stuff dreamers dream about! Am I dreaming?"

She slapped me gently on each side of my face. "Are you for real? Huh?" Sliding down a little, she nipped my nipples, hard enough to send ripples of shock and pleasure clear through me.

"Am I dreaming? Show me I'm wide awake!"

She was smiling through real tears, her face shining.

"Now? Already? Hmmm. Nope; you first, 'cause you have so much all bottled up inside; you only know yourself, right?"

She laughed, and sniffled; "I need a tissue. . . thanks," as one appeared, a disembodied, sheers-clad arm appearing out of shadows. "Um, I do, yes – oh how I do! Will you shut up then and let me get busy with my fantasies?"

"Yes, Ma'am – honey, go for the gold medal, and then it'll be my turn."

She wasted no time whatsoever.

I was licked, kissed, nipped, stroked, and rubbed for what seemed like an hour. Lisa was patient, greedy, even a little awkwardly wanton, remaining on top of me the entire time, satisfying her tactile cravings, needing to know the reality. I shadowed her, expanding the awareness, refining the touch, opening doors wide. A saturation of tastes and warmth, tenderness and exploration was completed; and in my mind, there was a slow melody that I had never heard before.

"Water, please," with a voice that was sounding a little dry.

The same arm appeared, and a tumbler was downed, with a happy sigh.

"Your turn! I think I'm going to explode if you don't show me what I've been missing!"

She did a delightful lava-lava with her strong hips, and I felt the liquid heat of her cunt trickle across and around, her thighs getting slippery. I had been so completely entranced by her touch that I hadn't really noticed just how completely aroused the girl had become. Me, too.

I looked into those pools of shining dark, and said, "I will do what is my nature, and then so will Deirdre; and finally my Master will complete this. It won't be an act in three scenes, not a performance, either – this is who we are."

"A folio of compositions."

I heard my pulse in my head, and I could only answer huskily, "I want you very much. Lay your body down."

We exchanged places easily, and I simply went first to her breasts, licking delicately in a growing spiral, kisses making punctuation. My hands were gentle, to know the simple purity of her, wanting to create a basic truth in her senses: she was completely cherished, and utterly desired for who she was.

I slid down and held her by her waist, feeling abdominal muscles that spoke of a life spent far from sagging couches.

Her breathing was easy and rising slowly, and heat was starting to pour from her like a coverlet removed from her on a chilly night. I brushed my hair over her belly, brushing softly side to side, my mouth finally finding her navel and my tongue celebrated in that sensitive hollow.

Fingers found my hair and I was pushed relentlessly down, past a delicate bush to the trembling mound of her sex; her slit an almost invisible suggestion, her lips an outline of rouge finely drawn, an abundance of barely-there saltiness, her sweet wetness waiting for me.

I opened my mouth wide and suckled her entire sex in a single contact, licking and exploring and she screamed, a pure note. There was a flood of her orgasm and I swallowed in delight as her hands clenched hard and her hips pounded my face and I wouldn't dream of trying to get away; not yet!

With labia that opened for me like a flower, an iris, an orchid, I could only show her as I would have loved to have been shown myself. I was friendly and confident and gentle and thorough and playful; leading her to finally explode again, harder, silently this time, her orgasm completely bathing my face in musk filled with her pleasures' juices.

I moved up and held her, cradling her close, and her arms wrapped around my neck, our breasts close and the best of friends now, and she whispered wordlessly over and over into my hair, breathing into my neck; lyrics of some sort. She calmed easily, and pushed me back with a surprisingly enthusiastic shove, and was grinning ear-to-ear!

"I'd love to do that with you again, sometime; and soon!"

She drummed her fingertips across my breasts, "You give me lots of ideas!"

I grinned back, and rolled off her and the bed, finding my feet easily. Taking the two steps to Deirdre, I met her kiss with delight and plunged my tongue into her mouth – and she began sucking it slowly, like a most personal and intimate sex toy; sucking and swallowing once, she could only say, "My turn."

As she rose from the armchair, she swung me into the same position she'd been occupying as a spectator. Master remained standing by the door, a little deeper in shadow, easy on her feet; and I caught the slow single nod of her head, and her teeth gleamed.

Deirdre sat on the edge of the bed, completely relaxed, and she reached back with both hands to run her fingers through her hair.

"Hello, beautiful Lisa! Tonight has been a night of firsts for both of us; so will you share with me?"

The girl nodded, wordless in the close proximity of such an erotic reality, her senses swimming already, washed in the scents of the nights' earlier activities.

"You aren't from around here." A statement, not a challenge.

"I'm beginning to find myself, hereabouts." A dry chuckle came from the direction of the door.

I grinned to myself, "Leagues to go before I sleep."

Sitting up, Lisa came into outstretched arms eagerly, whispering clearly, intensely; "Show me what to do with you! You are beautiful beyond words, you know."

With manicured fingernails, Deirdre ripped open the crotch of that exquisite body stocking, and then tore holes that freed each breast to Lisa's wide eyes; and she smiled warmly at the young girl.

"I promise I'll send you a new one later; and I'm sure I'll know your size."

Lying down on their respective sides, legs tangled up already, they began to kiss like new lovers taking the plunge. Hands explored shapes and mouths danced, a growing vocabulary of pleasure shared and discovered. Deirdre arched and curved in, so that the younger girl could find everything without breaking the kiss.

As Lisa followed and curved in to touch Deirdre's hips, the older woman arched and twisted easily, reversing, her head now above the girls' mound, her own poised above the girls' shoulders, in easy reach.

The girl's hands caressed the curves of those hips, following the sheer lingerie like a blind girl learning a new language that only needed to discover some new mode of transcription now; and her education began.

That deep red mane descended, and behind that curtain of darkness there was only the interplay of golden light that accompanied the erotic dance that began; movement to counter, till Lisa's head rose, and her mouth found Deirdre's sex waiting.

It was like watching a circuit of lightening being completed, in that instant – yet neither one flinched, they bonded.

Lisa's fingers stretched, and smoothed around the waist above her, locking strong rider's arms, pulling herself closer, and real muscles showed themselves. A woman's passions were being written, giving and receiving and wanting and taking naturally, the girl transforming as the sounds of sighs and mouths and bodies moving in unison were beautiful to behold.

I saw the muscles in Deirdre's back start to ripple like a serpent slowly striking with rising intensity, rhythmically, reaching for a treasure of pleasure.

Lisa broke, and gasped, and with a deep breath prepared to scream her orgasm.

Monica's voice, commanding and cold broke the tableau!

"Give her your orgasm back! Now!"

Instantly, Lisa's mouth found Deirdre's sex and I saw strong hands digging into that arch above her.

Deirdre's body tensed till she looked like sculpture, and I heard Lisa's scream fly into and through that connection like the dawn ripping through a curtain, through walls, through denial; a new sound, more than just a pure note: there was a decade's worth of that girl's soul released in that moment, and Deirdre led it on further and further, relaxing into the plateau, flying in it; her body relaxing onto the supine form below her.

Lisa finally, several minutes later, rolled slightly in her side. Taking the older woman with her, separating a little enough, maybe just to breathe a little easier, she sighed; awe and glory sounding in her voice as she swallowed like a courtesan and licked her lips, never releasing her hold completely, resting her head on those luscious stockinged legs:

"Yes! That was. . . everything!"

I started breathing again, completely caught up in the wonder. My own tears were falling, knowing a little of what Monica wanted, now; and I saw her motion for me to take her place at the door. My knees wobbled a little as I tore my eyes away from the bed and walked the couple of paces to my Master.

There were snuggling sounds, and quiet, mingled happy laughter from behind me.

"Pour water for all for us, and turn up the lamps – we will need light now. Then take my place here, and know that I will have you guarding us all."

"Sir." I could only whisper.

We relaxed, and delighted in seeing Lisa so radiant; looking whole and overflowing with pleasures, curiosity and maybe even some greed peeking behind the curtain of her bangs.

I stripped the sheets off completely now, putting just the soft chenille spread on the bed, and refilled the tumblers of water for the third time.

"I gotta use the bathroom."

Mixed chuckles floated around the room, and Deirdre went and opened the window for some fresh air, hooking a thumb at the door, saying "You know the way ; and I'm next!"

Monica caught Lisa's eyes, and quietly said with a smile, "Get freshened up while you're in there. It's my turn next, yes?"

"And the last shall be first; and the first, last; yes, I wanted to keep your relationship in the correct order, Monica. I've heard the stories; and now I know some of the truths! I want to know who you are; I just hope I can be enough." ñAnd the last shall be first; and the first, last; yes, I wanted to keep your relationship in the correct order, Susan Ø Iíve heard the stories; and now I know some of the truths! I want to know who you are; I just hope I can be enough.Ñ

Monica's eyes dilated.

"Don't be too long."

The girl actually was pretty steady on her feet when she passed from view, and the bathroom door shut behind her.

Deirdre stretched from toes to fingertips. "Do you have marathons like this every month?"

I walked up to her and gave her a swift kick in the shins, hard. Looking at Monica, I saw she was very close to literally throwing Deirdre through the window in complete disgust.

"You came here knowing you were allowed one mistake. You just made it. I will not forget. Now shut up." Master was in a deadly rage.

Deirdre, seeing the looks on our faces, paled and looked like she was going to throw up and fell back in a chair by the table, shaking visibly. "I don't know why I said that: I have never had such a beautiful experience with someone so real, so open and curious."

". . . worthless rich bitch," I muttered.

"Deirdre, this is a sacred night for that girl. A night when she can be free and filled with a light that will never go out – or one ruined, that humiliates her into likely forever seeing herself as nothing more than a brainless object!" Cold hard rage filled me, thick with naked hatred. "You with the money and the life built into self-indulgence and materialism, the high-and-mighty education she will never even dream about: she's worth more than a hundred of you bitches!"

My voice was low, and it ripped through the chill air flowing through the open window like a scythe.

"Enough. The point is made."

"Sir."

"There will be no shadows here when Lisa enters. Stand up and apologize to me, DeeDee."

She stood, fighting for self-control and fighting walls as likely no one had spoken to her that way in far too long.

"I apologize. Completely and with all my heart and soul. I failed you and Rose, and I insulted Lisa behind her back. I will do anything to make it up to you, anywhere, anytime, without hesitation."

Looking to me with tears in her eyes, she said, "I'm sorry. You got me right through the heart, and nobody ever told me how they saw me before. I need you; I need to be accepted as your friend; please!"

I looked at her without emotion, and walked to Master and whispered in her ear.

She grinned. "Certainly. That's only appropriate.

"DeeDee, Rose will see to the specifics of your apology, her conditions, no matter what beginning now. Strip."

I had retrieved the hard-chromed handcuffs and as soon as she was naked I rudely pushed her to the floor, hard, to her knees and locked her right wrist to her left ankle. I cleared the table quickly, stacking everything by the side of the door to the room. Monica and I lifted the girl from the floor and with a little effort placed her kneeling in the center of the square table, facing the wall away from the bed.

"Make no sound till I release you. There are no second chances with me."

She nodded, giving me a pleading, wordless look as she could only see the wall, a lamp not far from her face.

I looked at her in disgust. "Bargain with me? Now? Move a fraction from looking only at that lamp and I'll leave you here to walk home. Do you have any self-discipline at all? Worthless bitch! No T-state, either; you stay locked into the here and now like your life depends on it."

Shuddering, a panicked look in her eyes, she looked at the lamp and tried hard not to move when I walked from her view.

Monica had closed the window to a mere crack, and turned the radiator down low. The room smelled a little fresher, and it was a little cooler.

"Dress fast and rig up before she comes out. She's been in there a long time. Get to the door."

I dove for clothes; my back reminding me that I would not be getting drowsy for some time yet as the black leather combat shoulder rig with the HK USP Compact .45 went on over a thick, dark red flannel shirt. Jeans and new cowboy boots came next, the shirt tucked in with one swipe, albeit unbuttoned. The fly was buttoned and I had just run my fingers through my hair when the door opened.

Lisa was fully dressed.

She walked two steps into the room and her eyes stopped only briefly on the exotic figure of Deirdre kneeling on the table, pausing on me with a smile, glancing at my rig and attire, taking a breath and relaxing.

Monica was standing just to her left, silently, still only wearing her old leather jeans.

Lisa looked at her, and lifted her chin a fraction, and said with wonderful calm, "Yes."

"Explain."

"There are some pretty intense stories about you, both of you actually; you know?"

Master shrugged, relaxed, non-committal.

"Yes, I want to know who you are, Yes, I accept what I think I may be in for! See, this place was built strong , but it's not soundproof! Downstairs, I couldn't make out specifics, but I think I can see your hand in my mind, seeing this."

"You may stop me at any time. All you have to do is say "Stop!" and I will immediately stop. You will be free to leave here at any time if you say that word; otherwise, not until it pleases me that you leave.

"I will NOT damage you; though there may be a few marks that will fade rapidly. You will find out what limits you will have in any reciprocation you may feel inclined to express; you will be following my lead.

"I don't think I have to worry about your confidentiality, yes?

"Is this acceptable?"

The ink in those saucers was full to the brim, a fantastic sight in itself!

"Yes, here; yes, tonight; Yes, you, please, now!"

Master chuckled, "Alright, already!"

Lisa's eyes were aglow, her hands on her thighs with the palms trying not to press hard; but as she shifted, I saw damp patches of sweat marking her hip huggers.

"Take off my leathers, will you?"

Silently, the girl kneeled and unzipped the fly, and slowly slid them down Monica's legs, looking with wonder at the older woman's body, fingertips grazing the bare skin, taking the pants free of each foot with care; and she folded them and laid them by the foot of the bed on the floor.

A faint trace of bruising from the harness worn earlier was visible.

"Stand over here by the table, facing that object, and raise your hands over your head, wrists crossed."

Monica retrieved the leather flogger from the bag at the foot of the bed, and a length of soft nylon woven cord. Simply draping the cord over and around Lisa's wrists, leaving them loose, she said casually, "I would hang on to that cord if I were you. You're not physically bound; the bonds only exist in your mind.

"Think of it as a way to express your desire for what I'm going to do to you. Drop the cord, or turn around, or drop your hands and I'll know you want me to stop; and that's fine, not a problem."

Her voice got thick with desire, "You see, I want to whip you very, very much."

There was a moment's silence, with only the sound of the lamps, and four women breathing, and then Monica drew back and began.

She began high on the girl's shoulders slowly, with enough strength to make the girl gasp and tremble as fantasy became reality; working a patient rhythm and pattern, working her way down to those luscious curves of her jeans.

The pace increased, and Master's eyes dilated, lips parted, as the girl squirmed, trying to push her body into the blows, trembling uncontrollably, light, rich sounds of new pleasure escaping her throat!

"So very beautiful: stay a little longer pretty little girl, and let me wake up your soul!"

Lisa's fingers were digging into the palms of her hands, holding on to the cording like a lifeline, swaying now into the beating, laughing and crying, "I can please you; I can please you, even you."

Monica's head snapped back.

"Do you want me to stop now, pretty little girl?"

Lisa's hair flew side-to-side in denial.

"Then please shut up, and turn to face me, will you," chuckling.

The girl did.

"Look me in the eyes, watch me; look deeply, don't let go of my eyes!"

More gently now, but faster Monica began to whip the girl's breasts through the tie-dye top. The girl's knees buckled briefly and you could see her climb back from the brink of orgasm, concentrating with a look of joy and surrender that pulled at the older, dominant woman.

Lisa's body was drenched in sweat, some 20 minutes having passed since she walked back into the room and she rocked into the flogger, sparks of the intense sensations coming through her face as she opened her heart and her life to my Master; and all I knew was joy.

Monica stopped, holding the girl's eyes.

"Open your mouth and take this in your teeth. I want to get you out of those jeans. Don't drop it! Close your eyes now, and just feel; and please keep your balance."

Shuddering, the girl took the flogger and closed her eyes, breathing through both her mouth and nose to stay oxygenated, up to the demand of her body.

With delicate firmness, I saw Master unsnap and unzip those snug jeans, her callused fingers duplicating the girl's touch on her confidently, and she swallowed as the girl's soaked crotch was freed, the jeans continuing to be pulled down.

"You have a very pretty pussy, Lisa." A voice of warm steel sliding across leather.

Freed from one leg – the girl all but completely lost her balance when she tried to lift her other foot – Monica's thumbnail scraping the sole maybe having something to do with it, her hands pushed her legs apart.

"You can let your hands down, now. Keep your eyes closed, and don't drop my whip! Just put the cord on the table.

Monica ran her hands thoroughly over Lisa's body, the girl shuddering at the ragged edge of orgasm to that touch.

"You have nice tone to you, pretty girl! I'm proud of you! I want to finger-fuck you nice and hard; maybe even get my whole hand inside of you. Can you hold that pose while I do that to you?"

Lisa shook her head violently; tears streaming while a joyful laugh made its' way past the whip in her mouth.

"Tell you what, then. Stand there, and play with your breasts while I do what I want. If you fall, you know I'll catch you and get you on the bed. Are you comfortable with that?"

She nodded, and swayed a little.

"Show me how you like to play with your breasts – oh, like that? That's pretty! Don't stop now."

Lisa's fingers were rolling and tugging on her breasts, filling her hands with them, thumbs pressing into her painfully erect nipples.

Monica squatted between the girl's legs and began tapping on the swollen and wet mound with one, two, three fingers; a sequential tapping, chanting softly, "I'm going to finger-fuck you, pretty girl; let me in, one; two; three. . ." over and over; the girl not seeing that Master was duplicating the touch on her own cunt with her other hand!

In the middle of the word "three," without warning, Monica pushed two drenched fingers into Lisa. The girl arched back, and went on tiptoe but would not fall over; how I don't know. Monica changed her chant, "Fuck the pretty girl, such a sweet pussy, let me touch your cherry, in and out; oh pull on your pretty breasts; yes, just like that. . ."

The view from the door, combined with Master whispering obscenely, happily to the girl was hypnotic. I looked over to Deirdre. At least a dozen rivulets of sweat were combining in the hollow of the arch of her spine, and her body was looking like someone was hitting her with ball peen hammers none too gently; but she was holding pose, fixated in the moment.

Monica had three fingers in her own cunt now, her thumb rubbing her clit when she slowly withdrew her hand and caressed her breasts once, resting her hand then on the floor.

She looked at me, and then at our bag of toys by the foot of the bed. I knew what she wanted, and I assembled the new soft latex straps around her, the slender pink dildo in place silently, all the while her voice and touch an unimaginable caress to the girl, entranced and completely lost in the pose, wanting, but wanting Monica more.

I moved and retrieved the cord from the table, too, placing it to the left side of the top of the mattress; and then back to the door I went, watching in wonder.

Master began to rub the girl's clit with her thumb, and seeing control completely abandoned she wiggled all three fingers at once and rubbed the girl's clit in a circular motion, and then flicked it with her thumb.

Lisa choked and the flogger fell from her mouth, and her eyes flew open, fixed on the infinity beyond the ceiling, and her fingers took her nipples in a real grip and she pulled hard once and laughed and shouted, "I PLEASE YOU, MONICA! I please you! Me!"

Master swept up the lighter girl in her arms and laid her gently on the bed, kneeling between her spread thighs easily, before any chance of focus returned.

"Find the cord by your head now, pretty girl, and I'll complete this."

Lisa did, and locking eyes with the older woman nodded joyfully and relaxed completely, raising her knees a little.

With gentle fingers again on the girl's sweet pussy, she coated the dildo with the girl's own juices, tickling the petals open. With one move, easy and resistless, she pushed through the girl's hymen with a small sound and began stroking her gently.

Lisa arched and screamed through her teeth, her eyes never leaving Monica's; her hips starting to follow the sweet fucking. The girl's arms went around Master's neck and she left the cord there to stroke the woman's face, kissing her mouth, her breasts, her shoulder, the bracing arms, never breaking the new rhythm.

Monica smiled.

Lisa reached down and touched the harness, following it around to her own pussy, and she took her hand and brought it to her lips, a smear of blood there mixed with her own orgasm. She licked and tasted herself, and with a smile and nod from Monica, brought her palm to my Master's mouth, where she kissed it; a new and permanent bond made between them.

"It doesn't hurt much – nothing like I'd imagined – and I want you so badly! Fuck me till I don't know the pain, please?"

"Silly girl, no. Make love with me, and learn what that's like. I have that much control; though I admit I'd love to take you till you can't walk for a day or two. Perhaps some other time."

"You won't stop?"

"Make love to me pretty girl, and you'll find your answer soon enough."

She did; and they did; and both found completion to one girl's beginning, a night like few others in this County, I'd bet.

I let them fall asleep in each other's arms, stripping off Lisa's top when she started snoring softly, a sound that made Master look briefly at me with a warm smile. A shadowy pattern of deep, blush pinks and reds cris-crossed the girl's body, something she would get to at least admire for a day or two, a unique sensation that would likely make her morning shower a remarkable experience.

I wondered if we'd hear her scream an orgasm, if we were up and about.

I went to the sink and filled it with a generous splash of peppermint soap, the suds rising, rinsing first the sex-drenched jeans, then refilling and duplicating the washing for the brightly-colored top, draping both over a clean towel over the radiator.

I looked over at Deirdre with a degree of compassion. She was shaking uncontrollably, but holding pose. She jumped when she felt my touch at her wrist, unlocking the cuff there first, then the ankle. To her credit, she didn't move, still not looking at me.

I moved to face her and took her face in my hands, bringing her gaze down to my eyes.

"Look at me."

Here eyes were filled with love, and a new understanding; and there was real discomfort from kneeling so long – well over an hour and a half.

Holding my hand out to her, I said, "Take my hand and get down on your own."

Shuddering with effort and the pain of circulation returning, she smiled a little uncertainly and did, keeping a fairly light hold on my hand.

"Apology accepted. Did you learn something?"

"I always thought I was a little better than you; maybe better than both of you."

"And now?"

She broke into silent tears of joy, a laugh of pleasure and honesty washing through her.

"I would be lucky to be accepted by you, Master."

I smiled.

She trembled.

"I would rather have you as my friend."

Unsteadily, her arms swept me up till my feet left the floor for a second. I kissed her, and all she could do in return was look down; uncertain suddenly, likely wondering why I wouldn't want such a prize in my collar.

I took her other hand and led her to the tub.

"Take a thorough bath for the morning. You'll not get a chance in here when the sun comes up, and you'll want to get some sleep first."

"Yes, Rose."

I looked at her with a careful, warning gaze. "You are free – and I was born a natural slave; something I've known all my life. I appreciate that you have likely learned something tonight, through everything – and I won't trivialize your awareness; but you don't have a submissive bone in your body. You understand that I can dominate you – just as I can any free woman without a thought – but you forget that my life and my world is my Master. As a submissive; or even trying to learn to be slave, you really have nothing to offer me.

"You are, and can be my most wonderful friend, though."

To her slowly shaking head, I chuckled.

"Something for you to think about; and when you do, I'll see it. C'mon, in the tub with you!"

Almost an hour later, steam billowed from the bathroom when Deirdre opened the door, hair in a towel turban, and in a glance I saw she understood.

"I would've thrown me out the window. I'm sorry."

"She," nodding to the sleeping, tangled pair, "almost did. Literally.

"Feel better now, I take it?"

I got a steamy and damp friendly hug in reply.

"Sleepy! The room smells like a bordello, and the bed's got to be soaked through to the box springs!"

I motioned to the heap of fresh linens waiting on the table.

"You left us?"

I grinned, "Just down the hall is a linen closet for this floor – hamper and everything! I was never out of sight of the door, and it only took a moment. I'm going to wake that pair up and chase Lisa out for the night, get Master into the tub, and then you and I can make the bed up fresh! Feel up to turning the mattress over?"

"For fresh sheets and a few hours sleep with the two of you, certainly; but not much more."

Grinning impishly at her, I said, "You really aren't cut out for my job, you know?"

She made a face and stuck her tongue out at me.

Chuckling, I reached over to Monica's face and stroked her hair. Her eyes opened and she focused on me. "Yes?"

"Time for her to go home for a few hours sleep; and we do need to get you into a bath."

"A shower."

"A bath."

"I see – a bath it is." Turning her face into the sleeping girl's neck, she kissed and suckled hard, leaving a pretty good hickey before Lisa's eyes flew open and her hips shuddered.

Blinking orbs focused, and heralded a look of complete pleasure. A sleepy, sexy smile found its' way to her mouth. "Again? Please?"

I ate most of the fingers of one hand to keep from laughing too hard. Deirdre, cooling in her turban and nothing else, said, "Honey, you sound like me! See? These women do change one's perspective!"

Monica slid off the bed and out of her harness, catching my look of want just before I was able to shut it off. Looking down at the girl, she said gently, "Enough for a first night. It's a beginning. Time to go home to your own bed and sleep a few hours. Morning isn't too far off."

Lisa slowly sat up and looked at me. "I understand better, now – but the hours you must keep are completely beyond me." Glancing around, she said, "Um, where are my clothes?"

Deirdre laughed, and then blushed down to her toes at my glance, still smiling.

I said, "I thought they needed a bit of a rinsing out before you head out. They were rich enough to wake up every male mammal, large or small, in a 5 mile area!" I nodded in the direction of the radiator.

She grinned.

We all grinned. And we had a wonderful floorshow watching her get dressed!

She left with a silent smile for each of us, and the door shut.

Monica did take a decently long bath, compromising with a stinging shower afterward; and Deirdre and I got the bed made before she came out.

I got a quizzical look, as Deirdre was already under the covers at the far side of the bed, already fast asleep. "I found the linen closet – just down the hall."

I got a hug, and I gasped as Master's hands stroked my back inside the shirt, pleasure and possessiveness bright in her eyes.

"Always, Sir."

"Yes. And I, you. Rinse off quickly and get into bed. Tomorrow will be another interesting day."

"Lunch, or even dinner on the Pass?"

"I think that's appropriate, don't you?"

"I'll need some sleep when we get back home."

"A day and a night, all just for you. Now get!"

With a smile, stripping, I looked at her with love and could only whisper; "I live to serve, Sir."

"I love you, too."

They were both fast asleep when I came to bed, and as I snuggled in after blowing the lamps out before they died; Deirdre curled into a ball, Monica rolled onto her back and put both hands behind her neck, almost putting an elbow in my left ear, leaving me just enough room to stretch out carefully.

The HK under my pillow, safety on, I fell asleep smiling.

Sunday

westin pass

We didn't set out until two in the afternoon. I dressed in shades of vegetable-dyed greens and browns, my hiking belt back around my waist. In Dutch Army surplus herringbone drab pants, with the double-thick knees and seat, a v-neck dark green wool sweater, and a 14-oz dark brown cotton chamois shirt with a thick cotton long scarf around my neck and old jump boots, I only grinned at Deirdre in reply to her very quizzical look.

Lisa did a barely passable imitation of being just a 19- year old girl working behind the desk in the lobby. Her hands shook and she smiled as she gave the checkout form to Monica, though; the floor creaking as she shifted from one foot to the other. I thought, "Not bad, for a few hours sleep."

The weather forecast for the Mosquito Range promised to be beautiful for the next two days, with lows in the mid 30's, and highs a wonderful 56 degrees.

Sitting in my old Bronco, I wondered how many footsteps the old stone stairs that led from the Hotel's double doors to the street had known; and wondered how many had belonged to girls such as we three.

