Natasha heard the shouts and excited cries of children ringing through the tree branches while she dressed. Her hair hung wet about her shoulders as her clothes lay across low branches, clean and drying from the scrubbing she had given them. Nate slept soundly in the shade and protection of the tall trees, his tiny eyelids open slightly as he dreamt of things nobody would ever know. The shirt Douglas had loaned to her, clung to the dampness of her feminine curves revealing her slender waist, narrow hips, and round breasts with pebble hard nipples that perked against her drying skin. She sighed deeply, lowering herself to the blanket's edge beside the baby. The breeze was warm as the leaves rustled in the treetops above her head, whispering the dreams and hopes of those who had passed before her.

The sounds of children sang out loudly, bringing with the happy shouts a promise of a noisy evening yet to come. Nate's eyes opened as his body jerked with a start. His gaze focused above him in the treetops and the sunlight twinkling like pieces of diamonds, floating down from the heavens. He kicked and grunted, whimpering his frustration and confusion. Natasha picked him up, cradling him in her arms as the Strause children dove, clothes and all, into the cool water of the small pond. Nate began crying at the sounds of laughter and shouting, forcing Natasha to abandon her once peaceful solitude.

She folded the blanket and picked up Nate's bottle before pulling her nearly dry clothes from the branches and tossing them across her shoulder. The splashing and laughter of the children assured Natasha that they had indeed found the waves of the small pond inviting, just as she and Douglas had a short time before. With everything in hand, she stepped through the underbrush to where the truck still sat near the clearing and opened the door to the cab.

"Hello," Beverly shouted, as the others neared the trees.

The smile she offered was genuine, but the bruise across her cheek appeared new. It was amazing to Natasha, how daylight seemed to bring out the worst in people, especially those suffering hangovers. Next to Beverly was her husband Jacob, a deep frown creasing his brow, reaffirming Natasha's assumption. Old Henry had managed to tag along with the family, as well as the young Mexican couple, Manuel and Teresa Valdez. From the sounds of laughter behind the edge of the trees, Natasha was certain the Valdez girls, Elisa, Pia, and Veta were playing a watery game with the Strause's two children, Bradley and Kelly.

Smiling politely at the group, Natasha tossed her clean clothes across the tailgate of the truck to finish drying. Nate continued to complain, his tiny head bobbing back and forth, his cries bouncing off the large dense trees around them. Natasha tried to quiet him while she searched the back of the truck for the box with his formula, but the longer it took, the louder he became.

"Can't you shut that damn brat up?" Jacob growled, his head splitting with the pain of last night's binge, his mood was worse than normal, and he stared at Natasha through bloodshot eyes.

"He's hungry Mr. Strause," Natasha tried to explain, only to have him narrow his gaze on her. He looked her over from head to toe before turning his head.

"I don't give a shit. Just shut it up."

"Jacob doesn't feel very well today," Beverly explained, trying to cover up for the man's rudeness.

"I don't suspect he does," Natasha mumbled in response, locating the canister of formula and walking back through the trees she had just abandoned.

She could hear Jacob's loud voice growling at his wife and heard the low Spanish tones of the Valdez's, as they walked behind her through the clearing. She again asked herself what she was doing here and cursed herself for allowing Douglas to drag her and Nate off in the middle of the night as he had. She didn't know how Uncle Herman expected to keep these people under control once they began to dry out. The taste and need for liquor and drugs would soon begin to wear on them, causing tempers to flare and fists to fly. She'd seen it happen too many times in the streets, recognized the signs, and dreaded being near when it happened again.

"We'll stay long enough to eat and clean up," Douglas was heard telling the Strause family and Old Henry, as the small group all made their way through the thick tree covering. "We'll leave the tent and supplies behind for the others, in case any more arrive."

"To hell with them," Jacob snapped. "Let them find their own. This is ours."

"I said we're leaving it behind," Douglas insisted, his emerald eyes narrowing on the man with a silent warning.

Size and strength made the order vividly clear, though Jacob continued to glare at Douglas with angry eyes. The clouded vision of his headache and the lack of liquor made the smaller man feel daring as he confronted their savior.

"Who the hell do you think you're dealing with?" Jacob demanded, his fists rolled into tight balls, his head had to tip backward to look Douglas in the eye as he spoke.

"Right now, I'd say a stoned drunk who would willingly sell his firstborn for a bottle of whiskey."

Douglas's answer was made through deeply accented words, his tone even and low, a warning any normal man under any normal condition would have understood. Jacob however, was no normal man and was rarely under normal conditions.

"I'll make you eat those words," came Jacob's bitter growl.

The man’s fist flew toward Douglas's face, but his opponent quickly sidestepped the blow, sending Jacob stumbling into the dirt, his face hitting the ground with a force hard enough to send blood dripping from his nose.

