PART SEVEN

On descending the grand staircase into the lobby, we only walked a short distance before arriving at the greeter's desk, and I smiled, delighted by my surroundings. This was my first visit to the hotel restaurant, and I was surprised to find that it actually consisted of six dining rooms of various sizes, which -- if necessary -- could be completely opened up for an extremely large group. From what I could tell, it was not ultra-formal, but what I often called "casual dressy," in which one did not require a tuxedo or a ballgown in order to be admitted. Since my companion was casual, and I was a little dressier, neither of us felt out of place. In fact, deep in my heart, I knew that if I could not spend the evening with Maximus, there was no one else I'd rather be with tonight than John Biebe.

"Sheriff Biebe," the maitre d' greeted in something akin to a very Continental accent as we walked up.

"Derek, evening."

"And this must be Ms. Stewart." I bowed my head in greeting, and the man took my free left hand, placing a formal kiss upon the back of it. "Ms. Stewart -- welcome to the CrowesNest."

"Thank you."

"And I hope you and the Sheriff have a pleasant evening. The General told me he was unable to make it, but that you would be escorting our charming newcomer instead."

I saw John glance at me as he bashfully smiled. "It's my pleasure, Derek."

"Are the two of you ready to be seated, or would you rather have drinks first?"

"Tina?"

Shrugging, I replied, "I'm not in a big hurry unless you are. We can relax -- have cocktails first, if that's okay with you."

"I'm in no hurry at all, darlin'. Whatever you'd like to do is fine with me...We'll have drinks first, Derek."

"Wonderful. I can go ahead and take your orders, then Rick can bring them to you when they're ready."

After a brief discussion, the Alaskan placed our orders -- Champagne Mimosa for me, a Coors Light for him, then I began to wander a little. The atmosphere of this first dining room fascinated me, the soft blues reminding me of the ocean or a spring morning, and with the Renoir, Monet, and VanGogh paintings (and I couldn't help but wonder -- knowing the magic of this place -- if these were originals) hung in key places on the walls, the surroundings were incredibly tranquil. Taking two steps up to a raised area at one end of the room, I cocked my head, curious as to what lay beyond the four sets of French doors.

"So?" John asked, walking up behind me.

"It's beautiful," I practically sighed. "But I have to know...what's out there?" I pointed towards the doors and the darkness which lay beyond it.

"Want to see?"

"Could we?"

"Sure thing. Our drinks ought to be here in a second, then I'll take you out there. I think you'll like it anyway."

The sheriff had barely said that when our waiter, a handsome young blonde named Rick, brought our cocktails to us. He said he would be serving us when we were ready, but thanked us again for joining them, and wished us a pleasant evening. Glasses in our hands, John moved the brass handle on one door, then pushing it open, indicated I should step outside. The moment I did, my mouth dropped, awe-struck, as I looked around me. My eyes searched what now surrounded me, while my lungs filled with the wonderful fragrances of lavender and heather; of roses heady with the scents of honey and oranges, Oriental spices and peaches. I must have looked as eager as a child on Christmas morning when I stepped forward, one finger touching the edge of a pale yellow petal. Glancing just ahead of me, I saw fountains -- some with gold and silver streams of water dancing in the air, while the water in others languidly drifted over carefully placed rocks, making a most calming sound. Several lily pools were situated throughout, and in the soft lighting, yards before us, I thought I could see the hint of the type of knot garden I recalled from the gardens at Sudeley Castle or Hatfield House.

"What is this?" I whispered, and a chill ran over me as I felt John step near, the scent of his cologne (what was that fragrance -- I knew it from somewhere) causing my private regions to contract and nearly moisten.

"You know the gardens right below your apartment, the ones called the English gardens?"

"This is them?"

"Yeah, just another area of them. They're pretty big cause your rooms are over that way, and that's where they start. I'm not sure how big they are, but it feels like it goes on forever, doesn't it?"

"They do, and they're beautiful. Max had planned on taking me through them on our tour, but we ran out of time, and plus that..." I looked up into Biebe's handsome features, once more amazed at how alike he and the gladiator were -- and how unalike they were. Those blue-green eyes were tender yet filled with intensity, set in a fuller face than Maximus', but no less attractive. I had never particularly cared for men in beards or stubble, but these two were such an exception, and John -- a woman could definitely become lost in those eyes, that smile...that mouth. *That mouth.* I remembered the softness of his lips; how sweet they had tasted, albeit briefly, when he left me with that kiss. If I had been dying in that moment, I would have desired his mouth upon mine, attempting to bring life back to me.

"Plus what?" Biebe was speaking, looking slightly puzzled as to why I had stopped.

Clearing my throat, I continued, "Oh..." I swallowed hard, hoping I had not been staring so hard that he had wondered what the hell my problem was. "Well...Max wanted to show me your pond." The Alaskan smiled. "He said we could see the English gardens some other time."

Biebe beamed. "I'm glad he brought you by."

"Well, I don't think he realized you would be out there; he just wanted to show it to me. But...But I'm happy you were, and that you didn't mind us bothering you."

"Not at all. Like I said...I don't get an audience that often anyway. And..." He took my free hand, guiding me along a brightly lit path. "...I had a great time giving you the hockey lessons."

I giggled, nodding. "I enjoyed that so much, you'll never believe it. You made it so easy to understand. I remember when my uncle tried to teach me about football using one of those mechanical games."

"Oh Lord...I know what you're talking about. I had a hockey version of that."

"He got mad cause I didn't get it. I didn't want to tell him it was because I was laughing at two of the little blue men with their arms linked, doing a square dance." Even my companion had to laugh at that. "I mean they were like, round and round and round they go -- dosey doe."

"Don't like football, eh?"

"I...can take it or leave it. But thanks again for the lessons."

"You're very welcome, darlin', and remember, I owe you skating lessons...Now I know a lot of this looks better in the daylight...."

"It's still beautiful, and..." I took a deep breath, "...I can even smell the ocean from here. Oh my...." I hurried to one bush which came to my chest, the enormous cup-shaped blossoms a golden yellow. Bending over, inhaling the honeyed aroma, I commented, "Golden Celebration."

"Golden Celebration?"

"That's what this is called -- it's an English rose, one of my favorites."

"Do you grow these at home?"

"I grow a few roses at home, but I've never tackled English roses or English-style roses. They just seem to require so much care, more than I'm able to give with my schedule." Moving to another, smaller bush beside it, the copper color of these blooms caught my eye, as well as the very strong scent of what would be termed 'old rose' because it reminded one of some old-fashioned garden. "But these are so..." I took another whiff. "...remarkable. That's one thing I regretted not seeing when I was in England this year. Very few of the gardens were in full bloom yet." Taking a few more steps, I discovered another tall bush on which was a large spray of dense roses giving off the fragrance of strawberry fields; some of the petals were a deep pink, while others faded into a paler shade of the same, making an interesting contrast.

"Yeah, that's a shame. Going all the way to England, and not really seeing English gardens....I...I like it here."

Standing up straight from leaning closer to the "strawberry" rose, I glanced back at John, noticing the wistful expression on his face. "I...guess you didn't see very many rose gardens, did you? Or gardens period for that matter."

"No, 'fraid not, although...I used to get down to Vancouver quite a bit in the summers, especially when I was a kid, and I loved the parks there."

"Why Vancouver?"

He smiled broadly. "My mother was from there. That's where my father met her -- he was visiting Vancouver."

"I didn't...." I had almost said 'I didn't know that,' but then again, why should I. All the viewers of 'Mystery, Alaska' had known was that John Biebe was a married man with three sons; we had to imagine his background, and now the sheriff was confiding something of his past to me. Instead I said, "You know, Michelle's from Vancouver."

John grinned. "So she's told me. It's a beautiful city. Ever been there?" I shook my head. "You ought to some time, if you ever get to the Northwest part of the continent. I think you'd like it there....Oh, since we're out here, thought you might like to see this too. Peaches said it's sort of for the insomniac that still wants a beautiful garden that'll show up at night."

"The insomniac that....Oh, this I've got to see then."

Strolling deeper into the garden along a rose and baby's breath ladened path, we spoke of how much we enjoyed this near perfect weather. Growing up in the Ohio Valley - which had left my sinuses in shreds - I knew our climate could go from below freezing and snowstorms in January, to balmy temperatures in February; from freezing rain or sleet Derby weekend (the first one in May), to high humidity and sweltering heat in July. John had known mostly wintery conditions his whole life, with few exceptions. We both welcomed the warm breezes, the sprays of salt water, the beautiful images I had seen on Caribbean cruises, and he had known through movies, brochures and the Internet.

And these gardens: I wasn't sure if I or John loved them more, for we shared an akinship when it came to this. Once in a while, we paused to examine a plant catching our eye, checking the small bronze plaque set nearby with both the Latin and the English translations. Eventually we reached our destination, walking beneath an iron trellis blanketed in forest colored leaves which contrasted with stark white climbing roses.

"This is it," Biebe announced, watching my mouth drop in amazement. He was grinning as he continued, "What Peaches calls our Insomniacs Garden. It's actually the Moonlight Garden -- guess you can see why."

"I can definitely see.... Oh John...this...this is beautiful."

"Thought you'd like it. I love coming here. Sort of reminds me of ice and snow -- without the cold."

He was right. Although hints of green vines and leaves were prominent, and the layout was dotted with Blue Ridge phlox and the purples and royals of the Butterfly Bush, this garden was predominantly white. In the brightening moonlight, some of the plants did resemble icicles -- a translucent incandescense as petals angled into a satiny resemblance of drops of melting ice. There were anemones and geraniums; daisies and daylilies; the elegant splendor of the Casablanca Oriental lily which nearly had an incomparable beauty; the Magic Fountain delphinium, which was so white, the stars appeared to enhance it. And roses, everywhere there were roses, all in moon like hues; dozens of them in varying heights. Once more, the fragrance was better than any perfume counter, ranging from the sweetness of honeysuckle blossoms, to spices and groves of fruit.

"This is so...perfect," I whispered, looking into the cup of one rose, its'inner petals touched with gold. "Was this landscaped, or part of the magic?"

"A little of both," he told me, taking a sip from his glass. "The landscaping was finished this past January. The plants went down over a few days, and the next evening...well, we had all this."

"Incredible...You know, I always wanted a nighttime garden, moon garden, whatever you call it," and I reached for another cluster of pale roses, startled when my fingers touched the tips of John's as he did the same. We looked at each other, smiled, and I wondered whether he felt the same jolt of enigmatic energy I did. Or, I laughingly considered, was it simply static electrictiy? Secretly, I almost hoped the former.

"Sorry," John apologized, stepping back.

"Thought it was me. Happens sometimes."

"No problem." He grinned bashfully, and I returned that expression, thinking how sweet he looked.

We walked about fifteen more minutes, before John glimpsed his watch. Nearly nine he told me, so after finishing our drinks, we headed back inside, both of us silent as we walked side by side and retraced our steps. I almost thought I could have stayed out there for hours, but there was time enough. Perhaps John and I might visit again. Funny, I had thought John and I. Why not Maximus and I? Strange how that little thought flitted across my mind....

Nat King Cole's 'Unforgettable' was playing on the sound system when we reentered the facility, and I grinned, for this was one of my favorite songs of all time.The maitre d' saw us almost immediately, and upon telling us that our table was ready, we were escorted to our seats, a spot about midway the restaurant so that I had an excellent view of everything. It was all quite special: the way Derek pushed my chair up for me, then placed my white napkin in my lap before he did the same with John. Handing us the red leather covered menus, as well as a thick wine list, he checked to see if we desired more cocktails, but both of us declined until we decided what we would eat. The votive candles sitting off-center were already lit; I glimpsed the red rose and white carnations in the clear vase beside the glass candle holders and gave them a slight touch, curious as to if they were real. Yes, they were, and satisfied, I sat back to peruse the menu.

