Meg released her stranglehold on the bush and lunged for another one. She pulled up inch by inch. She'd be at least a year older before she saw the bats.

The twins urged her on. She reached for another branch and scooted farther up the side of the hill. She

had nothing to fear.

She glanced down. Clay still stood on the ground. He'd hiked one foot up so it rested on the hill, but his arms hung at his side as though he were waiting for her to climb farther before he followed.

She moved her foot to a large rock protruding out of the dirt. She knew how strong rocks could be, so she shifted her weight to that side. The rock broke free of the earth and fell down the side of the hill.

Losing her footing, she dangled from the bush.

Then she heard a crack. Clay was right. The sound of a crack when you weren't wanting one was

deafening. Almost as deafening as her scream as she slid down the hill.

She came to an abrupt halt with the hard, prickly side of the hill pressed to her stomach, and a strong, firm man pressed against her back.

He'd kept one foot firmly planted on the ground. He'd dug the other one into the side of the hill. She was practically sitting on his hard thigh with her body nestled against him so her head Tit snugly against his shoulder.

"Are you all right?" he asked quietly, and his breath whispered along the nape of her neck.

She turned her face to tell him that she was fine and he didn't need to hold her. He furrowed his brow, and sorrow filled his eyes.

"Ah, you scratched your face," he said in a low voice as he gently touched the tips of his fingers to her

cheek.

He gazed at her cheek, and Meg wondered how badly she was cut. Her check smarted, but it wasn't the small ache that brought tears to her eyes. It was the expression of wonder on Clay's face.

"Dear God, but you're soft," he said in a raw voice.

He lifted his fingers away from her face and stepped back. Meg stumbled before catching her balance.

Averting his gaze, he shoved his hands into his pockets, reminding her of a lost little boy. He looked as

though he'd just discovered something he'd have been better off not knowing.

He cleared his throat and scuffed the toe of his boot against the ground, turning up the roots of the grass and weeds. "You gonna try again?"

Meg brushed her raw hands together. "Is that the only way up?"

He nodded solemnly. "I could go up right behind you. Stop you sooner if you lose your hold."

"Isn't there a chance that we'd both just tumble down the side of the mountain?"

He gave her a lopsided grin. "Yeah, but I'd be softer to fall on than the ground."

She wasn't completely certain about that. From what she'd just felt, his body was as rock hard as the

stone into which he cut. She breathed deeply. "All right. I don't want to disappoint the twins."

She grabbed the bush that had served her well during her first attempt to climb the hill, and she placed her foot on a scraggly bit of earth. Clay moved behind her, and she pressed her body against the earth.

She eased her way up. He swung his arm over her and grabbed a bush above her head. His body

brushed against hers. Kirk had always smelled of bay rum. Clay shelled of the earth, strong and musky.

He didn't attempt to cover his male scent. He was as natural as his rocks.

She pulled up to the next bush. As close as her shadow, he stayed with her. She imagined that the positioning of his body over hers gave the appearance of a compromising situation, which prompted her to move a little more quickly.

"Don't rush," he said.

"I'd like to get to the top before I'm an old woman."

Her foot slipped. His hand clamped around her waist "Slow and easy will get you there," he said.

"Patience is not one of my strong suits."

He chuckled. "I know."

She jerked her head around. "What did Kirk tell you about my patience?"

"Nothing. Now reach for the roots of that tree."

Meg did as instructed, over and over, reaching for the limbs and roots he indicated, pulling herself up,

gaining ground slower than she would have liked, but losing very little. He began to slip his foot beneath hers, giving her additional support More often, he only used one hand to hold onto the side of the hill.

With his other hand, he held her waist or splayed his fingers across the small of her back. She thought he probably had the largest hands in the entire state. And perhaps the strongest. And in an odd sort of way -the gentlest.

It also occurred to her that he seemed extremely skilled at helping someone climb the hill. She wondered with how many other ladies he might have shared the bats.

"Just a little more, Miz Meg!" Josh yelled.

Meg scooted up and felt small hands grab her wrists.

"That's it, Miz Meg," Joe said. "We won't let you fall."

She smiled as she eased over the edge of the hill. Then she shrieked as Clay pushed against her backside

and sent her sprawling over the top.

She scrambled to her feet and glared at the man as he worked his way over the edge. She was tempted to place her foot on his shoulder and send him back down the hill.

Rubbing his hands on his thighs, he turned as red as the sun-banked horizon. "I'm sorry. It just seemed

the best way to get you over the edge."

Meg dusted off her skirt and flicked her hands over her backside. "No harm done, but I think I could have gotten over without assistance."

"Come on, Miz Meg," Josh said. "It's pert' near time."

The boys grabbed her hands and pulled her toward the far side of the plateau. When they reached it they

released their hold, fell to their stomachs, and peered over the ledge.

"Oh, don't do that," she said. "You'll fall."

"No, we won't," Josh assured her.

"It bothers Mrs. Warner for you to be so near the edge," Clay said. "You won't miss anything if you

scoot back."

Joe glanced over his shoulder. "How come we can call her Miz Meg and you can't?"

"Because she and I have a business arrangement. It wouldn't be proper."

"She call you Mr. Holland?"

"No. You need to be watching for the bats now."

Meg was grateful the boys turned their attention back to the view before them. She didn't want to explain

why she wouldn't say their brother's name. Carefully, she walked to the edge and eased onto her stomach beside Joe. Clay stretched out beside Josh, and she was glad they had the buffer of the twins between them.

"Gawd Almighty! Look at the sky," Josh said.

"Yep, it's beautiful all right," Clay said.

The deep blue sky melted into wisps of pink weaving among streaks of lavender and orange. Meg

couldn't remember the last time she'd actually watched the sun set and appreciated its majestic farewell. The moon was already a faint glow as though anxious to bring on the night. "Do you come here often?" she asked. "Yes, ma'am," Josh said. "As often as we can. It's a good place to be glad for all the things we have."

For all the things they had: an occasional biscuit, a brother who was shunned by the community. She didn't know if their innocence was a blessing or a curse. "Look, Miz Meg. There they are." She peered over the edge at the hills fanning out over the countryside. She saw a small spiral of smoke rising into the fading sky. "Where do they come from?" she asked.

"We don't know," Josh said. "We figure there's a cave or somethin' down there, but it's one of those things where the not knowin' makes it special." Josh scrambled over Clay's back. Quickly, Joe followed him. Josh reached across Clay and patted the spot he'd vacated. "Move over here, Miz Meg, so you can see better." She wanted to tell them (hat she could see just fine where she was, but she could tell from their expressions that the twins thought they were offering her the most wonderful gift in the world. How could she possibly face them tomorrow if she hurt their feelings now?

She scooted over until she was as close to Clay as she could get without actually touching him. The twins nestled beside Clay as though settling in for a long night's sleep. The spiral of smoke widened and reached higher. The flurry of activity blackened the sky. Meg hard the high-pitched squeaks and rustle of wings. She'd never experienced anything like it. Moments passed, and no one spoke, as though each was mesmerized by the incredible number of pats soaring toward the distant horizon.

"Where do they go?" Meg whispered.

"Got no idea," Clay said.