"I'd suggest you sober up completely before you try and make me eat anything, Strause," Douglas said, his words level, his meaning clear.

"Don't tell me what to do," Jacob blurted again, knocking his wife's hand away when she knelt to offer her assistance. "Stay the hell away from me, bitch!" he ordered the woman.

"Jacob, you're bleeding. Let me help you." Beverly reached her dirty hand toward his face to wipe at the blood.

"I said stay the hell away from me, can't you listen?"

With that, Jacob raised his hand, backhanding his wife across the face and sending her tumbling to the dirt next to him. Douglas had seen all he cared to. He reached down and grabbed the man by the lapel of his dirty shirt, lifting him completely off the ground so their faces were on an even level.

The shock and fear in Jacob's grey eyes were plain when he realized he was dangling from Douglas's firm grip. He gasped and tried to squirm his way lose, trying to avoid the dangerous warning in the deep green depths that glared impatiently. The look on Douglas's face, as well as the position Jacob was in, was enough to sober the man up and make him aware of the situation he'd created for himself.

"If I ever see you strike your wife again or see any signs of abuse on her or your children, you'll answer to me. Do you understand that - Strause?"

Jacob nodded his head dumbfounded, his voice caught in his throat making intelligent sound impossible. Douglas released his grip on the man, sending him stumbling backward until he fell in the dirt next to his wife. He sat there silently, watching as Douglas reached his large handout and gently helped Beverly to her feet.

"Are you alright?" he asked, inspecting her bleeding lip and the bruise on her cheek with a touch so tender, Natasha felt strangely affected as she stood watching.

The signs of old abuse, as well as those recent ones, still lingered on Beverly's weather-beaten face. Her arms were scarred badly from the years of beatings and her legs showed signs of healing bruises, while her neck had yellow marks from where Jacob had grabbed her.

"I'm fine," she whispered, glancing down at her husband.

"If you feel the need to hit someone," Douglas continued, looking at the man still sitting in the dirt, "you come find me. I think I can make a better punching bag than your wife will."

"Please don't," Beverly whispered, her hand gripping Douglas's arm in a deadly hold. "You'll just make it worse."

"No, I won't," he assured her, covering her hand with his. His tone was filled with a warning for the man who remained silent throughout the exchange of conversation. "He ever touches you again and it'll be the last thing he'll do. Promise me, you'll come tell if he even as much as tries."

Beverly looked at Jacob who narrowed his gaze on her but feeling safe and protected for the first time in years, she also felt a burst of courage begin to build within her soul.

"I promise," she told him with pride, turning her eyes away from the burning hatred her husband displayed for her.

Douglas glanced down to Jacob one last time before disappearing back through the trees, to where his truck waited. His anger was full-blown, and his mind registered every whisper and every look behind his back. He knew his size was larger than most men and he worked hard to keep it that way. He also knew from experience, his size and strength gave him the ability to hurt another person, enough to cause permanent damage. He could still remember the last man he hit in anger, his bleeding face swollen and deformed, his arm twisted and broken in three places, his breathing labored beneath the broken ribs.

Although it was self-defense, Douglas knew no matter how angry he became, he could never allow that to happen again, for any reason. A woman had caused that last occurrence and a woman had caused this one, although for reasons as different as night and day. His anger wasn't caused by jealousy this time, just chivalry, but anger it was and deadly it could easily become if not controlled.

He heard the soft rustle of footsteps behind him in the dirt and turned to see Old Henry as he pushed his way out of the trees. He didn't want a confrontation with the old man just now. Henry always seemed to have a way of making him feel like a child in trouble. Yet as he tried to think of a reason to leave, a withered hand reached up and touched his shoulder.

"I'm proud of you, Son," Henry said in a low, aged voice. "You've always been around when we've needed you, and it doesn't look as if you're going to stop any time soon. I know if the gal could, she'd thank you herself. I don't know what we'd do if you weren't here for us."

"You'd survive without me, just as you've always done. I haven't done anything to be proud of."

"No? Look around you, boy. There are three families here who owe their very safety and future to you. Three families, with a whole passel of kids who would have spent the night in jail, if you hadn't come to their rescue. You and that little gal back there have been a Godsend, bringing us food and a dream to work for."

Douglas glanced back in the direction Henry pointed and frowned, watching Natasha as she walked toward them. Nate rested against her shoulder, protected and secure in her arms and Douglas's desire to do the same for her became overwhelming.

"I think you owe Natasha more than you do me," he said walking away from the old man, and the attraction he felt for the approaching woman.

"Natasha, eh?" Henry said to himself. "So that's what her name is."

The boxes were once again packed and placed in the bed of the truck, along with the Valdez family, the Strause family, and Old Henry. Natasha remained in the cab with Douglas, along with Nate as a silent, sleeping chaperone. The air was cooling considerably, as the sun grew low in the evening sky. The heat of the desert was turning into a comfortable degree, along with the temperaments of Douglas and Jacob.