The first thing I noticed was that there were no prices attached to the numerous items, and that immediately set off alarms as my eyes widened. What was the old saying: if you have to ask the price, you can't afford it? I suddenly heard Biebe laugh just as I was considering whether I could get through the night on nothing but a salad and perhaps some soup. He explained I shouldn't worry about the cost, and when I started to protest, he only smiled mischievously and repeated:

"Tina darlin', don't worry. Remember last night when you asked about the hotel and credit cards? What did I tell you was your deposit?"

Giggling, I nodded. "You asked me to name my top favorite Russell Crowe movies."

"Right."

"So...is that the cost of my meal?"

"Might be. Don't concern yourself, okay? Just relax -- have a nice time." All I could do was smile in return, and hope my evening didn't end with me washing dishes to pay a bill.

We had not been seated long when the waiter I recalled as being named Rick joined us, pad in hand. "Good evening again. Have you decided what you might be having, or would you like a little more time? And...to make your decisions a little more difficult, let me tell you the chef's selections this evening which do not appear on the menu."

Decisions, decisions I thought to myself as Rick gave us a little more time, returning later with a basket containing some hot, fresh yeast rolls. John and I discussed different items; we vacillated, then finally narrowed down our appetizer at least -- a sampler platter of stuffed mushrooms; escargots with garlic butter; and a pasta with prosciutto ham, scallops, shrimp, and Andouille sausage. Some additional time, and we finally reached a decision as to the remainder of the meal, as I opted next for a field greens salad with raspberry dressing, and John went with the French onion soup. My companion allowed me to order the wine, since he was unfamiliar with most of them, so I went with two wines I thought we could both deal with: an Australian Shiraz and a California Riesling, both of which I'd had in the past. I figured we could get them by the glass instead of the bottle, so if John didn't like either one, it wasn't a total waste. Finally, we ordered our entrees: I went with the Alaskan salmon in a Chardonnay-lemon sauce accompanied by capers and seasonal vegetables; John chose the slab of baby back ribs.

If I had thought my evening at the Tavern -- with the exception of the Sid incident -- had went well, it nearly waned in comparison to what the sheriff and I experienced that Sunday night. The conversation flowed as easily as the wine when poured, the two of us speaking as though we had known each other forever instead of only a day, and we covered all types of subjects, including the weight loss I had earlier discussed at the rink.

"You really ought to be proud of yourself, Tina," John was saying as he looked at the tiny photo on my work ID card. I was hardly ever without it, and when he had asked if I had a 'before' picture, I fumbled in my evening bag until I eventually withdrew the card. I chuckled as he looked at me, then the photograph, then me again, shaking his head in disbelief. I knew he was seeing the extremely wide, round face with a double chin which seemed endless -- a pretty face, yes, but one hidden under ninety pounds I had managed to shed. "When was this taken?"

"November, 1998. Five months before I started losing. Those ID's won't be replaced until November 2001, so I'm sort of stuck with that one for a while. People do double-takes all the time when they see it, that, and my driver's license. I mean, you can still tell it's me...."

"Yeah you can, but...." He looked back at me. "You did great darlin'."

"Thank you. I still can't believe I did it."

"Well you ought to be proud of yourself. And you did this because you were going to England?"

"Yeah...hell of an incentive, huh? I just wanted to be in shape for the adventure, so that, on top of the doctor's diagnosis like I was telling you, well, that was plenty." I took a sip of water and a bite of my salad before I continued. "Funny thing is, a couple of years ago, my younger sister was going to get married...."

"Did she?"

"Uh-uh...She broke the engagement -- long story. Anyway, do you know that as much as I love her and wanted to look my best, losing weight never even occurred to me. But when it came to England I was like...I'm not going over there like this," and I pointed at the ID photograph. "That sort of made up my mind. That and the fact that the convention was having a black tie dinner, and I wanted to wear a pretty evening gown, not something that was now cut wide and almost shapeless to fit someone my size."

"So did you?"

I paused, my fork in mid-air as I looked at Biebe, a quizzical expression on my face. "Did I...what?"

"Did you look pretty? At the black tie dinner I mean?" Blushing, I could only shrug as he smiled and gently laughed. "I'll bet you did -- you don't have to say anything."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence." We ate in silence for a few moments, then I sighed, dabbing the napkin to my lips before I spoke again. "So...."

"So?"

"So...I've told you a bit about me. Tell me about yourself."

He seemed oddly surprised at my question. "Me?"

"Uh-huh. Tell me about yourself. Do you have a past John Biebe?" He nodded in that certain way I thought many of Russell's incarnations had in common. I could not detail it, but I knew it was similar.

He drank some water, then nodded again. "I have a past, darlin'. I remember...everything. It's not like...It's not like I only recall things related to 'Mystery, Alaska'. I had a life before that."

"Tell me...if you feel like it. Tell me a little."

"It's funny for one thing. You're one of the few people who have ever asked me that. Most people...they just want me to talk about the movie. I don't think they even realize...." Sitting back as he finished the last of his soup, he tapped the spoon against the edge of this dish a couple of times, then looked back at me and smiled thoughtfully. "Tell you about me. Okay...." Now he sat forward, and I leaned towards him, intent on his words. "My name is John Michael Biebe; I was born on the seventh of April in Mystery, Alaska to Alexander and Nicole Biebe. I have two brothers and a sister, all older than me."

"Oh John...you're the baby?"

The reply caught in his throat as he reddened a little, then smiled. "I'm the baby," he admitted, almost embarrassed at being called that when he was in his thirties. "My mother...would have always considered me the baby."

I smiled in return. "So...two brothers and a sister."

"Yep. My oldest brother, Alex...he's with the Alaskan state police, stationed out of the Anchorage area. Peter is a Special Agent with the FBI field office down in Seattle, and Katherine is a homicide detective in Juneau."

"I don't believe this. Your whole family is in law enforcement? I mean, you and your siblings? What the heck did your parents have to say?"

Biebe laughed lightly. "Not much -- seeing that my father used to be sheriff in Mystery."

My mouth dropped slightly in pleasant surprise. "John...."

"Seemed pretty natural for all of us to go into the field I guess."

"Okay, so what about your mother? Did she approve of a husband and three kids in law enforcement?"

There was a twinkle in my companion's eyes as he nodded. "Sure she did. She was very proud of all of us. The only thing she said she regretted was that none of us decided to follow in her footsteps, especially me."

All right, I'd bite, I thought. "And...where exactly did those footsteps lead?"

"The law. My mother was an attorney."

"Your mother? Oh my God. That is just too ironic."

"Isn't it?"

"So...tell me about them. How did they meet? What kind of law did your mother practice?"

About this time, Rick and an assistant appeared beside us, and a small makeshift table containing temporary cookware, sterno and utensils was erected. The Alaskan and I were quiet as we watched the two go about their work, warming the plates containing our entrees, adding the finishing touches to each selection before the dishes were placed before us. A little more wine was poured in our glasses, and then once more, we were alone. We took a bite of our food, praised how good it was, and then John spoke again after swallowing a succulent piece of moist meat off one bone.

"You asked about my parents...."

"Oh yeah, right. How did they meet? You told me earlier your mother was from Vancouver."

He nodded. "Yeah she was. Her family was French-Canadian, but they had come to British Columbia from Quebec when she was a child. But Mom was one of the first female attorneys in the prosecutors' office in Vancouver."

"Oh wow. Cool."

"She'd been in the job about four years when she met my father. She admitted she was getting tired of prosecuting; loved the law, but that aspect of it was wearing her out some. A few firms had already started making her offers, especially for international dealings with her being bilingual, but...." I saw that his features grew thoughtful as I supposed a story he had heard and adored came to mind. "Dad was sheriff then. He was in Vancouver for some law enforcement conference for the northwest departments, both Canadian and the States, and she gave a lecture on the changing aspects of defendants' rights. This was the mid-Fifties see. Anyway, he saw her, and...well, Dad swears he fell in love with her on sight."

I grinned. "What about her? When did she meet him?"

"During one of the coffee breaks. Some of the males were very iffy about dealing with a woman attorney anyway, even a prosecutor cause it *was* such an innovative matter. But Dad says he fell in love with her body, mind and soul. Well, they had lunch together, and the rest as they say is history. He went back to Mystery, but they stayed in touch with each other, and he tried to get down to Vancouver every couple of months. She even came to see him a few times."

My eyes were glowing at the thought of how this couple had managed to continue a relationship over so many miles. "How long was it before your Dad proposed?"

"A year...It's funny, Tina...but when I came here to the Nest, and I was going through my belongings, I found their love letters to each other."

"Oh," was all I could say. The idea of the love letter was so beautiful because few people wrote them anymore, and it was becoming such a lost art. I couldn't help but wonder what words had passed between those two.

"My father...he tended to be a little on the bashful side." /Like you// I considered, watching John tilt his head to one side. "Reading what he wrote her...he didn't have a thing to be ashamed of; the man had a way with words. And my mother...she could turn a phrase as well as an Elizabeth Browning or Emily Dickinson. Anyway, when they got together on one of their weekends, Dad proposed and she accepted. They got married in Vancouver four months later." John chuckled. "Do you know that was only the second time he missed the Saturday game -- the day of his wedding? The other time was during the week he was at the conference."

Smiling, I looked down, absently slicing the green beans, squash and zucchini on my plate. This was the sort of romance most people dreamt their whole lives for; it was the type of romance I had always longed for, however, the older I grew, the less likely it seemed. After taking a bite of my vegetables, I began, "And..." as Biebe split another roll so he could apply a pat of fresh butter.

"And?"

"Your parents. Did they live happily ever after?"

John nodded as his smile broadened. "They lived happily ever after. They seemed to think so; I always did; so did my brothers and sister. To be honest, I've never seen a man and woman more in love with each other, and it's not just because they're my parents."

"No...parents screw up sometimes and you wonder why they even bothered," I commented, perhaps somewhat bitterly, for I suddenly realized that John's eyebrows had raised, his curiosity obviously piqued. However at the time, he said nothing. "But...tell me more about them. I really love this story."

"Yeah...so do I, that's why I was so excited when I found their letters. Meant a lot to me cause I was afraid they'd been lost to me forever. What else did you want to know?"

"Well, what happened after they married -- I mean, besides you and your siblings," I added and we both chuckled.

"Dad was sheriff. Actually, it was nearly a family tradition if you think about it. My grandfather and great-grandfather were both in law enforcement, so it sort of made sense that all of us continued along those lines." Sighing, he drank a little of the Shiraz, and I watched as the spicy red wine was swallowed. "This isn't bad at all, Tina. I meant to tell you how much I like it. Good choice."

"Thanks. I just tried that about a month ago. Australian wines are getting very popular these days."

"Well, coming from a beer drinker, this isn't bad at all. Anyway, like I said, Dad was sheriff. Mom...I guess even though it was the Fifties, she might have been considered something of a feminist because she struggled so hard to get to where she did."

"But then gave it up?"

"It was her choice. Dad offered to move down south with her; that way, even if she didn't stay with the prosecutor's office, she could at least go into private practice, maybe even become a partner. She'd already had a couple of offers from some firms who saw her worth."

"But she wouldn't let him?"

"Nope...wouldn't let him." Watching as he used the fork to poke at his roasted potatoes, I noticed his voice taking on a note of great affection. "Donna asked her once how she could give all that up; a woman in a time when women were slowly starting to come into their own. The War had given them some sense of independence -- the feminist movement hadn't really started. But my mother... Well, Donna used the word sacrifice, and Mom said she didn't consider it a sacrifice." He looked at me, smiling softly. "She loved Alex Biebe, she wanted a different life. Pure and simple -- she never found that difficult...not for her anyway cause it was what she desired out of life. She didn't care what anyone else said..." John laughed quietly. "Being his wife made her happy; having kids made her happy. No regrets."

"Well I guess if she was happy.... No regrets, huh?"

My companion shook his head. "Nope, and she didn't give up the law completely. She wrote papers; published essays, dissertations. Taught occasionally at university. Alex wasn't born until she and Dad had been married a couple of years, so while my father was sheriff, Mom went to work with Bailey."

Lowering my wine glass, I asked, "Bailey? You mean...the Bailey who was the defense attorney, who...."