Deirdre literally shone with an inner light to my eyes as she and Monica walked down the steps to the Bronco: she was dressed in double-black Wranglers, new boots, a snowy-white snap-front western shirt, the thick tapestry-weave vest I'd been loaned the night before and a hip-length black leather jacket. Her new hat, made yesterday, seemed to be as natural on her as if she'd worn such a thing all her life. The gleam of a heavy, hammered sterling concho-and-turquoise link belt with its' dangling 9 inches brought my eyes back to her waist, and I followed the flowing links as they tapped on her left thigh with each step down. Her hair was braided and tied with one of the satin ribbons; the long ends neatly sliced and looking innocuous.

Monica was like a glorious thunderstorm of promise. In her old cowhide jeans, steel-toe motorcycle boots, plaid shirt of oranges reds and blues and large, oval moonstone pendant on its' silk cord, her weather- beaten dark brown wool-lined drover and matching hat that had seen years and miles and dozens of seasons of harsh use, she radiated comfortable confidence and quietly controlled anticipation. Her cropped red hair, shot through with gray still wasn't brushed, but that was typical. The thick leather belt around her waist carrying her Bowie held many secrets, and its' plain chrome buckle spoke to my back and bottom with assurance, and made me shift slightly in the bucket seat.

The Eastern approach to Westin Pass begins with a short drive out of town, past the new red tin-and-brick fire station, and the Sheriff's target range. When we turned off the highway a little later, I parked the Bronco. No one had broken the silence that had been punctuated with an exchanged smile, or the feel of a hand touching my neck.

I carefully inspected everything under the hood. Belts, fluids, and wiring all were fine, and I went to check the tires and undercarriage.

The deep lugs were clear, and as I started letting air out of the tires to bring them to 25lbs, I heard the suspension springs shift.

"Just how far into those mountains are we going?"

The passenger door opened and Monica jumped out, lifted the front seat, and Deirdre walked with her around the front to stand next to me.

"It's 22 miles to the Pass, DeeDee; and after the first 6, we won't see any sign of human presence at all, not from this century anyway."

"Is the road going to be that rough, that she has to go through all this?"

In spite of the fires still well kindled on the backs of my legs all the way up to my shoulders, I couldn't help but laugh as I watched the pressure gauge.

"When a road up here is posted as 'High-Clearance 4-Wheel Drive Vehicles Only Beyond This Point,' it's something of an understatement!"

Deirdre walked a little away from the Bronco, drinking in the view of the granite snow-topped peaks that waited in front of us. There was still plenty of it up there, and the air was filled with the scent of it through the richness of the spring afternoon.

Master laughed, and looking down at me, cocked an eye when she saw how carefully I was crouched by the tire.

I moved to the next one, and she laughed again.

"I'll check it."

She slid under the suspension, and I heard her call out that everything was tight and dry by the time I'd moved to the third tire.

"I figured your back and your butt might not feel up to slithering around on the rocks. My treat for the day."

With the fourth tire lowered, I locked the hubs, and stood to stretch. Monica had the tailgate down and dug out her El Paso rig, buckled it, and holstered her Ruger Redhawk. She dug out the pistol-grip Winchester Defender, and fed 6 rounds into the tube, locked the action shut, safetied it, and topped the tube off. My Marlin 1894 was next, and got fed 10 rounds.

She clipped the shotgun into its' door-jamb holder on the passenger-side muzzle-up, and racked my Marlin into its' roof clips behind the driver's seat.

Both slings were taut, and wouldn't foul if we needed to clear either long-gun in a hurry.

The jerry cans, one with water from home, and the other with gas were still secured in their carriers, and I added simple snap-locks as an extra precaution, the keys on rings that clipped to the carriers.

Master reached under my scarf and unlocked my formal collar.

"For what is to come, you will be an equal. Mine, always; but this time is for us to share without reservation; though tonight that luscious young thing is all mine. I know you'll enjoy yourself, even though until we trade off in the morning, you will watch, and see that we aren't threatened or disturbed. Girl, the love we know makes these days together a pleasure that I don't know if I can express to you – even if I see you having to fight to keep from bathing me in sweet kisses.

"I never imagined we would bring anyone else into our world this far; much less that she would be wanting more!"

Seeing the look on my face, she laughed.

"Close your mouth – you'll eat a horsefly!"

Deirdre turned back toward us, her eyes shining and feet light across the rock-strewn road. Monica slammed the tailgate shut.

"OK, tourist, lets get this show on the road!"

Hands on her hips, all she needed was a bullwhip! Deirdre took in the sight and grinned and licked her lips.

"What was all that about?"

Reaching her arm out, she crooked her index finger in a come-hither and leaned forward. "Time's a- wasting! Get in there, sweet-cheeks! Let's go, girl!"

Unable to wipe her grin off her face Deirdre got settled and both doors slammed shut. I dropped the Bronco into 4WD-Hi, and tapped the gas pedal playfully, making a shower of the roadbed spin momentarily from beneath the tires.

The approach was unbelievable. For the next 45 minutes we drove slowly on a road so winding it could've been carved by a giant snake with a bad case of indigestion, though with a gentle grade.

We passed the few scattered houses that were off the grid from the rest of the world. Several were beautiful retreats, owned by the rich who came up here to escape for weeks amidst the solitude and water- rich flora and wildlife that hugged the foot of the almost vertical mountain. Water, in springs and countless creeks was everywhere, and the riotous colors of the blooming wildflowers showered brilliant colors with abandon and mischief amidst the urgent new greens of the grasses and groundcover plants.

Monica's favorite was the fields of Indian Paintbrush, and she cried out in open pleasure every time their colors appeared around a bend. Deirdre was intoxicated with it all and unaware that her psychology was being opened with Monica's abandon. In the rear-view mirror, I could see her dark red braid flip from side-to-side, the ribbon trailing across her face as she tried to drink it all in, and not miss anything.

The windows were down and the richness of the new oxygen came to the senses till the three of us were giggling and pointing and bright-eyed at every new delight!

There wasn't a cloud in the sky, and with the cool breeze that wandered downslope from the Pass ahead, the warmth of the day made for a contrast that made me feel renewed, young, and alive. The air's currents inside the Bronco soothed the heat from my beating the night before, and the soft sweater brought cool fingers across the bruises.

Sunlight played with the reaching limbs of the aspens and pines and lifted uncountable, shifting jewels of brilliance from the beaver ponds we passed on the left, a sure sign we had left civilization behind as the road became less of a road and our ascent became steep.

I stopped for our first break when I saw the weather-blackened remains of settlers' homesteads half an hour later. My bottom and thighs were sweaty, and my eyes needed a rest.

We piled out of the Bronco. Deirdre moved with the wonder of a child as she ran across the wandering, sloping valley. Up first one slope, and then another, she ran with her arms outstretched as if she could somehow take it all to her breast and never be left without this joy again.

A quick check of the Bronco first, and I pulled compact binoculars from the glove box, carefully looking up and down the valley. Careless tourists, poacher's camps, and even the odd meth lab had been here over the years, and I knew that to know what might be in the night ahead; I had to know what the remains of the daylight could show me.

It was maybe 52 degrees, cooling fast and still cloudless. Monica walked over to the panting redhead and bowed elegantly and took her into a waltz. The breezes played with their clothes, the canted sunlight lit them beautifully, and the whispers from the scattered trees accompanied them as their feet were light and matched, step for dancing step.

Monica's hat was knocked back in a twirl and hung around her neck by its' cord, her cropped hair showing time's colors, and Deirdre reached up to stroke them, halting their waltz.

Though they were easily 70 yards away, I could clearly hear them in the thin mountain air.

""You belong up here, you know? This is your element, and you dance like this is a palace ballroom!"

"I was born not too far from here. I can never leave."

Deirdre pulled her into a kiss, and Monica lifted the girl into her arms in a half-spin; they both landing on the grasses with an almost audible thud. With the redhead in her lap, Monica's left hand stroked her crotch-to-breast-to-neck in a gentle, flowing motion.

"We ain't gonna spend the night here," I hollered at them!

No effect. None. I might as well have been a junebug.

Clothes were going to start flying soon. I stomped over to them.

"A-hem!"

A little junebug.

Grabbing a water bottle from my belt, I poured its' contents right over Deirdre's breasts!

Oh, Ho! Reality! What a concept!

Laughter bursting out from the three of us, I couldn't help but notice that one snap shirt was now drenched and open to the waist, revealing lime-green lace; while a plaid shirt was now missing a few buttons, a moonstone pendant resting between friendly, bare breasts.

"Back on the road, you two! We've got a long way to go before I make camp for the night!"

Monica was still laughing, and looked like she was ready to rip the redhead's jeans off on the spot and get her whole hand inside.

Deirdre's eyes were a little glassy.

With an ascending "C'mon you two!" I walked back to the Bronco, hearing two pairs of feet in the grass following a little ways behind me.

Jumping back in the driver's seat, I winced, and got a laugh from the two of them, arm-in-arm.

"Brat!"

"Spoilsport! Serves you right!"

"Get in here!" I growled.

And off we went.

Almost immediately, I had to shift to 4WD-Low. The road, from here on in would be a mindless, dangerous thing that lucky tourists only found had wrecked their suspension, if it didn't just toss them back down the pass end-over-end.

Weather's passage changed the track some every year, but, having a good idea of what nasty surprises the next blind curve could bring, I kept the Bronco in first, and gently rode the clutch and the brake.

Deirdre had buckled in, and now simply sat back and watched the scenery unfold as we climbed sharply for the next three hours.

Monica glanced at me from time-to-time, her smile approving of my competence in handling the broken, worn track in silence. Her eyes were everywhere, and I could feel her drop the last veneers of civilization more with every passing hour, like the matted winter coat from a mountain lion who stretches in a deepening, bright Spring afternoon.

The feeling of being in a wandering valley disappeared, and the last of the homesteaders' log foundations had long since been left behind us when, with a few very tight and steep turns, the beginning of the Pass opened up in front of us.

Westin Pass is a wide, fairly flat saddle that rests between two jagged peaks, above timberline. We were still a few miles from the crest, but there were a few campsites scattered here-and-there.

I drove another mile, and then pulled to the right on to an unmarked, faint track that wound up around a gentle grassy knoll for a couple hundred yards, stopped, set the brake, and shut the engine off.

"We're here."

The sense of solitude in this wild place tears at you. It is a tangible, still, deep richness of the contrasts of the impossibly sapphire sky, the scent of the thriving grasses, the sharp edge this cold breeze brings to your lungs. It demands you to surrender to timeless powers that shaped this place, uncaring of whether or not you can remain sane amidst the sensory overload.

Everybody piled out, without a word.

Decades of coping with the steel-and-concrete artifice fell from Deirdre's limbs as she took steps that were a little hesitant.

I knew that feeling and I turned and watched Monica walk over to the Northwest, to see if the spring was still there, intact and undisturbed, concealed by the scrub pine and juniper.

I walked over to the redhead. Taking her by the hand, I led her to the crest of the knoll.

When I stopped, she came behind me, and circled her arms around me and sighed, trembling a little.

"How far up are we?"

"I forget – something like 12,600, I think. How do you feel?"

"Scared, a little; and yet I feel like I've always known this place somehow."

My heart skipped a few beats as I felt her nestle into my back, awakening the travel-numbed stamp left across my body by Master's needs. My breath caught, and I coughed.

"Don't try and take it all in at once. Those old abandoned homesteads we passed along the way? People found this place too much to take, and they were very strong in spirit."

Sighing. "This isn't someplace you fight. You and only live on the mountains terms up here."

I heard the tailgate drop. Untangling Deirdre, I went back to the Bronco and began bringing out everything I'd need to set up camp for the night. Monica gave me a quizzical look, handing me the HK rig and my lined drover.

"How's she doing?"

"She says this place feels familiar; and she says that you could only live here on the mountains' terms, not if you try and fight it."

She looked at me, nodded, and smiled.

I'd brought the big 6-man geo-tent, and everything for a vehicle-based camp. The cooler, and the big Coleman stove I left in the back, but I pulled out the heavy ground cloth, hoisted it over my shoulder and brought it over to the campsite we'd cleared 4 years ago, above the spring, but still within the edges of the scrub pines. The fire pit was undisturbed from last year, proof that no one had at least used this place since we were last here.

The good-sized, neat stack of black oak and split fir was still there, behind a split boulder where I'd left it off to the right.

With the tarp down and staked, the tent went up pretty easily though it wasn't supposed to be a one-girl job. I left the rainfly off, and put it inside the vestibule. Two double-sized, 8lb Qualofill bags went in with their pads next, along with the shotgun, reloads, and the emergency pack containing the EMS radio, flares, lightsticks, and Monica's field medical kit, among other things.

Across from the 4ft-fire pit, I spread another tarp, laid a large, thick, single pad, and unrolled another Qualofill bag. Two thermoses, one of cocoa, another of orange juice, both compliments of a quick trip into the empty kitchen back at the Hotel; and four bottles of water were set beside the head of the bag.

It was past sunset by the time I had the fire going, steaks on the open grill, fresh bread almost ready in the Dutch oven, and the big antipasto salad set in stainless bowls. Good red damask napkins were placed next to the red, enameled-tin plates on the tarp, and the old aluminum coffeepot was chuckling contentedly.

I scattered half-a-dozen 12-hour candle-lanterns around the perimeter on their aluminum stakes, and set the big fire extinguisher by the firewood. Only the highest peak beyond glowed with fading light.

Yes. Perfect. Time to go and find those two, and get a good meal down.

I didn't have to go far. They were together, Deirdre leaning on Monica's shoulders, watching the Goddess' spectacular display unfold in silence in the darkening purple sky to the West from atop the knoll.

My Marlin retrieved from the Bronco and slung over my shoulder, muzzle down, I walked up to them.

"Time for dinner. Anybody hungry?"

Deirdre turned to look at me, and there were tears streaming down her face, and her smile showed me that the Goddess' art had hit its' mark.

Monica came to her feet and hugged me, "Lover, that smells wonderful! I think I could carve into a whole roast young buffalo! Room service was a long time ago!"

That brought Deirdre back to the present a little more, as memories of Lisa came back with a rush.

"You two are unbelievable!" Her voice had fallen to the quiet murmur that comes so naturally to people who come to these places. New, gentle melodies had found their place in her throat as she watched the sunset with my lover.

"I feel like I haven't eaten in a month! What's for dinner, anyway? I smell fresh bread! How in the world?"

She wobbled a little as she came to her feet.

Monica was at her side. "Easy, baby! Breathe slowly, and relax. Just relax, and you'll find your legs just fine."

Hand-in-hand, we walked to the fire.

Deirdre was speechless. Monica lit the candle lanterns one-by-one, and their gentle light filled the space with a clear, fragile glow that backlit us as I served.

"Oh! I gotta answer the call of nature and wash up: where. . ."

"I'll go with you. C'mon; you're gonna love this!"

She lit the last two candle lanterns that led to the spring, and then led the redhead behind the split rock, where tissue was already waiting next to the old folded shovel.

A rustling of clothes, a few giggles, the sounds of the shovel, and then their footsteps went across to the spring.

"I don't believe. . .this!"

It had taken both of us two trips, working the entire Summer to make that rock basin and line it with clay bricks bought in Denver. Covered with an oak shield made from pallets, it was safe from most of the wildlife, while the runoff made for a trickling creek down the other side of the knoll that soaked back into the ground beyond the edge of the scrub pines. Being the water never came out into the open and crossed the trail that led over the Pass, the spring had apparently never been discovered – or at least, not in recent history, until Monica stumbled on it a few years before we first met.

Splashing and giggling sounds came to me, and I smiled.

They returned, with Deirdre's face sparkling, still damp, in the firelight.

The three of us descended on the food like a thunderclap.

Half an hour later it was gone, like it had never been there in the first place. Three smiling faces and three full stomachs might have betrayed that, but the full darkness in the jewel-laden sky above had our full attention.

Finishing my coffee, I sighed, came to my feet and stretched.

Taking the plates and the utensils back to the Bronco, and sprinkling a little lighter fluid near the tires to help mask the scent of the food inside, I came back to the fire. Monica was in the tent.

Kneeling in front of Deirdre, I caught her eyes, and saw them filled with sparkling lights.

"This night is yours. I'll stand watch, so that nothing will disturb either of you. In all our years together, I have never given another soul my grace, and my blessing to spend a night with my Monica and none such as this, in our place up here in the wild. I will never be far, but I will not intrude. Celebrate, and be at peace. I'll see you in the morning."

I kissed her full on the mouth, briefly, and stood and walked into the night, tears of joy streaming down my face.

Monica was crouched inside the tent, carefully folding her leather jeans, placing them last on the top of the neat stack against the right side of the spacious geo-dome. Nude, she rocked back on her heels and looked up through the netting at the starry, velvet sky, and smiled, thinking. The crows-feet deepened, and a gentleness came over her features.

Rose had done superbly, everything precise and without fuss. The camp was a joy to the senses, and effortless to become accustomed to. The thin air was a welcome relief to her small lungs, freeing her from the reminder of her bonds that would always keep her at altitudes in the high country.

She heard her slave's warm voice speaking quietly, and then silence, save for the crackle of the fire.

She knee-walked out of the vestibule, wearing just her old motorcycle boots as protection against the stones that lay hidden in the cooling grasses, and her oval moonstone pendent on its' silk cord.

She watched silently as Deirdre undressed by the fire.

The black leather coat already lay folded on the tarp, along with her beautiful tapestry vest. In a rare gesture Monica's hands came to her mouth, palms pressed together, the callused fingertips barely touching. The girl was stripping off her black jeans, the snowy snap-front shirt already gone, revealing the lime-green Battenburg lace bra over lovely and rich breasts already so well known.

"Days with this girl already feel like years, but she's eager to find herself in our element up here," she thought, as the jeans slid down over the arch of her hips and to her knees. The tiny matching string bikini was almost too much to bear, and Monica's eyes dilated even more fully in the darkness as the flickering firelight washed so generously over creamy skin.

Dropping to an easy cross-legged seat, Deirdre's elk-skin boots came off next, followed by the bunched jeans that she carefully folded before putting the boots back on. The heavy silver belt was pulled from the jeans and re-looped around her waist, the dangling links now free to tap against her sex, the silver catching and reflecting sparks that danced in Monica's eyes.

Deirdre wondered what was keeping the older woman. Putting a few of the heavy pieces of black oak on the fire, she felt the heat against her body and stretched against the rising heat, her head tilting back to look up at the breathtaking canopy of stars.

Footsteps approached her. Strong arms encircled her as she felt the taller woman's body reach and meet the curve of her spine, the arch of her bottom.

"You sweet thing, you're likely become my second-favorite idea of dessert!" Monica's breath was warm on her ear, and she relaxed into the strength of the older woman's embrace happily.

With a little lava-lava of her hips, she giggled, "And here I thought you'd curled up for a nap in there! I should've known you were watching; but somehow I could only enjoy the fire and the night all round."

Monica's breath caught in her throat with the luscious feelings that brushing lace-covered bottom brought to the pit of her belly, and she tightened her arms till the girl gasped.

Releasing her with a grin, and spinning her round to face her, she felt the sudden chill add to the tingling she felt in her breasts, and knew her large nipples were hard and rising clear of their large aureole.

Shamelessly tangling fingers in her thick pubic hair, she caught the redhead's eyes, and said, "You want to finish that waltz we started?"

Deirdre looked the older woman up and down.

"You are simply beautiful."

Monica laughed.

"I mean it: you look like you modeled for one of those statutes from the Renaissance that Michelangelo did, without the stylized face, or hair! You are so comfortable in your own skin!

"Wait, where is Rose?"

"Likely as not, she's probably somewhat close at hand. Why?"

"I just need to know where she is."

Cupping her hands to her mouth, Monica sounded a sharp, double-bark into the night. Almost immediately, there came a single, triple bark from up the Pass. She smiled at the city girl.

"In this place, unless your spirit has left all traces of the flatland life behind years ago, you would be placing yourself in a lot of danger if you didn't have someone watching over you at night. Rose is very nearly my equal in these places, and she'll guard us with her life. Feel better?"

Smiling, nodding, Deirdre reached up to her hair and unbound it, and retied the black satin around her wrist deftly.

"A little satin, some silver riches around my waist, lace to keep you interested, and dancing shoes like none other that I own; yes, please; come dance me till I see the stars for the rest of my life!"

They danced. Monica's body matched the lithe form of the girl, and they danced till matching sheens of sweat glistened on their bodies around the now-brilliant fire. The rising needs of both women were tossed and caught like long gleaming knives as their eyes taunted and challenged the other to go further, touch, and make the want real!

They danced in silence, only their booted feet beating the pulse of their music.

With a sudden moan that rose and ascended higher till it broke free from her lips, Deirdre locked her fingers in Monica's cropped hair and desperately tried to kiss her full on the mouth.

Sweeping the now-panting, straining girl off her feet, she brought them both to the spread-open bag as gently as a flight feather falling from a sleeping hawk.

The deep yellows and reds of the well-kindled oak brought shuddering waves of heat to their bodies as Monica laced the fingers of one hand up under the nape of the girl's neck, clenching the thick mane, and she waited till wide blue eyes found her patient gaze.

Realizing that she was almost effortlessly being held at arms' length her crooked grin returned, and she relaxed her straining fingers as Monica brought her face gently closer and laid both of them down on their sides, facing and touching.

Soft lips found a hungry mouth, and Monica's tongue swept into the girl's sweet, panting kiss with joy.

Feeling her senses reel from the open passions as Monica's tongue stroked the roof of her mouth with complete confidence, the girl brought her lips into an oval, and sucked gently as her mouth was lovingly taken again and again. The sweat of their bodies cooling rapidly, their hands explored the other as they broke their kiss with a mutual laugh, territories established for now.

Deirdre's hands finger-walked the expanse of Monica's muscular back as they sat up and kicked off their boots, leaving both pairs a safe distance from the fire, and with the red-haired girl laying on her back, Monica's knees opened her thighs wide.

Supporting herself on both arms, the older woman began to slowly arch herself across the girls now- drenched, lace-covered sex, gently rubbing her throat there, arms fully extended, and then drawing herself upwards, always keeping her body in contact with only that swatch of lace.

The moonstone pendant bumped past, in the company of friendly, aching breasts, their large nipples reaching for her relaxed thighs.

Torso and belly gently touching there, now passing, Monica's sex screamed at her for contact with a drumbeat of her own need as she arched higher, slowly and evenly.

Deirdre's hands were rubbing her lace bra lightly till secret lips touched lace, wet with her sweet heat.

Self-control vanished.

Her fingers became claws of desire and she tore at her bra till it fell aside, and she twisted and tugged on her taut nipples in synch to Monica's gentle, bumping rhythm.

Sweat dripped from the older woman's face, and she drew back again to repeat the long stroke again.

"Isolated contact focuses so much," she whispered to the writhing girl as she repeated the body-stroking over and over. Always the same, it was never the same as the gentle bumping at each terminus of the arch became a little more firm, and lasted a little longer before breaking contact again.

Deirdre lips were parted, her teeth gleaming in the firelight, and she reached up to try and run her hands over Monica's rippling back, feeling the devastating focus and self-control that Monica was centering on her crotch.

Now! With Monica fully extended, her throat again on the girl's pussy, Deirdre ripped the lace aside and locked her arms around the older woman's neck, and rolled on top!

With her heavy hair wild, she grabbed her by the upper arms and tried to hold the stronger woman down as she wriggled her pussy against the thick slippery mound of Monica's sex but the woman kept her powerful legs locked together.

"Now, honey, that feels wonderful! How long do you think you'll last, rubbing your clit on me like that? I can feel your little clit, you know? I bet it feels as big as your thumb, now. . ."

Deirdre's fingers suddenly dug into Monica's arms. She arched all the way back, making a tantric bow as she brought her pussy to Monica's waiting mouth, sliding across her chest, thighs now kneeling over Monica's face, her arms rising in a graceful arch backwards to dig into Monica's thighs. She shrieked a call to the starry, velvet sky, "See me! This is my pleasure!!"

I walked quietly back to the fire, smiling as I heard Deirdre's cry, wordless at this distance but unmistakable.

As I approached I heard a feral, rich murmur floating over the knoll. The light from the fire pit was less now, so I took care to be completely silent though I knew my lover likely was well aware of my approach.

Passing the Bronco, I saw Deirdre curved back in a fantastic arch, her pussy light on my Monica's face, sweat pouring off her body.

Strong arms were firm but not controlling on the girl's waist, giving her less effort in her pose, making it last as long as possible.

I Indian-walked to the firewood, and laid two more pieces of split, dry fir and two of black oak before retreating to the shadows and heading away to the top of the knoll to watch for a little while, making no profile against the light.

Monica began to bob her head up gently into the girl's pussy and I saw her arms rhythmically pull the girl to her.

Deirdre began to tremble, her breasts quivering as her body was so gently suckled at its' very core.

Flexing her fingers, she rose to an upright kneeling pose on Monica's face; her arms outstretched when the orgasm hit her.

Powerful, shuddering waves rippled through her and she tried to buck off to escape that hold, and it got her nowhere, and rapidly.

Monica's arms suddenly locked tight as she lifted her head, and I saw her swallow repeatedly, the corded neck muscled fantastic in the firelight

A mewing, tearing scream broke from those soft lips, and the long muscles in her tensed and she froze, holding pose perfectly as the woman released her, and slowly drew her hard nails down the girl's back.

I rose, and smiling, walked back into the night.

Licking and drinking the thick-salty-sweet flow that her spasming pussy gave with abandon Monica relented and gently rolled the semi-conscious, semi-sane girl to her back, petting her hair, her throat, her quivering breasts, down to her belly, relaxed now, and felt the pounding pulse there.

Reaching for a thermos, she poured a mug of warm cocoa and rolled two bottles of water closer. Scooping an arm under the languid, cooling girl, she waved a mug of cocoa under her nose and was rewarded with a deep sigh, a wriggle of the hips, and a lopsided smile.

"Woman, you give the word 'pleasure' a whole new meaning! Oh! Yes! Gimme!"

Pouring a second mug, not quite sure Deirdre would stay sitting up on her own until she heard the quiet laughter bubbling up, they clinked the enameled tin together. Noses were buried, both of them slurping and sighing as the sweet warmth filled their mouths, slid down their throats, and spreading warmth through their bellies, they both sighed simultaneously and almost caught a case of the giggles.

Setting her cup aside, Monica said, "Baby, you taste like that was your first orgasm of your life! What, you just masturbated in your penthouse all these years? Water?"

"Lady, you've shown me more in these few days than I'd've ever dreamed I could feel, much less want so badly!" Wrinkling her nose, and sticking her tongue out, she pouted, "And, no, I've had a few affairs, but I always had to schedule my love life!"

Draining her water bottle, Deirdre said, "I think I gotta go pee!"

Monica laughed, finished hers and said, "We'll go together – 'cause I don't think you're all that steady on your feet, OK?"

Snuggling close by the fire, Deirdre asked, "Just how long were we making love? I see that the moon's quite a ways up in the sky and at least a third of the stars have swung past; but what time is it?"

Thunder passed behind the older woman's eyes.

"When the sun comes up, then it'll be morning. I think that's all we need to worry about, up here."

"I'm sorry, there's just an old habit, you know, 'Am I late,' or 'Did we get carried away,' or something.."

Monica smiled.

"What, you suddenly think we're done making love? I would have expected you to have learned a little more by now; come here, you beautiful girl!"

Sitting close by the fire Monica wrapped her long arms around the girls' neck and gently began to kiss her. Deirdre's arms laced into the woman's embrace and in a few moments, hands were stroking hair, and a whispered ". . .it's my turn. . ." drifted from somebody.

