The Greens of Jericho

Different Circumstances: Part 13B of ? by Marzee Doats


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

Tuesday, December 26, three months after the bombs

"Wager for the first kill," Jake announced, breaking the uneasy silence they had fallen into after getting back on the road.  They were all thinking about that field, he knew, those people and their desperate journey south.  But they needed to stop thinking about things they couldn't fix or even influence, and get their heads back in the game.  This hunting trip had to be successful.  There was no other choice.

Stanley glanced past Mimi at his friend.  "I'm in for a dozen eggs," he threw out, catching on.

Startled by the other man's opening bid and with no hope of upping the ante, Jake practically stammered out what he hoped would be considered comparable terms.  "Two - two hours chopping wood."  They had their own chickens of course, but their production had dropped off, and Heather's first attempt at setting eggs had been an unmitigated disaster.  Jake vowed then and there that he was going to get first kill; he could already taste that first fried egg, and no way was he chopping that much wood to pay off a bet.

Mimi recognized what the two men were up to.  That field - what they'd seen and what they'd learned there - had unnerved her, and she could appreciate their attempts, blatant as they were, to distract her. "Tax return consultation," she declared, giving into a smile as she looking first at Jake and then at Stanley.  Her skills were quite different from theirs, and it was her best offer, despite Stanley's claims that she needed to know how to hunt.   

"How about foot massages for a week?" Stanley countered, glancing at her just long enough that she was able to spot the flirtatious gleam in his eye.  "For me," he chuckled exuberantly, pointing to himself.  "Not for him," he clarified, gesturing at his friend.

"We'll talk," she returned, folding her hands demurely in her lap though she didn't bother to try and keep the smile out of her voice.

The truck crested a small rise, and Jake leaned forward, bracing himself against the dash.  "Stanley, stop," he ordered, his tone suddenly urgent.

"What are they doin'?" the other man demanded as he stomped on the break.

"They're blockin' the whole road!" Mimi complained, annoyed.

Jake shook his head, frowning.  "More like staking it out," he muttered, the hair prickling on the back of his neck.  'The farther out you get, the hairier the roads are.'  His father's words, spoken just a few hours before, screamed a loud alarm in Jake's head.  And this was one hell of a mess, he had no doubt.  "All right," he said, exhaling deeply, forcing himself to remain calm, "Turn around."

"And go where?" Stanley asked, dragging his eyes away from the black, reasonably newer model truck to look sideways at the other man.

"I don't know," Jake admitted, the slightest note of panic creeping into his voice.  "Just do it, all right?  Turn around," he demanded.  "Find another road."

His first impulse had been to honk so they'd get out of the way, but there was something about the truck, or maybe it was the tone of Jake's voice.  Whatever it was, there was something wrong here, Stanley could feel it in his gut.  Lips pressed together, he threw the truck into reverse, gaining speed as the vehicle rolled back down the slight rise.  As quickly as he could he turned the truck, flooring it, his eyes on the rearview mirror rather than the meandering road before him.  "Jake..." he muttered, his eyes widening.  The black truck had turned too, and was in pursuit.

"I see it." Jake's reply was clipped.  All three held their breaths while Stanley focused his concentration on the road and Jake kept an eye on the truck out the back window.  "Damn it," he swore ten interminable seconds later.  There was just no way this ended well.

"Why are they following us?" Mimi demanded, panic rising in her voice.  Neither man answered - neither had to.  They all knew exactly why the truck was following.

They pushed on for another tense half minute, Stanley fighting to guide the truck over the bumpy, frozen road, Jake studying the other vehicle out the back window, and Mimi biting her lip and clutching the dash with both hands.  Jake recognized immediately when the other driver began to speed up.  "Stanley, gun it!" he shouted at his friend, well aware that the old truck was likely going as fast as it could already.  The black truck roared dangerously closer, stirring up the dust which made it harder to judge the distance between the two vehicles and added to the sense of confusion and fear in the cab.  "This - this should get us back to the highway," Jake mumbled, thinking aloud more than anything.

"Then what?" Mimi snapped, catching his eye as he glanced her way, terror evident in her expression. 

For a split second Jake couldn't help but be glad that Heather was safe back in Jericho.  Shaking his head, he looked back over his shoulder at the truck bearing down on them.  "We try to make it back home," he threw out, the words sounding desperate to his own ears.  "Find the patrol," he continued, grunting as the truck hit a teeth jarring bump in the road.  "Maybe - maybe they'll give up by then," he argued, hoping rather than believing he was right.  "Or run out of gas."

"Yeah," Stanley barked, grimacing as he reflexively checked his side view mirror, "If we don't first."

Twisted around uncomfortably in the cramped space, Jake stared at the other truck out the rear window, his grip tight on the back of the seat.  He watched in horror as the vehicle sped up behind them, gaining on them, and he realized, his heart in his throat, with every intention of ramming them.  "Stanley!  Stanley, hold on!" he shouted.

They had no time to prepare before the first impact threw them all forward.  Jake, still holding onto the seat and Stanley, with his hands on the steering wheel were able to brace themselves some, but Mimi hit her head on the ceiling and couldn't help the yelp of pain and fright that escaped her.  She grabbed blindly for the dashboard in front of her just as the truck bumped them again.  "Oh, God!" she screamed.

In the next instance though, the vehicle dropped back, ten, then twenty, then forty feet, much to their collective surprise.  Jake sensed Stanley ease up on the gas and protested loudly.  "No!  Stanley!  Keep going!  Faster!"

"We can't outrun them!" Stanley argued in return. 

Jake knew he was right.  The other truck was newer, had more horsepower, it probably even had more gas.  They, on the other hand, were burning through gas they didn't have.  The other driver sped up again, and Jake shook his head in frustration.  He didn't know what the hell to do.

"How far 'til Jericho?" Mimi cried out.

"Too far," Jake muttered, gritting his teeth.  There was only one option left to them, to him, he decided, extracting his gun from inside his jacket.  He inserted the clip and then looked back over his shoulder in time to see the other vehicle barreling toward them once more, the space between them disappearing in seconds. 