Laughing, John answered, "Yeah, that Bailey."

"So...was she a partner?"

"She didn't want to get that involved, and besides, Bailey always had a small firm."

"Well, that's true. We're talking Mystery, not Fairbanks or Anchorage."

"Exactly."

"What did she do for him?"

"Part-time stuff so she had time to be with her family. A lot of paralegal legwork; research, which she was brilliant at. Bailey said he'd never seen more beautifully written briefs, and...well, you saw the movie. Bailey was no slouch himself."

Taking a bite of my salmon, I quietly added, "I liked Bailey." My eyes shifted back towards John, poignancy on his features. I remembered how fond he was of the older man, and how deeply affected he had been by the attorney's death.

"You couldn't help but like him -- that's just the way he always was. He and Dad were friends, the same age; went to school together; played in the Saturday game."

I could not help smiling as he told me these things, for he was revealing something special. John had experienced a beautiful life, unlike Bud White. I even wondered about the type of background Maximus had known, for all we knew was that he had been married with a son. Now John Biebe was sitting here, telling his autobiography, and I not only hung on every word, but I pondered where all of this had come from. As far as most moviegoers were concerned, the characters' existence began and ended with the film. For me, someone who had told my dining companion that I wondered what their lives were like before and after the movie, this was of great fascination to me.

Shaking my head, I asked, "So you've known...you *knew* Bailey your whole life then?"

"He was my godfather, Tina."

"Oh John...that's sweet."

"He meant a lot to me, but he meant a lot to the whole town. Dad was a good forward, but he had to admit I could learn even from Bailey, especially about passing the puck."

I tried to imagine John at his middle son Joey's age, studying hockey from these two men who obviously meant the world to him. And then something else crossed my mind. Had Nicole Biebe come out every Saturday to watch her husband in the game, and cheer him on?

"Mom never missed a game." The voice almost startled me, and my head jerked up. Was he reading my mind again? Huh? I tried not to appear puzzled, but he had just answered the question which had been in my thoughts. But why did I think of mind reading...unless it was because of what had happened earlier -- me believing I had heard his voice those few times.

"Sorry?"

"She never missed a game. I was just thinking of that. Dad said even when she was pregnant, she still wanted to come.She almost gave birth to Katherine right out there on the pond her time was so close." We both laughed. "Seriously, she loved watching Dad play. She could get almost more fired up than some of the guys did."

"Do you....?" I paused.

"Do I what, Tina?"

"Well, would you...do you have a picture of them?" I figured he has everything else -- love letters, his winter coat -- why not family photos. My answer was to see him show teeth as he grinned, wiping his hands on the napkin before reaching into his jeans' pocket. A black leather wallet was removed, and he flipped through a series of tiny laminated photos until he stopped near the center of the pack.

"Now you can put a face to the people I've been talking about," he said, handing the wallet across to me.

My eyes drifted down to a small color photograph in near perfect condition, and for a second, I almost thought it was of John and Donna until I looked closer. No, the woman was not Donna Biebe, but an auburn haired beauty with the classic features of a young Grace Kelly, her hair pulled back into an elegant chignon. One could see breeding and poise even in that moment frozen in time, and yet, there was something spontaneous in her smile, a lightheartedness in her laugh as she tossed her head back, tilting it against the broad chest of a very handsome man who.... The man was John! Then I shook my head. Uh-uh...It couldn't be John. The male subject's hair was darker, more brown, and the sparkling eyes were distinctly gray. Besides those differences however, it could clearly have been John Biebe. The woman though had brilliant blue-green eyes, and although her build was quite petite, she appeared even tinier in the beefy arms of her escort.

"Your parents?" I asked, already knowing the answer. John nodded proudly. "Your father...My God, John, you're the spitting image of your father! I mean, I can tell his eyes and hair are different, but other than that.... You...You...look just like him."

The sheriff beamed. "That's what everyone tells me."

"You have your mother's eyes, and her coloring, but...the rest of you...the rest of you is definitely your father." Especially that build I thought admiringly, and that was something I could not tell him out loud. "I...have to ask you this though."

"What?"

"Don't take it the wrong way, please." Using his left hand, he indicated I should proceed. "I have to know: who did you get your temper from?"

Instead of being upset, John burst out in an almost roll on the floor laugh. "My temper, eh?"

"You do have one, John. It doesn't always show...but it was there."

"Door slamming." I nodded in agreement. "I did a lot of door slamming."

"We have that in common then," I remarked, joining in his laughter. "I slam doors too sometimes. So 'fess up. Where does it come from?"

"You may not believe this...but I got a lot of it from Mom...Honestly, I did -- I swear. You'd never guess from that photo, but when she was a teen-ager, she said she had quite a temper. The older she got though, the more she learned to control it until it just resulted in a fiery disposition."

"Not a bad thing for a lawyer."

"True. Dad had a temper too...sort of like me, I guess. I don't explode a lot...Sometimes it might be best if I did, but then when I'm alone...." He shrugged. "I slam doors; I try to murder the net when I slam the puck into it. I don't hit -- never did."

"No, I'm not a hitter either."

"You just slam doors?" He was smiling, trying to keep some humor in the situation.

"And occasionally throw things. But mostly I'm like you." Pausing, I briefly thought over moments in my life when I had remained tight-lipped while my mother would rant and rave, acting as though I had no feelings. Tina does everything for you, but hardly ever gets a thank you. God forbid I come back from shopping and not realize that an item had been rung up wrong. I sometimes wished I could go off the way my brother did -- screaming back when he felt like it. I just kept it locked inside and put up with it. The thing was, I was getting tired of that. Perhaps my eyes had taken on an unexpected melancholy, but when I looked up, I realized John was watching, concerned for my welfare. *You're hurting, sweetheart. Why are you hurting so? Let me help you* I imagined him thinking as I blinked and returned to the here and now. That had come to me so vividly.

"You don't strike me as a thrower or a slammer, Ms. Stewart," and my response was to chuckle, my emotions brightening once more.

"So...you got your temper from both your parents; your build and looks from your father; your eyes and coloring from your mother."

"I'm a mutt," he joked, finishing the Shiraz.

"No, you're not a mutt, John Biebe. Actually...you turned out quite well."

"Thanks."

More than quite well -- he was a fine looking man. If all the men in Alaska looked as good as him -- well, if the world needed to be repopulated, and they were the only men available, women would be lined up for miles. Clearing my throat and finishing up the last of the food on my plate, I admitted, "Hey, if you're a mutt, I'm a mutt too...I think most Americans are."

"No, I really wouldn't say there's any -- to perhaps quote Hando -- 'pure race' anymore, especially in the States. Have you ever studied your family ancestry?"

"Yeah...a few years ago; I didn't get extremely in-depth, but I have a basic idea."

"So you're...."

"I'm part Irish, part African, part Dutch, part Russian Jewish, part Creole." We both laughed. "I think that qualifies me as a mutt."

"I think that qualifies you as..." John paused, his cheeks beginning to grow crimson. As he had spoken, I had the feeling he was about to make some pronouncement which would likely be flattering but possibly embarrassing, therefore I said nothing more. Running his finger along the platinum trim of the plate, he looked up at me again, then smiled. "That's...uh...that's quite a background."

"I like to think so. One time I joked with someone in the radio room that I was looking forward to seeing the homeland. She looked at me real hard and said, 'Where...Africa?' in this sort of nasty tone. I grinned and said, 'No...Ireland!' and watched her mouth drop. It tickled me that she seemed to think that most blacks would only claim Africa."

"I would have loved to have seen the look on her face."

"Oh...it was priceless, believe me....So, what about the Biebes? That is such an unusual name. I know a detective with a similar name...."

"Really? On your department?"

"Yeah, he's a district detective, but his name is pronounced 'bye-bee' and he spells it differently. And I've seen it spelled B-E-E-B-E, but B-I-E-B-E is very unusual. Any clues?"

"Ancestry you mean? English, German -- mostly German. The Biebes came to Alaska back in the late 1860's before the first Gold Rush, and after the United States bought Alaska from Russia. So I have a little Russian in my background too."

"Ah...Sometimes I forget about us buying the territory from Russia. Seward's Folly."

"Exactly. Yeah, I have some Russian ancestry as well as English and German, but they didn't come for gold then, they came for the fur trade. My great-great grandfather helped found Mystery along with a couple of men, then brought their families there."

"Oh wow -- cool. So Mystery's over a hundred years old then?" He nodded. "I'm surprised a town that size could last so long."

"You'd be surprised how many little towns the size of Mystery and as old as Mystery are dotted all through Alaska. It's easy to hideout." I smiled. "Did you ever watch that show...uh...'Northern Exposure'?"

"Sometimes -- I wasn't a big fan, but I enjoyed occasionally watching it ."

"Well, that was another small town, just like Mystery, although...." His expression brightened even more. "I tend to think Mystery wasn't as eccentric."

"You'll get no argument from me there, but you have to admit...Mystery has a nice assortment. Just look at the hockey team."

John chuckled and sat back. "Our hockey teams have always been...unusual. The stories Dad and Bailey would tell me about when they were playing together. Used to make me wonder if I'd ever experience what they did. When I was a kid, Dad would take me into the locker room, just like I used to with Michael and Joey...."

"Until Joey started picking up on certain language."

"Yeah -- until. I guess I should have been thankful it was only THAT word, and not something else he learned from listening to Skank."

Snickering, I nodded, remembering when Skank had a shovel deservedly slammed against his head. For that girl's sake -- at the moment, I couldn't recall her name -- I was just glad he wasn't badly injured, but he certainly had it coming. "Thank God for small favors then."

"I suppose....But when I was Mike's age, I had such a great time going in the locker room with Dad, and listening to the guys, but Dad didn't play much longer after that before he coached the team a bit."

"Your father coached?"

"For a while -- nothing formal. Guess it was more training, teaching than being a coach. The Mystery team never really had a coach per se. See, Dad got called up when he was in his twenties, and he only played about eleven years."

"So you held the record then?"

His smile was wistful. "Thirteen years -- never missed a game until....Well, you know."

"I know." My reply was soft, and I reached over, briefly stroking the back of one of his hands, letting him know I understood. He gave me a look of gratefulness, glad to see I knew what he meant without him having to say.

"Thanks. My...uh...My...parents...they were really happy. Alex and Peter were only in the Saturday game a few years before they left Mystery. At one point, all three of us were on the team."

"No wonder your parents were proud. So...your mother and father...are they still alive?"

"Still alive."

I nearly breathed a sigh of relief, realizing that John had seen me do so; he appeared touched that I felt so deeply towards a couple I had never met. "I'm glad. It's just that I never saw them in the movie."

"They're not in Mystery. Dad's health took a turn, and the doctor recommended he move further south, so he and Mom went back to Vancouver. They're there now...somewhere."

"He's doing better?" I asked, realizing how strange all this 'Star Trek' dimensional talk was getting.

"Much better thanks. I don't believe the movie showed it, but both of them were there for the big game. They wouldn't have missed it for the world."

"I'll pay closer attention to the crowd scene next time. Then if I see an older man who looks like you, with a beautiful petite woman at his side, I'll know who they are." Momentarily, I remembered John telling me that as far as they knew in the Nest world, their aging processes stopped upon arriving there. Thinking how attractive Jeffrey Wigand was, then recollecting that photo of Alexander Biebe, and putting both together, I could only imagine how handsome the sheriff would have been had he become middle-aged or a senior citizen. I would have envied Nicole Biebe or Donna growing old with men like that.

Biebe was laughing when my attention returned to him. "I don't know if they'll show up in the movie, but trust me, they were there. I have a photo in my room of all of us after the game: me, Donna, the boys, my parents, Alex, Peter, and Katherine. The Biebes all together in one place." He absently wiped his mouth a final time, then placed the napkin on the table top. "Tina...can I admit something to you?"

Uh-oh inadvertantly crossed my mind, and I wasn't even certain why. That was one of the things which bothered me about myself. I was so nervous about someone thinking my company tiresome. Swallowing I said, "Sure -- what?"

