Henry had Bradley writing and scribbling notes all over the scraps of paper Douglas had found in the glove box of the truck. They investigated the tavern itself and one of the rooms behind the bar, which turned out to be a large kitchen. On the one side of the room were the remains of a brick stand, Henry said was the sink. There was a rotting wooden square box in the top of the three-foot-high structure, where a pan would be placed for washing dishes. The partial remains of a drain pipe swung freely underneath the box, and in the wall was a hole where a pipe would go out into the alley, and the water would drain from the structure.

Set in the bricks, beside the sink, was a rusty pump once used for water, yet too old and rusted to be of use now, even though Henry was optimistic. He was certain with a little elbow grease, and a lot of prayer, it could be used again. In the corner of the room stood a brick fireplace, lined with metal sides and hearth. Henry said it was what would have been an oven, back in the day. There were compartments built in to the side, like shelves where food would be prepared, and breads would be cooked. A metal hanger lay among a pile of burned wood, that had been used to hang pots for stews and other dishes, suspended over a roaring fire. Henry said it was feasible, yet not very practical in this day and age. It would take hours of hot, hard work, to prepare one meal.

Work, that was the one word they seemed to use over and over as they continued their inspection. Each room they came to there was work that needed to be done. Closets had to be repaired, walls had to be patched and painted, windows needed to have glass panes put in them and some even needed to have frames built. Floors needed boards replaced, doorjambs needed doors, dressers and tables needed sanded, painted and repaired or replaced entirely. Ceilings needed to be patched from years of water leakage, and the roof needed a complete overhaul. Stairs needed new steps, the railing needed new rungs, the bathroom needed a new floor beneath the tub before it fell into the room below, and above all else they needed brooms, dustpans, mops and rattraps.

"I think it’s in excellent shape for the shape it's in," Henry said, smiling at the eruption of laughter from his small audience.

They walked to the swinging door across the entrance and made a note to have it replaced, before stepping back into the morning sun. Natasha looked around but couldn't see any sign of Douglas or Jacob.

"Let's see what the other buildings need," Beverly said, obviously unconcerned with her missing husband.

"Might as well have a look," Henry commented cheerfully, leading the group to the next building.

The wooden walkway was in rather good shape, considering it was over a hundred years old. There was some work that needed to be done, but for the most part it was the best structure of the whole town. It made their investigations of the other buildings easier and helped shade them from the growing heat of the day.

On both sides of the saloon were small alleyways, leading to the old outhouse outback, and the stone and masonry water well, now filled nearly half full with dirt and sand rather than water. Rats scurried across the small narrow pathway when the people passed by, hiding behind sagebrush or in cracks in the dry wooden walls. Natasha fought the urge to scream, as she had done so many times in the city, patting Nate's back as an excuse to contain her composure.

"If we had some shovels and dynamite, we might be able to get her flowing again," Henry said, looking over the edge of the well. The crank wheel that lowered the bucket into the well was rusted stiff, and the rope and bucket that had once hung on it, were gone.

"Do you really think we could make it work?" Manuel asked, eager to have the object filled with cool groundwater.

"If we had the right equipment, I don't see why not," Henry responded, boldly.

"But where's all the water?" Bradley asked, peering over the edge.

"It's in the ground," Beverly explained. "When it rains, the water gets soaked into the ground, and it stays there. If we dig down deep enough, we'll find it."

"Is that true?" the children asked, staring at the old man for confirmation.

"That's a pretty good explanation," he replied with a chuckle, leading the way back between the buildings. Bradley remained behind, long enough to write down the find and then looked at the outhouse.

"What's that place?" he shouted, causing Henry and the others to stop and look where he pointed.

"It's an outhouse," Henry said, with another chuckle.

"What's it used for?"

"It's a toilet, or it used to be. I came out here last night and looked around. Not much in there now, except a snake. We'll have to dig it out if we want to make use of it."

"That's gross," Bradley complained, running to catch up to the group.

"That's how it was back then," Beverly said, messing her son's thick brown hair with her hand.

"Why didn't they just use bathrooms?"

"That was their bathroom. Toilets, like you're used to, didn't come along for a long time. People had to use outhouses for hundreds of years."

"That's so disgusting," Kelly Strause said, using her new big word she'd heard someone on the streets use.

"That's life," Teresa said, with a soft feminine chuckle.

The group retraced their path up the alley to the small shop next to the saloon and looked at the outside. All the buildings looked the same, and were connected like one big narrow store, but each had its own entrance and a place where a window used to be.

"Looks like a barbershop to me," Henry commented, stepping in through the doorway, rubbing his grey stubble chin. "I'll bet there was even a bathhouse here at one time. Too bad it's not open. I could use a shave and a haircut."

The others laughed at the man's easy manner, looking about the dirty room.

"Do you think there's still a bathtub?" Bradley asked, excited with their search.

