Different Circumstances: Part 6A of ? by Marzee Doats

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Thursday, October 26, five weeks after the bombs

"Mornin' Jake," Mary Bailey greeted, barely bothering to look up at the sound of the door opening and closing. 

"Mornin' Mary," he returned, throwing her an absent and rather false smile, still preoccupied with thoughts of Dale Turner and the confrontation in the street outside.  Jericho was changing, and certainly not for the better. 

Jake crossed the space, looking around, taking note of the few patrons in Bailey's this morning.  There were two, both alone, both hunched over their respective tables, both drinking.  Jake no longer bothered to wear a watch, but even without one he knew that it wasn't any later than about eight-thirty in the morning.  Still, there was always someone in Bailey's these days, drinking, trying to find some way to hold reality at bay.  Jake shook his head, and then headed for what was now his usual barstool. 

"Coffee?" Mary asked rhetorically, holding up the coffee pot.  Jake nodded, and she grabbed a cup, taking two steps toward him.  Turning the cup over, Mary filled it with coffee.  "How's your brother?" she inquired, obviously trying to appear conversational, but failing rather spectacularly.

Jake picked up his cup and took a sip of coffee, studying her over the rim.  The coffee was hot, amazingly so considering that Mary had been reduced to percolating it in an old aluminum pot over an even older camping stove that she'd found in the basement among her deceased father's things.  But, he supposed, she knew when to expect him.  Jake had fallen into the habit of coming in for coffee each morning, a precious commodity which Mary seemed happy to provide as long as he caught her up on the news from town hall.  This was the first time, however, that she'd asked after his brother.

"Eric pretty much keeps to himself," Jake answered cautiously, still watching Mary closely.  That much was definitely true.  Jake and Heather were now living mostly out of his childhood bedroom, and although Eric and April were in the room next door, Jake went most days without exchanging more than a few sentences with his brother.  "Spends a lotta time at work," he explained with a shrug.  "Making sure the town stays on its feet."

Mary frowned, though Jake was sure she didn't know that she was doing so.  "Really?" she mumbled, turning away so that he couldn't see her face any longer.  Still, he could hear the sudden hitch in her voice as she continued.  "That's odd.  I just figured he'd be spending a little more time with his wife," Mary sighed.  "You know," she clarified, stumbling over her words slightly, "Now that they've lost the house and all."

He realized he should have expected this, but two weeks of coming into Bailey's each morning without any questions about Eric had lulled him into a false sense security.  "They seem pretty happy together," Jake answered, nodding once. 

It wasn't an untrue statement as far as Jake could see.  Eric and April weren't around one another much, and Eric always seemed distracted when he was at the house, but at least he'd stopped haunting Bailey's.  Heather insisted that things were better between them than she'd seen in months, and Jake, still suffering from insomnia and wandering the house at a little after midnight two nights before, had heard enough coming from their bedroom to convince himself that Heather was right.

Mary, her expression falling, turned away, grabbing a carton of champagne bottles, heading Jake assumed, for the storeroom.  He felt bad for her, and mad all over again at Eric for having allowed this situation to occur.  Distracted by his own thoughts, he didn't hear the tavern door open, or look up from his coffee cup until he heard someone call out, "Mitchell, wait up."

Jake jerked his head up in time to see Mitchell Cafferty lope into the bar proper, his usual nefarious grin firmly in place.  He slithered toward Mary, blocking her path.  "Lookin' good, Mary," he leered.

"Uh-uh," Mary protested loudly, planting the box she carried between them, practically shoving it at Mitchell.  "We aren't doin' this again, Mitch," she told him.  "You're not welcome here."

"Ah, c'mon," Mitchell wheedled, his sickening grin widening.  "After everything that's happened, we're just lookin' for a cold beer," he insisted.

That was enough to exasperate Mary and bring her out of her initial, somewhat fearful reaction to Mitchell's presence.  "We haven't served cold anything for a long time," she practically snorted.

Mitchell shrugged, pretending nonchalance for just a moment.  "All right," he told her, "Just give me whatever you got."  His eyes bore into Mary's, and then he leaned closer, the volume of his voice dropping, his tone taking on just a hint of a threat.  "Or, I'll get it myself," Mitchell assured her. 

"You might want to rethink that," Jake announced then.  He finished off his coffee, and now faced Mitchell with a steely, unblinking gaze.  Jake watched as Mitchell turned slightly, obviously taken off guard.  He ducked his head so he could see past the glassware hanging from racks above the bar, his eyes narrowing into a hard stare for just a few seconds.

Mitchell recovered from his surprise, pretending amusement, chuckling to himself.  Mitchell Cafferty's laughter, even more than his normal speech, tended to betray his rather tenuous grasp on reality.  Jake wasn't exactly afraid of Mitch, but he knew that Mitch didn't have a conscience, that he'd never felt a pang of guilt or a twinge of remorse in his life.  Mitchell didn't care about anyone in this world but himself, and that gave him a certain advantage over Jake in all their dealings. 

"Wow!" Mitchell declared, throwing his body back, mimicking surprise.  "Here we all thought you went up in the blast."  He walked around the bar, still acting as if this was all great fun.  "But I knew you'd find a way to survive." He stood next to Jake now, holding out his hand to shake.

"Interesting," Jake mumbled, ignoring Mitchell's proffered hand.  "Jonah musta forgotten to tell you I was alive and well," he added, throwing the other man a quick, appraising glance.  Jonah Prowse, Mitchell's boss, was a violent, amoral, conniving son of a bitch, but at least he was sane.  The same could not be said for Mitchell Cafferty.  Plus, Mitchell had always had an overblown sense of his own importance to Jonah.  If he wasn't vulnerable to even the occasional prick of conscience, he could at least still be victimized through his own overweening pride.  "Jonah and I had a nice conversation, coupla weeks ago," Jake added, noting the twitch of anger that washed – just for a few seconds – over Mitchell's features.  His blow had been well timed, and well placed.

In truth, Jake and Jonah's conversation had been anything but nice and friendly.  They had met up in a stand-off out on the highway a week after the bombs.  Jake, with the help of his brother, Stanley and Jimmy had been working to retrieve Jake's belongings from his wrecked car, as well as tow the Roadrunner back to the Green Ranch.  Stanley had a tow bar and enough horsepower in his old truck to handle the job; Jake had asked Eric and Jimmy along both to help deal with the accident victims he'd left out there, and to have two more guns along.  Jonah and four of his goons – men that Jake didn't know – had shown up just as they finished burying the two corpses a few feet back from the road.  Jake and Jonah had exchanged words, and Jonah had been put at a disadvantage when one of his men began making noises about just shooting them all, and taking both vehicles – Stanley's truck and Jake's car – for themselves.  Jonah had had to shout the other man down, admitting out loud that he didn't want to invite the trouble down on himself that would come with killing either of Johnston Green's sons, let alone both.  Jonah and his gang had backed off then, Jonah making a quiet promise to Jake that nothing was settled between them.

"Oh, c'mon," Mitchell tried a few seconds later.  He appeared mostly recovered from Jake's revelation, though there was a note of not quite panic in his tone that told Jake he was unsettled by this news.  It wouldn't matter now, even if Jonah bothered to explain to Mitchell what had happened – and the chances that Jonah Prowse would ever be willing to explain himself to Mitchell Cafferty were exceedingly slim – because it was obvious Mitchell already felt betrayed. 

"Let's not do it like this," Mitchell continued, trying to affect a relaxed tone.  "'Sides, anyone should have a grudge, it's me right?" he reminded, his voice taking on a hard quality.  "You're the one who came after me."

Jake, pushing himself off the bar, stood up.  "You know, you're right."  He watched Mitchell for a moment, and then started to move past him.  "Don't make me kick your ass again."

Mitchell grabbed Jake's arm, squeezing hard, forcing him to a stop.  Robert Hawkins appeared next to them then, surprising them both.  "Hey," he greeted cautiously.  "Is everything all right?"

"You travel with your own, personal bodyguard now?" Mitchell asked Jake, chuckling soundlessly.  He spared Hawkins a single, quick glance, his focus all on Jake.  He still hadn't let go of Jake's arm.  "That's probably not a bad idea."

Hawkins took another step toward the other two men.  "What's the trouble here, Jake?" he inquired.

"Oh, no trouble," Mitchell answered, not looking at Hawkins.  He and Jake were now embroiled in what amounted to a staring contest.  "We're just two old friends, catching up," Mitchell insisted lightly, poking Jake in the chest with two fingers and then gesturing to himself.

"Well maybe you should do that some other place," Hawkins suggested, now standing at Jake's elbow.  He faced Mitchell, his expression brooking no argument.   "And, some other time."

Mitchell let go of Jake's arm finally, and then clapped him none too gently on the shoulder.  "See you soon, pal," he promised before moving around both Jake and Hawkins to collect his silent companion, and then exit the bar.

* * * * *

Eric Green entered his parents' house quietly, hoping to keep from alerting anyone to his return.  His plan was to be in and out, on his way back to town hall before anyone realized he'd been there.  To that end, he closed the front door with deliberate slowness, cringing even at the soft sound of the latch catching.  Unfortunately, Eric was out of luck; he turned around, only to come face to face with his mother.  "Hey, Mom," he greeted with as much enthusiasm as he could muster before heading into the living room.

"Hi!" Gail Green returned, smiling warmly at her son.  "What're you doin' home?" she inquired, following Eric, dust rag in hand, into the next room.

"I'm just snaggin' another citation ledger," Eric answered distractedly as he went through the secretary's desk that had, for his entire life, served as the catchall location for storing anything coming into the Green home that no one could quite decide what to do with.  He shook his head, pulling a drawer out and then rifling through it.  "Takin' more complaints these last few days than we normally do in a month," he explained.

Gail nodded, still watching her son's back.  "Well, Jake, Heather and I are goin' out to the ranch to feed the horses in a bit," she began, dusting the tiffany lamp on a side table.  "Heather's still workin' on cars out there, so if you'd like to join us, I'm sure Jake'd be just as happy to stay with her, and maybe you and I could talk."

"I'm sorry, I can't," Eric sighed, finally finding what he was looking for.  He extracted the citation book from between a copy of the 1998 Jericho Town Budget and a thirty year old French dictionary.  He faced his mother now.  "With Dad down, I'm strugglin' just to make sure things don't fall apart out there," Eric shrugged.

She waited until he was about to walk past her, and then stopped him with a gentle hand on his arm.  "How 'bout things closer to home?"
 
"What's that supposed to mean?" Eric snapped without meaning to.  He'd just wanted to find the citation ledger and get back to town hall.  He had more than enough to deal with there.

"How are you and April doing?" Gail asked then.  She caught Eric's eye, offering him a sympathetic smile, but he quickly looked away.

"Why?" Eric demanded, expelling a frustrated breath.  He still wouldn't meet his mother's gaze.  "Did she say something?"

"Eric!"

His mother wasn't yelling exactly, but her tone made Eric feel all of ten years old again.  He glanced at her finally, and then quickly looked away, his attention drawn by the creak of the door between the dining room and kitchen.

Heather entered the dining room, pausing a few steps into the room, hands on her hips.  "You're not Jake," she informed Eric unnecessarily.

Usually, Eric bristled at even the slightest, most innocuous comparisons, good or bad, anyone made between his brother and himself, but at this moment he was grateful for his sister-in-law's presence, and perfectly willing to shift the subject of conversation to Jake.  "Sorry, just me," he answered, saluting her with the ledger he'd come home to retrieve.  "And, I'm on my way out," he added, trying to step around his mother.

"Stay another minute, please, Honey," Gail instructed, patting Eric with the hand she still had on his arm.  "I sent Jake out to run an errand for me," she told Heather, who had now moved into the living room.

An amused grin found its way onto Heather's lips and, crossing her arms, she raised a questioning eyebrow at her mother-in-law.  "Going to Bailey's for his morning coffee now qualifies as an errand?"

"Bailey's?" Eric repeated, ready to kick himself before the word was completely out of his mouth.  He'd avoided the tavern for two weeks, and it was a shock to hear that Jake had been going in his stead.  Luckily, his Mother and Heather didn't seem to think there was anything odd about his question.

"Bailey's," Heather confirmed.  "Jake seems to think I'll be mad at him if he has coffee and I know about it." She shook her head, chuckling softly.  "I really don't care, and I think I'm past the caffeine withdrawal period.  It's been a month.  I just didn't see why I should have to figure out how to make it without Mr. Coffee's help when I wasn't going to be drinking any, so I told Jake he was on his own."

"You do not get to drink coffee," April called out, two steps from the bottom of the staircase.  She finished her descent, and then crossed the entry to join them.

"I'm not!  I haven't!" Heather protested, holding her hands up in defense.  "I'm just sayin', my husband doesn't need to sneak out to get coffee," she grumbled.  "He's perfectly welcome to drink it at home."

"This is what happens when you're pregnant, and you have a well deserved reputation as a caffeine fiend," April teased, a fleeting grin softening her concerned expression.

Heather laughed at that, rolling her eyes.  "Some friend you are," she complained.

"It may just be that Jake needs to get out for a bit," Gail suggested, removing her hand from Eric's arm.  "We're all living on top of one another right now, after all," she sighed, earning emphatic nods of agreement from the other three.  They were all having to learn to cope with the close quarters.  Turning her gaze onto April, Gail asked, "How's Johnston?"

The grin disappeared from April's face, replaced by a frown.  "I wish I had better news," she admitted, shaking her head.  "His fever's getting worse."  She glanced at Eric, then Heather, and finally at her mother-in-law again.  "I'll try to dig up a stronger course of antibiotics at the med center," April promised, "But we're running low on supplies."

"If I could just get him to eat something!" Gail protested, worry slumping her shoulders.  She looked at Eric.  "Can you stay?"

Shaking his head, Eric pressed a kiss to his mother's forehead.  "Don't worry about me, Mom," he told her.  "There's a box of protein bars at the station.  I'll just grab one of those."

"Okay," Gail conceded.  She picked up her dust rag off the coffee table, and then headed into the entry, Heather following.

April, taking advantage of the opportunity, stepped into Eric's path, offering him a tentative smile.  "If you wait ten minutes, maybe we could walk together?"

"I gotta go," Eric returned, his expression unreadable.  "There's an important meeting."

Well, that's where you should be," April sighed, obviously disappointed.  She held his gaze for a moment longer, asking hopefully, "Talk tonight?"

Eric didn't answer, just made a non-committal noise, and then, stepping around April, walked toward the door.  In the hallway, Gail and Heather exchanged a worried look.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Monday, October 22, five years before the bombs

The bell rang, signaling the end of the school day.  Heather, heaving a sigh of relief, found herself having to raise her voice to be heard over her chattering students.  The last part of the day had dragged, but now the children's flagging enthusiasm had been rekindled.  Not quite shouting, Heather reminded them to take their math and science books for homework, and to not run in the hallway, and to please, please use their inside voices!  Soon, they were in a reasonably straight line, ready to be escorted to the front of the school and their waiting buses and carpools.  "Remember everyone," Heather admonished with a smile, "We're going to walk in the hallway.  And, we're all going to stay in line today, right?" 

Twenty-six third graders replied energetically, "Yes, Miss Lisinski!"

Opening the door, Heather waited while her students filed out, and then lined up as they were supposed to against the wall.  Grabbing her clipboard with the school bus rosters off the hook just inside the classroom, she closed the door and locked it, spotting a folded note in the 'Communications Clip'.  The Jericho Independent School District was fairly well modernized, with computers in all the classrooms, and email communications amongst the staff and parents, but they still utilized the time-honored method of clipping correspondence to the door.  Student hall monitors carried attendance sheets, memos, and other notes to and from the office regularly throughout the day.  Heather was sure there hadn't been anything clipped to the door an hour earlier when she'd brought her class back in from their two o'clock recess, but there was now.  She retrieved the slip of paper, noting that her name – Miss Lisinski – was written across the front in the school secretary's handwriting.  Pocketing the note, Heather hurried to the front of her class's line, and led them out of the building.

Once they were in front of the school, her students scattered, all semblance of order tossed away in honor of the early fall sunshine.  Shaking her head at their antics, Heather couldn't help but smile.  They'd been a wild bunch the entire day, and while she loved them all, she was more than happy to send them home.  She knew it was partially her own fault; she'd stayed on the phone with Jake for nearly an hour after he'd called, safe and sound, from Denver.  He had been the one to end their conversation, telling her gently to go to bed, but Heather had still arrived at school that morning operating on only four hours of sleep.  Her kids had sensed her exhaustion, and then had spent the day testing her.

Heather walked the bus lines, checking that everyone was in the correct one, occasionally scolding a knot of students for roughhousing. Remembering the note, she pulled it out of her pocket and opened it, tearing the paper around the staple.  Reading, she actually squeaked in surprise, drawing the attention of a group of eighth grade girls who were hanging back, waiting until the last possible moment to board their buses.  "Girls," Heather intoned, shaking her head, "In line, please."

Emitting identical annoyed huffs, the three girls trudged toward their lines.  Heather looked back down at the note in her hand, re-reading it.  'Miss Lisinski,' it said, 'You have a delivery.  FLOWERS!!'  This was all written in Mrs. Crenshaw's rather proper handwriting, though she'd abandoned decorum long enough to underline the word 'flowers' three times.  'Come pick them up in the office,' the note concluded.  It was signed 'Mrs. C.'

She had no doubt that the flowers were from Jake, a thought that caused a wide smile to bloom on her face.  Refolding the note, Heather put it away, and then went to check in with each driver so that the buses could depart.  Five minutes later, the driveway in front of the school was clear, and Heather was headed for the office.

"Miss Lisinski!" Mrs. Crenshaw, the school secretary, called out, spotting Heather almost before she came into the room.  "Come look at these roses," she insisted, turning to retrieve them from her desk.  She placed the vase on the counter, and smiled at Heather.  "Who are they from?" Mrs. Crenshaw asked, gazing appreciatively at the bouquet of a dozen long-stemmed red roses.  "Or, do you have a secret admirer?" she teased.  "There's a card."

Heather felt the eyes of everyone in the office – Mrs. Walker, the sixth grade teacher, Mr. Rennie, the music teacher, and Mrs. McVeigh, the principal – upon her.  She began to blush.  "I'm sure they're just from my father," Heather lied.

"Red roses?" Mrs. Crenshaw questioned, her expression skeptical.  "Miss Lisinski, no one's father sends red roses.  Your boyfriend sends red roses.  Red roses are romantic – they're the flower of love!"  She shook her head at Heather, pushing the vase forward an inch.  "Open the card!"

Grinning, Heather gave in almost immediately, pulling the card out of its plastic holder, unable to resist pausing for a second to smell one of the roses.  The bouquet was truly beautiful.  She couldn't believe that Jake had done this.  She opened the little envelope, extracting a handwritten note.  Her pounding heart began to race just a little faster.  He had to have arranged for this before he'd left town, on Saturday, she guessed, in order to include a handwritten note.  She read it.  'I miss you.  No tests on Wednesday, okay?  Just us.  Jake.'

"So, who are they from?" Mrs. McVeigh asked then, joining Mrs. Crenshaw behind the counter.  Heather glanced to the right and saw that Mrs. Walker and Mr. Rennie were both obviously listening in.

Tucking the card back in the envelope, Heather took a deep breath, and then licked her lips.  Before she could answer, someone else did.  "They're from Jake, right?"

She turned around in time to see Emily Sullivan approaching the counter.  Emily offered Heather a bright, if somewhat fake, smile.  "He's always been good for a romantic gesture," she added.  "It is Jake, right?"

"Jake Green?" Mrs. Crenshaw asked, giving Heather an appraising look.  "No wonder he came to visit with his grandfather on Thursday.  You're quite sneaky, Miss Lisinski," she teased. 

Heather, still reeling from Emily's sudden intrusion into the conversation, not to mention what felt like such a mean attack, could only nod, confirming Mrs. Crenshaw's guess.  Jake had said that Emily wasn't above making a scene, and Heather figured this proved it beyond any doubt.  It hurt.  It hurt, and it made her mad.  What right did Emily have to try to ruin this for her?

"And, quite lucky, too," Mrs. Crenshaw continued, smiling.  "He was always such a sweet boy, even when he was in trouble!"

"And, he was in trouble more than most," Mrs. McVeigh laughed, prompting a snort of agreement from Mrs. Walker.  "But, he and I always had good chats," she added, nodding.  "And, he's certainly turned out well."

"Jake did turn out pretty great," Heather declared, surprising herself.  "And, I didn't know him when he was a kid, but I've seen the pictures, and I've heard some of the stories," she chuckled.  "Absolutely adorable."  She glanced sideways at Emily, her chin jutting out slightly in challenge.  "And, you're right.  Jake is rather romantic."  Heather returned her attention to the secretary and principal.  She reached for the roses, lifting the vase off the counter.  "They are lovely, aren't they?" she asked, grinning.

Mrs. McVeigh and Mrs. Crenshaw met Heather's gaze with identical approving looks.  "Quite," Mrs. McVeigh confirmed. 

"Excuse me," Heather said, turning on her heel and heading for the exit.

"So, Miss Sullivan," Mrs. Crenshaw sighed.  "What do you need?" she inquired indifferently.

* * * * *

Heather stood in front of her classroom door, carefully juggling the vase of roses as she tried to retrieve her keys from her pocket.  She found herself grinning.  The roses were absolutely beautiful – and rather ostentatious.  Jake had to have known they'd be noticed, and she could only assume that's what he'd intended.  Heather didn't think he could have caused a bigger stir amongst the staff at Jericho Elementary if he'd tattooed 'Jake Green' on her forehead.   Besides, she thought, giving in to the urge to smell one of the buds again, sending her roses was much classier than a tattoo.

Just as she fitted her key in the lock, Heather heard Emily call out her name.  Emitting a frustrated noise, she tried to steel herself for whatever would be coming next.   "Yes?" Heather responded, her guard up, turning to face Emily.

"Heather, I'm – I should have come to talk to you last week, but I really didn't know what to say."

Heather hefted the vase in her hands, almost dropping her clipboard, which she'd tucked under her arm.  She caught it by clamping her elbow against her side, and then, grumbling, met Emily's appraising stare.   "You don't need to say anything," she assured her.   "Trust me."

"I think I do," Emily argued.  "As your friend –"

"We're friends?" Heather asked, truly stunned that Emily would even think to say so.  They had attended a class together, driving the forty minutes each way to the county seat for a week.   They had talked – 'airplane' conversations, her father would have called them – on those trips, but aside from the fact that they were both teachers, they hadn't had a lot in common.   Emily had taken six years to get through college, and she'd seemed to have simply fallen into teaching, more as a default than out of any true sense of purpose.   She'd told Heather that she liked teaching English well enough, and at Jericho High she could also be the cheerleading coach.   Heather – serious, studious Heather – couldn't really comprehend such a meandering path to one's career.

"We carpooled for a week to a class," Heather reminded.  "We went to lunch.  It's not like we found a lot to talk about."

Annoyance flashed across Emily's face, but she appeared to recover quickly.  "Somebody has to warn you, and apparently the old biddies here aren't going to do it.   I'd like to be your friend," she insisted, "Whether you believe that or not.  And, I don't want to see you get hurt, but I know you're going to."   Emily sighed.   Her expression was now the picture of concern, and Heather didn't trust it at all.  "There's a lot you don't know about Jake."

Heather stared at Emily for a long moment, trying to decide how to respond.  'I know everything I need to know about Jake,' sounded defensive and wasn't exactly true; there was so much more that Heather wanted to know about Jake, but she also wanted to learn it on her own, with him.   'Maybe not, but I'm having fun finding out,' was flip, and more than Heather was willing to reveal to Emily.  Taking a deep breath, she did the only thing she could think to do, and turned the tables on Emily.   "So, tell me then, what, exactly, is it that I need to know about Jake?" Heather demanded.

"Well – What – You're not taking this seriously," Emily sputtered, shaking her head.   She took a deep breath, studying Heather closely.  "I've been where you are," she tried a few seconds later.   "Jake can be wonderful.   He's sweet, charming, fun to be with.  He's great at candlelight dinners, and flowers," Emily said, gesturing to the vase in Heather's hands, "And winning teddy bears at the county fair, so that the next thing you know, you've fallen into bed with him.  It's great while it lasts," she sighed.  "But it won't last, Heather.  Trust me, it won't."

"Is that all?" Heather asked when Emily paused.  The vase was heavy in her hands, and she moved it, propping it against her shoulder, taking care not to slosh out any of the water.  She waited another few seconds for Emily to continue.  She certainly looked like she had a lot more to say, but nothing came out. "Okay, Emily," Heather sighed, "Are you finished?"  Silently she added 'I hope,' feeling catty as the thought crossed her mind, and then deciding that she didn't really care.  She'd heard Emily out, which frankly, Heather thought, was a lot more than Emily deserved.   "If you were looking to do your good deed for the day, consider yourself covered.  You've warned me," she assured.  "I don't agree with you," Heather admitted, annoyed with herself when she shrugged automatically, jostling her vase, "But I heard you out.  So, if you're done, I've got things to do."

"My brother is dead because of Jake Green," Emily muttered then.  "You can't rely on him," she added, her eyes suspiciously bright.   "And, in two or three months when he's broken your heart, don't say I didn't warn you." Emily watched Heather for another moment, and then expelled a pent up breath, starting to turn away.  

"Your brother is not dead because of Jake," Heather retorted, exasperated.  Jake had made the same claim the night he'd told her about the DEA, Jonah Prowse, and Chris Sullivan.   She hadn't been able to understand why – still didn't, really – he took responsibility for Chris's death, but now Heather realized that Emily must have played a significant part in inducing his sense of guilt.

"I have all the sympathy in the world for you, Emily, about your brother.  I don't know what I'd do if anything happened to any of my brothers, and especially my baby brother," Heather told her.   She spoke quickly, her tone forceful, brooking no argument or interruption.  "But in what world could Jake possibly be responsible for getting your brother killed?"   In her frustration, she started to gesture widely with her hands, forgetting momentarily the vase in her arms, almost dropping it.  She caught it against her chest, allowing the clipboard to slip out from between her arm and her side.  The clipboard hit her on the leg as it fell, and then clattered loudly on the floor at her feet.   
 
"That's all on your father," Heather insisted.  "My father wouldn't send me alone to the store to get milk after eight at night because he worries for my safety.   Your dad sent your brother to rob a bank," Heather reminded, shaking her head at the thought.  "That makes him responsible.  Not Jake."

Emily gaped openly at Heather, who shifted uncomfortably on her feet.  "Jake told you that?" she asked.

Heather didn't answer, remembering belatedly her promise to keep in confidence everything Jake had told her that Saturday night at town hall.  She knew, of course, that Emily was aware of the details, but she also knew - and Emily surely knew - that, legally speaking, Heather wasn't supposed to know about any of that.  Mentally berating herself for her carelessness, she took a deep breath, meeting Emily's hard stare evenly.  She didn't say a thing

Finally, she bent over, careful not to upset the vase, and retrieved her dropped clipboard with her free hand.  Righting herself, Heather tucked it under her arm again.  "Goodbye, Emily," she muttered.  Then, turning away, she pulled the classroom door open, and slipped into the room.  She waited for the sound of the latch clicking into place, then reached behind, pushing the button to lock the door.  Sighing, Heather closed her eyes, and leaned back, allowing the solid wood of the door to prop her up, just for the moment.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Thursday, October 26, five weeks after the bombs

"Well, one thing that hasn't changed," Gail began, hoping to entice her son into a conversation.  She pointed at the bales of hay around them, the barn, the trees and tall, golden grass, even the view.  "All this."