His voice grew more quiet than usual, and he folded his hands in his lap, averting his eyes. "I...I had to let you know...this is the nicest time I've had since I got to the Nest. I'm glad this worked out."

Relaxing, I nodded. "So am I, John. It's been great."

"Well, I realize I'm not Max and you were looking forward to having dinner with him...."

"John...that's all water under the bridge. Max couldn't make it. I'm...I'm just glad he thought to suggest this cause I've had a fantastic time too."

"You have?"

"It's been great -- it has." Fumbling with my fork and knife as I placed hose in a slight V-shape on my plate, I smiled gently, my own eyes down. Why did I suddenly feel so incredibly shy knowing Biebe was perhaps watching me for a response. "I'm...glad it worked out this way. I couldn't have dreamt of a nicer evening."

"Good...So..." Well, I considered, this was such a nice, polite way to bring it to an end. He was probably ready to escort me back to my suite. "I know you've been watching your fat grams and all,...but would you think about having dessert with me?"

My head jerked up, eyes glowing expectantly. "I haven't had a dessert in... Well, since England I think. I've been a good girl."

"So you can splurge a little then?"

"I can splurge."

I realized that the Alaskan's blue-green eyes lit up brighter than a starry night. "Great. Okay...I'll have Rick bring over the dessert tray when he comes to clear our table."

"All right, and...would you excuse me? I need..."

"Go right ahead, Tina," he said, politely standing. "Hurry back."

Leaving my wrap behind, I walked the short distance to where a waitress had indicated the restrooms were located. *Hurry back* he had told me. No one else had ever left me with sweeter departing words as when he said those in that incredible voice of his. I sensed it -- it had been more than simply being a gentleman. He honestly could not wait for me to return, and once more, I noticed I was nearly dancing my way into the ladies room.

Another guest was just washing her hands as I entered, and we smiled at each other in greeting. She was only slightly familiar to me; it seemed that I recalled her from the Tavern Saturday night, but there had been so many.

"Tina?" I nodded, and her smile increased. "Hi -- I'm Loria."

"Loria. That's right. Sorry -- sometimes I'm awful with names. We met...."

"When all the guys were introducing themselves and totally confusing you." Laughing she continued. "Don't feel bad. When I first came here, they were coming at me so fast and furious I had a headache when it was all over. They love newcomers."

"So I noticed. Have...you been coming here long?"

"A little while now. After a while, it almost become an addiction; a pleasant addiction though," she added, grinning. "I saw you earlier when you and John came in, but I didn't want to disturb you."

"Oh...I didn't even realize...."

"We have a corner table. I think that's Bud's police mentality. He doesn't like to sit so that his back is to the door, even here, and he likes to sit so he can...I hate to put it this way, but so he can observe things."

I laughed. "I can understand that. You don't want your back turned to trouble if it comes in. I learned that from my training officer."

"Yeah, Bud was telling me what you do for a living. Some day, when you have more time, I'd love for all we girls to get together and have you tell us more about your work. I've never known anyone who did something like that. I know we have cops around here -- geez, they're coming out of the woodwork, but not a woman who deals in criminology. But I'd love to hear more." She glanced at her watch. "And I've kept you too long. Sorry, but I was glad to get a chance to speak to you."

"Same here."

"And I'll talk to Peaches about all of us getting together: you, me, her, Michelle, Angie, Liz, a few of the others I consider part of the old-timers."

"That'd be great."

"Fantastic. Well, I'd better get back to Bud before he starts wondering what happened to me. Tina -- great meeting you again. Tell John I said hi."

"Same here, Loria. Tell Bud I said hi, too."

Once she was gone, I was alone to complete my business, returning to stand before one of the dozen marble sinks to wash my hands, then retouch my makeup and 'Dune'. Running a finger through my hair, pushing back a stray curl, I paused, a serious expression present as I appraised myself. What stared back at me had changed so much in the last year. The large, round features I'd known most of my life had tightened into a smaller face. My cheeks were more accentuated instead of puffy; I actually had a nice little chin. Even behind the wire-framed glasses, the eyes had more prominence, my lashes more distinct, even without mascara. I just wish I'd been blessed with my grandmother or my mother's beautiful gray eyes, instead of the dominant brown ones, and once more I wondered whether tinted contacts might be an option.

The freckles I once tried my best to fade when I was a kid, did not seem as annoying anymore. Laughing and crinkling my nose, I studied each minute detail, thinking how they now enhanced my golden complexion, but still wishing I'd been as pretty as my sisters. /Need to work on that self-confidence, Tina// I joked, applying a little pressed powder. /I've made a big improvement here lately. Ought to be proud. Still wish I had Grandmother's looks though -- she was so beautiful//

My youngest sister was beautiful, slender and had brains to match, and I loved her to death; my other sister -- three years my junior -- was also lovely and what I felt was model thin and tall, but often lacking in other departments. There were times she seemed embarrassed to have fat Tina as her sister. I suddenly recalled moments from childhood, when we were dropped off at school, and she would practically run from my side in order not to be seen with me. I sighed. /Why are you thinking about that now, huh? Because she seemed floored when I dropped all this weight? Aw shit...quit thinking about it. I thought I wasn't going to think about all that while I was here//

Okay, if that was the case, why was I already anticipating the worst -- beginning to hear my mother's disapproving tones in my head? *I don't understand why you're being so secretive, Tina.. You didn't call. You always call. Just like keeping all your plans about going to England secret until you were practically over there...You told everyone -- Chanta, Antonio, Ralph, probably Laura...but not me, and I'm your mother....* Oh yeah, there'd be hell to pay when I returned to Louisville without telling where I had disappeared to for several days. But right now, I didn't care. That trip to Europe had done something to me -- made me more assertive, independent, as if I could do anything.

But my smile had faded during all this analysis. The eyes.... My eyes -- even now when I was so happy -- began to reveal a hint of melancholy. I needed to hide that better; I had no desire for John to realize there was a problem. I was worried he had already sensed something earlier.

John -- I was having such a marvelous time with him. Did I miss Maximus? Of course I did, but John had gone out of his way to be the perfect gentleman, making certain I had a good evening, and I had. We talked like old friends; shared some of our life experiences; laughed and joked; had more in common than I realized -- more than just law enforcement. It all felt so natural -- we had been ourselves and everything had...clicked. The smile returned. He was so sweet, and handsome, and intelligent, and down-to-earth -- I wondered why he had not yet found someone himself. Were it not for my feelings for Max.... My feelings for Max. Why was I now having minor doubts I couldn't understand, even as I recalled those enigmatic 'fantasies' from earlier? Shaking my head and realizing I'd been gone long enough, although actually, it had been less than ten minutes, I hurried back into the dining room.

Scanning the restaurant, I glimpsed Bud White and Loria at their little table for two, tucked in a corner which gave the L.A. cop a nice view of the proceedings. Deep in conversation, neither noticed me as I went in the opposite direction to my own table, and I wondered about their own relationship -- or whether they were just friends having supper, just like John and me. *Just like John and me.* /Remember...it's not a date -- it's just dinner. It's not a date....//

John saw me immediately, his eyes glowing with apparent delight as he ceased his conversation with our waiter. Standing as I approached, he said something I couldn't understand to Rick, who then disappeared.

"Sorry I was so long," I apologized.

"No problem. I noticed Loria leaving the ladies' room right after you went in," the Alaskan remarked as I sat down, returning the napkin to my lap. "I didn't know if the two of you knew each other or not."

"We met briefly last night, but I met so many people all the names are swirling around in my head."

"Well, you'll learn them all eventually, especially if you keep coming back."

"Oh, I intend to. I intend to learn all their names and faces, and I plan on coming back. You can't get rid of me if you tried, John Biebe."

He chuckled, but a brief look flashing in those blue-green orbs disclosed something more. Was it sheer delight in what I'd said? "Glad to hear it. We...enjoy you ladies' company. It's been a long time since I sat in here with one of you."

Smiling I commented, "I can't believe you go without company long, Sheriff Biebe," and he blushed, shrugging as he did.

"Uh...Rick went to get the dessert tray. And if you don't see anything you like on there, let him know. Annabella, the new chef, can whip up something special; she says she loves to do that. She's a wiz in that kitchen."

However when the waiter returned, my problem was not what wasn't on the tray, but how to choose from everything available and not blow my fat gram count higher than a space shuttle launch. My expression must have been one of the proverbial kid and the candy store as I scanned the choices while Rick described each item. There were two cheesecakes: one New York style with fresh strawberries and raspberries; the second a white chocolate creation. There were fresh fruit tarts; and chocolate mousse accompanied with homemade whipped cream; key lime pie; cherries jubilee; baked Alaska; lemon meringue pie with the browned egg whites at least three inches tall; Viennese styled tortes; and several Italian dessert choices.

"And not on the tray, but coming out of the oven right now...Annabella decided at the last moment to whip up both raspberry and chocolate miniature souffles in hopes that someone would try them. They're normally quite popular with the guests, and since the restaurant had a number of people tonight, she thought she'd see how much interest they'd garner." He laughed lightly. "And if the guests pass, the staff thinks they're fantastic."

"Raspberry souffles?" I remembered those at my favorite Louisville restaurant, and I nearly drooled.

"We complete the preparations tableside, similar to the cherries jubilee or the bananas flambe. Would either of you be interested in sampling that this evening?"

I eyed the large silver tray again, sighing in mock exaspearation while the two men laughed. "John...any ideas?"

"You're asking me?"

"Hey, you live here. Any suggestions?"

For a few moments, John Biebe was in deep contemplation as he studied the selections, then his attention returned to me. "Rick...could you ask Annabella to do a special request for me?"

"Sure John. What would you like?"

"I'd like to do up a sample plate, you know, have her take say a slice of the cheesecake and split that in two." He looked at me, and I nodded in agreement, liking his suggestion, and appreciating what he was trying to do. He was considering my fat grams, and the fact that I was splurging, so in order for me to sample whatever we chose, John was willing to just split a larger serving.

"We can do that. We do it all the time, especially when couples can't make up their mind." We all laughed, and he asked, "Do you know what you'd like?"

"Well, I think Tina has her heart set on the raspberry souffle."

"Absolutely," I quickly answered.

"And didn't I hear you mention you love chocolate and cheesecake?"

I rolled my eyes. "Don't get me started, Sheriff."

"Okay Rick...let's go with the raspberry souffle then; the chocolate mousse; the...the white chocolate cheesecake?" and John glanced towards me to see that I was nodding enthusiastically. "And...oh, what the hell. Let's just throw all propriety to the wind and try the bourbon bread pudding." He must have heard me groan because he asked, "Sorry -- didn't ask if you like...."

"I *love* it."

Rick grinned. "Half servings for each of you then -- great. And...would either of you care for an after-dinner drink: a liqueur, port, coffee, tea?"

Nodding, I stifled a yawn. "Excuse me."

"Tired?" John asked.

"Just a little. Could...I make a suggestion?"

"Sure Tina." I swear he was holding his breath exactly as I had done earlier when I thought *he* was about to tell me good-night.

"If it's no trouble, and you're not ready to end the evening yet...I could make some coffee in my room, and we could have our desserts there. I mean, if you...."

"That would be a great idea, darlin'. Rick...to-go boxes, but first, you have to do the souffle presentation before you pack that up."

"It'd be my pleasure. Let me get your orders together."

John and I spent the next moments in quiet small talk while we waited, but it was not the talk of two persons tiring of the other, or uncertain what to say next. In fact, we were so deep in conversation that when Rick returned with his preparation table, it was my companion who told me to remind him where we left off so we could continue upstairs. We watched this small entertainment as the miniature souffle dish was warmed over a sterno flame, then the crust of the dessert itself was cracked. In a separate dish, brandy was warmed, then set on fire, and this hot liquid poured inside the souffle. Once it was over, the two of us applauded, and Rick promised to hurry back with our boxes.