"I doubt it," Henry said shaking his head. "When the last people left these old towns, they would always take everything with them, so long as they could carry it. Probably, the only reason they didn't take that old tub from the saloon, was because they couldn't get it out. I'll bet they built the walls around it."

"Look back here," Kelly shouted, peeking her little head around the corner of an open doorway.

The others followed the five-year-old, stepping into the room behind her.

"Yep, just like I said, a bathhouse."

Henry smiled at his knowledge of the old buildings, feeling a strange sense of pride for remembering so much of his architectural teachings.

"They left the mirrors," Kelly said wiping a small spot of grime from the corner of the large wall with her sleeve.

Henry examined the length of the mirror briefly, assuring them that it seemed to be intact and then began pacing off his steps as a rough measurement of the rooms. They made several notes on what was needed, before going on to the next building.

The town wasn't very large, with only ten buildings positioned on the West and East sides of the street. There was one building that Henry was confident had been the post office, since it had a counter closed off to the main room, and small boxes built into the wall nearby. There was a matching building directly across the street, apparently the assayer's office, according to their tour guide. Next to that was an empty building, with two rather good-sized rooms and a loft. Its little square room in the front of the building was void of anything but dust, cobwebs, dirt and mouse tracks. In the corner of the backroom, Kelly found an old faded scrap of paper. They inspected it and were able to make out two tiny words in the upper right-hand corner.

Size 9.

"I'll bet this was the dress shop," Beverly said, in excitement.

She looked at the small rickety stairs leading to an upper floor but decided not to attempt them.

"There are too many missing steps," Henry warned then pointed out the many broken floorboards above their heads. "We can fix them," he added with confidence.

The next place they came to, was like that of the dress shop. It was slightly larger, and the backroom appeared much bigger than the other stores, so Henry began pacing off his steps, writing down the measurements.

"Yep," he said as he scribbled his figures. "Nearly six feet larger."

Next to that building was another shop, very similar to the others, with two back rooms but no upper floor. The last building on the west side of the street was the sheriff's office. In it was a large old cell, its iron bars still sturdy and standing after all these years, yet the concrete that surrounded them was beginning to crumble from time. An old rusty key hung on a hook inside the jail cell behind the locked door.

"How did they get it in there, without getting stuck?" Bradley asked, puzzled by the locked door.

"Maybe a ghost put it there," Kelly added, hugging her mother's side.

"More likely, they hung it up and closed the cell door on their way out," Henry said, with a chuckle. "Once the door shut, it locked and there was no way of getting the keys again."

"Are you sure it wasn't ghosts, Mr. Henry?" Kelly asked, still hiding next to her mother's protection.

"I'm sure, Darling," he said, his voice filled with amusement.

"I'll bet they did that, just to see if anyone would ask how they did it," Bradley said with a smile.

The group continued their investigation as they visited the blacksmith and livery stables that sat back away from the rest of the town. They were large and had old dry straw scattered across the dirt floor and several rat's nests. Outside was a rectangle-shaped corral, its wooden fence still surrounded the area now filled with weeds, but was of no use without horses, or some sort of animal to put into it.

"Good thing," Henry said, kicking at the gate that hung precariously on its hinges. "It needs a lot of repairing before we can put anything in there."

The hayloft in the barn was large, with old straw lying in spots across the heavy wooden beams. It was old like everything else, yet in better shape with very little work that needed to be done.

The next building to be surveyed was an old two-room church. Inside the large room, that had once served for meetings, lay the church bell, silent and unable to ring its glorious music to the world. It lay on its side, the iron ball broken from the interior lay a few feet away from it. The pointed steeple in the top of the roof was broken from where the weight of the bell had fallen through the ceiling, the old bench seats were dusty yet in remarkable shape. In the corners of the seats, across the doorways and windows hung thick layers of cobwebs, their silent occupants patiently waiting as though expecting the preacher to begin his overdue sermon. The small back room was obviously for the preacher, a private room for prayer, meditation or possibly even a living area.

The last two buildings that sat next to the saloon were not much different than the rest they'd seen. The one next door on the south was about the same size as the others, with a small fireplace and two back rooms, slightly smaller than the one in the front of the building with an upper loft and several missing stairs leading up. Nobody knew for certain what it had been, and by this time they'd run out of ideas. Next to that building, on the corner closest to the old church, was the bank. Its teller's bars still standing, its counter filled with filth, the old safe closed and locked, sat quietly in the back of the room.

"What do you think is in it?" Bradley asked, the thrill of the hunt still raging through his veins.

"Probably mice, like the rest of the place," his mother said, watching a fat little mouse squeeze through the small hole next to the door.

"Wouldn't it be great if there was money in it, or maybe gold?" Bradley said in dreamy tones, as he inspected the combination lock.

"It would be great, but I doubt it. Nobody would leave anything in there that would be worth spending."

