Chapter Three

"We saw Ricky Davidson today."

Stevie looked up from her plate to see that everyone was very carefully not looking at her. It gave her a very nervous feeling. She and Ricky had been friends as teenagers, and she knew that many had assumed they would eventually marry. As things turned out, Ricky had gone off to college for a year and then straight into a two-year mission to Canada. Stevie had been kicked out of the church while he'd been gone. Swallowing a mouthful of tuna casserole, she addressed her mother. "He's back?"

"Yes. He looks good. He's changed."

There was still no eye contact. Since it was expected of her and she didn't know what else to do, she took the bait. "Changed how?"

"He seems quieter. More mature. More sure of himself."

Letting her eyes check each person at the table, Stevie's hackles began to rise. Mom and Dad; her older brother, Sam, and his girlfriend, Gillian; her younger brother, Rory; they were all studying their plates as though they had lost something precious there. Something was up and her whole family knew she wouldn't like it. Yet, they were doing it anyway. It had become so typical of the way they treated her. "And...?"

"He asked about you."

Trying to stay calm until she knew what to be upset about, Stevie took a drink of milk before responding. "What did you tell him?"

"Not much, but I did give him your phone number. I hope that was all right. You used to be friends."

Stevie bit the inside of her cheek while she considered things. She didn't want to start a huge family fight, but she also didn't want to get blind-sided by whatever they were up to. Self-preservation won out. "That's okay. I'd kind of like to catch up with him anyway. I'm just curious why all of you look so guilty."

They all stole little glances at each other and then Rory sighed. He was usually the first one to break. "He's going to ask you out."

Stevie looked at him in astonishment. "Ask me out? Like...a date?"

Rory nodded reluctantly.

"No way."

"You and Ricky used to be so close," her mother said. "Just give him a chance."

Stevie couldn't believe it. She felt as though she'd been betrayed. Did they just not understand what being gay meant? It seemed pretty obvious that they still thought she was in a phase and that they'd asked Ricky to ask her out. Too stunned to really get angry just yet, she just gaped at the hopeful look on her mother's face.

"You might surprise yourself," her father finally chimed in. "You never know when love will come to you. Or what kind of person it will be."

Rachel's beautiful face flickered in her mind's eye. Of course, it was just too soon for her to announce that she had already found someone to love. They were barely friends yet. Stevie opened her mouth to rant and shut it again as she remembered something Rachel had said.

"How long did it take for you to come to terms with your sexuality? Maybe you ought to give your folks the same amount of time to accept it."

A feeling of calm settled over Stevie. She looked at the situation with that thought in mind. At least they were trying. Trying the wrong thing, perhaps, but trying, nonetheless. Would it hurt to go out with Ricky? Sure, he was probably going to try to get her to see the error of her ways, but she wanted to see him anyway and she didn't have to do anything that made her uncomfortable. "All right," she said out loud.

"What?"

Stevie almost laughed at the group exclamation. "I said okay. I'll go out with him. But I'm not going to wear a dress or make-up, and I'm not going to pretend to be someone I'm not."

Rory snorted. "Then what's the point?"

He pushed her back. "It's supposed to be a date. Not a freak show."

Stevie flicked his ear and made him yelp. "Not like your last date, huh?"

He grabbed for her ear to retaliate and their father's voice barked, "Not at the table."

Stevie kicked Rory's leg under the table and mouthed, "Later, worm boy."

"Bring it on," he whispered.

"Stephanie?"

Cringing inwardly at the hated name, Stevie met her mother's eyes. "Yes?"

"Thank you."

It felt like she was being thanked for more than agreeing to their plan. Maybe it was that she'd handled it without her usual impatience. "You're welcome."

The rest of lunch was relaxed and cheerful. Much better, in fact, than any lunch in the last two years. Even her father smiled a few times. It felt pretty darn good.

After lunch, her dad went to his study, Sam took Gillian on a drive and Rory went out back to play with his dog. As usual, being the only girl meant helping with the dishes. It wasn't something she thought much about anymore. It's just the way things had always been done. She and her mother worked together smoothly from long practice, but the silence was awkward.

"Are you going out with Ricky just to make me happy?"

Stevie almost jumped in surprise at the abrupt question. She nearly lied to make her mother feel better and then changed her mind. "Mostly. I mean, I'd like to see him again, just to catch up, but the date part of it is for you."

"Then you're only pretending to try."

For a few seconds, Stevie battled the urge to grab her mother and try to shake some sense into her. She ran her hands through her hair in an attempt to calm herself. "It's not like I haven't spent years trying already, mom. I've been out with a lot of guys. You know that. I did the whole dressing up thing and trying to be feminine. I let them talk about themselves and hold my hand. I even let a few of them kiss me, but I never felt anything. Nothing good anyway. But if you need me to try one more time, I'll do it."

Her mother looked utterly dejected. "Why bother?"

The look on her mother's face hurt her to the bone, but rather than get defensive and angry, Stevie opened up. "Because I want you to love me, mom. I want you to be proud of me. That's all I've ever wanted."

Tears filled Helen Marks' eyes. "Stephanie..."

"Please, mom. Call me Stevie?"

A single tear flowed down Helen's cheek. She put a hand out and laid it on her daughter's arm. "I do love you, Stevie. I've always loved you and I am proud of you."

"Of what I do for a living, maybe, but not who I am." It felt dangerous and scary to stand up to her mother like this, but it felt good, too.

"I'm trying, honey, but...I just don't understand you."

Taking a deep breath, Stevie folded her arms and leaned back against the counter. "If you made Rory wear a dress and go out with a guy, would you understand when he told you that it just felt wrong to him?"

"Of course," she said with a shake of her head.

"Then listen to me, mom." Stevie stepped forward to put her hands on her mother's shoulders. She focused everything she had into her eyes and her words, hoping that her mother would finally hear her. "It feels wrong to me. I like guys. I really do. As friends. More than that is just wrong. I can't even begin to tell you how terribly wrong it is for me. I feel it in my soul. Have you ever felt that? Like everything you are on every level knows that something isn't right?"

Compassion began to show in her mom's eyes. "Yes, but..."

"There is no but, mom," she said with gentle force. "It just is, and you have to trust that I'm grown enough to know how I feel. Now, if Ricky follows through and calls me, I will go out with him. If I feel even a flicker of something beyond basic friendship for him, I'll pursue it. I promise you that. But, if I don't, I really need you to start working on accepting me the way I am. I need you and I don't want to lose you."

Her mother's unexpected embrace brought tears to her eyes. She could feel that her mother was crying, too, and she couldn't help wanting to fix it. "I didn't want to be gay," she cried past the ache in her chest. "I tried so hard not to be. I tried pretending that I felt something for boys, but the feelings never came. I felt so empty and miserable inside, but I just couldn't make it happen. I'm so sorry. Please don't hate me."

"I don't hate you, honey."

Their embrace lasted for several minutes, each trying to comfort and accept the other. When it ended, tears were surreptitiously wiped away. Wanting things to be easier between them, Stevie offered an olive branch. "A friend of mine told me something the other day. I've been thinking about it a lot."

"What's that, dear?"

"Well, she asked me how long it took me to come to terms with my sexuality. I told her four or five years altogether, and she suggested that I give you and Dad the same amount of time."

Her mother cocked her head thoughtfully.

Stevie shrugged. "It's only fair. Besides, I'm really lucky compared to some. Some of the people I've met were shut out by their families completely. You guys never did that. I guess I should have said before now how grateful I am that you're still talking to me at all."

Helen reached up to caress her daughter's cheek. "Oh, honey. I would never deny you. Not ever. I've never stopped loving you and I never will. No matter what, you'll always be my baby girl."

It was obvious that her mother was sincere. Stevie wasn't sure how they had gotten to the point that they could talk like this, but she hoped it never stopped. Fighting back fresh tears, she put an arm around her mother's shoulders. "I need to find me a girl just like you, mom." She watched the flush of embarrassment climb her mother's throat and then yelped at the savage pinch she received. Rubbing her butt, she backed away cautiously.

"Brat."

Feigning disbelief, Stevie reached for an old joke between them. "Me? But you said I was your favorite flower."

Helen laughed briefly, some of the pain leaving her eyes. "That's right. You're my Blooming Idiot. Go on now and pick on someone your own size."

Stevie's smile was ear to ear. "Love ya', mom."

***

Wiping off the counter one more time, Helen shook her head as Stevie raced outside. She did love her daughter. She loved her sons as well, but the love she had for her daughter was leaps and bounds stronger. From the moment the tiny girl had been placed in her arms, she had known that the two of them shared something unique. Today had been the best talk they'd had in years. Helen knew it was because Stevie had made an extra effort. Ricky Davidson was not the only one who was calmer and more mature. Stevie had really surprised her today with her attitude and willingness to express her feelings.

Helen looked out the kitchen window into the back yard and had to smile. Stevie had just tackled Rory to the ground and was rubbing his face in the dirt. Within moments, Rory was chasing his older sister through the yard. Her little girl had always been the rough and tumble sort. Memories of her baby played like a slide show in her head: mud baths, climbing trees, arm wrestling, skinned knees, playing football, catching every bug and snake in the neighborhood for examination, taking to the bikes and motorcycles like she'd been born to them; her nature was there in every memory.

Like little Stephanie's fourth Christmas. Money had been so tight that year because of the hospital bills for Rory's birth. Helen had collected aluminum cans for weeks in order to buy her daughter the latest and greatest doll. Poor Stephanie had cried for three days straight over that purchase. Helen had finally given in and tearfully exchanged the doll for the biggest Tonka truck she could afford. Her daughter had been beside herself with joy.

Like the year she was picked to be Mary in the Christmas pageant and Stephanie had thrown an Academy Award winning fit until she was allowed to be a shepherd. Again.

Like the time she had hunted down the four boys that had been teasing Rory about the patch he'd had to wear to correct his lazy eye and beat them bloody. She had come home from that little adventure with a broken finger and two black eyes and adamantly refused to accept that her behavior had been unacceptable. Helen had been secretly proud of her daughter's actions that day.

It was all there in everything Stephanie-Stevie-had ever done.