"Oh, God!" Mimi screeched again, staring, wide eyed, at Jake's weapon. 

Stanley glanced over at his friend, cautioning, "Jake!"

The black truck rammed them again.  These guys meant business, but maybe, Jake thought, he could convince them that the hunting party wasn't as easy pickings as the assailants had assumed.  It was a long shot - literally - but, he had to try.  He struggled to lift himself into the open window, but, having last eaten about twenty four hours before, he was a little too weak, a little too shaky.   God damn it, he wasn't gonna die out here, Jake decided, not like this.  "Stay down," he ordered Mimi, somehow managing to heft himself up.

He got one shot off immediately, earning a yelp from Mimi.  "Stay down," Stanley barked out, repeating his best friend's words, as he forced himself to concentrate on his driving and not on the massive pit in his stomach.  He was sweating bullets now, and he knew if he let himself think about what Jake was up to he wouldn't be able to do this.  When, he wondered, had this become his life?

Jake fired at the other vehicle again, missing it, Stanley assumed, watching in the rear view mirror as the other driver steered straight into him once more.  The black truck fell back for a few seconds before speeding up and ramming them again.  Jake scrambled back into the cab as Stanley was forced off the road and into an embankment, the truck flipping.

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

Tuesday, January 1, five years before the bombs

"So, ready to go?" Jake inquired as he came down the stairs, this time at a much more sedate pace.

Heather, who had been pacing the length of the foyer, Baron's leash clutched tightly in her hand, looked up in time to see him jog down the last two steps.  "I - I think so," she giggled, offering him a nervous smile.  She'd left her jacket on - zipped up to her chin - when they had come back into the house.  "Sorry," Heather continued, her eyes wide as she met his gaze.  "It's just that I haven't had a shower in twenty seven hours, I haven't brushed my teeth this morning, I haven't even brushed my hair -"

"Stop," he commanded gently, moving to stand in front of her.  Jake reached for Heather's hand, extracting the puppy's lead and dropping it on the floor so he could lace their fingers together.  "I haven't had a shower in more like ... twenty hours," he decided, raising her hand to his mouth so he could press a kiss to her knuckles.  "Plus, I haven't brushed my teeth, either," he admitted with an exaggerated grimace that pulled another, not entirely serene giggle from Heather.  "And we both have slight cases of bed head," Jake continued, wrapping a lock of her hair around the index finger of his free hand.  "So basically - like your niece says - we match."  He took a deep breath and let her hair unwind from around his finger.  "I want - this'll - it'll be good."

Smiling, she offered a mute nod and then pressed herself against him, kissing him chastely. Instantly she was enveloped in Jake's arms.  Baron, who'd wandered over to the door, looked back at them, wagging his tail and whining softly.  Heather, glancing over her shoulder, laughed at the puppy's wide-eyed expression.  "Okay, Baron," she answered, shaking her head at the dog before once again meeting Jake's probing gaze.  "Okay," she exhaled, her smile expanding to light her entire face, "Let's go."

Jake, who'd found socks, boots and a long sleeved shirt to layer over his t-shirt, released Heather from his embrace so he could retrieve his parka from the closet.  Pulling it on, he left it unzipped and held his hand out to her.  "Do you have gloves?" she asked, fishing a pair of bright purple and green striped stretchy knit gloves out of her jacket's pocket.  "You just had the flu a week ago," Heather reminded, pulling her gloves on.

"Two weeks ago," Jake argued as he caught her hand in his, tugging her to him so he could plant a kiss on her lips.  "I'll be fine.  It's not that cold. Besides," he grinned, "This way, you'll be forced to keep me warm."

She returned his grin, allowing him to lead her out the door.  "Guess so."

Heather had put the leash on Baron but it wasn't actually necessary on the ranch, so Jake unhooked it and tucked it into his jacket's pocket.  The puppy took off ahead of them like a rocket and then doubled back, yipping at them excitedly as if to say, 'hurry up, slowpokes'.  Jake, holding tightly to Heather's hand, shook his head at the animal's antics and glanced sideways at her.  She met his gaze, an anxious chuckle escaping her.  "What?" Jake demanded, gripping her fingers tightly as they moved off the driveway and onto the gravel road that led to the horse barns and water tower.

Blushing prettily, she shrugged.  "I - I don't know," she laughed.  "I - it's just a little weird, ya know?" Heather asked, giggling harder.  "Surreal," she added a few seconds later, sighing softly.  "But good."

"Okay," he acknowledged, letting out his own relieved breath.  Jake could understand her nerves - his own stomach was churning some - but still he knew without a shadow of a doubt that this was right.  He loved Heather and he couldn't imagine his life without her.  They continued along the road, Jake not quite pulling her along as she continued to chuckle, little trills of laughter escaping her every time their eyes met.  Heather, it seemed, had developed a case of giggle fits.  He frowned, throwing her a questioning look.  "You're not gonna keep laughing when we get there, right?"

"Sorry!" she gasped out, fighting a losing battle for control.  Heather stopped suddenly, pulling her hand from Jake's and covering her face.  Bent over, her hands braced on her thighs, she gasped for breath, trying to calm herself.  "I'm sorry," she groaned, craning her neck so she could look up at him.  Another twitter escaped her. "It's just weird," Heather sighed, "And kinda nerve wracking to know - know what's coming." 

"You're tellin' me," Jake snorted, shaking his head.  He surprised her next, reaching for her hand - still planted on her leg - and pulling her to him for a kiss.  "But I don't wanna wait 'til I can get you to the water tower under false pretenses," Jake told Heather when they broke, reluctantly, apart.  He rested his forehead against her, grinning gently and reminded, "Could be months."

She nodded, smiling at him.  "That wouldn't be good at all."

"Nope," he agreed, squeezing her fingers.  "Now c'mon."