Bradley looked at his mother and frowned. In his mind, there was a treasure hiding inside that steel monster, she didn't have to spoil all the fun for him by telling him the truth.

The town's investigation was complete, and the small group of inspectors stood silently on the end of the wooden walkway next to their tents. The post office was at the head of the East side of the street, with the barbershop and bathhouse next to that, followed by the small alleyway, the saloon, and the other alley. Henry began sketching the town's layout, on the paper that held his diagrams of the buildings and his crude measurements. He was eager to assign names to the buildings and begin developing their lives in the old town.

Next to the saloon was the small building with two back rooms, fireplace, and loft, and then the bank with its locked treasure waiting for Bradley to discover it. The church sat parallel to the town with its broken steeple and silent benches, surrounded by a large weed-filled yard.

Across the street, Henry began sketching his diagrams, starting with the assayer's office at the far end. Next to that he drew in the dress shop where Kelly had found the paper with the size 9 printed in the corner. He quickly named the two adjoining buildings the general store and the miner's supply store. Ending the street was the sheriff's office, with its key locked away from spectators. Behind the buildings were the livery stables and corrals, the old well and the outhouse Bradley still insisted was gross. Henry's drawings were soon complete, names given to the buildings to keep them straight as the town was rebuilt on paper, and the curious treasure-hunters eager to begin their task of preparing to make their dream come true.

"I think we should give that store next to the saloon to Uncle Herman," Teresa said in her heavy accent, pointing to the empty building with the two back rooms and unseen loft. "He deserves his own house."

"I agree," Beverly added, with a starry-eyed expression Natasha had never noticed before, and felt a twinge of irritation over it. "If it wasn't for Herman, we'd still be in the city, freezing and hungry."

Henry led the vote by a show of hands, with a unanimous count to give the building to Douglas and fix it up as a surprise for him. Natasha smiled and glanced around the empty streets wishing he were here to see this and wondered where he and Jacob had gone. She looked back in time to see Henry draw a circle around the box he'd drawn for the small building and penciled in two small words.

Herman's House.

Teresa and Natasha used the straw they'd found at the livery stables, along with several broken sticks from the saloon chairs to make six small brooms for sweeping. Beverly followed fashion and made a mop using one of the diapers they'd been washing dishes with and wrapped it around a stick. They tore one of Natasha's old shirts into strips to use for rags and tied the straw and the diaper to the stick tightly. Complete with tools brought by Douglas, the small group began the task of cleaning their new home.

Natasha fed Nate his bottle, changed his diaper and sang him to sleep with a voice that was quickly becoming accustomed to talking to the infant. Using an old dresser drawer from one of the upstairs bedrooms, she laid him on his blanket in it like a cradle and sat it on the counter Teresa had scrubbed clean. The room quickly filled with voices as they all began scrubbing, mopping and sweeping. The smell of moist dirt and mint, from the cleaner Teresa, made with spearmint growing wild near the stream, filled the room with a welcoming fragrance. The children's laughter and happy songs echoed around them, as did the noise of Manuel's hammering and Henry's sawing.

With broom in hand, Natasha began sweeping the floor, listening to the children as they made up stories about the old saloon and the lives of the people who had once lived there. They scrubbed baseboards, walls, door jams and window frames, tearing the old curtain that hung at the end of the stage into strips for rags. They swept the stairs, keeping clear of the broken ones Henry was working on, and polished the banister to near perfection. Natasha was surprised at how eager the children were to help, surprised too, that they didn't complain when asked to do a certain chore or task. Even Teresa's youngest daughter, eighteen-month-old Veta, was eager to work. Natasha supposed it was because they hadn't had their own home for so long, they'd be willing to do just about anything in order to have one again.

The hours passed by quickly, with everyone cleaning the one room together. Teresa washed the mirror behind the bar until it glistened in the afternoon light, reflecting her dusty image. She laughed at the smudged dirt smeared over her nose and across her forehead, and stepped back as each child came in turn, to inspect their own reflection. She cleaned the broken shelves surrounding the large oval-shaped mirror, taking time out periodically to remove a splinter, or kiss an owie better.

Henry began a pile of wood outside the door and instructed everyone to put whatever broken pieces they found, in it. With the use of the tools Douglas had brought with him, Manuel was able to begin stripping the broken pieces of wood from the tables and chairs as Henry began sawing the smaller pieces, to repair the steps.

The work continued with only one break taken long enough to eat a quick lunch. Beverly and Teresa made use of the potatoes Douglas had packed and the left-over gravy they'd had for breakfast, while Natasha kept the children occupied by finding firewood. Manuel and Henry brought back fresh water from the stream and told everyone of the pond they could bathe in. The excitement didn't fade as they hurried through their meal, then eagerly returned to the task of finishing the saloon. Manuel and Henry were concerned with the amount of daylight that was left, while Natasha was concerned with the whereabouts of Douglas and Jacob, who still hadn't shown up by the time lunch was over. She looked around the area and saw no sign of either of the men, or the truck, and the nervous twitching in the pit of her stomach began to grow, her concern and curiosity eating away at her insides.