She remembered now how much Stevie had always hated the dresses and Sunday shoes. And the make-up! What a giant struggle that had been. Stevie had always been the first to point out the inequities of how girls were treated as opposed to how the boys were treated. She had never really accepted any of it and a temperamental sullenness had been the result of her compliance, but she had done it.

Helen suddenly saw quite clearly how hard Stevie had tried to be a normal girl. And she understood for the first time that it had always been wrong for Stevie. Helen grasped the counter for balance as she understood that Stevie wasn't the one with the problem. She was. They all were.

"I've been so blind," Helen murmured. She could see now that Stevie had always been the way she was. She'd been born that way. Helen could hardly imagine the torment Stevie's childhood had been with everyone trying to make her be what was so obviously wrong for her.

Yet, after all that, no matter what they said or how they treated her, she kept coming home, week after week, suffering their disapproval and disappointment in the hope that her family would someday welcome her again. The only one to show even the slightest affection had been Rory. She knew that they sometimes got together away from the house and she realized that Rory had never really cared what his sister was. He did and said what he had to with the family around in order to keep the peace. It shamed Helen to the bone.

"My Lord," she breathed. "The courage it must have taken to tell us."

"Tell us what?"

Helen turned to see her husband at the kitchen counter. "Stevie. Can you imagine how much courage it must have taken for her to tell us that she was gay? Then being excommunicated and keeping her dignity intact? Not only that, but to keep coming back week after week for nearly two years, hoping that we would come to accept her? Where did she get that kind of strength?"

"Youthful rebellion," he said dismissively. "Now that young Ricky is back, she'll come around."

"I don't think she will."

"I know she will," he said firmly. "This all started when Ricky left for school. She was missing him and being gay was her way of acting out. It might take a couple of months for her to come to her senses, but she will."

Helen shook her head. "It's not going to happen, Jacob. Our daughter is a lesbian."

"Don't say that word," he said tightly. "She's not that. It's just a phase. A year from now she'll be married and pregnant."

"And if she's not?"

"She will be."

An hour earlier and she had believed the same thing. Now it just sounded so foolish. "Stevie is not the one in denial. You are."

"Enough!"

His bellow made the windows rattle. For a moment, Helen was too taken aback to respond. Then her anger came forth. "No. It's not enough."

"My daughter is not gay!"

"Well, mine is! And you know what? I think God made her that way on purpose."

"That's blasphemy," he hissed.

"Only if I'm wrong."

Jacob slammed both hands down on the counter. "Two hours ago, you were scheming with her old boyfriend and now you're giving up? What's wrong with you?"

"Nothing is wrong with me, Jacob. I'm finally coming to my senses."

"Losing them is more like it."

It was rare for her husband to be so incensed, so it was with some trepidation that she stepped closer to him and put a hand on his arm. "I love her, Jacob. I love her desperately and I always have."

"I love her, too," he said through gritted teeth.

"Even if she's a lesbian?"

"No! Yes!" Angry confusion was evident on his face. "You're twisting my words!"

Knowing he was too angry to listen to anything in that moment, Helen backed off and waited for him to get himself under control. She knew that her husband was a very stubborn, black-and-white kind of man. It was, at times, very comforting, in that it made him decisive and focused. Problems didn't stay problems long around him. But, this time, he was going to have to bend. He would not be able to force a change in his daughter's orientation merely by the strength of his will. Especially since Stevie had inherited a fair measure of that stubbornness herself. If Jacob kept pushing, Stevie would eventually go away. Helen did not intend to allow that. Just how she was going to prevent it was not quite clear to her yet, but she suspected she would have to lead the way for the rest of her family.

Helen searched her mind for the name of the support group Stevie had tried to tell them about last year. The literature had ended up in the fireplace where Jacob had thrown it. All this time she's been begging us to listen and understand. It's a miracle she hasn't given up on us.

"Stephanie is going to go out with Ricky and everything will be fine again. She'll put all of this nonsense behind her and do the right thing. Of course, she'll have to stand before the congregation and ask for forgiveness, but we'll stand with her in support and she'll eventually be re-baptized."

Unsure where this new strength was coming from, Helen lifted her chin. "First of all, she prefers to be called Stevie."

"She's my daughter. Her name is Stephanie and that's what I'll call her."

"Fine, Jake." She watched the nickname score. He hated being called that. "Second of all, this nonsense may very well be exactly the right thing for her. You're not the one who gets to decide that."

"I am her father. She's my responsibility."

"Not anymore. Last time I checked; she was taking responsibility for herself. She owns her own home free and clear, Jacob. She owns her own business. She's making a ridiculous amount of money racing in a man's sport-and winning. She pays her own bills; lives an independent life and she's done it without any help from us. We no longer have the right to make decisions for her."

"When she's in this house..."

"Oh, give it a rest," Helen exclaimed crisply.

"Don't you dare talk to me like that. You show me respect."

"I'm trying," she all but yelled. "But you're not being respectable!" Her carefully ordered arguments went out the window. "You're being hateful and cruel!"

"Shut up!"

Helen stiffened as her arms were taken in rough hands. She had never been handled in anger before and she was a little surprised at the strange composure that came over her. "Take your hands off me," she said calmly. "Right now."

Jacob's face instantly registered that he had crossed a forbidden line. He let go of his wife and backed up. "I didn't mean to grab you like that," he stammered. "You just made me so angry. I don't understand why you're defending the girl. Homosexuality is a sin, Helen. You know that. Why are you suddenly on her side?"

"Because I love her, and she needs me. I love her so much that I'm starting to not care what she is. Stevie needs me to love her because of what she is. I don't know yet how I'm going to make that happen, but I'll find a way." Helen stepped up to Jacob and put a finger firmly in the middle of his chest. "Know this, husband; the persecution of Stevie for having the courage to define her own life is over. My daughter is a lesbian and neither you, nor God, have the power or the right to change that."

Helen poked her finger into his muscled chest one more time for good measure and then went out onto the porch. Her two youngest children were tossing a baseball back and forth. Rory's dog bounced between them as he tried to catch it. "Stevie?"

Stevie fielded the ball and then shaded her eyes to look towards the house. "Yeah?"

"Ricky did ask about you, but I suggested that he ask you out and talk to you about coming back to church." It felt good to get the truth out. "I'm sorry."

"That's okay," Stevie called back. "I figured as much."

"I'll call him and tell him to forget it," Helen added.

"Nah, that's alright. I'll take care of it."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah. I'll handle it, but...thanks."

She's so forgiving. Where did she get that from? "Stevie?"

"Yeah?"

Helen took a deep breath. "What was the name of that support group you tried to tell us about last year?" She heard her husband's hiss of anger and ignored it.

Stevie looked confused for a moment. "P-FLAG?" Her arms fell to her sides and she took two steps forward. "Do you want me to get the number?"

"No thanks, honey. I'll take it from here."

"Uh...okay."

As she stepped back into the house, she heard Stevie's yodel of joy and it made her smile. Anything that made her daughter that happy had to be a step in the right direction. She would find this P-FLAG organization and go every day if that's what it took to make things right with her little girl.

Jacob was waiting for her with a scowl on his face. "I forbid you to talk about our family with strangers. You will not do this."

Helen could not recall ever being so angry. She had no idea how she managed to sound so calm. "Let me tell you a couple of things, mister. If you ever touch me in anger again, do not fall asleep where I can reach you because you will most assuredly wake up in the hospital. You forbid me? I think not, and if you can actually say that to me with a straight face, we are in serious trouble as a couple. I don't like the way things have been going around here and I'm not going to put up with it anymore. You can either get with the program or get the hell out."

Maybe it was the fact that she had put her foot down. Maybe it was that she'd actually used the word 'hell' as a curse word. Maybe it was because she had just threatened to leave her husband of nearly thirty years. Whatever it was, it left her husband staring after her with a look of complete and utter shock.

***

"That can't be good for you."

Rachel wiped at her mouth with toilet paper and flushed the toilet. She went to the sink and started washing her mouth out. "It doesn't feel so good, that's true."

Tawny was trying to glue her eyelashes on straight. "Maybe you shouldn't be doing this kind of work. I mean, if it's stressing you out this much…"

Rachel opened her cosmetics bag and took out a toothbrush and paste. "It is stressful, but I'm adjusting. I just can't make this kind of money doing anything else." Rachel made a face. "Not that it's enough. I might have to get another job doing waitressing or something." She put the brush in her mouth and started scrubbing.

"You'd make more doing the lap dances. How come you don't want to do them?"

Rachel tipped her chin up so she wouldn't drool toothpaste. "Too personal. Don't want to touch them."

Tawny clearly didn't understand that. "I saw the one you did yesterday. You've got a knack. You could make a lot of money really fast."

"And lose my integrity," Rachel said.

"Whatever."

Rachel finished brushing her teeth and rinsed out her mouth. "I guess I'm an old-fashioned girl. I can dance, but the touching feels really creepy to me. I just can't do it."

Tawny stomped a foot and stared at her fingers. "Damn it. I just can't get this fucker to work today. I've glued it to my finger three times in a row."

Rachel put her hand out. "Want me to help?"

"Please?"

She smiled at Tawny and tipped the girl's chin up. Her own lashes were gloriously thick, so she didn't have to do this for herself, but she knew how.

"You're too nice for this job," Tawny said. "I've seen you rip Gary a couple of times, but it's like you don't really know how to be mean."

Tessa made a face. "I think he likes it when we curse him out. Like he thinks it's foreplay or something."

"You need to figure out how to make him think he's won. He won't quit until you cry. I'm not supposed to tell you, but he's rigging the crowd with women tonight. He's gonna make you lap dance them all."

Rachel's hands stilled for a moment and then resumed. "I guess I'm quitting then."

Tawny looked as shocked as she could without moving her face. "You would rather quit than lap dance some women?"

"The women part doesn't bother me," Tessa clarified. "If I allow Gary to force me to do something I don't want for his personal amusement, it's no different than rape. I'm not in the mood to be raped tonight."

Tawny waited until her eyelashes were on to respond. "Are you really gonna quit?"

"If I have to."

Tawny peered into the mirror to double check Rachel's work. "You're kind of a prude, Rachel. Maybe that's why Gary is picking on you."

Rachel lifted an eyebrow. "Not wanting to do a lap dance for a stranger isn't what makes one a prude, Tawny. It's being too ashamed of your own sexuality to do it for your lover that makes you a prude. Trust me. I don't have problems in that area."