The noise of the children laughing and talking in the back of the truck echoed all around them, making the remainder of the journey to the old town Douglas called Piccadilly, feel warm and cozy. Sounds of hawks could be heard as they circled the desert for prey, and Natasha watched the creatures swoop down to the ground and back up again as they drove on. She was amazed at how easily nature took care of its own. A cycle of life and death, of survival and retreat that seemed to go on forever. She wondered silently, why mankind couldn't learn from the silent creatures occupying the world, unheard from, and rarely noticed.

"Tell me about this place you're taking us to," she asked, breaking the tense silence growing between them.

"It's an old mining town or used to be about a hundred and fifty years ago," he began explaining while maneuvering the truck along the old dirt road. "There's a stream nearby with a small pond about the size we just left. That's where gold was discovered and why the town was built. My brother and I found the place one year when we were camping with our parents. We loved coming out here and exploring. As kids, it was a blast playing in the old buildings, pretending to be cowboys and Indians. Matt really loved that old town. He used to say it was like reading a story, except he was the main character and the story was alive. He had the imagination of three kids his age."

"Where's your brother now?"

Douglas fell silent for several moments, staring out the windshield.

"He's dead."

Natasha lowered her eyes, feeling the emotion from the man next to her build-up, surrounding her, causing a great ache in her heart for him.

"I'm sorry, Douglas."

"He just got sick one day after his ninth birthday and never recovered. At first, we thought he caught some kind of a bug, even the doctors didn't think it was anything to worry about. We learned too late he had leukemia. Two weeks before he died, we came back out here camping. My mother was determined to keep everything as normal as possible, so Matt wouldn't know how much we were suffering. We played in the old saloon for hours, before he grew tired. I had to carry him back to camp. He told me the day before he died, he wished he could be buried right there in the middle of Piccadilly. I wanted desperately to give him that wish."

"So instead, you're going to try and rebuild it? Bring it back to life for him?"

"When I heard that the government wanted to tear down these old towns, I felt sick about it. These places are a part of America's history. But when I heard Piccadilly was on their list, I was determined to do something to prevent it. This place was more Matt’s than California's. I can't just sit back and watch them bulldoze it under. It would be like watching Matt die all over again."

"What if these people do rebuild Piccadilly and the government comes in and takes it all away, regardless of your dreams? Wouldn't that be like killing a part of them, as well?"

"I won't let that happen."

"How can you stop it, Douglas? You're just one man against a whole government. Even with the help of Old Henry and the others, you won't be able to win against city hall. It's impossible."

"Are you always so negative?" Douglas asked sarcastically, turning to examine her with a stern green gaze that seemed to shoot daggers in her direction.

Natasha sighed deeply. Whenever they discussed this plan of his, they seemed to butt heads. While she focused on reality, he played with people's hopes and saw dreams of a world he could create with his own two large hands.

"I'm trying to be realistic. You're building these people's hopes up, only to have it thrown back into their faces. Do you have any idea what will happen once they lose everything they're going to work so hard for? It'd be the second time they've lost everything they have, to a system that's unwilling to work with them. A system that can crush them with a pile of papers so deep, they'll never be able to dig out from underneath."

"And what about you, Natasha? You keep talking about these people as though you are not a part of them when you're no better off than they are. You'd be losing right along with them, or do you have a fortune waiting at home for you? A husband and children you're running away from?"

"There's nobody…nothing waiting for me, and you're right, I am no better than they are. But personally, I'm not all that anxious to kill myself over someone else's fantasy. A daydream that's nothing more than a clouded vision of hope."

"Hope is a four-letter word for faith, Sweetheart. Once you give that up, you've lost everything you are, everything that makes you a part of this world. Is that really how you see your life, filled with despair and gloom?"

Natasha looked out the side window and studied the landscape with feigned interest.

"I don't see my life beyond this moment," she said sadly.

"What about Nate? Is that how you want him to grow up thinking? Don't you want to make a better life for him, if not for yourself? You've taken him in as your own child, you can't turn your back on him the way his parents did."

Quietly she looked down at the sleeping infant and frowned. He was right again, she couldn't allow her own suffering to affect the way she raised Nate. If he were to grow up, she wanted him to be happy and have all the things she had as a child. But could she pretend to believe in a dream, for the sake of helping a stranger relive his childhood, to help him cope with the memories of a brother he couldn't save as a child? Was it worth it to play house for a short time, to hope life never caught up with them?

"I won't have Nate back on the streets, no matter what I have to do to prevent it" she finally admitted. "He's mine now and I'm going to give him the kind of life every child deserves."

"Then help us, Natasha. Help us build a dream, a world where we can raise our children without fear and hunger. If we can come together, maybe we can set an example for the rest of the world to follow. Don't turn your back on us now, when we need you so desperately."