In the saloon, the conversation was robust, each talking either to the person next to them or to a small child who complained about an older child, not allowing them to do more. Natasha watched the street outside as she scrubbed the stage clean, wondering what had happened and why Douglas hadn't returned. She glanced up to Beverly and frowned, she didn't seem concerned in the slightest that her husband was missing. She laughed and joked and led the children in songs while they worked, giving the image of a happy homemaker who hadn't a worry in the world.

Natasha went to the pan of dirty wash water and rinsed her rag out again, stretching her sore back. She looked around the small room and smiled. Everything was clean and nearly spotless, with the exception of the furniture Manuel was working on and the pile of dust the children had swept into the corner. Even the stairs looked clean and inviting, and Bradley was working on sweeping the hallway on the upper level, piling the dust and dirt into a corner. If a person were to enter the room now, not knowing what it had looked like before they started, they would think it was merely an old saloon, and not one near condemned status.

Beverly stepped up beside Natasha and dipped her dirty rag into the pan of water. She followed Natasha’s gaze, examining the room and the occupants who were working as hard as physically capable.

"It looks great, doesn't it?" Beverly asked, pride in her work, and in that of the others echoed in her voice.

"I can't believe it's the same place," Natasha replied, softly.

"I'll bet we'll be able to move in here in a couple of days," Beverly added, glancing to Henry and Manuel who joined them.

"It won't be that easy," Henry said, taking the glass of juice Teresa handed him.

Natasha smiled at the young Mexican girl. In another lifetime she would have made a good barmaid, handing drinks out to those who could afford to pay for them.

"Why not? We're almost done in here."

"There's still the upstairs to do, and that won't be an easy task, and then there's the bathroom that needs a whole new floor, and the kitchen that needs to be cleaned and fixed."

Henry drank his glass of watered-down juice and sat the plastic cup back on the counter as he spoke.

"We can't forget about the roof, or the rats either," Manuel said, his English much better than his wife's. "I don't want to wake up and find a rat in one of my shoes. I had enough of that back in the city."

"You're all just being pessimistic," Beverly complained, setting her cup back on the counter harder than she intended.

"No, darling, we're being realistic," Henry added gently, treating her with all the kindness of a grandfather. "Unless we can get some more supplies, I don't see how we'll be able to do much more than what we're doing now. Moving in here is a nice idea, but not a very realistic one."

"How are we going to come up with the money to get all the supplies we need, when we can't even buy food?" Teresa asked, her words being distorted heavily by her accent.

"We'll have to see what kind of ideas Uncle Herman has," Henry said as fatigue slowly began to embrace the old man’s weathered body.

"By the way, where is Uncle Herman?" Manuel asked, noticing for the first time their savior's absence.

"He and Jacob left a while ago," Natasha replied quickly, making the man's excuses for him. "He was saying earlier he had to go check on the tent and supplies we left behind. I'm sure that's where they went."

"I noticed the truck was gone when we were inspecting the town," Manuel commented, smiling at his wife as he handed her his cup.

"They probably just went back to check the tent, like Natasha said," Henry added, glancing cautiously to Natasha. "I don't think he'd have gone anywhere else without telling us. Besides, Jacob is with him, so they won't be gone long."

"Why would you think that?" Beverly asked, her tone turning cold and distant.

"Jacob wouldn't leave you and the kids alone," Natasha replied with a forced smile of politeness.

She didn't like the woman's husband and she didn't really like pretending everything was alright either, but she promised Douglas she'd help keep things under control.

"Don't fool yourself, girl," Beverly snapped, wringing her rag out again. "Jacob would sell any one of us for a bottle of whiskey."

"I'm sure it's not all that bad. He may have a drinking problem, but Douglas is going to help him through all that."

Natasha couldn't believe the woman's attitude toward her husband. Even as bad as King had been, her mother never once turned her back on him, no matter how drunk or mean he became.

"You're too old to believe in fairytales," Beverly snarled. "Jacob is a ruthless, mean man who doesn't give a damn about anyone, but himself. Do you want to know the truth? I hope he finds a cliff to jump off, or a hole to crawl into. I wouldn't care if he got bit by a snake or eaten by a wolf, in fact, I wouldn't lift a finger to help him if he did. Do you want to know how I feel, Natasha? I pray every night he goes away and never comes back."

Beverly left the four standing in silence, as she went back to her task of cleaning, her anger causing her to pick-up her pace considerably as she rubbed the dirt and grime from the lower stairs.

"Don't take what she says too seriously," Henry said at last, making himself the peacemaker. "She's hurt by the way he's treated her and the young’uns. Once he gets the poison out of his system, she'll see a whole new man. It just takes time."

