Marcus leaned forward and slowly laced his long fingers together, eyeing the girl appreciatively. "That would be wonderful, Tracey."

A light flush rose on her cheekbones, yet she struggled to retain a lazy sensuality that would attract him, ambling her way back to the kitchen with swaying hips and young, upthrust breasts. Marcus watched the show with amused interest. Yes, she reminded him of Andrea, only she was perhaps a bit more dumb and a little less used.

When she returned with his order and a Miller Genuine Draft on the house, he had a picture in his hand. "Tracey, do you recognize this woman?"

The waitress squinted at the photograph and slowly shook her head. "I don't think so. Where is she from?"

"Well, she was last sighted in the Coudersport area, north of here."

"I live near there!"

Marcus sighed. "Too bad you haven't seen her."

"Is she a runaway girlfriend?" she questioned, disappointment settling over her face, even as she tried to remain nonchalant.

"No. No relation. She's wanted for an insurance... issue," he stated carefully.

"Hey, are you some sort of detective? A P.I. or whatever they call it?"

He chuckled. "Something like that."

"Well, I'll keep my eye out for you.

"Good. Let me give you a number where you can reach me." He scribbled down his cell number and gave her a lazy but pointed smile. "Day or night, Tracey."

She blushed, full and heavy this time around, but took the number, brushing his fingers in the process, and then brazenly tucked the slip of paper into her bra, giving him another good view of the sweet, soft meat encased within.

Marcus swallowed, momentarily allowing his mind to flash to a vision of Tracy tied to a bed, waitress uniform ripped open to the waist, as he took a crop to those heavy, lush mounds of creamy flesh, bringing up contrasting welts like the stripes of a candy cane. He envisioned her screaming in both pain and pleasure.

"I'll call if I see or hear anything... uh, what was your name?"

"Tony," he replied. "Antonio Marco."

He turned to his plate of fries and a burger, dismissing the girl momentarily. His mind whirled toward business matters, and the series of necessary phone calls he would make upon returning to the motel. Tonight, he was too busy to mess with a local waitress.

Tomorrow might be another matter.

Wrapping her body in a warm, terry robe, Alex wandered downstairs to boil water for a cup of Chamomile. She was humming, contented now that she had worked through the events of the afternoon.

It was best that Michael Dalton had put a stop to the heated interlude between her and Jamie. God only knows what might have happened if he hadn't.... yes, it was best. There simply needed to be some distance between them for the moment. Jamie had an effect on her that she didn't entirely understand, but it certainly had something to do with her own loneliness and vulnerability. And it was causing her guilt.

The phone rang. She picked up the receiver. "Hello?" There was nothing.

"Hello, Eden Ranch. Hello?" She paused, and heard the slight wisp of breathing from the other end. She slammed the phone back into the cradle as the whistle of the tea kettle rose in pitch.

Alex poured her tea, stirring, and the phone rang again. She answered, again to malevolent silence. She hung up, hesitated briefly, and then lifted the phone out of the cradle. She wouldn't listen to some asshole play games with her all evening.

She added honey to the amber liquid, and then sipped languidly from the ceramic mug. It soothed her immediately.

Alex then contemplated trying to muscle the ancient TV antenna into surrendering enough crackly reception to watch a program. Although it was likely to be Pennsylvania Polka, or something worse. She would definitely call for satellite TV tomorrow. Glancing down at her watch, she ambled through the archway into the living room.

Dead fear stopped her cold. There was a woman, a woman sitting in the wheelchair...right there in front of her. A small, ancient lamp touched the contours of her face with a muted glow. The amber light proved there was no illusion, no play of shadows. She was real, she was solid. Right there in the middle of the room.

The mug slid from her fingers and bounced soundlessly on the old carpet. A hot spray of water patterned her feet. Alex felt the burning pain of the steaming tea, but couldn't move. Her mouth opened to emit a whispery breath, but it was soundless. Fear gripped her with cold talons.

The woman was old, stooped, and sheathed in soft wrinkles. Her gray hair was long and plaited in thin, crooked braids. She smiled then and raised one gnarled finger. Her mouth was closed, but Alex heard a voice.

"Watch yerself, Alexandra. There's bad ones about."

Her body felt light, limitless, as if gravity had ceased its unrelenting grip. The lamplight grew smaller, a tiny dot of color down an endless stretch of space. Mercifully, Alex simply fainted.

Waiting for Eden ~*~*~*~*~*~.

Chapter 12.

Tracey pulled into the Sheldon driveway at eight-thirty. The sunset had dimmed to a copper glow above the treetops, melting like candle wax into the black, rustling boughs.

Dismissed early again, she thought bitterly. And she'd had nothing but a single beer before work. The thirst gripped her at the very thought, knotting her stomach and constricting her throat.

Mary Lou Riker, daughter of the long-dead Deena, was nothing but a jealous bitch. It had really rankled the old bat when Tracey had been the one to receive all of the handsome stranger's obvious attention.

"You gave him to me, Mary Lou, fat old shrew," she muttered, slamming the car door. The little sliver of paper scratched at the skin inside her brassiere. She wished she could think of an excuse to call Tony. No, Antonio. He must be Italian, she thought dreamily.

Her worn flats made a crunching sound on the gravel. It didn't look like anyone was home anyway. Jamie was never around anymore, the rotten shit. And she was sick of Diana's quiet, knowing looks. Queen Mother Diana. Knows all, sees all.

"Well, you don't know shit," she announced to the solid oak door, then roughly seized the knob and twisted.

The door was unlocked. She slipped inside, threw her purse on the table, opened the fridge and swiftly popped the top of a Yuengling lager. Four long draughts and she started to feel much better. She paused, thinking, and then headed determinedly for Jamie's room. Perhaps he was napping, and she could slip into bed with him. Like old times. Antonio had made her so damn horny!