"Just a sec – we're gonna need to keep warm, maybe;" and Monica jumped to her feet, and threw more firewood on the flickering flames, her body flowing, her power in this open wild place shining, her eyes bright. She looked with tangible longing at the young woman stretching in front of her, gently backlit by the candle lanterns quiet glow.

"Open another of those waters, will you, and drink deep – making love up here can get to be thirsty work!"

"Work?? Me??"

"Shut-up, and hurry up."

"Yes, Ma'am! Here!"

Draining the last of the bottle in one long swallow, Monica laid the young woman down and knelt over her face. "It's my turn, baby. I want you. . ."

Fires kindled to new blazes, and Monica rested on one elbow as she felt Deirdre's mouth find her sex with those soft lips, her tongue making a new dance in the folds of soft flesh, tracing and dancing.

Monica leaned closer, and inhaled deeply, and licked three fingers of her free hand slowly, and in one easy motion, slid them into the young woman's pussy, reaching her secret spot, reaching upwards, making her fingertips vibrate and tickle against the delicate folds that held so many tightly packed nerves.

Her face descended closer, and she licked her lips as new orgasms, sparkling and overwhelming swept through Deirdre's central nervous system. "Always go to the source, whenever you can, and when you can have two at the same time;" she thought, as her mouth began sucking ever so delicately on the young woman's clit and hood.

Deirdre's mind began to unravel, and she simply let go and became sexual, the embodied physical opportunity of the saturated erotic experience of the last few days. New doorways opened in her mind and were left far behind as she claimed herself and joyfully celebrated being so easily, endlessly orgasmic under Monica's attentions and need; that rich and soft sex waiting for her to come, to join, to forget anything else.

She was cherished, protected, and had been welcomed so openly into the most intimate places of these two women's lives, to whom she owed her life. They were offering her a life of her own, only seeking in return her honesty and willingness to explore, to join their years-long adventure for a little while!

With an easy deep breath she found laughter and tears surfacing. She nuzzled further into Monica's sex, as celestial trip-hammers of ecstasy pounded all the walls in her soul to weightless nothingness, and she embraced the new, bright light that grew within her.

They matched each other, movement to need to taste, and then the young woman brought her own fingers inside Monica. She found the subtle, soft, slender folds that had waited for this touch and for a space in time there was no way to tell where one life began and another one ended.

I heard their orgasm all the way to the top of the pass, winding higher and stronger and more clearly till it echoed back on itself and became a multitude of the sounds of completion, and ecstasy.

Only women can ever know these things. . .

_____________________________________________________________________________________

Monday

I watched the night ease into a new morning, making random, quiet sweeps throughout the Pass, listening; and found naught. The hem of the gown of the Goddess wheeled above, tempting me to abandon my responsibilities and surrender to Her wonder; fiery impossibly brilliant jewels piercing the heavens in the most pure hues.

"The colors of the infinite; traveling to my eyes from beyond eternity," I thought. I didn't feel small or insignificant somehow; not with the awareness of my own feet walking amidst riches both physical and spiritual - including the sleeping pair by the glowing fire. "Philosophers wonder if the universe can be unraveled with a pebble; if all the cosmos is but a charged particle of an atom in another plane, another universe entirely." I smiled, seeing the startling pinks bloom from the pre-dawn's greys as I made my way back to camp.

Monica and Deirdre were a joy to behold.

I wondered if the younger woman had ever spent a night out in the open, the uniqueness of last night notwithstanding. They were tangled together, Monica cradling Deirdre's head above the top layer of the second sleeping bag I'd covered them with from the geo-tent. "Had Raphael ever painted the pure sensuality of two women, these would have made his heart sing to see," I thought. "Benvenuto Cellini reached for such sensuality in silver; and the bronzes of the Romantic Age touched purity, yes; but to my heart this is the reality of love made flesh, living and breathing across entire Ages!"

Going to my Bronco, I opened the tailgate and brought out the large Coleman stove; the second trip being the steel cooler. I checked: the dry ice was down to a few chips, the blue gel pacs still frozen solid. Time to get breakfast started.

Morning's light flooded the Pass by the time the biscuits were done; the fat sausages turned for the last time. I felt rather than heard Master watching me, wakening fully with a smile when I turned. Our eyes met, and the connection was renewed. An impish grin worked its' way across her features and she snuggled beneath the warmth, heading down. I squatted, trying not to laugh and spoil everything. . .

With a spluttering noise from beneath the sleeping bag somewhere in the vicinity of the red head's stomach Deirdre's eyes flew open and hands struggled as peals of laughter and complete astonishment burst from her lips, eyes unfocused and hair flying!

"No, no, no, no, NO! I'm gonna pee! STOP! Please!"

Monica surfaced, grinning; and grabbed the girl by the nape of the neck and kissed her till the squalling subsided. Maybe a little too thoroughly. . .

Deirdre's eyes were getting very focused indeed when that kiss was broken.

"Good morning!"

Blinking rapidly, she found me just a couple feet away.

"That's referred to as 'motorboat noises in your belly-button,' right?"

"Yep"

Monica and I were both chuckling.

"Very effective!"

I took the sleeping bag from atop them in one swipe to cries of indignation and dark looks that melted to greedy anticipation when smells of a waiting breakfast penetrated their consciousnesses. Both nude, brush-strokes of goose-bumps proliferating in the chill air they disappeared behind the split boulder, retrieving warm footwear from the stones beside the fire. Fresh rag wool socks were tucked in the tops, waiting to warm bare feet.

"Hot water!"

"Coming right up," I replied, taking the 2-gallon galvanized pail from the fire pit; walking the steaming weight carefully to the spring. Soap and a large towel were already waiting by the downslope scrub pine. The sight of the two of them washing up stayed with me as I went back to serve up breakfast and lay out clean clothes for both of them. "She is responding to the constant of my Master; a natural force in her own environment, at complete peace with herself."

Duck canvas jeans and a faded black work shirt for Monica, denim jeans and a turquoise v-neck cotton long-sleeve sweater for Deirdre were spread out on the South facing side of the split granite. I'd let them sort the rest of their apparel out on their own.

Fatigue was starting to tug at me when both seated themselves for breakfast: fresh biscuits, sausages, melon and coffee. We ate in comfortable silence, Deirdre not even noticing my service; a fact that escaped neither Master or me. The girl slipped her boots off, stretching her feet to the fire, a delicateness to her as she wiped lips and fingers clean.

I yawned uncontrollably.

"Time for you to get a nap this morning, girl."

"I'll be fine, Sir." Smiling.

"For a few hours. Humor me."

I nodded. Deirdre was looking at me with the realization that I had indeed been up all night.

"Even in my sleep, I knew you were there, somehow. I've never felt so safe, even in my own room. It's true, I know it, because today feels like the first day of my life, somehow.

"The thought of you failing, breaking a promise never crossed my mind; and I'm used to the outside world always being full of excuses, excuses people accept."

I rose, leaving the morning's service, kissed her softly, nodded to Master and made my way into the tent.

I was down to folding my herringbone pants when she knee-walked in the vestibule. I could see Deirdre still sitting by the remains of breakfast sipping coffee, looking into the dying fire, a gentle smile writing her thoughts there.

"It was a quiet night."

"Afterwards, yes.

"I am very, very happy for you my love."

The crows' feet deepened, and she exhaled, a purr rising almost imperceptibly then.

"In you go. Sleep. We'll leave around lunch time. You'll probably be awake before then, yes?"

"Sir. 'To the arms of Morphius I go; sweet slumbers' embrace renewe'd,' albeit for a few hours."

She became very still.

"You whispered those words, those verses when I first found you. You wrote those pages a long time ago, in a different time, a different place. And now?"

Sleep was reaching for me. "I see new cycles beginning, new circles; both of us." I yawned again, eyes closing as I snuggled into the rising warmth of the sleeping bag, thoughts getting random, uncaring.

Feeling her calloused hands stroking my hair with complete tenderness, owned and safe I fell completely asleep.

Monica sat in the tent unseen, her eyes focused inward for a moment before rising, taking the Winchester with her, placing the Marlin, safetied and checked within easy reach of the sleeping girl.

_____________________________________________________________________________________

Into the dying coals, the morning full and sending warmth into the Pass, the scent of the grasses and undergrowth coming clear to her senses, Deirdre sipped her refilled mug, thinking.

"I am a traveler, now. I am awakened to a level of my senses such that my very soul is simply lifting free of the certainties, the bedrock of everything I thought I knew about myself - and that isn't scaring the holy shit out of me! I want this to go further! I want to have a life comprised of a baseline of living experiences, no definitions, no focus-group thresholds of acceptability, no causative functionality, none of that!"

She did not see Monica emerge from the geo-tent and pause, motionless, watching the red-head.

"Everything I fought for, starved and struggled for, and then thought I was rewarding myself with in the material valuation, the transient ego-concentric has been exposed and annulled here with these two powerful outcast women in just a matter of days! How? Because they are real, to a cellular level, both deterministically and organically; as basic and incontrovertable as the breathing of the primeval rain forests! Without women such as these, could the very spirit die, and die in utter ignorance?"

Sphinx-like, she sipped cooling coffee.

"In me, now, I see a light, a sensual totality that I denied; a primitive necessary component of balance that re-defines my life! And I don't care about the future, not even to the macroscopic ramifications I've contracted to fulfill! No one warned me; but nothing could have prepared me, either! And you know what? I don't care!"

She stood, release and a growing sense of assimilation rinsing through her, as if the morning was reaching her very bones, straightening some invisible case of heretofore undiagnosed rickettes.

Monica watched, unconsciously touching the butt of her Redhawk, sensing darkness fleeing from deep within the girl; and that was raising more questions than it brought answers, though the synthesis hoped for was obviously working its' way through her.

Deirdre walked over to the camp's simple pantry and picked up a bag of trail mix and a bar of pemmican, touching the triple-wrapping with sudden remembrance - and then turned and walked into the light of the rising sun barefoot except for her thick socks.

Monica stood easily, and walked over to the remains of the breakfast service and coughed. "Hey! We got a few chores to do first, yes? Come back here and get your boots on, too!"

The girl froze, transfixed for an instant as self-absorption vanished and recognition and awareness flooded in and happiness swept over her with a shy smile.

"Um."

"That kind of wool-gathering happens to everybody up here. Get something sorted out?"

Monica was walking up to her with her boots swinging in one hand; the other was still lightly resting on that large magnum revolver in its' well-used holster.

"Thanks." Sitting, and pulling on boots, after cleaning her socks meticulously with delicate fingertips.

"I can think up here."

Monica chuckled; and following the girl's inquiring eyes, laughed quietly.

"We need to keep it down, Rose is asleep; but she'll wake and appear like lightening if she senses any intrusion, armed and ready for any catastrophe much faster than one would expect, too. It will get the both of us soundly chewed out if she rises only to find us inconsiderate: and that girl is very competent when it comes to chewing ass all the way to bone!"

The girl nodded, smiling, and stood, taking the proffered hand up. Looking pointedly at the El Paso rig, she asked, "A Super Redhawk for a field rig? Isn't that heavy after a while? Forty-four magnum?"

Monica kept her hand light and appeared to accept the change of subject equably.

"With handloads Rose worked up. Her carbine is chambered for the same round, too. Good all-round combination, and one we put meat on the table with regularly. You never mentioned you shoot. . ."

Deirdre grinned. "Nope, I've never gone hunting; but I know how to shoot a little! My bodyguard is teaching me about guns when I have free time."

"Chicago."

"I have connections, and Helen is worth her weight in gold, able to carry a gun as my bodyguard almost anywhere, anytime. Handloads? You two like something more than factory ammunition? Why?"

"Cheaper, more accurate, and she matches the exact round to be the best for these specific guns. She enjoys doing it as an exercise in precision."

"How powerful, how accurate did she get?"

Monica looked at her calmly, curiously.

"In this thin air, she chronographed these rounds at something like twelve-hundred twenty feet-per-second from the revolver; well over fourteen-hundred fps from her carbine. Three-shot cloverleafs happen pretty regularly at seventy-five yards from my Redhawk. This is easy to add a scope to when I want to go light and hundred-yard shots are easy then. With the scope on her Marlin, Rose gets about the same result at almost twice that distance and she's accurate with that little rifle out to about two-hundred fifty yards from a rest.

"We take white tail and mule deer with either one with no problem." Shrugging. "It keeps meat in the freezer."

Deirdre blinked.

"So against the night. . "

"Any unwholesome types that may have been intent on rape last night wouldn't have had any chance at all. Black bear is out of that league but they've all headed down to fatten up; they're not likely to be up here now." She met the girl's eyes levelly, a twinkle threatening to take real hold.

"We were very present to anyone who might have been listening, yes?"

The girl blushed, and suddenly swept the older woman into a hug, trembling slightly, the intensities of her heart speaking volumes that words couldn't convey.

"Let's get breakfast put away and go for a walk, OK?"

"Long overdue."

Camp was cleared and mostly re-packed, pockets were filled with something to munch; and the girl watched as Monica replaced the buckshot rounds in the pistol-gripped shotgun with Brenneke slug loads, the right pocket of the old drover getting another dozen shells; the shotgun slung beneath the long coat discreetly.

"They hold defensive posture as naturally as breathing," she thought. "They walk through wild places completely at peace, filled with strength and love and joy at the pleasures of living - because they know nothing of fear in the life and home they've built over the years. And all the outside world preaches is the mantra of the 'helpless victim,' the 'truth' of fear, of distrust. Turn the clock back ten thousand years and I would still see a woman and her girl slave walking these spaces in identical balance, identical harmony; deadly competent to danger, natural forces of something I can't begin to identify. I feel it, though - and I never want to lose it!"

They headed out into the day without an itinerary, both stopping to look at each new bloom, each new color; harvesting wild herbs, they rubbed the oils into their hands and faces, and hats were only grudgingly kept in place. Their boots left little imprint in the tundra though their spirits must've made even the watching granite faces and peaks smile.

I was awakened at noon, before the sun had risen to its' zenith in the sky by light hands drenched with scents from heather and wild flowers were cupping my face, touching my hair; and warm lips met mine in a playful and greedy kiss.

"Hello, Rose," she whispered.

"Your Master says it's time we were going home."

Pemmican and coffee for me; seeing all traces of our camp erased after the geo-tent was stowed: we had never been there, save to the scent and forensic traces.

I completed inspecting and checking my old Bronco easily, my back much more quiet (but still asking for a soak and clean flannel sheets before much longer). We settled in, and drove down in silence. I saw Deirdre crying silently in the view of the mirror, something utterly simple in her face, something new that maybe she was worried she'd lose by leaving the physicality of the mountains. Monica tipped her hat over her eyes and slouched back, relaxed and aware of the emotions of the girl behind her, choosing not to intrude; she simply enjoyed the ride and the sun.

We stopped in Como, at the old roadhouse for a light meal and then finished the trip home, long shadows lengthening as we passed through Bailey and headed up Crow Hill. A companionable silence held no walls; there was simply no need for words.

Both cats were in their respective windows, and Thwack was chirruping to get out at the top of his lungs as soon as the Ford's engine was shut down and the doors opened.

"We'll unpack, girl. Into the tub, and then to bed with you."

Deirdre was already unloading the back, and I could only ask for wordlessly and was given a hug from Master.

"Pretty slave - time for some rest."

I closed the door to our bedroom only as a partition to sound, and stripped my clothes off. It was a little uncharacteristic for me not to unpack, but Master was never stereotypical: love ruled both of us, and that far beyond the boundaries of so many.

The bubble-bath was delicious, a generous does of bath salts added. Deirdre came in with a glass of Chablis, smiled at the sight, and left. I got up and showered thoroughly, rinsing cold before exhaustion overcame me; and barely getting the tangles out of my hair, I burrowed into the ivory flannel sheets wearing a lace g-string and private jewelry from the little chest that always brought untroubled dreams; ankles, wrists, and waist circled in chains and braids of silver and gold, toe rings, too.

Quiet sounds and warm familiar voices drifted in, and sleep swept me away....

_____________________________________________________________________________________

Monica directed me in helping unpack; and I was completely astonished at the thoroughness Rose had effected in the brief time she'd set all this up before we left: there was enough fresh food for at least two more hearty meals, plus canned and dry goods for another couple days; two extra complete changes of clothing, including sturdy cold-weather rain gear plus rope, binoculars, signal flares, and what looked to be an extensive medical kit, different from the run bag Monica carried! There was the shotgun, the Marlin carbine, Monica's Redhawk, Rose's HK USP Compact and her Kimber rig, and a short-barreled Bushmaster AR-15 with a holosight in an obviously hand-made soft case that I had never noticed along with a compact, third-generation nightscope in a small Pelican case, a couple rather large knives and a powerful compound bow with an attached quiver that held six razor-tipped arrows! There were a dozen full 20-round mags for the Bushmaster, a 50-round bandolier filled with shotgun shells, six spare mags for the HK, and a hundred rounds of .44mag in two small water tight boxes! These women casually traveled everywhere equipped for a small insurrection and did so with matter-of-fact ease that would've unnerved me had I not known them!

It made me realize that the two of them had a perspective I had never thought about when it came to being self-deterministic, accepting complete responsibility for their own safety with the same cool competence as a wet-entry team with the FBI, except it was an everyday awareness. I wondered if either of them paused a moment to think about their incredible ease in making fire wherever they went. . .

I laughed, finally, at the thought of someone sneaking up on our camp up on the Pass - even several someones - eyes filling voyeuristically as they advanced on Monica and me before her slave closed them, striking with cold precision from afar. No wonder I felt so safe.

"What's so funny?

"Wool-gathering again?"

Monica was standing in front of me, thumbs hooked in her front pockets. "I realized why I felt so safe last night," gesturing at the spread of sorted weapons on the sofa waiting to be put away, "even though I didn't completely realize just how safe I really was!"

Monica sighed quietly and grinned.

"That girl does tend to always prepare for the worst - and the worst never happens. I don't argue, though I'd likely travel much lighter. Give me my rig and my knife and some rope, and I'll do just fine.

"These, though," gesturing at the weaponry, "are just inanimate tools. Without training, without the mind and heart ready and knowing that to use them is to wield death. . ." she shrugged. "They're just things. Rose kept us safe last night. Her heart. Her love. She's trained for eleven years; and twice, it's saved our lives.

"I've thought of telling her to leave most of this at home, sometimes, I admit; but she is simply more comfortable being what she calls 'thorough' whenever we get far from home."

Picking up the Bushmaster, she cleared it; dropping the full magazine, racking the bolt, looking in the breech, and pointing the rifle at the floor in the corner away from us she pulled the trigger, the crisp mechanical click of the gun sharp.

"Her physical scars have long since faded; but there are emotional ones that I don't disturb. She won't ever be raped again; nor ambushed in a place where another would think she might have her guard down.

"And she'll send anyone who threatens her, anywhere, straight to hell. With or without weapons.

"If I don't get to them first."

I stood and looked into eyes that were clear, untroubled, calm. I hugged her, as hard as I could, reaching up a little to get my hands around her shoulders, looking for tension; wanting to communicate acceptance for lives and pasts that I couldn't begin to personally imagine. "I've read countless files; facts and the best reconstructions of both your histories - but they barely begin to actually tell anyone even a fraction of who I'm learning you two are!"

She returned the hug briefly, warmly, and cleared her throat. "Let's get these in the safe after I clear them and check them, OK?"

Completely without stress.

I grinned. "I want a shower after that, before we do the dishes!"

"After the dishes. You wash, I'll dry - and then, how 'bout I give you a good-night massage to send you to sleep? Sound good?"

I perked up. "Absolutely!"

The dishes were done, with their little bird supervising the entire time from the curtains over the sink. "Thwack, named for the way he lands," she'd said a month ago, over the phone. "He's very special to Rose, a constant source and reminder of everything bright, everyday." "Does he talk," I asked? Monica's warm laugh came over the headset clear. "Not in words - but trust me, you'll likely understand him very well after a day or so!" Looking out the thirty-third floor window of my office, I could only visualize the pigeons that flocked to the benches on the Boardwalk. "I don't know much about birds," I said.

Crest erect in alert approval, the cockatiel flew down to my shoulder and enthusiastically nibbled my ear lobe.

"I'm glad you think I did good enough, little boy! Come on, now; it's way past your bed time." He wolf- whistled and ran down my arm to the counter top, looking over his shoulder only once as he made a dash for the bowl of apples.

Monica scooped him up with the flat of her hand mid-stride, and the little bird grabbed her forefinger with both feet, looking eye-to-eye with her, crest flat.

"Bed time, Thwack, and you know it!"

She walked into their bedroom, and I got a glimpse of Rose, covers kicked off except for one leg, and I stood stock-still in wonder. "She is a vision of innocent abandon, a pagan delight written in the marks of an unimaginable, shared passion only for the one she knows as her Master, adorned to be a lure and erotic statement. Child-like, I see something that goes far deeper than what I'd guessed! She's forty-five, a dichotomy of personal truths and reflexive service and mischief embodied when I've seen her up till now - and now I see her as a girl/slave/witch; a complex but absolute language of purity composing her; and the years have no meaning whatsoever.

The bird covered for the night, Monica joined me at the door, shining eyes meeting mine frankly.

"To truly own another, to completely possess one such as her is a gift and responsibility beyond anything I would've ever dreamed. I wake at night, and love just to watch her sleep.

"Look and see what a priceless treasure I'm entrusting to you; and remember my girl as a whole woman when you have her in your world in Chicago," she said softly.

"Be sure you return her to me."

Shaken, and as tears welled again in my eyes, I tore myself away from the sight and looked at Monica.

"You have my word," I promised.

She nodded.

"Jump in the shower, then, and get into bed.

"I can't wait to give you a decent back rub!"

_____________________________________________________________________________________

"Monica's hands. I will remember Monica's hands until my dying day. They read me like an x-ray, clinical when discovering something tense or misaligned; they stroked me with familiarity and ease; they stretched and kneeded me effortlessly; they pounded me till I was completely limp and relaxed. She worked me for at least an hour, giving me the massage of my life.

"I've had more technically competent massage, professional ones that cost me $200; but this woman knew me, and gave me a delicious, wonderful treat out of simple friendship! It cleared my mind while it made me ache again for her; and then, when I was just about to reach for her and try to make love again, the tempo changed. I was asleep before I knew it."

_____________________________________________________________________________________

Little Kallis had watched the physical therapy from his usual spot atop the big recliner by the front door, chin resting on one curled paw, the other draped down the front. Monica looked in at the sleeping slave, and thought, "How many cycles of karma have we shared, girl?" She prayed a moment to Kali that one of these times their lives would begin and end together uninterrupted, a triumph of the cycle. She saw that the big tomcat was sleeping next to the girl's hips, lifting his head enquiringly as the door opened.

Leaving the door open, she skritched the little feral cat between the ears carefully and went outside into the young night, taking a seat on the worn boards of the porch and lit a cigarette.

"Busy, full days," she thought. "I had known only one woman intimately; and after these last 48 hours, I've explored two more! Rose will always be the fulfillment of my heart, perfect in her innocence - but I will not shut the door to our home to Lisa. Our paths did more than cross." Eyes focusing inward, smoking, she thought privately about Deirdre.

Scudding clouds were filling the sky, and there was a sense of moisture available. The wind shifted to the northeast, boding rain by the time the smoke was finished.

She went inside, locked the door, turned the pager on, undressed in the dark and gathered the sleeping blonde into her arms, falling lightly asleep with the scent of their bodies mingling.

Nothing disturbed the silence of the night.

_____________________________________________________________________________________

Tuesday

Deirdre was awakened with the sound of rain.

Rising and completing her morning toilet, she went into the kitchen in search of tea, bundled nude in the borrowed thick green cotton velour hooded robe. There was a distant sound of thunder, and she heard rising winds outside as the teakettle began to whistle. "No other sounds," she thought; "no traffic, nothing. I hear myself think, and I worry that I might get lost in this world that doesn't give a damn about the time!" She smiled and released the forming memories of her life in Chicago; endless meetings about schedules, contracts and deadlines. They were replaced with the tangible reality of the simple home high in the mountains. "The focus of my soul is absorbed in watching the tea brew," she thought; "listening to the rain water chuckle down the tin gutter off the roof, feeling the pine planks of the floor beneath my feet; breathing the scent-drenched air up here."

In her mind, she connected the scents to her botanical explorations the previous day, hearing Monica's voice explaining the simple uses and specifics about the wild herbs and succulents that grew in the harsh environment. The older woman knew every one in all its' seasons; and they had shared such a delight at rubbing a handful of tiny white alpine blossoms with wild sage and heather, the juices released making the most pure and soothing sensation in the palms of her hands.

Returning to her bed in the living room, the red head sipped carefully, and smiled at the quiet that seemed to wrap the house, the rain only adding to the sense of peace.

The big tomcat stalked up to her, and stretched, meowing loudly. Little Kallis appeared next, looking over his shoulder expectantly. "Kallis," she thought bemusedly; "A fitting name: a person or thing dear, implying also being very expensive! How true, little cat!"

Monica walked around the corner, nude, her short hair sleep-tousled, her body relaxed and erect. She smiled warmly at the sight of the girl drinking tea and continued on into the kitchen to get breakfast for the cats who were doing figure-eights between her feet.

Returning with a cup of her own she sat cross-legged on the futon in the still-dark room and sipped, listening to the rain. Thunder came again, closer, with a splitting bang.

"I have changed," she thought. "It never occurred to me to turn on lights this morning - all I responded to was a basic rhythm."

Monica smiled at the younger girl as if she could read the thoughts that flowed behind those eyes.

"Good morning."

They clinked mugs.

"Aren't you chilly?"

The older woman just shrugged and smiled; and she sipped her tea, listening to the rain.

"We go weeks, even a month without talking," she'd said, during an early call. "For us, there is the pleasure of not having to fill in silence with anything. We know each other, we know ourselves; and our life has little need of dialogue - a touch, a look says all that needs one to focus on." "Do you mean you've both run out of things to say to each other?" There was a dry chuckle in her headset. "Hardly. Rose loves to talk when something's on her mind - and our isolation can get to be a little hard on her then because she loves to explore her thoughts with someone else. More often than not, she's alone. Getting her on the internet has helped her quite a bit - though frequently, her virtual friends can't make heads- nor-tails of what she's talking about. There will always be a disconnect with the outside world for her." Keying an incoming call out to my secretary, I asked, "Doesn't that get frustrating?" I thought I could hear her smile. "Sometimes - but that girl will always make herself understood to me - even going so far as to wake me up in the middle of the night just to sit and talk about a dream."

Setting her now-empty mug on a stone coaster, the older woman kissed the red head and walked into the bedroom silently on bare feet. Deirdre started at the kiss, and then relaxed, realizing her cup, too, was empty.

Hearing the little bird wake and stir as the cover was taken from his cage, a happy series of chirrups and the sound of wings followed by the sounds of the shower starting, Deirdre thought, ". . . time to get the day started," and she went into her closet, thinking of rainy-day clothes, knowing there would be something she could borrow to stay dry. She looked at her fanny pack and what it represented - and sighed a little and pulled it out to go with her.

Dressing in stretch fleece leggings and a tank top beneath a chunky cotton sweater, the fanny pack resting lightly over the top she looked in as the sounds of Monica's shower ended. The blonde slave was still fast asleep, tucked in now up to her chin, breathing slowly, softly, deeply. Monica appeared, toweling herself, flushed and very awake.

She dressed rapidly in denim jeans and a long-sleeved tee printed with the words; "PUT SOME REAL MUSCLE BETWEEN YOUR LEGS!" There was a beautifully silk-screened black-and-chrome motorcycle above. She saw Deirdre's eyes widen, and the girl ducked into the living room, smothering her laughter into her pillow from the sound of it.

