The night's darkness surrounded them like a death shroud, hiding their approach from the prying eyes of those who searched the endless shadows. Natasha struggled to keep the pace Uncle Herman set, her smaller stride stumbling occasionally as she was forced to take two steps for every one of his. Nate remained asleep, cradled in the man's strong arms, snuggled warm and safe from the evening's breeze beneath a mountain of muscles. They had taken two buses so far and were now walking, for what seemed to be hours, though she knew it had only been a few minutes. The darkness began to thin to the first glimpse of dawn, tinting the sky with a brilliant glow of blue.

At last they stopped at the edge of a short stone wall, surrounding the exquisitely manicured lawn of a large Spanish style house. The windows of the stucco home were dark, silently awaiting the daylight like a praying mantis awaits its unsuspecting prey. Uncle Herman handed Nate back to Natasha and sat the bags he'd carried across his massive shoulder, next to her feet on the sidewalk.

"Stay here," he ordered in a quiet voice. "I'll be right back."

His accent seemed deeper than it had earlier in the still night air, his tone heavy with authority and his breath slightly labored from the exertion of their walk. Reluctantly, Natasha did as she was told, whether from fear of the man’s size, or exhaustion from their escapade, she couldn’t say. Setting her own bundle next to the bags on the ground, she leaned back against the wall, breathing in the clean aromas of a crystal-clear morning.

She wasn't certain where they were or how far they had traveled, but she knew the usual stench of the city and knew she was nowhere near there now. Breathing deeper Natasha closed her eyes, drifting away on a cloud of fragrant flowers and freshly mowed grass. The concrete was moist from the recent spraying of sprinklers, the silent whispers of roaming cats returning from their evening safari lent their hand in lifting her despair. This was the way she remembered life not so long ago, the way she hoped it would be again, one day soon.

Long minutes ticked by and Natasha found waiting for the blonde giant difficult. Nostalgia and fear of being spotted loitering outside the sleeping mansion, made her already alert senses seem a bit more heightened. The soft hum of a truck's engine could be heard coming down the driveway next to the house, causing Natasha's head to jerk in its direction. Fear rose in her throat like a flame on a dry twig. The sound came closer, closing in all around her until she reacted in the only manner she knew. Holding tight to the sleeping baby, she slid across the wall, hiding amongst the thinning shadows of dawn and damp grass. The truck stopped next to the curb and she cautiously poked her head up, revealing her hiding place.

"Get in," Uncle Herman called out casually, pushing the door of the red pick-up open from the inside. Natasha cautiously rose, seeing his large frame silhouetted by the light of the cab.

"Uncle Herman?" she whispered, her voice shaking, her legs weak from walking and her chest filled with a tightness of fear, she'd began to know all too well.

"Come on, get in."

Natasha crawled slowly across the stone wall, stepping to the open door. She placed the bags into the bed of the truck next to several large boxes and frowned. She hadn’t expected to be a party to auto theft when they left the city. Quietly, she laid Nate in the middle of the seat and slid in next to him.

"Where are we going?" she asked in a hushed whisper. Her heart pounded wildly, as he shifted the transmission and turned the wheel, driving away from the costly area.

"I told you. East."

"You said we were going into the desert. Why?"

"Don't worry. I'm not going to rape you and leave you for the buzzards. I told the others to meet us there."

The amusement in his accented tone made Natasha feel cheap and dirty, unwanted and unattractive. Since being on the streets she had learned that it didn't matter what a person looked like, or what their dreams were, or even their fears, everyone was the same as the person next to them, homeless and discarded by society, prey for the stronger and more experienced.

"Whose truck is this?" she finally found the courage to ask, glancing around the black leather interior.

The dashboard was clean and shimmered softly as the growing daylight reflected through the front windows. The smell of newness invaded her senses, washing over her in a wave soaked with money and expense. The carpet beneath her feet was clean and plush and the seats were thick, with no exposed springs or stuffing.

"Would you believe it's mine?" he replied, glancing sideways at her as he spoke. Natasha eyed the man's handsome features for a few minutes before lowering her gaze.

"No."

"Then let's just say it belongs to a friend of mine."

"Did you steal it?"

Uncle Herman's laugh was a seductive blanket, surrounding her and flowing over her like rich warm chocolate. An inner voice warned her to stay clear of this man. He would turn her life upside down and get her into more trouble than she could imagine. Ignoring the insisting voice that ordered her to escape while she was still a mere bystander, Natasha glanced back at his strong, handsome profile then lowered her lashes again when he turned to smile at her.

