Ok...So, here it is! Its 11:00 and I just finished! Its about 300 words too long...so I'll probably be disqualified...but I couldn't get rid of anything! I already took out a bunch! Anyways, even if I am disqualified, I hope you guys like it!

Disclaimer: All characters Terri Farley's.

(Oh and this hasn't been through a Beta, so please excuse my mistakes...I was writing at Mach 1 to get this finished in time!)

*Used to be "What If?" I changed the name 'cause this one fits better. I fixed the main mistakes I could find because it was bothering me. Also, someone mentioned that I had said I was going to add some of the war story in here. Which I was! I was going to, but it would have been too long so I took it out and forgot to change that part of the beginning! So, here's just the revised version. Nothing new!

A delicate china cup flew through the air and smashed against the solid oak wall. Chairs were overturned and dirt was caked across the floor from the surrounding playa. Dirty fingerprints dotted the cupboards and cabinets; the icebox was hanging open and a precious jug of milk lay tipped on its side on a wooden cabinet; the tiny driblets of milk dripping onto the filthy floor. The tiny, frail ranch house was in an uproar.

The culprits of this mischief clomped down the stairs for the umpteenth time, yelling and screaming at the top of their lungs. The first to descend the weathered old stairs was a young girl, probably 11 or 12. Her cocoa brown hair was mostly swept back into braided pig-tails while several wisps escaped and flew around her face; uncombed and wild. Her plain brown calico dress was coated with dirt and mud and her snug, laced, black boots were scuffed beyond repair. Thick, sticky jam coated her cheeks and lips and her liquid brown eyes sparkled with mischief.

Behind her, sailing down the battered hand-railing on the seat of his pants was a boy most likely about the same age. His short, greasy hair was the exact same shade as the girls, as were his eyes; the only difference was the deviousness in his eyes was lit by something more than mischief. He was also covered from head to toe in dirt and his dark blue overalls were torn at the knees. His light blue shirt was ripped at the sleeves and several buttons were missing.

"We don' wanna go ta bed! We don' wanna go ta bed!" The both managed to make it form the stairs to the ground floor. Waving their arms around and panting wildly, they circled an old, grubby and dilapidated wooden rocking chair. Pieces of the chair were falling off and the rockers groaned loudly as the old man who sat in the chair continued rocking at a fast and hard pace. The two youngsters continued running around the chair, but its occupant simply stared at the only other furnishing in the room; a smoky fireplace with no mantelpiece.

The young boy's hand clipped the elderly man's shoulder and it seemed to wake the individual. Long, stringy, greying hair slipped around the man's bald temple leaving the top as shiny as a polished stone. Hollow eyes, the same shade as the children's, stared beadily at the circling youth, narrowing in annoyance and some deeper despondency. His thin lips were twisted in a grimace and only a few yellow, tobacco-stained teeth stuck out crookedly. Whiskers the color of tarnished silver straggled along his sunken cheeks and bushy eyebrows lowered over his eyes. His gaunt frame sunk into his decrepit rocking chair and his long, narrow fingers, the only part of him that was beautiful, clutched fiercely at the arm rests.

"Stop tha' racket now, you whippersnappers!" He drawled angrily; his voice like coarse gravel.

The children stopped in front of him long enough for them to settle their hands on their hips and glare down at their elder.

"Make us!" The dare came sharply.

"Go ta bed!" The old man roared.

"We don' wanna!"

"I don' care! I don' wanna hear a single peep comin' from ya yellow-bellied, no good-for-nothin' ankle biters!"

The insult seemed to have the desired effect and the little boy's eyebrows furrowed, his arms crossing over his thin chest. He pouted towards the old man, who refused to break eye contact with him. The little girl's lower lip trembled and her small, spindly arms hung down at her sides. If she'd been a pup, her ears would have been sagging to her toes and her tail drooping between her legs. Her doe-brown eyes glazed over and she looked at the man woefully.

"All we wants is a story, Gramps…" She wailed.

"Well, I don' wanna tell ya a story! I ain't got no stories, no how. Whatchyou think I am? A storyteller?" He cackled at his own private joke before glaring at his grandchildren again. "Now git outta here and git ta bed!"

The little girl burst into tears and her brother looked at her scornfully before turning with a scowl back to his grandfather.