Packing a small gym bag and lacing black sneakers, she gave the sleeping girl a gentle kiss on her hair, wrote a brief note, and went to see if the red head had choked or something.

It was close. The unexpected tee was a little too much of a shift in the girl's perceptions.

Deirdre had the hiccups, and was trying to cope with blushing so badly she looked to have a case of hives.

Grinning, hands on her hips, Monica said with aplomb, "Serves you right.

"Now breathe, slowly and deeply; get your oh-two saturation up and your cee-oh-two levels down."

The near-hives faded some, and though her eyes were watering and she was still almost choking on unvented laughter and embarrassment, Deirdre said, "I love it! I would have never guessed," and then she was having to smother some more noises in the pillow.

Monica brought a tumbler of water, and seeing it downed, looked seriously at her.

"Wake her, and you will have a most decidedly un-fun day. Control yourself." The worst of the edge was absent, though, as both women were smiling; Monica shaking her head.

Deirdre got it together in a few minutes more. Monica just stood there, waiting, watching.

"OK," gulp; ". . . so where we going today?"

Monica just grinned.

"I'm taking you to the gym! I need to work out. I just thought I'd see for myself how your self-defense skills rate. Jeet-Kun-Do against what, Akido and Karate?"

Deirdre was looking a little pale at the thought. She nodded. "Six years, when I could make the time.

"Wait! There's no gym up here!"

Monica got a decidedly carnivore-ish look to her. "We're going to the City for the day. Rose needs to get some uninterrupted sleep - I saw how you looked at her!"

Chuckling quietly, Deirdre said, "And you can blame me?"

"Not at all." Gesturing at the small bag, "I have some clothes packed, but you might want to grab an extra tee, just in case. Check the dryer. Rain gear is in the closet in her sewing room.

"I'll meet you outside."

Scrambling to her feet, Deirdre went into the kitchen and opened the partition to the small stacked washer/dryer unit. The dryer was full of tops and tees. She grabbed one that read, "RAGE AGAINST VANILLA" and headed to the indicated closet. State-of-the-art micro-laminate rain parkas were there, with pull-on matching pants. "What the hell?"

Hearing the Jeep idling fast she could only take a pair of sets and head out the door, making sure it was locked. The garage door was raised. Monica was waiting outside the car in the garage, reaching for a set of rain gear, pulling it on as she said, "Rose found these on sale and decided we should move into the modern age - they were less than half-price! I would've been upset if she'd spent our money and paid full retail for something we might only wear a couple times a year!"

Spotting the tee that the red head was holding it was the older woman's turn to choke back laughter.

"What. What! I just grabbed the first one I could!"

Monica snagged some self-control and breathed deeply. "Nothing. I don't mind you wearing that at all. Not one bit."

Looking at the older woman very darkly, Deirdre said, "Now."

Monica grinned. "No idea at all?"

Embarrassment was making the scowl a little too sturdy. She relented. "Vanilla people? You've heard me use the term, hon."

"About your lifestyle; sure, early on. OH!"

The red head grinned. "Absolutely! Can I keep it?"

Monica shrugged, cocking her head as the idle changed, slowing. "You'll likely have to wrestle Rose for it; it's one of her favorites.

"Let's get this show on the road!"

Into a growing storm they went; and a girl slept on, dreaming.

_____________________________________________________________________________________

Dreams

Outside in the night, the wind rises, bringing the chance of rain into being. First comes the sudden gust of cold air that ushers in raindrops in the wake of the front's swirling skirts; building so quietly into a steady drizzle; the sound blending into my dreams as I snuggle back under the soft flannel sheets. . .

There is a sound of Winter's wind; late in the season. Bitter cold. I feel deadened, trembling fingers trying to hold a pencil to paper, tears freezing on my eyelids. "I must finish," I think; when a sheltering shadow tries to block me from the storm.

"Fire, my love. I've made a little fire."

Against a stone outcropping, trembling almost uncontrollably, I sense more than feel a fragile warmth. My husband spreads his arms wide, greatcoat open to the storm to give me even more protection. We are lost, having fled certain death in this impossible chance for life; freedom.

"Finish it, love. The girl will grow to be a woman someday and she must know;" and then he can say no more. I look into the flickering light and shadows, trying to focus, and I see his face blackened, only rage against those who condemned us and his unbelievable strength holding death at bay for just this little while.

The terrible cold reaches for my heart, and I try and put words to the paper.

I finish, unable to see the words, knowing only that I could not sign my name properly; praying that my daughter will forgive me.

With a tearing, brutal cry of rage and pain and sorrow my love collapses, his arms still sheltering me as I feel his last breaths break from his freezing lungs. He is still.

The fire dies and is torn to shreds by the wind. A small bright coal is whipped up and strikes my face. I do not feel it.

I am falling into a tunnel of light, warmth,

In desperation, I cry, "Fire to water; wood to stone; wind to ice, Goddess, give my daughter my love, always!"

Darkness.

I feel love, and warmth, and peace; and the green of the meadow enfolds me. I faintly hear thunder, and the sound of the rain falling; thunder.

I see a beautiful woman, lean, her aura brilliant with hues of turquoise and gold pierced with needle- points of white all topped with tiny spheres of sparkling white. She is walking quietly away from me, wearing a hand-woven belted robe of honey-gold wool over a split skirt of leather. Her hair is unbound, a gently wavy brown flecked with grey, and I have the urge to touch it, to run my hands through that hair; to embrace her.

She is hunting; a modern, powerful crossbow light in her hands.

I look around, seeing a greening forest that I know so well.

She stops, turns, and sighs, smiling; a love of decades of familiarity written across her face.

"My love, I will be home soon; tomorrow at the latest. The buck is close, but you taught me so very well - he will fall and I will come bearing fresh meat for our table soon."

It is Lisa - but more beautiful than I could have ever imagined - and yet somehow my heart already knew her!

"Sleep my darling Rova."

She lifts her right hand, palm facing me and I see a clear brand of a hummingbird there; deep, softened with age. She folds her fingers to her lips, and kisses the mark.

"Always, is my love."

The scent of the forest fades with the brightening Sight of Lisa's aura filling me.

Thunder again, this time close, violent. There is a sense of electricity in the air, a roar of huge engines throbs and thunders, close.

I look around at a starry night, the horizon pierced with a rising star. I am close to the ground, my senses filled with fear at the violent thundering engines. It hurts my ears, and I run on softly furred paws back into the concealing wood.

By my den I smell long before I see a graceful girl; and she gives me no sense of fear when she catches sight of me.

"Come, little fox! So beautiful!"

She smells of fresh water and flowers I do not know, and her voice is a soft note to my hearing. She is looking to the East, to the soon-to-come dawn, watching the sky.

"See? All in a line! Will she come? Did she understand?"

I come close, hearing only sounds that tell of worry, a fear escaped, and curling close by, I rest my head on my paws and close my eyes. . .

I wake a little, hearing the Jeep drive off. Sight is full on me, and I know I am not fully awake as I see the colors of the fading auras of my Master and Deirdre lingering as I rise for my morning toilet. The big tomcat sleeps on, stretching, looking for the source of his comfort and warmth in this morning.

I come back to bed, seeing a small piece of paper with marks on it that I do not understand - but the fading hues in the room communicate love and care as I find my blankets again; sleep reaching for me.

Shadows move, and there is the smell of wood smoke as I reach for the hand that strokes my cheek.

The circular space rises to an opening of light that marks the poles that hold the hides, opening to a sprinkling of stars that mark the escape of the fire's smoke.

"Love, wake. The women are gathering. It is time for you to dance." My lover, fierce and lithe, muscles rippling like water flowing over smooth rocks, boulders, his hair braided with the quill-work I made the Winter past is naked; and desire for him opens my mouth to kiss, an invitation wanton.

He leans back on his heels, desire evident returned; and he laughs quietly, speaking the language of the River People.

"Akatai would make a new drum-skin of me! Flutes, also of my leg-bones! She commands us all, even though the count of Springs she has seen are the count of all the hands and feet of my entire family!

"Get you outside!"

The bear-skin vanishes from my body, snatched and landing to the far side of the floor almost quicker than the eye can know - and the chill of the night rinses over my nude body.

My love's desire grows even more evident, and lust for me is curling his lips back; gleaming teeth holding a promise of pleasure when I return - I hurry!

Outside, nude but for the plum-size polished blue stone threaded on a braided thong of deerskin always about my neck, I run to the flowing spring and the circle there waiting.

Past the long racks of salmon drying over their tended fires I run quickly; not fearing to be seen - all male eyes would be burnt from the heads of any so stupid to think of profaning the sight of the Servant of the Moon, the Goddess ascendant this night, Her power flowing rich and clear. . .

This is a time for the women - our sacred time to dance, to seek the Pattern, to pair in ecstacy.

I run with my head thrown back, eyes closed now, moving only with Sight into the trees along the raw edge of the cliff, laughter rising from my lips, passion and want making my sex wet and rich and I feel it in every fiber of my being into the silent night.

I awake, blinking.

I stretch, feeling the silver and gold of my Master's claim a centering thing, and balance and quiet laughter escapes my lips; and Thwack stirs, curious.

My stomach reminds me that a meal would be in order and I head into the kitchen.

Lamb stew from the freezer and half a melon on the tray, I head back to the remains of warmth still held in our bed. I see the note, such always left by Master whenever she leaves me while I am asleep:

Lover;

DeeDee and I will be in the City today - I'm going to the gym.

Some exploration of her unarmed combat abilities are in order, to satisfy me as to your safety before I entrust her with you.

We should be home by dark.

Sleep sweet.

Sir

I grin, having some idea of just how thoroughly she will test the girl.

Sitting and eating in silence, I listen to the rain, watching Thwack share a nibble of carrot from my bowl. Impressions and sensations from my dreams wander through me unchallenged, unanalyzed, unquestioned. Such overlapping images and the sense of being something or someone else have always come to me; nearly always without any clear 'message.'

These feel different.

Deciding, I take the tray back, and gather things I will need for my devotions: wine, salt, herbs, a shallow hammered copper bowl and a handful of finger-thick sticks of dried heartwood kindling; flint and steel, and a small pitcher of water - all going into a basket I wove soon after I knew this was going to be my home. Thwack waits from atop the cabinet, safe from Kallis' bloody fantasies of a cockatiel snack.

The forged, razor-sharp katana I sling over my shoulder. The steel is quiet in its' sheath of walnut bound with full-grain elk.

Out the side door into the rain, nude; and around, down the steep slope a short way is a level sheltering triangle formed by three old blue spruce trees; the space between being bare, quartz-rich granite. It is a private tableau, a space where I found a sense of resonance, peace.

Trickling the mined salt between my palms, I quickly complete the circle; next forming the symbols, spiral, arrow, star, heart, water, triangle evenly-spaced along the inside.

The copper bowl rests in a natural depression in the rock, and a bright tiny fire is lit.

A small cup of wine is poured and raised over my head clasped in both hands and placed to the right of the fire. The water is next, and opposed the wine by the bowl.

Drawing the sword, I lift it to the sky, a soft wordless tune rising in me. Kneeling, I lay it gently in front of the fire.

Standing, my head thrown back and my arms spread wide, I open my soul to the power of the Goddess, my mind blank, breathing easily, seeking nothing, asking nothing.

A sense of enveloping warmth and peace comes over me. I breathe easily, deeply, and feel Her power wash over me, through me till I am tingling, alive!

I fold my arms across my bare breasts and kneel, placing a sprig of wild heather in the fire, adding more sticks to keep it bright in spite of the light rain; an offering and an obeisance from my heart, breathing the thin curl of fragrant smoke, letting it rise through my hair and across my face.

I am at peace, a girl in service of the Goddess. Time has no meaning for a space.

Feeling the chill of the rain finally, I stand and see that the bowl has almost an inch of rain water in it, the circle has washed away; and I shiver, laughing, gathering everything up and running lightly, barefoot and dripping wet back into our home.

The basket goes to the kitchen table for now - what I want is a cup of tea and a nice thick dry towel!

Slipping into a plain, coarse raw silk caftan, I pour a mug of black tea and sit on the bed, feet tucked; not a care in the world. The rain is growing heavier; the skies darker, and the big tomcat comes up on the bed, pushing at my arm with his head, asking for my lap as an indulgence - and I surrender, chuckling as he curls in, resting his head on my wrist as if to say plainly, "You're not going outside again!"

"In a lifetime of private devotions, I have never sought power or Sight," I muse. "Some seek, and others cast drawing and actively using power to their desire, their need. I am slave - for me it is always unbelievable to feel Her presence, to know only that She recognizes a girl's life of service."

Uncontrollable yawns and stretches take me. Bed, and more sleep - as promised!

Fingering my still damp hair into a single braid, I slip out of the cream raw silk and touch the silver and gold about my body, smiling at the toe rings: turtle, fish, eagle, bear.

With a bit of clean cotton, I place a drop of fine oil on each side of the katana and wipe it down, pricking my thumb - a drop of blood - with the point before sheathing it and replacing it by the fireplace hearth.

More huge yawns and a spine-cracking stretch and I burrow under the covers, pulling them up to my chin; and I take three deep breaths, asleep before I'm sure I've exhaled the last one.

She came back from a run, her uniform both sweaty and chilled cold from the bitter wind that was sweeping down from the mountains, hair blown every which way, the rust and silver tangled, her eyes quietly blazing.

It had been a call to save a young girl trapped; the sedan had flipped over several times and landed in the river. Miraculously, the driver wasn't severely injured, only a clean break of her left arm above the elbow and some superficial cuts and bruises.

I heard her come back in District a couple hours later, off shift now; and I set the tea pot on, waiting, knowing that she would need to talk about the call to unwind. There had been a real danger of hypothermia for everyone involved in the extrication with the nasty weather, but from what I could make out from listening to the scanner, it had gone pretty well.

I was starting on my second cup of tea when Master came in - and there was nothing in the way she looked at me to indicate that she was wanting to unwind. . .

Save for a long wrap sweater and shearling moccasins, I was nude. The woodstove was bright, devouring dry black oak and seasoned fir, holding the sub-zero night well at bay.

She held her arms out, an invitation to warm her, to surrender my warmth - and she was so cold it shocked me to gasp in pain. My body was contained in an embrace that I knew I could not free myself from, had such a thought ever even crossed my mind; and I smelled the antiseptic, harsh stamp of the ambulance and the supplies mixed with the cold, the rich scent of her after working hard on the call clear.

Hands worked into my hair, she kept me close, almost bent backwards, and led me to the bed where the comforter was folded back, never saying a word, her eyes brighter , a smile working across her face, lips parted into a rising curve that clearly stated intent....

I was laid across the bed, my head falling over the edge, her fingers brushing my mouth, warning me to silence, stillness, and I waited, relaxing into the lavender-print flannel sheets, listening to her strip off the uniform efficiently; familiar sounds: belt, buttons, zipper, boots.

She kneels beside me, and I feel the deep chill still in her thigh pressed to my side.

"I want to get warm.

"I will talk about everything later.

"Know that I must have you, though, now. . ."

Her mouth closed on my breasts, flickingbitingkissing each pierced nipple hungrily, painfully, and as I wordlessly cried out, arching to that isolated contact, she whispered,

"Ninety-nine."

To the side of my throat, patiently, the same intense kiss,

"Ninety-eight."

By the time she got to seventy, I was drenched in sweat, trembling uncontrollably, and she was still methodical, her voice unchanging, the pace of the kisses constant. A tracery of sensation was being marked on me, a signature of hunger that was insatiable, and my self-control was gone - there was only surrender.

"Fifty-six."

Never the same place twice, if even only by a fraction of an inch. She was dismantling me, heat pouring from her now, her breathing deep and easy; while I was laughing/crying to each contact, sightless in the light of the fire but for a spreading, liquid color that flowed through me, every pore, every nerve; I ached to break pose, to even just touch her, and I would not, I celebrated her collar, the tattoos, the piercings she had marked me with, slave; sanity a myth, scorned.

"Twenty-one."

Power. Master was a brilliance I had not imagined, this so unexpected, so relentless. Desire. I wanted her to whip me, to break this pattern of precision; and she continued, implacable.

"Six."

I was in a space of golden light, a sequence of markings now almost complete comprising my entire being, and she had still not touched my sex. Mastery. We were both drenched in sweat now, her movements only guessed at, as I could not see her, only submit to her mouth, a danger, devouring me with precision.

"Two."

Consciousness was ascending and traveling through planes of being made only of the sound of her voice, the markings on me now connected with need, pure and tangible; I was defined into something new, simple, owned and controlled by her hunger. Every dream I had ever experienced was foremost, now, a desperate want, some way to claim enough power of my own to last, to last just a little longer, a girl will never fail, and there is someone screaming continuously now.

"One."

And her mouth is fastened on my sex, the same kiss.

Lightening and release focus into that moment with the simplicity of completing connect-the-dots, and a velvety blackness falls over me, and I hear her soft laughter, feral and rich,

"Pretty slave. . ."

. . .and dream-memories of that night sweep me away for hours uncounted.

_____________________________________________________________________________________

. . . then. . .

I stir, in the soft, impossibly liquid sensation of satin sheets. I feel cold steel around my right ankle, feel the corslet tight around me. It is completely dark, but I have an awareness of being bathed in bright light. The air is still.

I feel that I am not alone, blindfolded, in the room.

My long hair tangles around steel that circles my slender neck as I try and twist to a sitting position. I smell the scent of expensive perfume, powder and cosmetics on me.

"She is beautiful! What are her talents?" The voice is cultured, calm, very matter-of-fact. Pleasant, but somehow detached. A woman in her thirties, or forties, maybe.

I try and reach my hands to my face, to take the blindfold off.

"Do not move, little girl." Cold dread fills me. That voice comes from my darkest nightmares. I freeze mid-motion.

"She is obedient." Another woman's voice, disdainful; younger.

I tremble, and silent tears run down my cheeks. I am only two years since my kidnaping, now just fifteen.

"She is superb with the Tarot; but her gift is not easily commanded." The warm, lilting voice from Hell.

"You have her presented exquisitely! Has she been fully trained for us?" The younger woman, curious, condescending; even challenging.

A warm completely lovely chuckle floats through the place. My blood turns to sewage at that sound; my brain to lead.

"She is capable of luscious pleasures; both able to give and receive, but she is unbroken, unmarked as yet. I leave that to her purchaser." More of that laughter, joined by many others.

In a tiny place in my heart, a place where there has always been the green meadow, the last place of my sanity; my refuge through everything, I cry, "Never!"

I wrench myself awake, reaching for weapons in rage - and the big tomcat raises his head and yawns unconcerned. The rain hasn't stopped. I run my hands over my body, crying and tears of joy come when I touch the gold, the silver and turquoise that is at my wrist, waist, neck; I look, weeping with joy at their feel on me.

Master has given me one such every year since I came to her just for times like these so that I would always know where I was and why; and know that this life, this world was completely safe from those years of horror and darkness.

Stroking the thick warm fur of the tortoiseshell cat, all nineteen pounds of confidence and protection I feel his deep purr of contentment.

"I am safe, free; I have a home where everyone only knows me as Rose! I belong here; I belong to Monica - the surrender a spontaneous gift that I couldn't help but do - and she found herself in that moment! The connection; the balance in both our lives happened in the space of a look, a blink that was followed with her quiet smile!

"The past is the past - and it can't touch me here!"

I blow my nose noisily and I hear Kallis jump off the recliner, it thumping on the dividing wall. The feral little cat walks in, looking at me curiously as if to say, "Don't make that sound, Mom - I worry when you do that!" I sniffle a little, and look out the window at the deepening dusk.

Diving back under the covers, I stretch and laugh, smelling Monica in her pillow, and wantonly spread- eagling myself across our bed corner to corner, I breathe deeply; falling fast asleep before I know it.

The thunderstorms have moved on down towards the City, downslope towards the flatlands. My love drowses tangled in sweaty sheets, her red hair a spiky mop that tells of hours spent in uninhibited sexual adventures with me - if the sounds didn't wake the grumpy old mechanic across the valley, of course!

I jump out of bed, and my love looks at me, a sensual, warm smile curving her features.

"Girl, how on earth can you find the strength to walk after that!"

I laugh and twirl, bumping into the door-jamb, laughter and joy spilling from my soul with love for her.

"I am free, Master! I am free! See?" I tug on very sensitive nipples, looking at her shamelessly, standing erect, legs apart, arching lasciviously, licking my lips.

"Tart! Wench! Absolutely beautiful little trollop! I can't believe you! And be careful, those are still bleeding a little!" She rolls to her back, head dangling over the edge of the bed, a luscious invitation for me to dare to take one step forward; her mouth is open, waiting for my cunt. . . .

Bringing my fingers to my lips, I purse my mouth in a moue and blink; innocence embodied.

"I'm going out to dance in the rain! Wanna watch? You'll have me all fresh and wet and needing to be warmed up when I come back in, yes?" I'm inching back from her on tiptoe, knees together chastely, one tiny step at a time.

She rolls to her stomach, flexing the muscles in her legs, back; arching up to lean on her elbows, propping her chin on her fists.

"You are ten; maybe twelve. And you are almost four years older than me; and all I see is a wanton, beautiful young lover."

"And this girl belongs to you, Master - body and soul!" I pause in the doorway, feeling like some inner light was burning bright in me, a shining truth of a love that had no limit, no reservation; a simple and completely natural absolute.

"Yes.

"Mine. Always. And I think maybe we have always been together; maybe sometime before now, too - and I will pray that we are never, ever separated again." She chuckles, looking me up and down, nodding; and she rolls off the bed, picking up her Coach Gun.

"Go dance, girl! This I want to see - and this," looking down at the short, deadly double-barreled shotgun, "will see to it that nothing out there decides you really are good enough to eat!"

I twirl up to her and steal a quick kiss, and then run outside into the rain and she catches the screen door, staying inside but only just.

Soft bare feet splashing on the cold decomposed granite and with yards and yards of space surrounding me in every direction before the aspens crowd in, fully in view of Monica at the front door, I just let go and throw my head back and dance to the truth of love; to the clean power of the rain; my eyes close and I dance and spin, feeling the presence of the Goddess wash through me.

A soft hand is stroking my hair, softer lips kiss me again and again; a friendly, safe voice filled with laughter and desire murmuring, "Rose. . . ; Rose?

"Wake up, pretty girl!

"We're home!"

Deirdre and Monica are there; the red-head close and Master smiling from the doorway.

I reach for the girl and snag her around the neck, pulling her in for a sleepy and maybe too aroused kiss - because she starts to melt to me and I to her...

Monica laughs out loud.

"You can see why coming home is always a delight?"

I sit up and twist the girl back over my lap, my fingers in her hair, my free hand caressing her.

"I smell pizza! Can I have her first, please Master? I'll only be a couple minutes, promise!"

Struggling futilely, Deirdre sticks her tongue out at me and scowls.

I bite her on the nose, drop her on the floor and am in my lover's arms in the blink of an eye. I yield to her, arching, wiggling happily.

"I missed you - you too!"

"No, and no again - get some clothes on!"

Deirdre bites me on the shin!

"A couple minutes; and you, too? Ooh - you'll pay for that."

Standing, she grins at me.

"C'mere. . . "

I squirm out from Masters' arms and into the girl's - and find out that she is interested in something else other than dinner.

Monica bangs a heel against the door, hard.

We separate, both of us blushing; me hanging my head a little shyly, 'cause I really had started to think about something else. . .

"You, get dressed; and you," pointing to the girl, "go wash up with cold water!

"I'm hungry - and we've both got an entire day to tell you about! Now git!"

When Deirdre was in her bathroom, the door closed because somebody remembered they really had to pee, Master stops me, takes me by the arm and looks into my eyes.

"You sleep well? No bad dreams?"

Kissing her softly, I said, "I think I dreamed a lot! I think I was a fox, and then I got a bite to eat 'cause it was still early, and then I went back to sleep and I dreamed of dancing for you - and I woke up and you were home!

"I missed you, Master!"

"You did devotions after you had a bite to eat?"

"Uh, huh. . ." Wanting, trying to kiss her again.

"Girl, look at me. Stop a minute and look at me.

"You're being very, very young right now.

"Is everything all right?

"No bad dreams?"

I shook my head, smiling. Finding a little balance in her eyes.

Calming.

"I'm fine - and I did dream a lot - but what I remember most was dancing for you.

"Guess I got a little carried away - maybe a little too much?"

Monica sighed, smiled, and held me close, her warmth saying all.

She spun me around suddenly, gave me a lightening-fast spank and turned for the door saying, "Now get dressed!"

I blew her a kiss and headed for the closet.

_____________________________________________________________________________________

A day at the gym

We drove to the city, me curious as hell about just what Monica had in mind. Was she out to kick my ass all across the ring, after wiping me out in some friendly competition with free weights? Did she have some agenda; did she actually know something?

We started the drive friendly enough, chatting about the weather, the fire season coming early both last year and this; laughing about my near fixation with lingerie, our shopping in Fairplay - and as I started to listen to her beyond the words themselves, I could feel her actually looking forward to going to something of a personal space of her own: Rose wasn't able to cope with the stresses of commuting to the City to work out with Monica.

I would be entering something more on the lines of Monica's personal space. My curiosity got more intense as the near-sixty miles rolled by in the tough old Jeep. While we talked, I had a chance to look around inside the car: twin fire extinguishers, light bar and siren controls, charger adapter holders for her pac-set EMS radio and high-intensity spotlight, what I recognized as a shotgun rack in the ceiling; her medic's bag; a heavy-looking Swiss Army rucksack and a lumpy duffle-bag behind the seat.

The interior of the Jeep was immaculately maintained. The fourteen year-old leather upholstery was spotless, waxed and still pliant, soft; in fact, over all, the whole vehicle looked like it had been meticulously, professionally detailed, something I hadn't taken the time to notice since getting picked up at the airport!

She caught me looking and mid-sentence talking about a recent hilarious transport of a completely stoned and drunk tourist, she grinned and said, "Rose has this thing about keeping my ride as close to showroom condition as she can get away with!

"She says, 'Somebody has to keep you looking like a professional!'"

We both got a chuckle over that; and I could imagine the slave almost sneaking out to the garage to lavish attention lovingly on the old Jeep when Monica was asleep!

Glancing over at me, knowingly, she got a sober look to her.

"I promised to tell you about how we met - something I just didn't - and never will feel comfortable talking about it to someone; especially over the phone.

"Now's as good a time as any:

"Seventeen years ago this coming June, I was driving through the Capitol Hill area late at night, heading out to the freeway after a late dinner after an all day in-service training seminar for a new computer system we were going to be using at the escrow service I worked for back then. I was facing a long, almost five hour drive back to Leadville. I was twenty-five.

"At a stoplight a block or two from Colfax, I saw a leg sticking out from an alley by a dumpster. 'Someone drunk, laying in the mud on a rainy night,' I thought, "hooker, runaway - whatever - it's not my problem!' I was - still am, too - pretty jaded about City people.

"The light changed, and as I drove past the alley, I got a glimpse of somebody beaten up really bad. Really bad. Naked. No traffic, so I just pulled over, grabbed my Dad's old Army .45 out of the glove box, stuffed it under my blazer and investigated.

"It was a girl.

"The rain was washing the blood away - but her face was pulped: smashed mouth, what looked like a broken eye ridge under the smashed plum where her left eye should be; badly broken nose and jaw; deep bruises on her neck, all over her arms. The left side of her head looked like someone had taken a baseball bat to it - and I couldn't see the other side - but I got cold all the way through, the more I looked.