"Don't tell me living on the streets has given you a conscience? Or did you buy all that food you brought to the camp last night?"

"I just asked a question, you don't have to tell me if you don't want to."

Natasha's tone grew thick with irritation and sharp with indignation. She may have been homeless and yes, she may have taken food that didn't belong to her, but that didn't mean she was below responsibility, or that she should ignore her ideals and morals.

"Wouldn't want to be an accessory to the crime, Sweetheart?" he teased, his amusement beginning to wear on Natasha's tired nerves.

"Just forget I said anything, alright. How much longer before we stop?"

"Why? Have a hot date I should know about?"

"You're a very irritating man, did you know that?"

"And you talk a lot for someone who’s supposed to be quiet."

"I never said I was quiet, in fact I don't remember saying anything at all, nor do I choose to say anything more."

"You didn't have to talk to me," he told her, ignoring her attempt of tuning him out. "I knew you were there even without speaking to you."

Uncle Herman cleared his throat and glanced out the window next to him, allowing the subject to drop like an old piece of rubbish no longer wanted.

The moon was full and white, barely affected by the rising sun. The sounds of crickets began to fade in the morning light, allowing only the soft hum of the engine and hypnotic vibration of the tires on the road to invade the silence. Natasha's irritation soon gave way to her fatigue, forcing her eyes to droop and her head to bob against her chest.

"Why don't you lie down next to the baby," Uncle Herman suggested noticing her struggle to stay erect in the seat. "We have at least a couple hours’ drive ahead of us. You might as well catch a nap while you can."

Natasha wanted to object, fear suddenly rising in her stomach of what might happen while she slept, but the need for sleep and the warmth of the truck's cab made her reservations dissolve, unspoken in her throat. She shifted in her seat trying to lie against the door, but couldn't find a comfortable position to rest in. She tried shifting at an angle next to Nate but again found the situation unacceptable.

"Lie down next to the baby," Uncle Herman insisted, amusement echoing in his deep accent. "You can sleep with your arm around him, so he won't fall off the seat."

"No, that's alright."

Natasha felt her embarrassment burning scarlet on her ivory cheeks. A strange feeling came over her as she thought of lying so close to this man's body, a feeling she was uncertain of, as well as oddly receptive to.

"Don't argue, Sweetheart," his voice was soft yet demanding, as he pressed the issue. "Curl up on the seat and go to sleep. I promise I won't bite you while you're out...I'll save that for our first date."

"Very funny," she growled glancing down at Nate who stirred in his sleep.

Reluctantly she lifted the baby, cradling him in the crook of her arm as she tucked her legs up beneath her, her feet braced against the door and her head inches away from Uncle Herman's powerful thigh.

"Go to sleep, Sweetheart," he whispered with a gentle smile. "I'll wake you when we get there." Uncle Herman shifted in his seat next to Natasha's head.

Sleep and exhaustion became an unwelcome rival, pulling Natasha down deep within its enticing embrace. The soft rocking of the truck reacted like a lullaby, gently weighing her down into the quiet arms of slumber.

Dreams of a cold hard ground, pains of hunger and fear and the uncertainty life offered, surrounded her, causing her to sigh and moan softly in her sleep. She tried to grasp objects as they passed by in the dark, unclear and unrecognizable bits and pieces of life floated past her closed eyes as though she was falling through time and space, then she focused on something green. As green as the rarest emerald, clear and crystal-like precious gems.

She reached out, but they were just beyond her fingertips, unreceptive to her touch. Each time she stretched further toward them, they would drift that much farther from her grasp, until she felt the hopelessness close in around her again. As she began to surrender to her obvious failure, the clear green objects came closer, moving within her grasp, no longer taunting or teasing. She reached out again this time finding them, closing them inside her hand gently.

Slowly she uncurled her fingers, first one then another until at last all five were open, her palm lying flat in the darkness. Tears welled in her eyes when she realized the beautiful stones were gone, and then she heard her name whispered on the wings of a breeze and she looked up. In front of her were the green jewels, sparkling with amusement in the midst of a handsome face. She took a step toward her gallant lord, yet like the gems he moved away. She wanted to touch him, to run her fingers through his long satiny hair, to taste the tender passion of his kiss, but each time she tried he moved a step further away from her.