"I didn't know you had a lover."

"I don't at the moment. There aren't many good women who will tolerate me doing this kind of work. Plus, I'd like to get my finances under control before I move in with someone. Right now, if I can't pay my rent, I'm the only one who suffers for it."

"You keep talking about being in debt. How'd you get in debt in the first place?"

Rachel sighed. "My dad left me with debt. I'm stuck paying off his bills."

"He's dead?"

"Cirrhosis of the liver. He drank himself to death."

"Bummer. What about your mom?"

Rachel put up an emotional wall. "I don't want to talk about her." It was all acting, of course. Her parents were alive and well, though not still married to each other. Rachel had good relationships with them and their new spouses, but that wouldn't do for her undercover character.

"Sorry."

"It's alright. I don't mind you asking, I just don't want to get into it."

"Okay."

Rachel looked at herself in the mirror. This might be the last time she had to get ready to do this job. Knowing that made it feel not so sickening, but she still had to go out there and let it develop. She couldn't storm out and pick a fight about seeding the club with women because she wasn't supposed to know. Rachel pinched her nipples to make them stand up more and flipped her hair back over her shoulders. "Alright. Time to face the music."

Rachel smiled all the way back to her crappy apartment. Sure enough, there had been eight or ten women in the club and Gary had been laughing when he'd told her they all wanted a lap dance. He'd stopped laughing pretty damn quick when Rachel quit. He didn't believe it at first, but the absolute best part of his reaction had been when he screamed at her in the parking lot that he was going to punish her by not letting her work until Friday. Rachel's first impulse was to laugh at him, but if she could get back in, that would be a good thing. She had turned and screamed in disbelief, "Friday? How am I supposed to eat and pay rent?"

"You should have thought of that before acting like such a bitch!"

It left Gary feeling like he'd won and Rachel like she'd dodged a bullet.

Now she had most of the week off. She would have to let her contacts know what was going on, but she looked forward to getting some sleep and maybe putting on a few pounds. Rachel thought about Leona and wondered if she had any more pie.

***

Helen couldn't remember ever being more nervous in her life. Finding a phone number for P-FLAG and calling for meeting times had been tough enough. Walking into the basement meeting room of a local Baptist church was taking every smidge of courage she had. It occurred to her that the only churches she had ever entered had been LDS ones. She knew next to nothing about Baptists.

The only reason she knew she was in the right place was the P-FLAG flyer on the door. At first, she thought she was alone, but there was a woman her own age at a table stapling papers together.

"Am I in the right place?" she asked tremulously.

The woman looked up with a smile. "Let me guess…one of your kids?"

Helen felt like a stiff breeze would make her shatter. "My daughter."

"Well, if you're here, it means you truly love her."

Helen started to cry. She was mortified at her loss of self-control. Arms came around her almost immediately and she gratefully accepted them.

"I'm sorry," the woman said. "I always forget that the first time is the hardest. My name is Pat and I know exactly how you feel. Let's sit down. Would you like some coffee or herbal tea?"

Five minutes later, Helen had herself under control and tea was steeping in a plastic cup. "I'm sorry. I don't usually fall apart like that."

"I can tell that about you."

Helen cocked her head. "How?"

"You seem pretty classy. I'm willing to bet that breaking down is very unusual for you."

"Thank you?"

Pat laughed. "Don't mind me. I'm not much better than trailer trash. All kinds of things fall out of my mouth and I don't seem to have much control over it."

Oddly enough, Helen was starting to relax. "Too much control can be just as awkward, I suppose."

Pat smiled. "I'm going to start over. Hi! I'm Pat and welcome to P-FLAG. This isn't really a meeting time. It's just coffee and tea for anyone who wants to drop in. I usually sit here all by myself for an hour, but I think it's important to offer a completely unorganized time for people to drop by. Are you the woman that called yesterday?"

"Yes. I'm Helen."

"Excellent." Pat sipped at her coffee and relaxed in her folding chair. "Your daughter is the reason you're here," she prompted.

Helen squeezed her teabag against the side of her cup with a plastic spoon. "Yes. She's been trying to get through to us for quite some time."

"She's been out for a while then?"

"She's been…out…for about two years. We haven't been very…accepting."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

She did. Helen was a little shocked about all of the information that came pouring out of her, but it felt so good to actually say it. It was cathartic and liberating to finally talk about how she felt and what was happening. Pat listened with Olympic skill to the outpouring.

When it was over, Helen felt twenty pounds lighter.

Pat was smiling at her.

"I guess I needed to talk," Helen said with a little embarrassment.

"I guess you did," Pat chuckled. "Your daughter sounds amazing."

"She is," Helen said with burgeoning pride.

Pat sat forward. "People fight for what they believe in. We see it every day. The really beautiful thing about our children is that they're fighting for love. That's what they believe in. They're warriors of the heart and all they want is for us to love them. If we can find it within ourselves to love and accept them as they are, our relationships with them become so rich and fulfilling. My son never ceases to amaze me with the vitality of his heart and mind. I had no idea that I was participating in the creation of a person with so much empathy and integrity. The journey you are on with your daughter is just beginning."

Warriors of the heart. It was so easy to see that in Stevie. Helen's resolve to work through her issues doubled. "I don't think it's enough to accept her sexuality. I think she needs me to approve. How do I do that?"

Chapter Four

It was late Wednesday afternoon. Rascal Flatts was playing on the boom box and Stevie had her practice stunt bike in pieces in the garage floor. The seal on the front forks needed replacing and it was due for a detailed inspection and tune-up. With the garage door open and the sun shining in, it was almost like being on vacation. Stevie loved working on her bikes. Sometimes she thought about chucking her straight job and opening a dirt bike shop, but she thought it might get old and boring if she had to do it for other people. She suspected it was more fun doing it just as a hobby.

Later on, Dusty and Greg would drop by to help her finish the job. By the time they got there, she would have a good idea if there were any other problems that needed attention and they would work together to fix them. Life was good.

"Hello, Steph."

His voice startled her, and she barely kept from squealing like a little girl. Stevie looked up at an older, better groomed version of an old friend. "Hey, Ricky. How's it going? I heard you were back."

"Good," he nodded as he stuck his hands deep in the pockets of his slacks. "I go by Rick now."

"Okay. I go by Stevie. How was Canada?"

"Not much different than here, but the winters were tougher."

Silence bloomed like a fart in an elevator. Stevie realized in that moment that their brief conversation was about as much as she wanted to know about the guy she'd known. They really didn't have anything in common anymore. Still, the manners her parents had drummed into her needed satisfaction. She pointed to the love seat along the back wall with her screwdriver. "Have a seat, Rick. There are sodas in that icebox. Help yourself."

"Thanks."

Stevie saw him hesitate with the fridge door open and remembered that she had beer in there for her crew. She opened her mouth to explain and changed her mind. It wasn't his business and what he thought shouldn't matter.

Rick sat down with a root beer and looked around. "This is your place?"

"Yep."

"Nice."

"Thanks." The silence came back, and she said the only thing she could think of. "Thought you were going to call."

"Your dad suggested I just come on by. I got the feeling you were expecting me."

"Ah." Stevie leaned back on her hands. "You saw him today?"

"Yeah. I went to see him about a job. Look, I can come back another time if you'd rather."

"No. Now is a good time. Did he give you a job?"

"Yes, he did."

"Let me guess. Night security guard."

Rick grinned. "That's right. Take a ten-minute walk once an hour and spend the rest of the time studying in the guard booth. Just what I need."

Stevie felt sorry for him. He'd finished a year of college before the church had sent him off to win converts in the Canadian wilderness. Now, he was twenty-one and still had to finish his schooling. He'd be working low-wage non-demanding jobs for the next several years while he caught up. Being the night security guard at a used car lot wasn't the worst job he could have ended up with. "You staying with your folks?"

"Yes."

"Bet they're glad to have you home."

"They are. It's kind of hard though. I've been living pretty much on my own for the last two years and now they want me to respect a curfew. Mom checks to make sure I make my bed every morning."

Stevie chuckled. "Sucks to be you."

He smiled back at her. "I think my father forgot my name. He calls me Son all the time. Cool at first but getting old fast."

"I'll bet."

"You still racing?"

Okay, I can do this. "Weekends mostly. I do a lot of traveling for it."

"Any money in it?"

"Not from the racing so much, but my sponsors paid for this house."

His face showed his surprise. "No kidding? Are you that good?"

"I currently rank second in the Regionals," she said with quiet pride. "I'm pretty good."

"I had no idea."

"I'm getting some pressure to go National, but I'm not sure I want to put the time and effort into being that good. I like my day job and I like being home more often than not. If I went National, I'd have to live and breathe Supercross. It's a hard life and the higher you go, the more dangerous it gets. Besides, it would mean a huge legal fight. They don't like to play with girls."

"As long as you're happy with what you're doing now, why push it? It seems like you're doing really well."

"Well, I know that I get more sponsor attention because I'm a girl. It can be pretty embarrassing."

"Sucks to be you."

Stevie had to laugh. She had that one coming.

Rick gestured at the bike parts. "Is this one of your racing bikes?"

"Stunt bike, actually."

His eyes widened. "The aerial stunts?"

Stevie looked around at the parts. "Yeah. It's good to strip them down on a regular basis and make sure there are no problems. It has to work just right or you're in trouble."

"The flying through the air, back-flip kind of stunts? You do that?"

"You have to throw in something flashy once in a while. I'm not good enough for the X-Games or anything."

"Wow. Isn't it kind of dangerous?"

"Oh yeah." Leaning a little to her right, Stevie pulled her left shoulder forward until the ball slipped out of the socket. "I did that about a year and a half ago."

"Yikes. Doesn't it hurt?"

"Nah. Happens all the time." Sitting up straight, she did a little twist and flip with her arm and the joint reassembled itself with an audible pop. "Good as new."

Rick was looking at her like she'd grown another head. "I understand the racing. I did a little when I was a kid and it was fun, but the aerial stuff...why do something so dangerous?"

"Because it's one of the three most amazing feelings in the world. There's just you and the bike up in the air. Any one of a million things can go wrong at any moment and the ground hurts. Odds are that you're going to bite it bad. But when you're in the zone and you know it's going to work, everything's beyond perfect. It's like flying to heaven."