"Okay," she chuckled softly, though at least there was no hint of anxiety in her voice.  She let her free hand rest on his chest, clutching at the soft cotton of his t-shirt as she pressed her mouth to his, a kiss that was sweet and simple and full of promise.  "Let's go," Heather murmured, taking a step back.

They made it all the way to the water tower before Heather's nerves resurfaced.  She had laughed more than once along the way, always at Baron, who Jake had kept calling back to them.  The puppy would come bounding toward them, snapping and growling at the flakes in the air and skidding on the snow that was just starting to consider sticking.  As they reached the water tower though, Heather, who had looped her arm through Jake's, had pulled away an inch or two.  Throwing him a sideways glance, an anxious giggle escaped her.  "Sorry," she muttered, quickly clamping a hand over her mouth.

Jake rolled his eyes.  "Don't start that again," he grumbled, extracting his arm from hers.  He pointed her at the ladder, motioning that she should go first.  Heather mounted the first rung and began to climb.  When her foot hit the second tread, Jake gave into the sudden and overwhelming impulse to help her out with a 'boost'.  Planting both hands on her rear end, he pinched her and then gave her a push.  A startled squeak escaped Heather and she looked down and behind her, meeting his knowing smirk with a blush.  "Keep goin'," he prompted, his hands finally dropping away as she clambered too high for him to reach.  Hurrying, he climbed onto the ladder. 

She ascended the water tower with Jake close behind, never more than two rungs below her, his hands level with her hips as he gripped the stringers on either side.  Heather felt safe - protected - knowing he was right behind her; she started to giggle again when she realized that he had a very up close and personal view of her rear end, one which - given his earlier actions - she had no doubt he was enjoying!  Below them, Baron began to bark and spin around in circles, clearly unhappy with this new turn of events.  Jake yelled at him to be quiet and to lie down, which he did, emitting one last unhappy whine as he settled down at the tower's base.

Heather scrambled onto the deck of the water tower and then moved quickly out of the way to make room for Jake.  Stepping off the ladder, he caught her eye and then her hand, pulling her to him.  They exchanged a quick kiss and then moved around to the other side of the tower where the deck was wider.  Taking a deep breath, Jake faced Heather with a suddenly serious expression.  "So here we are," he murmured, clearing his throat.

"Here we are," she agreed, stepping toward him.  She pulled his hand into both of hers, playing with his fingers as she smiled up at him.

Jake let out a deep breath and flashed Heather a grin.  "Probably not how you pictured this goin', huh?" he inquired, fighting the shiver that ran through him despite - or perhaps because of - his hand clutched in her warmer, gloved one.  The thinnest layer of snowflakes covered the deck of the water tower and the wind seemed colder - more abrasive - up here.  Jake caught himself wondering if there could possibly be more snow in the air at this height.  No way she'd imagined things going this way, even when she'd agreed to go for a walk. 

"Well, I pictured stars, not snow," she admitted with a giggle and a shrug.  "But the snow's workin' for me," Heather claimed, reaching up to brush a few wet flakes out of his bangs.  However, they melted on contact with the knit of her gloves, dampening his hair.  She grimaced apologetically.  "Sorry.  But, just so you know," Heather sighed, "This attempt is going really good so far."

"That's good," he snorted, shaking his head.  He pressed his lips into a tight line, staring at her, his gaze so intense that Heather felt like his eyes were boring through her.  "I love you," Jake told her, his voice just above a whisper.  "I love you," he told her again, louder this time.  "More - more than you can imagine.  I feel like I - I know that for a long time, I've just been sleepwalking through life - through my own life."  The words spilled out of him and, letting out a deep breath, he took a half step toward her, cupping her face with both hands.  He smiled at her and placed a quick kiss on her mouth.  "And then you came along and woke me up," Jake said as he let his hands drop.

"I love you, Heather Lisinski," he repeated for a third time, and she knew she was smiling.  "You're smart, and beautiful, and nice and fun," Jake grinned in return, leaving Heather with no doubt that he knew he was paraphrasing Jason Cale's love note to her.  "The best - the best everything, ever."  She laughed outright at that and he took her hand in his.  "I don't ever want to go back to sleepwalking," Jake informed her, "So what I wanna know is, will you marry me?"

She gasped.  She'd been expecting those words for twenty minutes now, and still it was the tiniest shock to hear them.  So, at first, all she could manage was a gasp.  "Yes," she managed to get out finally.  "Ye - yes!" Heather declared, throwing herself into Jake's arms.  "I will absolutely marry you," she answered, winding her own arms around his neck as Jake dipped his head to press his lips to hers.

"Well that's a relief," Jake laughed against her mouth, and then, for a long time, they didn't bother with words.  Somehow they ended up on the built-in bench, Heather in his lap, as they exchanged kisses and caresses.  "So," Jake began finally, kissing the tip of her nose, "Still yes?"

"Still yes," she agreed, chuckling.  Heather let her forehead rest against Jake's while her fingers continued to play with the hair at the base of his neck.  "And just so you know," she informed him, her mouth finding his once again, "This was way better than I ever imagined it.  So thank you," she murmured, pulling away from him just enough that Jake could see that she was blushing prettily.  She shook her head softly.  "For good or bad - but really, for good, I swear - no one has ever affected me the way you do, Jake," Heather confessed.  "I love you, and I always will."

"Good," he chuckled huskily, "'Cause I'm countin' on that.  And, I love you, too," Jake added, playing with her hair, "Always."  They stared at one another for a long moment and then he kissed her again.  Down below, Baron started to bark, giving them a blistering earful, apparently having decided that he'd been patient for long enough.  They both laughed.  "So, what d'ya say we go put Gramps out of his misery - Baron too - and go eat some pancakes?" Jake asked.

Grinning, Heather slipped off his lap, and Jake immediately missed the weight of her body - the contact with her.  "Sounds good," she answered, reaching for his hand.  "Let's go."

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

Tuesday, December 26, three months after the bombs

Settled comfortably in the oversized club chair with her husband, her legs draped over his and a patchwork quilt tucked around them both, Gail proposed a toast.  "To Jake!"

"To Jake." 