Again, and again she heard her name whispered, floating through the darkness until all that remained was her handsome gentleman, tall, strong, standing in a field of wildflowers, the wind blowing gently through his blonde hair, his shirt open and flapping in the breeze. He stretched his arms out for her and called her name, beckoning her to him, inviting her into his sensual embrace. She reached for him again but was pulled back down into the darkness. Despair and hopelessness encased her, surrounding her in vice-like arms. Quietly the winds once again called out her name until her eyes fluttered open, focusing on the handsome face she'd been trying to reach. With a sleepy smile, she reached forward, touching the warm stubble of the firm chin.

"Time to wake up, Sweetheart," Uncle Herman said seductively, placing his large hand across hers, holding her hand against his chin.

His touch was gentle, kind, and warmer than any dream. Natasha realized in a brief flutter of her heart, how real this man she was admiring so openly, truly was. With a quick jerk, she retrieved her hand and sat up in the seat. The dim light of dawn, she had left in favor of sleep, had given away to the brilliant colors of daylight.

"Where are we?" she asked through sleep stirred tones.

"North of San Jose. We'll wait here and see if the others make it by nightfall. If not, we'll go on without them."

Uncle Herman slid out of his side of the cab and walked around to the back of the truck, where he began unloading the boxes.

Stiffness caused the muscles in her neck to grab and her legs felt weak and numb from being curled up so long. She stepped slowly from the truck's interior, stretching her arms toward the morning sky. Her head fell back, and her thick stocking cap fell from her head, allowing her hair she'd been hiding for so many days, to flow freely across her shoulders.

Uncle Herman stopped his actions and watched in a state of mesmerized, hypnotic shock. The woman before him was older than the child he had at first thought her to be, and much more attractive than the dirty scoundrel he had known since the night before. For weeks he had seen her, looked at her through what he accused were the eyes of a lusty older man, cursing himself time and again for desiring an innocent child.

The uncoiling of her hair made her lower her arms and bend over, retrieving her cap from the ground. Herman watched as she bent in front of him, her tiny bottom displayed through the pulling of her baggy pants, her long legs accented beneath the thin material of dirty blue jeans. Instantly he found himself craving what lies beyond those layers of soiled clothes, wondering if she was as beautiful undressed and clean, as his imagination was envisioning her to be.

"Where's Nate?" she asked, glancing around the area. Uncle Herman blinked repeatedly before clearing his throat and focusing on the question put before him.

"I put him over there on his blanket."

Natasha walked around the truck and saw the baby, cuddled securely in the middle of his warm blanket, in the shade of the large truck. He reached upward toward the morning sky, cooing contentedly at his new surroundings. She looked back to Uncle Herman and caught a full glimpse of his straining muscles as he lifted the boxes from the truck, stacking them on the ground. Visions of her gallant lord came into focus and she reluctantly forced her eyes off him before her blush would give her inner thoughts away.

She started to move toward the baby and froze in mid-step. Her heart jumped, and her throat constricted, forcing a scream from the depths of her soul. Uncle Herman was at her side in a split second, his big warm hands on her shoulders, his body brushing dangerously close to her hip. He frowned and looked first from Natasha, to the baby, then smiled as he glanced back to the young woman.

"Don't panic," he insisted with an amused tone etching his voice.

He knelt and gently tossed the small desert lizard away from Nate before Natasha grabbed the baby and began inspecting him for any injuries or bites.

"It's just a lizard," Uncle Herman argued. "It wouldn't have done more than investigate him before going about its business."

"How can you be so calm? It could have bit him."

"It won't hurt him unless he's an insect or a mouse. It's perfectly harmless, and something you'd better get used to, Sweetheart, if you're going to survive out here."

"Quit calling me that!" she snapped, pulling the blanket from Nate to inspect him closer. "And what makes you think I'm going to survive out here, let alone stay another minute? I want to go back to Los Angeles right now."

"Go back to what? The city has nothing for you, unless you're willing to become another hooker, and trust me, it has more than it can handle without worrying about you. If you go back, you'll end up beneath another bridge or in a dark alley, cold and hungry, and that's only if you're lucky. Now you tell me, is that any place for a young woman to be, let alone a place to have a small baby?"

"I can take care of myself and my baby, and I don't need any knight in tarnished armor coming to my rescue."

"That's not your baby, Sweetheart, and the state wouldn't care less one way or the other when they take him. Just how the hell are you going to prevent that from happening?"