"Her right wrist was twisted and bent at an impossible angle. She was bleeding from her ass and her pussy - really bad. The blood was pulsing out of her, washing away into the gutter in the rain.

"And there were more, almost black bruises on her thighs and ankles.

"Gang rape. She looked like she was she was dying right in front of me. This hard, cold rage hit me. All I could think for a minute was wanting to see somebody in the shadows of that alley. I probably would've shot them without a thought.

"What I did then made no sense to me now, but I did it. I jumped in my Toronado, grabbed the blanket off the back seat, got that girl wrapped in it and somehow got her laying down in the car. I grabbed the first aid case out of the trunk, did what little I knew to try and stop the bleeding and I hit the road, heading home!

"I know I broke every traffic law ever on the books, that drive. I made Leadville General Hospital in under three hours. Every now and then, the girl would whisper a line or two of what sounded like verse, something like Spencerian prose! It made the drive almost surreal. At least I was able to know she was still alive. . .

When I got in sight of the place, I called my family Doctor, also the main Doc for the hospital on my CB, and told him I was coming in - less than a minute out - with a girl I'd found badly beaten. I didn't say I'd found her in the City.

"Not just then, either. Not ever.

"Dr. Ambruzzio was running into the ER when I carried the girl in. She was alive, but her breathing was bubbling, and she looked grotesque, being out of the rain for the drive up. The blanket was soaked in blood. She was as pale as someone just dead

"Ambruzzio didn't stop to talk to me. He screamed for a cart, and to get the OR ready for a critical patient. The girl vanished in seconds through the double doors, people running like they'd been electrocuted.

"I went back to my car and parked it in the lot, and went to the doors to the ER and had a smoke. I still wanted somebody to kill; somebody to pay for what they'd done to that girl. I remember thinking it would almost be better if she died, because with that mashed head, she'd probably be a vegetable if she lived; and if she died, at least it would be out of the City.

"Maybe her soul would be more at peace up here. . . I still remember thinking that, soaked to the skin, like it was yesterday.

"I went in, and I guess the look on my face was ugly, scary, cold. Rose McTeague was behind the Reception window - she'd been a substitute English teacher back when I was in High School. She looked me up and down, nodded, and motioned for me to come over to her. I figured I had paperwork to fill out.

"She looked around and wrote on a piece of paper and handed it to me, smiled like nothing in the world was wrong and shoo'd me out the door. I read the note on my way out. It said, 'You look like you just murdered somebody. Get that gun out of your jeans, go home and change clothes: you're covered in blood and soaked. I'll call you as soon as I hear anything.'

"I remember tearing the note up in little pieces and dropping it as I got in and drove home, just a couple miles. I had a little place, half of an old house converted to a duplex. The other apartment was vacant. I walked in the bathroom and looked in mirror on the bathroom door.

"My nice wool blazer was ruined. My white blouse was covered in big splotches of blood. My jeans had a knee ripped out, bloody and muddy. My good boots were a write-off, too.

"My face. I had black circles under blood-shot eyes. I was white as a ghost. I tried to take a deep breath as I started to strip, starting the shower. My Dad's .45 fell out of my jeans when I took them off. It was a mess.

"I remember showering mechanically, seeing that alley in my mind the whole time. I threw my clothes away, along with the wet bullets from the .45, replacing them after I gave the pistol a quick field cleaning. I got a pot of coffee started, looking at the clock on the stove. Ten till two.

"I got dressed, filled a thermos with coffee and went back to the hospital.

"Mrs. McTeague was on the phone when I walked in. She just nodded and handed me a clip-chart. What it said turned me inside-out. I threw up in the bathroom till I had dry heaves.

"She was listed as a 'Jane Doe,' and the more I read, the more I hoped she'd die. 'Wood splinters and glass fragments in vagina and uterus; severe rectal lacerations; cranial bleeding, crushed left optic orbit; compound fracture right wrist; five broken ribs left, two broken ribs with pulminary punctures right lung.

'Compound broken mandible, bi-lateral. Swallowed teeth from broken mouth. Crushed nose, sinuses.

'Severe extended anemia.'

"Somebody wanted her to die alone, in unimaginable horror and pain, naked and dropped in that alley.

"I went through two packs of cigarettes and all the coffee I could find. I just waited. Sometime around eight in the morning, Mrs. McTeague got off the phone and walked over to me, going outside with me. The rain had stopped. I think it was beautiful out - but all I kept seeing was that alley; the dark, the rain; that leg on the pavement under the streetlight.

'I need a cigarette.'

'You don't smoke, do you?'

'I don't care. Give me one, and give me a minute, OK?'

"I just looked at her, lit one , handed it to her and waited. She took a hard drag, held it, and clamped her jaw till the muscles in her face knotted. Her hands were shaking, but her voice was steady. She had just had her eighty-second birthday a month earlier.

'Your girl is going to live. How, nobody knows. She needed six units of blood during surgery.'

"She smoked the rest of that cigarette before going on.

'Ambruzzio will be out to talk to you in a little while. He sounds like he wants to find out who could do this to another human being - no matter what the justification - and if he does, I think he's just going to kill them.'

'Not if I find them first, Rose,' I said.

"All she could do is look at me. She said that Ambruzzio wanted 'Jane' on a private chart - he was taking her as a personal patient of his.

'I take it you don't know anything about her?'

'I saw her in an alley when I drove by - and all I could think was to get her here. What about her brain - is she going to just be a veg?'

'It'll be a couple months before anybody knows for sure.'

"We walked back in. She went back to get her coat, heading home. Her hands were still shaking a little as she got in her car. I remember hoping she'd make it home safe. . .

"Ambruzzio was coming through the double doors then. He waved me to follow him and we went to his office. The door shut, he opened a cabinet and poured two stiff vodkas from the little bar. I got one. He just looked at me and said, trying to sound back-to-normal and failing, 'Doctor's orders.'

"He talked about the surgery like I was one of the doctors there. I didn't understand a lot of it, but he needed to talk it out badly. He'd refilled both glasses before he was done. We both chain-smoked.

"He said he was going to get 'Jane' to his ranch when she could be moved, thinking that it might be the best place to see if she could recover from the head-injury. She'd be coming back to the hospital regularly for months, to follow-up on healing from the rest of the violence done her. He thought home cooking - real food and lots of it; fresh air and peace-and-quiet and exercise when she was up to it was her only hope.

'She could go insane if she were to be back in the City where all this happened, just ending up a patient in a ward where no one cared.'

"I said very slowly, 'I never said anything about the City. . .'

"He snorted, stood up and gave me a bear-hug. He was a big, tall man in his late 60's then.

'I delivered you, kid. I know, perfectly, just how you think. Your folks and I have gone to the same church for over fifty years. They talk about you quite a lot - especially your Dad. My guess? Your 'Jane' may surprise all of us and recover pretty well in time.'

'Can I see her?'

'Sure - and then I'm going home and all I want to do is get really drunk for the rest of the day.'

"I remember he grabbed me by the shoulder and got me in scrubs and took me to the Recovery Room, chasing the duty nurse out for her break. I saw 'Jane.' She was breathing through a tube, her jaw wired shut. Her head was shaved and in bandages, arm in a cast; and when Ambruzzio lifted the thin blanket, I saw a tube running out of her chest and another from between her legs. She was on an IV in her good arm; and she was covered in ugly-looking purple-black bruises almost everywhere there weren't bandages.

"Ambruzzio walked away, over to the duty nurses' station. He was crying, silently. I remember feeling empty - just empty. I leaned over to the girl's ear and whispered, 'You're safe. You're going to be OK. You're going to have to be very strong to be able to get all better. No one's going to hurt you any more ever again. Never again. I promise.' I found myself on the floor, Ambruzzio holding me. I was bawling. He walked me out, back to his office.

'I'm writing you a medical leave for a week, Monica,' he said. 'You need to get over this and get back to your life. If you have any problems, call me anytime. No arguing - not with me. Now go home and stay there for at least the next two days. Work on your car, if you have to do something to keep busy - nothing more than that till you come see me again.'

"I rebuilt the dual carbs in that week. He made me take a second week off to go hiking, because I still couldn't sleep worth a damn. He let me see 'Jane' at the end of that second week. She was still sedated all the time, to give her brain a chance to heal. Her lungs were damaged, more than just from the puncture from her broken ribs - they were bruised, but like everything else, she was healing, doing OK. I went back to work.

"I made myself forget about her; hunting, working my ass off every chance I got. I never told anybody about 'Jane.' Nobody at the hospital did, either. It was like everyone somehow knew that the girl, if she recovered, needed a chance at a new life. Mrs.McTeague died, from just getting old. She was buried beside her husband who had died nine years earlier - and I inherited their cabin outside of Bailey. They didn't have any kids.

"I quit working for the escrow company and got my EMT certification. I moved into the cabin, fixed the place up, and found a job in the City, working Rescue evenings and weekends. I guess 'Jane' was the reason I got into being a medic. . ."

She looked at me. We were through the canyon, going past the overlook of the City on the plain below.

"So when did you meet - how long after?"

Monica laughed. "That is the most unlikely, impossible coincidence of all."

"Six years later, early November. I had a business lunch with a client at an upscale restaurant in the City. He was important, so I'd gotten dressed up a little; nice jacket, good blouse - the works - and he doesn't show. I decide to eat anyway, and put it on my expense account. I'm sitting at a quiet table away from the window against the wall - when in walks this heartbreaking, gorgeous woman about my age.

"I think I stopped breathing. I hadn't been on even a date in years. All I wanted to do was walk over to her and figure out how to get her to like me! She was dressed in this beautiful pastel blue outfit, something maybe Stevie Nicks would have fought her for; blonde hair past her shoulders - not a face anybody would think of as particularly beautiful - she was just quietly happy. She got a window table. She was alone.

"I was staring. I didn't know this woman from EVE! I went back to eating - not tasting a thing, paid my bill and headed to the door - and when I let myself look, SHE WASN'T THERE!

"I didn't know what to do; I think I was relieved. I hit the door, walked out, heading for my car.

"She was standing on the other side, smoking, looking out at the day, wearing this thigh-length leather jacket. She turned, smiled at me, and said, 'Hi! I don't have a damn thing left to do today - and you were staring at me hard enough to get yourself arrested. . .

'You want to go have a cup of coffee?

'My name's Rose."

"Emerald-green eyes shot with shards of china blue. Here teeth were pearly-white, and just uneven enough to make her look real. She says she looked in my eyes, fell in, and has yet to come out! I looked in her eyes and I wanted to take her home, then and there. I wanted to keep her all to myself. I felt like I was losing my mind - and what hearing her voice for the first time did to me . . .

"She says I just paused a second grinned and said, 'Sure! Where's your car?'

"Rose had taken a cab, like always. She chatted about being a dressmaker, and I think I tried to make small talk about my job while we went to LoDo to a favorite coffee bar of mine. I had a new interior in the Toronado by then, and it had a recent paint job. Rose loved my car, thought I had been a little cute and a little weird for staring at her in the restaurant - and she'd decided the best way to make sure I wasn't some psycho was to have coffee with me!

"I asked her what if I WAS some psycho - here she was alone in my car, right?

"She reached in her pocket and brought out this derringer cocking it in one smooth motion, looked at me sweetly and said, 'If you are, you're dead.' That gorgeous woman was packing a double-barrel cannon disguised as a derringer! She blinked at me as innocent as could be and asked me, 'So, have you decided? Are you safe for me to be with?'

"I looked at her holding that pocket cannon at my waist, looked in those eyes, and all I could choke out was, 'Don't you think you should decide for yourself?'

"She put the gun away easing the hammer down, smiled and laughed and said, 'Sounds like a plan to me!' She stretched back and relaxed, not saying a word the rest of the way.

"We drank coffee and talked till they almost had to throw us out when the place closed. I'd never talked so much before; or enjoyed talking to a complete stranger so much in my life! The only thing I kept noticing was that she never mentioned anything about her life more than a year in the past - she was an expert at turning the conversation.

"And she was a heart-breaking flirt! Innocent, completely guileless and unselfconscious she flirted with the waitress, she flirted with any woman who caught her attention in the pauses and breaks in the conversation! She'd give me a running commentary under her breath, teasing with looks, resting her chin on one hand while softly sucking the tip of her little finger!

"And the whole time she was completely attentive. It was like a performance in the softest eroticism imaginable, all for my benefit!

"It was going on three in the morning and I had a busy schedule for the rest of the week. We got back to my car, and I asked her when could we meet again..

"Rose hugged me on tiptoe, and said, 'You mean you don't want me? Aren't you going to take me home? It's only an hour or so from here - that's what you said, right?'

"We stopped by her apartment - making me wait in the car for the couple minutes before she flew down the stairs with this little tapestry duffle bag slung over one shoulder. The bag landing on the back seat, she leaned in the door and said seriously, 'You know, you should never get in the car of anyone you don't know; right?'

'Right. Absolutely.'

'So what's your name, anyway - you still haven't told me, you know?'

"The world stopped - no; the entire universe paused. In the moonlight, that woman shone; reached all the way into my heart - and I knew I was going to say something that would change everything:

'Rose; my name is Monica.'

"She slid in, closed the door and I hit the locks. 'Take me home with you, Monica,' she said.

'I want to go home.'

"I drove the speed limit all the way. We slept together that night, but all we did was cuddle, falling asleep in each other's arms. I called in sick later that morning, faking the flu, asking for at least a week off - and I did the same thing with Rescue. I unplugged the phone and turned my radio off.

"She cooked for me, waited on me hand-and-foot that week. I'd never eaten so well in my entire life. I tried to ask her about her past, wanting to know everything about this angel - and I ran into a brick wall. It wasn't that she refused, she'd just turn the conversation and look at me - and I wouldn't press the subject.

"We drove back to the City four days later and cleaned out her apartment. It only took a couple hours for her to pack - she had amazingly few possessions beyond a couple trunks of clothes and her sewing machine and some books, a small box of cd's. She just left everything else.

"A day later, unpacked and hardly making a dent at the house as far as displacing anything of mine, she sent me out to get some croissants - saying we'd want an easy breakfast the next morning. When I came home a little over an hour later, all the drapes were drawn and the windows were closed, even though it was only about three in the afternoon.

"I walk in, and there are a few candles lit. The stereo is playing some of the music she'd brought. I leave the bread in the kitchen and look for her in the bedroom, thinking she'd taken a nap.

"I find Rose kneeling on the bed dressed in the most gorgeous corslet that leaves her breasts exposed. Her nipples are looking really tender - and it looks like there are gold rings in them. She's pierced her nipples! I want her so bad I know I'm losing touch with everything I thought I knew about myself!

"And then everything clicks into place in my head.

"She says, 'Master, a girl begs to be wanted as your slave,' in this absolutely soft, clear voice.

"I'm completely calm. I smile quietly and nod my head and say, 'Yes.'

"She says, 'A girl needs a name, Master.'

'You are my Rose. Mine.'

"She's just kneeling there on the bed, looking joyful and relaxed, like this is something socially acceptable, even ordinary! I undress just as calmly somehow and she stands up and wraps her arms around me and she reaches up to me and whispers in my ear, 'Show me how to please you..'

"I kissed her very carefully, touching her, stroking her and I remember saying, 'I will, pretty girl. I will.'

"We didn't really get out of bed until kind of late the next night! I changed during all that time, down to individual cells. I connected to that girl's soul, and she just rejoiced and begged and laughed and pleaded and whispered and screamed for more. I'd read about Domination and submission casually for years. It made for a few wonderful fantasies, some great dreams too; but it always seemed artificial, and almost everything was either straight or I really couldn't relate to the lesbian authors...

"Somehow, nothing I did was clumsy; I never felt unsure, awkward. Floodgates opened in me and I poured everything out and she just kept wanting more, taking everything like it was her first experience breathing!

"We dosed off around noon the next day, and I remember falling asleep just as I heard her whispering to herself, 'I am Master's girl! I am Master's girl! A girl's name is Rose!'

"I remember dreaming of standing in a field, a peregrine falcon standing perched on my unprotected arm; feeling powerful talons tearing into me - and there was no sense of terrifying agony - only something like an orgasm that rips at you. Blood was dripping from my arm. I looked down at a dressed rabbit laying on the ground at my feet. The bird looked at me, and then hopped down and flew off with the rabbit - and I smiled, feeling completely at peace.

"I woke up to hearing thunder. It was raining, hard. My Rose, my new slave was asleep - and she looked young, somehow - child-like for being thirty-four. I got up and went to the bathroom and then curled up with her. She snuggled into me, murmuring in her sleep, 'I love you Master. . .'

"We've never been apart for more than twenty-four hours, since."

We were entering the city limits. I hadn't even noticed.

"When did you know who she was?"

Monica laughed. "It wasn't until I was talking to my Dad almost a month later, DeeDee. The whole thing about me needing to find someone had come up again - so, with Rose sitting next to me on the bed wearing nothing but her collar that had arrived a couple days earlier, rings, and her tattoo healing, a day old then; she blew me a kiss - and I told him I had. And it was another woman. And I was going to marry her in exactly two months.

"I thought he was going to have a stroke! It got ugly - and it's still pretty hostile. They call sometimes, asking if I'll come up for a holiday like Thanksgiving or Mother's Day or whatever - but they won't mention Rose by name; never even referring to her."

"Ouch."

"Tell me about it."

Monica took a deep breath and sighed.

"Mom took the phone. She did tell me that Ambruzzio had died a week ago, and that his wife had mentioned she'd love to see me soon. I called her as soon as Mom hung up. June was doing pretty good. Doc had died while out for his morning walk - a congenital heart defect. She asked me to drive up that weekend, to keep a little of the loneliness at bay. I agreed, not mentioning anything about my big news.

"Rose was looking at me like she'd overheard a conversation from an angel - and she wouldn't say why beyond, "She sounds nice! I can't wait to meet her!'

"We headed for Leadville before sunup that Saturday morning together. Rose loved the drive, the Toronado enjoying the opportunity to get out and eat up pavement again. We stopped in Leadville for some flowers before heading out to the ranch. Rose had put some effort into looking good - and I was in just my usual day-off jeans, tee-shirt, denim jacket and boots. We made a great couple. . .

"The ranch is a big place. They had eleven horses in the paddock by the barn, all quarter horses out soaking up the chilly morning behind the fence. Doc's Angus herd, his pride and joy were out in the big pasture behind the barn.

"I pulled up the circle drive and parked in front of the barn, walking hand-in-hand with Rose. June opened the door as we walked up to the porch. She was looking a little tired, but beamed at the sight of me.

"And then Rose stepped into view holding my hand.

'Hi, Mom,' she said.

"June fainted dead away. I got her into the big arm chair in her living room about the time she started coming around. Rose was coming in with a glass of water. June just looked at her, sipped a little and then took a deep breath and said, 'You look absolutely wonderful, Rose. It's so good to see you!'

With a grin working at her mouth June looked at me and said, 'Do you know who this is? Don't you remember her? This is 'Jane Doe!' How in the world did you two meet - and what are you doing here together??'

"I had to sit down. Rose wouldn't let go of my hand, and June was sitting up, color coming back to her about as fast as it was probably fading from me.

"We talked for hours. As 'Jane' had started recovering, June had been her nurse and therapist. She was the one responsible for teaching Rose how to sew - first as physical therapy, and then as something the girl could do to support herself when she might go out on her own.

"It had taken almost two years before June and Doc thought she was doing well enough to look after herself. Doc, with the help of 'some friends,' had put together legal documents showing Rose to be their niece from a small town in upstate Michigan.

'We never did find anything out about you, honey. Do you remember anything from before waking up in the hospital?'

"Rose just smiled and shook her head - but the grip on my hand would've sent most men to the floor in pain. I didn't flinch. June had wanted to tell me about Doc's wish that I take over looking out for Rose; and we show up together! Less than a handful of people knew that 'Jane' was Rose - and a friendly Judge - one of Doc's hunting buddies from Junction - had made sure the legal records would remain sealed - and lost.

"June was stunned at first, when I told her that we had fallen for each other - and then all she could do was smile ear-to-ear; getting up to fix lunch. She talked about having been a WAC mechanic during the war - and how she'd gotten comfortable with the reality that some women fell in love with women just as naturally as others did with men.

'The way you raced motorcycles and snowmobiles as a kid, I should've seen it coming at me! You never had much time for boys. . .'

"We ate lunch, egg salad sandwiches, talking about how my folks were taking my coming out hard. Rose served, and June didn't seem to notice. I suspected it was the girl's way - so basic to her that people didn't see it. June saw us off, hoping nothing but the best for us and saying she'd do her best to see if she couldn't help my folks get at least functional with what was going on in my life now. Rose hugged her and June cried happily.

"I think seeing the girl having a life and a home beyond just surviving on her own was more than she and Doc had ever dared hope for. I think that's why he'd wanted me to start looking out for her."

"She's still running the ranch on her own - with lots of help from friends and neighbors. She's sold some of the property, putting about a hundred eighty acres in Rose's name as an inheritance - and most of the livestock and horses have been sold off.

"At eighty-four, she's refusing to ever leave the place - and I'd hate to see what would happen to anybody who tried to get her into a nursing home in a couple years! We go visit her at least once a year, staying for a couple days to get her caught up on our news and help her with a few projects.

"She's really become family to both of us."

I asked her as casually as I could manage, "Has Rose ever remembered anything about her past?"

She shrugged, calm. We were pulling into a parking lot downtown. She grinned, shutting the Jeep down.

"Let's get sweaty for a couple hours!"

_____________________________________________________________________________________

The gym was an old five-story brick building, with a double atrium to keep the cold of Winter out. The lobby was bright, with a receptionist at a desk looking more of a professional office environment. Monica signed in and presented a membership badge, passing me the clipboard to sign in as her guest for the day. We headed to a pair of elevators, and went up to the second floor.

Banks of lockers, an attended desk with an open doorway behind filled with racks of towels, and a cheery, "Hi, Monica!" from the blonde gym rat stationed at the desk. The girl looked to be in her mid-twenties, dressed in brilliant designer spandex. The sounds of showers and laughter came from around the left; along with sounds of a huge whirlpool.

"Hi, Tracey! Is the ring still going to be available at ten o'clock?"

The girl behind the desk looked me up-and-down; frankly curious. "Yep! So this is your latest victim?"

They both laughed, and I think I swallowed a little too noticeably.

Tracey, still grinning, said, "I wouldn't worry too much; the worst she's done is send people home with their tails between their legs - we haven't had to call for an ambulance yet."

"Have you ever sparred with her," I asked?

"Me, get into the ring with Monica? Ha! I know better!" She grinned; and handed us both a huge, thick bath towel as well as a smaller, coarser one. Her cheerful, "Have fun - and I have cold packs if you need them later," followed us as Monica led the way deep into the rows of lockers.

Finding a free pair, she grinned and started stripping down, changing into grey cut-off sweat pants and a ragged-looking tee; lacing up immaculate soft white ankle boots with a thin sole.

Fighting shoes.

She handed me a pair of black nylon gym shorts, a decently-fitting sports bra and an olive, oversized tee that had the short sleeves cut off.

My hands were sweaty with nerves by the time I finished changing, lacing up my sneakers, thinking, "Great. Just great. Judging by what I've seen so far, this is a hard-core iron gym - and I should've known that she would have a reputation here! What was I thinking!"

Handing me a pair of lifting gloves, cushioned palms and fingers with heavy cotton mesh on the backs of the hands, we took our coarse towels and went up to the third floor.

In the elevator, Monica said, "Whirlpool, showers, and aerobics rooms are off to the left from the desk. We're heading to the weights! You don't mind stretching out in a co-ed floor, do you?"

Grinning wryly, I said, "Lead on! It's fine with me; I just have butterflies the size of condors banging around in my stomach."

The doors opened on to the sight of an industrial, hard-core gym. There were maybe fifteen people there, mostly men scattered throughout. About half were built like professional boxers.

The equipment was completely up-to-date; but the amount of free weights vs specific machines was at least 3-to-1. Floor to ceiling mirrors were on two walls in front of benches with racks of graduated barbells. New closed-cell thick rubber mats were resilient underfoot as Monica led the way to a 24 X 24 area marked off with ropes on snap-rings; a stack of four-foot-by-two-foot brightly-colored tumbling dummies were on the far end.

"Stretching and tumbling first!" She looked like a kid in a candy store. With a Platinum card.

And she proceeded to ignore me. Her stretch-out left her in a fine sweat, breathing deeply some twenty- five minutes later. Looking to her lead, I worked hard at it, some yoga first, followed with simple tumbling. She was going into back-flips, landing in the splits and rising to her toes in one fluid move; breaking into katas and other martial arts forms I didn't recognize, interspersed with tumbling runs.

I finished with shadow-boxing, not putting speed into my moves, going instead for slow-motion punch and kick extensions; watching my reflection in the mirror wall to focus on form and technique.

Monica watched me intently, nodding in approval; going so far as to surprise me with a brief hug as she led the way to the machines.

"Good form! I don't see near enough people who focus on technique! You want to follow my interval- training, so we can stay together?"

I nodded, grinning.

The next hour was an eye-opener. That woman did interval training on the machines at weight levels that had the gym rats smiling. She did squats at 300lbs, 25 reps, before going to 200lbs and another 25 reps - and then to 420lbs, working for 10 reps! It was the same pit-of-my-stomach situation, me at lesser weights for every station; and then we went back and repeated everything again twice more, dropping reps - not weight!

She did latisimus extensions at 90lbs, benched 280lbs, preachers curls at 120lbs. . .

The condors in my stomach were trying to escape when the full realization - a little mental addition - totaled up what she'd done. I was going to get absolutely creamed in the ring - unless I had better speed.

We were both sweating hard, soaked to the skin, having gone through a couple bottles of water and I needed a break. We headed back to the tumbling floor, stretching out and walking, chatting about the workout so far.

I felt like well-cooked linguini.

And Monica glowed. She was more energized the harder she worked out, she explained. In the days when she'd been training in martial arts regularly, she'd be at the dojo for 2-3 hours 4-5 days a week; and she'd lift 2-3 days a week for at least an hour every other week, running a couple miles in the off weeks.

I talked about having started Akido because I'd been feeling a little too vulnerable living alone; and Chicago abhorred firearms. We got a laugh about the idea of dialing 9-1-1; politely asking the determined rapist to please hold, your call will be answered by the next available operator. . .

And then it was time to get to the free weights!

To my surprise, it was with comparatively light weights, just incredibly high reps! I don't think she did anything over 70lbs; but she did 50 reps on almost everything, repeating the circuit every time with lower weights twice again.

My body started feeling the method to her madness. The lactic acid build-up vanished. My heart rate rarely rose much above a hundred but by the time we were finished, I was exhausted!

We went back to the women's floor, heading straight for the juice bar.

Monica ordered a huge fresh orange juice drink with three raw eggs whipped into it. I ditto'd the order, and we downed them in one long cool stream. Looking at the enormous brass espresso machine, I raised an eyebrow and got a chuckle.

"Absolutely! A double mocha for me, with extra chocolate!"

The luscious black girl behind the bar just grinned when I could only shake my head and say, "She reads minds! Make that two, again!"

She brought over a pitcher of water and a plate of still-warm chocolate chip cookies before starting the order.

I gave Monica a dark look.

"Does everyone know all your preferences? I'm beginning to think you read minds, too!"

She chuckled, "I've been coming here for thirteen years, hon - what, don't you get enough personal service at home?"