"I wonder if she's willing to take that time," Manuel said, squeezing Teresa's hand gently.

"I don't think I could," Natasha said honestly, thinking about the way her mother always took her stepfather's abuse.

She wondered if her mother ever got the chance to sober up, if she would feel the same way Beverly Strause did, or would she simply continue the way she always had.

By sunset, Manuel had managed to repair three tables by using the best parts of each of the six broken ones. Seven chairs had been rebuilt by the same method and all the stairs had been repaired. Henry managed to use pieces of wood to repair them, cutting them with the hand saw from Douglas's tools to recreate the strength and beauty of the original step. All that remained was the banister and then the main room would be finished, or at least ready for a new coat of paint, some varnish, new windows, curtains, rugs, and furniture.

Beverly insisted on cooking dinner that night since Teresa was feeling overly exhausted. She used the left-over potatoes from lunch and added to them some diced up pieces of cheese, chopped onion, and a dozen raw eggs, creating what looked like a melted mess. Fortunately, for all concerned, it was filling and actually quite delicious.

The children all turned in early, those who had slept in the truck the night before camped out in the Strause's tent and Old Henry bunked down with the Valdez family. Natasha fed Nate, told him a story and sang him a song before tucking him inside the sleeping bag with her. The glow from the fire they had left burning for Douglas and Jacob created shadows across the inside of the tent, resembling lovers dancing in the flickers of the flames. She hugged the baby close to her, the eeriness of the night and the quiet of the town caused her to hear noises that weren't really there.

Eventually, the new residents all drifted off into a fatigue-induced sleep. Natasha heard the wind whisper her name and felt the warmth and security of contentment close in around her. Images of Douglas drifted past her closed eyes, images of his long blonde hair blowing in the breeze, his penetrating green eyes twinkling at her like rare emeralds. She could taste his kisses, feel his warmth as he held her tightly against his chest. She could smell the musky scent of him filled her nostrils and reached forward to touch him.

"Natasha, wake up," she heard him whisper, feeling his breath against her cheek as he kissed her gently.

Reluctantly, she opened her eyes, unwilling to let go of the sweet dream she was having.

"Douglas," she sighed, feeling his warm kisses move across her cheek to settle against her lips.

The whimper of Nate brought her eyes open in a quick snap, focusing on the handsome, tired features of her dream lover leaning across her.

"Wake up, I need to talk with you."

Natasha struggled to sit up in the sleeping bag, looking down at Nate who jerked uncontrollably in his sleep.

"Where have you been?" she asked, her tone soft and filled with the sleepy images of passion.

"Were you worried, Sweetheart?" Douglas asked, nuzzling her neck softly with his lips, his hands smoothing the tangles from her hair.

"You were gone so long, I thought something happened. Did Jacob go with you?"

"No, but I found him. When he left the saloon this morning, he just kept on walking. He wanted to go back to L.A. so desperately, he was willing to walk all the way alone."

"Is he alright?"

"He's tired enough he'll sleep for several hours. I have him in the back of the truck right now."

"Is it safe? I mean, what if he tries to take the truck while we're asleep?"

"He can't, I have the keys."

Douglas yawned with exhaustion and stretched his long frame as he spoke, making Natasha vividly aware of how late it was.

"Is it over Douglas?" she asked, sitting further up in the sleeping bag.

He shook his head softly.

"It's just begun," he told her gently, wishing he could hide her from the truth he knew they would eventually have to confront.

"Beverly was hoping he wouldn't come back," she told him quietly, keeping her voice barely above a whisper. "She said she hoped he fell off a cliff or was eaten by a wolf."

"She was only saying that because she's been hurt so many times, she just wants it all to end."

"Do you think it will end? Will he be a better person when this is all over?"

"I don't know, Sweetheart. I didn't know the man before he started drinking. It's possible he's always been mean. If that's the case he may leave and give Beverly her wish."

Douglas's accent seemed deeper tonight, as it always did when he was tired. Natasha reached out and touched his long hair with her hand, capturing his eyes as he pressed his cheek to her palm.

"I've missed you," he told her, then quickly lowered her hand from his face, cursing himself silently for his boldness.

He must be tired. Why else would he tell her that, why else would he give her further cause to fear him? He had spent several hours following behind Jacob in the pick-up as he walked through the desert, wondering about her, about what she was doing and whether she was thinking of him, or not. He had considered everything she said and finally came to the decision, it would be best if he stayed completely away from her. He'd move his sleeping bag to the truck and never kiss her again. Then he saw her sleeping so soundly, so beautifully. He could have resisted her, simply crawled beneath his sleeping bag and fallen asleep, but then she called out his name and he was lost. The moment she looked at him, he knew all those hours of stern lecturing he'd given himself, was wasted time. He could no sooner resist her than he could leave Piccadilly and his dreams behind.