"That's my worry, not yours, and quit calling me Sweetheart."

"I don't know any other name to call you, and I don't think you'd appreciate it if I called you what I'm thinking."

Natasha opened her mouth to utter another snide rhetorical when Nate began crying, putting a halt to any comment she would have made. She turned and retrieved her bag with the milk, now warm and souring from the long trip. Rejecting it for the can of formula she received from the old Koreans, she took Nate's bottle and filled it with water from a jug Uncle Herman brought and measured out the appropriate amount of powder. She closed the nipple across the bottle's mouth and began shaking it as hard as she could, relieving some of her anxieties on the plastic object.

The silence welled up around them pulling on their already raging emotions, until there was nothing more to say or do, but ignore each other. Uncle Herman went about his work and set up a large dome tent, hammering the stakes into the hard, dry ground with all the anger and frustration that gripped his insides.

Natasha unconsciously watched his actions out of the corner of her eye. His large chest muscles now void of clothing completely, bulged and rippled beneath the thick layer of bronze flesh. Beads of sweat glistened on him like drops of dew and she found herself wishing she could dry his magnificent body for him. She closed her eyes and turned away, trying to concentrate on feeding Nate his bottle, but the soft grunts of labor coming from behind her made concentrating on anything else difficult.

Nate coughed and sputtered the milk from his mouth as his tiny blue eyes looked up at Natasha. Instinctively, she laid him against her shoulder and patted his back firmly, until she heard the air expel from his stomach in a loud explosive burp. She knew nothing about babies and wondered if she was doing any of this right. All she knew about children was they ate a lot and needed their diapers changed often. She remembered reading an article once that said, if a child didn't receive love and companionship, it was the same thing as killing them by starvation. She knew he was starved, knew he was smaller than he should have been, but beyond feeding him and keeping him warm and dry, the best she could do was talk to him.

Slowly and surely Natasha laid Nate back across her lap and ran a gentle finger down his cheek. He was dirty and in need of a good bathing, but under the thin layer of grime, he was possibly the most beautiful baby she'd ever seen. His bald little head wasn't exactly bald but covered with a soft layer of pale blonde hair. His eyes were a bright pale blue like those of her brother, which may have been the reason she named the child after him. His skin was soft and pale, and his fingers were long, with nails long overdue for trimming. Natasha shook her head softly. The child showed obvious signs of neglect, too many hours of cold and hunger wearing on him like the blanket he had wrapped about his frail body. She couldn't understand how any mother could bring her child out to the streets and then forget him.

"He couldn't have asked for a better guardian angel, if he ordered one personally," Uncle Herman said softly as he stood behind her watching.

Natasha turned to see him leaning his tall frame against the front bumper of the truck, his hands dirty but empty, his chest rising slowly as he breathed.

"I wish I were his guardian angel, perhaps then I'd know what to do for him," she answered, unaware that her anger no longer existed, or that his was nowhere to be found either. She forced her eyes from his broad muscular chest and looked back to the baby in her arms.

"It looks like you're doing everything right to me. I’ve got the tent set up, why don't you take the baby and lay down. I'll heat up some water and you can both wash up. I'm far from a gourmet cook, but I think I can manage to make a few pancakes."

"You don't have to bother. I brought the food left over from last night."

"Sweetheart, Chinese food was never meant to be used as leftovers, at least not for breakfast, and especially not from a bag that's been sitting out in the sun all morning. Go on in the tent and I'll bring your stuff to you." Uncle Herman turned around, then stopped and eyed the woman suspiciously. "Do you have anything to change into?"

"I have an outfit for the baby," Natasha hurried to the back of the truck. "An old Korean and his wife gave it to me last night. I was waiting to put it on him, until today."

"Good, but what about yourself. Do you have any clothes?"

"It doesn't matter," she replied softly, embarrassment etching her delicate features, burning her cheeks with a soft pink glow. "I don't need anything. I'll get Nate's stuff together. He needs a new diaper anyway."

She retrieved her bag with the cloth diapers, pouch of soap and shampoo, and Nate's tiny new pajamas then quietly stepped into the red dome tent.

Uncle Herman watched Natasha closely, frowning over her embarrassment. He'd worked with homeless people for years and knew only a few of them to feel embarrassment over having nothing. Somehow, he knew this young red-haired beauty was far more than she let on. One thing he was certain of, she wasn't like the rest of the homeless he'd made himself familiar with. This one had a home and a family somewhere waiting for her. So why was she trying so hard to be something she wasn't?