I shrugged, sighed, and shook my head. "They make a stab at it, sure; but the decent gyms have huge memberships with the difference in populations."

Munching cookies, the coffees showed up.

Abby, the girl behind the bar, doubtless waiting till my mouth was full, said seriously, "Of course we notice Monica! With her reputation, who in their right mind wouldn't?

"And, Mon; can I watch from ringside? I'd love to compare you and her to me and you!"

I choked. Turned red.

"What is this? Are you going to sell tickets?" Abby and Monica were laughing good-naturedly.

"DeeDee, Abby and I spar at least once a week. She was one of my instructors!"

Abby was shaking her head. "And why you stopped training full-time will always be something I can't understand - though after meeting Rose - well, maybe I'd spend more time at home, too!"

She went off to take care of other women who had come up to the bar.

The mochas were delicious; the caffeine boosting the rejuvenating effects of the juice drinks.

Finished, we both downed a glass of water and headed up to the fourth floor, getting fresh towels from Tracey first.

Left from the elevators, we headed to the boxing area. Heavy bags of every weight - ranging from 75lbs to 250lbs - were in a row against the far wall, spaced about six feet apart. On the near wall were tethered bags, speed bags, and punching and kicking standing targets that were free to rotate.

The ring was empty, on a four foot platform. The clock on the wall said five till ten.

Monica went to easy stretches and slow tripod knuckle push-ups, a few crunches and jumping jacks before heading over to hit and kick one of the big heavy bags - moving on to a speed bag. I followed her lead, feeling my stomach still slosh a little from all the liquids.

"Great; just great. All I need to do is throw up in the ring," I thought gloomily.

She tossed me a light pair of finger-gloves; karate-style hand protection.

Nothing else; no shin guards, no head gear - an implicit statement about trusting that this wouldn't get out of hand. The short grey-haired man behind the desk tossed us both sealed mouth-guards and loaned me a pair of boxing shoes.

"Your half-hour starts now," he said.

Monica nodded at him, grinned at me and said, "Lets have some fun!"

We climbed into the ring together - me not wanting to imply any advantage by being last.

A half-step apart, we exchanged formal courtesies and took a step apart.

We started with slow punch/block-kick combinations. Easy speed.

Faster now; and I tried to connect. I barely felt her blocks - the woman was invisible, slipping just out of contact at the last instant every time.

Sweat was starting on both of us.

Monica stepped back, dropped her guard and nodded, taking her mouth-guard out. I did the same. "You're good! Beautiful form! You do much full-contact sparring?"

I shook my head. "That's something I never did enough of - it wasn't encouraged at the dojo."

Monica grinned. "Now's your chance, then; show me what you got, girl."

Mouthguards back in, we exchanged courtesies and it began in earnest.

I never saw what hit me. I was on the canvas, hard. Clear-headed but with my ears ringing. She just stood there, waiting calmly.

I got up and attacked. She let me connect, hard, deflecting only when blows were aimed at her face. Her blocks felt like they would be very capable of breaking my arms if she'd followed through.

A vicious jump spin kick was simply lifted instead of being evaded or blocked - and I was face-down on the canvas again. I looked at her.

She had a half-smile on her face. She began to dance, echoing the dance we'd shared on the Pass; her guard down.

Cold rage. I wanted to break that composure, feeling more than a little mocked.

I attacked, spin-punches. She dropped like a Russian dancer and swept my legs out from under me, popping to her feet instantly, an outside-in kick landing hard on my back, flipping me to land face-down on the canvas again.

I was on my feet, circling back while she continued to dance our lover's waltz; that same half-grin. I thigh-kicked her, hard. My foot burned: I may as well have kicked a tree. I stumbled, and she stopped, standing still.

Removing our mouthguards, I spoke quietly, hate clear in my voice. "That's your so-called expertise - mocking me?"

She said nothing, just looking me in the eye.

She shrugged.

"Defend against me, then. Maybe you're better at that."

All I could do was nod once before we started again.

She spin-backhanded me in the face. My vision swam and I heard ringing in my ears. She did a jump- hook kick that hit me just outside of my spine hard enough to send me rolling, reaching my feet and facing her. She did that drop sweep kick and I was rising to kick her stomach in a short snap kick when she came up - except all I caught was air - she leaned back and kicked me in the groin. Straight up with the other leg.

The big bell rang once.

"Give it a break, Monica. Take five."

"No problem, Leo," she called back. Squatting, she looked me in the eye.

"Need a hand up?"

I spat my mouthguard on the canvas. "No."

"DeeDee, come on - here," offering a gloved hand. She helped me to my feet. The pain was very significant, but not disabling. I shook her free and started to walk it off.

Breathing deeply, doing a couple careful squats in between walking laps around the ring, I realized just how easily, how quickly the woman was able to make me forget my center, lose control of my emotions.

I walked up to her. Hugged her hard as I could and let go of her fast. There were at least a dozen people there, watching.

"Get it out of your system, hon?"

I smiled a little raggedly and nodded.

"Good. Now understand me: if you can't at least hold your own against me before our time's up here, my Rose isn't leaving. I will not have her living under any illusion of being protected, DeeDee.

"Can you protect her?"

And she stepped back, mouthguard in place.

Going to her guard, this time all she did was nod.

"No time for anything fancy," I thought dryly; "This is fighting like I always dreamed of - against a very superior opponent - with the highest stakes of all! Respect."

I centered, finding calm, and I took my guard and nodded back.

It was easily the fight of my life. We both had enough control to keep our contact very hard, but this wasn't life-or-death in a street fight. I took ten, fifteen hits that, any one of them would have had seen me in Chicago asking to break, to stop. I would not stop.

I connected on Monica about five times, hard enough and fast enough to get through her incredible guard, knocking her from her feet and I waded in fast. She gave me that half-smile in approval, blocking hard enough to make my joints and bones burn.

She came at me like a street fighter; like a professional thug; like a kidnapper, with cold intent. We were both drenched in sweat, but that woman didn't seem to tire at all, while my lungs were on fire and I felt myself getting tired fast.

I went in low to kidney-punch her following with a back kick - and she simply disappeared.

I came to on the canvas.

Abby and Monica were both looking at me, and they smiled, seeing me find focus enough to see that there wasn't six of them.

"You OK?"

"I'll be fine, Abby - um, but will somebody tell me what happened?"

The two helped me to my feet. People actually applauded. There were almost twenty now, if I wasn't still seeing multiples. . .

Abby had a small flashlight and she checked my eyes for symmetry and tracking. Satisfied, they both helped me from the ring. I looked at the clock A little more than twenty-five after.

One of the men, a towering guy way over six feet and built like water-over-rocks gave me his hand as my feet found the gym floor. "Girl, you really got guts to hang in there! I would love it if my wife could fight even half as good as you!"

More voices, more comments along the same lines. Abby hugged me and said, "Honey, that evil old woman has cleaned the clock of just about everyone here one time or another! You were great!

"She just pulled one of her favorite tricks to take you out!"

I looked at Monica, who was already out of her gloves, smiling at me happily. "What did you do to me, you evil bitch?"

We both chuckled, and everybody laughed.

Abby said, "Mon; show her - spread out, guys!"

A circle of about eight feet opened up and Monica shrugged. Leo climbed in the ring, holding a broom handle out above his head, the end of it wrapped in a towel, that end way up in the air over Monica's head.

"That's over eleven feet up, if it's an inch!" I thought.

Monica took one step back, jumped, and kicked the towel in a perfect ax kick.

She barely made a palpable thump when she landed.

I looked around, blank.

Abby chuckled. "That's one of her signature moves - she used to win tournaments with it! She just goes straight up and catches you with either the heel or the ball of her foot and out go the lights!"

"No wonder I thought you just vanished," I said.

There were lots of hugs and smiles, and people hit the elevators or went over to punching drills.

Monica waited, returning the gloves and my borrowed footwear; and then she gave me a warm sweaty hug. Abby still couldn't stop smiling. . .

She wandered off, too; and Monica and I headed for the elevators, her arm around my shoulder.

Inside, the doors closed, she kissed me and she beamed. "You got the hang of it, huh?"

I felt like kicking her when she wasn't looking.

"Shower, whirlpool, and then we'll see; OK?"

"God, yes - I stink! Just don't let me drown in the water, will you?" I grimaced and threw her smile back at her wryly.

Monica'd brought along two big new loofahs and a bottle of liquid almond oil soap. She helped scrub me down; turning so that I could reciprocate. With her body pumped, she looked far more intimidating nude. She rippled strength and health; she stretched and arched to get the pounding water on a hard stream purring and groaning in pleasure. I was grateful of the thick steam - it helped cover my growing desire.

Toweling down, me wrapping my hair in a second towel, we went to the whirlpool. The marble floor was warm to bare feet, and the thing was more like the huge pools I was used to back home. It would easily seat fifty. Only one older woman was in it, relaxed and oblivious to the two of us. We went to the far side.

The water was hot but not uncomfortable. We slid in, taking up positions most advantageous to our few real aches; both groaning in pleasure when the pounding water got to just the right muscles.

More people were filtering in as the two-hour period of the corporate world's scheduled lunch time closed in on us. I drowsed, images of the sparring coming to mind, interspersed with more certainty that I had to succeed in separating Rose from this woman so I might have a chance to learn more.

What I'd learned, reading between the lines about how the two of them had crossed paths staggered me. That she'd reveal such intimate detail to such an incredibly personal experience was almost uncomfortable - and the older woman related it in an easy, open way; emanating complete trust with such information - it shook me to my core!

I knew with absolute certainty that the older woman was far more deadly, with real-world experience in fighting, than all the briefs I'd read and conversations with her had even guessed at. Countless questions drifted through my mind and I just let them go. Time alone with each of them was filling in many blanks.

"DeeDee - you still awake?"

Opening my eyes and reaching for the lip of the pool with outstretched arms, I pulled myself up to a more erect posture, surrendering the perfect placement of the one water jet that had nailed my ribs just where they hurt.

I smiled at the older woman, looking around. There were at least twenty women in the pool now; and Monica was obviously feeling ready to go and get on with our day.

"The noon rush is on. Ready to rinse off and get out of here?"

I got out, and stretched.

Monica laughed quietly, "If anyone had questions about your sexual preferences before, they're all quite certain of them now."

I followed her glance to the left and saw myself posing in an exquisitely erotic arch in the wall of mirrors. Back in the whirlpool, several black looks were aimed at the two of us; while several others smiled and looked away.

"Yep, I'm with you:

"Let's get out of here."

I was starved! We had barely gotten out the doors of the gym, back in a downpour when I said, "You'd damn well better feed me! I'm liable to just take melted butter to the next cute girl I see if you don't!"

Monica grinned and we headed back to the Jeep across the street, arm-in-arm. I felt more comfortable with the older woman, after having shared such an experience with her on her personal turf. We got in and headed for Cherry Creek, Monica saying she knew just the place.

An old sandstone building,, two story, with a long covered canopy was our destination. I didn't see the name of the place till I read the discreet gold lettering on the front door, "Denver Trophy Club, Est 1871."

It was like time-travel, that place. Maybe an orgasm of walnut and oak and brass. There were Turn-of-
the-Century brass-and-glass chandeliers and wall sconces that had - many of them - been converted to electricity. It all gleamed, spotless; and the combination of the effect of the woodwork and the lighting and the thick midnight wool carpeting was incredible. I felt like every step took me thirty years back in time until we got to the concierge pedestal.

Monica grinned. "It gets to everybody like that, their first time."

The walls were covered in hunting trophies of every description, each with a brass plaque stating the specifics of some memorable adventure. There were oak-and-glass cased rifles; even the occasional engraved pistol above some of the booths next to oil paintings of apparently related hunting scenes.

The rich scent of the food made my stomach growl. People - not a predominance of men by any means - were preoccupied with platters of meat they enthusiastically carved from and transferred the rare-done portions to fine china in front of them. Decanters of wine and distilled spirits were on every occupied table and the place was near capacity. There was no background music, and the talk was quiet.

It was a temple to the West; a prairie baron's cathedral to exquisite food and frontier comfort.

The tanned forty-something man in his crisp, collarless white shirt and black jeans smiled with real warmth at Monica. With a pair of thick leather-bound menus in one hand, he led the way deeper inside. We were seated without flourish at a booth against the wall beneath antelope antlers and an engraved, cased 1875 Winchester rifle. I couldn't help noticing that it was sterling silver on the table, the handles of all the tableware knives had stag handles, too.

A carafe of water appeared almost immediately, as did a bottle of a vintage bottle of deep red Spanish wine from the Rioja region. Monica just nodded, catching my eye and grinning wider as the wine was poured into large goblets with wide mouths.

I gave her a dark look as she lifted her glass to me. "They know you here, too; right?"

She laughed quietly, the rims of our glasses making a little ringing note as they touched. "My family has been really, really into hunting for a long time!"

Flipping through the menu, I tried not to be surprised at the selection. Antelope, rabbit, buffalo, elk, duck, beef, pheasant, venison; each prepared in several different ways. For the large animals, the selections went to as high as 96 ounces. "Wild," and "domestic" were options. Fresh vegetables in seasonal availability. An entire page of choices of fresh breads.

We chose to get a platter variety - and I was famished! I let the older woman choose for me, sipping my wine and sighing.

The waiter, a pleasant kid in his early twenties took the order and left.

We talked casually about the people that were there; the fun sparring; her childhood of subsistence hunting. Half loaves of black rye and sweet, potato-oat bread appeared.

Food arrived! The platter held wafer-thin slices of smoked roast antelope, half a duck in apricot sauce, and a small elk roast. New potatoes, pearl onions and real garden-fresh roast baby carrots circled the edge. A pot of fresh horseradish, and another of coarse mustard arrived. Salt, and pepper grinders, too.

We ate. And ate. The wine was all but gone by the time either of us came up for air. I refocused, realizing neither of us had managed to say a word the entire time! The platter held only scraps and a few vegetables. . .

"Oh, god - that was good!"

I laughed, looking around. Most of the room was empty of customers. "I was just going to say the same thing."

"Obviously, you liked the food."

I sighed, arched in a discreet stretch and yawned. "Thank heavens for stretch pants!" I giggled, a little self-conscious. My palate was still overwhelmed with the flavors of the wild game, the spices. I drained the last of my wine and looked at the older woman with an out-and-out challenge.

"Dessert?"

"Absolutely!" She waved the waiter over. "Deep-dish apple pie for two!"

We both grinned as the tow-headed kid took away the remains. "And coffee?"

He turned, a good balancing act, mid-stride. . . "What kind?"

"Guatemalan!"

He grinned, nodded and went on his way.

Refilling our water glasses, I looked over at her, thinking.

"What."

She stretched. "Wait a minute - hold that thought. I have to answer the call of nature."

I watched her as she walked to the back. "It keeps coming to me - I feel different. Just from having been here for a few days. This isn't anything like life back in Chicago! My life has a different side to it. This feels simpler - not as a lesser valuation - but a design of less artifice. One could never know and experience what these days have held and name this 'Minimalist,' or 'Austere,' or 'Spartan;' it feels like a basic reality those two spontaneously discovered and awakened in me - and I can't find a familiar term to assign to it!

"If more people understood what these two live so reflexively;" I paused. Sighed. "There's the rub: some people apparently do know something - or guess at it. Otherwise they wouldn't be so interested in - something. And I wouldn't be here." Soberly. "And my soul would be the lesser for it."

I reached into my fanny pack and made a quick call on my cell phone, replacing it all in under a minute. "A six-figure contract has some value; though I'm starting to wonder about the motives of the people who signed it. My request should satisfy them that I am still working, though - so why do I feel unclean for doing it now?"

I grinned, seeing Monica come back; followed by the waiter bearing two small mountain-sized slices of pie and a pot of coffee.

"Good god! Do they make that in kettles or what!"

The woman was looking at the pie with naked avarice. "Yep! Cast iron Dutch ovens to be exact.

Dangling a now-empty fork from her hand, "So, you were saying. . . ?"

Bite-for-bite, it was as good as anything I'd ever had - and I was going to finish every crumb if it killed me! Difference was, it stood some four inches tall! The coffee hit the spot.

"Tell me about Charlie."

She gave me a quizzical look and then beamed.

"Sure. It's quite a story, though."

Around a mouthful I managed, "We're not going anywhere for a while!"

She almost giggled crumbs. A most un-lady-like sized swallow of coffee and she focused inward, remembering; smiling:

"Charlie and Dad worked on the same crew at the mines when I was growing up; back when it was widow-makers and carbide lamps and the Company was running three shifts. Leadville was booming then and people had enough money!

"My uncle George was a Super for the crew, and days off we'd all get together more often than not and head out into the mountains; Charlie fishing, while Dad and Uncle George and me would usually go check out our favorite places to hunt. Mom and my sis would stay at camp, and my brother would have his nose buried in some book.

"Sometimes I'd go off with Charlie, though, him and his split bamboo fly rod and hand-tied flies; we'd follow a stream quiet as could be and I'd watch as he'd pick out the fish he wanted and patiently work a fly upstream till it drifted by the lunker - and 'bam' - the fish would rise and the battle would be joined!

"Charlie almost always won..

"He was a wiry man - big enough, though - he weighed about one-seventy - with a thick head of hair and powerful hands that were capable of incredible delicacy in tying his fishing flies during the long months of Winter. His wife had died of leukemia when his son was nine; and Thoedore had a real gift when it came to school - so Charlie sent him to a high-dollar boarding school in Denver where Theo could get an education that wouldn't be limited to the three 'R's' like Leadville.

"That, and Charlie was really never the same after his wife died - and I think Teddy always reminded him of her. . .

"With the expense of boarding school, Charlie lived in an old homesteader's log house up in the hills outside of town, a tiny place; but he never seemed to mind. He loved to collect old diaries and journals of the people who had first explored and settled the area, and two walls in his house were filled with cabinets that held the old notebooks and hand-drawn maps; and sometimes he'd let me go through one of them, reading the entries out loud, saying it was good for me to get a feel for the strong hearts it'd required to build lives in the area when there were still wild Indians around.

"Charlie was never much into hunting; though every year, he'd take an antelope 'just for a change of pace,' as he put it. Those old maps and notes of his took him out exploring, looking for signs of the places referenced in the entries - and he had this quirk of hating to use matches; preferring to use flint and steel.

"He was good in the mines! Daddy and me and him worked together when I got old enough to join them; me being the first girl ever to get a job with the Company working the deep shafts.

"I told you all about that, right?"

The pie was long gone, and we were on second cups of coffee. The restaurant was quiet, and I looked out the windows at the deepening dusk of the afternoon, the rain still coming down.

I nodded, grimacing; remembering the stories about just how hard the men had tried to chase her off; get her to quit, even going so far as rape.

"Anyway - a couple years after I'd gotten pretty much accepted, Charlie and I were working Shaft Seven one day; deep, about seventeen hundred feet down, setting charges when the rock started talking behind and above us. Everybody bailed, running to get out ahead of the cave-in, when I looked and saw Charlie flat on his face, still behind me by the dynamite!

"I stopped in my tracks and raced back to him - and saw he'd broken his leg bad, his boot caught under a compressor when he'd turned too fast - and he'd fallen, split his forehead open on the rock. Out cold. The rock talked again, loud, a second time; but I got Charlie's leg free and slung him over my shoulder like a fresh killed muley and ran for my life.

"I beat the cave-in with a couple yards to spare, but I didn't stop till I was back at the mantrap with the rest of the crew; alarm bells going off everywhere. We sent Charlie up first, listening for more sounds in the rock that might tell all of us that we'd be staying with our brass tonight, buried together - but we all made it out.

"We lost almost seventy yards of Shaft Seven that shift, but knowing that Charlie had come out OK made it easier for all of us to go back and re-hab the shaft and get back to it.

"I never got hassled by any of the guys after that.

"Later that year, I got transferred to the explosives shack and Charlie, his leg healed up, took topside work running a dock crane near the crusher.

"I was taking a smoke break over by the crusher shack in spite of it snowing hard. A kid on a forklift was offloading drums of grease and huge spools of wire rope a couple yards away from a semi; and I had leaned against the railing, my hands wrapped around a mug of coffee when I heard and felt a heavy crash!

"I looked over and saw the forklift - with a spool of wire rope - had tipped over, bouncing the spool free, crushing the kid. The spool smashed into the head of the conveyor that carried tons of ore into the crusher, taking out the side of the shack like it was tin foil and I saw I was in the wrong place at the wrong time.

"The spindle end of the conveyor sheared and tangled in the broken spool and a nightmare of wire rope and rock was covering the dozen-or-so yards between me and a messy death when I was hit in a flying tackle off the dock, and hauled under an empty heavy flatbed trailer by my britches!

"Ore and steel were landing everywhere around me when I heard Charlie's calm, matter-of-fact chuckle in my ear under the trailer.

'You got lucky, Fuzzy - and a quirk that I was in the mood to stretch my legs just then!'

"All hell was breaking out above us, alarm bells signaling an emergency stop on the conveyor and the searing sound of the crusher winding up faster - empty now - and if it didn't get powered down it'd shear its' mounts!

"Things quieted down in what seemed like hours - but were only a couple minutes. Something hit the heavy flatbed hard one last time and I twisted around to look Charlie in the face. He grinned at me and slithered out and got to his feet, me close behind, looking around.

"The Yard was a mess, but the only person hurt was the forklift kid, almost cut in half by the flattened cage. It was really quiet, till I realized my ears were numbed: I could see people, their mouths moving and their arms gesturing, but I wasn't hearing a thing!

"Charlie grabbed my hood and got me to look at him and he gestured, pointing to his ear and shrugging, we headed over to the Shop where Daddy was working.

"He was coming out from under a 25-ton dump truck fast, pulling his ear muffs off when our eyes met.

"The ringing in my ears was fading when Daddy slowed down and looked me over critically, Charlie, too.

"The alarms shut down.

"I heard the crusher winding down, and hearing got a lot better.

"Daddy asked, 'You OK?'

"I could only grin before he had me in a huge hug for just a second. He started going through everything with Charlie rapid-fire.

"Charlie had seen the forklift kid having trouble with the spools and had come down from his crane to go talk to the Yard boss about it, when he saw the accident happen - and me right in the way of getting both mangled and crushed when the spool hit the conveyor spindle.

"I felt like I'd been hit by a truck. Daddy reached up and pulled off my hard hat, turning it around in his hands. There was a clean, four or five inch break in the back, about an inch wide where my head had hit the edge of the dock in Charlie's flying tackle.

'You got lucky. Keep your hood off when you're in the Yard, OK?'

"I grinned. Pulled my bandanna out of my hip pocket and blew my nose. Charlie slapped me on the back.

'Better get back to the shack, Fuzzy - and I got work to do, too.

'You're buying the beer, tonight!'

"Daddy shrugged, seeing Charlie head for the door, snorted wryly and headed back to the truck.

"I leaned against the door of the Shop and had another smoke, keeping my hood down, watching the Company ambulance pull up to the forklift while Charlie lifted it off the body of the kid. I didn't know his name.

"The explosives shack felt like a nice place to be after the Yard. I saw I had a new shipment of nitro to inventory and store when the door shut behind me. . .

"I bought a case of beer that night, and the three of us drank it over recounting the day at the dining table; Charlie consenting to dinner at our house.

"Mom just shook her head and gave me seconds, unasked-for; listening and showing no outside emotions. Sis and my brother called me dumb and stupid and then headed off to go do chores.

"Daddy headed off to bed and me and Charlie sat around, finishing our beers.

"He looked at me, smiling. 'We're even, Fuzzy.'

'I'll drink to that, Charlie - and I won't forget.'

'I won't let you, believe me!'

'And it was just a quirk that you happened not to be up in your crane, huh?'

"We laughed and called it a night soon after that, he heading down the road in his pickup in the snow; me looking for some privacy and finding it in the garage. I hurt from head-to-toe, but I was going to do just fine thanks to his stunt."

"What about his son, Theo? Did you ever see much of him?"

She looked at me quizzically. "Funny you should ask about him! He was almost ashamed of his Dad, only making an appearance in town for a couple days every year."

"Theo flew through school and got a full-ride scholarship to MIT when he was only fifteen! The kid had a zip-code IQ and every Ivy League institution wanted him. He took up playing the cello for relaxation at MIT - and had a fascination with ball lightening!

"He's grown up to be a huge, strapping man in contrast to his Dad. It's sad, but the two don't seem to be able to relate very much; something everyone noticed when Theo came back to Leadville last year on some field research of some sort and stayed long enough to give a recital. I'm just glad the guy found his way.

"It's got to be hard when everybody is using the word 'genius' about everything you do. . ."

I sat very still and thought fast. "Keeping track of Theo has been all but impossible - something I need to make note of when he slips away and can't be found!"

Monica stretched and reached for the check, delivered unnoticed by me.

"We should be heading home - you ready?"

My stomach and my muscles both agreed with my hearty endorsement of that idea. "Lead on! You think Rose has been asleep all this time?

Monica nodded as she signed the receipt. "She really needed to catch up on rest! I try to give her every opportunity I can, but sometimes I just get greedy."

We exchanged smiles and walked out into the chill air; refreshing and clean to the senses as thunder rumbled in the foothills.

The Jeep swallowed the miles as we climbed out of the plateau and headed back up the canyon. Monica switched on her pac set to listen for any accidents that might be ahead of us and the lush scent of the greening, grateful forests ahead in the rising mountains welcomed us back.

"When did you know you were a lesbian, DeeDee?"

I grinned.

"The first time I ever gave head!"

"Makes perfect sense."

We both laughed at my reflexive response; and I looked forward to being home again, sharing the day's adventures with the beautiful slave and hoping I could find her still asleep.

Monica said, "The rain is so overdue! We've been in drought conditions for the last two years; and the fire danger has been unbelievable!

"Did you read about the Broken Canyon Fire when you were still in Chicago?"

I stretched and nodded, "Certainly! It had gone to almost 72,000 acres when it went national and all the news services picked it up!

"It got within a couple miles of you before they got containment, right?"

The older woman nodded, focusing on the winding canyon road.

"Rose and I were on twenty-on-four-off shifts for the first four days of that one. Rescue was providing a rig full-time to the Incident Command Post and we decided to keep a second crew at Base for the duration. Rig crews were doing twelve hour shifts, just so we could keep enough people walking; but Wiley and Marge and I were covering the radios and staffing Rescue while Rose took to helping answer phones and trying to keep everybody fed as an option to the FEMA chow station for the line crews.

"On top of the Seniors population and the number of asthma cases something like that generates, we had our hands full with myocardial infarctions and stress injuries! The smoke was so thick for over forty hours the start of second day that we had to use headlights; and you could barely see twenty yards.

"The beginning of the fourth day, we got a call for a hotshot member down with a possible broken ankle on the fire line - and wanting to keep the primary crews and rigs ready, I snagged a driver and took the third rig and we headed in.

"I hadn't been to the fire line - most firefighters being eval'd and treated for minor injuries only when they cycled through camp - and this was a trip straight into Hell. We drove past areas where the granite had melted with the heat of the front of the firestorm; where cars looked like they should've been in some nightmarish painting by Dali on LSD!

"We drove through smoke so thick we wore HEPA masks and in places I walked in front of the rig so Danny could tell where the road was.

"We got to the fire line.

"Not two hundred yards away flame lengths were reaching a hundred-fifty feet and above; but there wasn't much wind - just a rising slope to the terrain feeding the fire so hard. The sound - there aren't words.

"We were flagged down by a firefighter and a couple of his team members, and I saw someone on the road being supported by their arms hobbling fast towards 292. Just then a tanker drop came in over the radio warning us to '...get your heads down!'