Johnston's reply was somewhat subdued, and Gail couldn't quite manage to suppress her sigh.  She caught her husband's eye, offering an understanding smile.  "Who would've thought six months ago - with his job and all - that you'd be toasting Jake."  She was well aware, especially in the last year when Jake had been gone for so long, of Johnston's displeasure with their son's choice of profession.

He snorted softly in response, shaking his head.  The corners of his mouth curled upwards.  "Well, God knows Eric wasn't hitting the bottle," he chuckled, avoiding her implied question for a few seconds at least.  Johnston was quiet for a long moment, though Gail could tell by the way his brow wrinkled that he was thinking.  Staring at his drink, he swirled the amber colored liquid gently in his glass.  "I just never understood what it was about that job," he grumbled.  "What was the draw?  Playing spy or whatever the hell it was he was doin'?  When you become an adult - when you get married - you make choices, you make sacrifices."  Johnston shook his head.  "He coulda lost everything because of that job."

"Jake didn't want you to think he was a quitter," she told him, realizing only as the words left her mouth that she was - technically - breaking a confidence.  But she didn't care, Gail decided.  There were some things Johnston needed to hear.  "So he stuck with it.  And, it wasn't going to be forever," she added, her voice softening slightly, "Just until they had children.  He was going to find something to do closer to home then."

Johnston's head jerked as he twisted around to meet her gaze.  He searched her expression for confirmation, grimacing as he demanded, "Well then, why didn't he ever say that?  Why didn't he ever tell me - us - that?"

"And why didn't you ever ask?" she returned, frustration evident in her tone.  Gail closed her eyes for a second and, letting out a long breath, extracted her free hand from beneath the quilt, bringing it up to cup his face.  "You and Jake have always had much more in common than you wanted to admit.  The same stubbornness.  The same conviction.  You both just assume that why you do anything should be completely obvious to us mere mortals," she chuckled, letting her hand drop into her lap.  "No explanations needed."  Gail took a sip of her drink.  "You're two peas in a pod," she added, studying him over the rim of her glass. "Remember going hunting?  All those weekends?"

A reluctant smile found its way onto Johnston's lips.  "Yeah," he murmured, staring past his wife, the far off look in his eye letting her know that he was lost, just a little bit, in a memory.  "And I know he isn't a quitter.  I've always known.  My kid could sit in a deer stand for hours.  We wouldn't say a word to each other, just be in the woods together."  He shook his head to clear it, and then met Gail's gaze, returning her smile and pulling her hand into his.  He raised it to his mouth, pressing an absent kiss to her knuckles before clearing his throat and continuing.  "I was always afraid Jake would forget about all that, you know," he confessed.  "That he'd grow up only remembering the bad times.  That he wouldn't remember that we'd been close," he sighed, hesitating for a moment before finishing.  "That we were buddies once."

"He remembers," Gail assured, squeezing his hand as she fought the tears which pricked behind her eyes.  "Deep down, he remembers.  It's why you mean so much to him."  They both - they all, her husband and her sons - meant so much to her, too.  Taking another sip from her glass, Gail offered Johnston a wry grin and then set the tumbler aside.  Adjusting herself in his lap, she laid her head on his shoulder, her hand clutching the front of his sweater.  "You know," she giggled a few seconds later, craning her neck so she could place a kiss on his bearded cheek, "I was just thinkin', six months ago, actually, Jake and Heather were on vacation in Hawaii."

"Now, that's somethin' I can toast!" he declared, grinning widely.  He held his glass up and waited for Gail, who laughed softly, to retrieve her own.  "To grandbabies!"

"To grandbabies!" she parroted, clinking her glass with Johnston's.  They both drank and then Gail leaned close to give her husband a peck of a kiss.  "Though, two babies in the house," she groaned happily as she stretched to return her glass to the table in front of them.  "It'll be like having twins again."

"Yeah, but this time we'll be the grandparents.  All the fun, but we don't have to deal with the middle of the night feedings or the really bad diapers," Johnston argued, making a face.

Gail, her head resting on his shoulder once more, couldn't help but chuckle.  "Oh yes, I remember your Dad," she said, letting her hand drift over his chest.  The slight pressure of her fingers through all the layers of clothing he wore was just enough to be distracting and Johnston had to force himself to concentrate on his wife's words.  "Used to come through the door and say, 'okay, Abigail darlin', hand over the one that still smells like a rose!'"

Johnston laughed, nodding.  "Yeah, and then he'd always try to trade for the other one when he thought the baby he had was startin' to smell suspicious."  Still grinning, he took a sip from his glass.  "Twins," he sighed, joking, "And who'd have thought that at our age we'd end up with a set of triplets, too."

"Our second litter," she teased in return.  "Jake and - and Eric being the first."

He knew she was still trying to come to terms with Eric's choices - so was he, to a degree - and he'd heard the slight hesitation before she'd managed to say their second son's name.  Johnston squeezed her hand comfortingly - encouragingly - as he snorted, "Well at least this litter arrived toilet trained and sleeping through the night.  Mostly," he amended, thinking about Drake and his nightmares.  'The boys' - as he couldn't help but think of them - slept two floors below the rest of them, in the basement, but the whole house was aware of the terror that still, more nights than not, held the poor young man in its grip. 

This time, it was Gail who squeezed his hand.  "I know you worry about Drake," she murmured, arching her head so she could look up at him.  Their eyes locked and she offered a consoling smile.  "You worry about them all.  But we just have to take care of him - love him - as best we can, and hope it's enough."

"Yeah," Johnston grunted, blinking and looking away.  "It's good - I'm glad that Jake made it home before - in time," he told her, staring at his drink.  "He'll, uh, make a good father, I think," he continued, coughing to clear his throat.  Gail knew he was uncomfortable with the topic, and not just because he was suddenly less than articulate.  He met her gaze once more, and she smiled encouragingly, surprised when he returned it.  "That'll be fun to see," Johnston chuckled.  "Jake as a father.  Eric, too," he added quickly, "But Jake especially.  The first time I get to hear him say 'because I said so, that's why.'  I'm gonna enjoy that."