Douglas looked across at her and tried to study her expression in the reflection of the side window. He knew she was proud, he sensed that the first time he met her, but he didn't know if she was willing to endure the hardships that lay ahead of them. Hardships of work and labor as she had never known before.

"I'll do my share Douglas, for Nate's sake. But I can't promise I'll stay forever. I can't raise my son on the idea, that living another person's dream is the only way to live. He has to know what reality is and learn to face it head-on."

"Are you so certain that building a dream isn't reality? If everybody thought like that, there would be no America, no constitution, and very likely no mankind. Come on Natasha, give the idea some thought and a chance to succeed. I'm sure you'll feel differently once you see the town and see what progress we can make."

"If you can convince these people to help you build your dream, you mean. What are you going to do if the others don't show up? There are only seven adults, Douglas, and six children. That's a far cry from a prosperous town."

"Have faith. The others will come, I know they will. The future is in front of us, in front of them. There's no turning back once you've started."

"I think you're deluding yourself. The future is filled with more pain and trouble than you realize. Just look at Jacob Strause. Do you honestly believe you can force him into sobriety, and what about the others, the drug addicts, and the whores? Or was that your real plan, start your own little town of brothels and debauchery?"

Douglas glanced at the woman and frowned. He had a hard time understanding her feelings when she refused to understand his.

"Promise me you'll stay for just a few weeks," he offered softly. "If I can't change your mind, then I'll take you back to L.A. I'll personally get you an apartment and a job. Just give it time."

Natasha thought for several minutes in silence. Staying here would mean she'd be farther away from finding Nathan, yet it would mean she would also be closer to this man who plagued her emotions with havoc. Staying could mean everything, a home for Nate, a place to start over, maybe even finding a place where she felt she belonged. But not staying meant she could continue searching for her brother. She honestly didn't know what to do, or what to think.

"I'll try it for a time," she finally answered. "But I can't promise for how long."

Natasha turned and looked at the green eyes that smiled at her with glee. He winked a seductive, challenging eye at her before turning his attention back to the road ahead of them, his smile remaining as he continued driving.

"It's a beginning, Sweetheart," he told her happily. Glancing down at the child sleeping on the seat next to him, his smile widened. "It's a damn good beginning.”

The moon had risen above the horizon by the time Douglas stopped the pick-up in the middle of the once occupied dirt street. Natasha stepped out of the cab and looked around at the deteriorating shadows of buildings. With the full moon above them, the town could be seen fairly-well. Its weathered, worn buildings appeared spooky, making all who stood looking remember they were literally in a ghost town. Old store signs could be heard rocking freely in the evening breeze, creaking and moaning with each gentle gust. Window frames decorated the buildings, void of glass from years of neglect, hard desert weather, and of the passing vandals. Dirt devils roamed freely between dry, sand beaten buildings as the soft wind whispered through the cracked walls and open doorways, like voices from the past.

Douglas stepped around the side of the truck and began handing out the boxes to Jacob and Manuel, while Beverly and Teresa shouted at the children to remain close by. Natasha picked up Nate who fussed softly on the cab seat, eager for another bottle. She cursed herself again for allowing Douglas to drag her out here in the middle of nowhere, with people she barely knew, to build a life in a town long ago forgotten and long overdue for condemning.

"Still think it's hopeless?" Douglas asked, stopping in front of her, a rolled tent in his large arms and a smile on his lips reflecting his child-like excitement. Softly shaking her head, patting the fussing baby on the back, Natasha leveled her gaze on the man.

"No, it's not hopeless Douglas. It's impossible. Your dream is a dead-end alley in the middle of the twilight zone."

"You said you'd give it a chance, remember?" Douglas sighed deeply and then offered her a look of surrender. "If you really don't want to stay, I'll take you back to the city in the morning when I go to check on the tent we left behind. I'll keep my promise and get you settled, but the rest is up to you. I can't do anything more for you, but I can promise if you stay, I can help you and Nate start a future. If you go, you're on your own."

Natasha watched him walk away slowly, feeling a sudden tightening around her heart. She should be rejoicing at the thought of leaving the stench of sewage, and threats of destruction behind in the unfriendly city. Instead, she cursed and condemned the only chance she had to build a better life for herself and her new son.

The sound of a door banging in the stillness of night brought Natasha's attention back to the old town and toward the rickety old buildings. All signs of proprietorship faded long ago by the desert’s harsh winds, leaving the town nameless and alone in the middle of a dark void. Shifting Nate to her shoulder and picking up his bottle and blanket, Natasha walked cautiously through the dirt street to the entrance of a large, silent building. The smell of mildew, dirt, and dry wood met her as she entered the dim interior, forcing her to wrinkle her nose at the aroma. Cobwebs clung to her face and arms, and she brushed them away as she glanced about the building that opened in front of her.