Doing as he said, Uncle Herman filled a large pot with water he'd brought with him, then set it on the camp stove and lit the flame. It would take the water several minutes to heat, so while he waited he decided to make use of his time and start breakfast. The morning air became filled with the aroma of home cooking as he placed several slices of bacon into a pan along with the pancakes. He took two cups from the box of camping supplies and filled them with water, stirring in some powdered juice mix before flipping the pancakes over. With cups in hand he walked the few steps to the tent and softly cleared his throat.

"I thought you might like something to drink," he said, pulling the flap back to allow the smells of his culinary talents to filter in around him.

Natasha blinked at the morning light shining behind the tall figure. She finished securing the pins of Nate's clean diaper before taking the cup offered, with whispered thanks.

Uncle Herman smiled, backing out of the tent silently and closing the flap behind him. It was strange, the feeling he left her with. What was it about that man that seemed to set her blood on fire, and made every nerve in her body tingle each time he looked at her? She shook her head as she sipped the juice trying to regain her composure. She had to get control of herself before she either fainted like a silly schoolgirl or made a complete ass out of herself by saying, or doing, something she'd regret for a very long time.

Natasha listened to the sizzle of cooking bacon and the clanking of a spatula on the side of the skillet. Every little sound seemed to echo out here, even Uncle Herman's footsteps in the dirt as he walked around the camp sounded loud and clear. The rustle of boxes and the sounds of life outside the tent were amplified in the stillness of the desert. Quietly she picked up Nate and smiled. He was a beautiful baby and she knew just by looking at him, he trusted her. His eyes roamed her face and his tiny lips curved into a contented smile.

"How can one little baby be so perfect?" she asked him, suddenly aware that it was the first time she'd spoken to him since taking him into her protection. "Do you know what I'm going to do?" she asked, feeling strange talking to a baby, yet thrilled by his sudden jubilant squirming. "After we've taken a bath and have our new jammies on, we're going to go for a walk and I'm going to show you all the beautiful things God created for you to look at. Did you know there were big things called trees and little pretty things called flowers? I'll bet you never knew that, did you?"

Nate cooed happily, and Natasha nuzzled his tiny belly with her nose, causing a joyful squealing noise to erupt from his throat. She'd heard him scream his discontent, heard him cry for his mother and saw the tears of his painful existence escape his sad blue eyes, but she'd never heard him make a sound anything close to a laugh.

Outside, Uncle Herman listened to the woman as she spoke to the baby and sighed heavily. He wasn't certain if she meant all she said, or if she was just eager to play house. Either way, he was determined to make certain Rita's baby was safe. He couldn't stop her from running off with the child after he was born, but he was determined not to allow the infant to be abandoned again.

Carrying the pot of water and a plate of food to the tent, Uncle Herman nudged the flap open with his elbow, causing Natasha to lower her eyes, embarrassed by the man's unexpected presence. The frown he wore deepened when he saw the young woman's flushed cheeks. Her reaction made him feel certain he had been right in his thoughts a few moments ago. Natasha was playing house, and once she was tired of the game she would leave, just as the baby's birth mother had. Silently and a little irritated, he set the plate of food on the ground next to Natasha, setting the pot of steaming water in front of her.

"It's very warm so be careful," he told her, his accent etched in emotion she couldn't name. "You may want to let it cool while you eat. Give me the bottle and I'll make some juice for the baby."

Natasha handed the bottle to him but held tightly making him lock his eyes with hers.

"Why don't you call him by his name?" she asked, drawing his full attention to her. "You always call him 'the baby', but never Nate. Why?"

"Do you have any idea what his name really is? Did you ever ask his mother what she named him?"

Uncle Herman's tone was quiet, yet oddly tense. Natasha released the bottle and looked back at Nate squirming happily on the canvas floor. Uncle Herman stood there for a moment before turning to leave.

"She never gave him one," Natasha answered softly, forcing the man to halt by the open flap. "I asked her once, but she said she couldn't think of anything to call him. She didn't really seem to care either. I didn't think it would be wrong to give him a name."

Uncle Herman stood looking across his shoulder for a long minute then slipped silently out the opening.