It wasn't exactly true.  Things had definitely changed at the Green Ranch, starting with the management of the horse business.  Tony, their foreman had quit the week before, packing up his teenaged son, Eddie, and all the belongings they could fit into their ancient truck.  Tony had been very apologetic when he'd come to tell Gail and Johnston that he was leaving, but after the EMP he'd decided to strike out for his sister's in Oklahoma.  The Greens had known there was nothing they could do to tempt him to stay; they'd always been generous with Tony's wages, and they would have doubled or tripled them on the spot if it would have meant anything.  But their money was worthless now, and they were as short on food and fuel – the only commodities that seemed to mean anything anymore – as everyone else.  The Green Ranch had changed; for the first time in nearly fifteen years, the only people working it were Greens.

"You remember when you first started ridin'?" Gail asked Jake, trying a different tack.  He carried another bale of hay over for her, making eye contact, but otherwise didn't acknowledge her question.  "Took to it like a fish to water," she continued, not willing to give up quite yet.  "You know, if you favored your father a little less, and your dinky Uncle Dennis a little more, you would've been a helluva jockey."  Gail waited a moment, but Jake continued to respond only with silence.  "Talk to me!" she demanded.  "I'm tired of hearing my own voice.  You okay?"

A ghost of a smile passed over Jake's face, disappearing so quickly that Gail almost thought she imagined it.  "You seriously wish I'd been a jockey?" he asked.

"Maybe not," she admitted, smiling fondly at him.  "Just tryin' to find something that'll get you to talk to me."

Jake sighed, turning away to grab a couple of lightweight pails.  "I'm fine, Mom," he told her quietly.  "I'm just tired."  He held up one of the buckets and said, "I'll get the water."

Gail nodded.  She knew that she wasn't going to get any more than that out of Jake, at least not until he was ready.  They were all struggling with the changes that had been wrought in their lives over the preceding month, and as much as Gail wanted to take some of that burden off the shoulders of those she loved, she also knew that the Green men were both stubborn and old-fashioned enough to refuse her help, even an offer to just listen.

She watched Jake go around the corner of the barn, and was about to return to the task of breaking up the hay, when the sudden cacophony of whinnying and snorting horses distracted her.  Gail started toward the barn.  In the next instance, she found herself rooted in place, unable to move despite the fact that a thousand pounds of wild-eyed, spooked horse was headed in her direction.  Before she really knew what was happening, Gail was knocked to the ground.

Jake had taken two steps around the side of the barn, on his way to the spigot, when the sound of skittish, panicking horses reached his ears, causing the hair to stand up on the back of his neck.  A second later, he heard pounding hooves.  Dropping the buckets, he dashed back in time to see his mother fall.  "Mom!" Jake shouted out in warning.  She was struggling to get out of the way of the horses.  "Stay down!"

In all reality, the stampede probably lasted no more than thirty seconds, but it felt like an eternity to Jake, standing helplessly to the side.  He could do nothing for his mother but pray for her safety until the last horses, both bearing riders, cleared the barn.  Jake ran to her side, and began to check her for injuries.  "Who are those guys?" she cried out.

"I don't know, Mom," he mumbled, watching as twenty good horses – more than a quarter of the Green family's current wealth, Jake knew – disappeared up the road.  He found himself concentrating on the hair, the form, the clothing, of one of the riders; Jake was sure it was Mitchell Cafferty.  That thought was enough to make him see red, but it was his next thought that made Jake's blood run cold.  Heather was up at the garage, working on his car and an old truck of his grandfather's that they'd never bothered to have hauled off.  The rustlers would be passing right by her in no more than a minute.

Jake scrambled to his feet, and then leapt over his still supine mother, desperate to get to the salvaged radio he'd abandoned on top of a hay bale ten minutes earlier.  He grabbed the unit, pressing the transmit button with his thumb.  "Heather!" he yelled into the microphone.  "Heather!  Heather, get in the truck, now!"

"Jake –"

"Get in the truck now!" he interrupted, still shouting, though the sense of relief he felt at the mere fact that she'd heard him and responded weakened his knees.  "Rustlers!" Jake shouted.  "Get in the truck!  Lock the doors!"

Now he was waiting again, counting the seconds off in his head.  "Lock the doors!" he repeated, still screaming.  "Get down!  On the floor!" he added.  If this was Mitchell Cafferty – and there was no doubt in Jake's mind that it was – then Heather was absolutely in danger.  His only hope was that she could hide in the truck, and that Mitchell would never even know that she was there.

Finally, just as Jake silently counted twenty-three, a burst of sound came over the radio in his hand.  "I'm in the truck," Heather said quietly, her voice cracking slightly with fear.

"Doors locked, and on the floor?" Jake demanded softly.

"Yes," she sniffed.  "But – but Baron's still outside," she told him, her voice full of worry.  "Rustlers, Jake?" Heather questioned with her next breath, obviously shocked at the very idea.

"Rustlers," he confirmed.  "They got about twenty of our horses."

"I hear them," she said, and then the radio went silent. 

Jake had no choice but to wait yet again, ticking off the seconds under his breath.  Gripping the radio tightly, he returned to his mother's side, helping her as she struggled to sit up. He sat down in the dust beside her, both of them straining to hear something, anything, from Heather over the radio.

"They're gone."  Heather spoke so quietly that she was barely audible, but it was enough.  Jake let out the breath he hadn't known he was holding. 

"Okay," he answered, his voice croaking slightly.  "Mom's hurt.  Can you drive down here?"

There was a pause, and then a much more confident-sounding Heather replied.  "I'll be right there, Jake," she promised.  "Hang on."

She arrived at the barn just over a minute later, pulling Johnston's old truck up alongside the bales of hay Jake and Gail were now sitting on.  Baron, their dog, was riding in the back and he barked excitedly when he spotted Jake.   "It's okay, boy, easy," Jake told him moving to the side of the truck and reaching in to pet Baron behind both ears, "Hush."  When he and Heather had moved into town they had made the hard choice to leave the dog out at the ranch, and Jake still wasn't sure they had made the right one.  But, as much as Heather had hated leaving him behind, she had argued for the decision, reminding Jake that Baron was used to having the run of the ranch, and that they couldn't take that away from him and lock him up in the yard at his parents'.  Now, Baron seemed to live for visitors, practically howling in excitement whenever anyone was out at the ranch – and they did have to come every other day at least – and lavishing them with affection.  Quieting down, Baron put himself to the task of licking Jake to death, which prompted a short laugh from his master.  "Down," he ordered, still chuckling.  Jake patted the dog on the head and scratched his chin in reward when he complied.  "Stay," Jake added, turning back toward Gail.

"How are you?" Heather demanded as Jake opened the passenger door, and helped his mother climb up into the cab. 

"I'm fine, sweetheart," Gail assured her.  "Had the wind knocked out of me, and I don't know that I've ever been quite so scared, but I'm fine."

Jake shook his head.  "Her arm's hurt," he contradicted.  "Check behind the seat," he told Heather.  "Dad's gotta have a first aid kit in here somewhere.  I'm gonna run up to the other barns," he informed them next.  "Make sure they're locked up."

"Feed the horses, Jake," his mother instructed.  "I'll be fine, waiting, while you do.  Take care of the horses."

"Okay," he nodded, nudging her so that she was completely inside the truck.  Jake closed the door, then looked past his mother, meeting Heather's gaze. 

She offered him a weak smile, and held up the large first aid kit she'd found under the driver's seat; this was the truck that Johnston Green took on his hunting and fishing trips, and he was always prepared.  "I'll be right back," Jake promised, a grim expression settling on his features.  "Lock the doors, and if anyone you don't know, or don't trust, shows up, take off."

"Jake –" Heather and Gail both protested.

"Take off," he interrupted loudly, shaking his head, obviously unwilling to entertain any argument.  "Run 'em over," he continued.  "I don't care what you have to do, just get yourselves safe."

Heather nodded slightly, agreeing, if only so he'd go.  "Okay, Jake.  Okay.  Just go.  But take Baron with you," she instructed. 

"Babe –" he started to protest but she cut him off.

"Please, just in case.  For me," she requested.  "We'll be waiting right here." 

"Okay."  He called Baron and then reached through the open window and pressed the door lock down. Flashing the two women a distracted and dour grin, Jake turned and with the dog trotting beside him, headed toward the trail that led to the other two barns at the Green Ranch.

Gail's wrist was already swelling visibly by the time Heather opened the first aid kit and began inventorying its contents.  She extracted an ace bandage, an instant ice pack, and a single dose packet of aspirin.  Heather made her mother-in-law take the pain reliever, and then set to work wrapping her wrist in the bandage.  Gail's entire arm was obviously bruised, and she grimaced, whimpering softly when Heather touched it.

"Sorry," she apologized, frowning, as she secured the end of the bandage.  Heather tore open the ice pack, activating it, and handed it to Gail.  "Hopefully April can fix anything I did wrong."

"You did fine, sweetheart," Gail assured.  "Thank you," she smiled at her daughter-in-law, placing the ice pack on her forearm.  She turned sideways, facing Heather, so she could rest and elevate her arm on the back of the seat.  "I'm just feeling a little silly.  I heard the horses, I knew they were upset.  I should have known better than to get myself right in their path if they were spooked."

"No reason you should think that someone would steal your horses right out of the barn while you were here, working, either," Heather argued.  "It's crazy!"

"It is crazy," Gail murmured, distracted.  She stared past Heather, grimacing absently.  "It's hard to get used to, all the changes," Gail admitted with a sigh.  "But we will.  And, this won't happen again, either.  We'll all see to that."

They fell into a companionable silence, Gail leaning forward to rest her head against the seat back, still managing somehow to keep her arm elevated and reasonably immobile.  She closed her eyes, the pain and stress having tired her out.  Heather kept a silent, vigilant watch, anxious for Jake's return.  He was back within a half hour, which was hardly enough time to do what needed to be done in the other barns, but neither Gail nor Heather said anything. 

Heather surrendered the driver's seat to Jake, figuring he needed the distraction.  He kissed her quickly, pulling her into a tight embrace as she climbed out of the cab.  He was reluctant to let her go, but mindful of his mother's injuries, did so, waiting until Heather had gone around the front of the truck and climbed in through the passenger door before getting into the cab himself.  They dropped Baron back at the garage – he'd always slept in the house but had now been demoted to the garage which Heather had insisted on fixing up with his bed and all his favorite toys – and drove back to town without conversation. 

Back in Jericho, Jake headed immediately for the med center.  Gail argued that she didn't want to go in, that she just wanted to go home, and refused to get out of the truck.  Heather, to keep the peace between mother and son, ran into the building, and found April, inventorying the now sparse pharmaceutical supply at the clinic. 

After the EMP, April had asked Johnston to force Mr. Williamson, the town pharmacist, to turn over all the prescription drugs he had in his control.  The pharmacy had already been broken into once by Victor Miller, the refugee from Denver, April had reminded, and it would be safer to keep all the pharmaceuticals at the med center.  Mr. Williamson had resisted at first, but the combined pressure of Johnston and Jake, his DEA badge prominently displayed had been enough to convince him.  The citizens of Jericho were coming to the realization that, for the moment, there was no government outside of the one at town hall, at different rates; luckily, Mr. Williamson had been a little behind the curve, and had given in rather easily to the threat of an inquiry into his pharmacist's license.  Jake, Eric and Jimmy, supervised by April, had moved everything to the med center one night under cover of darkness and armed guard.  The infusion of supplies had kept the clinic going for the intervening two weeks, but now April was starting to run out again.

"I'm trying to find something stronger to give Dad," she explained, her expression harried, admitting Heather to the drug closet.  April, working somewhat secretly on her inventory of the remaining pharmaceuticals, had locked the door behind her, and had been prepared to ignore the person pounding on it until Heather had identified herself.  "What are you doing here?" she asked, pulling her sister-in-law into the confined space, and then relocking the door.

Heather shook her head.  "Believe it or not, we had horse rustlers – rustlers?  Thieves, anyway.  At the ranch," she sighed.  "Gail was trampled, but she won't come in.  I wrapped her wrist and put an ice pack on it, gave her some aspirin.  But you need to look at it. She's out in the truck, in the parking lot –"

"Rustlers?" April interrupted, her eyes wide.  "Seriously?" 

"Yeah," Heather confirmed.  "Can you come take a look?  I don't know if it's broken, or sprained, or just badly bruised."

"Let's go," April declared.  "There's really nothing here that I need to do, it's been a pretty light day so far, and I can't find anything to use for Dad," she grumbled. 

They left the clinic, April locking up the drug closet, and then raiding a nearby supply room for those things she thought she might need to treat Gail.  On the way out, she stopped to tell the charge nurse to send someone to the Green house if anything came up that required a doctor.  Jake was pacing in front of the truck when they came out.  "Can you come with?" he asked April, and she nodded.  Jake looked at Heather.  "You drive," he instructed.  "But go to town hall first.  We need to get Eric."  He opened the driver's side door for Heather, handed her in, and then climbed into the truck bed. 

At town hall, Heather parked in the spot reserved for the mayor, flashing Gail a sheepish grin.  "Johnston won't mind," her mother-in-law assured with a weak smile.

Jake hopped out of the back of the truck and came forward to talk to them all through the open window.  "I'm just gonna get Eric, and then we go home.  We need to decide what we do next."

"Hurry," Heather insisted.  "I don't want Bill giving me a ticket."

That was enough to earn her a distracted grin from Jake, and he leaned in, kissing her softly.  "It's still Dad's truck," he reminded.  "Even Bill isn't dumb enough to ticket Dad's truck."

Eric and Jake came jogging out of town hall less than two minutes later.  They climbed into the back of the truck, and then Jake knocked on the side of the cab.  "Go," he shouted to Heather. 

They were at the Green house within four minutes.  Jake and Eric helped their mother into the house, seating her in a chair in the living room.  April went right to work, examining her arm.  Heather bypassed the living room, heading upstairs to rouse Johnston from his nap.  It was time for a Green Family Meeting.

"Hey," Heather greeted softly.  She'd knocked perfunctorily on Gail and Johnston's bedroom door, and then had stuck her head in.  Her father-in-law was sitting on the side of the bed, dressed, panting hard.  "We're home," she told him, smiling gently, "But something's happened, and we need you downstairs."  Heather entered the bedroom then, crossing to Johnston's side, holding her hand out to him.  He didn't demand to know what had happened, and that was all the confirmation she needed in order to know that he truly wasn't himself.  It scared her to see Johnston Green like this: obviously ill and gasping for breath. "Can you come down?" Heather inquired.

Johnston nodded, and then climbed to his feet, teetering on them slightly.  Heather reached out, touching him on the arm, trying to help steady him.  He waited a moment, but then started to walk forward, though to Heather, it looked like he was expending a great deal of energy and effort just to lift his feet a few inches off the ground.  She moved next to him, threading her arm through his.  Johnston stopped, looking down at her.  "I don't need help," he complained.

"I know," Heather agreed with a shrug, "But I do.  I'm having a hard time keeping my balance these days," she lied, prompting a strangled, disbelieving snort from Johnston.  

He took a step back, looking her over, one eyebrow raised in question.  Heather was nearly four months pregnant, but she wasn't showing yet, not really.  She'd started wearing the roomier of her clothing, and now as he watched her, she smoothed a hand self-consciously down her front, pulling her blouse momentarily taut over the slight swell of her belly.  "I see," he murmured wryly.  Johnston shook his head, fighting the urge to roll his eyes, and offered Heather his arm.  "Well, in that case."

Heather led her father-in-law out of the bedroom, down the stairs, and into the living room.  Spotting his wife, and noting the care with which April manipulated her arm, Johnston pulled away from Heather, lurching toward Gail.  "Sweetie!  What happened?"

"Mitch Cafferty happened, that's what," Jake answered for his mother.

"We don't know that, Jake," Gail admonished, throwing her husband a weak smile.  "I'm fine, Johnston.  April just needs to check me out, to make sure."

"But you're hurt," Johnston complained, reaching out an unsteady hand to cup the side of her head.

"It's nothing, I'll be fine," Gail told him.

Johnston frowned, worry evident in his eyes.  "You're sure?"  Gail nodded, and then Johnston went into a coughing fit.  Heather moved to her father-in-law's side and, taking his hand, led him to the couch which had been his station these last few days since his flu, from which they'd all thought he'd recovered, had returned with a vengeance, worse than before.  "What happened?  What does Mitch Cafferty have to do with this?" Johnston questioned, glancing at Jake, while Heather forced him to sit, and then seated herself next to him.

"Mitch Cafferty and a buddy stole twenty-two horses, right outta our barn," Jake declared, starting to pace the living room.  "Drove 'em out, right over the top of Mom.  Knocked her down, coulda gotten her killed."

"Jake, we don't know that it was Mitchell Cafferty," Gail argued.  "When I asked, you said that you didn't know who they were, and we only saw them from behind," she reminded.

"Mitch was in Bailey's this morning.  I saw him there," Jake explained, shaking his head.  "The guy ridin' off on Ganymede was wearing the same clothes that Mitch had on earlier, and the hair was the same.  It was him."  He shook his head, clenching his jaw, obviously unsettled.  "I need to get cleaned up," Jake ground out, turning on his heel, stomping up the stairs.  Heather, biting her lip and feeling distinctly helpless, watched him go.

"I can't believe it's not broken," April sighed, adjusting the sling she'd fitted Gail with.  Shaking her head, she exchanged wan smiles with her mother-in-law.  "I'll get you some more aspirin for the pain and swelling," April offered, squeezing Gail's good arm.  "I'm sorry I can't offer anything stronger."

"It's okay, honey," Gail replied, patting April's hand.  "I don't need anything else."

"Don't argue with her, Gail," Johnston coughed, watching April head into the dining room, on her way to the kitchen.  "Doctor's orders," he insisted.  Johnston shook his head, glancing sideways at his other daughter-in-law, still seated next to him.  "Damn bastards," he grumbled, earning a nod and a sympathetic look from Heather.

Jake came pounding down the stairs then.  There really hadn't been enough time for him to 'clean up' and he was, Heather noted as he flashed by, still in the same clothes he'd dressed in that morning.  Without even glancing into the living room, he headed for the front door, yanking it open, stopping only when both Heather and Gail called out his name. 

"Jake," Gail repeated when he turned to face her, his expression full of barely contained anger.  "Where'r you goin'?"

"To find Mitch," he barked out. 

Johnston struggled to his feet, staggering away from the couch and toward his son.  "And then what?" he demanded, his voice raspy.

"I don't know yet," Jake admitted, letting a long breath out through his teeth so that he hissed softly. 

Eric, who had remained silent up to this point in the conversation, forced himself away from the wall he was propping up, turning to follow his father into the entry.  Heather brushed past him, causing Eric to draw back for a second.  He trailed behind her, addressing his brother.  "Hold on, Jake.  You don't know for sure he's behind this."

"It was him!" Jake insisted, shaking his head.

"Jake," Heather started quietly, only to be interrupted by Eric.

"You didn't even get a good look!" Jake's brother protested.

Deliberately, Johnston stepped between his son and the door, pushing it closed.  "Now look," he instructed, clearing his throat.  "You know I'd like nothin' better than to string up the guys that did this, but that's not the way we do things," Johnston reminded.  "Last time you were mixed up with Mitch Cafferty, you ended up beaten half to death on the side of Route 40."

Heather flinched at that.  The first time Jake had told her the story of his involvement with Jonah Prowse and Mitch Cafferty, he'd left out the fact that Jonah had had him and another federal agent roughed up before tossing them off his compound.  She'd learned the true story in bits and pieces, first just from the allusions members of the Green family made to the events of that night, then from the few pictures of Jake in April and Eric's wedding album, and finally during Jake's testimony at Jonah Prowse's trial.  He'd suffered cracked ribs, a broken ankle, a myriad of cuts and bruises, internal bleeding, and a concussion.  Jake had refused to go to the hospital until he'd personally arrested Jonah Prowse, and then had ended up spending two days there, released just in time to serve as the best man at his brother's wedding.  The last thing Heather wanted to think about was her husband putting himself into that sort of danger yet again.

"I survived," Jake muttered.

"Yeah?" his father countered, reaching around to pull a pistol out of the back of Jake's jeans.  "Let's just keep it that way."

"If I don't take care of him, he'll come back," Jake argued.

"We've got to do this right!" Johnston countered, his frustration with the situation readily apparent.

"He could be out there –"

Johnston shook his head, starting to cough again.  "If this family starts breakin' the law, how're we supposed to enforce it?" he demanded.

"This is still Kansas, right?" Jake asked, spinning to face his brother.  Eric had gone to law school in Lawrence, and he'd passed the bar, but never actually practiced.  "You're tellin' me that there aren't still laws on the books that say how I can deal with a horse thief?"

Eric shrugged.  "You can hang 'em, maybe," he admitted, glancing at his father, who'd mentioned, and then dismissed, his own desire to do so a few minutes before.  "Probably can't shoot 'em."

"Fine," Jake shrugged, "Works for me.  I'm flexible."

"Jake!" Heather and Gail both objected.  Heather moved toward her husband then, forcing him to take one step back, and then another.  "Please, don't go out and do this," she told him quietly.  "Please, just stop.  You're angry, and you have every right to be, but please don't go do whatever it is you're thinking of doing."

Johnston was surprised by Heather's intervention in the situation.  In five years, he'd never seen her correct Jake about anything of any importance.  She'd always put up with Jake's choices, Jake's decisions, Jake's job.  But here she was, arguing with him, trying to stop him, and doing a better job of it than he had.  Johnston was stunned – and ever so grateful to his daughter-in-law.

"He could've killed Mom," Jake protested, balling his fists.  "And, you were there, too," he continued, still angry.  "He could've hurt you, or –" he broke off, shaking his head.  "I can't let this go.  I can't let him stay out there, doing whatever he wants, not when he's a danger to our family."

Heather placed a tentative hand on Jake's arm, relieved when he didn't shake it off.  "We're fine, Jake.  Nothing happened to me, and your Mom's gonna be okay."  She moved a step closer, placing her other hand on his shoulder.  "We're fine," Heather repeated.  "And, if you go out there, after him, then something could happen to you.  You could get killed, and –"  She stopped, biting her lip, her eyes flooding with tears.

"Babe," Jake muttered, the fight in him beginning to flag.  He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close.  "Nothing's gonna happen to me.  I'm not gonna get killed or hurt," he assured her, kissing the top of her head.  "I promise."

"Don't go, not by yourself," Heather whispered against his collarbone.  "Please."

Johnston, leaning back against the front door, sighed.  "Listen to Heather, Son," he advised quietly.  "If you've gotta do this, at least do it right.  You're a federal agent, and God help us, a deputy sheriff," he reminded.  Johnston had sworn in Jake, along with Eric and Robert Hawkins, as deputies the night of the EMP.  Jake hadn't really wanted the job, Johnston knew, but he'd given in, recognizing his father's need, and appreciating that his father had asked.

"Go with Eric, Jake," Johnston continued.  "Find Jimmy.  Do this right."

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Different Circumstances: Part 6B of ? by Marzee Doats

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Thursday, October 26, five weeks after the bombs

Jake stepped off the road and onto the grounds of the Jericho Airfield.  He looked around, taking in the feel of the place.  It appeared deserted, but then again, it had never been a busy place, really just an airstrip and a couple of hangars.  His grandfather and a few other men had flown crop dusters out of this airfield, and there had always been a certain number of private planes coming in and out, but the best description for the Jericho Airfield had always been 'lazy'.  Jake had loved spending time here, assisting his grandfather, listening to the stories he and others told.  But it wasn't the place of his childhood any longer, Jake knew.  Now it harbored a horse thief.

Eric and Jimmy had determined as much, insisting on stopping in at Bailey's as the first step of their investigation into the rustling of the Greens' horses.  Jake had waited at town hall, surprised but relieved when Jimmy had returned with the news that Mary had overheard a man who said he'd bought a horse at the airfield.  Now, Eric and Jimmy were parked just off the road a quarter of a mile away, ready to back him up.  Jake, who had been ready to strike out after Mitchell Cafferty on his own an hour before, had to concede that he was reassured knowing they were there, ready to come in after him if he was gone more than twenty minutes.  His was a reconnaissance mission, though if the opportunity presented itself, Jake knew he wouldn't hesitate to grab Mitchell Cafferty and haul him in.

He looked down, spotting hoof prints in the dust.  They ran alongside the corrugated metal wall of the nearest hangar, disappearing around the corner.  Considering the prints, he smoothed one of them away with the toe of his boot, and then, moving forward, glanced around the corner of the building.  There was no one around. However, a couple of planes - small, two-seaters - had been rolled out of the hangars and onto the apron.  That was enough to convince Jake that the airfield wasn't as deserted as it seemed.  Slowly, he edged forward, looking around.  There wasn't anybody to be found.  Jake increased his pace until he was jogging slowly down the alley, staying close to the hangars that ran along one side.  He reached the end of the row, and turned the corner.

Here were the Greens' missing horses.  Jake moved forward, leaning over the rail of the improvised corral to pat Callisto, the chestnut mare that his grandfather had given to Heather the spring after they had become engaged.  Grandpa had turned all naming duties over to Heather that year, and she'd started with the planets and moons of their solar system.  This had so tickled Grandpa Green that he'd insisted thereafter that all foals born at the Green Ranch be named by Heather, who had soon needed to branch out into stars, constellations, and even comets.

"Hey, girl," he murmured to the horse, rubbing the diamond patch on her forehead.  The Green Ranch was first and foremost a breeding operation, so there had always been a churn in the population of their barns as horses were born or acquired, traded or sold.  The Greens had a reputation for providing good, quality, working horses, a customer base in four states, and were considered niche providers to competitors on the rodeo circuit.  Jake couldn't identify all their horses by name, but he knew probably half.  He looked over the horses, bunched in the pen.  Ganymede, still saddled, was tied outside to the rail; Pluto was taking a drink of water; Hale and Bopp jostled nervously in the pen. Counting, Jake determined that nine of the stolen horses - out of twenty-two - were here.  At least one had been sold already, but Jake still hoped they would be able to recover most of their animals.

"Jake!"

He turned at the sound of his name and, shading his eyes, saw Dale Turner heading his way.  "What're you doing here?" Jake demanded, stepping toward the teenager.

"I'm so sorry," Dale sighed, shaking his head and frowning slightly.  "I didn't know."

"Know what?" Jake asked, grabbing the boy's arm.

Dale's eyes widened, his expression turning dismayed.  "Jake!" he shouted in warning.

But, it was too late.  Jake, turning, actually moved into the butt of Mitchell Cafferty's shotgun. Mitchell wielded the gun like a club, striking Jake across the back of the neck.  Knocked out cold, Jake fell in an ignominious heap on top of a pile of feed bags.  Mitchell lunged after Dale.  "What the hell d' ya think you're doin'?" he demanded, pulling the boy into a headlock.

* * * * *

Jake came to with the taste of blood in his mouth and dust stinging his eyes.  Blinking and groaning, he concentrated on lifting his head up off the ground.  He hurt.  The back of his neck and head were burning with pain, and now, as he raised himself, ever so slowly, he realized that the blow he'd taken had been enough to scramble his vision, leaving it blurry and doubled, perhaps tripled. 