"Are you hungry?" she asked him, feeling his hesitancy.

"I'm starving."

"We saved supper for you, but I'm not sure you're going to like it. Beverly made potatoes and mixed in cheese and eggs. It's kind of weird and it looks awful, but if you can avoid looking at it, it tastes good."

"At this point, I'd be willing to eat one of those rats running around out there."

Natasha grimaced visibly, causing him to chuckle softly in the tent's stillness. He agreed with her, as she retrieved the food she'd tucked away in the corner of their tent. The strange concoction did look awful, but in truth it was very good. Natasha spent over an hour telling him about their findings, about the labor of the day's work and how the children had even joined in, and then finished by repeating the list of repairs Henry said had to be done.

"I'll see what I can do when I get back to the city. Right now, though, I'm anxious to see this place."

Douglas's interest mounted, as he listened quietly to the woman relaying the events of the day.

"Want to come with me?"

"Now? But it's dark outside, how are we going to find our way?"

"I'll get a flashlight, you grab the lantern. It'll be enough to see by."

Natasha agreed hesitantly, wondering if they'd be interrupting a ghostly ritual of cards or an exciting display of age-old dancing girls in a roaring stage show. She wondered, too, what the rats would think about the midnight visitors disturbing their nightly scavenging for food.

Douglas poked his head back around the tent's flap and smiled, watching as she tucked Nate securely in the sleeping bag, kissing his cheek before retrieving the lantern. They walked together in silence down the dirt street to where the saloon waited, silently hidden in the darkness. Their steps crunched softly in the dirt, and the wooden walkway creaked as they stepped on it.

"Watch your step," Douglas said, leading the way around the pile of broken wood and old swinging doors, set off to the side of the entrance. He reached out and took Natasha's hand, helping guide her behind him as they stepped into the quiet tavern. Natasha raised the wick in the lantern, as he struck a match and placed it to the damp cloth, allowing the light to shine brightly through the dark shadows. She walked to the bar and set the metal canister on the clean surface and turned back to Douglas.

"Well?" she asked, watching him as he took in the sights of clean floors and walls, upright tables and chairs, clean empty window frames, and repaired steps. "What do you think?"

"I think I should leave more often," he said with a chuckle. "You get a lot done when I'm not around."

"Actually, we could have used your muscles. The others wanted to start on the kitchen, but the fireplace needs to have the pipe reinstalled, and then we need to repair the wall behind the sink. There was just too much for us to handle."

"Trust me, Sweetheart," he told her, stepping to her side and looking at her through the shadows reflecting across her face. "I'd rather have been here, then out in that hot desert with a cranky drunk."

"I'm sorry, Douglas. I didn't mean it to sound rude."

"It didn't, don't worry about it."

He smiled at the woman and looked the room over again, walking to the repaired tables and chairs and inspecting the workmanship.

"These are incredible," he said at last, testing his weight in the wooden seat as he sat down on one. "In fact, this whole place is incredible. I can't believe you were able to get so much accomplished, in just one day."

"It wasn't hard with ten people working. Even Teresa and Manuel's youngest was helping out. I just wish we could have done more. We wanted to do the kitchen as I said, and the upstairs, but it was getting late and everyone was tired. The kids were hungry and cranky which didn't help our own moods, so we quit before we started biting each other's heads off."

"That was probably the best thing to do. I'll be here tomorrow, and I'll do whatever is needed. I'll have to go back to the city this weekend and get some more supplies, so make sure I've got Henry's list. I won't guarantee I'll get everything, but I'll do what I can."

"It's more than we could ask for," Natasha said sitting cautiously in a chair across from him. "We all feel guilty having you pay for everything, just so we can have a place to live. I wish there was something we could do for you," she remarked, thinking of how he would feel when he learned of the house they were going to rebuild for him.

"I wish I could do more, but to be honest, I'm not as saintly as you make me out to be. A lot of this stuff is my parents. The tents and things were going to waste just sitting in the garage, and the tools haven’t been used in years, so you see, I really haven't done much."

"What about the food and the truck? Don't tell me they were just sitting around going to waste, as well."

"Not really."

"Then stop complaining and accept a compliment when you get one."

"Alright, thank you Miss Palmer. Now, if you really want to pay me back for all the hard work and expense I've endured, you can rub my neck. I've had a headache all day."

Natasha smiled at the man's feeble attempt for sympathy as she stepped around the back of his chair. The moment her hands touched his flesh, she felt oddly hot and her stomach jerked convulsively. His head fell backward as she massaged the tight muscles in his thick shoulders. A soft moan of pleasure echoed from his chest and he seemed to relax against her fingers.

"Better?" she asked a few minutes later, her tone low and husky.

She blinked when she heard the words, wondering if they had really come from her or some sultry ghost standing behind her.