"No doubt," she laughed drily, running one hand through his short hair.  "Things sure are gonna get interesting around here, huh?" she asked, snuggling against him as she pulled the quilt higher and tighter around them both.

"Yeah," he agreed with an absent nod.  They sat together quietly for a moment, listening to the storm that was building outside.  A series of gusts rattled the house.  "Boy, that wind sounds awful."

Clutching his arm, Gail tucked her head against his neck.  "I hope Stanley and Jake are okay out there."

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

Tuesday, January 1, five years before the bombs

"'Nother pancake, Heather, darlin'?" Grandpa Green asked, flipping one off the griddle and onto a plate.  Smiling, he turned around and walked toward the table.

"Oh, no," she giggled, holding up a hand to stop him.  "I'm pretty sure that four's my limit," she laughed.  "They were really good though."

"Just a splash of orange juice in the batter," Grandpa explained with a wink.  "The Green family secret recipe."

Jake draped his arm over the back of Heather's chair, cupping her shoulder.  "It really is the Green family secret recipe.  It's how Dad makes pancakes."

"So, can you make pancakes?  Carry on the tradition?" she asked, grinning at him and then, her hand fisting in his t-shirt, pulling him to her for a kiss.

"Probably," Jake agreed when they separated a few seconds later.  "I'll figure it out, anyway."

"Good!" Heather declared.  "Saturday mornings.  I'm puttin' in my order now."

He laughed at that, shrugging easily.  "Okay."

Grandpa cleared his throat, earning their attention and a pair of sheepish looks.  "How 'bout you, Jake?" he inquired, fighting a smirk as he held up the plate of pancakes for his grandson to see.

"Well, eight, nine is my limit, so I'll take 'em," he agreed, holding up his plate. 

Grandpa pushed two pancakes off the serving plate and onto Jake's.  "So, Heather," he began, throwing his grandson's fiancée another smile as he plopped the last pancake on his own plate.  "I brought your bags in from the truck," he told her, reseating himself across from the young couple and reaching for the syrup.  "They're in the guest room if you'd like to take a shower and change clothes.  Clean towels, as well."

"Yes!" Heather declared vehemently.  "Thank you!  You have no idea how much I want a shower. Twenty eight hours, two planes, and four hours in a car later.  Seriously, my kingdom for a shower."

"Well, now your kingdom's as far as the eye can see," Grandpa chortled, "So don't go tradin' away the ranch for a shower just yet, if you don't mind."  Taking note of her startled expression, he smiled at her kindly.  "I only mean you're an official member of the family now, and this is the Green Ranch.  Our kingdom, so to speak."

Heather laughed at that and, after climbing to her feet, came around the end of table to offer him a hug which Grandpa was more than happy to accept.  She kissed his cheek, and Grandpa couldn't help but flash his grandson a satisfied grin, though unlike the previous evening, Jake didn't react beyond rolling his eyes.  "Well, I'm off to the royal guest room in this kingdom of ours," she announced, moving back around the table.  "Give me a half hour," she told Jake, kissing him.  "Don't go anywhere without me."

"Not gonna happen, babe," he assured her, squeezing her hand as she slipped away, humming happily to herself as she practically skipped to the door.  Jake stared after her, only resuming his seat after she'd disappeared into the hall.  He found himself facing his grandfather.

"Congratulations, Jake," Grandpa murmured approvingly.  "Well, I know you know how I feel about Heather," he chuckled softly.  "I couldn't be happier for you both."  He held his grandson's gaze while he stabbed together a bite of pancake and then dipped it into the puddle of syrup on his plate.  "So, what're you going to do for a ring?"

Jake shifted in his seat.  "I'm gonna get her one, Gramps," he shrugged, reaching for his orange juice glass.  "We'll go shopping and I'll get her one," he decided, finishing off his juice.

"That'd work," Grandpa agreed easily.  "But you know," he continued a beat later, "I was married to your grandmother for just over half a century.  She wasn't a woman who wanted a lot of jewelry, but I had occasion to give it to her over the years," he chuckled softly.  "It's all intended to pass to your mother - not that she seems to be in any hurry to take it - and then, eventually, to April and now Heather," he explained, sitting back in his chair, his coffee mug cupped between his hands.  "Now, Eric asked for your grandmother's engagement ring for April, and I gave it to him, of course."

"Right," Jake nodded.  His mother had told him that much, when she'd called to tell him the wonderful news of Eric's and April's engagement.  Overworked and distracted, he hadn't stopped to think before he'd made some snarky remark questioning why in the world April Glendenning would want to marry Eric, resulting in quite the disappointed scolding from his mother.  Her reaction had still been at the front of his mind when he'd had to phone her two weeks later and confess to a forced resignation, an internal affairs investigation, and a probable prosecution as part of the set-up to his undercover investigation into Jonah Prowse and the activities of West Kansas Shipping and Freight.  Her disappointment in him had only grown.

"But there are three, maybe four other rings that might do for an engagement ring, if you're interested," Grandpa offered, pulling Jake out of his less than pleasant memory.  "If you think Heather'd like that.  They're in the safe, in the study, if you want to take a look."

A half hour later, showered and shaved, Jake found himself pacing the hall outside the first floor guest room.  It was the room, he recalled as he made the turn, that he'd shown Heather to the first day they had met, not quite three months before.  He should feel like they were rushing things, he thought, considering their chronologically short acquaintance, but he didn't.  Everything was telling him that this was right; he knew it in the fiber of his being.  The door creaked open just as he reached it for the fiftieth time, and he stopped, smiling and rotating around to face the door.

"Jake," she greeted softly, almost sighing his name.  She stepped out into the hall, leaving the door ajar behind her, and moved immediately into his waiting arms.

"Hey," he greeted, kissing her and then teasing, "You still gonna marry me?"