"The sound of a B-17 overhead was sweet! What seemed like thousands of gallons of slurry hit the landscape just downslope of us, running upslope alongside the road spattering the rig like buckshot with retardant droplets the consistency of thin red mud.

"I threw open the back doors of the rig and the guys helped their friend into the rig. Turns out, it was a girl, and her ankle was clearly broken.

"Danny got us headed back out and I focused on my patient. Sarah had been on the line over two days with her crew and was cursing a blue streak from both frustration and pain. Her left ankle - once I got her boot cut off - was a clean break. She was also suffering from borderline heatstroke and real exhaustion.

"I grabbed a mike and got Incident Command on the radio, reporting the recovery of the patient - and ordered the entire hotshot crew to be mandatorily relieved for twenty-four hours.

"Running vitals on Sarah, I decided to transport her myself as she didn't need a full paramedic crew - and she looked at the Pride pin on my collar and sighed and smiled openly.

"I got her belt with her fire gear off her and unbuttoned her once-yellow fire shirt to check her breath sounds after getting her ankle in a splint. She sounded like the contents of a cannister vacuum cleaner were in there; both sides and top-to bottom. A gorgeous Black Hills gold ring with a black opal was threaded on a leather string around her neck along side of a silver-and turquoise ring that looked turn- of-the-century old. Partnering rings.

"Grabbing a handful of moist towlettes I wiped enough of the soot and dirt and slurry from her face to be able to check her color and she sighed.

'Can I have something to drink? Juice, maybe?'

"I grinned. Her short, tangled black hair, free of the hard hat, looked like she'd take about an hour in a shower to get clean - not to mention the rest of her.

'We got a couple cases of juice and even more water - and you need to get about half a gallon down - what do you want; orange, apple, or pineapple?'

'Pineapple - two please!'

"Our eyes met, and hers dilated. I turned up the air conditioning to 'high' and reached behind me for a couple cans and a liter of water.

'Thanks. . .'

"The juice and water disappeared in the blink of an eye. She sighed hugely, wincing as the little movement moved the bones in her shin and foot.

"Taking the clipboard, I asked her for the basics. Sarah Evans, 28, 5'7" and 145; certified electrician from a little town in Northern California in the off-season. Single, Georgian Wicca - and that made me smile.

'What - I don't relate to that patriarchal bullshit!'

'Neither does my partner, Rose!'

"She grinned.

'You have no idea how much of a relief it is to be able to relax! That line of straight macho guys gets on my nerves, sometimes.'

"She was cute. Hard muscles, small-breasted and narrow hips - but her arms and legs were nicely built! Considering that she'd obviously earned her Wildland Firefighter certification, she must be able to just about leap tall trees in a single bound.

'How bad is my break, anyway?'

"I laughed. 'I don't have x-ray vision, but I'd guess it's clean - you should be able to get back to full ability after it heals. How long have you been a hotshot?'

'It's my fourth year - and never anything beyond blisters till this!'

"How'd you break it?'

'Boot got stuck on a tangle of roots and I fell backwards - stupid!'

Danny was getting clear of the fire, a little shift in the wind making his job driving easier than on our way in; and he twisted around. 'Swedish is ready and waiting, Monica - you need me to light it up?'

'Nope - and let both Firebase and the ICP know Sarah is OK, will you? And, Danny - a smooth ride this time!'

'Gotcha, Boss - hi, Sarah! You're in good hands!'

"She chuckled and relaxed on the pram. 'Your rig looks like it's set up to take on anything from blizzards to flash floods! You've got a lift kit on this?'

"I grinned. 'The "Booney-Bopper?" She's indispensable up here - but she takes highways like a pig with iron feet! She's worth her weight in gold, looks her age, and I love her to death.'

"Sarah beamed. "I went to a Pride festival in Montreal last year - and all the 'bolances looked like this.'

'You're kidding!'

'Nope - it's for the snow they get up there. They're newer, though.'

"She stretched, wincing again, and smiled at me.

"We talked about her life in Northern California, losing her Uncle in the bad fire near Shasta Lake - that being the turning point in her life that saw her deciding to get to be a hotshot.

'This is a bad one, this fire,' she said.

"I sighed and shook my head, tucking a couple pillows under the girl's head and checking her vitals again for the report. 'An illegal camp fire - unattended, to boot!'

'How'm I doing, Boss?'

"I smiled at her wryly. 'Better - so get some more water down, OK?'

"She chuckled and broke into a dry cough that brought tears to her eyes as her foot shifted.

"I got another liter of water down her and set up a mask with a water filter to give her lungs some relief, putting the oxygen flow at 15 liters a minute. She took deep breaths, slow, and sighed.

'Get a nap, Sarah. I'll keep an eye on you.'

"She smiled and was asleep in under a minute."

Monica sighed. "It was close to another two weeks before they got a line - one that held - around the fire. A hundred-eighty one homes lost, over three hundred outbuildings; and all of it because of a tourist.

"It was only two months later that a couple local kids started another fire, smoking in a field behind the high school."

"I never heard about that one!"

Monica shook her head. "With the nightmare of the Las Cruces Fire, and the one outside El Paso I'm not surprised. It only made it to just under four thousand acres."

We were past Pine Junction. Monica picked up her pac set.

"Fairplay, show 208 back in District."

"Copy, 208. Time, 1642."

She looked at me with a grin. "I'm on in about an hour and fifteen minutes - want to risk me not getting a page so we can treat Rose to a pizza? I'll bet she hasn't eaten yet today."

"Sure!"

We stopped at the pizza parlor in the little shopping center behind the turn-off and she ordered a large with lots of extra toppings - to be picked up in an hour. I looked at her quizzically when we got back in her car.

"What do you have in mind to kill the time?"

She grinned. "I want to drop by the gun store. Art is doing some work on my old Springfield Trophy Match and it should be ready by now - you mind?"

"Lead on! What did you have done?"

"I wanted a new match-grade barrel and a titanium nitride sear and disconnector: the trigger was getting just a little coarse with a little uneven creep to it and the feet on the barrel were showing uneven wear after eight years.

"Nothing that would affect the safety or anything, I've just gotten to be something of a perfectionist. Rose spotted the wear beginning about a year ago, but I waited till she told me that it was approaching something measurable, and I could feel it in the trigger.

"The gun is an old 'Pach-rat,' signed; and way too dear to my heart."

I looked at her with mock disgust as we pulled off 285 at the bottom of Crow Hill.

"You have a signed, custom Pachmayer? Shit! That must shoot into something around an inch at fifty yards with the right ammunition, right? Only a new Bill Wilson Custom CQB matches that kind of work - well, OK, Wilson's top of the line, across the board!"

She grinned as we walked into the little shop.

"A little under two inches is the best I can hold at that range, provided I'm shooting Rose's ammunition. Les Bayer's and Wilson's are supposed to be in that league, too; but I've never shot either one."

I gave her a black look. "You actually have a signed Pach-rat!"

A neatly-groomed man in maybe his early fifties, with close-cropped hair, wearing a 'Keep-And-Bear- Arms.com' polo was wiping down a new Bennelli tactical shotgun behind the glass counter. The shop was immaculate, and a little black Terrier came up to my feet and sniffed my sneakers.

Monica bent down and skritched the dog behind the ears. "Hi, Lola!"

We stepped up to the cases of handguns. Art chuckled. "Monica! Yes - your baby is ready - and I have just the thing for you!"

Smiling, she took the Bennelli and started looking it over with a critical eye.

"You must be Deirdre Alexander! Art Brundage. Anything I can show you?"

He shook my hand, chuckling at my blank look.

"It's a small town, Deirdre. I'm sorry, I don't have a Les Bayer for you to look at; but I have a couple Kimbers you might enjoy. I'll be right back!"

He ducked around the partition and returned with a gleaming mahogany pistol case. Monica became completely uninterested in the shotgun when she caught sight of it. Art opened it and pulled out the sparkling deep-blued old Springfield 1911. Pointing it at the floor, he racked the slide, locked it open and handed it to Monica.

"ECM Nowlin barrel, and a new spherical bushing, too. I spent some time mating them to the gun. The titanium nitride sear and disconnector were a perfect fit: I only had to touch the hammer notches and polish them to be flawless."

Monica was studying the pistol. "How does she test out with Rose's ammunition? Did you keep the targets?"

He looked at her wryly. "No sign of lug drag, functions perfectly with everything you left with me to shoot and the accuracy didn't change across the board. The targets are here with the old parts. Nothing more than an inch-and-a-half in five-shot groups. One-hole double-taps at ten yards. No malfunctions after all five hundred rounds."

"Headspacing and breach?"

"I reamed it out to your specks of plus two-thousandths for nickel-plated cases after I fit the hood to a thousandth. Nowlins can run a little tight from the factory. Centerline alignment is perfect."

Art sighed. "I don't know that I'd be able to keep that as an every-day carry piece, girl - I really don't - but I envy you for doing just that!"

Monica dropped the empty magazine, thumbed the slide release and listened to it go into battery. It was a single, clean sound. Aiming at the floor towards the back of the store, she held it in a modified Weaver stance and pulled the trigger.

She smiled; and turned to Art, the pistol held with her index finger parallel to the slide, clear of the trigger guard.

"What does it weigh now; a hair over two pounds?"

"Two-and-three-quarters, exactly the same as before. The Videcki is adjusted to fractionally less overtravel than you had it set before."

"It was dragging?"

He chuckled. "No - Rose is a perfectionist when it comes to maintaining your guns. It feels a little lighter because the new sear is almost frictionless."

Monica literally shone with happiness. "It looks perfect, Art. I'll wring it out at the range, and then take it to the next match - you going to be there?"

"IDPA, absolutely!"

I was watching the exchange, marveling. While they wrapped things up and Monica paid the bill, I was caught by one of the Kimbers Art had mentioned; a Pro-Carry Ultra CDP with a brushed satin finish.

Art unlocked the case, cleared the compact little 1911 and looked down the breach before handing it to me with the slide locked open.

I dropped the empty mag and checked the breech too, before dropping the slide and thumbing the safety on.

Monica grinned. "That's a .45, girl; something that light would pack a little more recoil with defensive loads than the .40's you've told me you shoot!"

"It's a gorgeous carry gun, though," I said.

"Absolutely!"

I returned the beautiful little pistol to Art and checked my watch. Monica chuckled.

"That pizza sounding better already? Art - thank you - but we have dinner to pick up before we head home."

"Say hi to Rose for me - and tell her that she's getting too good at her 'El Presidente' drill. I'm going to try harder to beat her decisively next time. Leaving it up to your Pact chronograph is a little humiliating!"

Beaming, the older woman nodded to Art's smile and she hooked a thumb around the bag with the parts and targets, holding her cased pistol close and we headed out.

Settled in the Jeep, I waved to Art as we got going, turning back onto 285 heading back up Crow Hill. Monica had a quiet smile; and she giggled when my stomach grumbled!

"Me, too! Let's get home!"

_____________________________________________________________________________________

Rose had jumped into a raw silk caftan and brushed her hair out by the time I had washed up and calmed down from the slave's delights. The basket had disappeared and remains of her lunch were in the sink and paper towels were out for pizza-fingers.

Monica pulled a six-pack of hand-brewed root beer from the back of a cabinet - so I got the tall glasses and ice! My stomach rumbled again when Rose came in and sat down.

She had on that gorgeous silver-and-turquoise choker again. "If I could only find some way to casually bring up Tarot reading - but I haven't seen a deck anywhere - and it would be too much of a risk; too much of a trigger!"

Monica gave me a curious look while opening the bottles.

"I'd love to know what you're thinking about so much."

I smiled easily and met her eyes openly, happily. "Daydreaming! You two have one hell of an effect on me you know."

Rose straightened, and innocently asked, "Moi?"

I got very aware of my clit just then. . .

Monica sat and opened the box; and little was said between mouthfuls and gulps for several minutes. I was glad to escape the searching look from the older woman; unnerved at the thought of just how much she might be able to read - and I was really hungry!

Rose took a breather after her first slice and started asking questions about our day. She followed the line intently and smiled sympathetically at hearing of my demise in the ring.

"Evil old bitch is right - Master! Pulling that trick on a friend!"

The slave got a calm, level-eyed look for that.

Monica said, "I would know that she can actually protect you, girl. It was appropriate."

Erect, head and eyes down, smiling, the slave only responded, "Sir."

"Yes?"

"Always, is."

"Yes. I did take us to lunch afterwards, though."

"The Trophy Club? Good! That place can forgive you for anything!"

I laughed. "You two are closer than anyone I've ever met!"

Both women looked at me and smiled in unison.

Clean-up was a snap, and we retreated to the futon to unwind. The slave wanted to inspect Monica's Springfield and did a complete disassembly in less than a minute with a quick visit to her room to use a few tools; returning with a magnifying glass and a small flashlight.

Monica and I watched as she spent some fifteen minutes going over every piece while the scanner reported on mundane traffic stops in the background.

Assembling the piece, the slave function-tested the safeties before moving on to the trigger.

She set the pistol back in its' case after giving it a wipe-down with a silicone cloth, and she beamed.

"Art did a wonderful job! I can't wait to see how it shoots!"

The older woman gave the slave a calm look. "You're going to have enough fun tomorrow - that's my gun - and I'm going to be the one to test her out!"

I looked at them both, a little puzzled. "What's up for tomorrow?"

The phone rang. I looked at my watch. Five after seven.

Roes answered it and gave it to the older woman with a disgusted look on her face. "It's work."

Monica's shoulders slumped and her jaw muscles showed briefly. She took the phone into the office and closed the door. The slave turned the stereo on and hit 'Random Play' on the cd-changer. She leaned back on the futon, looked at the ceiling and sighed in disgust. Cecilia's debut album began to play softly.

Monica reappeared. She shrugged. "I have to go back to work tomorrow. Have to.

"So much for the last day of vacation."

The slave was on her feet and curling into the taller woman's arms. "Master - you should be in uniform - you're on call."

I shook my head. "That sucks."

Monica gave me a curious look. Untangling the slave she headed into their bedroom to change. The scanner suddenly softly crackled static, like when someone accidentally keyed the mike - but I saw the sound end as the older woman took a second step past it. . . and a drop of cold sweat ran down the nape of my neck. . .

I realized I'd taken off the fanny pack when I'd washed up. A spacial impedance projection of energy was necessary to trigger the scanner's oscillator - and that could only mean. . .

Rose came and sat beside me on the futon, stroking my hair - and she stopped. "What has you afraid? Is something going to happen tonight - do you feel something?"

I took her hand and kissed the palm, warm and smooth.

"I don't think so; I just got a feeling from somewhere; nothing I can put my finger on."

The beautiful blonde looked me in the eyes. "She'll be fine; even if there is a bad call tonight."

The green splinters of color in her eyes looked brighter in the soft light. I smiled and hugged her, relaxing into the sweeping sensations her body evoked in me, letting my mind know nothing but the scent and warmth of her.

I sat back and shook my hair out. Monica came back out in uniform, looking calm and resigned.

"I'd looked forward to going with you to the range tomorrow, but the mainframe at work crashed and a report has to be done in time for the stockholder's meeting, so I have to go in and put it together manually!

"My boss doesn't trust my secretary to do it in time, and a copy of it has to get to the SEC before Monday morning."

I looked at her. "An annual report?"

She grinned and nodded.

"That really sucks!"

"Indeed! Oh, well; I'll still be home in time to see you before you two have to get to the airport."

I could only look at her, speechless.

"You rate, in my book, DeeDee.

"I know Rose will be safe with you."

I sniffled.

The two of them chuckled together and gathered me in a group hug.

"I want a cup of tea on the porch! It's a beautiful night!"

"Sir."

I grinned, wiping some few happy tears. "Make that two."

The three of us spent a couple hours on the porch watching the night wheel by in a now-cloudless sky. We spoke little, feeling close; feeling little need for words.

By nine I was yawning uncontrollably. We went back in, and I got hugs again. I felt so at peace. . .

I shed clothes and snuggled under the covers, hearing Rose start a load of clothes in the washer - and was asleep in minutes.

_____________________________________________________________________________________

Wednesday

I got to the alarm just when the relay clicked and the beeps began, rolling to my feet easily. My caftan was draped over the corner post at the foot of the bed, and slipping it on I felt the old heavy silk soft, and it warmed to me almost instantly. Padding into the kitchen and setting the teapot to boil I wondered what the day would bring.

"With Master having to go back to the office today, any plans of enjoying a day at the range are over. I suppose I should pack, find clothes appropriate for the trip after getting the house in order. I can't let the idea of traveling so far away from my home unsettle me!"

My hands were busy setting up the tray, adding a toasted bagel and raspberry preserves to the spread when the water boiled. Green tea brewing in the hand-blown glass pot and adding two cups to complete the tray, I walked into our bedroom so focused on my thoughts I didn't spare the sleeping red-head a second glance as she sighed and rolled on her side, pulling the covers with her.

Master was awake, smiling at my sing-song of "Room-service," a pattern unbroken all those years. She sat up and stretched, likely feeling a few aches from the busy day down in the City yesterday. I was swept into a warm hug and I smoothed my fingers through her hair, pausing to kneed the taut muscles in the nape of her neck.

"It was a restless night, girl."

She swung to her feet and made her morning toilet and returned to the warmth of the bed, pulling covers over crossed legs; an improvised table. I sat beside her quietly.

"There are pieces that don't fit, stray loose ends that shouldn't exist but do."

I poured tea and she took a bite of the bread, her eyes focused inward. Heightened awareness swept over me and I began examining the minute' quickly, looking for discord in the pattern that was Deirdre in my mind.

"I did not carelessly invite a stranger into our lives; but I did find a real want to know another's friendship. This seemed like the perfect opportunity."

We raised steaming cups together and I caught her eye; the ceramic clinked and we exchanged a smile. There were shadows behind her eyes, something resolved, yes; but more was not.

"I think you should find clothes appropriate to this trip and pack today, my love. I don't think I want you going to the range today - there are more than enough specifics to get done here."

I snuggled into her shoulder, hearing Thwack starting to stir. The big tomcat had yet to make an appearance; but with my beautiful little bird wanting his breakfast and his cover removed Kallis showed up, leaping into Master's lap.

Thwack was served, and after inspecting his seed dish he promptly jumped to my shoulder and thence to the edge of the tray, wanting to nibble some of the warm multi-grain bagel. Kallis flattened his ears, refusing to surrender his place, that getting him long, slow strokes from Master's hand.

I smiled at the sight, and waited.

"You will go with her to her City, yes; that is a given. I have every expectation that she will try, albeit perhaps unconsciously to have you fall in love with the materialism so basic to her nature as she displays the trappings of her life, returned again to her preferred environment."

I shook my head, smiling quietly.

"I have never known one ensconced in wealth of their own deriving who was not consumed by it either in spirit or motive. Deirdre does not fit that pattern, love."

My Master nodded.

"Yes. Precisely. The attainment and legitimacy of her life is real, I checked into that early on. What makes me a little frustrated is her very ability to release her conditioning here in so short a time. Too, I feel a little uncertainty as to my having to go back to work today to be the result of an accident."

I grew very still. Kallis unwound himself and walked across the bed and out the door, purpose of some sort clear in his little frame.

Master drained her cup and refilled hers, warming mine before I could react.

"I admit," she said, with her mouth around the next-to-the-last bite of bread, "to having wanted to draw the girl out yesterday, both to observe her as well as to seem to yield to her company in my personal environment."

I became completely focused. I shivered, briefly.

Looking at my love, I said simply, "We are returning to tactics, Master."

"Yes."

She pulled me into her arms suddenly and held me close; a repeat of the first such embrace we had shared so many years ago; the echoes in my heart proved it.

I surrendered to the sensation.

She murmured quietly into my ear, the barest whisper; "Be aware, open and alert when you travel. We have lived free of the old darkness that sought you and nearly destroyed you for so long! I think a time for you to live in innocent perfection has come."

I shuddered in her arms. I felt paws walking across my legs and opened my eyes to the big tomcat's head reaching up into my unbound hair, his heavy purr tangibly vibrating my ribs as he leaned into me and sought a comfortable spot with us.

"I think we are now players in something, my love. I have thought about it through the night, and though there are specifics missing, there is enough for me to alert you. Know your balance and never let any displace you from it.

"I suspect you will have a plane waiting this evening to take you to Chicago by the time I get home; perhaps earlier. We will not have an opportunity to know our own lives again until this is resolved in some way - and to do that, I must see you leave me for a little while."

She released me, straightening and sighing. We both looked in unison at the sound of the futon frame creaking.

My Master smiled, the reconciliation to act separately clear in her eyes.

"Time to start my day. I doubt I will find anything out of place or conspicuous; those who are working to their designs are not sloppy." She smiled frankly at me and turned to start the shower, taking Thwack with her.

I returned the tray to the kitchen, saw her cell phone was charged, and wrote briefly on a piece of my stationery, putting the note inside of her day planner. I heard the shower start, and my bird began to try and whistle along with my love to the opening bars of "Yellow Submarine."

The futon creaked again behind me, and I turned and saw Deirdre looking at me sleepily, smiling.

Innocence and love delivered me to my center, and I openly and warmly returned the smile. "It is a time to live with perfection;" I thought. "Assume nothing, let nothing distract you, and let your enemies reveal and deliver themselves to you whomever they may be; regardless of what power they may wield. Friends may arise far beyond their station at the most unlikely of times, and some who wear a mask of benevolence may fall, their sly cravings their undoing. . ."

The knowledge and framework of limitless perception slipped over my being in an instant with effortlessness and completion. Though it had been many a long year since I had assumed such a reality, the last time to my destruction, this time I felt only calm. "I am far removed from the girl who once tried to face you alone and in desperation! I have come far; and will now assuredly only make new mistakes, needing to be led by the cards no longer. . ."

I took the step to the warm girl ensconced in soft layers of bedding and gathered her to me in a friendly hug. "What are you doing up this hour of the morning, sleepy-head?"

She leaned to one side and pointed an accusatory finger in the direction of the bathroom door where steam was billowing out and Thwack was now trying to follow along to his favorite song, the theme from "The Pink Panther."

The covers fell as she scooted to sit up, and I was almost swept away at the sight. She was nude.

I turned to face the bathroom as the water was turned off, and we saw a bedraggled cockatiel sitting proudly on my lovers' head, she with only a towel around her neck.

"Hi, DeeDee! I see someone woke you up! He wanted a shower this morning, too!"

Thwack shook, sending a micro-shower down my love's face.

"Girl, come take your bird! I have to get ready. DeeDee, want to keep me company?"

The red-head wrapped herself up in my robe and headed for the spare bathroom. "Sure! Just a sec, though; I gotta answer the call of the wild. . ."

With the door closed, I went and started laying out Master's clothes while she finished drying off, and brushed her teeth. I got a wintergreen kiss when she was done, just as DeeDee came back round the corner. I stayed where I was and looked into the eyes that were framed by hair that wouldn't likely know a brush.

"Always, is; Sir."

"Yes. Now go put a pot of coffee on. You both look like you're up for the day, and I want to talk to DeeDee a minute before I have to leave."

I smiled innocently and said, "A girl goes to serve; in haste, Master; in haste!"

Deirdre was looking from one to the other with her eyes, a smile working at the corners of her mouth as I went into the kitchen.

With the coffee ground and perking away I laid out some banana bread, butter, and honey to serve as a morning coffee; enough to hold us till it was a decent time for a breakfast of substance. I ran through a list of things I needed to get done during the day in preparation for my trip: there was trash to take out, bathrooms to clean, something of a menu to plan for my love, a litter-box to sift, bedding to change, and maybe a little ironing to do.

A "Hey, where did you get off to?" brought me back to the bedroom.

My love was dressed in tan slacks, an oatmeal cotton sweater and brown walking shoes; a honey suede blazer going over one arm. Deirdre scooped me into one arm, and gave me a happy squeeze.

"Hon, do you think you can get ready, pack, and come with me to Chicago today? Monica and I talked, and she doesn't mind if you don't? I can charter a jet out of Jeffco later this afternoon!"

I looked at my love and cocked my head, smiling.

"I suppose so; it is the morning of the sixth day after all; the seventh if you count the first evening you came here as a full day." Monica was looking at me with love in her eyes, the veneer of having to go to work falling into place as I watched; with something else, too: she was utterly relaxed, confident.

In me! She knew I had renewed the pattern of awareness and felt absolutely confidant that we would not be lessened somehow with separation!

I kissed her quick, looked at the clock and said, "You'd better be going, yes?"

She tossed her hair back-and-forth, the most grooming she ever did and said, "I'm going! DeeDee, give me a call later and let me know when to meet you two at the airport, will you?"

And with that she was out the door, grabbing her briefcase on the way.

And the door closed.

_____________________________________________________________________________________

I looked at our bed as I heard the Jeep head down the hill. Both cats had claimed the warmth left under the covers; with my little barn kitten only showing the last inch of his tail and the big tomcat only a lump beneath the comforter where I'd lain. Deirdre went to the window and watched the Jeep's tail lights disappear from view and sighed.

"I hope she has a tolerable day, today. To have to put together an annual report manually, something that will be adequate for both stockholders as well as the SEC will be a nightmare!"

I chuckled, kneeling down to choose some new music for our morning; "She's tackled worse projects with less warning and less time to have them done over the years. I just hope she remembers to take a break before she throws her back out from sitting in her office too long!"

Selecting some classical music, Bach, Mozart, and Chopin I started the stereo and stood to find myself in a warm hug, the red-head's sleepy smell enveloping me, her nude body a lure and statement in the cool morning. She shivered, and pulled away, heading for the shower.

A wrinkled-nose smile worked its' way across my features and through my heart at the sight of spreading goose bumps retreating to the promise of hot water when the light came on and she was backlit, a beautiful sight. I shook my head and was headed for the kitchen to tidy up when the shower started , but I paused, listening intently.

Something had begun to beep softly.

I followed the sound to discover the girl's fanny pack, and seeing the door to the bathroom pulled to, holding in the heat, I unzipped it to find a cell phone with the low battery warning flashing. It wasn't the same phone she had when I first discovered her on the trail. I found the device's menu and scrolled through it to find the last number called. Area code 757. I went to my computer and looked it up. Newport News, a seaport and shipyard in Virginia, dialed yesterday afternoon. I returned the phone to the little pack undisturbed and began gathering the simple things I needed for my morning's devotions; turning my computer off.

I had finished putting the basket together when the shower stopped, and heading back to our bedroom to take my katana down from its' pegs from above the inside of the doorjamb Deirdre came out, her hair wrapped in a towel.

The change in her demeanor with Master gone to work was hardly subtle. I wondered if it was deliberate or even a conscious act. It made for beautiful scenery, that was unquestionable. . .

"Perhaps as one door closed as my love left for work another opened in the girl's mind. It would be a subconscious claiming of territory."

She looked at me quizzically as I headed for the back door and she opened the closet looking for clothes.

"Your devotions?"

I nodded, feeling a little shy for some reason. "I haven't said my prayers for a couple days, and being today will be so different, I wanted to clear my head so I can just enjoy it all."

"I'd love to watch, that is if you don't mind?"

I smiled, feeling acutely shy. "Even Master has only observed me on a few occasions, expressing a need to see what center I found that had enabled me to heal beyond all harm and darkness; and later, to share in the celebration our lives have become;" I thought.

I looked at her and took a deep breath. "If you'd like, it's all right with me; though my devotions to the Goddess are very personal." I sighed and let the shyness show. "Girl, you probably know me better than I know myself - and I don't think there's much about who I am you either haven't experienced with me in a completely intimate act or explored with my Master already before you came here.