"I'll take your word for it," he said with a shake of his head. "But just for the sake of curiosity, what else is on your top three list? Base jumping? Getting shot out of a cannon?"

Stevie smiled, unaware of how beautiful she looked in that moment. "Love and brand-new underwear."

Rick laughed and relaxed into the love seat for the first time. "I can totally relate to the underwear thing. I learned a lot the last two years, but how to do laundry was one of the biggest. About two weeks after I got up there, I washed the whites with red socks."

"Oh no."

"Oh, yeah. I wore pink underwear for most of a year. It's hard to be proud when all your shorts are princess pink."

Stevie had to laugh in relief. She'd been expecting the inquisition. "Bet no one asked to borrow them."

"You got that right."

"It's good to see you, Rick. I'm glad you're back."

"Me, too. You know, I'm pretty sure your dad expects me to marry you."

"What?"

"Your mom wants me to talk you into coming back to church, but your dad seems to think I can straighten you out."

The humor of it was beyond Stevie's reach. "Don't worry about my mom. I think she's having a change of heart. But my dad..."

"He told me that you think you're gay."

Stevie stared right into her old friend's eyes. "I am."

"Good."

Now she was shocked. "Excuse me?"

"Come on, Stevie. It's about time you figured it out. I always knew."

"You did?"

"Sure."

"And you don't have a problem with it?"

"Should I?"

"Considering that you just got back from two years of preaching the word of God, yeah. I thought you'd come in here and start off with what a sin it is for me to be gay."

Rick was grinning ear to ear. "Maybe next time."

"You know that I've been excommunicated by the church? I don't think you're supposed to even be talking to me"

"If they ask, I'll just say something profound about lost sheep."

Stevie snorted in amusement. "You would, too."

Rick leaned forward and put his elbows on his knees. "My faith is in God, Stevie. Not the church. Now, the church works for me and I'll probably spend my whole life as a member, but I'm still capable of making up my own mind about things. In fact, I believe that God expects it of us. After all, he did give us free will. Why would he do that if he didn't want us to use it? A critical part of free will is thinking for ourselves. I've studied the Bible, Stevie. All of it. I've read Leviticus. Have you?"

"Not really," she admitted. "Just the parts that people have thrown at me."

"Understandable," he conceded. "Well, I've read it. Half of it is devoted to describing when, how and what to sacrifice to get into favor with the Lord. Animal sacrifices. It's barbaric."

"I didn't know that."

He sat back and took a long drink of his soda. "There's a lot of stuff in Leviticus that deals with who you can't have sex with. The punishment is usually death. I don't see us out there killing child molesters or rapists...not that I don't think we should. My point is that out of the entire book of Leviticus, Christian society has taken one rule and is using it to justify the persecution of an entire class of people. The rest of the book is tossed aside, but they're going to keep that one thing. It's not right. It's not Christian and I won't be a part of it."

Stevie could hardly believe that this was the guy she'd known from years ago. He was the same, only smarter and more tolerant. Two years on a mission usually turned out folks who were so black and white that shadows gave them hives. It was pretty clear to her that the brainwashing hadn't taken on this one. "Well, gosh, Rick. You've changed a lot. I guess I'll have to marry you after all."

Root beer sprayed out of Rick's mouth and set them both to laughing. "No offense, Stevie, but I don't want to marry you."

"Why not?"

"Cause you can kick my butt."

Stevie reached over her shoulder to pat herself on the back. "I've still got it."

"Only cause no one else wants it."

"Hey!"

"Unless...do you have a girlfriend?"

Stevie picked at a seam on her Levi's. "No."

"Aah, I can sense that you are holding something back. Tell Elder Davidson all about it. You know you want to."

She rolled her eyes at him. "You're such a putz." Rising to her feet, she went to the wash basin and began scrubbing her hands. "There's nothing to tell."

"That explains why your ears are blushing."

She flicked water at him just for knowing her that well. "I've met someone."

"And?"

"We're just starting to be friends, but I'm hoping it turns into more."

"What's she like?"

Stevie finished her hands and turned around while she dried them. Just being able to talk about Rachel made her heart beat faster. "She's gorgeous."

"Of course. That goes without saying."

"No. I mean, she's gorgeous. She has this wild dark hair and the greenest eyes in the whole world. And she's just so nice. She's older than me, but not so much that it's a problem. I think at first she thought I was just a kid, but that's starting to change. I mean, I know I'm young, but I do own my own home and business. I'm reliable and responsible. I think, in time, she'll stop seeing my age."

"What does she do for a living?"

Stevie stood still, her teeth biting her lip. She just knew he was going to have a problem with it. What should she say? Did she dare tell the truth?

"Stevie?"

Her eyes tracked back to him and she tried not to panic. "Hmm?"

"What does this dream girl of yours do?"

Stevie took a deep breath. He'd been more than okay about the gay thing. Maybe she should give him the benefit of the doubt. "She's an exotic dancer."

Rick's mouth fell open. "You got a stripper?"

Stevie rolled her eyes. "I don't got anything, Rick. Like I said, we're just starting to be friends. We're a long way from anything more."

"Wow. I'm guessing your dad doesn't know."

"No." She headed for the fridge to get a soda.

"Wow," Rick repeated. "You know, when he does find out, his head's going to split wide open and a three headed peacock is going to prance out and poop on everyone's shoes."

That image sent Stevie to her knees and she laughed so hard she was snorting. Repeatedly. That's when Dusty and Greg showed up.

An hour later, Stevie was done wheezing and all four of them were sitting on the garage floor around her bike. Rick still didn't know the difference between a cotter pin and a bobby pin, but he could clean something if you showed him what you needed done. The three guys were getting along well, though Dusty was having a very hard time understanding why someone would go off on a mission that you had to pay for yourself.

"But, if you get more people to join up and they pay tithing every month, why shouldn't you get a commission?"

"It's not a job," Rick answered easily. "It's a calling."

"A calling?"

"Yes. God called me to go on a mission."

"He called you?"

"On my soul phone."

It took a moment for Dusty to get the joke and they all laughed. "That's pretty pathetic," Stevie teased.

"It was big in Canada," Rick grinned.

"Probably 'cause there wasn't a moose in it," Greg laughed.

"How many people did you convert?" Dusty was like a dog with a chew toy when he didn't understand something. Which was often.

"Four families and two individuals."

Dusty considered that for a moment. "Is that a lot?"

"It's not a competition," Rick explained. "It's about finding people who are unhappy with their lives and giving them something that fills in the empty spaces. The Mormon Church isn't for everyone, but for those of us it fits, it's like coming home to a family you didn't know you were missing."

"I've heard that the Mormons are like a cult."

Stevie worried that Dusty had gone too far, but Rick fielded it with ease.

"Do you know what the difference between a cult and a religion is?"

Dusty shook his head.

"Well, if you look them up in a dictionary, they're exactly the same except that a cult is considered unorthodox. Both of them are basically a belief system. Do you know how a religion is determined to be unorthodox?" He waited for Dusty to shake his head again before continuing. "Two things. First, how many followers does it have? If it's three hundred, it's a cult. If it's three million, it's a religion. The other determining factor is how the media feels about it. If they don't like or understand it, it's a cult. It's one of those words that riles people up and sells papers. They do the same thing with the word regime as opposed to government. My point is that it's all a matter of perspective. Is the Catholic church a cult?"

"Uh...no?"

"That's right. A great many people find solace and comfort through the teachings of the Catholic Church, but the church is also responsible for some truly horrific things. Take the Inquisition. Did you know that somewhere in the neighborhood of nine million women were brutally tortured and murdered over a three-hundred-year period because they were thought to be witches?"

Dusty's eyes were wide and the carburetor in his hands was forgotten. "Nine million?"

"Do you really think that even one of those women actually rode a broom or had sex with Satan? I think not."

Dusty was shaking his head thoughtfully.

Rick sighed and went back to cleaning the bike's frame. "The Mormon church has committed massacres too, though nowhere near as devastating in the number of lives lost. As terrible and unforgivable as those events were, Mormons are not a cult. People are free to join or leave as they wish. Sure, there's peer pressure, but Mormons don't imprison or torture those that wish to find another life path. Mormons are not going to suddenly drink cyanide punch for some obscure reason. We aren't perfect, but we aren't monsters either."

"Oh." Dusty only hesitated a moment before asking his next question. "How many wives are you allowed to have?"

"Jeez," Greg sighed. "Do you think before you speak?"

Stevie shared a wink with Greg. She'd talked to him about the drunk driving thing when he'd arrived, and everything was copasetic again. She didn't like when they fought, but better fighting than going to a funeral.

Rick was still totally at ease. "Well, there's not really an upper limit, but generally speaking, seven is a good number. One for every day of the week."

Even Stevie was speechless. Rick broke the stalemate by busting up laughing. "You shoulda seen your faces!"

Mormons were always so defensive on that subject. Rick had taken Stevie completely by surprise. The fact that he got her so good made her laugh hysterically.

***

It was nearly ten before the bike was back together and running like a top. Stevie made her specialty for dinner (box macaroni and cheese with cut up hotdogs in it) and the guys scarfed it down like it was steak and lobster. Her crew left first, and Stevie put a hand on Rick's shoulder before he could escape. "I'm really glad you came by today."

"Me, too. Maybe I could come by again sometime?"

"My door is open, Rick. You're always welcome." She walked beside him out to his parent's car. "You're really good with people. You know how to explain things and make them think. Did you learn that on your mission?"

"Let's say that I refined it in Canada."

Stevie nodded. "Are you still planning on taking business courses in college?"

Rick opened the car door and leaned on it. "Actually, I'm thinking about being a teacher. High school preferably."

"Perfect," she nodded in approval.

"Thanks for a great evening, Stevie."

"You bet. Next time, wear jeans."

"I will." He started to get in the car and stopped. "What's her name?"

"Huh?"

"Your friend. What's her name?"

Stevie couldn't help grinning. "Rachel."

"Beautiful. I hope I get to meet her someday."

"I hope so, too."

"Bye."

Stevie watched him drive away before going into the house. The entire evening had been fun and very interesting, but now her house looked like it had hosted a frat party. "Time to get this mess cleaned up and get some sleep."