It was a large cold room she stood in, with several mice scurrying about the floor, leaving the tracks of tiny feet among the dirt and decay. Empty chairs lay on their sides or stood unoccupied in the silent vacancy, tables overturned and broken as though a war had occurred between the filthy walls, unseen by those eyes of the present. A large counter, thick with a century's layer of dirt sat empty and alone to the right of the door, an overturned dirty whiskey glass remained on the top, waiting for its user to return and order it filled.

The stools that had once sat sturdy and ready for an occupant now lay broken and rotting on the soiled planks of a once beautiful wooden floor. The large etched mirror behind the counter remained on the wall, hidden behind a thick blanket of dust, the small shelves surrounding the mirror's sides and the top was broken, cracked, and vacant of the items they once displayed.

To the left of the door, taking up the entire corner of the room sat a stage, two steps higher than the rest of the floor. Its curtain faded and torn, hung by tatters in the corner of the oval-shaped platform, a door at the back stood closed, hiding whatever was behind it from curious observers. An old piano sat silently beneath a layer of dried leaves and dirt, blown in through the exposed windows, which took up a good portion of the walls. The round stool once used by a hired player was void of a seat, one broken leg made it sit lopsided like an old drunk on a street corner, limp, crooked, and begging for mercy. The sound of banging echoed down the large winding staircase, indicating more sightless wonders to explore beyond the eye's vision.

Natasha stood silently watching the dust on the floor in the moonlight from the glassless window, as it mingled with the evening breeze that blew in through the exposed entrance. It danced across the dirty floor on its way to the stage, like a performer preparing to entertain a silent audience. The slightest sound echoed through the stillness of the room, the gurgling of the baby in her arms sounding like rain on a metal drum, the excited shouts of children playing in the street outside sounded like wild Indians on the warpath.

She slipped the bottle into Nate's mouth, allowing him to latch on tightly before continuing her exploration. She took a step further into the room, wrinkling her nose at the dust. Beyond the bar's counter stood two doorways, their wooden barriers closed to spectators. At the far end of the room was another doorway that appeared to open into a room, too dark and eerie by the night's twilight to explore alone.

With cautious steps, as quiet as the mice scurrying about the floorboards, Natasha made her way toward the staircase, stopping at the bottom to gaze up the length of the solid wood banister. The stairs wound around and disappeared to the floor above. The large banister was like the rest of the room, dirty and covered in cobwebs, yet sturdy and strong regardless of the few missing rungs. One step after another, she quietly climbed her way to the top, testing each step for security before applying her full weight to the old wooden panels. Four steps from the bottom were the first of three broken stairs, its edges pointing upward like daggers, awaiting an innocent victim to step on it.

Natasha maneuvered around the board, keeping her weight close to the wall where she knew the main support of the staircase was. Step after step she climbed until at last, she was standing on the upper level looking around a large empty anteroom. The upstairs held more than a dozen glassless windows illuminating the sights in the bright moonlight. She glanced behind her at the marks left in the dirt and dust by her footsteps, echoing the path so many must have taken before her, and frowned. It seemed odd to think of this vast building as being completely empty and void of life.

Nate's suckling noise and that of the occasional banging kept Natasha alert and anxious to precede, her mind turning from her feelings of melancholy to the task of exploration. She felt a strange prickling on the back of her neck, thinking of all the lives that had once passed across these floorboards, all those who had walked this hallway a century and a half ago.

She wondered what those lives had been like, wondering if they were happy, hopeful, confident of finding their wealth in a stream scarce of fortune. Then she thought of Douglas and his brother Matt. She wondered if they had played here, had Douglas stood in this very spot, had he seen all the things she was seeing. Shaking herself forcefully out of her daydreams, she assured herself she was being ridiculous. Of course, he had been here, he told her so himself. The thought of him was oddly disturbing and far too confusing at present for her to understand. She couldn’t put into proper perspective her mixture of emotions when it came to that strange, hope-filled man.

The emptiness of the old building caused the banging to echo off the walls all around her, bringing her out of her state of curious daydreaming once more to focus on her adventure. To the right of her stood three rooms, another three on the south wall, three more on the east and a final three on the north completed the square-shaped upper level. Twelve rooms in all, four with doors, the remainder empty and dimly lit by the moonlight.

Turning to her right and opening the first door she came to, she quietly peeked through the warped barrier. Inside was a room she assumed had once served as a bathroom. It was small, and the door creaked as she pushed it open, hitting the edge of a large claw foot tub that sat silently to the side. Most towns from this era had wash closets, not rooms modernly known as bathrooms that were equipped with porcelain tubs. For this era, bathhouses were the normal routine, or at least according to what history she could recall, small houses set up to serve a person willing to pay to bathe, often in the back of a store or barbershop.