Although I had no idea what the cost of the meal would or might be, I slipped a folded twenty under the edge of a votive candle holder. Almost at the same time, John did the same, smiling at my action, and our fingers came into closer contact this time, enough that we allowed them -- for a single moment -- to entwine much as we did on the night we first met. Neither of us spoke. I watched John's large fingers stroke the tiny ones of my right hand, and again, it was as it had been in the ice rink. All I could hear was our breathing when we made eye contact again, my legs feeling as though they would give way from under me. I momentarily closed my eyes, wondering -- almost hopeful -- whether he would again kiss me as he had before...that kiss which had held such a sweet innocence. I heard myself whisper, "John," then saw him blink and shake his head, as if returning to reality. In fact, we both did, and just in time for Rick was returning with a white paper shopping bag.

"Here you go, John, Ms. Stewart."

"Tina...please call me Tina."

"All right then...Tina. I hope that both of you had a pleasant evening."

"I had a wonderful time," I piped up, taking the small bag from the waiter, and holding it by the handles. "Give Annabella my compliments. Everything was wonderful."

"Same here, Rick. Tell Annabella she outdid herself tonight."

"I will. Good-night."

"Night, Rick," I said, only then realizing that John had stepped behind me, and was taking my wrap in his hands. Before I could say anything, he had politely placed the shawl about my shoulders.

"The air conditioning's on. I know we don't have that far to go, darlin', but I noticed you were shivering."

"I don't usually get cold so easily, but thank you." We started to move away, but at the final moment, I reached towards the vase and removed the single rose which was there. "I hope they don't mind."

"They won't," the sheriff assured me.

"I know I already have yours, but...well, call me sentimental, but I thought I could have this as a keepsake of our evening together." Our evening together which was only dinner -- not a date I kept reminding myself.

"They'll understand," he replied, eyes never leaving my face. "Ready then?"

"Ready. I want my souffle before it gets cold...."

"Why don't you find something in the collection, or just turn on some FM station?"

I told John that as I tossed my wrap onto the sofa, kicked off my heels, and without breaking step, continued to another corner of the room, where a compact area was set aside for small kitchen appliances. "You're more familiar wtih the stations around here than I am." Glancing back over my shoulder, I could see the sheriff perusing a CD rack, his fingers touching the sides of the jewel boxes as he read the selections.

"You've got real eclectic tastes, Tina," he called to me and I laughed softly. "Classical, rock, pop, jazz, big band -- you're just all over the place, aren't you?"

Looking over the small coffee collection consisting of one-pot packets in various flavors, I said, "Hey, my mother taught us to like all types of music. About the only thing I have mixed feelings about is country, but I do like a few artists -- Brooks and Dunn sometimes; Patsy Cline; Faith Hill. What do you think you'd like, John?"

"Like?...Oh...uh...the coffee...What do you have?"

I looked over at him, noticing that he had removed several cases and was carefully reading the liner notes. "Let's see. There's...breakfast blend...."

"A little early for that, isn't it?"

Laughing I continued. "Columbian -- that's a medium roast; Kenya -- that's medium to dark; Jamaican Blue Mountain -- dark; hazelnut; mocha. Oh my God...Kona -- not Kona blend, but real Kona."

"That's Hawaiian, right?"

"Yeah, some of the best coffee in the world. I've only had it a few times, and that was in coffee shops; never bought it -- too expensive for me."

"Okay...well, let's go with Kona then," he grinned at me.

"Kona it is," and I removed a paper filter from a packet and placed that inside the plastic holder to the coffeemaker. Filling the pot with bottled water until it was at a six-cup level, I went about finishing the procedure while listening as the stereo was turned on, and the channel surfing began. Now and then, he would pause at one station when something obviously attracted his attention, and I heard him softly sing along a couple of times: something from The Police's 'Synchronicity;' bits and pieces of 'Light My Fire'; ah, that sounded like Fleetwood Mac. My attention returned to making coffee, and finding a couple of dessert plates, forks, knives, spoons, cups and saucers, made my way to the the small, round dining table situated near a sitting room window. I just loved the layout of this room, for the decorator had obviously attempted to maintain a good deal of space, while placing furnishings in key areas so as to enhance the atmosphere. Some time, I considered, I would have to eat at the table around sunset or perhaps dawn, and see exactly how it would all look from my apartment.

As my concentration returned, I realized that John had found some local station which had caught his attention. Smiling, I gave him a sideways glance to see him standing in front of the system, hands in his front pockets, as he listened, and I heard him again singing. During the evening in the Tavern, I had heard Russell Crowe and his TOFOG group several times so I had a pretty good idea of the range of his voice. Biebe's was similar, but softer, his accent barely noticeable (Note to self: I had to ask him about that), with a deep resonance which was enough to send a shudder through me. Placing the dishes and flatware on top of the table, I stood still, listening as his voice carried; I don't think he realized what he was doing and I smiled, knowing that I often did it myself. I was constantly singing and humming, often forgetting others might be around.

What was he listening to? I paid closer attention. Okay, I knew this song -- often sang it myself, Mandy Moore's 'I Wanna Be With You'. She was another of those very young female pop stars who had sprung up in recent years, in the same category as Monica, Brittany Spears, Brandy or Christina Aguilera. She had a sweet voice which wasn't annoying to me, and actually, I had managed to learn a few lines of her song. I just wondered why John Biebe....

'I wanna be with you -- if only for one night...' she sang, and it was odd hearing the Alaskan's deeper voice softly accompany the teen-ager's soprano. He continued, lost in the words of the little song, and I caught myself drifting as I watched him, his back still facing me. Using my teeth to tug on my lower lip, my head cocked to one side as I studied him: the way his well-built body gently rocked in rhythm to the music, the length of that auburn hair falling neatly just above his broad shoulders....His shoulders were quite broad, weren't they? I loved the way his behind was built too, and my cheeks began to burn so intensely, I felt as though I was on fire. A tingling coursed through my bloodstream, making me tremble. I had seen those beefy arms of his in the movie, and a thought suddenly occurred to me: were his thighs and legs as powerful as Maximus' since we had seen his to such an advantage? Shaking my head, I wondered how long I had been staring at Biebe, the only sounds my soft breathing, the stereo, and the stream of coffee hitting inside the pot. How the hell had I become so distracted? I shook my head again, chatising myself for thinking such things. Remember -- that kind of stuff could get me into trouble. I had invited my companion up here for dessert, and to continue our wonderful conversations, not for.... Not for what, Tina? Okay, that's enough. Say something to break all this tension which was driving me nuts.

"Excuse me...John?" He suddenly turned away from the stereo, a smile crossing his lips as he looked at me. "Coffee shouldn't take long, and I've put out some plates and...."

"Oh okay, darlin'. Sounds good. I'll go ahead..." and he started moving as he spoke, "...and set out the desserts if you like." I nodded. "Oh, is that station okay? I think it's top forty."

"That's fine. Just thought we'd have some background music while we eat, as long as rap or something like that doesn't come on."

John chuckled. "What...no Enimem?"

Laughing as I returned to the kitchen area to get our coffee, I said, "Don't even go there, Sheriff....Hey, how do you like your coffee?"

"Cream, no sugar."

"Just like me," I commented, pouring the hot liquid into two white mugs.

A few minutes later we had settled at the table. "What do you want to start with first?" John asked as he opened the insulated boxes which kept hot food hot and cold food cold.

"The souffle," I nearly drooled, putting the mugs on the table. "Eat it while it's good and hot...."

"And hasn't flattened out and all." I nodded, and the sheriff opened the containers. "Aw man, get a whiff of this."

"Mmm...That's wonderful. I can even...oh, I got a hint of Grand Marnier."

"Well dig in, darlin'," he told me, halving it and spooning it onto our plates. "Then we'll hit the bread pudding too while it's hot."

We sat down and without another word, started savoring this Annabella creation. both of us were making 'mmm" sounds, interspersed with "Oh boy," "Oh man," and "Oh...my...God." We said little else as we relished one of the best souffles I had ever eaten, and not really speaking until our plates were empty. Now I fully understood why people often called some dishes orgasmic!

"*That* was...." I shook my head, at a loss for words, as I drank some coffee.

"Fantastic?"

"That'll work," I giggled. "The best souffle is at my favorite restaurant at home, but Annabella's...." I sighed. "It was positively heavenly."

"Well wait until you try the bread pudding. I've had it before. Annabella said she prides herself on using the best Kentucky bourbon she can get her hands on. Soaks the nuts and raisins in it, and uses some as part of the base."

"Oh wow." I would have to remember when I finally met her to ask which bourbon she used. He spooned half of the serving onto my dish, and we relaxed some more, sipping our coffee, savoring the pudding as well as one other selection. By the time we were done, with some leftover, I refrigerated the remainder. "We can finish this some other time," I said, while John cleared the table. "Maybe you could come by for lunch tomorrow. It'll be my last day."

The sheriff's head jerked up as he filled the sink with warm water and a couple of squeezes of dishwashing liquid. "Is that an invitation, Ms. Stewart?"

I smiled, suddenly realizing what I had said. My last day. The words made my stomach ache as a chill ran over me. I didn't want to leave yet, but knew I needed to eventually return to the Real World. There would be other occasions to come back to the Nest, but something else had struck me too. It was my last day, and I was making arrangements with John, when I really ought to be spending time with Maximus. Well, I reasoned, I could have lunch with John, then spend the remaining time with my general. Maximus would understand.

"If it's pretty out...." I began.

"It usually is."

"Well, that balcony's so huge, maybe they could put the dining table out on it. We could eat out there."

"Sounds good."

"And John, you do *not* have to wash the...."

"It's no problem, darlin'. I never minded washing dishes, and besides, it's not that many. Oh, left the cups on the table in case we wanted more coffee."

"Thanks and I probably will drink some more. I love Kona, and coffee's never kept me awake."

"It doesn't?"

"Nope. Actually it would almost be more likely to help me relax and sleep," I laughed. I was fascinated watching the care Biebe took in this simple duty, and once he had dried, I put the dishes away.

"We make quite a team, don't we?"

"Yes we do!" I exclaimed, giving him a high-five. "Hey, could you please excuse me for a few minutes?"

"Sure -- I was about to excuse myself too," he said almost bashfully.

"Oh John, no, you can use...."

"No, that's okay. There's guest restrooms on each floor of the hotel. I'll run and use one of them."

"You're sure? I don't want to make you feel...."

"I'll be back before you," he joked, moving towards the front door. "I'll just leave it propped open so I can get back in."

Nodding and rubbing my arms, I started in the direction of the bathroom, when I heard John ask, "You cold?"

"Just a little," I admitted. "I feel the cold a lot more now since I lost weight."

"Yeah, that can happen I've heard. Well if you'd like, I could fire up the fireplace, just to knock off the chill."

"Oh that'd be fantastic, John, thank you. I haven't had it lit since I got here, and I love fireplaces. Is that gas or wood burning?"

"Uh...yours is gas burning. All right then, as soon as I get back I'll get it started."

On returning, John was in front of the white marble fireplace, and I saw small, soft flames glowing in the hearth. he must have heard me padding across the thick carpet because he turned to face me, a smile brightening his features. Although he and Maximus shared that same delightful smile, I felt pleased seeing he was enthused that I had returned.

"Hey," I greeted.

"Hey...Told you I'd beat you back," and I laughed gently. "Didn't pour the coffee yet. Cream only, right?"

"Right."

"Just sit down and relax, sweetheart and I'll get them." He nodded his head toward the two ivory upholstered, cushioned chairs before the fireplace, and I followed his direction. I practically sank into the armchair, drawing my stockinged legs underneath me, and heaved a deep sigh, allowing every muscle to slacken. I normally never grew so relaxed, even with those I knew; there was something built inside me which kept me constantly alert, and working in the evidence unit had only intensified that. Now though, my present company made me feel quite protected.

"Here we go," Biebe announced, handing me the cup. "One Kona with cream."

"Thanks John, I appreciate it." I took a deep breath of this special coffee. "This place is going to spoil me to death." John laughed. "No, I'm serious. It's like being on a cruise, only better."