***

Optimal Computer Diagnostics was situated in a modest strip mall between a UPS store and Van-Allen's Dry Cleaners. It wasn't a very big store compared to what most consumers were used to, but it was plenty big enough for what it did. The front half of the store was as much a lobby as a display area for the products they sold. The back half of the store was a workshop where they repaired and optimized computers.

Stevie had two employees. The Bobs were cousins, both named after a beloved grandfather. They did not look anything alike. In fact, Stevie was pretty sure that Tall Bob was not entirely human. As near as she could tell, he had no body hair. Not that she wanted to know for sure. Tall Bob was her Code Master. His ability to communicate with other people was severely limited since he seemed to think in computer code. What took a normal tech an hour to figure out, Tall Bob found in mere minutes. The longest Stevie had ever seen him work on a code problem was five hours and twenty-seven minutes. The guy was brilliant until you asked him how his day was. He wasn't always capable of answering such a question.

Short Bob was the hardware guy and he helped out at the front counter as needed. He was as brilliant in his own way as his cousin, but Short Bob seemed to think he lived inside World of Warcraft. According to Short Bob, the time he spent working was actually just a dream he had while he slept.

Stevie was pretty sure he meant it. No one knew what his avatar's name was in WOW. It was how he kept the real world and the dream world separate. He became very suspicious if people asked him about WOW. He thought they were trying to spy on his real life from within his dreams.

He also behaved inappropriately if you left him alone in the shop for more than a few minutes. Twice Stevie had walked in on him naked, stoned and singing Barry Manilow at the top of his lungs. She still had nightmares about it.

Stevie opened her shop at nine in the morning. The Bobs came in around ten. The shop would close anytime between six and seven in the evening. It depended on the customers. Stevie was seriously thinking about hiring another employee. She needed someone more dependable on the front desk and they had a ton of old parts that needed to be recycled. None of them had time to do it, but they all agreed it was the responsible thing to do. One day soon, Stevie was going to have to break down and start doing interviews.

She was a few minutes early on Thursday morning. Unlocking the front door, she flipped over the open sign as she entered. Stevie put the Atari box on the counter and went to turn on lights. She'd gotten the Atari deck working and decided that it would be awesome in the lobby.

Stevie had done some research on the games Mrs. Hennessey had given her. There were eleven that were worth some serious cash. Three of them were still in the original shrink wrap. Mrs. Hennessey had no idea the treasure trove she'd handed over so trustingly. One of the games would almost certainly go for over ten grand. Stevie was going to keep them in the safe under her desk. No one else had access and they would be safe there. She would sell them when she could and give the money to Mrs. Hennessey. It was the right thing to do.

The lobby floor needed to be mopped and there were fingerprints on some of the display cases. The Bobs would never do that sort of work. It was all up to Stevie. It was just one more reason she should look for another employee.

By the time the Bobs showed up Stevie had the Atari set up, the pricey games locked in the safe and the lobby was shiny and clean. She was looking at the manifest of work and was pleased. Nothing was being neglected or shunted to the side. The Bobs were doing a good job. Maybe it was time to buy them lunch or something.

Tall Bob was first through the door. He looked at Stevie with blank eyes. She nodded at him and he seemed to relax. He went straight to his workstation and settled in. Short Bob came in seconds later and scowled at her.

"Morning, Bob."

"Did you make coffee?"

Stevie was used to his gruffness. The trick was to stay calm and not take anything personally. "Do I ever?"

"No. Why is that?"

"You know I don't drink coffee."

"Fucking un-American."

"Watch your mouth. And just so you know, most coffee comes from South America. It starts out as un-American."

Bob stared at her for a few seconds. "I don't believe you."

"Look it up."

"If I cared, I would." His eyes squinted at the new Atari system. "What the hell is that?"

"Behave yourself today and I'll let you play with it." Stevie watched him as he went to get a closer look. He stood there for a couple of minutes without moving and then moved quickly to his desk. Stevie smiled. It had to be killing him that he couldn't play with it right away.

Stevie called a few customers to tell them their computers were ready and dealt with a couple of walk-ins. She sold a custom gaming laptop to a guy getting ready to go off to college. It was way more processing power than he needed for school, but it was what he wanted.

She spent her spare time designing a desktop for Mrs. Hennessey. All it really needed to do was access the internet and play solitaire, but she wanted it to be a dependable, flexible unit. The less it needed upgrading as the internet expanded, the better it would be for Mrs. Hennessey. Simple, yet sophisticated, was the key.

Stevie looked up as the bell over the front door opened and her heart stopped. She stood up and her chair fell over.

"Hi, Stevie."

"Rachel." Stevie spun around and picked her chair up. It took two tries to get it set correctly. Straightening, she brushed her shirt to make sure it was clean and smiled. "Hi."

Rachel leaned on the counter and winked. "I thought I'd drop by and see where you work. I hope that's okay."

There wasn't a sexier woman on the planet. Stevie was sure of it. "Oh, yeah."

"So…this is where you work?"

Stevie realized she'd been standing there staring like a doofus. "Sorry. Every time I look at you, I get stupid. Yes, this is my business. We sell some parts and a bit of software out here. That loveseat and television are the lobby if you're waiting for something. I just got the Atari hooked up today. It's pretty sweet."

Stevie followed Rachel awkwardly around the lobby and answered questions. It didn't take long. Stevie hesitated at the shop door. "Um…I'll show you the shop, but I should warn you about the Bobs first."

"The Bobs?"

"Tall Bob and Short Bob. They work for me. They're really good at their jobs but both of them are somewhat…challenged. Tall Bob thinks in code so he doesn't really communicate very well with humans and Short Bob…well…I'm just praying he isn't naked back there."

Rachel started laughing and then kind of choked to a stop. "Do you mean that literally?"

"Unfortunately," Stevie said with embarrassment. "I can pretty much guarantee he'll ask you if you've ever faked an…um…it." She knew she was blushing, but there was nothing she could do about it.

"An orgasm?"

Stevie nodded. "He asks all the women that. I wanted to have the shop be open for customers to see into, but that turned out to be a bad idea. If he wasn't so good at his job, I'd have fired him a long time ago. They're both geniuses. The only reason they work here is that they can't get work anywhere else. No one else will put up with their social disabilities."

"So, you keep them in the back where no one can see them."

"As much as I can." Stevie pointed to a racing schedule in the front window. "I've got my races posted so people can see when I'll be here. I've been thinking that I need to hire someone who can work the desk and keep things clean. I just don't like doing the interviews. It's so hard to know who will work hard and be honest."

"True. Are you going to introduce me to the Bobs?"

Stevie almost said no, but if they were ever going to be friends, Rachel would have to meet the Bobs at some point. It was inevitable. Steeling her courage, Stevie opened the door.

Tall Bob looked up and froze. Stevie spoke evenly. "This is Rachel."

He continued to stare.

Rachel lifted a hand and gave him a Vulcan salute.

Tall Bob smiled and went back to work. Stevie was amazed. He hardly ever smiled. She gave a thumbs up to Rachel and led her deeper into the shop.

Short Bob was semi hidden behind a rack of shelves and he was listening to music. It took Stevie a moment to place the voice: Englebert Humperdink. The music wasn't bad, but it was horribly out of character.

Stevie rapped her knuckles on the shelf. "Hey, Bob. This is Rachel."

He turned and looked at her like he was having trouble focusing. "You hired someone? Does she know anything about computers?"

"She's a friend, Bob. She just came by to see how…"

Bob pointed at Stevie and his eyebrows shot up. "It's okay for you to bring people in here, but I can't do it? How is that fair?"

"Ease up," Stevie ordered with a side of frustration. "When you own your own shop, you can bring in all the people you want." Bob snorted at her and looked Rachel over. Stevie could see it coming. "Don't do it, Bob. I'm warning you."

Rachel leaned up against the shelves with a wicked grin. "I've never faked it. Have you?"

Stevie clapped a hand over her eyes.

"Once."

"Why?"

Stevie moved her hands to her ears and hummed. She really didn't want to know the answer to that question. She watched Rachel and Short Bob exchange a few words and then they both laughed. Stevie kept humming until Rachel moved in front of her and gently pushed her back a step. She lifted her hands cautiously and asked, "Is it safe?"

"It's safe," Rachel teased.

"Hey!" Bob called out. "Are you two having sex?"

Stevie's tongue tied itself in a knot and crawled down her throat.

Rachel lifted an eyebrow as she looked Stevie in the eye. "We're thinking about it, but it's none of your business."

Stevie couldn't get out of the shop fast enough. Rachel was laughing and Stevie closed the shop door. "Uh…"

Rachel put her hand on Stevie's belly. "We are thinking about it, right?"

Stevie took a deep breath and mustered her courage. "I do think about it, but…I want to get to know you better first."

Rachel cocked her head with a grin. "I'd like that, too. Is the offer to teach me to ride a dirt bike still open?"

"Really? You want to?"

"It sounds like fun."

Stevie ran her fingers through her hair as she thought about her schedule. "I'm going out riding with the guys on Saturday morning. I don't know if you want to hang out wi…"

"I don't mind," Rachel said quickly. "I'd like to meet your friends. Outside of the club, that is."

Everything stilled inside of Stevie. "Have they been back to see you?"

"No," Rachel said in a rush. "I just meant I haven't seen them since your birthday. That's the only time I've seen them, but the other girls say they've been there before."

Stevie's guts were churning.

"Are you getting jealous?"

Stevie shook her head in denial, but her tongue wouldn't behave. "I know it's none of my business. I know that. If it's guys I don't know, it's not so hard, but I don't want my friends ogling you. It makes me feel…angry."

"This is my job, Stevie. You can't make choices for me about that. If your friends show up, I'll be friendly to them, but I don't do lap dances anymore. Not for anyone. My boss tried to force me this week, but I quit. He's punishing me by making me stay off work until Friday. My point is, they won't see anything they haven't seen before and they won't get to touch at all. I can protect myself."

Stevie considered it. "Maybe that's what my problem is. I haven't figured out how to protect myself from what they might say. I guess that's my problem, not yours."

"Are you having problems already?"

Stevie shrugged. "A little teasing. I can handle it."