He rubbed his neck, wondering how long he'd been out, and how long it would be before Eric and Jimmy came looking for him.  This, Jake supposed, not able to muster the energy necessary to chuckle derisively at himself, was the reason Heather and his father hadn't wanted him to run out on his own.  Tangling with the likes of Mitchell Cafferty was dangerous, and the bombs certainly hadn't changed that.

"Jake!"

He looked up then, squinting at Dale who moved toward him, only to be stopped by Mitchell.  "You back away," Mitchell ordered, growling.  He cocked his shotgun and pointed it at the teenager, emphasizing his command.

Jake forced himself to his hands and knees.  He swallowed, trying in vain to rid his mouth of the tangy, iron flavor.  He was pretty sure he'd only bitten his tongue, but the taste of blood, along with his swimming head and the literal pain in his neck, were all combining to make him feel sick.  Panting, Jake ground out, "Get the hell outta here, Dale."  

"No," Mitchell countermanded, his shotgun still aimed in Dale's direction.  "Stick around.  Think of this as initiation."

Struggling into a kneeling position, Jake snarled at Mitchell as he passed behind him.  "You've crossed the line."

Mitchell leaned over, his head near Jake's mouth.  "'Scuse me?" he prodded, pretending he hadn't heard.

"You heard me," Jake answered, drawing the words out, still struggling to catch his breath.  He noticed then that there was a fourth person in the hangar.  Glancing to the left, he identified Sean Henthorn, the kid who'd been claiming to be Dale's friend that morning.  Jake sighed.  He needed to have his wits about him, and the fact that he'd missed Sean's presence was not a good sign.  He knew that he had to keep Mitchell talking.  Eric and Jimmy would show up eventually, and as long as Mitchell was talking it might be enough to keep him from shooting anyone, especially Jake.  "Comin' to our family's ranch," he managed to rasp out, hoping that Mitchell would take this as some form of bait.

Mitchell was pacing now, his shotgun clutched in one hand.  "I crossed the line?" he demanded, leaning over Jake again, pointing a finger at himself.  "I went to jail because of you!" he shouted.  "My best friend had half his head blown off!"

Jake wanted nothing more than to rub the dust out of his eyes, but he resisted the impulse, and settled for trying to blink it away.  "You went to jail 'cause you were stupid enough to try and rob a bank with half the Rogue River PD inside, cashin' their paychecks."

"Stupid?" Mitchell screeched, punching Jake in the back of the head, sending him reeling, the pain radiating up the back of his neck increasing a hundredfold.  Jake saw nothing but stars.  He clenched his jaw, forcing the bile that rose up from his stomach back down, refusing to betray any more weakness to this psychopath.

"Who's stupid now?" Mitchell yelled, resuming his pacing.  "Where exactly are your horses again?  How's your Mom, Jake?"  He was practically crowing as he asked these questions, grinning maniacally at Jake.  "How 'bout Teach?  She's no Emily Sullivan, but she's easy 'nough on the eyes.  She could warm my bed, that's for damn sure." 

Mitchell stopped directly in front of Jake, aiming the shotgun at him for a moment.  "Good with cars, too, ain't she?" he continued conversationally.  Mitchell reached out, grasping Jake's chin none too gently, forcing him to look up.  "Saw her out there today... thought about bringin' her along for a little fun," he muttered, a lecherous grin settling on his features.  "So, she finally made ya come home, huh?  Settle down?"  Mitchell asked, shoving Jake.  "Wants to raise a family?  Getcha t' do a little farming?"

"You or anybody come near my family again," Jake began, his gaze narrowing dangerously.  "Near my wife again," he added, enunciating each word deliberately, angrily.  "I will kill you."

Grinning to himself, Mitchell leaned in close again, whispering, "Now that's the Jake I know."  Chuckling, he slapped Jake on the back of the head, forcing him forward.  "All right now," he continued, turning, "Get up!  I'm takin' you to see Jonah."

He held out his hand to Jake, who grabbed it, pulling himself up.  Taking advantage of his forward momentum, Jake kneed Mitchell in the groin and then threw a punch, half blind, at him.  Jake still couldn't see well, and was trying to ignore both his churning stomach and spinning head.  Mitchell cuffed him in return, landing a solid hit to Jake's jaw.  They continued to fight, Jake noticing distractedly that Dale and Sean were also tussling on the other side of the hangar.  Mitchell dropped the shotgun, and Jake stepped on it, trying to kick it out of the way.  However, Mitchell shoved him, knocking Jake into the back wall before retrieving the gun.  He aimed it at Jake.

Jake closed his eyes, waiting for the shot, regret washing over him.  He'd assured Heather not two hours before that he wouldn't get himself hurt or killed, and now he was going to break that promise.  He gritted his teeth, still waiting, but the shot never came.  Jake heard a shout then - he knew it was a shout, though, to him, it was barely audible, and the only word he could make out was 'Stop!'  He opened his eyes. 

Jimmy and Eric stood in the middle of hangar, guns drawn.  Mitchell turned on them, firing once before running right past them, out the door.  Jake, gasping for breath again, took off after him, but there was no way he could catch up.  Mitchell fired a parting shot at Jake, hitting the hay bale that Jake had ducked behind. He turned Ganymede then, kicking the stolen horse to force him to a gallop.  Jake stood helplessly in the alley and watched him go.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Monday, October 22, five years before the bombs

Heather had just opened her front door when her cell phone rang, the first twelve notes of Take Me Out to the Ballgame - the song she'd programmed for Jake -blaring from somewhere inside her purse.  She let go of her keys, leaving them in the lock, and squatted to set the vase of roses down on the porch.  Take Me Out to the Ballgame trilled for the third time, and, somehow, Heather located her phone, pulling it out of her purse, spilling half the contents of her bag across the porch in the process. 

"Dammit!" she swore, flipping the phone open before it could go to voicemail.  "Aw, crap!" Heather groaned, watching her change purse fly across the porch, coins falling out in every direction.  A brand new, just opened tube of lip gloss - the expensive kind - rolled right off the deck, landing into a puddle of rain water.  "Sonofa -" she started, only to have the front door slam closed, hitting her in the head.  "Ouch! Dammit all to hell!  Ow!"  She fell back on her rear, rubbing her head with one hand, realizing only then that she still had the phone in the other.

"Heather!" she heard Jake call out.  Sighing, she moved the phone to her ear.  "Are you all right?" he yelled.

"Just peachy," Heather muttered grumpily.  "Hello, Jake."

"Hi," he answered, concern apparent in his tone.  "What's wrong?"

Heather chuckled humorlessly.  "I am having a really crappy day," she admitted, shaking her head.  "I - I can't even go into it.  I - I'm sitting on my porch and, somehow, my front door just hit me in the head, and -" She caught sight of her roses, which had miraculously survived both her exploding purse and less than graceful landing.  "But my roses are beautiful," she murmured, the slightest of smiles touching her lips.  "Thank you."

"You're welcome," he answered.  "And, I do miss you."

"I miss you, too," Heather sighed, sitting up on her knees.  She reached up, gripping the door handle to help her stand.  She looked around, shaking her head at the sight of her belongings spread across the porch.  "You know, I probably won't even give homework tomorrow.  My kids'll love me, and there won't be any chance of distraction on Wednesday." Heather bent over, scooping a comb and a travel-size aspirin bottle back into her purse.

"And, here I was hoping to distract you," Jake told her.  She could hear the grin in his voice.

"Well, except for you then," she acknowledged, with a giggle.  For a moment, the troubles of the day seemed very far away.  "Trust me, I'm gonna need some distraction by then," Heather offered, making her way across the porch, bent at the waist, retrieving her spilled change.  "I could use some distraction now."

"I'm at your distracting service then," he teased.  "At least 'til my cell phone runs out, and there's always the phone in my room."

Heather dropped the last few coins directly into her purse, and then picked up her sunglasses case and a tissue pack.  She looked around.  The only thing she hadn't recovered was her lip gloss, and Heather, contemplating what was likely to be living in the puddle, figured that was ruined. 

"Thanks," she chuckled, shoving open the front door.  She took two steps in, set her purse down on the floor, and then returned outside to get her roses. 

"So, in the interest of distraction, I have to ask," Jake began as she pulled her keys out of the lock.  "Such ladylike language you were using.  You don't say those things at school do you?  Not exactly PTA approved, I'd guess."

She set the vase down on the coffee table, laughing.  "Uh, no.  I say 'shoot' and 'drat' and sometimes even 'fiddlesticks' at school."

"I dunno, 'fiddlesticks', that's still some pretty strong language," he joked.

"Yeah, well, you haven't heard what comes out of some third-graders' mouths these days," Heather countered with a sigh.  "Not so bad in Jericho, but I have a couple of kids who've shocked me."

Jake didn't respond immediately, and Heather returned to the entry to retrieve her purse, dropping it on the table next to the roses when she came back into the living room.  "So, you want to talk about your bad day?" Jake asked quietly as she plopped herself down on the couch.

Heather had allowed herself to forget about everything that had happened back at the school while they'd joked around, but now it all came flooding back to her.  She frowned, rubbing her eyes with one hand.  "This was more than a bad day, it was a crappy day," Heather complained, allowing a frustrated groan.  "A really crappy day.  And, I have to tell you, Emily Sullivan's a bitch, and I'm an idiot."

He waited again before responding, saying finally, "She sure can be.  But I don't think you're an idiot."  If Heather had thought Jake's tone was serious before, when he'd steered the conversation back to her day, that was nothing compared to how he sounded now.  "What happened?" he demanded.  "What'd she do?"

"It wasn't just Emily," Heather answered softly.  She kicked off her shoes, planting her feet on the couch and hugging her knees to her chest.  "I - she started it, but I - I said as much as she did."  Heather shrugged, forgetting that he couldn't see her, tears flooding her eyes.  She didn't want to tell Jake that she'd betrayed his confidence, but she knew she had to.  Heather felt sick to her stomach.  "I went - I went to the office to pick up my flowers," she started, and then stopped, the tightness in her throat overwhelming her for the moment. 

"Emily came in," she continued, expelling a deep breath.  "She came in to the office at school, and she heard Mrs. Crenshaw and Mrs. McVeigh asking me who the flowers were from.  They wanted to know who my secret admirer - who my - my boyfriend was."

The stress dissipated from Heather's voice for just a few seconds, and in Denver, Jake could readily imagine the blush that was spreading across her cheeks as she stumbled over the word 'boyfriend'.  "Did you tell 'em?"

"You did this on purpose," Heather accused lightly.  "You had to know that sending me flowers at school would be big news.  I'm sure the entire staff knows by now.  Mrs. Crenshaw probably sent out a mass email," she chuckled.

Jake thought it was more likely that half the town knew he'd sent Heather flowers by now.  The Jericho rumor mill was efficient to say the least, and having taken her home for the proverbial 'meet the parents' dinner, he'd thought a public declaration of their involvement wouldn't be inappropriate.  Besides, he'd wanted to send them, and not only because he'd known that he would miss her while he was in Denver.  There was just something about Heather Lisinski that compelled him to seek her attention over and over.  The fact that she gave him the time of day still surprised him a little, and Jake was trying hard to ensure he didn't mess this up.    "We've got nothin' to be ashamed of," Jake reminded.  "I don't care who knows that I'm your boyfriend."

"Staking your claim, huh?" Heather murmured.

"Guess I am," Jake returned.  "Is that a problem?"

"Nope," she answered, "Not at all."  Heather fell silent for a moment, though Jake heard her as she released a held breath.  "But, anyway," she continued finally, her tone turning grim, "Emily told them before I could.  She walked into the office, heard the question and said 'they're from Jake' before I could say anything."  She paused for a few seconds, and then added, "She also said that you're always good for a romantic gesture."

He could hear the frown in her words, and Jake struggled with how to respond.  "Heather," he began, but she cut him off.

"It's not even that what she said was bad, really.  It was how she said it," she told him, her voice cracking.  "Like I was an idiot for being excited that you'd sent them."

"You're not an idiot," Jake repeated.  "I wanted to do something while I was gone.  I wanted to make you smile, and I wanted to remind you that I'd be back soon," he told her.  "And, I meant what I wrote.  I miss you."

"Thank you," she whispered, resting her head against her knees, feeling the first prick of tears behind her eyes again.  "And, I know it's stupid, but I - it bugged me, what Emily said, what she did."  Heather's emotions were so close to the surface, and she felt shaky and wasted.  Glancing sideways, she spotted her roses again, and it was enough to coax her smile back, but they did nothing to ease the guilt that had formed itself into a heavy ball in her stomach, nothing to drive away the tears that were threatening to spill.

"Jake," Heather began softly, "Can - can we do this in a little bit?" she asked.  "Twenty minutes?" she added, keeping the sob that was welling up within her out of her voice by force of will.  "I - I need twenty minutes," Heather declared, taking a long breath.  "I think if I just eat something, maybe change clothes, then I can tell you all about this."

"Twenty minutes?" he replied.  "I'll call you back in twenty minutes?"

"Yeah," she agreed.  "Thank you."

* * * * *
 
In Denver, Jake heard the connection drop on Heather's end, and then punched the 'end call' button on his own phone.  He looked at his watch, calculating that he could - would - call back at ten to six.  Slumping in the one comfortable chair in his hotel room, Jake looked around, trying to decide what to do with himself during the intervening time.

Over the summer, once he'd started coming to Denver every couple of weeks, Jake had fallen into the habit of booking himself into a hotel downtown, a few blocks from the federal prosecutor's office, and walking back and forth each day.  In July, August, and even into September, if the Rockies were in town, he'd gone to night games, buying himself the best ticket available along the third base line, a polish sausage, and a beer or two.  He'd cheered on the Rockies and made small talk with the people around him.  They were professionals still in their business clothes; old men, who followed the game intently, meticulously recording everything that happened on their scorecards; college and high school kids; couples on dates; women whose names he rarely learned, but who were happy to flirt with him for the three or four hours they were together in the stands.  These were people who hadn't known or cared that he'd spent his day reconstructing in painstaking detail a timeline of his investigation into Jonah Prowse's criminal activities, and Jake had always been grateful during those months for the chance to be around people, but anonymous, for just a little while. 

When the Rockies weren't in town, he'd always ordered room service and gone to bed early.  That had been his plan for this evening too, ordering dinner in when he got hungry, and talking to Heather for as long as possible.  But now, with twenty minutes on his hands, and his head full of worry about what Emily Sullivan had said and done to upset Heather, he found that the last place he wanted to be was his hotel room. 

Pulling himself up out of his chair, Jake found the shoes he'd kicked off when he'd come in fifteen minutes before, and then retrieved his wallet out of his suit jacket.  He left his room and wandered downstairs to the lobby, headed for the restaurant and bar.  Happy hour was in full swing, business travelers and locals mingling together, trying to find some sort of connection within the sea of people.  Jake bypassed all this, heading for the back of the bar where the party hadn't yet penetrated, and found an empty booth.

A waitress appeared at his side almost immediately, smiling at Jake and calling him 'hon'.  He ordered a beer and asked for a pen.  From her pocket, she produced one that had the hotel logo on it, and throwing him one last smile, promised to return with his drink.  Jake unclipped his cell phone from his belt, placing it on the table, checking the time.  He still had almost fifteen minutes to go before he could call Heather back.  He reached across the table for a cocktail napkin, pulling it close, and started to doodle.

From the time he was a small boy Jake had always drawn airplanes, and that's how he started now, sketching out a machine that resembled Snoopy's Sopwith Camel.  It was the first plane he'd learned to draw, studying a book of Peanuts cartoons he'd convinced his mother to buy for him.  Later, his grandfather had given him an entire book devoted to drawing aircraft, but Jake still always started with his own version of the Sopwith Camel.  His airplane complete, Jake caught himself doodling words.  Names.  He looked down and saw that he'd written 'Heather' and then 'Emily' beneath his airplane.  'Heather' was first and printed in bigger letters; but 'Emily' was there.  Jake, recalling the previous evening, drew an oddly-shaped heart around 'Heather', and then crumpled the napkin in his fist, shaking his head.  He was falling for Heather, hard, and enjoying every minute of it.  But Jake also knew that he needed to deal with Emily, and that he hadn't. 

"Here you go, hon," the waitress announced, placing a napkin in front of Jake, and then setting the beer he'd ordered down on top of it.  "Waitin' for a call?" she asked, gesturing at the phone on the table. 

"Waiting to make a call," he admitted, glancing at his watch to check the time again. 

"I see," she murmured, noticing the crumpled napkin in front of Jake, and the pen which he now twirled with one hand.  Smiling, she dropped another napkin on the table.  "Well, can I getcha something to eat while you wait then?"

Jake pulled the bar menu out from between the salt and pepper shakers at the inside edge of the table, glancing it over quickly.  "The roast beef sandwich," he decided.

"Fries, potato salad or coleslaw with that, hon?"

"Potato salad," Jake shrugged.  He'd ordered more to get rid of her than out of any real desire for food.

The waitress nodded.  "You got it," she told him.  "And don't worry, hon.  I'm sure she'll be there." 

He closed his eyes, listening to the sound of her footsteps as she padded, tiredly, away.  Out in the restaurant, at happy hour, a swell of raucous laughter reverberated.  Jake sighed and, picking up his pen again, started to draw another airplane.  He considered Emily.  He would have to talk to her, an ordeal he'd avoided for months.

Prior to running into her at The Pizza Garden ten days before, Jake hadn't spoken to Emily since she'd screamed at him hysterically outside her brother's funeral.  She'd laid into him, blaming him for Chris' death, for not protecting her brother, for not taking care of him.  A vile string of accusations had spilled forth from Emily, and Jake, still on crutches because of his broken ankle, and still on painkillers for all his other injuries, had stood there and taken everything she'd thrown at him without comment and without defending himself.  Eventually, Emily's aunt had shushed her niece, apologizing repeatedly, and then had forcibly dragged Emily to the car that would transport them to the cemetery.  Jake had asked his mother if they could skip the graveside service and just go home.  Three days later he'd moved out to the ranch, where he'd hidden himself away until the day he'd stopped to help Heather change her tire. 

Jake decided then and there that, while he'd allowed Emily to blame him for her brother's death - accepted that blame, even - he was not going to allow her to ruin what he had with Heather.  He'd loved Emily once, and there was a small part of him that probably always would love her, but their relationship was in the past.  Heather was very likely his future and he would protect that.

He looked down at the airplane he'd drawn on the new napkin.  This time he'd sketched out a fairly generic representation of a military jet.  Beneath it he wrote in big letters 'H.L. + J.G.' and then enclosed it in a heart.  Chuckling at himself, Jake didn't ball this one up, and instead folded it carefully in half before putting it in the breast pocket of the dress shirt he still wore.  Taking the other napkin, he smoothed it out on the table, working to brush the creases out with his thumbs.  With his pen, Jake retraced the heart he'd drawn around 'Heather', darkening the line.  Then, suffering only the slightest pang of regret, he put a single line through 'Emily'.  He picked up his beer bottle and took a drink.

Looking at his watch, Jake realized that there was only a half minute to go on the twenty minutes he'd promised Heather.  He watched as the last few seconds ticked off, and then pushed the speed dial button for her home number with his thumb, bringing the phone to his ear.  The waitress returned, setting his sandwich in front of him.  "Thank you," he murmured softly, listening as his call rang through.

She smiled at him.  "Enjoy, hon."

Jake nodded, his own grin appearing when he heard the click signaling that Heather had answered her phone.  "Hey, babe," he greeted.

* * * * *

Heather raised her head long enough to press the 'off' button on her cell phone and to fold it closed.  She then rested her head against her knees once more.  Squeezing her eyes shut, she felt the first few tears escape at the corners.  Her lower lip began to tremble and, hugging her knees tighter, Heather gave in and let herself have a good cry. 

By nature, she wasn't a crier.  Her big brothers were four, six and eight years older than Heather and so, by the time she'd joined the family, theirs had been a fully formed society.  There had been no offense worse in the eyes of the Lisinski boys than to be caught 'bawling like a girl'.  Heather had learned this lesson early in life.  She didn't cry if she skinned her knee or smashed her thumb.  And, she didn't cry if someone was mean to her.  This wasn't to say, however, that she came from an unloving family.  The Lisinskis were an affectionate and caring clan.  They were stable, solid.  But, there had been very little drama in the household which had reared Heather, and that left her at a disadvantage when it came to dealing with the likes of Emily Sullivan. 

She was also at a definite disadvantage when it came to understanding her own responses to Jake Green.  Heather had always believed in the existence of romantic love, she'd certainly witnessed it within her own family, and she'd always expected to find it for herself one day.  But, she had reached the ripe old age of twenty-two with her heart untouched.  That is, until she'd met Jake.  And, as much as she had been enjoying herself, tonight she was floundering.  Tonight, she was experiencing the downside of opening herself up so completely to another person.  So tonight, Heather Lisinski who rarely cried, cried. 

Heather didn't allow herself to cry for long, however.  She was cognizant of her limited time, and grateful to Jake for allowing her the twenty minutes she'd requested without question.  When he called back, she promised herself she would be ready.  There was a lot she had to tell him, none of it very pleasant.  After that, Heather knew, she would just have to deal with the consequences.  With all this in mind, she wiped her eyes with the heel of one hand, and taking a deep, calming breath, forced herself up and off the couch.

Her first stop was the kitchen to put the teakettle on to heat.  Next, Heather headed down the hall to the bathroom, where she wet a washcloth, using it to scrub her face, itchy and puffy from her tears, clean.  She studied herself for a second in the mirror, emitting a shaky sigh.  She was glad that Jake was in Denver tonight, and wouldn't see her like this.  Taking a deep breath, Heather brought the washcloth up to her face once more, pressing it against her skin before taking one final swipe, still trying to erase the evidence of her crying.

She continued on into her bedroom, stripping off her clothing as she went.  Having spent so much time with Jake in the past week, Heather was falling behind on her laundry, and so she'd worn pants to school that day.  She had still looked professional and, in her heart of hearts, Heather had to admit that she'd also done it as a quiet challenge to the PTA president.  That, more than anything, was likely Jake's influence on her.  Heather smiled at the thought.  Now though, she just wanted to be in something comfortable.  She found and donned a pair of flannel pajama pants and a well-worn Buffalo Sabres t-shirt that she had acquired from one of her brothers years before.  

Heather realized that she was feeling a little better already.  Quickly, she pulled her hair up into a ponytail and tugged on a pair of warm, fuzzy socks.  From the kitchen, the teakettle whistled.  Heather hurried down the hall to pull it off the burner.  She went to work, measuring out dry cream of wheat into a bowl, and then finding a mug and tea bag.  She knew she'd probably need some protein later, but for now comfort food was the order of the day.  Stirring the cream of wheat, Heather added a spoonful of brown sugar. 

Her dinner prepared, Heather carried it into the living room, snagging the portable phone off the kitchen counter on the way.  She settled herself, cross-legged, on the couch, releasing a deep sigh.  She lifted her bowl and took a bite, letting the mushy cereal sit in her mouth for a long moment before swallowing.  The first taste didn't seem to unsettle her stomach, and in fact Heather found that she was actually hungry.  She started to eat in earnest, glad for both the nourishment and the distraction. 

The cereal was soon consumed, and Heather set the empty bowl down on the coffee table, reaching for her cooling mug.  She caught sight of her roses once more, and took a deep breath, and then a testing sip of her tea.  Heather recalled everything Jake had said about the roses and why he'd sent them.  She clung to his words, believing that he meant them, and hoping he still would once she'd explained the afternoon's events. 

The phone in her lap rang, startling Heather, who had just taken a gulp of tea.  She gripped the handset, swallowing, and let it ring once more without answering.  Finally, she lifted the phone, extending the antenna and pushing the 'answer' button.  "Hey," she greeted softly.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Thursday, October 26, five weeks after the bombs

Jake knelt next to Sean Henthorn's seat, glaring at the teenaged boy.  "Where's Mitchell?" he demanded quietly, not for the first time. 

Sean's expression showed that he was more than pleased with himself.  He grinned stupidly.  "I dunno," he answered.  Jake, giving into just a bit of his growing anger, shoved Sean's chair into the desk beside him.

Standing, Jake forced himself to take a step back.  "I know you, Sean," he warned the teenager, who was now rubbing his side.  "You're lyin'."  He turned then, glaring at Dale who sat, slumping in his chair, at another desk.  "Dale," he addressed the obviously nervous kid, "You're next."  Jake walked away, knowing he needed to cool down and they needed to stew.

It had been over an hour since Jimmy had arrested Sean and Dale.  Jake and Eric were both deputies now, with the full authority to do so, but they had deferred to Jimmy, who it turned out, had been the only one of them who had had handcuffs on him.  Besides, the usually mild-mannered deputy had summoned up the inner strength and toughness that had originally led him into law enforcement, mustering a rather hard attitude toward Dale and especially Sean, whose arm he'd practically pulled out of its socket, trying to subdue him.

Under arrest, Dale had meekly offered to show Jake and Eric where the rest of their horses were.  "Mitch'll make you pay for that," Sean had taunted then, drawing even more of Jimmy's ire down upon himself.

"You're an idiot," Jimmy had proclaimed, accidentally but purposely shoving Sean too hard as they started to lead the boys away.  "Mitchell Cafferty left you both behind to take his fall."

Jimmy had stayed with Sean while Dale had taken Eric and Jake to the other side of the airfield where they found another makeshift pen containing seven more horses.  Having now recovered fifteen of the twenty-two stolen horses, they knew that they needed to get them off the airfield and back to the ranch before Mitchell returned with friends.  Jimmy had loaded the two boys into his squad car, and returned with them to town while Jake and Eric remained behind on guard duty.  While they waited, Eric had asked about what had happened with Mitchell, but his brother hadn't admitted much.  "You look like hell," Eric had informed Jake finally, and that had been enough to prompt Jake to make a half-hearted attempt at washing up.

Reinforcements arrived from town a half hour later.  Jimmy, who'd returned with a group of five men, had handed Jake an aspirin bottle.  "Dale said Mitchell smacked you pretty good," was his only comment.  Jake had taken two pills, dry, and then had returned the bottle to the deputy. 

Robert Hawkins had come out with the group from town.  He had claimed he couldn't help with the horses, joking that he was 'city boy', but he'd offered Jake a ride back to town.  Eric and Jimmy had told him to go.  With the four other men, they had five to wrangle the horses back to the Green Ranch, plus Jimmy would drive along in the squad car to bring them all back to Jericho afterwards. 

Back in town, Jake had pulled the two boys out of the separate holding cells Jimmy had left them in, cooling their heels.  Hawkins had gone back to front desk duty, handling the irate citizens of Jericho who were still wandering in with complaints, though the flow had slowed to a trickle now that it was afternoon.  Jake had started questioning Sean first, but the kid was all sneering bravado and no brains. 

Hawkins had been monitoring Jake's progress with half an ear, a fact that had not escaped Jake.  He crossed the small bullpen, approaching Hawkins, who, now without customers, was openly observing the goings-on in the corner.  "What am I gonna do about this?" Jake asked, half of himself, half of Hawkins.  He couldn't stay still, moving around, pacing a half circle around Hawkins.  As he continued, his frustration with the situation was more than apparent.  "Can't charge 'em with anything, and the nearest judge is in the county seat, and we don't even know if that exists any more," Jake complained in a rush of breath.