"Didn't you say...You've cruised before, right?" He sat across from me and momentarily, I smiled to myself, thinking how much we resembled a long married couple. Here we were, sitting before a fire, drinking our coffee, quietly reminiscing after years of being together. I recalled that photo of John's parents. What would he have been like had he been able to grow older? I imagined him with thick hair the color of Wigand's, but the length as it was now; his face still handsome, those eyes still alert and loving. Would he have only a paunch, grown as fat as Bailey Pruitt, or remained athletic like many older men tended to nowadays? Would he love a woman with the same intensity, *always*? Of course he would -- idotic question, Tina. My mind paused and I swallowed. Would he love me....?

"You okay, darlin'?"

I blinked, suddenly realizing where I was, and that my head was up against the backrest, my expression.... Oh Lord, it was dreamy. Please tell me I hadn't been staring? And how many times had John asked me that question before I answered him? "I..." Okay, don't sound completely stupid. "Sorry, I was...thinking."

"Penny for your thoughts."

"They're not worth that much, Sheriff Biebe," and we chuckled. "I'm sorry -- I do that a lot sometimes. Guess it comes from living alone. I tend to drift when my thoughts are,...well, when I think of some idea or something, but..." I shrugged. "Well, the only ones around are my cats, and they don't really mind when I...."

"When you're thoughtful? It's okay. I do it a lot myself, especially when I'm off in the mountains, or out camping."

"You camp a lot?"

"Yeah, but it's something I'm used to. Dad made sure all of us knew how to survive in the wild, my sister included. That's the one thing I loved when I was growing up -- going camping or hunting with Dad....So...you...uh...ever been camping?" I shook my head. "Never."

"Never. Not even fishing."

"You poor thing."

I laughed. "I guess. I'm afraid I'm very much a city girl."

"Nothing wrong with that, darlin', but just once," he sighed, "you ought to go camping. You've never even stayed in a cabin say in one of your state parks? I remember when I was in Louisville, people telling me how beautiful the parks in Kentucky were, the ones where you could get a camp site or a cabin."

"Nope, never been to one. I love being out in nature. One of the things I loved was walking the English countryside, but...well, would you like to hear what my idea of roughing it is?" He nodded, a smile playing on his lips as though he suspected what I might say. "Roughing it for Tina Stewart is having no TV, no VCR, no microwave, no CD player, no bed...." We both laughed harder.

"You don't know what you've missed. We're going to have to rectify that."

"Well I have to admit, seeing that damn 'Blair Witch Project' didn't help any." John nearly spurt up his coffee as his laughter increased. "Did you see that?"

"Oh yeah."

"The last thing I need is to walk through the woods and find little stick men hanging from the trees. Or some abandonned cottage with strange symbols on the walls, or worst, a bunch of corpses tied together next to a river bed."

"That would definitely ruin your camping trip all right....Okay, if I make you a promise, will you go camping with either Max or me sometime?"

"What?"

His voice was gentle with a hint of seriousness. I think he realized that the movie had bothered me on a certain level. Even as an adult, I was still disturbed by the thought of things going bump in the night, especially since both John and I knew what often lurked in the Real World. We were both in law enforcement -- we knew the type of darkness the world often contained. "I promise Tina...nothing like that will ever happen to you in the Nest."

I was touched by his thoughtfulness. "Okay. Maybe." He grinned. "Now, what were we talking about?"

"This place spoiling you, and you said it was better than a cruise."

"Oh, that's right."

"So where have you been?"

"On my cruises? Uh...the Bahamas; Barbados; Antigua; Martinique...Hmm...oh, St. Martin; Puerto Rico, and uh...oh and the U.S. Virgin Islands."

"Which was your favorite, or did you have one?"

"St. John's, one of the three main U.S. Virgin Islands. It was so pristine. But Magan's Bay on St. Thomas..." John nodded, his eyes full of interest, "...when Max showed me some of your beachfront here, I thought of it. That was voted one of the most beautiful beaches in the world. The water was so clean, and clear, and blue I could see my toes wiggling on the sand." I sighed.

"Question."

"Sure."

"The Caribbean or Britain?"

I tossed my head back as I laughed. "Britain -- always, despite the fact that I want to return to the Caribbean someday. Like I said, Britain felt more like home than anywhere I've ever been....Until I came here."

John smiled. "I'm glad."

It continued that way until I lost track of time, and I was thankful again that time moved slower in the Nest. We spoke of my British pilgrimmage again, and how my day was spent. We discussed our favorite sports -- mine college basketball, his hockey. While I explained the prospects for the University of Louisville and the University of Kentucky during the 2000-2001 season, John gave me background on pro hockey teams and his beloved Saturday game. Once more we spoke of movies, and while John admitted he wasn't as knowledgeable about them as I was, he enjoyed how I made them alive.

Finishing a half a cup, I gazed into the amber flames, nearly hypnotized by the way the bright blue flames licked at the gas logs. I continued to talk, as did the sheriff, but when we both quieted momentarily, and John went to warm his cup with what remained, I felt myself grow groggy....

In that world between consciousness and sleep, I could sense movement around me, and I slowly opened my eyes. John was leaning in front of me, adjusting a white afghan over my lap. Our eyes met as his fingers touched the back of my hand, but neither of us spoke for several moments. I could not know what he was thinking about me, but observations came to me, nearly causing my heart to throb its' way from my chest. His eyes were such a brilliant blue-green, nearly emerald in the fire light, reminding me of when my flight home had taken me over Ireland; his lips were cupid bow shaped, and framed by that strong beard. I'd never been a fan of beards, not even with Indiana Jones, and men with long hair had been a turn off to me, but I was slowly changing my mind.

"John," I whispered.

His voice was soft. "Sorry...didn't mean to wake you. You dozed off and I was just going to cover you up, and leave a note."

"You were leaving?" My voice must have sounded disappointed.

"You're tired darlin' -- I didn't know how long you'd sleep and...." He said nothing more, only nodding, but...why had I sensed him thinking, *you looked so peaceful...so beautiful.* Again it was like before -- as if he had spoken directly to me.

I stretched a little, my hands grasping the edges of the afghan. "No, I'm fine, John. Please don't go."

"You're sure? It's twelve-thirty now."

"Please stay and talk some more. I don't do that often...dozing off that way, I mean."

"You don't have...." He hesitated.

"Sleep apnia or something similar?" Shaking my head I continued, "No, I've been checked. Insomnia sometimes, yes, but my doctor said that's due to tension, stress, and because...well, my body clock is so off. Guess that's why I'm a night person not a day person for the most part. I...don't usually doze like that. My doctor told me taking a short nap isn't a bad thing. Life...just catches up with me and I...." I shrugged.

"Guess you just needed to fuel up then," John joked.

"I guess. Actually, I feel like I have my second breath now. Please...stay a little longer." I hoped I did not sound as though I was begging, but John finally agreed, and then settled back in the other chair. We relaxed again, this time our conversation shifting to music as we listened to the radio station perform Celine Dion before segueing to a George Michael flashback song. John's taste in music was as varied as mine: we both loved popular and rock; jazz, big band and swing. Although he did like some classical, such as Beethoven symphonies -- particularly the Ninth, or some piano and violin concertos, he was not unfamiliar with opera, but was not a big fan of it.

"My mother gave me a copy of Van Cliburn performing Tchaikovsky's first piano concerto...."

"Oh...I love that. It's one of my favorite interpretations."

"Well, that's when I got interested in classical. Now one time, when I was a kid and we went south to Vancouver to visit Mother's family, they took us to the opera. I was maybe nine or ten, and I got to see 'The Magic Flute'."

"Cool."

"And -- well, you know the opera, right?" I nodded. "It had so much magic in it: singing birds, a dragon. It really didn't have all these long stretches of music like most operas, so it was great for a child. I never forgot that one. Then I saw 'Das Rheingold' and 'Die Walkure' a year or so later, and with all the dragons, and dwarves, and the Rhinemaidens frolicking in the water, then the flying horses and the ring of fire...." I chuckled, seeing his enthusiasm. "That was cool!"

"I'll bet. Along with 'Tannhauser' those are my two favorite Wagnerian operas. Did you ever see the Met production on video or the live broadcast on PBS?"

"James Morris played Wotan?"

"Yes!"

"And Hildegard Behrens was...." And we both said simultaneously: "Brunnhilde!" John chuckled. "See, that's the kind of opera I like if I'm gonna listen to it." He shook his head. "Can't get into.... Well, there's a few that put me right to sleep."

"Oh me too, and I love opera. 'Parsifal'...I fell asleep on the overture." The sheriff started laughing, but that grew harder when I said, "'Rigoletto' -- the storyline just drives me up the wall. That one I wish I could sleep through." I paused, my laughter calming.

"You have your favorite movies. What are your favorite operas?"

"Hmm...Number one: 'La Boheme'. Number two: 'Die Walkure'. Number three: 'Tosca', then 'Carmen' and 'Der Rosenkavalier'; 'Tannhauser' and 'Aida'."

"I know all of them. Sure I like them cause they're not "talky" and they have action in them, but...the music just appeals to...I don't know...they're beautiful, and sensual, and...I admit it, they have catchy tunes."

My giggle filled the room, and I noticed Biebe's eyes brighten as if he enjoyed hearing it. "Very true. That's probably why I love them so much....I...I heard you singing earlier."

John's face reddened. "Oh Lord."

"No, no, you were...I loved listening to you. You have a nice voice. You have a nice voice anyway when you're just speaking."

"Well, it's not as resonant and elegant as Max's, and I don't have that Bogart style like Bud."

"But I...I love your accent," I admitted, telling him something I had not during all our conversations. I curled up even more into the chair, a part of me wishing we were on the sofa instead of sitting separately in these individual chairs.

"You do?"

"When I first saw 'Mystery, Alaska' and you opened your mouth, it threw me a little at first because I was so used to hearing...." and I deepened my voice as I powerfully announced similar to the scene, "'Maximus Decimus Meridias'...." We both laughed. "....Or that special way Bud says what he does, even when he's using an obscenity."

"Oh yeah, Bud can do that."

"But your accent...I thought it was...well, I hate to use this word, but...I thought it was...sweet."

John turned an even deeper shade of crimson. "Sweet, eh? Thanks."

"Well it was. I'd never heard an...Alaskan accent before."

"Well, it really wasn't Alaskan per se, darlin'. My mother had an accent because of her French-Canadian background, as did most of her family. During the summer, I used to visit some of them back east in Quebec, and I guess I picked it up. Tree is part French-Canadian too; we grew up together, he has a slight accent, so I was listening to him as well."

"You have a beautiful accent, John."

He bowed his head bashfully and softly said, "Thanks sweetheart." Clearing his throat, probably embarrassed by the compliments I had thrown at him, he said, "Funny."

"What is?"

"I never realized I had an accent until I got outside Alaska."

"Oh same here, but instead of everyone tagging me as being Southern, they always think I'm from California or up North."

"They do?" I nodded. "Well like I said at dinner last night, I didn't meet very many Louisvillians who spoke with 'Southern' accents. Guess it's that sitting right on the border like that."

"Exactly. So...do you like any other kind of music?"

He shrugged. "I don't know...uh...." He suddenly chuckled and I asked him what was wrong. "Nothing's wrong. I was just thinking....When I was a kid, Mother sent all of us to dance lessons. Katherine loved ballroom and tap, and Peter thought for a while he was going to be another Baryshnikov."

"What about you?"

"Me?" John shook his head. "I am two left feet when it comes to dancing."

"No you're not," I playfully chided, but I could tell he meant every word.

"Yes I am." Seeing my shocked expression, he laughed slightly. "Everybody says that. We tried not to make it too obvious at my wedding reception, but Donna was leading when we danced our first and only dance together. I couldn't dance to save my life."

It was now my turn to shake my head. "That...is so hard to believe. I mean, you skate...well, you're a hell of a skater."

"Yeah, I can skate, but this is dancing we're talking about, Tina. I can't dance worth a lick. It wasn't from lack of trying though." He started laughing harder. "You know that was the one thing Charlie Danner could do well -- dance. He could dance; I could skate. Hell, we all could skate, just not Charlie, but that was one of the few things I envied him about."