Rachel stepped closer. "I'll tell you what. If they show up at the club, I'll call and let you know. That way you'll be prepared. Teasing is usually harder if you don't know when it's coming."

Stevie felt like she'd been overreacting. "Okay. Do you still want to ride with us on Saturday?"

"I would."

"Cool. Let's start with Quads. My house at nine? Is that too early?"

"I'll be there."

Stevie couldn't help watching the wiggle in Rachel's walk as she left. How did girls get that? Why was it so darn sexy? "She's thinking about it," Stevie said aloud. She did a little dance step and laughed. "She's thinking about it. Woohoo!"

***

Going back to work Friday night wasn't as bad as Rachel thought it would be. For one thing, it was the first time that didn't include being sick as part of her preparation. Rachel didn't feel like she was trapped anymore. Quitting seemed to empower her.

Gary was apparently too stupid to know that he'd been the loser in their little power play. He walked around all night with a smug look on his face. The other girls said he'd been a bear all week, but he was almost courteous on Friday night. Rachel wondered if he was up to something. Courtesy was not a part of Gary's genetic make-up.

Rachel felt good and it showed in her dancing. At least, that's what she told herself. She made almost five hundred in tips from the overflowing crowd.

After the club was closed and she helped with some of the cleaning, Rachel went to her locker to change clothes. She found a package under her clothes. It was a padded Manila envelope. It was taped closed and had a little note on it. Rachel palmed the note and went to the bathroom. Once she had the privacy of a stall, she opened the note.

This is your one chance to make some extra money. Deliver this package to the address on the label within the hour. You'll be paid when you get there. If you don't want to make extra money, leave the package in your locker and keep your mouth shut.

Rachel almost fainted from relief and anxiety. She'd been praying for something to happen and now it was. There wasn't time for her to run the package through forensics. She would have only the note and the delivery point to pass up the chain of command. Now that she knew how it would go down, maybe they'd be able to intercept it the next time.

Rachel calmed herself and went back to her locker. Putting her clothes on, she transferred the package to her tote bag. It was heavy, a couple of pounds at least. If it was meth, it was worth a lot of money. She crossed her fingers that she would be safe at the other end of the transaction.

The address on the package sent her to a rundown apartment building across town. There were a dozen different buildings sprawled out on a minimally landscaped section of land. It was considered a less than desirable place to live and they received a lot of calls through 911.

Rachel assumed she was being watched, so she parked in the wrong place and went to several buildings before finding the one she needed. Even knowing she would not be imprisoned for carrying drugs, she was extremely nervous. It felt like breaking the law. How people lived like this on a daily basis was beyond her. The stress was so intense.

Rachel found the right apartment with about ten minutes to spare. She knocked quietly on the door. She waited a full minute. Checking the address to make sure she was in the right place, she knocked again. Before she finished, the door swung open. Someone grabbed the front of her blouse and yanked her inside. Rachel was completely off balance as she was shoved up against a wall and a scruffy guy with bad breath got up in her face.

"Who the fuck are you?"

Rachel's heart was racing. "I brought a package. Is this the right address?"

His eyes narrowed menacingly. "I asked who the fuck you are."

Rachel suddenly needed to pee. "My name is Rachel. I dance at the club."

Mr. Halitosis looked her up and down with a crooked smile. "Nice. Maybe you and I can do a little horizontal dancing before you go. Where's my package?"

Rachel was only too happy to give him the envelope. If he tried to push a sexual encounter, she was going to fight with everything she had to prevent it. She had no one to back her up if this meet went bad. Getting raped was not on her list of things to do.

He took the package from her and opened it. Glancing inside, he stared hard at her as he dumped it out on a chair. Three bags of white rice plopped onto the cushion and Rachel's skin went cold. "I swear to you…I didn't open it. I didn't…that's not…"

"Shut up. It was a test."

"A test?" Rachel gaped stupidly. She was shoved down on an old sofa and she straightened herself up as Scruffy sat down on the coffee table in front of her.

He rested his elbows on his knees and peered at her intently. "Do you want to make extra money?"

"Yes, I do."

"Here's the deal. Every now and then, you'll find a package in your locker after work. You'll deliver that package, and you'll keep your mouth shut about it. You won't peek inside or ask any of us what's in it. Make no mistake…if you talk about this to anyone, you'll be killed. Do you understand that?"

Rachel considered what to say. "Yes…but what happens if I get busted for something while I have it and the cops find it?"

"If that happens, you're on your own. We might be inclined to help you out in lockdown if you keep your mouth shut and take the fall, but if you talk, you will be killed. So far, no one's been nicked. Just drive normally and you should be okay. If something doesn't look right when you attempt to make a delivery, put the package in your trunk and go home. Someone will be in touch."

"You know where I live?"

"Of course, we do. We know everything about you. From now on, your delivery point will be on a sticky note attached to the envelope. Memorize it and dispose of it. Do not carry the address on you."

Rachel played scared and not too bright for another twenty minutes as he grilled her on the rules. She couldn't quite tell how much of his spiel was real and how much was intended to scare the life out of her. If everything he said was true, the upper management was highly organized and ruthless. On the other hand, it was clear that they did not know everything about her. They could still be organized and ruthless, but they were not indestructible.

After he threatened her for the umpteenth time, he gave her a twenty-dollar bill. Rachel raised her eyebrows. "Twenty dollars?"

He raised one of his own. "You delivered rice. What the hell am I going to do with rice?"

Rachel bit at her lip thoughtfully. "How much are they going to pay me for…the…uh…"

He was grinning. "Depending on how reliable you are it could be about five large."

"Five hundred?"

"Yep."

"You should have said that up front," Rachel smiled.

"Just remember that you only get one chance. If you screw it up…maybe they'll let me fuck you to death instead of just putting a cap in the back of your head."

There really wasn't anything to say to that. Rachel shut her mouth and let him shuttle her out the door.

She locked all her doors and windows when she got home. She even stuffed a chair under the front doorknob. She crawled into bed with her laptop and typed a complete report of the evening and emailed it up the chain of command. It was very late when she got to sleep, and her dreams were restless.

Chapter Five

Stevie had her trailer hooked up to the truck and the quads secured to the trailer by 8:30 on Saturday morning. She also had a picnic lunch packed and extra sweats in case someone needed a change of clothes. Greg and Dusty had their own rig for hauling quads and were going to meet her at the National Park around ten. A whole section of the National Park had been opened up for quads and dirt bikes. There were old logging trails that made the Park a great place to spend the day.

While it was permitted to go off road, most riders stayed on the rough dirt roads. Underbrush made it too hazardous to leave the logging trails. Stevie liked that the area was open for motor sports and yet it would stay largely pristine. Of course, there were plenty of people who protested against motor sports in the National Park, but Stevie felt that a small portion of the National Park being open for motor sports would discourage yahoos from trespassing on the rest of the park. They were going to ride no matter what, so it seemed like a good idea to give them a place to do it.

Stevie put extra water in the truck as the temperature was supposed to reach almost ninety. As nine o'clock got closer, she fidgeted more and more. She kept thinking of things that might be needed: an extra blanket; binoculars; her first aid kit; sunscreen…Stevie made herself stop when she started thinking pillows would be a good idea.

Rory pulled up to the curb at five to nine and jumped off his bicycle. "Hey! Am I late?"

"No, you're right on time."

He looked around. "Is she here?"

"Not yet." Stevie had called him the night before and warned him to make a good impression. He was inordinately excited to meet Rachel. "Listen, Rory. This is important to me. Please don't…"

"I'll be good," Rory interrupted. "I promise. I just can't believe I get to meet her before anyone else."

"Well, Dusty and Greg got to meet her. On my birthday."

"I meant family."

"Oh." Stevie checked the street again, but she still didn't see Rachel. "Don't believe anything they tell you, okay?"

"Like what?"

Stevie was worried that Dusty or Greg would tell Rory that Rachel was a stripper. He would find out sooner or later, but she didn't want his reaction to hurt Rachel's feelings. She also didn't want him to think of her that way. Stevie thought if he got to know her first, he wouldn't make a big deal about her job. Plus, it wasn't fair to ask him to keep that kind of secret from mom and dad. "Just don't listen to them, okay? You know how they are."

"Okay."

Rachel pulled up at five after nine and Stevie started grinning with relief. She pretended to be checking the tie-downs as Rachel got out of her car.

"That's her?" Rory said in a cracked voice.

Stevie looked at her little brother. "Be cool."

"She's a fox," he hissed. "You didn't tell me she was a fox."

"Oops."

"I didn't think I was going to make it," Rachel said as she walked up with a Starbucks mug in her hand. "I know I'm a little late. Sorry about that."

"No problem," Stevie smiled. "Rory just got here a couple of minutes ago. Your timing is perfect." Stevie pointed to her brother. "This is my younger brother, Rory. Rory, this is my friend, Rachel."

Rachel stuck her hand out with an open smile. "Hi, Rory. It's great to meet you."

Rory stood there and stared.

"Be patient." Stevie reached out and popped him in the back of the head. "He's the idiot child."

"No, I'm not," Rory protested. He straightened up and took Rachel's hand. "My sister didn't tell me you were so beautiful. I apologize for staring like that."

Rachel laughed softly. "She didn't tell me you were such a charmer either."

"She's not real bright," Rory said seriously. "You are aware that she's a lesbian?"

"Oh, I'm counting on it," Rachel smirked.

Stevie blushed and Rory swallowed audibly. "Maybe we should get going," she suggested.

Rachel sat in the middle to Stevie's great delight. Having her pressed up next to her was very distracting. Fortunately, Rory was in storyteller mode. He kept Rachel entertained with funny stories about Stevie during the drive.

Just before they left the highway, Stevie offered to make a coffee stop and Rachel took her up on it. She insisted on buying it herself, so Stevie and Rory waited in the truck.

"I like her," Rory said.

"Of course, you do. She laughs at your jokes."

Rory punched her in the shoulder. "But I do like her. She's really pretty, but she's good inside, too. You can sense it."

It was a remarkably intuitive thing to say, and it touched her deeply. It was easy to forget that her brother had a wise soul behind that goober face. "She is good. Like you."

"You heard her. I'm a charmer. A girl charmer."

"You wish," she laughed.

"How did you meet her?"

"We…met at a bar on my birthday."

"You went to a bar?"