Natasha looked across the side of the tub and cringed, her stomach lurching slightly. A filthy layer of dirt lined the interior, with spots of porcelain showing under small animal prints. Inside the basin were the remains of a dead lizard - no doubt the leftovers of something's dinner - some old rat bones with very little flesh left on the skeleton and an array of spider webs. Not exactly appetizing or appealing to look at, and if whatever it was that had been snacking on the remains of the dead creatures was still lurking about, Natasha wasn't all that anxious to meet it.

She glanced around the room, taking note of a wooden stand resembling a small cupboard sitting near the end of the tub - no doubt used for a water pitcher and washbasin. Above it was a medicine cabinet, small and rickety like the rest of the furnishings she had seen. In the center of the cabinet was a small rectangular mirror. The lower edge broken off, the mirror lay beneath a layer of time, eagerly waiting to reflect its user’s image once again. Beneath the mirror was a wooden towel rack hanging on the wall by one end and covered in a thick layer of delicate cobwebs.

Near the door sat a small, knee-high chest with a hinged seat on the top and a door in the front. Natasha opened its cracked lid, certain it was what her schoolteacher had called a chamber pot. The lid creaked when she lifted it, revealing the rim of a rotting wooden toilet seat beneath. She peeked into the dark hole expecting to see the pot beneath and jumped back into the hall with a startled screech as a rat the size of a kitten crawled out at her, scurrying across the floor and squeezing through a hole in the wall. Nate jumped in his mother's arms, shaken out of his bottle induced slumber by the sudden movement, his arms flinging out to the side, his back arching slightly, his eyes wide to the wonders of what had happened. Natasha hushed him, urging him to close his eyes and slowly closed the door to the room trapping - she hoped - the rodent inside.

Regaining her composure, she tiptoed to the next room, peeking through the exposed threshold and gazing into the small interior, before stepping across to find herself in the center of an empty room. In the corner was a small closet, complete with a broken shelf and several missing floorboards. The window looking out onto the street below was covered with a curtain of spider webs. The smell of mildew and rotting wood filled the air, causing a headache to begin throbbing behind her sinuses.

Leaving the room and venturing to the next, Natasha found her exploration to be uneventful. Each room was like the one before, each containing a closet and a glassless window, each holding tracks of mice and spiders, each as old and beaten like the rest of the town. Natasha was about to leave the upper level, when the soft banging began again, reminding her of her original intention for coming up here in the first place.

Detecting the noise and locating it directly across the hall, she cautiously opened the door, peeking around for any furry, four-legged creatures to jump out at her. Inside she found the source of the banging, a shutter barely supported by a single hinge, hung outside the broken window, swaying and bumping in the breeze as it passed by. It hung precariously by its wooden frame held together with only a wish and a prayer. Natasha crossed the dusty room, reaching for the shutter and pulling it back across the window with her free hand, to stop it from banging.

"Be careful, Sweetheart," she heard a voice say, causing her to jump at the sound of the deep voice.

Natasha turned to see the tall muscular frame of Douglas standing in the doorway, a flashlight gripped in his large hand.

"You scared the hell out of me," she snapped, hushing the baby in her arms again.

"The old place’s getting to you, eh? Expect to find ghosts and goblins hiding in the closets?"

"Something like that. What are you doing up here anyway? I thought you were setting up the tent."

"I heard you scream a few minutes ago and thought you may have fallen through one of these old floorboards."

"Can't get rid of me that easily Uncle Herman."

Douglas watched her eyes scan the dirty floors and walls, and smiled softly, remembering the days he and his brother explored this very room. Unlike the remainder of the rooms, this one held remnants of furniture. An old rusty bed frame stood in the middle of the room, void of the torn old mattress that lay on the floor next to it. A broken drawer from an old dresser lay inside the closet and two splintered old nightstands sat in the corners near the window. Next to the bed frame was an old rocking chair, its runner broken from the years of useless sitting and its seat rotted out completely.

"Why did you scream Natasha? Did you hurt yourself?"

"No, nothing like that. I saw a rat and it scared me. I wasn't prepared for anything to be alive in here."

"Only ghosts and goblins, I know. Well, come on it's getting late and it's not safe to be in here after dark. We'll come back in the morning when it's light and you can look around some more."

"Why do you suppose this room has furniture and the others don't?" she asked stepping to the door where Douglas stood waiting.

"Because I put it here." Natasha stared at the man next to her, frowning at his words and the chuckle he offered her. "Matt and I used to play here as kids, remember? This was our hideout, our clubhouse you might say. We had to have a place better than the rest, didn't we? Matt was too little and too sick to sit on the cold floor, so I found the mattress and brought it in for him. That was before the knowledge of bedbugs and lice became an issue."

"Why didn't you put it on the frame, instead of the floor?"

"Because I couldn't find any slats to support it. If I just set it on the frame, it would have fallen through and I didn't want Matt getting hurt."

"Oh. Why is there a drawer in the closet?"