Heather, resting her head against his shoulder, snorted and slapped him harmlessly on the chest.  "No take backs," she informed him, her nose pressed into the soft fabric of his shirt.  "And yes, I'm still gonna marry you, so you just better get used to the idea," she joked, nuzzling against him.

"I'm totally good with the idea," he assured, tilting her chin up with his finger so he could brush his mouth over hers once more.  "C'mon," he invited a long moment later, catching her hand in his as he forced himself to take a step away.  "There's something we need to do...."

"There's so much we need to do!" she agreed and then began to make a list for him.  "I have to call my Dad and Mikey - they can tell everybody else, but then I'm gonna start getting calls up the wazoo," she predicted.  "We have to tell your parents, and April and Eric, we have to decide -"

Jake stopped her by placing one finger against her lips.  "Babe.  There's one thing we have to do before all that, okay?" 

She nodded.  There was something about the intensity of his gaze that rendered her speechless and Heather settled for squeezing Jake's hand.

"Good," he acknowledged, exhaling softly.  "Now c'mon," he said, starting to move backwards, tugging her with him.  Loathe to turn around for some reason, Jake walked slowly backward down the hall, leading Heather, to the study's double doors.  Elbowing one of them open, he pulled her into the room and then finally let go of her hand, though only long enough to close the door behind them.  He hadn't bothered to scope out the jewelry in the safe beforehand, instead rushing through his shower and dressing, intent on being outside the guest room door, waiting for Heather once she was done with her own ablutions.  Now, not entirely sure what they would find, he led her across the room, skirting chairs and the imposing desk that had once - years before - graced EJ Green's town hall office.  They stopped finally in front of the rather elegant looking gun safe in the corner. 

"Wow," Heather murmured, her eyes wide as she looked over the large steel ... edifice before them.  She'd noticed it before, the few times she'd moved far enough into the study - very much Grandpa Green's private space - to do so, but she hadn't taken in, really, just how big it was.  Shiny black with gold lettering, the safe stood six feet high and nearly four feet wide.  "It's even got the bank vault wheel turny thingy," she said quietly, awe coloring her tone.

"I'm pretty sure that's not what it's called officially," Jake teased gently, punching a code into the digital lock. 

"So what's it called then?" she asked, her voice lilting.  She stepped behind him, wrapping her arms around his waist, and then stood on tiptoe so she could rest her chin on his shoulder.  "Officially," she whispered, kissing his earlobe. 

"No idea," he chuckled, laying one hand over her arm.  "But it's time to spin it, if you want the honors."

In an instant, Heather had let go of Jake, slipping around in front of him.  Bringing his arms up on either side of her, he trapped her between his body and the safe.  She giggled, but didn't comment on his actions directly.  "So, what are we doing, breaking into your grandfather's safe, anyway?" she asked, turning the spindle wheel enthusiastically and then looking back over her shoulder at Jake as she tugged on the safe's heavy door.

She backed into him, and Jake draped his arm around her shoulders, kissing the top of her head.  "We're looking for your engagement ring," he told her, sounding suddenly serious and nervous all at once.  "If you want, I mean.  We could just go buy one, pick a new one, but I thought... a family heirloom, you know?  And, hey, if there isn't one we like..." he trailed off.

"I would so love that," she said quietly, letting go of the safe's wheel and turning under Jake's arm, pressing herself against him.  Their lips met and they exchanged a succession of sweet, soft kisses before Heather pulled back slightly, smiling up at Jake.  "I - is Gramps -"

"His idea," he assured her.  "Eric gave April our grandmother's engagement ring when he asked her to marry him, so you know, it's like a tradition now."  Holding onto her hand, Jake carefully pulled her out of the way so he could finish opening the safe.  "Though, I hafta say, I'm rather proud of myself.  Finally got you to break into something with me," he joked.

"Yeah well," Heather laughed, "Jake Green, you're the only one with whom I'd consider living a life of crime.  Though I'm glad we have Gramps' blessing," she added a beat later.

Jake surveyed the contents of the safe, spotting, out of the corner of his eye, Heather's rather startled expression as she took in the row of rifles lined up in their compartment on the left hand side, but neither of them said anything.  Finally, he reached for what he guessed was - rather than recognized as - a stack of jewelry cases, taking the first one off the top.  He opened it, identifying the contents immediately.  "Gram's pearls," he explained, showing Heather the necklace, bracelet and earrings which were carefully displayed on velvet.  "She only wore them on special occasions.  Family weddings, graduations, things like that.  Gramps gave 'em to her for one of their big anniversaries."

"Their thirtieth, maybe?" she suggested, admiring the set.  They were, she was pretty sure, the expensive kind of pearls - the ones from Japan - and they were gorgeous.  The necklace was a single strand and obviously of the highest quality; the bracelet was a double strand accented by three small diamonds; and the gold and pearl earrings were somewhat old-fashioned - they were clip on - but still quite beautiful.  "The thirtieth is the pearl anniversary, anyway," Heather explained, looking up at Jake.  "And, those are very nice," she sighed.

"Probably was their thirtieth, knowing Gramps," Jake agreed.  "And, you are definitely going on Jeopardy," he joked, closing the jewelry case and then exchanging it for the next one in the stack of three.  "Win us lots of money."

"I think Eric's right.  Who Wants to be a Millionaire.  Bigger payout," she teased in return, watching Jake make his exchange.  A small stack of bound bills - twenties, a thousand dollars at least - sitting on a middle shelf caught her eye, and she stared for a few seconds, stumbling over her next words.  "So - so I can support you in the manner to - to which you'd like to be accustomed."  Shaking her head, Heather looked at Jake, smiling.  "Now....  Find my ring," she commanded, her gaze full of anticipation.

He peeked inside the case and, nodding to himself, shut it, holding his hand out to her.  "C'mon."  He led her over to the desk where he placed the jewelry case on the blotter and then seated himself in his grandfather's chair, pulling her down onto his lap.  Jake scooted the wheeled chair a little closer to the desk and, reaching around Heather, opened the case.  They both looked over its contents: there were two pairs of earrings, four rings, and tucked inside a pocket in the lid, Heather realized, were certificates of authenticity.  There was a gold band inlaid with five small emeralds, a ruby heart surrounded by a cluster of diamonds, an imperial jade ring cut into the shape of a hibiscus flower, and a polished sapphire cabochon set between two smaller diamonds.  Jake pointed at the sapphire ring.  "I like this one," he said, kissing her temple.  "It matches your eyes."