If Rory's eyes got any bigger, they would fall out of his head. "I'm twenty-one now. Dusty and Greg set it up with Bobby and Aaron."

"Did you get drunk?"

Stevie laughed at the memory. "Yeah, but I don't think I'll ever do it again. It was kind of fun at first, but then I got so sick. I'm pretty sure I threw up my toenails."

"Yuck."

Relieved that he was focusing on the alcohol and not Rachel, she elaborated. "Remember that time you went off the side of the jump ramp and knocked yourself silly?"

"Sort of."

"Remember how it felt when you said you couldn't quite control your body?"

Rory paled at the memory. "Yeah."

"That's what it's like to be drunk."

"Seriously?"

"I wasn't in your body to feel what that was like, but it sounds pretty close. I could feel my body from a distance, but it wasn't cooperating. We're fifth generation Mormon. Maybe we don't have the genetic tolerance for alcohol anymore. I just know I'm not going to drink again. I didn't feel quite right for two days. I can't afford to lose control of my body and I don't want to get used to that feeling. I really like feeling strong and in control."

"Here she comes."

Stevie jumped out of the truck to let Rachel back in. She didn't realize that she was staring at Rachel's butt until Rachel turned to wink at Stevie. Blushing furiously, she shrugged her shoulders. "I can't help it," she said softly.

"I know," Rachel said back in a whisper.

By the look in her eyes, Stevie knew that Rachel liked the looks. Knowing that gave her confidence. Stevie swung up into the truck and got them back on the road. When Rachel put a hand on her knee and left it there, she figured she'd died and gone to heaven.

"Why am I having such a hard time turning?"

Rachel was having a blast on the quads, but she was still trying to figure it out. Every time she tried to turn, the quad didn't respond like she thought it should. She had to slow way down to make the machine turn.

"The center of balance is really high," Stevie explained. "In a car, the wheels are spread way out and the weight of the car rests between them. You can still flip the car if you're going too fast when you turn, but the wide wheelbase prevents a lot of that. The quad's tires are bunched up close to each other and the weight of the bike is high. Your body raises the center of balance even more. When you get more comfortable, you'll throw your body to the inside of the curve to keep your speed up and prevent flipping over. For now, slow down a little and move your butt over the foot on the inside of the turn. Use your body weight to turn."

Rachel pictured it in her mind, and it started to make sense. Stevie was quite good at explaining how things worked. She was making it easy to learn this new thing.

"Are you having fun?"

"I'm having a great time," Rachel admitted. "I can't believe how much fun this is."

"Good. Maybe next time we can do dirt bikes. You won't have the turning issue with them."

"I've never been on a motorcycle before," Rachel warned.

"Can you ride a bike?"

"Yes."

"That's all you need to know. I'll teach you the rest. It's not that hard."

***

Rachel reached for her bottle of water and took a good, long drink. The sun was hot. It wasn't too bad when they were moving because of the breeze, but when they stopped it got hot very fast.

The guys were long gone. The whole point of the day for them was to go fast and push the limits. Rachel almost felt bad that she was holding Stevie back, but as soon as the guys had zoomed off, Stevie had smiled and said, "Now we can have some fun."

They'd been riding for about an hour and Rachel's butt was starting to buzz from the engine's vibration. She just hoped she wasn't going to be stiffen up when the day was over.

"When you're ready," Stevie said, "there's a spot about fifteen minutes from here where I thought we could stop and have a picnic. You'll want to stretch your legs for a while and there's some good shade."

"That sounds great." Rachel had figured there was a picnic coming at some point because of the cooler and duffel bag strapped to Stevie's quad.

Stevie took the lead at a comfortable pace and Rachel followed about a hundred feet behind to avoid riding in Stevie's dust. There was old evidence of logging alongside the trails, but it must have been a long time ago. New growth was filling in the blanks and it was really quite beautiful. The smell of trees and rich loamy soil was just what Rachel's soul needed.

Shifting her entire body on the turns really made a difference. It also made riding more of a workout. It was no wonder Stevie was so fit if this was what she did for fun.

Stevie turned down a smaller trail and slowed down. The road was bumpier and Rachel slowed down as well. The trail began a downward slope, and the trail was broken by rocks and rivulet scars. Rachel slowed down even further to ease her nervousness.

At the bottom of the trail, there was a small clearing. Stevie was turning her quad around so she wouldn't have to do it later. Rachel carefully followed suit and turned off the machine. Stevie was grinning at her. "What?"

"You did good coming down that trail. I wasn't sure if you'd follow me or not. Listen."

Rachel's ears slowly adjusted. She could hear the birds singing, then the wind in the trees, and then she could hear water. "Is there a creek around here?"

"Yes. I thought we'd have lunch there."

"Excellent."

Rachel volunteered to carry the duffle bag while Stevie tossed the cooler up on one shoulder. She followed Stevie down a foot path and suddenly found herself on a bridge. Rachel looked over the side. "Wow."

"Isn't it beautiful?"

The old wooden foot bridge arched over a ravine. It was probably fifty or sixty feet to the creek below and it was more than beautiful. Big mossy rocks defined the creeks path; trees and flowering brush grew prolifically; and sunlight dappled it all. It was stunning. "This is amazing," she breathed.

"Come on. It gets better."

Crossing the bridge, Stevie took a left turn and led her upstream a ways. It was a path, though a difficult one. It ended close to the small creek on a flat, grassy spot. It even had a view of the bridge. Rachel dropped the duffel bag and went to stand beside the water. "Is it alright if I soak my feet?"

"Sure. Go ahead. I'll join you in a second."

Rachel looked over her shoulder at her companion. "There's no leeches or anything gross, right?"

Stevie grinned. "I don't think so."

Rachel took off her hiking boots and socks, then pulled up her jeans and carefully sat down on a rock. Her feet slipped into the cold water and she groaned in relief. "Oh my God. This feels so good."

A few minutes later, Stevie picked a rock a few feet downstream and sat down to soak her own feet. "Yep. Life is good."

Rachel snickered at the sentiment. "I'm amazed at this place. I had no idea there was such a gorgeous spot around here. I wish I had a camera."

"I brought a digital, just in case. You're welcome to use it."

"Perfect."

Rachel put her head back and closed her eyes, concentrating on the sounds around her. She felt like nature was sifting through her negative feelings. Stress, anger, confusion, fear…it was all being filtered out of her. Even just a few moments made her feel cleaner and lighter. "I haven't felt this at peace in months."

Stevie leaned back on her hands. "When I got kicked out of the church, I was kind of lost for a while. Everything was turned upside down and I didn't know what to do. I came out here one day and realized that this is my church. This is where I feel at one with the divine. The peace you feel is how I worship God."

"That's a beautiful way of thinking. It's amazing to me that you still believe in God."

"God didn't deny me; the Mormon Church did. I think that God challenges some of us harder than others. My test is to accept myself the way God made me and to be true to my heart. It doesn't matter if the church accepts me or not. They have their own challenges. What matters is that I honor the gifts God gave me."

Rachel lifted her feet out of the water and wiggled her toes. Every time she turned around, Stevie surprised her. Her attraction was deepening all the time, but she knew it couldn't be. Maybe after the undercover gig was over if Stevie didn't hate her for lying about who she was. If Rachel survived the case.

"Do you believe in God?" Stevie asked.

Rachel climbed out of her doubts. "I suppose I do. I don't really have a relationship with God, but I believe something is out there."

"Greg is agnostic. He's pretty tolerant about religion, but he doesn't believe the proof is there to justify the existence of a god. He believes that good and evil exist within each of us and that we are ultimately responsible for our actions. I like that theory. It doesn't preclude the existence of God for me, but it does lend credence to the idea of free will."

"I agree with that. It used to be that people would say 'the devil made me do it'. Now they like to blame their actions on genetics or abuse. I think a little of that might be true, but at some point, you have to grow up and be responsible."

Stevie put her head back and closed her eyes. Rachel watched her profile for a few minutes. "Penny for your thoughts?"

Stevie smiled. "You can have them for free." She took a deep breath and opened her eyes. "I'm just really glad to be here with you. It feels pretty amazing."

Rachel held the bottoms of her feet right at the surface of the water. It was almost like a cool, feathery massage. "I'm having a really good time with you, Stevie. You're interesting and fun. I'm not sure I've ever met anyone quite like you before."

"I've never met anyone like you before either."

Considering her Mormon upbringing, that was probably very true, and it made Rachel smile. "That doesn't surprise me."

Stevie chuckled. "I was rather sheltered."

"And yet, you were pushed out into the world early because of how smart you are. I bet you missed out on a lot of things the rest of us took for granted. Did you go to the prom?"

"No, but I think most people have less than stellar prom experiences, so I don't feel like I missed out on anything. Did you?"

"Hmm, mine was less than stellar, as you so delicately put it. I didn't realize I was a lesbian yet, so I was trying to be straight. I don't recommend it."

"The Mormon church has a lot of activities for young people. We had dances and stuff all the time. I understand what you mean about pretending to be straight. Of course, I was just trying to fit in and do what I thought I was supposed to. I wasn't actually pretending to be straight. Well, maybe a little at the end there."

Rachel realized she wasn't in the mood for serious discussions. "What was your very first memory?"

"I was about two and a half and I was playing outside. I got thirsty and I went to a water spigot on the side of the house. There was a bee on the handle. I remember how fuzzy it looked and I wanted to pet it." Stevie laughed. "I think when it stung me, I jerked my hand back and the bee fell off, cause when I looked at my hand, all I saw was a swollen part. I thought the bee went inside my hand. In my mind's eye, I watched that bee decompose as the swelling went down. Little bee bones and everything."

Rachel's face screwed up. "Decomposing bee? That's your first memory?"

Stevie shrugged. "I like it. I think it's pretty creative for a two-year-old."

"Well, that's true."

"What was your first memory?"

"I was in first grade. We were on top of some sort of playground equipment. Bruce Carpenter pulled my hair, looked up my skirt and told me I smelled funny. I pushed him off and he broke his arm."

Stevie started to laugh.

"At the time, I didn't really understand that he could get hurt, but I still think he deserved it. It was years before I understood why I got in so much trouble."

Stevie was grinning madly. "Your first memory is sticking up for yourself. Fighting back. That's awesome."