Disappointment assailed her when she discovered that the room was empty. Flicking on a lamp, she then decided to snoop. After all, there had to be a reason why he was out more and more of late. He could be seeing someone. Her lip curled, distorting her delicate, feminine features. She'd kill the bitch and him too.

After ten minutes of yanking drawers around, she'd uncovered nothing other than two new names added to his phone list on the desk. Alex Winters and Curt Greenwick. Curt was definitely a man. Alex could go either way, she supposed.

A man's shape appeared in the dimly lit doorway. She whirled.

"What are ya up to, Tracy?"

She sighed. "Aaron. You sneak."

"Look who's talking." Jamie's brother stepped into the room, crossing his arms with a grin.

"Do you know where Jamie is?" She took a defiant swig of the lager.

"You'll run him off for good if you don't quit that shit. And your pot."

"That's not what I asked you, Aaron. Is he seeing someone?"

"He went for a ride on Lilah. Long one, I guess."

"It's almost dark!"

Aaron flicked on the overhead light absently, erasing the shadows in the room. "He's a big boy, Tracy. The dark doesn't scare him, and you don't scare me."

"You didn't answer me, Aaron. Is he seeing somebody?" She struggled to keep the shrill quaver from her voice, but didn't completely succeed.

Aaron regarded her with silence. Her lower lip quivered, and she sucked again at the beer bottle, draining the last of the amber liquid. Her blond locks had escaped her ponytail to curl around her face. Her clear blue eyes still watched him defiantly.

He caved. "How the hell should I know what he does with his free time?" he finally grumbled, obviously feeling guilty over something.

"You're his brother," Tracey said sulkily. "Thought you would know."

"I just don't think ransacking his room's the right idea, Tracey. Come on, now."

She looked around the disorderly bedroom, realizing she had closed none of the drawers, and left neatly stacked papers in disarray.

"Fuck him." She waltzed past Aaron with her head held high.

He grabbed her arm. "Tracey, wait."

"Fuck you," she said tartly, and watched his jaw tighten. "I'm going out for a drink."

"Why don't you just go home to your place, Tracey? I'll go with you. We'll pick up a movie or something. "

"My place? It's not my place. It's a fucking shack and it belongs to my asshole father. I hate it!" She finally managed to jerk her arm from his grasp.

"Tracey-"

"You can kiss my ass, Aaron Sheldon." She turned away as tears exploded, and ran down the stairs.

Aaron sighed, and leaned against the doorjamb wearily. When he heard the front door slam, he walked to Jamie's window and looked below. Tracey got in her car. Seconds ticked by, then the door opened again, and screeching, she leapt out and kicked the tire.

He jingled the car keys in his pocket. "One step ahead of you, this time, honey buns," he murmured. But instead of returning to confront him, as Aaron had expected and even hoped, Tracy headed through the back yard in the direction of the old summer cottage. Well, good enough. If she was bent on getting drunk, it was best she wasn't behind the wheel of a vehicle.

Sighing again, he tried to put some order to his brother's room. He'd walk out and check on Tracey a little later. If he went now, she'd deck him.

Night had fallen swiftly. The muted ache in his arms and legs reminded him of the long, hard day he had put in riding. Jamie pulled the barn doors smoothly together, grateful that he had recently oiled the hinges. The squeaking had been getting to him.

A slim, shadowy figure awaited him outside. He paused, eyebrows raised.

"Aaron?"

"Howdy, big brother."

Jamie stuck his hands in his pockets. "If you've come to help me tuck Lilah in, you're too late."

"What the hell are you doing, Jamie?"

"I told you, I'm-"

"Quit fucking around with me!"

He was taken aback by the vehemence in his brother's voice. "I'm not sure what you mean," he said quietly.

"Does Alexandra Winters ring a bell?"

Jamie felt his body tense. "Sure it rings a bell, Aaron. She's our neighbor."

Aaron crossed his arms and whistled low through his teeth. "That's soooome neighbor, too. Fine piece of ass."

Jamie sighed and hooked his fingers through his belt loops. "Don't bother, Aaron. You're not gonna get to me."

"Don't want to get to you, brother. I want to get to her." He shook his head. "Just wanted to make sure you weren't interested before I took a gander at her. Christ, I'd love to slip my dick into that hot little-"

A fist connected with his jaw, and Aaron tumbled backward. But not before he hooked his fingers in Jamie's shirt, bringing him down for the ride.

They rolled over one another in the dewy grass. Aaron felt a hot pain in his gut as Jamie's fist found him again. Then he was on top, feeling a moment's sharp pleasure as his knuckles raked his brother's face. Then Jamie was hauling him up, and his body hit the barn door hard enough to wrench a gasp from him, and a nervous neigh from the horse inside.

When Jamie released him, he nearly slid to the ground, but managed to keep his boots up and under him. Aaron spat the blood out of his mouth and laughed, as his brother paced furiously. "Now I know the truth, Jamie. You've got it bad."

"Kiss my ass."

"Heard that earlier tonight. From Tracey."

Jamie halted in his tracks.

"Yeah, that's right. Forget about your other piece of baggage?"

"She's hardly baggage, Aaron."

"Bullshit. She's nothing to you now. Why don't you just cut her loose, Jamie?"

"Cut her loose? Cut her loose? From me? From our family? She needs us all!" Cursing, he spat at the ground, and no longer able to keep his long legs still, he paced, back and forth in front of the silent barn.

"That's only your opinion, Jamie," Aaron returned quietly. "A bit conceited too, I might add."

"But you know what happened before! What if...."

"What if she does it again?" Sighing Aaron shook his head. "I don't know, Jamie. But something's got to change around here. Everyone's miserable. Especially Tracey."