"We had a snake living in it a long time ago. We blocked it in with the drawers and kept it as our mascot. We left one night and when we came back the next day, it was gone. Guess it must have crawled out through the hole in the baseboard. Actually, this is a pretty good place for snakes. There are enough mice and rats to keep them fed for months or even years."

"Or a century and a half," Natasha supplied with disgust. "Come on let's get out of here before one of them decides to come looking for dinner."

Douglas chuckled, as he shut the door to his memories. The sight of it brought back a flood of visions, some good, some sad, but seeing Natasha standing in the room made him forget all about them for a moment. She looked as though she belonged there, standing by the window, allowing the sights of the town to filter up from the streets to her gazing eyes, her hair blowing softly in the cool evening breeze.

Together they descended the steps cautiously, Douglas holding the flashlight in front of them, Natasha holding Douglas's free arm for support. They walked across the quiet tavern floor, retracing the steps they made coming into the building. They were barely a step away from the broken swinging doors when the sound of music began to ring through the building. The plunking of piano keys being struck echoed like a ghostly reminder of the years gone by, bringing with it the imaginary visions of dancing girls, drunken prospectors, noisy card games, and laughing bar whores.

Natasha tightened her grip on Douglas's strong arm, stepping closer to his side while they peered through the dark room. The flashlight flickered, and Douglas had to slap it against his thigh, knocking the batteries around inside the plastic cylinder to keep its light glowing. He pulled Natasha into his embrace, holding her securely by his side, as the light came back on, shining like sunlight in the night's shadows. He pointed it toward the piano, now silent and hidden in the blackness of night.

"It still works," said the small voice of Bradley Strause, who silently stepped out of the shadows to stand before the couple.

Natasha gasped as Douglas shined the light on the boy, forcing him to shield his eyes behind his hands.

"Did you do that?" Douglas demanded roughly, his heart pounding wildly within his chest, his arm tightening around Natasha's slender waist.

"Yeah, I'm sorry if I did anything wrong. I wanted to see where you went, and I saw the piano. I used to take lessons back in Ohio before dad lost his job. I'm sorry if I did anything wrong, please don't tell my dad."

"Don't worry about it, son," Douglas said, forcing his deep accent to sound calm. "You didn't do anything wrong, you just shouldn't be in here alone. Not until we can get things fixed up, at least. There are too many broken pieces of wood you can get hurt on. Promise you won't come in here again, without an adult with you."

"I promise. You won't tell my dad, will you Uncle Herman?" the boy asked as he joined them. Douglas reached down and patted the boy's slender shoulder reassuringly.

"We won't say a thing, and if your father asks, you were with us the whole time. Deal?"

"You bet. Thanks a lot, Uncle Herman, you too lady." Bradley ran from the building, back into the streets, shouting for his mother.

"He sounds terrified of his father, doesn't he?" Natasha observed sadly, stepping out into the night's breeze and pulling the blanket across Nate's sleeping body. "I know Jacob Strause drinks too much, and I've heard him at night yelling at his wife, but I didn't think he abused his children too."

"It isn't just abuse, Sweetheart. Strause is a drunk, and when drunks start to sober up, they usually get mean, as you've already pointed out. He has his entire family terrified of him, which is probably why Beverly never took the kids and left. She's too afraid of what he'd do when he found them again."

"How can a man do that to his family? To his children?"

"You have a good family somewhere, don't you Sweetheart?"

Natasha realized what she was saying and lowered her eyes, thankful for the night's darkness to hide her embarrassment and shame.

"I used to until my father left, and my mother remarried. There's nothing good to go back to."

"I'm sorry Natasha," Douglas said, easing her closer to his side. "I know how hard it is, to live through abuse."

"Were you an abused child, too?"

Douglas lifted his head to the sky, remembering the times he spent with his real father before his death.

"My father was a very strict man, but he was never abusive. He liked things to be a certain way and would get angry when they didn't meet his standards, but he never struck me, or my mother, not even in anger. He would make us feel guilty and ashamed for not doing as he instructed, though. Sometimes, that was as bad as being hit, physically."

"Exactly where do you come from, Uncle Herman, and don't say Pasadena, and I know you're not a street person like the rest of them - us." Natasha eased away from the warmth and protection of his embrace, to stare at the strong noble lines of his features silhouetted by the full moon. "Your accent doesn't fit your claims."

"I'm Italian by birth, and no I'm not a street person, but I might as well be, for as much time as I spend trying to help."

"I know you said you used to work in a hospital, and then you went to the clinic by the wharf, but where do you go after that? You're always clean, and you have good clothes, and by the look of you, I'd say you do more than walk the streets looking for a handout."

"I live at home with my mother and my step-father, but I have a little one-bedroom place by the wharf where I can be close to those who need me most. I spend a lot of my time there. In fact, I don't remember when I last saw my parents."