"Is this about these kids?" Hawkins asked.  In contrast to Jake, he was the picture of calm.  "Or Mitchell Cafferty?"

Jake started at that, obviously surprised by the question.  But, when he answered a second later, he managed to suppress at least some of his righteous indignation.  "He stole my mother's horses, and he could've gotten her and my wife killed."

Hawkins emitted a soft chuckle.  "Oh, you had run-ins with this guy long before that, Jake," he said.  "I read his file.  You arrested him five years ago," Hawkins reminded, studying Jake carefully.  "He's gonna be a problem, right?"

"Yeah, he's gonna be a problem all right," Jake conceded quietly, crossing his arms over his chest.  He eyed Hawkins warily for a moment.  In the two weeks since the EMP, Jake and Hawkins had worked alongside one another cautiously, each feeling the other one out.  Jake knew he didn't trust Hawkins, and that there had to be more to the man than the 'ex-cop from Saint Louis' that he claimed to be.  He still remembered what he'd seen from the top of the pump station.  Jake was pretty sure that Hawkins felt the same way about him, but he'd thought he could at least rely on the other man's advice in this particular situation.  Now though, the hair on the back of his neck was standing on end. 

"I never arrested Mitchell Cafferty for anything," he informed Hawkins, his expression hardening.  "And, it doesn't say that I did in his file.  Who've you been talking to?" Jake demanded.

"Well, after your encounter with Cafferty this mornin' at Bailey's," Hawkins shrugged, "I asked your brother about him.  Don't worry," he continued, holding up a hand to forestall Jake's protest, "Eric wasn't too helpful.  But then I talked to Jimmy.  He filled in some of the blanks.  Seems to me, Cafferty's been a problem in this town for a long while."

Jake shook his head, allowing an irritated sigh.  Jimmy Taylor was a friend, and he wasn't the only one who credited Jake with Mitchell Cafferty's arrest - hell, Mitchell himself blamed Jake.  He wanted to be angry with Jimmy for spreading the story, but Jake knew he really couldn't be.  The federal gag order was long gone, and it had never applied to Jericho's gossips anyway, only to Jake.  There was no way that Jimmy, who trusted everyone until they gave him a reason not to, could know that Jake didn't trust Hawkins.  He hadn't told anyone of his suspicions regarding the other man, not even Heather.  "Jimmy's got his facts wrong," Jake muttered.  "Mitchell Cafferty was arrested by the Rogue River PD, trying to pull off the world's most inept bank robbery.  I had nothin' to do with it."

"Hmm," Hawkins acknowledged with a nod.  "So you're not DEA?" he questioned.

"You really think there's still a DEA?" Jake asked in return, shrugging.  "Look, the only thing I am these days is a volunteer deputy in the Jericho Sheriff's Department, same as you.  And, with the sheriff and half our real deputies dead, Mitchell and his kind are gonna prey on this town like locusts," he assured.  "We need to stop them now."

"Well, if it's information you want, first thing we do is separate them," Hawkins reminded.  "You know that.  Or don't you do interrogations in the DEA?" he asked, pitching his voice lower.

"They're kids," Jake protested, gesturing widely with his hands.  "Sean's an idiot and a bully, but he's a kid.  And, I've known Dale since he was baby," he continued.  "Hell, I taught 'im how to swim."

Hawkins allowed a bark of laughter.  "You really are a pool guy, huh?"

Jake rolled his eyes.  "Nah, just did my time as a lifeguard at the community center."  He sighed, speaking quietly.  "My Mom used to babysit Dale.  He's practically a member of the family."

"A member of the family who got himself mixed up with Mitchell Cafferty," Hawkins reminded, his expression grim.  "These aren't kids.  Not anymore.  They're your future locust."

Jake nodded, acknowledging the truth of Hawkins words.  The Greens hadn't had that much to do with Dale over the past few years.  When he'd turned ten his mother, Annie, had decided that he didn't need a babysitter anymore, even one who was unpaid.  Gail Green had tried to stay involved in the boy's life, and he'd shown up occasionally at her dinner table, but usually he was too busy, either at school or working.  By age eleven, he'd been taking any odd job he could find, and at fourteen, he started working for Gracie Leigh after school and weekends. 

Annie Turner had been all of seventeen when Dale was born.  She'd dropped out of high school and had gone to work as a waitress at the truck stop outside of town, never advancing past that position.  Dale's father, the son of Gray Anderson's predecessor at the salt mine, had been quietly sent off to boarding school back east when news of Annie's pregnancy had started to circulate; he'd never returned to Jericho.  Annie had loved Dale fiercely, but she had never been anyone's idea of a good mother.  Now she was gone, and Dale was essentially on his own.  Right after the bombs, Jake's mother had tried to get Dale to come stay with the Greens, but Dale was proud, and had refused.  He was also devoted to Gracie Leigh, and therefore willing to do anything for her, including it seemed, getting involved with Mitchell Cafferty.  Jake admitted to himself that he didn't really know how to handle Dale.

"All right," Jake decided, "I'll take Sean into the hallway."

"No, I'll do it," Hawkins contradicted.  His tone was bland enough, but the look he shot Jake allowed no room for argument.  "You take Dale," he ordered.  "Just remember.  This isn't the pool and he's not five."  Jake watched as Hawkins slowly sauntered across the bullpen, coming to a stop in front of the slouching, smirking Sean.  "Get up," he commanded quietly.  "We're goin' for a walk."

"Screw that!" the teenager retorted.  "I don't hafta -" He broke off when Hawkins grabbed him by the neck, pinching hard.  "Ow! Ow!" Sean squealed as Hawkins forced him to stand.  "Ow!"

"Walk."

Jake watched, somewhat amused, as Hawkins marched Sean, yelping the entire way, out of the bullpen and back down the hallway towards the holding cells.  From his place, leaning back against the front counter, Jake observed Dale.  He'd looked up, eyes wide, when Hawkins had come to get Sean, but otherwise his gaze was firmly concentrated on his hands in his lap.  Jake figured he was scared, but he recognized that he couldn't know that for sure.  He might have known Dale all his life, but these days he didn't know Dale at all.

Finally, forcing himself back across the room, Jake sat down on the edge of what was nominally his desk.  Before the bombs it had belonged to Bruce Riley, and it was still full of his personal affects.  Jake stretched his legs out, crossing them, and faced Dale.  "I don't know how you got mixed up with Mitchell," he began quietly.  "But you need to stay away from him."  Dale looked up for a second, and then back down at his hands.  "I'm serious," Jake sighed.  "You could wind up in jail or a lot worse."  He paused for a moment, hoping his words were getting through, even just a little bit.  "You're not stupid, Dale.  So what's goin' on?"

Dale, not surprisingly, didn't answer.  Jake studied the teenager for a long moment, wishing he could figure out what he could say that would have some impact.  "Are you lookin' for trouble?" he demanded, exasperated.  Dale still didn't say anything, but this time at least he shook his head 'no'.  Jake let out the breath he'd been holding.  This was progress at least.

Before he could build on that progress, however, Skylar Stevens came running into the bullpen, obviously upset.  "Dale!" she exclaimed, surprising Jake.  This was Jericho, and there were social classes.  Jake wouldn't have guessed that Skylar even knew Dale's name.  "Why are they keeping you here?  What did you do?"

Jake stared at the girl for a moment.  "Hey, I'm just talking to him," he defended, pulling his legs back in, and sitting up straight.

"Well, you can't talk to him without an attorney," she insisted, planting her hands on her hips and glaring at Jake.

"We're just havin' a friendly chat," he protested, frowning softly.

"I'm bailing him out anyway," Skylar declared.  "I know the machines are down but you have to take it."  She thrust her hand forward, brandishing, of all things, an American Express Platinum card.  Jake honestly didn't know whether to laugh at her, or ask her what planet she believed she was currently living on.

Jake glanced between the two teenagers, studying them both.  It still blew his mind to have Skylar Stevens, princess of the S&A Mining Corporation, in the Jericho Sheriff's station defending the company's dirty little secret.  He stood up, looking down at Dale.  "Get outta here."

The boy's expression betrayed his surprise, his voice rising as he asked, "You're letting me go?"

"Yeah," Jake nodded.  "I was just trying to talk some sense into ya."  He waited while Dale climbed to his feet, and then caught his eye.  "Believe me," Jake insisted, "You don't wanna go down this road."

Dale acknowledged Jake's advice with the slightest of nods, and then began to walk away.  He managed three steps, before he turned around, addressing Jake hesitantly.  "I think I know where Mitchell is."  He took a breath and offered, "I'll show you."

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Monday, October 22, five years before the bombs

"Hey," Heather said softly, answering the phone on the third ring.

"Hey, babe," Jake returned, his grin starting to form at the mere sound of her voice.  Greetings exchanged, both fell silent for a moment until Jake, clearing his throat, asked, "Feeling better?"

Heather sniffed, but then replied affirmatively.  "Yes.  Thank you.  Jake, I'm sorry I -"

"Hey, you don't need to be sorry," he assured her, interrupting.  "I'm a big boy," he joked, though his tone was hesitant.  "I can handle being sent away, long as you tell me when I can come back."

"Thank you," Heather repeated softly, letting out a held breath.  She stood up, then re-seated herself on the couch, snuggling back into the corner, pulling a throw pillow onto her lap and resting her head on the back of the sofa.  "Where are you?"

"Denver?" Jake responded, not sure what she was getting at.  He retrieved his fork and took a bite of the potato salad, and then a sip of his beer.

She laughed, and he sighed in relief.  There was something in Heather's laugh that was pure and wonderful, and Jake felt his clenching stomach muscles begin to relax at the sound of it.  "I mean, where in Denver are you right now?" she clarified.

"Oh.  Hotel bar," he answered.  "That probably doesn't sound too good," he admitted with a chuckle, "But happy hour's taken over the restaurant, and it's quiet in here."  Jake looked around.  The same three solitary patrons whom he'd identified when he'd come in were scattered around the room.  Two sat at the bar, ten stools apart, and the third sat in a booth at the opposite end of the row from Jake.  They were all watching the Arizona/Atlanta National League Championship game on the television.  It was a game that Jake had wanted to see, but it didn't seem important right now, and he didn't even bother to check the score.  "It's just me and a couple of other anti-social people.  Baseball fans," he told her, dropping the volume of his voice so he wouldn't be overheard.  "And, the waitress, who keeps calling me 'hon'," Jake complained.

"Okay," Heather murmured.

"It's just weird, that's all," Jake grumbled, finally picking up his sandwich and taking a bite, chewing quietly. 

It finally occurred to Heather that he was actually annoyed by the waitress, and she laughed again.  Jake, she had realized pretty quickly, was a natural, though harmless, flirt.  It was the reason he was generally adored by the females who knew him, everyone from Bonnie Richmond to Mags Henry, not to mention, she thought, amending her mental list, Mrs. Crenshaw and Mrs. McVeigh.  "It bothers you that she's calling you 'hon', doesn't it?"

"She's said it at least five times already," he muttered.

"Well, just so I understand this," Heather said then, "Is it 'hon' you object to, or this waitress?  I mean, would it bug you if I called you 'hon'?"

"You can call me 'hon'," Jake answered, his voice taking on the husky quality - unmistakable even over the phone - that always sent delicious shivers running up and down Heather's spine.

"I'll keep that in mind then," she replied, then added a testing, "Hon."

Jake sat back in the booth, smiling to himself.  It was a few seconds before he managed a teasing, "You do that, babe," prompting a throaty giggle from Heather.  "So," he continued, "You ready to talk about what happened?"

"Sure," Heather responded, almost tersely, the playfulness that had crept into her voice, suddenly gone.  "So, I told you that Emily came into the office," she started, trying to marshal her thoughts.  "And, she told everyone that my roses were from you.  They - Mrs. Crenshaw - said something about how that explained why you were at school with your grandfather last week," Heather recalled, fisting her hand in the pillow on her lap.  "Then I said something.  I don't even remember all that I said," she admitted, exhaling softly.  "I know I said that you're romantic."

She paused momentarily, and Jake, the bite of sandwich he'd just swallowed sticking in his throat, tried to figure out how to respond.  Nothing seemed appropriate, and he settled for making an encouraging noise.

"I grabbed my roses and left the office," Heather continued.  "But then, Emily followed me back to my classroom -"

"Please tell me that you're kidding," Jake interrupted, his disbelief more than evident in his tone.

"I wish I was," Heather grumbled.  "Apparently that's why she was at the Elementary.  She'd come down to talk to me.  Walking into the office while I was there picking up the flowers was just a really bad coincidence," she sighed.  "Anyway, she told me that she'd wanted to talk to me since last week, and that she just didn't know what to say," Heather explained.  "She said we were friends, and I don't think she liked it when I called her on that one," she added, allowing an aggravated chuckle.

"Not that it made any difference. She still kept at it," Heather continued.  "She told me she wanted to be my friend, and that there's a lot I don't know about you.  She wanted to warn me about you.  She said that you're sweet and charming."  Heather exhaled audibly, and then closing her eyes, quoted Emily, hating the fact that she could remember, word for word, what the other woman had said.  "She said: 'He's great at candlelight dinners, and flowers, and winning teddy bears at the county fair, so that the next thing you know, you've fallen in bed with him.'"

Her eyes were suddenly itchy with tears she refused to let fall.  Heather swiped at each eye with the heel of her hand, which seemed to help, and cleared her tight throat.  She couldn't bring herself to say the rest; that Emily had assured her that Jake would break her heart.

"Heather, I never made Emily a candlelit dinner," Jake began quietly.  He knew he had to refute some, if not all, of the claims Emily had made, trying to hurt Heather.  Jake took a long drink.  "I don't cook.  That's why Gramps is always there when you come to dinner," he joked weakly.  "He makes it, so I really can't ask him to leave.  Though, Friday night, I have to tell ya, I'm the one that nuked the corn."

"The corn was good," she conceded softly, but Jake was still unsure of her mood.

"And as for winning stuffed animals," Jake continued, silently damning Emily for her interference, "I'm just really good at knocking over weighted milk bottles."

He heard her take a deep breath.  "Not to brag or anything," Heather teased then.

Jake chuckled, relieved.  "Right," he agreed.  "Not to brag."  Taking a quick bite of his dinner, Jake explained, "Gramps and I spent the whole winter I was ten or eleven trying to figure out how to beat that game.  I'd lost twenty bucks at it that summer, and I didn't like it.  That was a week's worth of lawn mowing money.  It was a lotta work, but we got it eventually.  I've been cleaning up at the fair ever since," Jake claimed.  "This summer, one night, I won stuffed animals for Bonnie, April, my Mom, and a little girl who'd dropped her ice cream and was cryin' on the midway."

"So, what you're saying is, if you ever win a teddy bear for me, I should be completely unimpressed," Heather joked.

"Well, if I do it throwing a baseball anyway," Jake agreed.  "Strong man contest, something along those lines, you can still be impressed by that."

"Okay, I'll keep that in mind," she decided, giggling softly.

Jake waited a few seconds, letting the lilting sound of her voice wash over him, echoing in his head.  He finished off the first half of his sandwich, popping the last piece into his mouth.  "Heather," he began finally, knowing he couldn't delay the rest of his explanation, though every bit of him screamed that he should.  "I told you that Emily and I dated in high school, and that's true.  But, what I didn't say is that she's the only girl I dated in high school."  Jake took a deep breath, and playing with his fork, moved potato salad around on his plate.  "There were a couple of times we broke up, and she'd go with someone else for awhile, but she was always sorry about it, and then we'd end up getting back together.  I was - I don't know - twenty, probably, before I ever kissed anyone who wasn't Emily."

Heather slumped on the couch, closing her eyes.  "Wow," she murmured.  It struck her suddenly that there was something she actually had Jake beat on, experience-wise; by her count, Heather had kissed three boys by her twentieth birthday.  The difference was though, she acknowledged to herself, that Jake had done a whole lot more with Emily than she'd done with any of those three boys or with Mark Metzger, her only truly serious relationship prior to Jake.  Heather hadn't really thought about Jake and Emily all that much - not after he'd told her they'd dated, not even after seeing their prom picture the night before - but as soon as Emily had talked about 'falling into bed' with Jake, Heather had known without a doubt that Emily had slept with him. 

"We did sleep together," he said then, quietly, confirming the direction her thoughts had taken.  "I'm not gonna lie and say we didn't.  But it was a long time ago," Jake insisted.  "And, we've been over with for a long time.  Really since high school, though we got together a few times after that when I was home.  School breaks.  Emily and I have been over for a long time," he repeated.  "And, I don't know why she thought she needed to warn you, except she really is still upset with me over what happened to her brother."

"Yeah, she said that, too," Heather responded, clearing her throat and forcing herself to sit up.  She blew out a nervous breath.  "Jake, I kinda told her off," she admitted.  "I said that her brother got killed because of her dad, and not because of you.  She realized pretty quickly that I knew about what happened."  She broke off for a few seconds, and when she spoke again, Jake could hear the apprehension in her tone.  "I am so sorry," Heather apologized.  "I don't know what got into me," she added her voice cracking softly.  "You have every right to be mad -"

"Heather - babe - I'm not mad," he insisted, raising his voice to talk over her.

She wasn't deterred.  "But what if she tells someone?" Heather demanded.  "The judge?  You could get in trouble, and it would be my fault."

Jake shoved the uneaten half of his dinner away, absently reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose between his thumb and index finger.  "I don't think Emily would go to the trouble," he decided finally.  "It'd take more effort than I think she'd be willing to put in to report it.  And, if she does, so what?" Jake argued.  "You're not a reporter - you're my girlfriend.  If the judge is gonna throw me in jail for talking to my girlfriend," he grumbled, "Oh well."  Jake sighed, and then told her firmly, "Babe, don't worry about this.  Nothing's gonna happen."

"But -"

"Heather," Jake interrupted, "Don't worry about it.  Please," he added, his voice softening.  "I'm sorry that this is why you had a bad day," he apologized.  "I - I'm just sorry.  I miss you," he murmured, emitting a frustrated groan that expressed his longing as eloquently as anything he could say.  "I wish I was there with you."

"I miss you, too," Heather assured him, "But, I'm kinda glad you're not here," she admitted.  "I look like I've had a crappy day," she told him, chuckling quietly.

"Impossible!" Jake countered.  His tone was teasing, and she could hear his grin in his voice.  "I'm sure you look great."

  "Yeah, in my flannel pjs."

Jake groaned again.  "Now see, you just keep taunting me with these flannel pajamas of yours," he complained.  "You've got a mean streak, Heather Lisinski."

Heather laughed outright.  "I do, don't I?" she agreed, her tone turning just the slightest bit smug.  "So, I have to tell you," she continued a few seconds later, "My stock at school has really gone up, at least with Mrs. Crenshaw.  She and Mrs. McVeigh are apparently quite fond of you."

"Mrs C!" Jake declared, "She's the best.  No matter what, she'd always hear me out," he explained.  "Didn't keep me from getting in trouble, but she'd at least listen."

"Well, she said you were a sweet boy, even when you were in trouble."

"Sweet?" he questioned, grumbling.  "She really called me sweet?"

"It was a compliment," Heather reminded him.  "And," she added, affecting a sultry tone, "I happen to like sweet."

"Okay," Jake conceded with a chuckle.  "I can live with 'sweet'.  You know," he added a moment later, "I really was in trouble a lot."

Heather snorted softly.  "Yeah, I've picked up on that," she assured.  Heather had also guessed that a large part of Jake's childhood troublemaking was likely the result of having been a bright kid who was under-challenged by his environment.  She had a couple of those kids in her class, and it was a struggle to keep them productively focused.   "And that's what Mrs. McVeigh said about you," Heather added.  "That you were in trouble 'more than most'.  But she likes you, too."

"So now I have the Jericho Elementary School seal of approval?" Jake joked.  "I didn't think that was possible.  I'm still surprised they let me back on the grounds."

"Well," she chuckled, "As long as you don't start a food fight in the cafeteria, I think you've got amnesty."

"Hey!" he protested.  "I only ever started one food fight at the Elementary."

"Uh-huh.  And, how many did you participate in?" Heather asked.  "How many did you start at the High School?"

"I think I better take the Fifth on that one," he teased.  "Spent the whole day with lawyers, and never got to say that."  The waitress appeared at Jake's elbow then.  She gestured at his empty beer bottle and half-eaten sandwich, and then showed him his bill, raising a questioning eyebrow.  "Hold on a sec," Jake said into the phone, smiling at the waitress.  He took the bill from her and then set the phone down on the table.  Sitting forward in the booth, Jake retrieved his wallet from his back pocket, pulling out two twenties and handing them to the waitress.  He picked up the phone.  "This is my girlfriend," he told her, holding the phone out to her.  "We've got this thing about how I always try to impress her by leaving big tips," he added, grinning.

The waitress laughed, hesitating only a second before accepting the phone.  "Hey there, hon," she said.  "If you can go by tips, then your guy's a keeper.  So, if he did somethin', if you're mad at him, give 'im a break, just this once."

Laughing, Heather inquired, "How big was the tip?"

"Almost a hundred percent," the waitress responded. 

"He's not in any trouble," Heather told her then.  "And, you're right.  He's definitely a keeper."

"You have a good night, hon," the waitress said, handing the phone back to Jake.  "You, too," she added smiling at him.

Jake grinned in return.  "Thanks."  The waitress nodded, and walked away.  "So," he addressed Heather, "Feeling better?"

"I am," she declared.  "And I just realized that I haven't even asked how your day went.  How was it?"

"Boring," he assured her, reaching for the uneaten half of his sandwich.  "I talked, and I read my notes, and I explained my notes, and then two lawyers kept picking at my notes.  So, actually, it was worse than boring.  It was really boring," he grumbled.  "We should talk about something else," Jake argued, taking a bite of his sandwich.  "Like, what color are these flannel pajamas you're wearing?"

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Thursday, October 26, five weeks after the bombs

Jake sat in a chair in the Sheriff's office, watching his mother pace back and forth in the tiny space.  This wasn't something he was used to seeing from her; his father paced, and Jake himself paced, but Gail Green was, almost always, the calm one in the family. 

He caught himself awash in a memory from fourteen years before, sitting in this very same room, perhaps in this very same chair.  He'd been eighteen and under arrest, only that morning - and it was morning by the time they'd gotten around to dealing with him, Jake recalled - it had been Johnston Green who was pacing.  Sheriff Dawes had been standing where Eric was now, and his mother had sat silently in the chair across from Jake, not smiling, not frowning, not reacting in any way, really, just providing a soothing presence in the otherwise overcharged office. 

Jake remembered Johnston shouting at him, and he remembered yelling back, the two of them arguing heatedly over whose fault it was that Eric had rolled his car, wrecking it, not to mention breaking his arm and getting a concussion in the process.  Gail had tried to calm her husband, laying a hand on his arm, telling him that Jake and Eric were just boys and that they had done a stupid thing.  "They're eighteen, and that makes 'em adults according to the state of Kansas," Johnston had barked in return.  "And it's damn well past time you stopped coddling them," he'd bellowed.  It was the first and only time Jake ever saw his father plainly attack his mother.  Johnston had turned to face Sheriff Dawes then, grinding out, "Lock 'im up, Henry.  Let's see what a weekend in jail does for his attitude."

The weekend in jail had turned into three days, giving Jake enough time to scratch the words 'Screw this town. Jake Green '92' into the bench inside the cell where he'd been held.  After three days though, Henry Dawes had refused to keep Jake without charges and without transferring him to the county jail, not even for a good friend like Johnston Green.  Jake had been released into his mother's custody and, after a few cautionary words about what he should and should not say to his father, Gail had driven him home.  It'd turned out that he didn't need her warnings; Johnston Green had simply ignored his eldest son until he and Eric had left for the east coast where Eric had enrolled at Brown.  Jake and Gail had left for Arizona the next day, and it was Thanksgiving before Jake and Johnston, both finally cooled off, had spoken.

"So," Gail exclaimed, interrupting Jake's musings about the past, pulling him once again back to the present.  She pointed out the office door at the holding cell which currently contained Mitchell Cafferty.  "What are we gonna do about him?"

"We lock him up for now," Eric suggested.  "Maybe we can send someone to Fielding, see if the courthouse is still running."

"His friends aren't gonna let this go," Gail insisted, drawing the gazes of both her sons.  They all three knew that by 'friends' she meant Jonah Prowse.

Jake looked down at his hand, resting on the arm of the chair.  He wiggled his aching fingers, recalling each punch he'd managed to inflict upon Mitchell before his brother had pulled him off.  "I can handle it," he declared, his expression stony.

"Yeah," Eric interjected, his tone accusatory. "You handled it real good back at the barn."

"I shoulda killed him," Jake muttered in return.  When he'd hit Mitchell, Jake had demanded to know what Mitchell had done with the food.   But, what he'd wanted to say, what he'd hoped to convey with every blow was 'Stay away from my family.  You even think about my wife again, I will kill you.'

His mother, however, was having none of it.  "Stop it, Jake!" she shouted, spinning around to glare at him.  "You're not that guy!  You're not a murderer!"

"It's only murder if you kill a human being, and Mitchell Cafferty doesn't qualify," Jake responded, crossing his arms over his chest in a display of Green male obstinacy.

Gail's expression was one of pure disappointment, and that was usually guaranteed to bring him back in line, but today Jake wasn't all that interested in garnering his mother's approval.  He knew Mitchell Cafferty, knew just how wretched and worthless of a human being he was, and Jake's only concern was protecting Heather, his mother, and the rest of Jericho from that animal.

Shaking her head, she turned away, looking through the window into the hallway where they'd left Sean and Dale, sitting on a bench.  "What about these two?" she asked tiredly.

"Now, I can see letting Dale go," Eric suggested, "But Sean helped steal the horses."

Still facing away from her sons, Gail argued, her voice straining with worry and fatigue, "He's still a boy."

"A boy who could've gotten you killed, Mom," Eric practically snapped, exhibiting his own flavor of Green male obstinacy.

She turned around, this time casting an angry glance at her second son.  "Well, it doesn't matter, Eric," she decided.  "'Cause I'm not pressing charges."  Gail's gaze moved on to Jake.  "That cell is too small to hold everybody who ever made a mistake," she insisted.

If Jake had been in a better mood, and if his head hadn't still been pounding despite the second dose of aspirin he'd bummed off of Jimmy, he would have grinned at the irony.  He was grateful for his own three days in that cell, though he'd never told anyone that, and certainly not either of his parents.  Three days in that holding cell, bored out of his skull, had been enough to convince Jake that, if nothing else, he wanted to avoid incarceration.  It hadn't exactly put him on a straight and narrow path, but it had helped shape his thinking; as his father had suggested, it had done something for his attitude.  He'd made a mistake, but three days in that cell had kept him from making a lot more mistakes during the intervening years.

"What do you suggest?" Eric asked softly, a note of defeat ringing in his tone.