"Mmm," Douglas said in a soft growl, his flesh tingling from where she touched him.

Natasha stopped her massage and started to move away, only to be captured by his big hand on her waist. He held her gently, pulling her down to sit on his lap. At first, he didn't move, he just sat there staring at her, his eyes dark and his expression deep, then slowly he moved his lips closer to hers, gently pressing against them. Every nerve in her body sprang to life. She didn't know what to do, should she fight him, should she pull him closer? Her mind raced with questions, her soul begged for more.

As though propelled by a force other than her own, her arms slid up the massive span of chest wall to the neck she had just finished massaging. Her fingers wrapped around the long silky length of hair, tangling among it, holding him to her. She wanted more, she needed more, her body insisted on it, but when his hands began to roam across her back and down to grip her bottom, in a gentle squeezing movement, she panicked. With strength she was certain her sore muscles no longer possessed, she pushed at the man beneath her until she was free from his embrace and standing with her feet on the floor.

"Sweetheart?" he asked, his voice filled with deep emotion, his tone laced with heavy uncertainty.

"I'm sorry," she said breathlessly.

Her legs shook as she stepped away from him, her arms crossed in front of her and her stomach twitched with nervous flutters.

"What's wrong? You can't still be frightened of me. You know I would never hurt you, I promised you that."

"It's not you, Douglas," she whispered, tears clogging her throat, so words were barely audible.

"Then tell me what’s wrong, maybe I can help."

Natasha laughed, a strangled sound echoing through the silent room.

"Help?" she nearly shrieked, tears streaming down her cheeks. "How much help can a man give, before he finally gives up?"

"Natasha, please," Douglas begged softly, reaching out to touch her.

She jumped back suddenly, avoiding his arms as though burned by an invisible flame. She knew if she allowed him to come any closer, she'd never be able to contain her sanity, she barely had any left as it was.

"Don't, just stay away."

"What's wrong, tell me."

Douglas's voice was growing in strength, his confusion echoing in his deep tone.

"I've never done anything like this before. I'm not what you think. I just can't throw myself into your arms and expect me to smile when you're gone. I can't do it."

"It's alright, Honey."

"No, it's not. Damn it, Douglas, I'm not like those other women you spend your life with. I am a virgin, a frigid little virgin, who can't accept dreams or have hope enough to want more."

Natasha ran out of the saloon, tears running down her face and into the collar of her shirt. She pulled the flap back on the tent and fell to the sleeping bag beside Nate, her heart aching, her body convulsing with deep emotional sobs.

It was useless, there was no way she could ever face him again, no way of telling how he would treat her now that he knew of her lack of experience. Why didn't she just say no and turn away, she'd done it before. Both of her past boyfriends had dropped her faster than a hot potato when they couldn't get her into bed, so why would she expect Douglas to treat her any differently? Chances were, now that he knew, he'd undoubtedly leave her alone. He could find his affection somewhere else, like back in the city when he returned that weekend. That thought was anything but comforting to her, and it only aided in making her tears flow more freely.

Douglas sat in the empty saloon, wishing for the first time in his life he'd had a drink in his hand. How could he have been so stupid? He should have realized when she told him she didn't have many boyfriends growing up, that she was still as innocent as a babe. He should have seen it in her eyes, thinking back now he supposed he did see it but chose to ignore it. It wasn't so much his size that frightened her, as it was a fear of something she didn't fully understand. Somehow, he had to find a way to apologize, to say he was sorry, and to make things right with her.

He picked up the lantern and the flashlight and walked back out into the night. He had never felt this way, never felt so drawn or attracted to another person the way he was to her. He thought about her constantly, wondered what she was doing, envisioned her in his arms, felt her lips against his, hell he'd even spent countless nights dreaming about her when he thought she was a child. What was it about the little minx that made him feel so empty when he was away from her and so full when he was with her?

The sounds coming out of the tent hit him like daggers, ripping at his heart and soul knowing she was crying because of his own lustful stupidity. Quietly, he stepped into the canvas covering and slid onto the floor next to her. He eased her off her stomach and into his embrace, ignoring her resistance as he smoothed her hair with his hands, shushing her tears with his deep soothing voice.

"I'm sorry, Sweetheart, I never meant to hurt you," he whispered against her ear, feeling the sobs rake her insides. "Please stop crying. I won't force myself on you, so you don't have to be afraid of me any longer."

"It's not you, it's me. I'm a freak."

"That's enough," he told her sternly, lifting her chin so he could look into her swollen red eyes. "You have no idea how wonderful you are. You have a very special gift any man would be thrilled to receive. Don't ever condemn yourself for being innocent."

"It's not a gift, it's a curse."

"That's not true Natasha, and you know it. If a man really cared, he'd take the time, all the time you needed. It's not you or anything you've done or haven't done. Stop crying and try to see it from my side."