"How old were you?" When he told me seven, I tried to imagine all of them in a dance class together. Yes, I could definitely see Charlie 'Fucking' Danner (there was that word again in conjunction with his name) doing his Gene Kelly imitation. The little bastard probably danced across the walls, and up on the ceiling with no special effects assistance.

"Do you dance?" he asked me, and I nodded.

"I love to. Taught myself though -- no lessons since dancing was considered sinful."

"Oh right. You were brought up Pentecostal."

"I used to watch Astaire and Rogers, and Gene Kelly and Cyd Charisse, and Astaire with his other partners like Rita Hayworth, or Audrey Hepburn, or Leslie Caron. I'd see their beautiful gowns, and watch how graceful they were. Then I'd sneak off to my room, and put on a record, and pretend. You know like that Rogers and Hammerstein 'Cinderella' with Leslie Anne Warren, the one they used to show on television. I'd watch her dance and think...I can do that." John smiled. "Then I'd dance tippy toe, or waltz, and one day, I realized I really could dance. I've been dancing ever since, and after I was grown, I finally took lessons."

"But as a child, you taught yourself...in your own little corner...."

"'In my own little chair, I can be whatever I want to be,'" I sang back at him. "You saw it too then?"

"My sister and Mom loved it. Actually, Katherine liked it better than 'The Wizard of Oz'. They used to show that every year when we were all growing up, didn't they? Just like '....Oz' -- until Ted Turner got his hands on it."

"You're incredible, John Biebe -- do you know that?"

"I am? Why?"

"Because...you love movies, you love music and books; and history and Shakespeare. You're adventurous, and hell, you love sports *and* opera. You are a gentleman," he blushed at that, "and I loved spending the evening with you."

"It's been my pleasure, sweetheart."

"So let me repay you."

"How?"

Jumping to my feet, I moved to where he sat, and holding out my hands said, "Let me teach you to dance."

"Huh?"

"Let me teach you to dance."

"Oh...that's not a good idea, Tina. I'll have to carry you off the floor when I'm done stepping on your feet," he joked.

"It won't be that bad. Come on...Let me teach you just...a basic box step, that's all."

Hesitantly, John stood, hands in his pockets. "You're taking your life in your hands, you know that, don't you?"

"I'm ready. And I promise...I'll be gentle. Oh, hold on for just one sec," and I rushed to where my shoes were located, which was underneath the coffee table. Using my feet to turn them about so I could slip into the dress heels I heard John speak.

"Why are you putting your shoes back on?"

"Because you guys are much too tall for my little five-foot-two. I need some height, Sheriff Biebe and believe me, this extra two-and-a-half inches will make a big difference." We both laughed as I quickly scooted across the carpeting and returned to his side. "Okay, all set. How about you?"

My new student appeared somewhat put-off. "I don't know about this, Tina."

"John...it's not laser surgery. I'm just going to teach you a few basic dance steps. Nothing complicated."

"Wait until you see me dance, darlin'."

I laughed, standing directly in front of him and looked up. "Well, that's a little better." I couldn't believe I was so enthusiastic about doing this, and although he was pretending to be less than thrilled, I felt John was looking forward to the lesson. "Okay...let's see...something very simple I think to start out."

"Thank you."

"Well I don't expect you to break into your Fred Astaire imitation just yet. Now first...and I know this is going to feel weird, but let me lead, okay?"

"No problem," John confessed, chuckling.

"Just until you get the hang of it. And relax, John. Close your eyes a minute and pretend."

"What am I pretending?"

"That it's New Year's Eve...and we're in Vienna...and...." I placed my right hand in his left, "it's the grandest event on the social calendar in Austria." His other hand was placed on my left shoulder. "We'll stand about six inches apart, and hope we don't step on each other's toes. Now, you are wearing tails, and I am in a beautiful flowing gown, and we are in our own private room with our own private orchestra."

"I love how your imagination works."

"And we listen to the music....Try to sense my weight distribution and the pressure of my other hand on your back. That's how you'll know which direction to move." He was carefully listening to me, following my every word. "Now remember, we're doing this backwards, so I'm leading and doing the man's steps, but that's just until you catch on."

"Which may be sometime next year," John told me, laughing, "but I'm in your hands, darlin'."

I smiled and asked him to listen to the rhythm of the Backstreet Boys slow song which emitted from the speakers. "Just relax, John. Don't feel so tense. It's just you and me. I don't what mistakes you make." We looked into one another's faces, and it touched me inwardly seeing the trust he was putting in me. Taking a deep breath I announced, "Okay...here goes. We're just going to do a basic foxtrot. That's the easiest dance you can learn as a beginner. Both your feet are together, then it's...left foot forward; right foot forward, then left foot to the side,...then...right foot moves to the left to finish the step. Let's try it now. Left foot forward; right foot...."

I paused as the pressure of John's right foot came down on one of mine. He jumped on realizing what he had done, looking at me quite apologetically. He had been carefully watching his footsteps, but had accidentally moved the wrong way. "Tina, I'm...."

"Don't worry about it. Let's try it again. Left foot forward; right foot forward...."

I began to lose count of how many times John stumbled or stepped on my feet, but he was so sweet, I couldn't resist still attempting to teach him. Each time he got down a couple of steps, he would mess up on the next move. All we could do was laugh, but I was thankful for one thing. At least he wasn't applying all of his weight to me or they would have been rushing me to the hospital with broken feet.

That song ended, and John exhaled as though he had just taken his SAT's again without studying for them. We both laughed.

"You okay?" I asked him.

"Forget me...What about you? You're the one who got your feet stomped on."

"I'm fine."

"You're just being nice."

"It wasn't that hard, was it?"

"Oh no, no, not at all," he joked. "Tina...you're sweet to try to teach me, but I'm hopeless."

"You're not hopeless," I said gently, seeing that this was embarrassing him enough that he was blushing the nicest shade of pink. "Want to try one more time?"

"Only if you can take it, darlin'."

"I can take it. Ah, here we go," I announced as another slow song came on after a short commericial break. "Oh, this is a great song!"

"What is it?"

"'I Wanna Know' by someone called Joe."

"Oh I think I've heard this before. It hasn't been out that long, has it?"

I shook my head. "Uh-uh, it hasn't...and I think it'd be perfect for us to try to slow dance to." Holding my hands in mid-air as an indication that he should take position, he did just that, sighing and chuckling as he did.

"Ready?"

"Nope, but let's give it a shot."

"I like your spirit. Now just let the music flow, listen to it, and you can count the beat as we go -- it's no one but us."

The song was quite mellow with an almost jazz flavor to it, suiting the stylings of the artist, his voice enwrapping each note with the sincerest passion. The Alaskan was again doing his best to follow me, and as the song continued, he actually managed to accomplish left foot forward; right foot forward; left foot to the side, followed by the right foot, then left foot back and right foot back before my feet got in his way again.

"You're doing better," I assured him.

"Yeah...I get in a few extra steps before I mash your toes. Sorry I'm such a klutz, and before you say I'm not, I am, darlin'."

"For someone who's so beautiful on skates, I'd think this would be easy. I watched you on the pond today."

"Yeah, but that's ice, sweetheart. This is my two left feet with no rhythm on a floor."

"Well, let's try this," I told him as I stopped moving, and he caught himselfbefore he nearly tripped over me. Pulling him nearer, my shorter build fit neatly against John's larger body.

"Oh great. Now I'll really be on top of your feet," he teased as we were so close, I could feel his heartbeat.

"This will be a whole lot easier, John. Just...move to the music; move in place...like...this," and I led him into taking miniscule steps as we gently rocked in that one spot. At my direction, we took one small step to the left, then the right, then back again and again, and for the first time, the sheriff seemed to be catching on to the move. We weren't really dancing, but with the beautiful song playing in the background, it was quite easy to believe we were. Feeling John relax as his one arm moved from my shoulder to my waist, I leaned into him, losing myself in the music, even as I counted with him.

I began to sing along with the second verse:

'...And he never took the time to make it work. Baby, I'm the kind of man who shows concern.

Anyway that I can please you let me learn. I wanna know -- I wanna know what turns you on....'

It did not matter to me whether the song was performed by a man -- it was the words that tugged at my soul, and for a moment, I thought of Daniel. Then I remembered how gentle and patient Maximus had been, to make me forget....I sighed. John smelled so nice -- it was that cool, crisp fragrance again. I loved the feel of his sweater and how soft the flannel shirt was when they both fell underneath my fingertips. He placed one side of his face upon the top of my head, and I trembled when the edges of his hair swept near me. John -- John. *Say it loud and there's music playing. Say it soft and it's almost like praying* I had to break the mood if I could. I had invited him here for dessert and conversation...nothing more. I couldn't allow it to become anything more. It was only dinner between friends -- not a date, I reminded myself.

"Let's try something fancier," I said softly, my nerves beginning to make my stomach hurt.

"You think I'm ready, Teach?"

"I think you're ready." I pulled away, and as I did, shifted his left arm upwards. "A little bit more. There you go." I placed a hand within his upraised one. "Now...get ready to twirl me."

"Get ready to what?"

"Just stand there," and we both laughed as I made a small pirouette, nearly doing it on my toes like a ballerina. I applauded him as I returned to my original position. "Hey, great."

"I didn't do anything but stand in one spot. Want to do it again?"

"Sure." I repeated the move, but this time, added a bit of a flourish when I was done, which only caused us to laugh harder. "Ta-da."

John pulled me close again, and we returned to our little side steps, our laughter subsiding as our eyes locked. We barely moved now although Joe continued to serenade us, our bodies pressed tight, but neither of us could look away. It happened again, this time with little warning but not totally unexpected. John's lips sought mine, then captured them with such a sweet innocence, I could not believe the passion behind it. Not once did it deepen, for it was as though he was afraid of frightening me, but I didn't mind. I loved it again, as I had the first time at the rink when we had kissed ever so briefly, but my emotions were confused. What was I doing? Max had obviously trusted us, and now that trust was being broken, although in my heart, I knew there was no betrayal. Everything about this felt...well, as cliched as it sounded, it felt...right. And when I withdrew my mouth from John's, I knew the anguish in his eyes mirrored my own.

"And that's the lesson for the night," I finally managed as the song reprised the chorus for the last time.

"What do I owe you?" John asked jokingly, after swallowing so hard I nearly heard him.

I shook my head. "More lessons on Hockey 101."

"I can do that." We stepped apart, both of us searching for the words to say. Biebe looked at his watch, then stretched a little. "Geez...is that the time? I...I didn't realize how late it was."

"Is it?" I asked, my voice nearly giving out. Even to my ears it sounded tiny.

"I'd better be heading back to the Tavern before they send out the helicopters and the dogs for me." I tried to smile and softly laugh, but both came with difficulty. "Tina...it's really been nice."

"Yes it has...Thank you again...for filling in for Max." I thought perhaps if I mentioned the gladiator's name, it would instill my feelings for him, but it didn't last. All I could think of was John's kiss, his scent...the way his arms felt when holding me. I had longed to be held in those arms.

"You're very welcome, you know that. I'm just glad Max asked me to."

"So am I." /Please leave...Please leave, John. This is tearing me to pieces. You're my friend -- nothing more. I love Max. You and me...we're just friends// I was nearly in tears, and uncertain how much longer I could continue this facade of calmness. I quickly moved to the stereo to shut it off.

"So...do you still want to meet here for lunch, or we could just meet down in one of the restaurants?"

Perhaps by the light of day I would feel more at ease. I would meet with Maximus for breakfast, and hope that would enforce my affections for the general. "You can still come here. We've got a cheesecake and some chocolate mousse to finish off." There was that uneasy laughter again, on both our parts. "Is noon all right?"

"Noon will be fine. Okay then, sweetheart. Well, thanks for having dinner with me...and thanks for...well, for coffee with our dessert."

"You're welcome," I whispered.