Gail turned again, and stood watching the two boys through the window.  "Rehabilitation," she answered firmly.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Different Circumstances: Part 6C of ? by Marzee Doats

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Thursday, October 26, five weeks after the bombs

Jake knew he should feel guilty for taking on the rather cushy job of passing out water to the volunteers harvesting Stanley's corn, but he couldn't quite manage it.  For one thing, he was looking for Heather, wanting to see her, just for a moment, after everything that had happened today, and handing out water allowed him to look for her.   For another thing, Jake's head still hurt from the blows Mitchell Cafferty had inflicted earlier in the day, and his hand ached from the beating he'd given Mitchell a few hours later.  That was a good hurt at least, he thought, flexing his sore, bruised fingers, as he walked along the outer edge of the cornfield. 

He spotted Emily Sullivan depositing a tub of corn onto the wagon bed where the harvest was being collected at this end of the field.  Jake walked up behind her.  "Water?" he offered, holding up the last few paper cups. 

"Nah," Emily said, shaking her head.  "I'm good."  Together, they surveyed the evidence of everyone's hard work.  "Kinda cool, huh?"  She glanced sideways at Jake, flashing him a quick smile.

"Yeah," Jake agreed, nodding.  He set the water pitcher and stack of cups down on the edge of the wagon.  Jake couldn't help but wonder how many recipes his mother had that called for a main ingredient of corn or corn meal.  He had no doubt that they would soon find out.    "Especially if you like corn," he joked.

Emily chuckled, shaking her head at him.  Grabbing an empty bin, she started to turn away, and then she bumped into him, obviously on purpose, catching her hip on his.  Her move took Jake by surprise, and he staggered slightly, emitting a soft "Oof!"  Emily walked off giggling. 

Jake turned around to watch her go and spotted his wife standing at the end of a row of corn, her gaze darting between Emily and him.  She didn't look mad, Jake thought, but she didn't look happy either.  He took a deep breath and turned around to pour the last of the water into a cup.  Jake ambled across the twenty-five feet separating them, coming to a stop directly in front of Heather.  "Hey.  Are you stalking me?" he asked, deadpan, reaching up to finger a green shoot just behind her head.

He wasn't usually a fan of puns, but Heather appreciated them, just as she appreciated all word games - crossword puzzles and the cryptogram - and Jake wasn't above playing to her amusement.  She cracked the slightest of smiles, and he let out the breath he'd been holding.  "Not me," she replied, fighting a chuckle.  "Is Emily?"

"I don't know what Emily's doing," he answered honestly.  "And, you're not jealous of Emily," Jake reminded, his hand dropping so that he could tuck a lock of hair behind her ear. 

Heather nodded.  "Well, that's true," she agreed.  "What happened here?" she questioned softly a moment later, reaching up to lay two fingers on his cheek, just below the cut that was starting to swell and scab over underneath his eye.

"Mitch Cafferty," he admitted, reaching up to capture her hand in his own.  "But don't worry," he murmured, pressing a kiss to her palm.  "He looks worse."

"Jake -"

"Heather."  He didn't know if she'd been planning to chastise him for fighting, or for being flippant about the whole situation, or both.  Probably both, he decided, though at least she didn't seem interested in pressing the issue.  "Here," Jake sighed, holding the cup of water out to her.  "Drink up."

She accepted the paper cup, eyeing him speculatively.  "You know, the last time you said that to me, I'm pretty sure I ended up pregnant," Heather teased, grinning at Jake over the edge of the cup as she took a sip of water.  The corn had all been picked from the nearest rows, and they were essentially alone for the moment.  Heather took a step forward, leaning into Jake, tilting her head up to invite his kiss.  "Plying me with piña coladas so you could have your way with me," she accused, laughing against his mouth.

Jake wrapped both arms around Heather, trapping her against himself.  "Having my way with you was a bonus," he murmured, his lips lazily exploring the corner of her mouth.  "I just wanted a day where you didn't make me play tourist."

Heather pulled her head back.  "You can't go to Hawaii without visiting Pearl Harbor," she argued.  "That's un-American!"

"Pearl Harbor was fine," Jake returned, cupping the back of her head with one hand.  He gently forced her mouth to his once again.  "Didn't mind the Road to Hana," he continued.  "But that pineapple plantation?" Jake complained, kissing the tip of her nose.  "Boring."

"That tour was fascinating!" she contradicted, starting to laugh.  Heather was well aware that Jake didn't care for most of the tours and other planned activities she came up with for them to do on vacation.  When Jake got his way, they slept in, hung out on the beach - wherever in the world they were, whatever beach they were on - until dusk, then enjoyed a late, leisurely dinner before finally heading off to bed with the plan of doing it all again the next day.  Heather, though, liked to do things, the more educational the better, and Jake, more often than not, humored her.

"It really wasn't," he informed her.  "It was like having Stanley walk us around this field for two hours, talking about whatever the hell there is to say about corn."

Still chuckling, Heather shrugged her shoulders.  Jake loosened the hold he had on her, and she took a half-step back, though she remained in the circle of his arms.  "Well, I guess you can take the teacher out of the school, but you can't take the school out of the teacher," Heather announced, frowning, even as the words came out of her mouth.  "And, that doesn't make any sense," she decided, finishing off the water he'd brought her.

"Nah, I get it," Jake said, grinning at her.  "Life's just one big field trip to you, Mrs. Green."

"I dunno," she argued, snorting, "Could just be one big congressionally-mandated test."  Heather paused, smiling at him.  "Though if you'll be my buddy, I guess I'll stick with the field trip."

Jake laughed.  With Heather he could be silly, and it was one of the many things he loved about her.  There was no one else in the world he could have this conversation with; no one else in the world he would have wanted to have this conversation with.  "I'll be your field trip buddy," he promised.  "I'll be any kinda buddy you want," Jake added, leering at her affectionately.  "You're stuck with me."

Slowly, he pulled her close again, her body pressed against the full length of his, tucking her head beneath his chin.  His own words - 'You're stuck with me' - had jarred him.  Jake wasn't ready to tell Heather what had happened today with Mitchell Cafferty, but it had hit him all over again, everything that could have gone wrong, and he found that he couldn't deny the impulse to hold onto her as tightly as he could, if just for a moment. 

Heather snaked her arms around him, her hand working its way up his back until she reached his neck.   She brushed her hand over the goose egg that was just hidden by his hairline, causing him to flinch, unseen by Heather.  "Jake," she whispered, pressing her face against his shoulder.  Heather's hand moved on, tangling in his hair, and Jake breathed a silent sigh of relief. A few seconds later, though, she returned to lump, rubbing her thumb over it gently.  "What happened?" she asked, looking up at him.

"Shhh," he murmured, kissing the top of her head.  "Just gimme a minute."

"Jake," she intoned softly.

"I got hit," he admitted.  "No big deal," Jake assured, tightening his arms around her.  He kissed her forehead, and then tucked her head back against his shoulder.  "This is what I need."

Surprisingly, Heather didn't press the issue, and so they stood there silently, between the rows of corn, clinging to one another.  They were both reluctant to pull away even when Jake's minute was up, and only did so because they heard someone approaching.  A man Jake knew by sight if not by name walked by carrying a full tub of corn.  He waved in acknowledgment, but didn't stop, depositing his bin on the wagon bed and then turning back in the opposite direction.  Jake looked down then, taking note of the bin, two-thirds full, that Heather had been collecting corn in.  "Did you pick all of that?"

"I did," she answered, smiling at him.  "Not bad for a city girl, huh?  And, this is my second bin, actually."

Jake frowned. "Are you sure you should even be doing this?" he asked.  "I don't know that it's safe, and there's no way you should be carrying that," he insisted, pointing at the tub at their feet.  "It's too heavy."

"I'm not an invalid, Jake," Heather reminded.  "And, I'm supposed to be getting exercise."

"I don't think this is what April had in mind," he grumbled.  "The dust, the chemicals, it can't be good for you."

Heather rolled her eyes, shaking her head.  "We're here because Stanley didn't have any chemicals," she argued.  "Look, I'm going slower than everybody else, including five year olds.  And, I haven't been carrying the bin, just sort of shoving it down the row," she explained, giving the tub a push with her foot to demonstrate her method.  "Plus, I was working with Jimmy when I did my first one, and he, very chivalrously, insisted on moving it for me the whole time." She turned back to face Jake, taking a step closer, and reached up, cupping his injured cheek.  "I'm fine.  Promise."

"I don't know what I'd do if something happened to you," he murmured, laying his hand over hers. 

"And, I don't know what I'd do if something happened to you," she responded, turning her hand under his to lace their fingers together.  Heather shook her head at him, fighting a smile as he squeezed her hand, raising it to his lips.  "Fighting with Mitchell Cafferty, though?  All I've ever heard is that he's a psychopath.  What were you thinking?" she demanded, scowling softly.

"Shoulda seen that coming," Jake grumbled, dropping her hand. 

"Well, yeah.  You should've," she agreed, frowning at Jake as he took a half-step away from her. "Wonder why you didn't?  Couldn't possibly have anything to do with the giant knot on the back of your head," she suggested sarcastically.  "You don't want me doing a couple hours' field work," Heather added, gesturing at the corn around them before folding her arms protectively over her chest.  "But I'm supposed to be okay with you risking - risking everything to settle a score -"

"I wasn't trying to settle a score," Jake contradicted.  "This wasn't about anything but getting back the horses he stole -"

"And those horses are worth risking your life?  Getting hit in the head?" she questioned, her eyes flooding with tears.  "I know they're important, I know we need them.  But, God, Jake," Heather whispered, wiping one eye, "You - anything could've happened.  And, I'm not okay with that."

He watched Heather, not responding for a good twenty seconds.  Jake knew she didn't fully understand what they were dealing with in Mitchell Cafferty.  In truth, he didn't want her understanding that.  If that left her mad at him, Jake would deal with it.  "Heather, he's in jail," he reminded finally.  "Locked up where he belongs."  Jake blew out a frustrated breath.  "You know, I didn't want this, and I didn't start this," he argued, thrusting his hands into the back pockets of his jeans.  Jake, not thinking, dropped his head forward, sending it spinning again. "But, I had no choice but to finish it, so that's what I did," he told her through clenched teeth.  "And, I'm sorry that you're upset," Jake concluded with a sigh, raising his head, grimacing at the pain that shot through it. "But I won't apologize for doing what had to be done."

They faced one another, both frowning, locked in an anxiety-fueled staring contest.  Heather gave in first.  "I'm allowed to worry about you," she reminded.  "I'm allowed to dislike some of the things you have to do."

"Yeah," he muttered.  "Look, I don't want to fight with you about this," Jake continued, shrugging and offering her a grim smile.  He took a step toward her, and dropped both hands on her shoulders, pulling her to him.  Heather didn't unfold her arms immediately, and Jake sighed, pressing a tentative kiss to her forehead.  "Can we agree to disagree?" he asked.  "Still be buddies?" he added, teasing softly.

Heather wrapped her arms around his waist then, hooking her thumbs into the belt loops on his jeans.  "That we can do."

"Good," he acknowledged, tilting her chin up so he could place a chaste kiss on her lips.  "Now, can we get out of here?"

"There's still corn to be picked," Heather reminded, pointing at the bin she was working to fill.  "We're trying to help Stanley."

"Stanley's got lots of help," Jake grumbled.  "But, how 'bout we finish off your tub, and then we go?"

Kissing him quickly, Heather nodded her agreement.  "Deal.  And, you can be chivalrous, and move the tub for me," she teased.  "You wouldn't want to be outdone by Jimmy, now would you?"

Jake groaned at that, but did as instructed and bent over, slowly, so as to not aggravate his headache, to heft the bin.  He followed her up the field about a hundred yards to where a small crew was working.  They started down an untouched row, Jake carrying the bin, and Heather picking the ears of corn.  Soon, they had filled the tub and, in companionable silence, they walked back to wagon to deposit it. 

"Let's get out of here," Jake suggested, reaching for her hand, and then leading her away from the cornfield and back toward the road.  They had made it onto the gravel drive when Jake heard his mother calling his name.

"Jake!  I've been looking for you," Gail Green declared as she walked up to the couple.  "You need to check on Dale and Sean."

"Something happen?" Jake asked, frowning.

Gail shook her head.  "No.  But you should still check in on them.  They need to know that someone is keeping track of them," she insisted.

"So now I'm a parole officer?" he groaned.  His mother didn't respond verbally, relying instead on the power of 'The Look'.  "Fine," Jake muttered.  "I'll go check on my wards."  He looked at Heather.  "You gonna come with?"

"Nah," she shook her head, and then kissed him on the cheek.  "You just find me when you're done."

"Okay," he agreed squeezing her hand once before letting it go.  Jake looked at his mother again.  "So where are they?"

Gail smiled approvingly.  "I'll take you to them," she offered.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Monday, October 22, five years before the bombs

Jake's phone cut out on him mid-sentence, just as he'd predicted it would do some ten minutes earlier.  Heather couldn't help but chuckle to herself.  They'd talked for over three hours and, just as it had reached nine o'clock, Jake had admitted that his battery was nearly spent, and he'd joked that there was a reasonable chance that his phone might melt, the unit was so overheated.  Teasing him in return, she'd suggested that they get off the line before he burned himself, and they'd exchanged good-byes, only to have Jake move to a new subject, not really willing to end their conversation for the night.

Smiling to herself, Heather pressed the 'off' button on her phone, and then pushed the antenna back down. The first half hour or so of their conversation had been less than enjoyable as Jake had gently explained the history of his involvement with Emily Sullivan, and then assured Heather that his relationship with Emily was most definitely buried in the past.  But after that, they had managed to cover a variety of topics, both working to keep the conversation relatively light, both learning more about one another, both having a great time despite the fact that they were separated by more than two hundred miles.

With a contented sigh, Heather forced herself up and off the couch.  Carrying the phone with her, she padded toward the kitchen, planning to find something else to eat.  She'd made herself a peanut butter sandwich just after eight, but now she wanted a little something more.  The phone in her hand trilled just as she opened the refrigerator door.  Grinning, Heather hit the 'on' button.  "Hey, Jake," she answered, fighting a giggle.  "You know, we actually did say good-bye a couple of times.  You didn't have to call back."

"Hmm.  I guess I know why your phone's been busy for the last three hours," the woman on the other end of the line joked.  "This isn't Jake, by the way," she explained unnecessarily.  "It's April."

Heather groaned softly, but ended up laughing at herself.  "Hi, April," she murmured.  "How are you?"

"I'm great!" she declared.  "And you?"

"I'm good."

"Just good?" April asked.  "I have a hard time believing you're 'just good' considering you are the hottest piece of gossip to come through the Jericho rumor mill in nearly a month," she teased.  "I mean, did my adorable brother-in-law send you a dozen long-stem red roses this afternoon, or didn't he?  And, did the accompanying card make you blush, or didn't it?" April demanded.  "Enquiring minds want to know!"

Allowing a rather delighted giggle, Heather retrieved some leftover chicken salad from the refrigerator, and closed the door.  "Jake did send me roses," she admitted, pulling a fork from the silverware drawer.  "And, I have no doubt that I did blush at the card.  It was handwritten, and, well, very nice," Heather sighed happily, tilting her head so she could hold the phone in place against her shoulder.  She carried her snack back to the living room, dropping back onto the couch, the best vantage point for admiring her roses.  "And, for good measure," she proclaimed, taking a quick bite of the chicken salad, "I am happy to confirm that I have, in fact, been talking to your adorable brother-in-law for pretty much the entire evening so far."

"Very good," April responded, her approval obvious.  "And, really, that's all I needed," she joked, "Though, handwritten card?  I'm a little impressed.  You know, he'd have to have arranged everything before he left town, and there's only one florist in Jericho, and they're closed on Sundays."

"That's exactly what I thought," Heather chuckled.  She let out a deep breath, and then asked, "So, are we really the hot gossip in town?  Should I be embarrassed, or what?"

"Are you embarrassed?" April questioned in return.

"I'm really not," Heather admitted.  "It's a little weird to think people are talking about us, but I'm not embarrassed."

"Good," April affirmed, pleased.  "And you know, it's really just how Jericho is.  Very small town," she conceded.  "Dad - Johnston, not my actual Dad, 'cause if we talk once every six months, that's amazing," April clarified quickly, "Anyway, he says that the Jericho gossip mill is one well-oiled machine, and that it has a few vitally important cogs," she chuckled.  "The elementary school secretary is one of those cogs.  And, there's Gracie Leigh at the market, and Jim Bailey at the tavern, and Gail.  I'm not really that well plugged in," April admitted with a sigh, "But she is.  So, the upshot is, I hear everything, eventually. One of the many fringe benefits that comes with marrying into the Green family, just so you know."

"April!" Heather protested, "I've known Jake, like, two weeks!  We're not getting married."

"Well, not yet, sure," she agreed, chuckling.  "But Jake sent you roses.  He brought you to a family dinner.  I hate to break it to you, Heather," April continued, sounding anything but unhappy to be the messenger in this particular instance, "But those are all signs that he's serious."  Heather didn't respond immediately, and April took pity on her, deciding it was time to change the subject, at least slightly.  "So, you don't have to tell me, obviously, but what did you two find to talk about for three hours?"

"Little bit of everything," Heather allowed.  "Sports, cars, movies.  We both can't wait to see The Lord of the Rings, actually.  And, books - you know, who writes a better spy thriller, Le Carre or Ludlum."

"Good lord, you two are meant for each other," April laughed.

"Yeah, well, we also had to talk about Emily Sullivan." 

"Damn," April swore, her voice full of sympathy.  "I'd heard that she was there, but I was hoping that part of the rumor wasn't true."

Heather's reply was strained.  "No, she was there, unfortunately."

"Don't let her get to you, Heather," April instructed.  "Please."

"Easier said than done," she grumbled, stabbing together the last forkful of chicken salad.  "She actually came down to the Elementary to warn me off of Jake."

"Oh, brother," April chuckled.  "I don't know if this will make you feel better, but pretty much any female in Jericho, within ten years of age of Jake, has been warned off by Emily," she explained, sarcasm creeping into her tone.  "She warned me, more than once, in high school."

"Was she trying to be your friend, too?" Heather snorted, rolling her eyes though she knew April couldn't see.

"Is that what she's calling it these days?" April joked sourly.  She continued, not waiting for a response.  "Heather, Emily has always thought of Jake as her property, practically.  She's trying to frighten you off," April admitted, turning serious.  "But please don't let her."

"Jake said they were over a long time ago," Heather murmured, uncertainty ringing in her voice. 

"They were.  They are," she assured.  "Look, until everything that happened last year," April sighed, cautiously alluding to Jake's undercover investigation into Jonah Prowse's activities, "For years, Jake was never in Jericho for more than a week at a time.  He and Emily were still friendly, but they weren't together."

Heather didn't respond immediately, and April stayed quiet as well, letting her words sink in.  "Okay," Heather acknowledged finally.  "So, what was up that Emily felt the need to warn you off Jake?"

"Nothing that should have bothered her," April insisted.  "Jake would check my math homework for me, even when he didn't do his own, though that wasn't too often.  He had to keep his grades up to stay eligible for baseball," she explained.  "I knew I wanted to go to medical school, even back then, and I'd never had problems with any of my classes, but I did not get trigonometry.  Jake helped me out, and I helped him with his English homework.  Jake didn't get existentialism and transcendentalism, that sort of thing.  Actually, he never really got Mark Twain.  It was a completely quid pro quo kinda thing," April declared, emitting a frustrated chuckle, "But Emily didn't like it."

"Emily teaches English," Heather reminded.  "But, Jake went to you for help with his homework?"

"Exactly," April confirmed.  "And, he didn't come to me because I was a better student than her, though, overall, I was.  What we had was a practical arrangement.  He didn't have to get into a whole big drama with her if I helped him out instead."

Heather started to giggle.  "I told Jake that Emily's a bitch," she confessed.

"Good for you!" she laughed.  "He needs the reminder sometimes, I think.  Look," April continued, "Emily was Jake's first relationship."  She hesitated a moment, then added, "His first love.  But, I don't think they were good for each other, especially the longer they went together.  I love Jake, as a brother and a friend," she declared.  "And I have to say, my own opinion, Jake doesn't need to be with someone who'll encourage him to be even more reckless than he already is.  He needs someone who loves him, and will rein him in when he needs it," she explained, sighing.  "Now, Emily's only got one setting as far as I can tell, and that's 'Drama Queen'.  Jake really doesn't need that," April insisted.  "And, Heather, I wasn't kidding when I said that Jake was serious about you.  I'd say he's yours for the taking.  And, hey, I'm cheering you on.  Plus, Gramps adores you.  We all like you.  You have the Green Family stamp of approval," she joked.

"Thanks," Heather murmured softly.

"You are absolutely welcome," April answered warmly.  She paused for a few seconds, and then said, "I need to go.  Eric just pulled up.  Monday nights are town council meetings.  Big debate on adding a stop sign somewhere tonight," she joked.  "Look, I promised Gail I'd let her know whether the rumor was true or not, so I am gonna do that, but the rest is strictly between you and me, I promise."

"Thanks," Heather repeated, allowing a sigh.  "And, you can even tell her that Jake and I killed his cell phone talking tonight, if you want."

"You really have no idea how excited she'll be to hear that," April warned, laughing.  "Seriously, to Gail, that'll be Christmas come early."

That was enough to elicit a giggle from Heather.  "Well, Merry Christmas to Mrs. Green," she declared.  "And, good night, and thank you."

"Well, good night, and you're welcome," April responded.  "And, remember, if Jake goes hunting with the rest of the guys this weekend, we should go to dinner Saturday night."

"It's a date," she agreed.  "Thanks, April.  Say 'hi' to Eric for me."

"Hello!  And, Heather says 'hi', too," she heard April say. 

"Hi, Heather!" Eric called out.

April returned her attention to her phone call.  "Now, I'm really gonna go.  Call Gail real quick, and then spend some quality time with my hubby."

"Have fun," Heather told her, feeling herself start to blush.  "And, good night."

"Night, Heather," April returned, hanging up.

The phone rang again while Heather's finger was still on the 'off' button.  Laughing, she shifted one button over, pressed it, and then answered.

"Heather?"

"Hey, Jake!" she greeted, giggling happily.  "What a surprise."

"You know, your phone's been busy for the last twenty minutes," he said.  "So, what, you've been talkin' to your other boyfriend?" Jake teased.

"Only got one boyfriend," Heather returned.  "I've been talking to April," she continued, standing up and carrying her dishes into the kitchen.  She left them in the sink, and then headed toward her bedroom.  "Apparently, the entire town now knows who my boyfriend is, too."

"Ah, so my plan worked," Jake decided, chuckling. 

"Guess it did," she agreed.  "And, I do mean all over town.  April explained your Dad's theory about the Jericho rumor mill," she yawned softly, settling herself on her bed.  "I assume you're aware that Mrs. Crenshaw is a 'vital cog'?" she joked yawning again.

"Sounds vaguely familiar," he admitted, grinning.  "Mrs. C., my Mom, Mags, Gracie Leigh, couple others."

"Jim Bailey," Heather offered, "At least according to April."

"Yup, him too," Jake acknowledged, listening as Heather tried to stifle yet another yawn.  "You're tired.  You need to go to bed," he told her softly.

"Probably.  I miss you, Jake.  Good night."

"Good night, Heather.  I miss you, too.  I'll call you tomorrow."

"Good night," she repeated softly, reaching over to turn off the lamp next to her bed. 

Jake waited a few seconds, and then returned, "Good night."

Heather, the phone still against her ear, waited for Jake to hang up.  She turned her alarm on, pushing the covers out of her way.  He didn't end the call.  Finally, giggling tiredly, she suggested, "How about we hang up on the count of three?"

"That might work," he decided.

"It will if we both hang up!" Heather laughed.  "'Kay?  Ready?"

Jake took a deep breath.  "Yes.  Go."

"One, two, three," she counted off, waiting two seconds before adding gently, "Good night, Jake."

"Night, Heather," he murmured, listening as she finally clicked off.  In Denver, Jake sat in the only comfortable chair in his hotel room, grinning softly, and listened for another moment to the dial tone before finally hanging up.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Thursday, October 26, five weeks after the bombs

Heather watched Jake trail after his mother, his gait slow.  To her eyes, he looked like he was tired and in pain.   She frowned, recalling their argument.  She was still a little mad at him, but honestly more worried than mad.  Heather exhaled deeply.   She hadn't been lying when she said that she didn't know what she'd do if anything happened to him.   Squaring her shoulders, Heather took two steps after him, calling out "Jake!"

Both Jake and Gail stopped, and he turned, blinking away the exhaustion in his eyes as he faced her across the thirty feet that separated them.   "Yeah, babe?"

She'd intended to tell him that she loved him, and would have if it had just been Jake and his Mom.  But, there were other people around and Heather could feel herself chicken out.   "I - I'll see you in a few minutes," she called out, smiling at him sheepishly.

Jake grinned tiredly.  "I'll see you soon, too," he yelled back, turning to follow Gail.

Smiling to herself, Heather returned to the wagon stationed at the end of the field, grabbed an empty bin, and then walked along the edge of the cornfield, looking for a place to go to work.   She found Jimmy Taylor again, this time accompanied by his son, Woody, who didn't look all that enthusiastic about their task. 

"Mind if I join you two?" Heather asked, throwing them both a smile.

"Sure thing, Heather," Jimmy returned.  He glanced down at his son, shaking his head.   "Of course, some of us aren't real happy to be here."

Heather set her bin down on the ground, and pulled an ear of corn off its stalk.  "Don't like corn, Woody?" she enquired, squatting to place the ear in the tub.   "'Cause it's pretty cool that you get to hang out with your Dad, and help for awhile," Heather said, smiling at the little boy.  "Is your sister here?"

"I like corn," Woody admitted, scuffing his shoe in the dirt.  "And, it's fun to hang out with Dad, but it'd be more fun if we were in his police car," he argued, allowing a disgruntled sigh.   "And, Mom brung me and Sally out here.  We were all gonna help.  Sounded fun, sorta," he explained, "Only Mrs. Green - the other one, not you - she got Mom and Sally to go help make lemonade.   I can help make lemonade," Woody declared.

"I see," Heather acknowledged, meeting Jimmy's eye over the little boy's head.  Jimmy shrugged his shoulders, the tight line of his mouth expressing eloquently his frustration with the situation.   "Well, you know, that lemonade's gonna taste really good after all our hard work," she suggested.  "Tell you what," Heather continued, snapping loose another ear of corn.   She held it out to Woody.  "How 'bout you be my assistant?  I'll pick, and you can put everything in the bin for me."  

Woody looked intrigued by this arrangement, and accepted the produce, bending over to place it carefully in the bin. "Okay," he nodded.   "We can do that."

"Mrs. Green isn't supposed to be lifting anything, either, Woody," Jimmy told his son.  "So, you move the bin.   And, if it's too heavy for you, then you tell me, and I'll move the bin."

"Okay, Dad," Woody agreed, though neither Heather nor Jimmy were too sure he'd been listening.  Heather handed the boy another piece of corn, and he added it to the bottom of the bin.

"You sound like Jake," Heather accused, glaring lightly at Jimmy. 

 "Well, I work with Jake now," he reminded.  "And, you're both my friends, but I spend more time with him, and plus, he's meaner than you," Jimmy grinned.   "So, I'm just errin' on the side of caution, and doin' what I can to help look after his wife for him."

"Fair enough," she chuckled as they both twisted ears of corn loose.  Woody accepted the piece that Heather handed him, and then held out his hand to his father.  