"Why do you bother so much with people you don't even know? Why do you care about what happens to them? It's all like a fairytale to you, and you're determined to make certain it has a happy ending."

"Natasha, a long time ago when my brother died, I promised myself I'd do whatever it took to help those who couldn't help themselves. The rest of the world has turned their backs on these people, I can't close my eyes to their suffering, as well. If I can help, even a little bit, I'm going to do it. I have to try anyway."

"You're a very unusual man, Douglas," she said, smiling softly at him.

"I'm not that unusual, Sweetheart. I'm just a man."

"I have a feeling I'm never going to get you to stop calling me that."

"I'll make you a deal," he said, a soft chuckle rumbling up from his chest. "If you keep your promise to give my idea a chance, promise to stay and help us build this town, help us build a new life, a better life for those who can't do it themselves, then I'll promise to try and stop calling you Sweetheart. Is it a deal?"

Natasha stared at the man for a few minutes in silence. She'd already considered the idea of staying. She just wasn't sure if it would be safe staying here with the most incredible man she'd ever had the privilege of meeting, much less kissing. And that kiss, it still made her tingle when she thought of it.

"I don't know, Douglas," she answered softly, her words whispered through the night's darkness. "I have to get back to L.A. There's something very important I must do there. If I stay here, I may lose my chance to set things right."

"What do you have to do, Sweetheart? Maybe I can help. I know a lot of people who can work miracles when it's needed."

"I don't think they can help me. I have to do it myself."

"What is it, Natasha? Tell me, let me help you at least."

"I'm searching for someone. That's why I was living on the streets. That's why I was with those people."

"Who are you looking for?"

Douglas felt the twinge of jealousy, the pain of losing her to another man became vividly real to him.

"My brother," she said softly, relieved to have confided in someone, after all these months. "My step-father kicked him out two years ago. I didn’t know what became of him, or where he’d gone until I received a letter from him eight months ago saying he was in trouble. He gave me an address and asked me to send him some money, but instead, I brought it myself. Only when I got to the address he gave me, it was gone. It had been an old hotel or apartment building, which had burned down. I tracked Nathan down to the overpass, but he was gone and none of these people know anything about him. I have to go back Douglas, I have to find my brother."

"If I promise to help you try and find him, will you agree to stay here with us? You'll be safe here and off the streets. It's better than being cold and hungry, isn't it?"

"What can you possibly do to help me? I don't even know where to look. I've run out of every idea I had."

"I told you I have friends who can check around and see what they can learn. If your brother is still in L.A., they'll find him."

"Why would they help me, they don't even know me."

"They know me, and that's all that matters. If you agree to stay here with us, for the time being at least, I'll promise to find your brother."

"Why is it so important to you that I stay here?"

"Because we need your help. You have the courage it takes to make this thing work. Who else would take in a homeless infant, and risk her own life to protect him? We need you, Natasha...I need you, to help keep everyone together. Stay with us, help us build a future out of a dream of faith and hope."

Natasha remained quiet for a few moments, studying the solid, firm features of the man in front of her.

"I promised I'd try, and I will. I'll stay, but only until I find Nathan. I can't promise anything more than that."

"That's more than I ever hoped for, Sweetheart - sorry," he said, with a rumbling in his chest. "I mean, Natasha."

"It's alright, I'm sort of getting used to it."

"Well then, Sweetheart, let's try and get some sleep. We have a very busy day ahead of us tomorrow, and a lot of work to do. I'll be going back to the city in a few days, so I'll need you to tell me everything you can about your brother before I go. I'll keep my end of the bargain, so long as you keep yours."

"Would you like me to write it in blood, or would a handshake suffice?"

"Neither one, but I will accept this as a seal to our arrangement.”

Douglas pulled her toward him, lowering his lips to hers and capturing them in a gentle, yet possessive kiss, that sent her pulse racing and curled her toes inside her worn sneakers. The kiss was warm and tender, and Natasha knew in a moment she was lost. Her one free arm circled around his thick neck, and she felt him ease Nate carefully to the side, allowing her body to mold against his. She gasped softly, as the tip of his tongue traced the outline of her lips, and then sighed when he slid it into the warm depths of her mouth.

Douglas tasted and teased her, until at last, she surrendered her defenses, offering him as much as he gave. She could no longer resist his affections. It had been too long since she felt the love and the security of a man's arms around her. Surrounded by rats and snakes, and wishes she knew would probably never come true, she felt herself falling hard and fast through a tunnel of hope and promise. Falling to his ideas, for a dream that was bound to fail.

As his tongue passed over hers, as the moan of pleasure and need grew from her chest, she knew she was giving into this man's crazy ideals. She wanted to believe in the future, wanted to believe in something she knew would never come true. Right now, she wanted to believe in fairytales filled with knights and romance... she wanted to believe in that four-letter word called hope.