"No." Was all he said.

The elderly grandfather briefly growled before struggling to get to his feet. A flicker of fear flashed through the boy's eyes and he backed away a little, clenching his arms tighter to his chest. The girl continued crying. The senior grabbed a long, elegant cane that had obviously seen better days from beside his chair.

Once the greying man had reached his feet, both of the children fled up the stairs and towards a small room. It took them several minutes to reach the tiny chamber, but it took even longer for their grandfather to follow them. By the time he arrived, both youngsters had shed their filthy outside clothes for long, white nightgowns and were tucked under their quilts. The young girl tied a night bonnet on her long, stringy, chocolate hair, but the boy simply laid his head down on his pillow, closed his eyes and pretended to be asleep.

The elderly fellow was panting and a thin sheen of sweat covered his sallow face by the time he had sat himself down on the little girl's bed. It took him several minutes to regain his breath and there was an awkward pause in which the crickets sang a lilting tune and the wind rustled through the sagebrush and swept over the desert outside.

"You want a story?" His raspy voice asked harshly.

Both of the children nodded their consent; still the boy kept his eyes shut.

The man relaxed his thin shoulders and closed his eyes, sporting a morose look as he did so.

"Alright, I'll tell ya a story. Whatchya want it to be about?"

The adolescent boy sat straight up, all pretence gone. His coffee-brown eyes shone.

"How 'bout that war you was in? Against them Indians and all?" Before their gramps had a chance to answer the small girl butt in with her opinion.

"No!" She wailed, gripping her mocha coloured hair with both hands. "I want it to be a love story! Love story!"

The grandfather just raised his eyebrow, his thin lips stretching over the few teeth he had left into a thoughtful expression. He tapped his chin with a long, slender finger.

"Well, since I've never been in a war that would be difficult, but romance? Yes I think I have just the one."

The girl squealed with excited and sat up in her bed, leaning forward eagerly. The little boy scowled slightly, hating romance more than ever.

The old man's eyes lost their focus and gazed ahead sightlessly; it was as if he had lost himself in the past. His voice took on a tint of longing as he began.

"It was long ago, years before either of ya was even a twinkle in your mother's eye….in a town not too far-ways from here. It was called Darton….and it was growin' quickly from them cattle ranchers movin' thar…it was a new little town back then, having trouble gettin' on its feet…"

"What about the romance?" The little girl whined in a thin voice.

"Jest hold on, Sara!" Snapped the grandfather. "I'm gettin' to it! There was a young woman thar…only 17 at the time…"

"Was it Gramma?" The boy put in eagerly forgetting his immense hatred of anything romantic suddenly.

"I said to hold on! Ye'll find out soon 'nough!

Now, as I was sayin' before I was so rudely interrupted! There was a young woman thar…only 16 at the time…"

"17, Gramps."

"What's that, Matthew? Right…stop interruptin' me! Alright, fine, she was the daughter of a local rancher, Wyatt Forster…and my she was a beauty….Beautiful skin, the bluest eyes, freckles across her cute little button nose, fiery red hair and an even more fiery temper. She was small, smaller than all them other gals, but she didn't let no one intimidate her! No sir…she had it all…."

"What was her name, Gramps?"

He let that one go, too lost in thought to even scold the girl for interrupting yet again. A bittersweet smile curved his thin lips and the ghost of his past was evident on his face; a face that for a moment seemed beautiful and young.

"Her name? Well….it was right pretty…. …her name was Sam…Samantha Forster…"

The sun was peeking through a veil of tree branches and leaves and the morning air was fresh and cool. Samantha Forster walked along the dirt road with her close friend Jennifer Kenworthy. Jen's red and white gingham, a stark contrast to Sam's delicate blue calico, stopped several inches above her boots, obviously too short for her and her white-blond hair was held back in two braided pig-tails. Her green eyes sparkled behind her rimmed spectacles as her basket of flowers bumped against her leg. Sam looked down at her own basket and smiled at the many wildflowers they had picked from Farmer McLaren's field.

"So, are you entering a lunch in the picnic tomorrow?" Jen turned to Sam. Every September Darton would have a picnic and dance to start off the season and to bring the community together.