"Thanks, Woody," Jimmy said, giving him the corn.  A moment later though, he was protesting the fact that his son put both ears in Heather's tub.   "No fair," he complained, offering an exaggerated scowl.   "Now you two are gonna beat me!"

"Yup!" Woody giggled, practically snatching the next piece from Heather's hand.

Laughing, Heather met Jimmy's eye again.  "So, speaking of Jake," she began, exhaling softly, "You wouldn't happen to know anything more about how he got that big knot on the back of his head, would you?"

"I wasn't there, Heather," Jimmy frowned.  He stopped picking for a moment, and faced her, his expression serious.   "All I know is what Jake said, and what Dale said.   Mitch - Mitch snuck up on him, and hit him."  He glanced down at Woody, and his frown deepened.   Looking at Heather, he mouthed, rather than spoke his next words.  "Shot gun barrel."  He made a chopping motion with his hand against his neck.  "Back of his head, neck."  

Heather, eyes wide, shuddered, grumbling to herself.  "God, how does he get himself into these situations?" she demanded quietly.

"Cafferty surprised him, Heather," Jimmy assured her, reaching for his next ear of corn.  "Jake went in to scope things out only.   Eric and I were gonna wait, and if he didn't get back in twenty minutes, go look for him.   He found the horses, and Cafferty surprised him.   That's what Dale said," Jimmy explained.  "It was never the plan for Jake to engage with Mitch, he just got surprised.   So, don't be too hard on him."

"Okay," she acknowledged softly, her tone noncommittal.  Jimmy flashed her an encouraging smile, which Heather returned, and they got back to work, each handing ears of corn to the now eager Woody.   As Heather knew well, the easiest way to interest a kid in any task was to make it into a game.  Soon, Heather and Woody's bin was full.

"Dad!  We won!" Woody announced, grinning.  He knelt next to the tub and tried to shove it, but it didn't budge.   "But it's too heavy."

"I'll take care of it," Jimmy offered.  "Now though, you two have to work on my bin," he told them, hefting the full tub.   "I'll be right back."   Jimmy walked to the end of the row, greeting Emily Sullivan, who stepped out of his way to allow him to pass, before coming down the row, carrying her own bin.

"Mind if I join you?" she asked, coming to a stop a few feet from Heather.

Heather hesitated, just for a moment, before forcing a smile.  "Sure.  Why not?   Though, I should consult with my assistant," she joked, laying her hand on Woody's shoulder.   "Whaddya think, Woody?"

He took a step forward, standing on tiptoe to peer into Emily's tub.  "We've got more than her already," he said, glancing back at Heather, grinning.   "We're still gonna win."

 "We're having a little contest here, so as long as you don't mind that, feel free," Heather told Emily.  "The more, the merrier."

 Emily moved past Heather and Woody, taking up a station about ten feet down the row.  The three got back to work, Emily picking corn and putting it into her bin, observing all the time how slowly Heather worked, and how solicitous Woody was, taking each ear from her and stacking it carefully in the bin.   The two of them chatted, Heather quizzing Woody about things of importance to a seven-year old boy, topics of conversation that had never interested Emily, and which she had never mastered.

"Mrs. Green," Woody whispered loudly about five minutes later.  "I gotta go!"  He was dancing, his legs squeezed together.

 "Oh!  Okay, honey, I'll take you," Heather said, holding her hand out to Woody.  She looked back at Emily.  "When Jimmy comes back, can you tell him that I took Woody up to the house to use the bathroom?"   Emily nodded, and Heather and Woody started down the row.   Jimmy appeared at the end just as they reached it.  Emily watched as Woody let go of Heather's hand in favor of his father's, and the two Taylor men climbed the slight hill leading up to the road.

 "Always a better job for Dad," Heather joked, catching Emily's eye as she returned to work. 

Emily watched as Heather went back to picking corn, carefully snapping an ear off the stalk and then slowly squatting to stack the ear neatly in the bin.   They were all packing the corn tightly to maximize space.   "Heather," she began, frowning, "Are you all right?  You're movin' kinda slow," Emily observed, "And, I don't know.   Do you need water or something?"

Heather pulled herself back up, shaking her head and smiling distractedly at Emily.  "Oh, no, I'm fine.   Don't worry about me," she continued, reaching for the next piece of corn.   "I'm great since April took off my cast last week, actually.   And, Jake made me have some water a little bit ago.  If I had any more, then I'd have to go to the bathroom."   She glanced at Emily, joking, "Guess I should've taken Woody, after all."

 "Oh, okay," Emily nodded, returning her attention to her own picking.

The two continued to work, neither talking. Emily, who was harvesting at a faster clip than Heather, moved farther away down the row.  After a few minutes, Heather looked up in time to see Mimi Clark, glancing around furtively, pass by.   Two seconds later, she backed up and ducked into their row.   "Heather Green!" she called out quietly, jogging down the narrow path.  She reached Heather's side, and grinning, said, "That's still really funny you know.   Heather Green."  Mimi sighed, looking around.  "You haven't seen Stanley lately, have you?"

 "Not in the last hour, probably," Heather shrugged.

 "Good!" Mimi declared, folding her arms over her chest.  "I'm avoiding him.  He keeps saying that if I don't pick corn, then I have to sleep in the barn."   Lips pursed, she caught Heather's eye.  "He wouldn't really do that, would he?"

"The barn?" Heather asked, chuckling.  "Why would you have to sleep in the barn?  And, how could Stanley make you?"

 "My bed and breakfast closed down," she grumbled.  "And, it's not like I was getting good service there, ever," Mimi complained, "But they kicked me out this morning!   And now," she sighed, "Somehow, I live here."

"Wow," Heather murmured, studying Mimi closely.  "You're - You're serious?"

"As a heart attack," Mimi groaned.  "He said I'd have to sleep in the barn, and he wants me to help with the cooking and washing."   She shuddered at the thought.

 "Well, Stanley's just a big ol' softie, really," Heather consoled, reaching for an ear of corn.  "I'm pretty sure he won't make you sleep in the barn," she added, snapping the ear free.

 Before Mimi could respond, Stanley appeared at the end of the row.  "Hey!  Uncle Sam!" he yelled, "There you are!"   Stanley was all smiles as he loped down the row, brushing corn stalks out of his way.   Heather threw Mimi a sympathetic look, and then bent over to pick up her bin.   "My God!" he bellowed, pushing his way forward to stop her.  "Heather, you're not supposed to lift things!" he scolded, pulling the bin out of her arms.   "What were you thinkin'?"

 Hands on her hips, Heather faced Stanley, glaring.  "I'm not an invalid," she argued.

 He ignored her.  "It's your lucky day, Uncle Sam," Stanley declared, turning to shove the bin into Mimi's arms.   "Now you get to stay here and help Heather."   He looked at Heather again.  "No lifting!" he ordered.   "And," Stanley concluded, facing the gaping Mimi, "If she gets dizzy or something, get her some water.   Hell, get Jake."

Stanley stomped off, and Heather and Mimi looked at each other, both trying to decide how to respond.  They soon gave into giggles.   Mimi set the tub back down on the ground, brushing her hands off as if she could rid herself of the requirement to do manual labor.   "Now, I don't really have to do any of that, right?" She asked Heather.

"How about you help me move this over," Heather suggested, pointing at the tub Mimi had just set down, "And we'll call it good."

"Well, I guess I should," Mimi decided, heaving a put-upon sigh.  "Your husband does spend all of his time worrying about you."

"Okay, seriously!  What's going on?" Emily demanded, walking up to Heather and Mimi, startling them both.  Neither had noticed her moving closer, though she had started inching her way back toward them when Mimi had joined Heather.  "Are you sick?" she asked, her forehead wrinkling with consternation.  "What's wrong, Heather?  Is it cancer?  I don't know, lupus, something like that?" 

"Emily, I'm fine," Heather tried to interrupt.  "There's nothing -"

"Then why is everyone so worried about you?" Emily questioned.  "Stanley won't let you lift anything, and a seven year-old was doing more than half your work for you.  Should you even be here?"

Mimi rolled her eyes, and turned to face Emily.  "What are you carrying on about?" she grumbled.  She pointed at Heather.  "She's not sick, she's -"

"I'm pregnant," Heather interjected before Mimi could break the news to Emily.  She smiled and took a deep breath, repeating, "I'm pregnant.  Fifteen or sixteen weeks.  I mean, that's the window of possibility."  Heather started to blush, though not deeply, adding a healthy color to her cheeks.  "Jake and I are having a baby.  In April, probably."

Emily faced Heather, her eyes wide and her mouth open in shock.  She looked Heather up and down, and came to the late realization that Heather, unlike everyone else in Jericho, hadn't lost any weight in the preceding month.  Heather ran one hand down her front, smoothing her blouse over her stomach and giving Emily a fleeting glimpse of the soft swell of her belly, confirming Emily's observation.  She looked happy too, Emily decided.  Heather even had the proverbial pregnant glow about her. 

"Whoa," Emily mumbled, closing her mouth.  She'd turned pale beneath her baseball cap, and she shook her head as if to clear it.  "Wow," she said, inhaling sharply, clapping her hand over her mouth.  "Con - Congratulations," Emily stammered.  "That's great.  Congratulations."

"Thank you," Heather murmured, offering Emily a slight smile.

Well," Emily sighed, making a half-hearted attempt to return Heather's smile.  "I - We should get back to work."  She looked around, and then glanced back at Heather, though she couldn't seem to maintain eye contact.  "Not much left here to get," she muttered.  "I'll let you finish it up, and hit the next row."  Emily fled.

Mimi and Heather watched her go.  She grabbed up her half-filled bin, and headed down the row, away from them.  Reaching the end, Emily turned left and disappeared.  "Boy," Mimi snorted softly, "Does she want you dead, or what?"

Shaking her head, Heather sighed.  "Emily was Jake's first girlfriend, back in high school."

"Big deal," Mimi sniffed, rolling her eyes again.  "That was a hundred years ago.  Besides," she reminded, "Jake married you."

Heather started to giggle, and then she nodded.  "Yes he did, didn't he?" she agreed, smiling at Mimi, who started to chuckle along with her. 

The two were still laughing, Heather holding onto Mimi's arm to maintain her balance when Woody Taylor appeared in the row, taking carefully measured steps, bearing a paper cup that he carried with both hands.  His father, Jake and Stanley followed behind him, pushing their way through the cornstalks.  "Mrs. Green, I brought you some lemonade!" Woody announced proudly.  "'Cause we worked hard!"

"We sure did, didn't we?" Heather agreed.  "Thank you, Woody!" Heather declared, holding up her hand for a high five.  The little boy handed her the cup of lemonade, and then clapped his hand to hers.  "And thanks for being such a good helper," she added, taking a sip of the lemonade. 

"You're welcome," he told her, smiling brightly.  In his excitement, he hopped up and down on one foot, and then started to fall over. 

"Hey, watch out there, Wood," Jimmy chuckled, catching his son before he could take out five or six corn plants.  "You know what?  Mrs. Green needs to go home now," he explained, helping Woody stand up.  "So, we're gonna finish up this row, just you and me, okay?"

Woody nodded.  "Sure, Dad, that's cool."  He looked at Heather and grinned.  "See ya later, Mrs. Green."

"See ya, Woody."

Jimmy and Woody squeezed past Heather and Mimi, and then Mimi followed Stanley past Jake and out of the row.  Jake held his hand out to Heather, leading her back to the edge of the cornfield.

"You are no longer allowed to pick corn on my farm," Stanley informed Heather.  "You've got more important things to do, Mama," he grinned.  "And you, Uncle Sam," he continued, shaking his head at Mimi, "I guess you're off the hook, too.  For today," he warned.

Jake wrapped an arm around Heather's shoulders, pulling her back against him.  "Ready to go?" he asked, kissing her ear.

"Sure," she agreed, turning her head so she could smile back at him.

Stanley groaned.  "Here it comes.  It's enough to give you sugar shock," he complained, rolling his eyes for Mimi's benefit.  "Let's leave the lovebirds alone," he suggested.  "And, you two," he added, shaking his finger at the two Greens, "Go home!"

Jake and Heather walked up to the road, holding hands.  "I see that you've got yet another eight year-old boy completely under your spell," he teased.

She laughed.  "Well, Woody's only seven, actually.  Early bloomer, maybe," Heather joked, grinning at Jake.  Sighing, she bumped into him gently, prompting Jake to wrap his arm around her.  "Occupational hazard, you know."

"I'm familiar with the concept," Jake replied dryly.  "Got a couple of 'em myself."

"You okay?" she asked, stopping to turn under his arm, leaning against his chest.  She pressed her hand to his cheek.  "Feelin' all right?"

"Tired," he admitted, shrugging.  "Little sore."

Heather nodded, and then laced her fingers through his.  She kissed him softly on the mouth.  Stepping back, she smiled at him.  "Well, let's get home then."

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Different Circumstances: Part 6D of ? by Marzee Doats

Author's Note: I'm not even sure what to say about this one, though I feel like it should have some sort of warning, only I don't want to spoil it for anyone... Let's just say that I got a WOW WOW WOW and a WHOA as feedback on a particular section of this story, and a couple of offers to trade places with Heather. Do you feel adequately warned?

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Wednesday, October 24, five years before the bombs

Jake climbed out of his car, rolling down the sleeves of his dress shirt.  They were experiencing a fit of Indian summer, and his car, while cool in every other way, didn't have air conditioning.  Buttoning his right cuff, he turned to retrieve his jacket from the back seat, and pulled it on.  Finally, peering into the side view mirror, Jake straightened his tie.

He'd left Denver at twenty after one.  They had finished up early, and the two federal prosecutors he was working with had been just as eager as Jake to be done for the time being.  They had ordered in sandwiches, working through lunch to finish up their review of the events of April and May.  It had been a shock when, as they were shaking hands and Jake was headed literally out the door, Ms. Dawkins, the lead prosecutor, had remarked that one more of these debrief sessions should do it, and then they would move into the next phase of building the case against Jonah Prowse.  Jake had asked if that meant he could stop coming to Denver, and the usually humorless Ms. Dawkins had actually cracked a smile, telling him that, unfortunately, he wasn't going to get rid of them that easily.

The drive from Denver to Jericho had taken Jake just over three hours, though if his mother asked, he always told her it took three and a half.  He'd called Heather when he was fifteen minutes out, and after ascertaining that she was still at the school, he'd headed directly there, misinforming her that he wouldn't be in Jericho for another two hours.  He wanted to surprise her. 

Whistling off-key to himself, Jake headed into the school.  The main office was at the front of the building, and there were signs directing all visitors to check in there first.  Jake walked up to the counter and rapped on it gently although there was no need because Mrs. Crenshaw had seen him coming and had jumped up from her desk.  "Jake Green!" she exclaimed, smiling at him widely.  "I think I know what you're doing here," she teased gently.  "Couldn't be to see our cute as a button third grade teacher, now could it?"

Jake chuckled.  "Hello, Mrs. Crenshaw," he greeted, holding his hand out to her.  "And, yes, I'm here to see Heather.  I'd like to surprise her, if that's okay."

Mrs. Crenshaw ignored Jake's proffered hand, coming instead around the counter to demand a hug.  "Look at you," she said, pulling on the sleeve of his jacket to straighten it.  "All dressed up, and quite the handsome devil, I must say!"

"I had to go to Denver for work," Jake explained.  "I've been out of town for a couple of days."

"Well then, I won't keep you," Mrs. Crenshaw decided.  "I think you know the way?"
 
"Sure do," Jake declared, grinning.

"Go ahead then," she instructed, taking the first few steps with Jake.  "And, don't be a stranger," Mrs. Crenshaw ordered, wagging a finger at him.  "Though, I s'pose as long as we've got Miss Lisinski, that won't be a problem."

Jake's grin widened.  Chuckling, he winked at Mrs. Crenshaw.  "Probably not," he agreed. 

Heather's classroom was about halfway down the main hallway, on the left-hand side.  Jake walked to her door, forcing himself to maintain a moderate pace, and pulled it open, slipping inside.  She was sitting at her desk, green felt tip pen in hand, marking papers.  Hearing the door creak, Heather looked up, and spotting him, squealed, "Jaaake!  What are you doing here?  You're not supposed to be here!"  She offered him a wide smile and sprang out of her chair, crossing the classroom quickly.  "Jake," she repeated breathlessly.

"So, if I just push this button, the door's locked, right?" he asked, grinning at her. 

Stopping in front of Jake, Heather threw her arms around his neck, pulling his head down so she could kiss him.  When they separated moments later, she nodded.  "Yep, that button does it.  What...?"

"We finished up early," Jake shrugged.  Heather took a half step back, and they both reached for the other's hand, lacing their fingers together automatically.  "When I called, I lied, just a little.  I wanted to know where you were for sure," he explained as she led him back across the room to her desk.  "I wanted to surprise you."

"Well, you certainly did," she assured him.  Heather kissed him again, quickly, and shaking her head, added, "And, it's a very nice surprise, too, thank you."  She looked him up and down.  The charcoal gray suit he was wearing fit Jake as if it had been custom made for him, and if Heather had known that Mrs. Crenshaw had called him a handsome devil, she would have agreed without reservation.  "You look nice," she smiled, "How was Rome?"

"Thanks," Jake answered, laughing.  "Denver was okay, but I'm gonna have to be careful if you're gonna insist on remembering everything I say," he teased, squeezing her hand.  "You look pretty great yourself," he told her, pulling her into a loose embrace and placing a soft kiss on her lips.  "Missed you," he murmured.

"Missed you, too.  I'm glad you're back."

"So, what're you up to?" he asked then.  "'Cause I'm hoping you're ready to get outta here, go on a picnic, maybe," he told her, loosening his tie.  "It's warm enough today, and - I don't know - I thought it'd be fun," Jake added, divesting himself of his jacket.

"I'm game," Heather declared, stepping behind her desk.  "Just give me a minute," she requested, shuffling a stack of papers together.  "I didn't give any tests, don't worry," she told him, making a face, "I'm just trying to get through the homework that was turned in yesterday."  She looked down at the homework packets sitting in the center of her desk, and changed her mind.  "But, you know what?" she asked, grinning at him, "This can wait.  At least 'til tomorrow."

"Tell you what," Jake replied.  "Give me tonight - just us - and I will let you have all the time you need to work tomorrow," he bargained.  "I won't even try to distract you."

Heather frowned at him.  "Where's the fun in that," she grumbled.  "You're at my distracting service, remember?"

"That I am," he agreed.  Heather bent over to pull her purse from the desk drawer, and Jake, looking around, spotted something interesting.  "What's this?" he asked, picking up a dog-eared piece of paper that had obviously been folded together many times at one point.  The handwriting was blocky and had been painstakingly rendered, though it was still barely legible.  Jake read the note out loud.

Deer Miss Lizinsky,

     You are the best teacher!  You are very pritty and you are nice.  Your class is verry fun.  I love you. 

     Love, Jason

"I see I've got some competition," he teased, throwing Heather an appraising look.

She laughed.  "Jason Cale.  Not one of my better spellers, but very sweet.  Don't worry though," Heather continued, grinning as she moved to stand in front of Jake.  "Susie Elliot has a mad crush on Jason.  I think he'll forget all about me soon," she said, leaning against him.  "Besides, I want a guy who's allowed to stay up past eight-thirty." 

"Well, if that's you're only requirement," Jake teased, twisting a lock of her hair around his finger, "I'm good."

"Oh, no, I've got plenty of other requirements," Heather informed him.  "But you're still good."

"Ready to get out of here?" he asked.    Heather nodded her agreement, and Jake motioned for her to precede him out of the classroom.  "So," Jake asked while Heather locked her door, "What are your requirements?"

"My other requirements?" Heather questioned, grinning at Jake over her shoulder.  "For a guy?"

"Uh-huh," Jake said.  "I wanna know what I need to live up to."

"Okay," she acknowledged with a giggle.  "Well first, he has to be distracting.  You do pretty well with that," she assured him as they started down the hallway.  Jake walked beside Heather, his jacket slung over one shoulder and his free hand resting gently on her back, between her shoulder blades.  "And of course he should be a generous tipper," she teased.  "Come from a good family.  Drive a cool car."

"So I think I'm covered so far," he chuckled. "What else?"

"You want more?" Heather grumbled.  "Well, he's gotta be a good kisser," she murmured, glancing at him sideways. 

It took all of Jake's willpower to keep from kissing her right then and there, but he settled for saying, "I suggest testing for that requirement as often as possible."

Heather threw her head back, allowing a full-throated laugh.  "Trust me, that's my plan," she replied.  "So," she continued, taking a deep breath, "Pizza traditionalist.  Access to a water tower and a telescope for star-gazing," Heather listed. "And -" she stopped abruptly in the hallway, just across from the main office door, and turned to face him.  "What's your birth date, Jake?"

"January, 21, 1974," he answered.   Birth dates were, he realized, one of those mundane details they hadn't gotten around to sharing in the nearly two weeks that they had known one another.  "You?" 

"June 6, 1979," Heather returned.  "And, amazingly enough, that's number thirty-four on my list of requirements.  Born on January 21, 1974."  She smiled at him.  "Now who else is ever gonna meet that one?"

Jake laughed.  "Well, my brother for one," he reminded, giving in to his urge to kiss her and pressing his lips to her temple. "Comes from the same family, and has access to the water tower," he added.  "Of course, he drives an Explorer - not exactly cool - and I've seen him order pizza with some definitely borderline toppings."

"Eric doesn't qualify," Heather argued as they started walking again toward the exit.  "He's married.  That violates the unmarried, not dying, not wanted by the FBI requirement, remember?"

"Ah, right," Jake smiled, stepping slightly in front of Heather to push the door open.  He held it open while she walked through.  "But, thirty-four requirements?  What are the other twenty or so?"

"What makes you think there are only thirty-four?" Heather grinned as she stepped past Jake, her arm brushing his chest.  "Don't worry, though," she added, catching his hand in hers, "You're still good."

* * * * *

Mrs. Crenshaw had exercised an amazing amount of personal restraint and hadn't called anyone after Jake Green had shown up in the school office, dressed to the nines, asking for Heather Lisinski.  But now, she knew that she couldn't be expected to keep this to herself.  She hadn't heard what they were saying as they passed by, but that didn't matter.  It had been obvious that they were comfortable with one another.  The way Miss Lisinski had laughed, and the expression on her face as she'd gazed up at him... the way Jake's hand had rested on her back.... Mrs. Crenshaw couldn't stop herself from smiling.  There was simply too much to not share.  Taking a deep breath, she reached for the phone and punched in a number.  The call rang through, and was answered on the other end.  "Mags?  It's Harriet.  Got time to chat?"

* * * * *

Jake followed Heather from the school to her house, parking behind her car in the driveway.  He got out of his car and walked up to hers.  She had the window rolled down and was waiting for him, her hands folded neatly in her lap.  Laughing at her, he opened her door with a flourish and then held his hand out to her.

"'Thank you, kind sir!" Heather declared sweetly, her eyes dancing. 

 "You're quite welcome, fair lady," he grinned, hauling her into his arms and then kissing her thoroughly.  Pulling away finally, he leaned his forehead against hers, panting softly.  "How'm I doing on that requirement?" he inquired, kissing the end of her nose.

"Definite A-plus," she assured him, allowing a contented sigh.  "Keep up the good work," she teased.

"Will do," Jake chuckled.  "So, we're a little overdressed for this picnic of ours," he told Heather, moving her out of the way so he could close her car door.  "All right if I change clothes?"

Heather nodded, a slight blush tingeing her cheeks.  "Grab your stuff," she told him, pressing a quick kiss to his mouth. 

"Be right back," he murmured before turning around and heading back to his car.  He grabbed a duffle bag and a garment bag from the trunk, and then followed Heather into the house. 

"Where are we going for this picnic?" she asked, directing him into the guest room to change.  "And, what are we gonna eat?"

"It's a surprise," Jake told her, leaning casually in the doorway.  "But dress for the outdoors.  It's fairly rustic, though there's running water available, and toilets."

"Okay," she nodded.  "And for food?"

He stepped forward and tilted her chin up with one hand, kissing her tenderly.  "It's a surprise," Jake insisted before backing into the guest room and closing the door. 

Smiling, Heather folded her arms over her chest, hugging herself, and headed into her bedroom to dress.  She stood in front of her open closet, contemplating what she should wear.  Given the direction of 'rustic', Heather's first impulse was to find jeans and a t-shirt that she could layer a sweater or jacket over later when it cooled down, much like the outfit she'd worn for their stargazing date the previous weekend.  But, that was her practical, tomboyish side rearing its head, and the last thing Heather wanted to be on this evening was practical.  Jake, more than anyone she'd ever been around, made her feel womanly, and that was exactly how she wanted to present herself tonight: as a woman, and as his girlfriend.  Heather exhaled deeply, and forced herself to study the contents of her wardrobe with a critical eye, looking for something that had a passing acquaintance with 'rustic' but also, and more importantly, said 'hey, you're spending the evening with a girl.'  She started to go through the clothes hanging in her closet, and soon came across something she thought fit the bill.  It was a skirt, and she knew she'd probably be cold later, but that would just give her an excuse to snuggle up to Jake, Heather decided, grinning to herself.  It was perfect, she concluded, holding it up.  Now she just needed to find something to wear with it.

When she came out of her room, not quite ten minutes later, Heather found Jake sitting at her kitchen table, waiting for her.  He stood up as she entered the room, and she was reminded all over again that while Jake Green looked handsome in a suit, he looked even better in jeans and a t-shirt.  His jeans were definitely not new, and they were all the better for it, having been molded over time to his form.  And, Heather couldn't help but think, no man should do quite that much for a run of the mill t-shirt.  "Hey," she greeted him shyly.

Jake, being a man, had had time to change clothes and stow his belongings back in his car, as well as take inventory of his trunk, all while Heather had dressed.  But he sure as hell didn't mind having waited.  She'd taken his advice, sort of, changing into a khaki chino skirt that ended just above her knees, and a red scoop neck t-shirt with a plaid print blouse layered over it.  Jake had expected her to be in jeans, but he definitely liked this better.  "Hey," he returned, grinning.  "You look great."

"Thanks," she breathed.  "But is this okay?" Heather asked then, and he saw a flash of panic cross her face.  Frowning, she took a half-step back.  "Rustic enough?"

"Don't you dare even think about changing," Jake told her.  He moved toward her, pulling her against himself, and then cupped her head with both of his hands so he could kiss her, slowly but passionately, leaving them both gasping for air.  "You look great," he told her again, running his thumb over her lower lip, marveling at the slightly drugged expression she now wore.  It overwhelmed him, just for a moment, to realize he'd induced it.

"You don't get to show me this," Jake told her, running his fingertips lightly down her sides until his hands came to a gentle but possessive rest on her hips. "And then go put on jeans.  Sorry," he added, though his tone was completely unapologetic.  "Besides, it's just a picnic, not backcountry camping.  There's trees and grass and maybe mosquitoes, though hopefully they're all dead for the winter."

"Okay," Heather answered, surprising Jake.  He'd half-expected her to be offended by his demand that she dress to his preference, but instead she leaned into him, tilting her head up so she could meet his eye.  "I won't change," she grinned.  "But, should I at least bring bug spray?"'

Before he could answer, Jake's cell phone buzzed, followed a few seconds later by the crackling sound of transmission coming over the radio channel.  "Jake, ya there?" they heard his grandfather yell over the unit.