John came to my side, and bending close, pecked my cheek. "Have a good night, Tina. Pleasant dreams."

"Good night, John. Same to you and thanks again."

Bowing his head, he hurried towards the door, leaving me standing at the entertainment center, my hands clinched and shivering, not from cold, but agony. It was happening again, I thought in a near panic. It was happening again. Maximus wasn't even here, and I was turning John away for a second night. A tiny voice in my head screamed, 'Call him back!' but I just stood there, watching as he neared the threshold. Maybe if I shut my eyes until he was gone, it wouldn't be as bad, but I could not turn away from him. All I could imagine was John as I'd seen him the night before as I closed the door behind him. Oh, not again...Not me standing in the doorway, trying to think of something to say and watching him descending the staircase. Not me once more mouthing "Good night John" then seeing him pause, as though he had heard my thoughts. I couldn't let him go again! I couldn't let him go!

"John!" I shouted, fearing if I didn't speak, I would never see him after tonight. He had already opened the door, but stopped and turned to look back at me, his concern obvious. After all, I had screamed as though I was under attack, and now was practically running to him.

"Tina, what's wrong?" I was before him, breathing hard, nearly hyperventilating. "Tina?"

Desperately shaking my head I heard myself say, "Don't go," as tears formed in my eyes.

"Tina?" he asked, his voice tinged with confusion.

"Don't go. Don't go."

I watched his eyes widen, perhaps not so much in surprise as from some struggle he was battling inside him. One hand still grasped the knob, and he briefly turned towards the hallway as if his answer was there. I fell back against the jamb, my shivering increasing as I fought the tears threatening to leave their ducts. This was just great. Not only had I succeeded in nearly frightening the poor man, but what was he going to think of me? *That Tina -- she's going to go through as many incarnations as she can while she's here. Next week it'll be Bud, then Cort, then God knows who else. This girl doesn't know who she wants. Slut! Tramp! Whore!*

"No one will ever think that of you." I saw John gazing at me, a smile pulling at one corner of his mouth. He had such a sweet lopsided smile -- I had fallen in love with it the second I saw him flash it in this reality -- and I chastised myself for the umpteenth time. How could I hurt this man this way? John Biebe had shown me nothing but friendship since my arrival, and this was his reward? Wasn't it enough that I hurt him last night without pouring more proverbial salt into his wounds. And what about Maximus? I was hurting him too. What if he walked up right now, saw me in tears and his brother resembling someone who's heart was slowly being ripped from their chest.

"What did you say?" I whispered.

"No one will ever think that of you, sweetheart," he repeated, but when he said the word 'sweetheart,' I could hear...What? Longing? It was my imagination. How could he long for me after what I had done to him? After what I was *doing* to him this moment? That was when I suddenly realized...my God, how had he known I was scolding myself so severely? I was ready to drop to my knees and ask my Lord what I had done to deserve being torn this way. All I ever wanted was to love someone, and have them return that. Instead I was hurting not only Max and John, but myself as well.

"I'm sorry," I mumbled.

"You don't have to be."

"No John, I'm sorry...I'm so sorry....What am I doing? I don't know what I'm doing anymore. I don't know what I'm doing." I was trying not to get hysterical for I abhorred that, and yet it was happening. John hurriedly shut the door, shaking his head as he did, and I felt his arms gently embrace me.

"It's all right, darlin'. It's all right," he said soothingly, rocking me back and forth. "Quit knocking yourself this way. This is all so...freaking confusing for you. I know it is. Part of you didn't plan on coming here last night but..." He lifted my bowed head, leaned forward and planted a tender kiss on my lips. I felt it again -- a warm tingling which started at my mouth and passed through my body as though John was feeding some hunger I never knew existed. I had not felt that from Maximus as much as I loved our experience together. No, here was something more. Here was something...even my writer's mind could not find the right word. When we parted, John continued: "...part of you was seeking out this place, and you didn't even know it."

"I don't understand," I confessed.

"Well...like we tell everyone that comes here, no one comes to the Crowes Nest by accident. Something...someone brought you here. Something...none of us understand, knows when you all need to come here."

I nodded. "Bud..." I paused.

"Bud what?"

"Bud said it was you and Max. You two said as much last night, but..." I shook my head again. "you told me to search my heart, to remember the one who would have been the strongest pull." He nodded. "And I know it was Max. I know it was him!"

"It was," he quietly admitted.

"Then why do I want *you*?!" I exclaimed, throwing my hands over my mouth when I realized how panicky that had sounded.

"Tina...."

"I loved you the moment I saw you," I said softly in-between the tears racking my chest muscles. I had said it without thinking. *I loved you....* Had I meant that? I loved John? I...loved...John. "The second I saw you in your movie...sitting...sitting in your truck...you hadn't said a word and...and...and I cared for you. Then...Then...when Bud...when he...."

"I know darlin', I know. Just please...don't keep beating up on yourself this way. You're not being fair to yourself, Tina. This isn't your fault. It isn't."

"Yes it is."

"No, no it's not, and believe me...you won't be the last one who says that any confusion is your fault. It's very...very understandable."

I was worried I'd make myself sick as the tears tore through my body, but John never let me go, allowing me to cry onto his sweater as he gently held me. I was not even sure how much time had passed, but the longer I remained in his arms, the more at ease I became until this pain of my own making lessened. Gulping, I felt the tips of the sheriff's right fingers tenderly touch the edges of my hair. Closing my eyes, forcing back tears, I could feel my body trembling even harder as my blonde tendrils were caressed as though the most precious thing in the world.

"What are these?"

Beneath dampening lashes, I looked up to see the thoughtful smile on my companion's face. "Excuse me?" came my choked reply.

"Your curls -- I've never seen anything like these. What's it called? I mean, if the style has a name."

Tugging at my lower lip, then swallowing, I managed a small smile, wanting nothing more than for the world to come to a stop in order to preserve this moment. "Straw curls," I whispered. "They're called straw curls."

"Straw curls? That's different."

"Well...the hairdresser...my hairdresser...she uses straws instead of conventional curlers to roll the hair." I could not imagine why he was curious about this very feminine aspect of my grooming, but I saw nothing but fascination in those blue-green orbs gazing back at me. "Just regular old drinking straws, and the hair is twisted around them," and using a finger, I tried to demonstrate. "Then when the straws are removed, the curls -- they just have a different texture to them, and usually it means, the style lasts longer. It's...It's...very popular among African-American women." One of his large hands gently brushed those that tumbled over my forehead and along the outline of my face, until the back of it traced my cheeks, along my chin...down to my throat. Our eyes were locked, both of us unmoving.

"What you ladies won't do to make yourselves beautiful," Biebe remarked, some humor in his words, and I returned his smile. /Say his name, Tina. Say his name. Let his name slip over your tongue as if it was life to you// "You're so lovely."

/Oh God....// Before I could gasp in surprise, I shut my eyes again, and I am unsure if it was because I was afraid I would awaken, or if I was afraid that some other reality would crash down about me. This could not be happening. A year ago, would any man have even said something like that, and now, in little more than twenty-four hours, two men had made unbelieveable declarations to me. "No," I muttered, shaking my head slightly. "No."

Even in the darkness of my own making I could just glimpse specks of light, sense movement as the Alaskan stepped back a little as if worried he had frightened me yet again. "Tina...Sweetheart...don't ever think you're not lovely. Don't ever think you're not worthy." Sniffing, when I did open my eyes, I kept my sight downward, too nervous to look at him. "Do you know..." There was a pause and I realized he was gathering his nerves. "The moment Bud brought you to the table I....." The accent drifted again. "I couldn't believe how lovely you were. I never imagined...." He stopped and I slowly glanced up, noticing that John was looking away from me. For a second, I could have sworn he was speaking as though we had met before, or that he had almost expected me to appear, but that was impossible. I must have misunderstood that part -- but I had not misunderstood the rest. "I don't know which of us was the most nervous. I...never...expected you to react to me the way you would to Max...but you felt something too...didn't you?" The words *didn't you* were said almost hesitantly.

"Yes," I finally said, uncertain as to how much time had passed, only knowing that the tears were flowing more intensely. John's eyes returned to mine. Swallowing the lump lodged in my throat, I repeated, "Yes...I...I knew it too."

A thumb gently pushed aside my tears, lingering momentarily just below my eyes. "Has anyone ever told you how sweet your freckles are?"

I chuckled, shaking my head, trying not to cry, but finding I was unable to cease my emotion./Say his name as if it was life to you// "John." Never had a name sounded more angelic to me. His lips brushed against my upraised ones, indecision once more in our actions, then finally lingered as my arms eased about his neck as if the most natural thing in the world. The sheriff's hands roamed along my bare arms until they rested on either side of my waist, and then we were still, our kiss remaining warm, gentle, the passion behind it slowly flowering as I felt him pull me nearer. The cotton weave of his sweater brushed across my breasts, and my nipples hardened. Letting my hands stroke the thickness of his auburn hair, I briefly recalled my fantasies, then realized no fantasy, no dream could ever be as wonderful as feeling this man hold me to him.

When we parted, our foreheads lightly eased against the other's, and I knew we were attempting to catch our breath.

"Tina..." John started, but I spoke quickly, knowing if I did not, I would lose this moment forever, just as I had the previous night.

"Make love to me," came the barely audible words.

The Alaskan's head raised so he could see me better, his eyes twinkling. "Tina..."

"Make love to me, John," I said somewhat louder, beginning to feel lightheaded. Where in the world had shy Tina disappeared to, someone once afraid to love and be loved back. I felt so tiny as he embraced me, but there was nothing in his movement which was threatening or made me fear him. In fact, I could not have felt more contented.

Cupping my face, he kissed the tip of my nose, then my mouth before he confided, "I want you, Tina."

*I want you Tina* Had I not heard that in my thoughts during the day? "I want you too," I confessed, hoping he understood just what this meant to me. When I had watched him walk away, I considered again, a large part of me had longed to follow, wishing to say...I still was uncertain what. All I knew was, I needed to make him comprehend the turbulence in my heart and mind when I came to that crucial decision regarding him and Maximus. "About...John...about...last night...."

"Sh...It doesn't matter anymore, darlin'. Last night doesn't matter."

"But I have...to...."

"Tina...Sh...Last night doesn't matter. You didn't hurt me. I understand what you did...and why, but never, never think you did something wrong."

"But I hurt you, John -- I...."

"Tina...you could never hurt me," I heard him tell me, such affection brimming in his eyes I could hardly believe it. His left hand clasped my right, and I realized only then that these were the same hands we had shaken with in the Tavern on our first meeting. *When we had almost never let go.* If there were tears somewhere within this strong man, he hid them, but I felt his hand shivering within mine. His mouth moved but nothing emerged until his third attempt. "You can't imagine how long I've waited for you."

That last statement was unclear to me, but I no longer cared. My right palm eased away, then caressed his beard as I searched his features. No other words were required. I felt for the lock, turned it, then smiling walked away. I moved about the sitting room as I turned off the gas logs in the hearth, then extinguished all the lights until the only artificial illumination came from those burning in the adjacent room. Through the open balcony doors, the moonlight glimmered, casting a milky-white glow as I slowly walked towards my bedroom. Arriving in the doorway, I turned to look back from where I had come. John stood in the center, hands resting on his hips, his head down as though deep in thought. I didn't know what was in his mind right then. All I remembered was his movie -- when he was out on the ice, alone, the night before the game. Fighting whatever fears he might have....That sweet confession to Donna....*You can't imagine how long I've waited for you* I wanted to know what he meant, but right now....Well, as the sheriff had said, it didn't matter.

"John," I called to him in a strong voice, my smile enough to brighten the entire apartment. He looked up, hair briefly falling before his face until he pushed it back in that move I adored. He returned my smile as I held out both hands in a gesture which spoke volumes. Unspeaking, he approached me, and once before me, on my bedroom's side of the threshold, he bent forward just enough to seek out my mouth. Time again stood still for me, and after shutting the double doors, I desired only one thing: to have John love me forever -- exactly as I would him....

On to Part 8 (coming soon)

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