"But you don't understand," she sniffed against his chest. "Nobody wants to take the time, nobody wants to love me."

"I do," he told her in a soft whisper, kissing the salty tears as they streamed down her cheeks.

His lips were like fire and his hands were magical, gently touching, slowly stimulating, and wickedly teasing. He kissed her cheek, her jaw, the tip of her nose, then finally moved seductively against her lips, creating a deep storm of desire and need within her soul. Natasha sighed against his mouth, inviting his tongue in the dark depths when she opened her lips for a breath.

Douglas surrounded her tiny frame with the warmth and security of his arms, pulling her closer to him, easing her beneath his weight as he slid one large leg between hers. He kissed her again and again until she was thoroughly lost, completely at his mercy. His hands slid up her body with slow sure movements, tracing the curve of her hips, the dip of her waist, the soft mounds of her breasts. Natasha sighed, her nerves responding fully, her stomach jerking when he gently pinched her nipple through the thin shirt.

"So beautiful," he whispered against her neck, sending shivers of anticipation along her spine.

His voice was deep and soft, his accent strong and intoxicating. His lips traveled down her neck to the buttons at the top of the shirt he had given her to wear. Her heart was pounding fiercely against her chest, meeting his lips with the steady rhythm of war drums.

"I'm scared," she told him, fighting the urge to push him away again.

"So am I," he responded, pressing his lips to the hard, round nipple thrusting upward beneath the shirt's covering.

Natasha gasped, an odd feeling traveled through her as the heat of his breath seared the embers of desire within her. A loud crash sounded outside the tent, bringing them apart suddenly, jerking them into reality and out of their passion induced world. Douglas frowned, glancing at the tent flap as another crash sounded followed by the shouts of Beverly. The urgent tones of Manuel and Old Henry registered like lightning, forcing the two to abandon their lovemaking until another time.

"What is it?" Natasha asked, pulling herself off the sleeping bag.

"I don't know, but I have a pretty good idea."

Douglas hurried out of the tent, leaving Natasha to gather Nate in her arms, soothing his fears and whimpers of being awoken so abruptly. She pulled the blanket around the baby and stepped out of the tent's protection, looking around at the small group of people. She turned her head in time to see Douglas duck Jacob's fist as it tried to connect with his face. In one swift movement, Douglas managed to detain Jacob from any further attacks, holding him tightly from behind, pinning his arms to his sides.

"Jacob stop it," Beverly insisted, trying to move around the children gathered at her legs.

"Go to hell bitch!" he shouted angrily, struggling against Douglas's steel grip.

"That's enough Strause, just calm down."

Douglas tried reasoning with the man, his tone filled with frustration over his destructive behavior. He tightened his grip around Jacob's twisting shoulders then lost his balance, stumbling backward into the dirt before landing on his back with Jacob on top of him. In the fall, Douglas lost his grip, his breath knocked from his lungs, he laid in the dirt momentarily stunned. Jacob took his chance and scrambled to his feet before Douglas could compose himself, running out into the night's darkness with all the energy of a madman fleeing from an unseen monster.

"Jacob, stop!" Henry shouted through the dark shadows.

Douglas sat up and shook the confusion from his head, running a large hand through his satin-soft hair. He looked up focusing on the sights and sounds around him.

"Douglas, are you alright?" Natasha asked kneeling down next to him.

"Yeah, I'm fine. I just had the wind knocked out of me. Where did Strause go?"

"He ran out into the desert."

Douglas stood up and walked to his truck. There was no point in hurrying. He knew where the man was going. He opened a small locked box in the back of the truck and removed a leather case. Inside were several disposable needles and five small vials of clear liquid.

"What are you doing?" Natasha asked watching as he filled one of the needles with the liquid.

"I'm going to try and sedate him. Keep the others here, I'll be back."

He replaced the case and locked the lid before climbing into the driver's seat.

"Not exactly what I had planned for tonight," he told Natasha softly when she came around to stand beside the driver’s door.

"Be careful," Natasha ordered.

"Just promise me, you won't forget where we were."

Natasha blushed, and Douglas kissed her briefly before climbing into the cab and starting the engine, turning the wheel in the direction of the city.

"Will Uncle Herman catch Daddy?" Kelly asked her mother fearfully as they headed back to bed.

"I don't know," Beverly answered her daughter and looked up to Natasha.

Their eyes locked for a brief second before the other woman disappeared with her children in the tent, zipping the flap closed. Natasha stared at the dome object, patting Nate on the back. She knew what that look was for. The meaning shined in the woman's eyes like diamonds in the night sky. She hoped Douglas never found Jacob. She didn't care if he was eaten by vultures or captured by pygmies, just so long as he never returned.

Natasha sighed, stepping back into her own tent. So much for hope and dreams, she thought pulling the flap across the entrance and closing out the memories of the night, so much for the fairytale ending for the new Pioneers of Piccadilly.