Natasha stared down at the baby and ran a gentle hand down his cheek before sighing deeply and testing the hot water with her hand. There was no use wondering anymore. His real mother was dead, and she didn't know who his father was, perhaps the mother herself hadn't known. As far as Natasha was concerned, Nate now belonged to her and she'd fight to keep him. She knew deep down in her heart, she could make him happy and protect him from whatever the world threw his way, even if it was a green-eyed giant.

"Try this," Uncle Herman said, returning a few minutes later with a half-full bottle of juice. "Some babies don't care much for orange juice, so you'll just have to try him on it."

Natasha took the bottle and stuck it into the child's mouth. He sucked on the rubber nipple for a second or two, then pushed it out with his tongue and tossed his head from side to side.

"I don't think he wants it," she said with a chuckle.

"I guess Nate's not an orange juice lover." Natasha stared at the man for a moment, before smiling at the soft grin of apology he offered her. "Like you said, every child deserves a name. I guess after you've been around as many homeless people as I have, you stop praying for someone who cares and start looking at everyone as a taker. It's a rare sight to see someone give for a change. I just wasn't expecting it." Natasha nodded her head, looking back at Nate.

"Are you ever going to tell me why we're out here?"

Natasha picked up the plate sitting next to her, trying not to devour the food in one bite. Her stomach growled its hunger and she felt embarrassed for the sound erupting from inside her.

"Do you remember last night when I said the government was tearing down the old towns from the gold rush era?" he asked, looking away from the clear blue eyes that stared up at him.

He never realized before, never really wanted to take the time to notice, always thinking of her as a child, just how beautiful she was. Her eyes sparkled like sapphires, her lips full and looking as though they needed kissing, she had a heart-shaped face, flawless of scars or blemishes and her nose sloped slightly at the end. He knew once she was cleaned up she was going to be breathtaking, which did little to ease his warming libido.

"I remember you said the state was trying to make room for the future," she replied biting into the pancake.

Uncle Herman watched silently as she slid the morsel into her mouth, fighting the urge to lick the drop of syrup from her lip.

"That's what the government says. Personally, I don't think they really care one way or another. It's all politics and campaign promises. Anyway, the others were talking or dreaming if you will, about how it would be to fix up an old ghost town and make it livable again. Did you know most of those people have talents that are being wasted? Jacob Strause was a fine carpenter until his gambling got the best of him, and Old Henry is a skilled architect. In fact, he helped build that overpass you were sleeping under. He had a good life, a prosperous business, everything a man could possibly want until his wife died. After that he became a recluse, his kids put him in a home and forgot about him. I guess they were just angry because he used up their inheritance on their sick mother. When his money ran out, he was released from the home his kids put him in. He didn't have anywhere to go, no family who cared, no one to look after him, so he hit the streets."

"I never knew that. I guess nobody really wanted to talk much about the life they came from."

"Before word came down that the police were on their way, the others decided to give it a shot, try and rebuild a bit of the past while making a future for themselves."

"Why way out here? Aren't there any jobs and homes in the city where they can start over?"

"You've lived among these people, been one of them for how long now - months, a year maybe - and you haven't realized what sort of life the city holds for those who can't afford it?"

"What about you, why do you care? It's obvious you don't belong with the homeless. You're clean and strong and you don’t look like you’re lacking in any way. Anybody looking at you can tell you don't belong on the streets."

"And you do, I suppose? Tell me, Sweetheart, where did you come from?"

"Why do you insist on calling me that? I hate it."

"Then give me your name and I'll use it instead." Uncle Herman eyed Natasha for a long silent moment before she lowered her dark lashes.

"Natasha Palmer," she told him in a hushed whisper.

"Nice to meet you, Natasha Palmer," Uncle Herman said gently reaching his hand out to shake hers. "I'm Douglas."

"Douglas? I thought…why does everyone call, you Uncle Herman?"

"It's a long story."

"We seem to have time," she replied with a sly grin. “Unless you have a hot date I’m not aware of.” Douglas smiled at her mocking tone as she threw his words back at him.

"I was working in a hospital a few years ago when a little girl came in," he began, sitting on the canvas floor beside her. "She and her mother were living on the streets, her father had left them without any means to support themselves, no family to fall back on and welfare didn't pay enough to spit on, so they had nowhere to go but the gutter. A street tramp raped and beat the mother, then left her for the little girl to take care of. She was only about four or five and I felt sorry for her, so I went against all logical advice and tried to help them. I found them a place to live and helped the mother get a decent job at the hospital. The little girl couldn't pronounce my name and misunderstood when she heard it and started calling me Uncle Herman. The name just sort of stuck. The street people heard I was willing to help if I could, so whenever any of them came in they asked to see me. After a while, I eventually quit the hospital and started working at the free clinic down by the wharf where I knew I could do more good."