"I can't see a reason why any door to my life should be shut to you after all that."

She looked at me and her eyes shone. "Give me just a sec to get dressed. My clothes are in the dryer, right?"

"Yep; clean but not folded or ironed though, I'm sorry. . ."

"Not a problem." She pulled a pair of black Wranglers and my thick red funnel-neck cotton sweater from the machine and was dressed in moments. Her hair was twisted into a hasty bun and held with the antique clip and her new boots slipped over a pair of my hiking socks and she spun on a heel, ready to go.

She stayed on the back deck in the far South-East corner silently while I laid the salt circle and drew the simple symbols and lit the tiny fire in the copper bowl. I knelt, the katana unsheathed across my knees and emptied my mind.

The purest serenity enveloped me.

I became one with the infinite void and time ceased.

Peace and calm evolved into consciousness and I became aware of my surroundings again, feeling a little strain in my arms. I was holding the katana gently in my left hand, with both arms outstretched above me. I was standing, the little fire having gone cold. With ease I spun the blade to my right hand and relaxed, sheathing it in a simple motion.

I felt clothed in the purest light, like the star's fires that traveled through space in the multitudes of colors from the gown of the Goddess; I felt renewed somehow, and I gathered everything back into the basket with joy.

I turned, and was a little startled to see the red-head standing on the deck, tears streaming down her face. I had completely forgotten she was there. She was trembling, smiling; and a happy laugh broke from her lips as I approached her.

Her mouth tried to form words and failed, till she managed a husky, soft, "I did not know; couldn't have known.

"Thank you. I will never see you quite the same. . ."

She followed me back inside in silence, and sat on the edge of her bed while I put everything away.

_____________________________________________________________________________________

It was a little late for just the banana bread and a little too early for a real breakfast, so I compromised, cooking up a half-pound of thick-sliced pepper bacon. The girl came in when I was finishing setting the table and she sat giving me a warm smile, letting me serve her.

She came back from her thoughts with the first bites of food and sips of coffee.

"There are no words for that, you know?"

I shook my head gently, taking a full swallow of coffee, enjoying the rich, strong warmth it spread through me.

She laughed. "How many layers are there to you, Hon? Every time I think I understand you better you surprise me completely!"

I chuckled. "I don't think I'm an onion! I'm just me, a little to one side of ordinary people maybe, but that's only from living away from cities."

She smiled, munching the smoked bacon delicately.

She thought, "I can see why my clients have followed you since you were first only a word-of-mouth rumor on the island; a sensitive of great promise! Your disappearance in the storm all those years ago was supposed to have seen you delivered to Langely for some project, not raised to be an exotic pleasure- girl! That Ida discovered you soon after she retired was a godsend; and her refusal to continue reporting on you after her husband died meant all my clients could do was monitor you from a distance!

"Do either of you know about the bear that mauled a close-observation team four years ago? Do you know that every surveillance device we've ever planted in this house has malfunctioned almost immediately for some reason? Your Monica must have some sort of power of her own, and that's why I came here - but I'm not the same woman I was, because of interacting with you two. . ."

I cleared the table, seeing the girl lost in her thoughts again. She started when I refilled her coffee cup, and laughed.

"I was just wondering how you'll cope with Chicago! What do we have to do today for you to be ready to go?"

We looked at the little list I'd written up, and she promptly got busy disassembling her bed and returned it to being a sofa, diving into cleaning the bathrooms next with while I started the bedding to wash in the machine, letting the dishes soak while I looked through the pantry, satisfying myself that Master would have no trouble fending for herself for a few days. . .

_____________________________________________________________________________________

Monica was buried in work.

Her office on the 18th floor was buried in neat stacks of files and maps, and the phone rang off the hook with panicked calls from the company's Board of Directors. She'd answered the first half-dozen perfunctorily, then let her voice-mail take over so she could actually get some work done. The mainframe was an electronic crater, a complete write-off as the server drive had tried to become a lathe. Re-booting it once it was repaired would take two days, and the drive would arrive the first of the following week!

The company's back-up files took up an entire cabinet. . .

She looked at her watch. Ten o'clock. Time to take a break, the phone be damned! She stood and stretched and grabbed her coat, passing a new geologist hired in her absence who was busy setting up his office with the help of his secretary. Loren waved as she went by and held up two fingers, indicating she'd be downstairs to join her in two.

"Enough time to hit the bathroom, before I end up putting it off till lunch;" she thought.

Out of the bank of elevators and through the marble-and-chrome-and-glass lobby and finally into the open air of the overcast morning, she leaned against the cast concrete facade and dug out a cigarette from a pocket, sighing. Traffic on Broadway was typical and noisy, but the breeze was from the North, carrying away much of the City's smog.

Loren appeared around the corner, a woman in her late 30's with a penchant for vintage clothes and margueritas. She nodded to the older woman and lit up, inhaling deeply.

"Richard is weird!"

"Your new geologist?"

She nodded. "He brought his entire rock collection with him! I've got another six boxes of specimens to unpack; and he's already wanting me to start organizing his files, too!"

"What's his project;" Monica asked, bemused.

"The Elk Meadows fiasco, from what I can tell. Why in the world the company decided to re-open that mess is beyond me!"

"The site where we lost a coring rig a couple years back? That was a wash!"

Loren grimaced and finished her cigarette, the cool morning making her shiver a little as a breeze whipped up.

"Maybe it's a tax write-off for an investor - who knows. I gotta get back and play rock-hound. See ya!"

She trotted back to the warmth of the foyer, leaving Monica to think.

Finished, she headed back to her office. Seeing the error message still blinking on her monitor she disgustedly pulled the server cable from the back of the tower and locked her door.

"Time to work another miracle;" she thought. She moved the bookcase by her desk to reveal a flush-
mounted safe with a touch-pad. The small door opened to her taps and she withdrew four CD's; closing the safe and replacing the bookshelf.

It took her only minutes to load her private week-old back-up copies of her database; illegal as far as company policy went because the discs held highly confidential financial asset information, but redundancy and covering her back had continuously seen her accomplish the impossible. She'd never let on, and never intended to.

It took three hours to update the data from current reports and files, and then another hour to write the query formulas that would automatically compile the necessary information into tables. The number of stacked files were reduced, becoming foot-thick and two-foot thick stacks ready to go back to storage.

Disgusted at finding only cold sludge in her coffee mug, she stretched and realized the time.

"I get a break, and then it'll be time to check in with the girls and see what time I have to meet them at the airport!"

She wondered how the slave's day had been going, knowing the girl had to resurrect a sense of fashion and clothes-consciousness to feel functional in the upper echelons of Chicago; and there were other forces to recognize and strategize against.

Walking out of her office, she was flagged down by Gary, a senior partner, and waved into Richard's office. Neither he nor his secretary were around, but Monica saw the specimen collection was filling most of an entire wall.

Gary was holding one, an aggregate of yellowish rectangular crystals.

"Mon, have you ever seen this stuff? It's cockscomb marcasite! It's got the same atoms as iron pyrite - but you sure couldn't start a fire with this stuff, huh? Legend has it that this stuff was found in the abandoned homesteads up near where you were born!"

Monica froze.

She remembered being a teenager, working Alpine Search & Rescue with her Dad during a bad blizzard. Seven snowmobilers had radioed that they were lost in the back country, with one rider having broken his leg when he hit a tree. It'd taken the six members of the team most of the night to make it into the vicinity of the tourists when a small avalanche buried the trail behind her, cutting her off from her Dad and the rest of the team.

She found the men about an hour later, staying in constant touch with her Dad by CB radio about a thousand yards further back. They were huddled in a circle around a failed fire - most of the wood likely too hard for them to lite in the foul weather; or their skills were that poor.

They were all dead.

She had seen death before, but that scene had gotten to her badly. Shaking, she moved the bodies away from the stacked tree limbs and deadfall and saw dozens of burnt matches - but only the tips had burned. Probably damp, she remembered thinking.

She carried a fire-starter kit with her all the time on runs like this, the S&R guys insisting that when all else failed, simple flint and steel would work. It had been bitterly cold. The flint was difficult to hold in her mittened hands, so she removed one briefly, aware of just how fast her exposed skin would freeze. Shielding the wad of linen char and hair she struck a shower of sparks, and again.

It took, and brightly, greedily!

The larger limbs caught fast, and she'd taken the other mitten off to warm her fingers, noticing her new treasure, an old turquoise stone set in a flowing sterling ring catching the light. . .

She blinked, and started when Gary took her shoulder.

"You OK, Mon? You looked a thousand miles away for a minute there!"

She blinked hard again, and swallowed past a suddenly dry throat seeing the new geologist staring at her.

She laughed self-consciously, thinking furiously.

"Fine, thanks; I have to get back to my nightmare project! Cool collection, Richard - I'd love to get a chance to go through it with you when I get freed up."

She turned on her heel and went to the bathroom, splashing water on her face; feeling an empty dread. Staring at her face in the mirror, she felt more of the pieces of the puzzle that had raised all those red flags in her mind fall into place.

"I have to think this through;" she thought, heading to the elevator, wanting a cup of coffee and a little space.

The coffee shop was a little nook in the foyer, and settling onto a stool with a double mocha she tried to make sense of the whole.

The building's emergency klaxon shrieked.

_____________________________________________________________________________________

Cello sonatas filled the house.

To say that Deirdre could be industrious was an understatement! I was finished with the dishes and had barely wiped down the counters when she emerged, carrying cleaning supplies.

"Done! Both bathrooms - and I took a minute to straighten up your bedroom, too! Time to take a break!"

Thwack was climbing his cage, wanting to get away from the strong smell of the detergents, so I moved out of the red-head's way to get him, and she knelt down to replace everything in the cupboards under the sink. My beautiful little bird stopped pacing and stood by the door to his cage expectantly when he saw me round the corner into the bedroom, his bright crest rising. Freed, he jumped to my shoulder and began to tell me what he was thinking, whistling away merrily.

I looked around our bedroom and was amazed. It was as perfect as if I'd had several hours in there - and going into the bathroom to open the window more, I saw it to be spotless and completely neat, too!

I met the red-head in the living room, she sitting on the sofa sipping a cup of coffee, her eyes sparkling.

"Did I do OK?"

I could only laugh. "And then some! What, were you a 'Rent-a-Maid' while you were in college?"

She beamed. "Hardly! I was a double major most of the time! I've just always been something of a neat freak, I guess."

The dryer beeped, and I turned to get the bedding out but Deirdre had other plans.

"Oh, no you don't! The kitchen is perfect, and all we have to do yet is fold some stuff and then dig into your closets and see what you'll pack, right?"

"There's a litter box to sift and maybe a little ironing I should do; but you're right, most everything's done.

"I thought this would take most of the day!"

"Ta-daa! Take a seat and get a load off, sweetie!"

I sighed. Laughed. And gave in, getting comfortable; Thwack jumping to the window sill behind me to get some sun and a chance to strut.

The sun.

"OK, what time is it, anyway?"

She checked her watch. "Almost noon! I have to get on the phone and call the charter service!"

"I'll make us some lunch while you do that, and then I want to check in with Monica."

As the girl went into the office to get the cordless, she called out, "I want cheeseburgers! I know you have some ground buffalo in the fridge - and I like mine with Swiss!"

"Coming right up." I stretched and yawned, suddenly aware that we had been busy indeed, the hours flying by. I fired up the grill outside and pulled paper plates from under the counter. No need to do dishes again; and I was gearing myself up to cope with the rush of memories that opening my clothes chest would bring.

"Those days feel like a lifetime ago! I wonder how much of my old wardrobe will meet with Deirdre's approval; still be in some proximity of current fashion?"

The girl came back into the kitchen, saying, ". . . OK! I'll be at this number, just give me a call about an hour before you're ready. . . right; bye!"

She beamed. "I found a Citation available! You're going to get first-class treatment. No lines, no hassles, just get there within half an hour of departure time and we're off!"

I looked out the kitchen window, seeing the mesquite chips making fragrant smoke from under the lid of the grill.

"Do we have a rough idea of the time yet?"

"Nope - they'll call back when the jet's been checked out and fueled and they get the forecasts and a flight plan filed; and that could take at least a couple hours if everything goes right the first time.

"With luck we'll take off before sunset; we'll just have to wait and see."

I ducked outside to check on the burgers, turning then, sprinkling garlic powder and salt and a few drops of Worcestershire sauce before layering on the cheese and turning the burners down.

"Those smell wonderful!"

I grinned. "You know where the root beer is, right?"

"Yep! I'm starving!"

The simple lunch was served up and eaten with greedy deliberation and methodicalness, with not a word between us. Thwack had returned to his cage for a nap, and both cats had yet to move significantly. A superb pianist wove his way through Chopin's work, the grace and passion of the music reaching deep within me.

Plates going into the trash, I took the nearly-full bag out to the garage and looked around.

There were clouds forming downslope, likely nothing more than a wayward pocket of moisture pushed up against the mountains, trapped. I sent my thoughts to my love, finding nothing. She was probably buried in work, focusing hard enough to keep me from any connection to her frame of mind. It wasn't as if we could share each others thoughts; it was more like knowing her heart sometimes and she, mine.

Coming back through the door Deirdre was setting her two bags on the sofa, and there were stacks of clothes already retrieved waiting to get stored. It brought the sense of my going traveling to the forefront.

"Can I wear your sweater home? It's going to be cold when we land, you know."

I shrugged, smiling. "Sure! I guess it's time to see what I have to wear. I'm going to need your advice on this; I haven't thought about clothes in years and years!"

She laughed, and I remembered blowing her hair back on just that subject when we first met. . .

I blushed furiously, more than a little shy.

"I don't own a watch," I said.

The girl laughed warmly and put her arms around me. "It won't be a problem - and that'll make a great gift for us to go shopping for when we get home!"

I leaned back enough to see her face clearly and said earnestly, "Please, please don't spend a lot of money on me, OK?"

She stepped back and held my hands.

"Dear Rose, I live in a very different world than this.

"I take home just over $1,300,000 a year, and I have an open expense account good for a half-million before I have to go to my Board and ask for authorization. I have a maid and a five-star chef available on- site around the clock."

I shivered.

"Don't worry about a thing. I should have the entire time free of any obligations, and if something does come up, you can have one of my cars and a Platinum card to pass the time!"

I looked more than a little nervous.

She hugged me close, and then stepped back and twirled, smiling. "I came to your world and found a new part of myself; will you trust me to show you mine, and let me share all the new things there with you?"

All I could say was ". . . yes. . ."

Her eyes were dancing as she led me into my sewing room.

"Let's see what you have for clothes, then! I know everything you have in your closet in the bedroom - but there're a couple footlockers in here that Monica said held your finery!

"Show me everything!"

Her enthusiasm and delight were infectious, and it drew me out of feeling so self-conscious. My hands trembled a little as I picked up the old blond trunk and took it into the living room. The battered black one I left for the time being.

The brass hasp and latches were released, and the lid opened to reveal the bleached linen I'd wrapped everything in almost eleven years ago. The rising scent was clean and dry, easing my sudden fears that everything could have musted badly. The sachets filled with heather and lavender were still faintly fragrant, and the sight of them brought a quiet smile to my heart.

There were ten outfits. I'd sewn all of them, mostly by hand as they were very detailed.

Deirdre looked a little shocked as the first blue silk cami, underskirt, long skirt and short jacket came into view. The honey double-faced French wool suit came next with its' tailored vest, followed by the black crepe French-cuffed opaque blouse and long scarf. My cream leathers came out next, with the relaxed pants and long six-gore skirt, the matching lace-up bustier making her gasp. The Eisenhower-styled cropped jacket was my own adaptation taken from my long-standing penchant to dress casually in military-surplus, but the soft calfskin and snow-white satin lining transformed it into something new.

My long green fully-lined polished silk shirtdress came next, with the tall collar and deep cuffs; as did the matching long corslet and the thick polished black belt. I remembered the eyestrain that corslet had cost me - but it was nothing compared to - ah, yes. The red. It was a deep crimson, almost a searing primary but much deeper. There was the lined, long duster-styled coat of double-faced wool with its' removable cape collar, the matching sheer chiffon pleated skirt that required at least 4-inch heels, the full-length calf gloves with their seed buttons at the wrist and top and the silk brocade corslet.

Images and memories flooded me as the touch and colors took me back to a time when I learned how to sew. . .

Deirdre was shaking.

The black take-off of the blue silk outfit was next, this time with Venetian lace trimming the edges of everything in layers; a few long handkerchief corners flowing long. The double-breasted worsted wool hunter green slack suit came out next with its' matching long-sleeved knit silk tee trimmed in satin ribbon; and then there was the triumph of my patience: my "country-girl" dress, with its' three petticoats all laced with ribbon and inset with needlepoint scroll-work, the dress a watered pattern of lavenders and cream on linen, its' long, button-up sleeves puffing a little at the shoulders, the stand-up high neck leading down with a long line of seed-buttons past an inset of Battenburg lace to give one a glimpse of the white cotton cami and corslet beneath. The fitted bodice was boned and three layers, with a line of buttons running up the back

I paused to look at the girl.

Tears were brimming in her eyes, and her hands were clasped so tightly I could make out the individual bones in her fingers and the backs of her hands; the skin taut and bloodless.

She looked at me.

"You did all this?"

I could only smile.

"There's more?"

I nodded. She waved me on, her fingers stiff but unable to keep from beginning to touch the clothing finally.

There were two outfits left.

My midnight blue velvet long gown was next; a simple design and pattern to sew, but I'd made it out of the best silk velvet. Lined, I'd worn it nude beneath to feel the crepe against me and remind me I was beautiful. . . The last was my black satin tuxedo straight from a then-popular American designer, perfectly fitted to me with the broad lapels of the day. The piped slacks had a high waist, something I'd wanted to hold me in perfect form when I might wear it; the swept tail-coat revealing a shimmery sweep of a pleated gauze silk formal shirt complete with its' pin-tucked bib front and steel stud buttons.

And the trunk was empty.

I leaned back and sighed. The memories of the thousands of hours that trunk represented, with me alone in my old apartment were almost too much.

Deirdre went back into my sewing room and brought out my rolling clothes rod that I used when I was ironing and began to hang everything up, shaking the wrinkles out, running her hands over every detail, her eyes saucer-like.

I stretched to relieve some of the stress and caught the girl's eyes.

"What do you think?

"Is there enough there to make something of a passable wardrobe these days, at least for the couple of days I'll be in Chicago with you?"

She laughed, and jumped into my arms.

"This is unbelievable!"

I cocked my head, suddenly shy.

"Baby, you have better clothes here than anything I could have dreamed of! How long did all this take you to make, anyway? Do you have clothes? My god, yes!"

I got very shy. . .

"Um, it took about a year and a half. I used to sew for a living before I met Monica, and I'd sew for myself for something to do. I probably spent fifty hours a week, every week working on all that.

"I used to get so caught up in what I was doing I would almost go blind. . ."

We spent the next hour and a half with me trying everything on to make sure the stitching still held and the fit still worked. The steamer got quite a work-out, taking the wrinkles out of everything but the leathers with only a sweep of the head or two. The leathers would need some brown paper and a warm iron. . . Deirdre was entranced, and I felt my body finding the old posture pretty easily as I looked in the mirror. I had some mending to do on the hand-stitching on the lace on my black silk outfit and my "country-girl" dress, but that was about all. The satin borders on the tuxedo were looking a little fatigued, unnoticeable to anyone unless they had a magnifying glass, both the coat and the pants.

All-in-all, the chest had traveled through the years in relatively good shape. Deirdre swore it had to be because of the bone-dry air, and was more than a little frustrated that everything would be too big on her.

The phone rang, and she dove for it.

"Five o'clock? Great! Yeah, I know the charter terminal. . . yes, just myself and a friend. Good. You have the account number; right. Thank-you!"

She tossed the phone onto the sofa and clapped her hands in delight.

"See if you can get in touch with Monica, Hon - we have to be at the airport by five - and the limo will be here at four; the charter service arranged it. Everything's set! I can't wait!"

I got a quick kiss when I took the phone, and felt my heart pounding suddenly. I looked at the clock in the kitchen.

It was 2:40pm, and a shadow crossed my mind as I focused on punching in the numbers for Monica's office.

_____________________________________________________________________________________

She was out of the coffee shop in an instant, racing to get to the security desk; all of her Rescue instincts and training switching into high-gear. The red lights above all the main doors were flashing one insistent word that printed on her brain: FIRE.

She slammed to a stop at the desk as others pounded to reach the same destination. The sergeant at the desk was looking at the fire panel.

"Seventeenth floor, the big law firm. Main filing area.

"Evacuate the floors above and below them NOW!"

He grabbed a red handset and reported the specifics to the Metro Fire Department. He talked fast, clear, and hung up the phone, looking at Monica.

"You're a medic, right?"

"Yeah, EMT, Park County. Do you need me." Her emotions were flat calm, like plate steel.

"Nothing yet - evacuation is under way, fire's spreading even with the emergency sprinklers - but slow for now. We'll probably have everybody here to take care of this within minutes. I'd appreciate it if you'd hang here and keep an eye on the evacuees, though - we'll take care of the rest."

"Go - I got it here."

He gave her a critical once-over, grunted in satisfaction and left at a run to the elevator control panel to start reprogramming the system for "evacuate-only, floors 17 - 19."

People began streaming out of the elevators, some already suffering from smoke inhalation; but it was orderly enough as a line of security guards and police from the street got them outside and away from access areas emergency apparatus and crews would need.

With ten of twenty elevators on emergency programming, the last of some six-to-seven hundred people were out of the foyer and gathering around the arriving ambulances when the fire trucks and their entry teams began pouring in.

Monica walked over to the triage area and saw that most of the later arriving rigs had three crews members and a driver - plenty of help to go around. Being in street clothes and without her run bag, she walked across the street and settled in to watch the show. . .

_____________________________________________________________________________________

No answer. I tried her cell phone, and got "All circuits are busy. Please hang up and try again.." I wasn't worried, getting only a sense of concentration when I focused on her.

Deirdre was watching me. "Something wrong?"

I shrugged. "No answer, and the cell lines are all busy. It happens now-and-then; and we've got plenty of time."

She was still captivated with the rack of clothes, and her excitement of getting me ready for our trip made her shine.

"I feel like a glass of wine! Do you have something white?"

I grinned. "I have a couple bottles of a good Chardonnay under the counter where the flour is - help yourself and bring me a glass, too - I need to relax and figure out what to wear.

"I'm not bringing everything, surely."

She danced from the kitchen a minute later holding two glasses, beaming.

"No, silly; we'll get that sorted out.

"A toast to your upcoming adventure!"

"Cheers - and may we have a safe trip!"

"Absolutely!"

The wine hit the spot. After the second welcome sips I went into the garage and retrieved Monica's ballistic nylon suitcase, removing the plastic trash bag that kept the dust off it and returned to see the red- head sitting with her wine glass, obviously deep in thought.

She looked at me and cocked an eyebrow.

"What about shoes? You can't wear your boots with everything, you know - though I wouldn't mind sending you out on a mission as soon as we get home! Do you have any more surprises?"

I held her eye calmly. "I'm not opening the black trunk for you, dear; there are things in that one which are much better left in peace;" I thought.

"I have two pair of boots, including my new ones; and that's it for City-wear I'm afraid."

She just looked at me.

"No. Period. I am not going to bring anything I consider personal apparel! That's for just between Master and me!"

All she did was blink, take another sip of wine, and smile.

"No! Get used to it! I have never worn anything that personal out in any public environment and that's not going to change now." I was glaring a little, I think.

She started getting a case of the giggles.

"OK; you win; for now anyway. Just remember; "Pay-backs are a bitch!"

I stuck my tongue out at her and we both started laughing.

Taking a deep breath she calmed enough to ask, "So what are you going to do about lingerie?"

My shoulders slumped, and I went back into my sewing room to the closet next to my reloading equipment, dreading having to face her with an armload of what was in the narrow, tall set of drawers there.

But I did.

I returned to the sofa with my hands full of hand sewn lingerie, and she choked on her wine.

"You've got to be kidding! Lingerie, too?"

I blushed furiously. "Everything but hose, unless you count my only two pair of Swiss silk stockings - I never wore them. I don't know if they're still any good. . ."

Deirdre got busy, matching outfits to the lingerie she sorted out from the soft, small heap.

I poured her another glass of wine; mine remaining half-full. She chose the complete red outfit, the green shirtdress, the black and the blue silk outfits, and the hunter green slack suit. I was fascinated to see her sudden resolve to get me organized, and she picked through the lingerie unhesitatingly.

"Why tap pants, instead of anything else;?" she asked suddenly.

She lifted her head to look at me, holding five pair of them in Thai silk. I stuck my chin out playfully and said, "You obviously love wearing them, too; so answer your own question!"

"You're taking all of them!"

I shrugged, chuckling.

It took less than half an hour to get my bag packed, and by the time I was done, the girl was, too. I took an extra pair of jeans and my denim jacket and a thick black sweater just so I wouldn't get too lost in wearing finery too fast.

Time to jump into the shower and get ready. I handed Deirdre the phone and asked her to try Monica again while I was washing up. Kallis and the big tomcat were nowhere to be seen, likely as not knowing what the scent of the suitcase meant; I suspected they were already lurking somewhere, pouting.

I showered hard and fast, got my hair dry, and started putting on my face. Monica had made me keep a full make-up kit over the years, loving it whenever I would spend time creating a subtle look for her, either for our private times or the rare occasion when we'd go out. I sighed resignedly, and sparingly applied a favorite perfume from its' heavy one-ounce crystal bottle.

The cosmetics got packed in my soft black leather day pack, along with basic toiletries and so on.

I came into view, and the girl's jaw dropped. She took me into her arms without a word. I untangled myself and got dressed fast while she watched, in my honey double-faced French wool suit and black crepe blouse. With my new boots on, I went to Monica's closet and took out her black lamb trench coat and slipped it on.

Running a fast brush through my hair, I slung my small pack over my shoulder and asked my bright-eyed audience of one; "Well?"

She stood and darted over to my jewelry chest, taking out my diamond pendant and the matching studs, my turquoise-and-sterling set, and found my rings. "You can't go anywhere without some jewelry, Hon!"

The turquoise went into my shoulder bag and I put my finger-rings on; the emerald-cut sapphire, the heavy channel-set princess-cut ruby, and the diamond with it's six small round stones, and I got the studs in on the first try, with the solitaire going around my neck under the scarf.

"Now?"

"You look like you're in your early thirties, and an upper-level executive who's not to be messed with! Incredible! You wear those clothes like you were born to power; privilege! Yes!" She'd been walking around me, looking me over attentively; and she could only sigh.

I exhaled noisily, not realizing I'd been holding my breath a little. Spying the phone, I dialed Master again; both numbers. I got the same nerveless, automated message. I shrugged.

"I got nothing, either. The limo should be here before long, so let's finish the wine! I can't wait!"

I refilled her glass and topped mine off, thinking: "Two coincidences only plot into a line. It'll take another something-out-of-the-ordinary for me to make a pattern. If something was really wrong, I should feel it!"

Going into the office, I wrote a note to my love, should our paths fail to cross before I could call her from Chicago. The girl gave me a little privacy; but as I apparently wasn't concerned, she wasn't going to be, either. Finished, I returned and found the girl in her leather jacket, wearing her fanny pack over one shoulder.

A horn sounded briefly as headlights flared in the windows. Thwack startled badly.

It was time to go.

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