Grumbling softly to himself, Jake unhooked his phone from his belt, and raised it to his mouth, pressing the ''talk' button with his thumb.  "Yeah, I'm here, Gramps," he answered.

"Where are you?" Grandpa Green asked.  "D' ya need me to hold dinner for you?"

Jake wanted nothing more than to groan aloud at that.  After all, since the afternoon he'd met Heather, when had his grandfather needed to hold dinner for him?  He'd spent every moment he could with her, and that had included dinner almost every night.

The need to answer his grandfather was taken from Jake a second later when Heather, laying her head against his chest, placed her hand over Jake's, forcing him to push the 'talk' button again.  She pulled the phone, still held in his hand, to her mouth so she could be heard.  "Hi, Gramps!" Heather called.  "Jake is with me."

"Heather!  Hi, sweetheart!" Grandpa Green replied, chuckling.  "How are ya?  Without that grandson of mine around, I haven't seen you," he chided. 

"I'm wonderful," she answered, smiling at Jake. "And, you'll see me tomorrow," Heather reminded.

"True, true," Grandpa Green sighed.  "I've just missed your shining face, that's all," he told her.  "So, I'm takin' it that Jake won't be home for dinner then?" he inquired rhetorically. "Well, just make sure you send that boy home at a decent hour," Grandpa instructed next.  "I need his help tomorrow."
 
"Will do," she answered, pressing Jake's thumb against the 'talk' button again.  "See you in the morning."
 
"See you in the morning, kiddo," Grandpa echoed, and then ended the call.
 
Jake pulled his hand and phone out of her grasp, frowning at her softly.  "Don't know where he got the idea it was okay to sweet talk my girl," he teased.
 
She laughed, lifting her head and standing on tiptoe so she could place a sympathetic kiss on his lips.  "Well, you're just gonna have to start sweet talking her yourself then," Heather whispered against his mouth.  "Sweet talkin'.  I think that's another requirement," she grinned.  Pulling away, she asked, "Do I need to get anything else besides bug spray?"

"We could use a blanket and radio," Jake told her.  "I checked my car, and I've got everything else covered."

Heather found the requested items and handed them over to Jake, sending him out to the car with the promise that she was right behind.  When she joined him a minute later, she was carrying an opaque plastic container, a sweater, and her purse.

"What's that?" Jake asked, handing her into the passenger seat and pointing at the mystery container.

"It's a surprise," she responded, grinning.  Jake chuckled, and then kissed her, before walking around the car and climbing in.

They headed out of Jericho, west on the highway, Jake still refusing to tell Heather where they were going.  She started guessing, rather wildly since she hadn't really had time to learn anything about the area surrounding Jericho yet, and her guesses left them both laughing and joking with one another.  When they reached the point where Route 40 turned south, splitting from I-70 which headed north, Jake turned the car into the parking lot of the Silver Skillet Truck Stop and Diner. 

"This is rustic?" Heather questioned, raising an eyebrow.

"Nope," Jake returned.  "But this is where we're getting dinner.  Best cheeseburgers for fifty miles in every direction," he declared.  "And, it's on the way."

He led her into the diner, her hand clasped loosely in his, heading directly to the counter, where he waved down a waitress.  "Jake!  What are you doing here?" she asked.

"Lookin' for some dinner to go," he answered.  "Annie, this is Heather Lisinski," he introduced.  "Heather, Annie Turner, Dale's mom."

"You know Dale?" Annie asked, her expression turning immediately wary. 

Heather nodded.  Mrs. Crenshaw had told her once that Dale had a 'young mother' but she still hadn't been prepared for Annie, who looked to be about the same age as Jake or Stanley.  She managed to cover her surprise though, smiling.  "I'm the new third grade teacher at Jericho Elementary," she explained.  "Small school, so I know most of the students.  You've got a great kid.  Smart and helpful."

"Well, smart he gets from his father, I'm sure," Annie grimaced, a bitter note ringing in her tone.  "The only thing Dale ever got from 'im."

"But I'm betting he gets helpful from you," Heather smiled.

That was enough to soften the suspicion in Annie's eyes somewhat, and she nodded tiredly.  "Thanks.  He's all I got, and I love 'im to pieces," she sighed.  "You know, I think he mentioned you," Annie continued, frowning.  "Said the new teacher - Miss Lind, I thought - kept him from getting a detention when Travis Bauer punched him. So thanks for that, too." 

"You're welcome," Heather returned, waving it off as nothing.  "Though honestly, I didn't do much.  Travis was just," she paused a moment to pick the right word, "Unintelligent enough to hit Dale while I was standing five feet away to see it."

"That sounds like a Bauer," Jake grumbled, squeezing Heather's hand, a move that was not lost on Annie.

"Well," Annie started, throwing Jake an inquisitive look.  "I know what you want: cheeseburger, fries, and a chocolate shake, always the same," she chuckled.  "But what about you?" she asked, looking again at Heather.  "Do you need a menu?"

"Not tonight," Heather answered, after considering the offer for a moment.  "I'll just have the same as Jake."

"Comin' right up," Annie promised.  "To go," she reminded herself, scrawling a note on her order pad. "Do you want any dessert?   Millie makes a pretty good pumpkin pie."

"Nope.  Dessert's covered," Heather declared before Jake could say anything.  Annie nodded, and turned to put their order in with the kitchen.

"Dessert's covered, huh?" Jake inquired, wrapping one arm around Heather's waist, and then pulling her in front of him.  He held her close, kissing the side of her head.  "So that's what's in the mystery container."

"It's a surprise," was all that Heather would say.

Annie returned with their food all boxed up, smiling at Jake when he handed her forty dollars, telling her to keep the change.  He and Heather started laughing then, neither one bothering to explain the joke, even when Annie shot them both a puzzled look.  Still confused, but glad for the extra couple of bucks, Annie thanked Jake again, and wished them a good evening.

"You know," Heather told Jake, wrapping her arm around his as they walked back to his car.  "You're gonna go broke if you keep tipping like that all the time."

"What about your requirement?" Jake teased, opening Heather's door for her.  He helped her in, and then handed her the oversized bag containing their dinner.  "Besides," he added, "If I can help Annie out, I will.  It's just a couple of bucks, no big deal."

"It's still nice," she smiled.  "Sweet, even," she added, laughing when this prompted Jake to emit an exaggerated groan. 

Jake shut her door, and then walked around to the driver's side.  Pulling out of the parking lot and back onto Route 40, Jake glanced at Heather, smiling.  She smiled back.  "My Mom - my Mom's the kinda mom who should've had a ton of kids," he told her.  "Would've driven my Dad crazy, but she would've been great at it.  Only, she couldn't.  They didn't have Eric and me until they'd been married for seven years, and there were enough complications that her doctor told her no more kids.  So she adopts," Jake explained.  "Annie and Dale.  Stanley and Bonnie." 

He didn't include Emily and her brother in his list, although they belonged there as much as the others.  Gail Green had always worried about strays, children even more than animals, and Emily and Chris Sullivan had certainly qualified in her book.  With their father hardly around, and their mother working herself to death to support them, Emily and Chris had often been at loose ends.  But Jake kept that part to himself, not wanting to hurt Heather by bringing up a sore subject.  Besides, his mother's relationship with Emily had cooled to almost non-existent after the scene at her brother's funeral.    He took a breath and then looked at Heather again.  "Just so you know, she may try to adopt you." 

She laughed.  "If I'm adopted, can we still date?"

"Hey, Eric got away with it," Jake returned.  "Mom considered April adopted way back, so I think we're good.  And just in case," he teased, "Don't sign anything if my mother asks you to."

"I won't, I promise," Heather chuckled, grinning at him.

"So, anyway, Annie," Jake continued, his tone turning serious.  "Annie got pregnant at seventeen, and she had to leave school.  She didn't have any way to take care of herself really, and her mother died when she was twelve, maybe?  Dale's father - Kevin Atkins - was gone the minute people started talking about Annie," he explained.  "The whole situation was a mess.  Kevin's father owned half the salt mine back then, and he sold his stake in it just to get the whole family outta town before Annie could demand anything from them.  Not that she would've.  Her dad worked for the mine, and he was too scared to lose his job to even push the issue."

"Wow," Heather murmured.  "That's not a soap opera at all."

"Yeah," Jake snorted.  "That's where my Mom came in.  The whole situation made her mad, and I know my Dad told her to stay out of it, but she wouldn't."  Jake sighed.  "So the next thing you know, she was babysittin' Dale."  He chuckled, shaking his head.  "My whole senior year of high school, you'd walk in the house and the first thing my Mom would say is 'don't wake the baby'.  Mom wanted Annie to go back to school, but she wouldn't.  So, she just kept doing whatever Annie'd let her do.  We all sort of fell into that."

"Poor Annie," she declared, frowning.  "Poor Dale.  He's so quiet, and I know that he works in the cafeteria every day at lunch, probably just so he can have lunch," Heather realized, sighing.  "What a horrible thing, to know that your father's family moved out of town to get away from the idea of you.  To know that, to them, all you were was a financial liability to be avoided."

"Yeah," Jake agreed, shaking his head.  He slowed the car then, turning off the highway at a sign that proclaimed 'Bass Lake 1 Mile'.  "Almost there," he told her, but without flashing his usual grin.  "Can we not talk about that anymore?" he requested suddenly.  "I shouldn't have even brought it up, but you'd met Annie, and you know Dale.  I only told you 'cause I knew you'd understand. But," he finished, turning into a parking lot at the end of the road, "Is it all right if we go back to just us for tonight?"

"Well, since I don't think we're gonna solve the issue of Annie and Dale tonight, yes," Heather agreed.  She looked at Jake, smiling softly, and then reached across the space separating their seats for his hand.  "You've unwittingly met another requirement, though," she told him, squeezing his fingers.  "The 'cares about other people' requirement."  They watched one another silently for a long moment, and then Heather looked away, glancing at their surroundings.  "So this is Bass Lake."

"This is Bass Lake," Jake confirmed.  "Let's go," he suggested, "Before our burgers get cold, and our shakes get warm."

Heather laughed at that, and popped open her door, climbing out of the car, for once without drawing Jake's protest.  She grabbed the bag from the diner, the container which held their mystery dessert, her purse and sweater.  Jake walked back to the trunk, and loaded up with all the things he'd decided they'd need.  Arms full, he closed the lid with his elbow.  They started onto the path down to the beach, coming across a sign that decreed: 'Bass Lake Beaches are Closed Dusk to Dawn.  Have a Nice Day.'

"Jake, we can't be here," Heather protested, pointing at the sign.  The sun was setting rather brilliantly over the water, and she pointed at that, too.  "It's dusk!"

He shook his head, leaning over to press a quick kiss to her lips, dropping the blanket he was carrying in the process.  "That's just for swimming," he assured her.  "All we're gonna do is sit on the beach."

"Yeah, right," Heather muttered, fighting a giggle.  She fixed Jake with a knowing look.  "Well, I hope you know the park rangers as well as you know the sheriff's deputies."

"Luckily, this time of year, it's the sheriff's deputies patrolling the lake, anyway," Jake offered, bending over to grab the fallen blanket.

Heather groaned.  "Oh, great!  I can meet Deputy Taylor again!"

"Nah, no way any of them are comin' down here on a Wednesday night.  Not worth their trouble," he told her, gesturing for her to precede him on the path which narrowed about ten feet ahead of them.  "C'mon," he cajoled, "Our dinner's getting cold."

They continued down the sloping, slightly winding path for another two hundred yards before coming out onto a small sand and gravel beach.  Jake set the things he was carrying down on the ground, and then pulled out a blue tarp, spreading it out on the ground about twenty feet from the lake's edge.  "There are other beaches around the lake, and this one's pretty small, but I like it," Jake told Heather, distracting her from her mesmerized study of the setting sun.  "Doesn't have a boat launch, so it doesn't get as much traffic, and tonight it's all ours."

"It's perfect," she replied, throwing Jake a smile over her shoulder.  He pulled the blanket she'd brought along out of its plastic case, and started to spread it out.  She set her things, including the bag with their food, down and moved to help him lay the blanket out over the top of the tarp. 

Jake placed the radio on one corner of the blanket and tuned it in, while Heather went to work laying their picnic out.  "So, let's eat," Jake suggested, moving on his knees toward Heather.  He smiled at her crookedly, and held his hand out.  Heather toed off her shoes, and then padded two steps across the blanket, dropping down into the circle of Jake's arms.  He hugged her tightly, kissing the top of her head, before helping her seat herself next to him, their thighs pressed together.  They dug in.

"Okay, this really is the best cheeseburger I've had in ages," Heather announced a few minutes later.  She was halfway through her burger, and relishing every bite of it.  "You do know how to treat a girl," she told Jake, leaning over to kiss him.  She glanced around, taking in the sight of the lake before them, the rolling hills behind them, the trees all around them, everything still visible despite the fading light.  Finally, she returned her gaze to Jake, smiling up at him softly so that her eyes crinkled at the corners.  "This is a great place," Heather murmured, leaning her head against his shoulder.

"Glad you approve," Jake replied, taking a sip of his shake.  He picked out a ketchup-doused French fry - just the way she liked them - and fed it to Heather.  "We'll have to come back in the summer, though we won't have the lake to ourselves then."

"For two weeks every summer of my childhood, we ended up camping somewhere like this," Heather told him, smiling absently at the thought.  "The preferred vacation of large families, you know," she joked.  "But we had a good time.  Hiking, swimming, playing card games, sitting around the campfire making s'mores," she catalogued, reaching for another fry, her fingers brushing against Jake's.  "It was the only time of the year where we got to eat the really sugary cereal.  My Mom would buy a big variety pack of the individual cereal boxes, and we would all fight over the Froot Loops and Corn Pops," Heather laughed.

"Oh, yeah," Jake agreed, chuckling.  "My Mom almost never bought the variety pack, but when she did it was heaven.  Eric and I would always try to make the bowl out of the box - never worked - always made a mess.  It totally drove her crazy."

Heather turned her head, looking up at him quizzically.  "You really couldn't make it work?" she questioned.  "It's not that hard, just follow the directions."

"You're telling me that you can make a cereal box bowl that doesn't leak?" Jake demanded, staring down at her.  It was obvious from his expression that he didn't think that was possible.

"Well, not to brag," Heather said, grinning at Jake, "But, yeah."

"I'm gonna buy one of those variety packs, and you're gonna have to prove it," he told her, challenge in his eye.  "'Cause I don't know that I believe you."

"Okay," she acknowledged.  "So, is this a bet?"

Jake nodded.  "Sure," he agreed.  "Absolutely."

Heather muffled a giggle, and then scooted around so she was facing him, arms crossed over her chest.  "What are the terms?" she demanded.

He stared at her for a long moment, something she was only starting to recognize as passion flaring in his eyes for just a second before he blinked it away.  It was enough to make Heather's throat turn dry and, unconsciously, she licked her lips.  Jake groaned almost inaudibly.  "I don't know," he muttered.  "We'll come up with somethin'."

The last bite he'd taken of his cheeseburger had left a stray dab of mustard on the corner of his mouth.  Without thinking about it, Heather leaned forward, kissing Jake, her arms twining around his neck.  He caught her against himself, both hands on her waist, moaning when he felt her tongue sweep against his skin before running over the seam of his lips.  He opened his mouth to her, tightening his hold on her.

"You had some mustard," she tried to explain when they finally separated, both gasping for breath, both flushed and a little dazed.  Heather reached out, tracing one finger along the edge of his mouth.  "Right here."

"Babe," Jake whispered.  He captured her hand in his own, pressing his lips to her palm before letting it go.  His expression was unfathomable, and at the same time Heather felt like she understood him perfectly, though she knew that she couldn't express any of it in words.  She sat back, her legs stretched out in front of her, the right one pressed against Jake's left.  "God," he muttered, shaking his head. 

They both let out deep sighs which was enough to make them laugh softly, dissipating some of the tension of the moment.  Heather reached for the remains of her burger, and took a bite, continuing to watch Jake.  He smiled at her, and looked down, running his hand over her calf.  "How'd you do this?" he inquired, circling the tip of one finger around a faint though still impressive scar just below her knee.

"That is a field hockey injury," Heather answered, swallowing.  "Semi-final match at the regional tournament my junior year," she explained, shaking her head.  She found her milk shake and took a sip before continuing.  "Didn't actually see whoever got me.  It was just one big pile-up in the middle of the field.  Had to get five stitches."

"Wow," Jake chuckled, grinning at her.  He reached for a handful of French fries and then offered her the box.  "Went to a fight and a hockey game broke out, huh," he teased, still stroking her leg with one hand.

She giggled, trembling slightly at his touch.  "That's ice hockey.  Girl's field hockey's supposed to be a little more refined," Heather insisted.  "Just not that day," she admitted another shudder running through her.

"Is this bothering you?" Jake asked, grinning at her as he continued to worry her lower leg and knee, tracing patterns on it much as he'd done at dinner on Sunday night. 

"Not at all," Heather denied, trying to school her features so that he wouldn't know just how distracted by his touch she really was.  She reached for another fry, and then finished off her cheeseburger, glancing at Jake occasionally as he continued his flirtatious assault upon her leg.  Heather sat back, propping herself on her hands, and smiled at Jake.  He ran all five fingers up her calf, and then splayed his hand over her knee.  She shivered involuntarily.

"You're sure I'm not bothering you?" Jake inquired then, his expression smug.

"It's just a natural reaction," she responded, exasperation bleeding into her tone.

"Uh-huh," he agreed, nodding.  Jake returned to drawing on her leg and she realized suddenly that he was writing letters again, but she was too unsettled at this point to even attempt to figure out his message.  "Just a natural reaction," he repeated, trying not to laugh out loud.

Heather glared ineffectively at him.  "It's like when you're a kid, and you do that game.  'Big X, little x'," she argued.  "You know what I'm talking about," Heather insisted.

"Nope," Jake told her.  "But if you say so."  He started to draw X's on her leg.  "Big X, little x," he repeated, his eyes locking with hers.  "Like that?"

She shook her head, moving so that she was kneeling next to Jake, her legs folded safely out of his reach beneath her.  "No," she said, "But I'll show you."

Their eyes met, and he threw her a lopsided smile, shrugging.  "This is a kids' game?" he grinned.  "Okay," he consented. 

On her knees, Heather crawled around Jake, stopping behind him, her hands on his shoulders.  She leaned down a few inches and kissed his ear, whispering, "Ready?"

Jake chuckled.  "Sure, do your worst."

Taking a deep breath, Heather scooted backwards just enough so that she wasn't touching Jake.  She waited, counting off fifteen seconds in her head, though it seemed like an eternity.  With her index finger she traced a diagonal line down Jake's back from the top of his left shoulder to the waistband of his jeans.  "Big X," she murmured, starting to trace a line in the other direction, beginning at his right shoulder. 

Heather counted to three this time, and then quickly marked a small 'x' between his shoulder blades with her fingernail.  Leaning over, she whispered "Little x," next to his ear.  "Circle," she continued, drawing one in the center of his back, before poking him quickly with her finger.  "And, a dot," she declared.

"What -"

"No talking," she told him sternly.  She ran her hand up the back of his neck and into his hair, tilting forward long enough to press a quick kiss to the top of his head.  Reaching around Jake, Heather placed both hands on his arms as far down as she could reach without falling over.  Dragging her fingertips up his arms in a skittering pattern, she whispered, "Spiders crawling up your arms."  She paused now, just for a moment, resting the palms of both hands atop his shoulders.  Exhaling, Heather moved her hands back down his arms, harmlessly raking her fingernails over his skin.  "Snakes crawling down," she murmured, her voice lilting. 

Jake shivered, prompting a soft though triumphant giggle from Heather. 

"Tight squeeze," she announced, pressing her hands to either side of his waist and squeezing quickly, before moving them back to his shoulders. With one hand, Heather pushed his slightly long hair off his neck, and then blew gently on it.  "Cool breeze."  Finally, she flicked the fingers of both hands against his back, declaring, "Now you've got the chills."

He couldn't keep himself from trembling again, the seductive sensation of Heather's touch, followed by her breath against the back of his neck, momentarily overwhelming Jake.  He turned, meeting Heather's gaze for just a second before hauling her into his arms and onto his lap.  "That's a kid's game?" he demanded hoarsely, bringing his mouth down on top of hers, hard.

"I may have adapted a little," Heather admitted, winding her arms around his neck, returning his kiss.  "But, yeah."

"The 'X' game," Jake muttered as he moved along her jaw, nipping at it gently, and then kissing away any sting. 

Heather chuckled.  "We always called it 'giving the chills'," she admitted, massaging the back of his neck with her thumbs.  She pulled away from Jake, forcing him to look up, meeting her eye.  "Last time I did that I was, maybe twelve, thirteen," she told him, pressing her lips to his.  "Slumber party," she giggled.

"Of course it was a slumber party," Jake groaned, resting his forehead against hers.  "You were probably wearing flannel pajamas, too," he joked, taking a deep breath.

She slid, not quite gracefully, off of Jake's lap.  "Ow," she complained, laughing softly at herself, flashing him a wry grin.  "Nah, I'm pretty sure it was August," Heather sighed, "Shorts and a tank top."

He shook his head, also exhaling deeply.  Looking around, Jake blinked and then faced Heather again.  "When did it get dark?" he asked, chuckling.

"I don't know," Heather answered honestly, glancing around as well.  The light was nearly gone, and the moon and the first stars of the evening had appeared in the sky.  "I wasn't looking."

Jake stood up and moved away, returning a few seconds later with a large flashlight which he placed off to the side, turning it on and then draping a white t-shirt over in order to soften the harsh glare.

"Mood lighting," Heather teased, her tone slightly cautious.  "You've thought of everything."

"Yeah, well, I don't know where the big ass flashlight came from, but it was in my trunk," Jake explained.  "Figured we might as well use it."

She smiled at him and then busied herself cleaning up the trash left over from their dinner.  When she had everything bagged up, Jake took it from her.  Heather watched as he walked down the beach, and then up a small, grassy rise to a picnic area where there were primitive restrooms and garbage bins.  She knew and appreciated that, just as on their first date, Jake had walked away for a moment in order to give them both the space they needed.  It was amazing how quickly things could escalate between them, and every time Jake exercised the self-control that she couldn't seem to manage, Heather found herself falling for him just that much harder.  Sighing, she reached back, turning up the volume on the radio slightly, and then settled herself on the blanket, knees bent, her sweater draped over her legs, both for warmth and modesty.

"Hey," Jake said, seating himself next to Heather, startling her out of her reverie.  He smiled at her sweetly, and then leaned over kissing her on her hairline.  "So, what'd you do today?"

"Overslept by a half hour," she admitted with a shrug.  "Went to school.  I caught two eighth graders making out in the science lab when I took my students down to check on our plant experiments," Heather chuckled.  She leaned over, resting her head against his shoulder.  "That wasn't at all awkward," she grumbled.  "I'm standing there with my entire class, who all want to know what's going on, and I'm trying to figure out how to handle it.  I don't know," Heather murmured.  "I don't really remember.  It was just a regular day until you showed up."  She looked sideways at him, their eyes locking.  "What about you?"

"Lawyers and driving, and now I'm with you," he answered, reaching for her hand.  He laced their fingers together and then raised their joined hands to his mouth, kissing her knuckles.  "Best part of my day."

Neither of them said anything for about a minute, both content to simply be together, and enjoy the gentle breeze that was blowing off the lake.  Jake let go of Heather's hand, wrapping his arm around her waist instead, and pulling her closer.  She laid her head against his arm, lifting it after only a few seconds when she heard the first few notes of a familiar song.  "Oh, I love this one," she said, smiling at Jake.  Heather pulled away long enough to turn up the volume on the radio, and then returned to her place at his side.

He listened for a moment, trying to identify the song for himself.  As soon as he heard the first words, Jake groaned and then started to laugh softly.  He was in no way a fan of what he considered to be 'country pop', but even he knew this song; it had played on the radio so much over the past year or two that it had been impossible to avoid.  "And, here I thought one of the advantages of dating a girl from New York was that you probably wouldn't turn out to be a big country music fan," he complained, kissing Heather's ear.

"I have broad musical tastes," she responded, grinning.  Heather turned her head, brushing her mouth over his.  "Though I hafta admit, I've been listening to more of it since I moved to Kansas."

"So we've corrupted you, huh?" Jake asked.  He allowed a deep sigh and, reaching for her hand, climbed to his feet.  "Dance with me?" he invited.

"It's a country song," Heather reminded, hesitating for a moment before she allowed Jake to help her stand up.

"It's you," he countered with a gentle smile, pulling her into his embrace.  Heather, her throat suddenly tight, could only return his smile, and press herself against him.

The chorus of the song came up just as they started to dance, though it was actually more of a coordinated sway, the two of them plastered together, her head tucked beneath Jake's chin, her ear resting over his heart.

I don't know how you do what you do.  I'm so in love with you, it just keeps getting better. 

Heather closed her eyes, forcing herself to breathe.  All her previous slow dance experiences had been in school gyms and church parish halls, always under the watchful eyes of nuns and CYO chaperones.  She had danced with the boys she'd grown up with, six inches of space between her and her partner, her hands on his shoulders, his arms around her waist, the two of them moving back and forth in the small space they'd carved out for themselves.  After the first thirty seconds, they were usually both desperate for the song to be over, forced to keep moving - step left, step center, step right, step center - until the song ended and they could flee one another's presence.  Dancing with Jake was such a completely different experience that it might as well have been the first dance of her life.

 
I wanna spend the rest of my life, with you by my side.  Forever and ever. 
Every little thing that you do.  Baby, I'm amazed by you.

 
Jake buried his face in her hair, inhaling the sweet, fruity scent of her shampoo.  Having Heather in his arms was both wonderful and torturous at the same time.  He was acutely sensitive to every point where their bodies touched, especially her breasts crushed against his chest.  Jake allowed his hands to skim down her back, over her hips, across the top of her buttocks, before tightening his hold on her, trying to pull her closer, though that was hardly possible.  She mesmerized him; dancing with Heather was as intimate of an experience as any he'd had in his life.

 
The smell of your skin, the taste of your kiss.  The way you whisper in the dark. 
Your hair all around me, baby you surround me.  You touch every place in my heart. 
Oh, it feels like the first time, every time.  I wanna spend the whole night in your eyes.

 
She raised her head from Jake's chest, smiling at him shyly.  Heather ran her hand up his back, caressing him through his t-shirt and crooning his name, almost inaudibly.  He brought his mouth down on top of her slightly parted lips, kissing her thoroughly.  They clung to one another, hands everywhere, both overcome with their passion for the other.

Every little thing that you do, I'm so in love with you.  It just keeps getting better. 
I wanna spend the rest of my life, with you by my side, forever and ever. 
Every little thing that you do.  Oh, every little thing that you do.  Baby, I'm amazed by you.

 
The song ended, though neither Jake nor Heather noticed immediately.  They were leaning on one another, propping each other up, reveling in both their physical and emotional connections.  A commercial blasted forth from the radio, startling Heather so that she took a step back, pulling away from Jake.  She faced him, giggling, eyes wide.  Their gazes locked, and the commercial continued, a used car salesman shouting about the 'deals of the century' he was currently offering, urging them to 'rush on down'.