"That's why you're always around, keeping an eye on the less fortunate?"

"Not exactly. I try to help where I'm needed and a lot of the homeless won't come to the clinic, so the clinic has to go to them."

"What are you, a doctor, or just a do-gooder?"

"Something like that."

"Is that how you knew who Nate's mother was? She came into the clinic?"

Natasha nibbled at her bacon as she listened, keeping an eye on the baby as he squirmed about, playing with his hands and feet.

"Her boyfriend brought her in after the building they were living in burned down. The place was condemned, and the landlord didn't care who was living there. The police thought the owner set the fire himself, so he could collect the insurance: a common act among the ghetto slumlords, but they were never able to prove it. There were a hundred, or more, homeless living in the basement, eating whatever they could find, sleeping with rats and cockroaches the size of a man's arm."

"I know what it's like, you don't have to paint a picture for me," Natasha felt the irritation welling up around her.

"Sorry. Anyway, her boyfriend brought her into the clinic with second-degree burns on her arms and legs. That's when we discovered she was pregnant. She didn't know exactly how far along she was, but with the examination, we determined she was well into her second trimester. I helped set her up in a half-way house until the baby was born, but I never heard from her boyfriend again. He disappeared when he found out she was pregnant. It's a common occurrence I suppose. There's enough to worry about without taking on the problems of another life."

"If she was in a half-way house, how did she end up back on the streets? I thought those places were supposed to help rehabilitate people and find them homes and jobs."

"They do, normally, but Rita took the baby - Nate - and left one night without anyone knowing she was gone. The authorities were called in, but there are so many runaways it's hard to keep track of all of them and even harder to find them when they don't want to be found. I've been looking for her for weeks, but I always seemed to have just missed her. When her body was found, the police brought her to me for identification. I managed to track her down to where you were staying. The others told me she'd left the baby and you'd taken him in. I just wanted to make certain he was alright."

"You were going to hand him over to the state, weren't you? You would have given him to strangers without a second thought."

Natasha felt a sudden wave of betrayal wash over her, wondering if he would try and take Nate from her even now.

"I felt it was my responsibility to make certain the baby was cared for. The state would have provided a good home for him, and medical care if needed. He doesn't belong on the streets, Sweetheart."

"None of us do and don't call me that! I can take care of him. He's mine now and I won't let you take him away."

Natasha picked the baby up and held him close to her, cradling him in her strong embrace, sheltering him from Douglas's threatening touch.

"Natasha, I won't take him away from you, but you have to prove to me you can care for him and yourself. When the others get here, we'll set out together for Piccadilly, and with a little luck, and a lot of hard work, we can make a better life for everyone. Not just for Nate, but for all the children, the Strause children, Old Henry, even Sugar if she comes with them. Everyone deserves a home."

"You're crazy," Natasha argued, easing Nate away from her breast. "Do you know what you're saying? You're talking about rebuilding a ghost town the state plans to destroy. What makes you think any of those people will be willing to work in the first place? They're bums, drug addicts, drunks, and prostitutes."

"And spoiled little runaways," Douglas snapped in response. "Give a person a chance for a better life, Sweetheart, and they'll take it. It's human nature."

"I told you not to call me that," Natasha growled in the small confines of the tent, as Douglas stood and stepped to the opening, pulling the flap back and allowing the morning sun to penetrate the growing heat of the dim interior.

"Then stop acting like a spoiled rich bitch and start acting like the type of person you’re trying to convince everyone you are. You're a homeless runaway, a victim of society, and nothing more than a street tramp, with nowhere to go and no one to run to. Grow up and face the facts, Sweetheart, you're in this with the rest of us, in it up to your pretty little ears." He left the tent and the angry words to echo off the canvas walls around her.

Natasha brushed away the tears that slid from her eyes, streaking the dirt covering her once delicate cheeks. He was right. She was a homeless runaway, she had no reason to be here and no way to get back. She hated herself and her brother for putting her in this position, but most importantly, she hated Douglas, Uncle Herman, for making her realize she was nothing more than any other bum. Worthless and discarded like an old shoe.