Eyes wide, Heather twisted around, meeting his even gaze and affording him the opportunity to confirm his statement.  He reached for the ring, his arm brushing against hers.  Holding the ring between his thumb and index finger, they both examined it.  "Perfect match," he murmured.

"Oh, Jake, look," she whispered, clutching his arm with one hand, "It's a star - it's like there's a star in the stone."

"You're right," he chuckled softly, holding the ring up so that it caught the light, better revealing the six pointed star on the surface of the stone. Technically, it was a flaw - but it was a beautiful one.  "That's kinda cool, huh?"

"It's so pretty," Heather sighed happily.  "It's a star," she repeated.  "We had snow, but we still get a star."

Jake nodded in agreement.  "That we do," he confirmed, his voice suddenly husky.  "It's perfect."  Taking a deep breath, he took her left hand into his, sliding the ring onto her finger.  "Marry me?" he asked again.

"You better believe it," she returned, beaming.  "Yes.  And you can keep asking," she advised, laughing softly.  "But I'm never gonna change my answer."

 "'Kay then," Jake grinned, playing with her fingers and the ring.  "A little loose, but -"

"I'll deal," she declared firmly, interrupting him.  Heather folded her fingers against her palm, making a loose fist; she admired the ring.  "It's perfect, and I'm not taking it off."

"We can get it resized," he told her.

"Okay," she smiled, laughing softly at herself.  "I guess I'll take it off for that.  But not before."

"Deal," he agreed, reaching for her hand and helping her turn in his lap so she was sitting across his legs.  Watching her closely, he raised her hand to his lips, pressing a series of kisses to her knuckles.  "Wish I knew the story of this ring, but I know that Gramps wanted Gram to have it, and I remember her wearing it sometimes," Jake said, letting out a long breath.  Absently, he wound a strand of her hair around his finger.  "He'll be proud to see you wearing it, and I absolutely want you to have it."

"Well, I'll just ask Gramps what the story is," Heather grinned, winding her arms around Jake's neck.  "I love it," she told him, leaning in for a kiss.  "And, I love you."

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

Tuesday, December 26, three months after the bombs

Jake regained consciousness to see Mimi leaning over him, shaking his shoulder and calling his name.  She was disheveled and rather blurry around the edges, though at least there weren't two of her.  Maybe one and a half.  "Jake," she called to him, her voice cracking.  "Jake?"

"What happened?" he groaned even as he took in their surroundings.  He remembered scrambling into the truck's cab as it went airborne, and he remembered being upside down, maybe, but that was about it.  They'd crashed - that much was obvious - and his whole body just hurt.  His leg was throbbing, worse than his head, the pressure was horrible, and Mimi wouldn't stop saying his name.  "Wha' happened?"

"Stanley's not up," she croaked out, running her hands over his chest.  Carefully, she started to help him sit up.

"What?" Jake grumbled.  His ears were ringing and it was just so hard to think.

"Stanley's not up!" Mimi practically shouted at him, though Jake was more concentrated on forcing his body to do what he wanted it to do.  He grunted, reaching without thinking for the truck frame in front of him, his eyes falling momentarily closed.  He was warm where Mimi's hand pressed his coat against his back.  It was the only place that he was warm ... because he just felt so numb.  "Jake..." she gasped out, her hand tightening in the material of his parka.

For a second he thought that like him, she'd just realized that his leg was caught under the wrecked frame of the Richmonds' truck, but no, she was staring straight ahead, over the side of the truck, at the road and at the black truck as it rolled to a stop some forty feet away.  "Oh my God," he swore, all worries about his leg instantly forgotten.  This was trouble and, remembering Black Jack, his instincts screamed that the worst trouble would likely be for Mimi.  They had to hope that the occupants of the black truck hadn't realized there were three of them in their vehicle.  "Go hide," he ordered her, his voice a fierce whisper.  "Go!"

Mimi though protested, worried about her lover.  "No.  No, Stanley," she argued as they ducked down behind the truck.  "No, no, no!"

"Go hide!  Go!" Jake countered, clutching her by the shoulders and shaking her not so gently.  "Go hide!" he growled one last time and finally she obeyed, scrambling, stooped over, into the bushes just behind them.  She was still too close for Jake's comfort, but he also knew that there was nowhere else close enough for her to get to safely.  Somehow flipping onto his side, he reached for the nearest thing at hand - a bottle of water - and tossed it after Mimi.  It landed in some tall grass, concealed from sight at least from where he lay.  Jake threw another bottle of water after her, then a large Maglite flashlight - the next thing he could reach.  He could hear gravel crunching beneath boots and knew they were getting close, but his gun was just four inches away.  He strained to reach for it, heedless of his trapped leg, and rolled back over, clenching his teeth against the pain and hoping that he could adjust his leg under the heavy vehicle just a little bit, just enough to stretch for the gun.  Turning back over, he lunged as best he could for the weapon, scraping the butt of the grip with his fingernails and pushing it mere millimeters outside of his potential grasp. 

Desperation setting in, Jake pushed off the side of the truck with his free foot, futilely trying to pull his trapped leg free by a mere inch or two.  But it was to no avail, and he could hear their assailants' footsteps growing closer.  Quickly - and none too soon - he arranged himself face down against the frozen earth but in a way that allowed him to breathe without being seen and that might just let him to observe a little of what was going on around him.  He held his breath.  Within seconds they were all about him, and then one of them rolled Jake over.  Somehow, he forced all the tension out of his body, flopping over in a way that he could only hope would convince the other man that he was dead or at least unconscious.  Apparently the robber was satisfied that he was, because within seconds he'd stripped Jake of his parka and dug Johnston's lighter out of his pocket. 