Jake twisted away, bending to turn down the volume on the radio.  "Isn't that the smarmy guy from TV?  The one in the ten-gallon hat that kinda looks like Ross Perot?" Heather asked, chuckling softly.

"Yeah, that's him," Jake agreed, nodding absently, after contemplating the question for a long moment.  "Uh, Bob Carter, used car king of western Kansas."

"Right," Heather murmured, studying Jake closely for a few seconds.  "So," she continued, "Ready for dessert?"

Again, Jake had to force himself to concentrate on the here and now so that he could answer the question.  "Finally get to find out what's in the mystery container, huh?" he grinned, reaching for her hand.

"Yeah," she acknowledged, squeezing his fingers.  "Sit down," Heather instructed, retrieving the round plastic container from the edge of the blanket.  Jake had seated himself as ordered, and Heather dropped down next to him, her arm brushing his.  "I really can't cook," she started, taking a deep breath.  "A few things, sure, for potlucks and parties, things like that.  What I can do is bake," Heather explained, popping the top off the container.  "And, that's what I was doing last night when we were talking on the phone, actually." 

"So that's what all the noise was," he nodded knowingly.  "I didn't really buy the neighbor's cat story, you know."

"It was supposed to be a surprise," Heather shrugged.  She held the now open dish out to Jake.  "Peanut butter cookies," she offered, smiling.  "With milk chocolate chips, white chocolate chips, and peanut butter chips.  My brothers call that 'Heatherizing' a cookie."

"Sounds perfect to me," he chuckled, taking a cookie out of the container.  He waited until she'd extracted one for herself, and then held his up.  "To 'Heatherized' cookies," he toasted, winking at her.  Laughing, she knocked her cookie into his, careful not to break either, and then they both took their first bites.

They sat together, talking a little, but mostly in companionable silence, Heather eating two cookies to Jake's four.  When she'd finished her second, Jake leaned over kissing her softly, nipping at the corner of her mouth.  "Crumbs," he told her grinning.  "Just returning the favor for the mustard."

She laughed at that, resting her head against his arm.  "Do you want any more?" Heather asked as he brushed cookie crumbs off his hands.

"No, I'm good," Jake assured her.  He kissed her forehead, and then the bridge of her nose.  "And, those were great," he told her.  "I may just be spoiled for any other peanut butter cookie for the rest of my life," he joked.  "Thanks, babe."

"You're welcome," Heather whispered as he brushed his mouth over hers.  "And, you get to take the rest home with you," she added as he knitted their fingers together.  "You just have to share with Gramps."

"Oh great," Jake complained, chuckling softly and rolling his eyes.  "First I'm competing with an eight year old, and now with my own grandfather."

Giggling, Heather threw her head back, giving Jake a lovely view of her neck.  Unable to resist such a tantalizing swath of skin, he pulled her half into his lap, and then kissed her just below her ear.  With deliberate slowness, he worked his way down until he'd reached the point where her blouse and shoulder met.  Changing course, he twisted slightly to give himself better access and began kissing his way along her collarbone.  Heather's giggles had long since turned to moans and yips of satisfaction, and Jake couldn't help but feel rather pleased with himself.

"Jake, hon," Heather murmured.  Her hand had found its way to his chest, and she tugged at his t-shirt, her fingers fisting in the soft cotton.  Reluctantly, he lifted his head, meeting her eye.  "You don't have to worry," she told him, though Jake wasn't completely sure what it was that he was supposed to be concerned about.  "I'm like Goldilocks," she joked.  "This one is too young."  Heather pointed left into the darkness.  "And, this one is too old.  Though," she warned, "Don't you dare tell Gramps I said that."

"Trust me, if Gramps ever forgets that he's too old for you, I will be reminding him," Jake snorted.  "Now, the question is," he continued, dipping his head to graze her mouth with his own, "Should I be worried that you've picked my grandfather as your back-up guy?" he teased.

"He's not my back-up guy," Heather protested, sighing contentedly.  She twined her arms around Jake's neck, smiling at him.  "I don't need a back-up guy," she added.  "I'm Goldilocks, remember," Heather repeated.  "So, that one's too young, and that one's too old," she joked softly.  "But this one," she breathed against his mouth, "This one is just right."

Neither of them felt any compulsion to talk after that, and they concentrated on one another, and the delightful sensations they were experiencing together.  Their universe had reduced itself to mouths and lips; hands, fingers and skin; Heather and Jake.  Sometime later, she pulled away, smiling at him and catching his hand in her own as she lay back on the blanket.  Jake took a deep, shuddering breath, and leaned over to brush her hair out of her somewhat glassy eyes, eliciting a shiver from Heather.  His finger moved to her slightly swollen lips, sweeping over them lightly before he brought his mouth down on hers.

Jake lay next to Heather rather than on top of her, though his leg did find its way between both of hers. His fingers moved to, and then under, the bottom edge of her t-shirt.  Jake splayed his hand possessively over her stomach, asking thickly, "Okay?"   She nodded, and he kissed her quickly before his hand continued its upward journey, inching over her skin until his thumb brushed the underside of her breast.  "Okay?" Jake questioned again, noticing how the calluses on his fingertips seemed all the more rough in contrast to the smooth satin of her bra.

At that moment, Heather knew without a doubt that Jake Green would be her first lover.  It wouldn't happen tonight - she wasn't ready for that - but it was inevitable, she realized.  This revelation stunned Heather, who had always guarded that part of herself so carefully.  It should have scared her too, she acknowledged, and she accepted the fact that it didn't as further proof of the rightness of the situation.  Heather knew she could trust - did trust - herself to Jake; he'd proven himself worthy of that trust over and over during the preceding two weeks.  He seemed to know exactly where her ever-changing line was, and while he'd push her right up to that line, he respected it, and didn't push beyond it.

"You okay?" he asked, lifting himself up a few inches to stare down at her, frowning, concern written in his expression.  He withdrew his hand from beneath her shirt, bringing it up to cup her cheek.  "You had a funny look on your face," he murmured.

Heather raised herself up on her elbows until her mouth met Jake's.  She poured everything she was feeling into her kiss, nowhere near ready to tell him with words about her realization.  "I'm fine," she assured him, pulling away for a second, and then pressing her lips to his again.  "Great, wonderful, perfect," Heather giggled against his mouth.

She sank back down, resting on the blanket.  Jake lowered himself next to Heather and began playing with her hair.  "Okay," he agreed, brushing his nose against hers.  "So, how soon do I need to take you home?" he inquired softly, nuzzling her cheek.

"Not now," she told him, smiling as she wrapped her arms around his shoulders.  "Not now.  Later."

* * * * *

It was nearly nine-thirty before they left Bass Lake, and they only left then at Jake's insistence.  The temperature had dropped considerably in the hours after darkness fell, and Heather - despite her sweater, despite cuddling up to Jake, despite wrapping the blanket around her legs - hadn't been able to keep her teeth from chattering.  Jake had kissed her on the forehead and told her it was time to go, before she froze to death, and Heather had reluctantly agreed.  "We'll come here again, sometime," he'd promised, helping her stand.  "And, we've got plenty more evenings ahead of us just like this one, babe," Jake had assured her, hugging her quickly.

Heather had kissed him in response, but when she'd pulled away a few seconds later, her teeth had started chattering again.  Jake had shaken his head at her, insisting that they needed to get moving.  Working together, they had packed everything up, accomplishing the task quickly and efficiently.  "Thank you, Jake," Heather had said when they were ready to head back to the car.  "I had a great time.  'Just us' was perfect," she'd smiled, "So, thank you."

"My pleasure," he'd responded, taking her hand in his.  "Let's go."  Heather, with one last glance back at the lake and their now bare spot on the beach, had allowed him to lead her back up the path.

Now at the car, Jake threw everything he was carrying in the back seat, and then helped Heather settle herself in the passenger's seat.  Walking around the car, he started to climb in, only to be stopped by Heather.  "Jake, I think we got a ticket," she announced, frowning and pointing through the windshield at a slip of paper secured against the glass by the wiper blade. 

He climbed back out of the car and retrieved the paper, reading first one side and then the other.  Sliding back into his seat, he grinned at Heather.  "It's not a ticket," Jake told her.  "Well, it is, but he voided it out."  He held the slip out to her.  "Your new friend, Deputy Taylor, left me a note," he added.

"You're kidding," Heather muttered, accepting the piece of paper.  She examined it.  It was in fact a ticket, and it had been filled out nearly completely with the 'incident location' - Bass Lake East Shore Picnic Area Parking Lot - as well as Jake's name and license plate number.  It was signed 'Deputy J. Taylor', and 'VOID' had been written in big letters across the form.  Heather flipped the ticket over and read it.

Jake,

You must have forgotten, but the lake's closed at night.  I'm sure you'll remember next time.  Hope you had a good evening.

Jimmy

Heather looked up to catch Jake trying valiantly not to laugh.  "Oh, God," she groaned, letting her head fall back against the seat.  "This is embarrassing," she complained, fighting her own giggle.  "And, I thought you said that they wouldn't come down here on a Wednesday night," she added, glaring softly at Jake.

"I forgot that Jimmy's sometimes an overachiever," he admitted, shrugging.   Jake reached across the car for her hand, raising it to his mouth and kissing her knuckles, palm, and then wrist.  "Are you really embarrassed?"

"Nah," she admitted, shaking her head. "It's you," she sighed, smiling at him.  "There's nothin' about you that embarrasses me, Jake Green."

Jake let go of her hand then, leaning over to press his mouth to hers.  "Good," he muttered.  A long moment later he pulled reluctantly away, offering Heather a gentle grin.  "Ready to go home?"

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Thursday, October 26, five weeks after the bombs

Jake quietly opened the bedroom door and slipped in, before rotating to push it closed, slowly, so it didn't creak and give his presence away.  He'd made it back into the house and upstairs without running into anyone, a minor miracle, considering that the entire Green family was now living under one roof.  He turned around only to find his wife watching him, her expression rather amused.

"Hey," Heather greeted, stretching her hands above her head.  She was sitting, cross-legged, in the middle of the bed - their bed, he reminded himself since, as today's events had proven, the only prudent option was to live in town, at least for now.  "Where'd you disappear to?" she asked, moving some of the papers she had spread out over the top of the bed.

"Had to go back to town hall," Jake admitted, crossing the few feet between the door and the bed.  He threw himself down in the space Heather had just cleared, sighing as he felt his aching body sink into the mattress.  "Somebody needed to make sure Mitch Cafferty was tucked in for the night," he yawned, rolling onto his side so he could press his face against her thigh.

"Jake," Heather murmured, her hand finding its way into his hair. 

"I just went in to check things, Heather," he snapped, cringing when her hand stilled against his head.  "Nothing else," Jake sighed, turning so he could look up at her.  "Someone had to secure for the night.  That's all I did.  And, I know - I know you think there's something redeemable about everyone.  I love that about you," he said frowning, "But, babe, it's not true, not when it comes to Mitch Cafferty.  There's nothing -"

"I wasn't gonna yell at you, Jake," she muttered, twisting away and then sliding off the bed.  She carried her stack of paperwork to the bureau and dropped it on top.  Heather turned around, facing him warily across the five feet of space that separated them.  "And, you know, I don't actually care if Mitch Cafferty can be redeemed - I believe you when you say he can't.  I just - do you know what I've been doing today, the last few days, with this?" she asked, pointing at the pile of folders behind her on the dresser top.  "I've been filling out 'end of year' reports on students I had for less than a month.  How stupid is that?" Heather demanded, shaking her head in frustration. 

Jake had known what she'd been doing over the past few days.  The school board had finally held an emergency meeting two days after the EMP, despite the fact that the board president and district superintendent were both missing.  One vote had been taken - unanimous - to close both schools indefinitely.  Heather, though, still had access to the building, and student files had started appearing around the house at the beginning of the week.  It had struck Jake as odd at first, but he'd realized pretty quickly that finishing her student's records was a form of mourning for Heather, and that it was best to leave her to it.

"C'm'ere," Jake said softly.  He was sitting up, holding his hand out to her.

Heather walked back to the bed, and taking Jake's hand, allowed him to pull her down next to him.  "I'm sorry," she mumbled, leaning against him.  "I'm tired, and I'm not in the best mood, and today really scared me," she admitted.

"Today scared me, too," he told her, kissing her on the forehead.  "But I didn't -"

"I know," she interrupted, squeezing his hand.  "I know you weren't out there having fun today, Jake.  I know that you only did what you had to do.  I trust you," Heather added, offering him a tentative smile.  "Now, I like it better when you take a moment to calm down before you run off after the bad guys, and I definitely like it better when you have back up," she said, emitting a shaky laugh.  "But I trust you."

"I'm startin' to appreciate having back up myself," Jake chuckled humorlessly.  "But don't tell Eric that," he ordered, burying his face against Heather's neck.  "I love you," he told her, kissing her shoulder.  'And, I will protect you,' he thought.  'You and our baby, from Mitch Cafferty and everyone like him.'

"Well, can I tell Jimmy?" Heather teased, massaging Jake's neck.  "'Cause I think I like it when Jimmy backs you up."

"Yeah," Jake agreed, lifting his head.  "Jimmy's a good guy to have around."

She ran her hand up his neck and into his hair, accidentally brushing the knot on the back of his head, drawing a groan from Jake.  Heather shot him a sympathetic look.  "How's your head?"

Jake shrugged.  "I'll live," he muttered, trying to distract her with a kiss.

"You should take something," she told him.

"I already did, couple times," Jake admitted, pulling away from Heather.  He moved around her, climbing off the bed.  "What I should take is a shower," Jake added, bending over to kiss the top of Heather's head.  "I'm pretty scrungy."

"Well, I wasn't gonna say anything, but yeah," she chuckled, catching his hand.  "And, you do realize that you just made up a word," Heather accused lightly.  She shook her head, grinning at him.  "Just make sure you come right back," she instructed, throwing him a suggestive look before finally releasing his hand.

Jake returned her grin.  "Oh, I'll be back," he promised.

* * * * *

Whistling off-key and softly to himself, Jake padded barefoot down the hallway.  The shower had been cold - invigorating, he tried to tell himself, but really just cold - and he'd hurried through it, though he definitely felt better for it.  His hair was still damp, and he'd made only a half-hearted attempt to dry off before pulling on shorts and leaving the bathroom.  Jake carried his dirty clothes with him, his towel thrown over his shoulder.  Pushing open the bedroom door, he stepped inside.  "So, where were we?" 

"Well, hello to you, too, Jake," his sister-in-law replied, shooting him a knowing look and making an obvious effort not to snicker.  She was sitting sideways on the edge of the bed, near the foot, leaning back on her hands, while Heather sat Indian style in the middle.  His mother had dragged the room's one chair out of the corner and had stationed it next to the bed.  "As for where we were," April continued, her grin bordering on evil, "I'm pretty sure that we - you and me, anyway - weren't anywhere," she teased.

Heather caught his eye then, her expression slightly sheepish.  She shrugged her shoulders but didn't say anything.  Jake blew out a frustrated breath.  "Yeah, well.  Yeah," he returned, rolling his eyes.  He was tired, he hurt, and all he wanted to do was wrap himself around his wife and forget that the world was quickly going to hell for a little while.  Tonight he wasn't even going to try and engage in a battle of wits with April. 

Jake walked the few steps to the bureau, throwing his dirty clothes in the general direction of the laundry basket in the corner.  "Hamper!" the Green women chorused in almost perfect harmony.  Jake, facing away from the three of them, gave into the urge to roll his eyes again.  Groaning, he reached down to scoop up his discarded clothing, then took another step toward the basket and tossed them on top of everything else.

"Okay?" he grumbled, glancing back over his shoulder at them.  He grabbed a clean t-shirt out of the dresser, and pulled it on.  He started to stomp toward the door.  "I'll get outta the way of the girl talk."

"Jake -" Heather finally spoke, but April cut her off.

"Don't be such a grump," she admonished.  "And, we're not really here for the girl talk, although we did indulge."  Exhaling, April pushed herself up.  "Mom and I are making a house call.  I hear you got hit in the head.  So, come sit down," she ordered, pointing to the spot next to her on the bed.  "Lemme have a look, and then we'll get out of your way."  She smiled at him sweetly.  "And then you can get back to where you were."

"Fine," Jake sighed, starting to shake his head only to think better of it.  He crossed the room, dropping into the space April had indicated. 

"Turn," she instructed, pushing on his shoulder gently.  "I'm going to start with the back of your head, since I hear that you've got a pretty impressive goose egg back here," April explained, her hand already in his hair.  Her touch was tender but clinical, nothing like Heather's.  She found the lump almost immediately, and traced it with her index finger, measuring its size.  "God, a phrenologist would have so much fun with you," April complained.  "What the hell did he hit you with?"

"I got hit from behind," Jake reminded.  Heather moved over so that she was sitting next to and facing him.  She reached for his hand, flashing him a tentative smile that Jake couldn't help but return.   "So, I didn't really get a good look," he added, trying to look back over his shoulder at April.

"Barrel of a shot gun," Heather supplied, her tone sour.  Surprised, Jake turned his head back a little too quickly to stare at her.  "That's what Jimmy said that Dale said," she explained, frowning.

"Sounds about right," he admitted, shrugging.  "Sure as hell hurt."

"Jake!" Gail exclaimed.  She stood up, a first aid kit clutched to her chest, glaring at him.

"I didn't ask to get hit in the head," he argued.  "And, Mom, I'm okay.  I'll be fine."

"Not so fast," April interjected.  "I'm the doctor, and I haven't decided that yet," she joked, tapping him on the shoulder.  "Turn around."  Grumbling softly, Jake did as she asked.  April checked his eyes with a penlight.  "Okay, I already knew you had a concussion, but yeah, you have a concussion," she declared.  "And, I'm guessing that cut's way too old to stitch, right?" she added, gesturing at the puffy gash in his cheek that was starting to scab over.

"Thankfully, yes," Jake answered.  "Look, I washed -"

"You should've found me sooner," April scolded.  "When I could've done something.  Now, we just have to hope it doesn't get infected."  She looked at her mother-in-law.  "So, you want to take over here?  I'm going to get the Tylenol."  She stood up, looking back at Heather.  "And, somebody's going to have to wake him up every two hours."

Gail had already opened an antiseptic wipe, which she applied to Jake's cut.  "Ow!  Mom!  What the -"

"Oh, don't be a baby," she chided, pressing harder.  "The package says sting-free."

"Sure, when it's not your face!" Jake complained.

His mother was less than sympathetic.  "Hold still," Gail ordered, "And it'll go faster."

Heather, now sitting on the edge of the bed next to Jake, holding his hand, caught April's eye.  "I've got the world's cheapest travel alarm clock, and it's still working.  I'll take care of waking him up."

"Then we have a treatment plan," April decided.  "I'll be right back."  She walked to the door, and opened it, coming face to face with Eric, who peered curiously into the room over her shoulder. 

"What's going on?" he asked, just as Jake yelped at his mother's liberal application of Neosporin to his cut. 

April smiled at him tentatively.  "Jake's paying for a couple of his sins."

"Oooh!  Can I watch?" Eric joked.  He wrapped an arm around April, forcing her to back up so he could enter the room.

Jake turned his head to glare at his brother, earning him a slap on the hand.  "Be still," Gail commanded.

"You know Jake, you really need to learn to duck," Eric advised, as April, after planting a kiss on his cheek, slipped out from under his arm and headed again for the door.

Grumbling, Jake twisted around, reaching past Heather to grab a pillow which he then heaved at his brother.  "Kiss my -"

"Jake!" Gail shouted over her son.  "Please!"

* * * * *

"Okay, I love your Dad, but what part of 'he needs his rest and it's late' does he not get?" Heather grumbled, leaning back against the door as if she believed there was a chance that her in-laws might actually try to return.  She frowned at Jake, who was sitting up in the room's lone chair, holding an instant cold compress to the back of his head and smirking at her. 

"Hey, you're the one who invited everyone over," he reminded with a snort.  "I was all for a nice, quiet evening at home, just the two of us.  But no, you had to host a family party."

"I just wanted April to look at your head.  Who knew your Dad was gonna want to chat?" Heather argued.  Johnston, who had slept most of the day away, had woken up, still wheezing and still feverish, but feeling well rested.  When he'd found the rest of the household in Jake's and Heather's bedroom, he'd come in, sat down, and preceded to demand all the details of the day's events.  It had taken Heather nearly a half hour to get him back out the door.

She shook her head, allowing a frustrated sigh.  Her gaze refocused on Jake, narrowing slightly.  "You!  In bed, now!" she ordered.

Jake chuckled, leering at her playfully.  "Well, if you insist," he said, pulling himself up out of the chair, groaning.  He dropped onto the bed, scooting over to the far side.  He patted the empty spot next to him.  "Come here," he yawned.

"Lay down," Heather laughed, finally abandoning her guard duties.  She crossed the room, seating herself on the edge of the bed.  "And, put that cold pack back on your head.  Then we can negotiate."  He made a feeble attempt to push the compress underneath his head, but it wasn't enough to satisfy Heather.  "Okay, up," she instructed, tugging on his arm.  Jake sat back up, and she fluffed his pillow for him.  Then, holding the compress to the knot on the back of his head she got him to lay back down, extracting her hand once he was supine. 

He grabbed Heather before she could move away, wrapping his arms around her waist and drawing her close so he could kiss her.  "So where were we?" he whispered against her mouth.

"Oh, hon," she smiled at him, pulling away.  "Trust me, if you were in any condition, I'd be right there with ya,"

"Yeah," Jake agreed reluctantly a few seconds later.  He closed his eyes, nodding almost imperceptibly.  "The spirit's willing," he joked, frowning tiredly, "But the flesh -"

"Not so much," Heather completed for him, kissing his injured cheek, just below the bandage his mother had finally managed to apply.  "How 'bout I lay down with you?"

"Sure," he muttered, yawning.  "Take what I can get," he added, slurring his words slightly.  Heather leaned over, pressing her lips to Jake's forehead.  "I don't have a fever," he grumbled.

"And, I wasn't checking for one," she replied, shaking her head at him.  Heather turned then, finding the travel alarm clock on the bedside table.  She set the alarm for two and a half hours, knowing very well that it would take Jake awhile to fall asleep, and then blew out the pillar candle, eliminating the only source of light in the room.  "Okay," she murmured, stretching out on her side next to Jake, facing him.  "Close your eyes," Heather added, whispering. 

She started to run her hand through his hair, massaging his scalp gently, earning a contented sigh and soft grin from Jake.  This was something her mother had always done for her, from her infancy through her teen years. 'Poor babying' Renate Lisinski had always called it, and whether Heather had been sick or upset, her mother's ministrations had soothed her every time, usually enough so she could fall asleep.  She continued her efforts for a few minutes, surprised but grateful when Jake didn't move or say anything.  Heather knew that he was coming down off the adrenaline high he'd been operating under for most of the day, and she was almost convinced that he had fallen asleep when she felt his hand skim down her front, and then slip beneath the edge of her blouse, coming to a rest on the slight bulge that was their child.

"Just checkin," he said, his voice a soft rumble in his chest.  Jake turned his head slightly, offering Heather a faint smile.  His eyes were bleary, and it took him a moment to focus.  "Everything okay?" he yawned.

"Don't worry, I'm still pregnant," she told him, chuckling.   Heather raised her head so she could brush her mouth over his.  "We're good, I promise," she sighed.

"Don't worry?" Jake repeated, snorting.  "Good luck with that."  Mitchell Cafferty was locked up for the moment, but Jake figured that there was plenty more left to worry about, not the least of which was Jonah Prowse, as Mitchell had reminded him earlier in the evening.  Leaving that issue aside, there were still the basics of food, water, and shelter to worry about.  Then there was Heather's health, and their baby's too.  April, as far as he could tell, was keeping the clinic running - barely - with spit and chewing gum, and quite possibly a secret deal with the devil.  Anything could go wrong.  "I'm gonna worry," he muttered.

"I told Emily today," Heather said quietly.  She stopped rubbing his head, moving her hand down to lay it over his.  "That I'm pregnant.  I told her."

"How'd that happen?" he asked quietly.

Her announcement seemed to wake Jake up, Heather realized.  Despite the darkness, she could see in his eyes, now locked with hers, that she had his full attention.  Heather sighed.  "I kinda had to," she complained.  "She asked if I was sick.  Apparently she thought I had some dread disease, what with Jimmy insisting on lifting everything for me, and Stanley practically ripping a bin out of my hands right in front of her."

"Good," Jake declared.  "You shouldn't have been lifting it anyway."

"Yeah, well, Emily asked if I had cancer or something, and I had to tell her I'm pregnant before Mimi did," Heather explained.  "She looked a little shocked.  But, she did congratulate me - us.  Took off after that."

"She was gonna find out soon enough," Jake reminded, stroking his hand over her belly.  "You weren't gonna hide this forever," he teased.

"True," Heather agreed, inching closer to Jake.  She laid her head on his shoulder for a moment, kissing the sleeve of his t-shirt before moving her head back to her pillow.

Jake didn't often think about the Thanksgiving when he was sixteen and a half, his junior year of high school, two months before his seventeenth birthday, but the memory suddenly hit him now.  Those three days, from that Wednesday night when Emily had first told him that her period was a week and a half late until Saturday morning when her mother had called his mother to let them know that she'd gotten it overnight, had been some of the longest days of his life.  Jake couldn't help but remember how mad he'd been at Emily; his self-centered sixteen year old self had blamed her for the entire situation.  It was that crisis, actually, that had kick started the 'break-up and make-up' cycle that Jake and Emily had fallen into the last few years of their dating relationship. 

The last thing he'd wanted then was to be a father, and it still amazed Jake how much he was looking forward to fatherhood now.  It scared him to death too, of course, especially under the current circumstances.  But whereas the mere suggestion that Emily might be pregnant had driven the first wedge between them, the clear evidence, just beneath his hand, of their baby growing inside Heather, thrilled Jake.  He turned onto his side and, cupping the back of her head with his hand, pressed a fierce kiss to her mouth.

"Jake," Heather complained, giggling softly, "You're supposed to be getting some sleep.  You need to rest," she told him, sitting up and then gently forcing him to lay down on his back.  "How else can I wake you up in two hours?"

"I'm tired," he admitted.  That last dose of Tylenol had taken the edge off the pain, but he still had a headache, and while he'd been drowsing a few minutes before, Jake was now awake again.  "Just can't get to sleep," he muttered, yawning.  "Here," he grumbled, pulling the cold pack from behind his head and handing it to Heather.  "It's used up."

"Okay," she agreed, accepting the offending item.  It was rather warm and mushy now, and not likely to do him any good.  "But, you know, I almost had you asleep before."  Heather placed the used cold pack on the bedside table, and then returned to massaging Jake's head, hoping to lull him to sleep.  "No talking," she whispered.  "Close your eyes."

Jake complied, his eyes fluttering closed, and he gave himself over to her touch.  It had been a hell of a day, and he snorted softly at the thought, prompting Heather to shush him gently.  Jake didn't have any regrets - that much he knew.  He wasn't happy about all that had happened today, but he wouldn't change anything that he had done, and he'd do it all again if need be.  "Love you," Jake breathed.  "And our baby."

Still stroking his head, Heather leaned over, kissing Jake on the forehead.  "I love you, too.  Sleep."

* * * * * * * * * *

The song that Heather loves and that they dance to is Amazed from the Lonestar album Lonely Grill.