The picnic was organized so that each woman or girl could bring a lunch basket and then the men would gather around and bid on the baskets, while not knowing whose basket was whose. Sometimes the ladies would tie ribbons on their baskets to identify themselves and then they would tell their beaus what color of ribbon. At the end of the bidding, however, the men who bought the lunch would end up eating it with the woman who made it. It was a fun tradition that neither Jen nor Sam had ever experienced before. They had always been too shy and too afraid that no one would want to buy their lunches: there were always lunches left over that men didn't want to bid on and it was embarrassing for the women.

"Hmmm, maybe…are you?"

Jen shrugged, "I don't know. Who would buy my lunch?"

"Everyone." Sam insisted. "There are lots of fine young gentlemen who would happily buy your lunch, Jen. Hmm, perhaps Carl?" She spoke of the blacksmith's apprentice: a young man of 24, who was tall, with sandy blonde hair and the kindest brown eyes. "Or maybe Johnny Kubenhine!" They both laughed at the thought of gangly young Johnny with his bright carrot hair and his oversized feet that he couldn't help but trip himself on.

"Well, if I do then you have to as well!" Jen poked Sam's shoulder.

"Fine! That way if no one buys ours,' we can have lunch together!" They nodded to each other, happy with their plan, but secretly hoping that some handsome young man would buy their lunches and sweep them off their feet.

The sound of carriage wheels and a trotting horse clomped up behind them, the hooves thudding dully against the dusty, field road. The young girls sauntered to the left side of the road and looked over their shoulders. A small, black gig pulled by a gleaming bay pulled up beside them and stopped. The passenger was a young man of average height. His short, wavy, chocolate brown hair curled into his hypnotic coffee eyes. His nose was straight and his lips were perfectly shaped; his form was graceful and obviously that of a gentleman as was his fashion. Sam recognized Ryan Slocum, the son of a wealthy British man.

"Good morning to you fine ladies." His crisp British accent cut through the morning air. Both of the girls returned the greeting and Sam felt her cheeks growing warm. Ryan was definitely one of the most attractive men in Darton and he would often stop to speak to her. Sam wasn't sure what this meant, but she desperately hoped it was what she thought. Despite her age, she had not had many beaus…in fact, she'd never had any. She was unsure as to why this was, but the thought of being courted was exceptionally exciting.

"Samantha, I was wondering…" he gracefully exited his gig and stood in front of her. He was only slightly taller than herself and fine-boned. "…if you are going to the picnic this Saturday?"

Sam opened her mouth and thought about it for a second, unsure of why she was pausing. Jen elbowed her discretely in the ribs.

"Why yes, of course! Jen is as well, aren't you, Jen." It wasn't really a question, but she didn't take her eyes off of Ryan. From the corner of her eye she saw Jen nod quickly.

"Excellent." Ryan smiled, his perfect, pearl-white teeth showing. "And you are entering a basket, I presume?" Sam nodded again, breathless with anticipation. "Perhaps you would tie a ribbon on it for me, so I might recognize it amongst the others?"

He was all confidence and charm. Sam nodded one more time, wondering if her head had ever even stopped bobbing.

"Perhaps…this ribbon?" He reached up to softly touch the light blue ribbon she tied into her reddish-auburn hair. Sam was sure her face went bright red and she half-wished she'd pulled her pale yellow bonnet up over her hair, but the rest of her was glad she hadn't.

"O…Okay." She managed to stutter out. He nodded to the ladies and climbed back into his rig. Giving them a wave, he clucked to the horse and then was gone in a puff of dust.

Sam and Jen stood there for half a second in shock before Sam turned to Jen, smiling so wide, her cheeks hurt. The day suddenly seemed a little brighter: the red-headed girl took her blonde friend's arm and together they marched towards the schoolhouse.

"Ma, Ma, Gram!" Sam cried, running into the house and colliding with her beautiful, red-headed stepmother.

"Ma, will you help me? I need to make something to take to the picnic this Saturday, but I don't know what to take!"

"Why is it so important?" Brynna frowned slightly, wondering why her step-daughter was so worked up.

"Why are you taking something?" Wyatt suddenly appeared behind her. "Did somebody ask you to bring something?"

Sam rolled her eyes. Her father was beyond over-protective. She mirrored his stance.

"Maybe…does it matter?"

"Yes, actually, perhaps it does. Who is it?"