In less than a minute, they - whoever they were - had cleared the accident site of everything of value, abandoning Jake and Stanley to the elements or whoever came along next.  Hearing the truck engine start up, Jake rolled over, opening his eyes.  He watched as the vehicle roared past them, the gang, no doubt, already looking for their next victims.  Pulling himself up, he went immediately to work on his leg, yelling, "Mimi!" over his shoulder.

She hurried out from behind the bushes, glancing after the other truck.  It was already a speck on the horizon being swallowed up in a cloud of dust.  "Come on," she insisted, jogging over to Jake.  "Help me with Stanley."

In vain, he tugged at his trapped leg one more time and then, frustrated, hit the side of the truck with his bare hand.  He'd taken his glove off so he could fire his gun and now it was lost who knew where, and his fingers stung like a bitch, and his jacket was gone, and his God damn leg was stuck under two tons of steel.  Wincing and trying to shake off the pain in his hand, Jake met Mimi's eye.  "I can't move," he ground out.

"Whaddya mean?" she demanded, a note of hysteria tingeing her voice.  "You're moving right -"  Mimi broke off, her eyes wide as she stared down at his leg.  "Oh God," she whispered, covering her mouth with her hand.  "Your leg, it's -"

"Stuck.  It's stuck," Jake filled in for her, his jaw clenched.

Wordlessly, Mimi knelt beside him, her expression the picture of concentration as she began to check his leg, running her hand over his thigh and then down to just below his knee where the truck's body had him trapped.  She examined him quickly, her touch surprisingly competent.  "Noth - nothing  protruding," she declared, her voice quivering as she glanced back and forth between Jake's face and her hands.  "I don't think - hopefully nothing's broken.  Can - can you feel?  Can you wiggle your toes?"

"No, not really," he admitted, letting out an annoyed breath.  It still ached - he ached everywhere - but the pain was duller now, like his nervous system had been completely overloaded.  "It's just kinda numb.  Look," he continued, touching her arm to stop her as she started her inspection over again.  "You need to go check Stanley.  He was probably just knocked out cold, but you need to get him up, get 'im awake, 'cause he may have a concussion, okay?"

Sitting back on her heels, Mimi blanched, swallowing hard.  She'd noticed Jake's leg when she'd first come to and crawled over to him, but she'd been so worried about Stanley and then the robbers, that it hadn't really sunk in until he'd told her that he was stuck.  She'd immediately tried to help him, forgetting about Stanley for that moment.  She had to get it together.  "Okay," she agreed, nodding.  "You stay here -"  Realizing what she'd said, Mimi chuckled derisively at herself and waved her hand as if to erase the comment.  "Well, not that you can go anywhere, but -"

"Yeah, I'll be waitin' right here," Jake interrupted, allowing a sour bark of laughter.  "Go take care of Stanley," he directed, his voice softening.   

"Right," she murmured, climbing finally to her feet.  She looked down at him, offering a tremulous smile, and this time when she said, "Don't go anywhere," she said it recognizing the perversity of the situation.   "I'll be right back," she promised, turning to hurry around the front of the wrecked truck.

"You know," he called after her, "My Grandpa used to say any landing you can walk away from's a good landing.  But I'm not too sure what he'd say about this one," Jake joked humorlessly.

"Ha, ha," Mimi returned, not even bothering to look back over her shoulder.  Reaching Stanley, she dropped to her knees beside him, shaking his shoulder.  She pressed one hand to his chest, clutching his shirt as she tried to rouse him.  "Stanley," she called to him softly, "Stanley are you okay?"

Blinking, he emitted a quiet grunt.  "Yeah." 

He sounded groggy and when his eyes fell closed again, she couldn't keep from panicking a little.  "Can you get up?" she urged, bringing her gloved hand up to cup his cheek. 

"Yeah," Stanley agreed, rolling away from her and onto his side. 

Mimi helped him to stand up, grabbing onto his shoulder when he tried to put weight on his left leg and found that he couldn't, letting out a pained groan.   "Your leg?" she guessed, taking a calming breath.  At least he was conscious, she reminded herself, he was conscious and they would just deal with anything else.

 "I think I busted my ankle," he bit out, wincing. 

"Okay," Mimi acknowledged, wrapping her arm through his as he gripped the bottom - now top - of the open truck door for support.  She held onto him, more for balance than for support as he hopped around the front of the truck to where Jake waited.

"You - Oww!" Stanley grimaced.  He fell against the trucks front tire, grappling to keep himself mostly upright.

"I'm okay," Jake muttered, moving the little bit that he could so that he was more comfortable looking up.  As soon as Mimi had gone to rouse Stanley, he'd gone back to trying to figure out how to free himself, inspecting the truck on top of him and trying to wiggle his toes.  "Just stuck."

Immediately, Stanley began to examine the truck's grill.  "Let me..." he began, rattling the bumper, "Let me try to get this -"

"Stanley, don't!" Mimi commanded, dropping a hand onto his shoulder to stop him.  "We can't do this ourselves," she argued, her voice full of apprehension.  She couldn't keep herself from imagining horrible scenarios in which Stanley managed to drop the truck on Jake's leg, crushing it.  "You might make it worse."

"Maybe you could dig me out," Jake suggested then, studying the point where his limb and the truck body met for what had to be the hundredth time.  He just didn't know how else they were going to get him out without injury.

"All right," Stanley agreed.  Resting his hand on Mimi's back to get her attention, he pointed her to the other end of the overturned vehicle.  "Help me get the shovels," he requested, "They're in the bed of the truck."

Jake and Mimi both stared at him, their shock betrayed in their expressions.  How could he not have realized, they both wondered.  "It's gone," she told him, not knowing what else to say.

"All right," Stanley acknowledged, annoyance obvious in his tone.  "Get the jack," he ordered, wheezing softly as he braced himself against the truck's front wheel. 

The other two shared another pained look, and then Mimi, taking a quick breath, broke the bad news.  "They took everything."

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