Rachel had never looked at it quite like that before. "I guess so." It occurred to her that she wasn't here to have a good time. She was supposed to be working. "Tell me about Greg and Dusty. How long have you been friends?"

***

Rachel was curled up on her side sleeping and Stevie couldn't take her eyes off of her. It was like watching an angel. Rachel's skin was so perfect, and she had eyelashes to die for. The shape of her mouth made Stevie's skin feel hot. She wanted to curl around Rachel and wake her with kisses so she could look into those green eyes some more.

They'd talked for over an hour and then sat on the blanket to eat lunch. Stevie had packed fried chicken, but mostly she brought bite size pieces of fruit: watermelon, cantaloupe, green and purple grapes, mango, apple, banana, pineapple, strawberries, oranges and pears. Just for fun, she had brought tiny shrimp forks to eat with. They were perfect for eating fruit and different enough to be amusing.

They'd eaten and talked until Rachel dropped off to sleep. Stevie cleaned up their lunch, put two bottles of water in the creek and took the cooler back up to the quads. When she got back, she lay down beside Rachel and watched her sleep.

It was strange to think that she'd only known Rachel for a week. It felt like a longer friendship than that. At first, she worried that her attraction for Rachel was purely physical, but that was changing. Talking with Rachel was like being plugged into a wall socket. She wanted to listen as much as she wanted to talk, and their conversations evolved as fast as they could think. Being with her was exhilarating on multiple levels.

Stevie wanted to ask her out on a dinner date, but she couldn't decide where to take her. They hadn't talked about food preferences yet. Maybe she should talk to Mrs. Hennessey. She and Rachel got together frequently. Mrs. Hennessey might know what Rachel considered fine dining.

Rachel was beautiful. Her skin was smooth and seemed to be lit from within. Her lashes were long and thick, her lips full and shapely. Some might think her nose was a touch too long, but it somehow accentuated the perfection of the rest of her face. But Rachel's hair was her crowning glory. It was so dark and thick. The tight curls were clearly natural, and Stevie wanted to run her hands through them. She'd never actually seen hair like it before and it fascinated her.

Stevie quietly took a few pictures of Rachel. By putting the camera right on the ground, she could get the distant bridge behind Rachel, but she wasn't sure it would be in focus. She knew the camera had manual capabilities, so she played with it for a while. When she finally got the depth of field worked out, she realized that Rachel's eyes were open in the picture. She looked at Rachel and saw she was awake.

"I was just taking your picture," she explained.

"I know. I've been watching you."

Stevie propped her head up on her hand. "You don't mind, do you?"

"As long as they're private…no. If I see them posted on a website, I'll kick your butt."

Stevie smiled. "You think you can take me?"

"I know I can," Rachel said calmly. "But I don't intend on proving it today."

Stevie almost melted into a warm puddle as Rachel rolled to her back and stretched. Rachel's t-shirt rode up and Stevie longed to kiss the taut belly it revealed. And then Stevie's eyes bugged out. "You have a navel ring? How did I not notice that?"

Rachel relaxed and a languid hand moved down to lightly tug at the stud. "You should get one. You have the belly for it and it's sexy as hell."

Stevie put a hand over her bellybutton by reflex. "Doesn't it hurt?"

Rachel raised an eyebrow. "I saw your body. You have scars. Didn't those hurt?"

"Well, sure, but those were accidents. I didn't know in advance that they were going to happen." Stevie swallowed nervously. "My scars are ugly."

"No, they aren't. They're just part of you. You don't have issues about how you look, do you?"

Stevie picked at a loose thread on the blanket. "I know I'm more of a tomboy than anything else, but I do want to be pretty. To my girlfriend, at least."

"Trust me," Rachel said gently. "You don't ever need to worry about being beautiful to your girlfriends. Every one of them will feel like the luckiest woman in the world when they look at you. Scars are not inherently ugly. In fact, I don't think you think they're ugly. I think you're afraid your lovers will find them unattractive, but they don't bother you. I am curious, though, about the one on your left side."

It took Stevie a moment to take in all the things Rachel had said in so few words. Her hand moved to the scar below her ribs on her left side. It was a thick one and she could feel it through her shirt. "You think I'm…pretty?"

"Oh, yeah. You're very sexy and you'll only get better looking as you age. I believe you're what lesbians so lovingly call a stud."

Stevie tried to pretend she wasn't blushing. 'I'm not gorgeous like you. You're the one all the girls will want."

"But I may not want them." Rachel turned on her side and propped her head up on a hand. "So, how did you get that scar?"

"I was thirteen." Stevie lay back and pulled her shirt up to expose the ropy scar. "I was doing jumps on a bicycle and wrecked it. It didn't have grips and the handlebar punctured my side."

"Oh, my God, Stevie."

"What?"

"A handlebar from a bicycle punctured your side?"

"Yeah. But it doesn't hurt anymore."

"I should hope not." Rachel reached out and then paused. "Can I touch it?"

Stevie's mouth went dry. "Uh…okay." She watched Rachel's fingers gently trace the old scar and her body shivered at the delicate touch. She knew that Rachel had seen her response and waited breathlessly for her reaction.

Rachel smiled. "I bet you say yes to all the girls."

The feelings were too intense to joke about. "No, I don't. They don't make me feel like this."

Rachel bit at her lip for a moment and then laid her hand flat on Stevie's belly. "This is already showing signs of getting serious."

Rachel's hand felt like heaven, but her words made Stevie worry. "Would it be bad if it got serious?"

Rachel sat up and crossed her legs: taking one of Stevie's hands between her own. "It wouldn't be bad, but it could be complicated."

The fact that Rachel was holding on to her made Stevie feel less apprehensive. "How is it complicated?"

Rachel took a long time to answer, and she couldn't look Stevie in the eye. "I can't explain it to you right now. Soon, but not right now. And I need you not to tell anyone that I'm keeping a secret. Can I trust you with that?"

"It depends on what the secret is," Stevie said slowly. "Is it going to hurt me? Or maybe someone else?"

"I don't think so," Rachel frowned. "I mean, some people might be upset, but they shouldn't be."

Stevie wasn't sure what to say or ask. She considered it for a moment. "I guess I have a couple of questions you'd have to answer truthfully if you want me to keep secrets for you."

"I don't think I can answer them."

"If you can't, you can't, but I want to ask."

Rachel sighed. "Alright. You can ask, but I can't promise to answer."

Stevie focused on Rachel's face. She might find the only answers Rachel had to give there. "Are you married or in a relationship?"

"No," Rachel said firmly. "I am completely single."

"Well, that's a huge relief," Stevie grinned. "Let's try another one."

"Round two," Rachel teased.

"Are you…a fugitive from justice?"

Rachel actually smiled. "Nope. Don't tell anyone, but I've never been arrested, been suspected of a crime, or had a moving violation."

"Why wouldn't you want anyone to know that?"

Rachel cocked her head thoughtfully. "I can't tell you that one right now."

"Fair enough." Stevie tried to think of anything else she had to know to protect herself, but any further questions were pretty much covered by the knowledge that Rachel was not a criminal. Then she thought of one. "If we were to…uh…become intimate…are you…I mean…"

"I'm clean," Rachel smiled. "I was tested less than two months ago, and I haven't swapped fluids with anyone since then. Except for when you were drunk, and I got your blood on my hands. What about you? Do you have anything I should worry about?"

Stevie was shaking her head. "It's been almost a year since I got tested and I was alright then, but I can go get tested if it makes you feel better."

Rachel put a hand on the ground on Stevie's other side and relaxed over her. "The smart thing would be for both of us to get tested again. It would force us to get to know each other better and not get carried away with this pesky attraction. Who knows…by the time the results come back, we might not feel this way anymore."

Stevie wanted to deny that possibility, but she wasn't that naïve. "I hope that's not the case, but if it is, I'd really like it if we could still be friends."

"I'd like that."

Stevie swallowed a groan as Rachel caressed her belly. It was lighting her nervous system up like a Christmas tree, but she didn't want her to stop.

"We've only known each other a week," Rachel said softly.

"I know," Stevie croaked.

"Is this hard for you?" Rachel asked.

"No." Stevie swallowed hard. "Yes."

Rachel pulled Stevie's shirt down and patted her. "It's getting hard for me, too."

Stevie took a deep breath and forced herself to relax. "I'll call and make appointments on Monday morning."

"For what?"

"STD testing."

"Ah. Afternoons are better for me."

"I'm not picky," Stevie said with a smirk. "I like it all the time."

Rachel laughed and started to get up. "Come on, Studly. If we don't get a move on, I'm not going to be responsible for my actions. You're entirely too tempting."

Stevie stood up with a grin and started collecting the last of her things. Tossing the duffel bag over her shoulder, she gave into her craving. Slipping an arm around Rachel's waist, she pulled her close and hesitated for exactly one second within kissing distance. Rachel made no move to pull away, so Stevie kissed her.

It was even better than she hoped. Rachel's lips were so soft and willing it was almost heartbreaking. Stevie closed her eyes and concentrated on the explosion of sensation racing through her. When she couldn't go without air any longer, she pulled back and opened her eyes.

"Oh my," Rachel whispered.

Stevie couldn't take her eyes off Rachel's lips. It could take weeks to kiss those lips properly. She ached to begin immediately. Stevie's eyes closed automatically when Rachel's hand cupped her face and drew her near.

Their lips fit smoothly, and Stevie moaned at the sweetness of it. Rachel's fingertips teased the short hairs at the back of her neck, and it gave her goose bumps. She held Rachel closer and deepened the kiss. The first taste of Rachel's sweet mouth on her tongue overwhelmed her. It was all Stevie could do to keep from devouring Rachel whole.

Stevie ended the kiss with several lighter kisses and then brushed a hand along the perfect curve of Rachel's cheek. "Would you go out to dinner with me?"

Rachel smiled. "I'd like that."

"Thank you."

"You are too sweet," Rachel teased. "Come on. I'll race you back to the truck."

Stevie took Rachel's hand and chuckled. "Do you remember the way?"

"No. I figure I'll just follow you until we get close and then zoom right by and take the lead."

"Just like that?"

"Do you think I can't?"

Stevie was flat out enamored. "I think you can do anything you set your mind to."

Rachel just smiled.

***

Continued

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