Sam just sighed, "Ryan Slocum." She muttered.

Brynna smiled. "He's a very handsome and gentlemanly boy."

"Yes, but he's Linc Slocum's son…" Wyatt frowned, letting his sentence hang.

Nobody was really a fan of Linc Slocum, the rich man was far too full of himself.

Still, Ryan was a far cry from his father.

"The apple falls far from the tree with that one." Gram appeared through a doorway, wiping her aging hands on a towel.

All three turned to look at her. Wyatt tilted his head to the side, considering it.

"Yes, I suppose…."

"So, can I go, Pa?" Sam asked sarcastically. Wyatt glared at her, his hands still on his hips.

"Fine, but we're all going, Samantha."

"Both Jen and Jake are going to be there. And besides…Jake is just as protective as you are." Sam swallowed all of her anger and tried to be polite. She thought about her close friend Jacob Ely. His long, blue-black hair was almost always tied back with a leather thong and his wild eyes were a beautiful deep brown. Sam always called them "Mustang Eyes," and the name truly fit him. He was half Shoshone, half White; although his dark skin was more dominant. He was a tracker extraordinaire, an amazing horse gentler and most of all, her best friend. They had known each other since they were born, longer than she had even known Jen. Jake had always treated her like a child; he even called her Brat. He was completely over-protective of her (a by-product of a horrible accident when she was 12). She also knew that Jake hated Ryan for some strange reason. He had never explained his ridiculous feelings to her, but muttered something about him being a "rich, pretty boy peacock." Sam wasn't sure what that meant, but she would bet everything she had that he wouldn't like seeing her with Ryan at the picnic.

This is going to be fun….

"Alright, we'll start the bidding at 5 cents. Anybody? 5 cents for this lovely basket with the green ribbon…hmmmm, smells like fried chicken!"

Laughs drifted through the crowd as Abraham Sarko stood on a large platform and bid off lunch baskets. Several had already been bought and the couples were now sitting under trees or in the sun, eating and conversing.

Sam recognized the ribbon as one of Jen's and crossed her fingers that someone would buy it. She glanced quickly at her blonde friend who was standing with her parents, Jed and Lila Kenworthy and clasping her hands together tightly. She was nervous, Sam knew.

"Anybody for 5 cents? If someone doesn't bid, I'm going to eat all this delicious smelling food myself…"

"5!" Someone called out.

"Excellent, how about 10 cents? Anybody for 10?"

"I'll give ya 10!" Another voice cried form across the crowd. Sam saw Jen looking around at the voices, trying to figure out who it was.

The bidding continued until the basket reached $2.20. It was the highest a basket had been priced for since the picnic had started.

"Alright, sir, come up and claim your basket, if you please!"

Sam saw Jen worrying her lower lip with her teeth as someone pushed through the crowd to get through.

Suddenly Carl Dranger appeared and leapt up onto the stage. He grabbed the basket and thanked Abe before turning to the crowd.

Abe leant forward. "Well, whoever's basket this is, is welcome to come on up here and claim this man."

Carl's face reddened, but a smile worked its way onto his face when he saw Jen sweep up the stairs, holding up the hem of her dress. The two linked arms, with sheepish smiles, and headed towards a shady area beside a large tree. Sam had a feeling he'd known which basket had been Jen's.

The next basket was Brynna's, bought by Wyatt, followed by Gram's which was bought by Dallas, the foreman of River Bend Ranch. Sam's was next. She clutched her hands together tightly and grit her teeth, worried that Ryan might not see it or that he would change his mind. She hadn't even seen him yet, but the crowd was thinning as the baskets disappeared. She spotted Jake and his brothers talking amongst themselves.

"Alright, ladies and gents, one of our last baskets here. Wow, this one also smells delicious! Gentlemen, keep your wallets open! Now, starting with 5 cents, who can give me 5 cents?"

"I believe I can." A British voice rang out and Sam felt relieved. He was here and he still wanted to eat lunch with her! She saw him across the group and relaxed.

Abe nodded. "10 cents, 10 cents, anyone?"

A couple other men who had not yet bid gave a few half-hearted calls until it came to 40 cents. 40 cents was a lot of money for one lunch with a girl you didn't know. Ryan, so far, had the last bid. He had a satisfied smirk on his face and Sam smiled at him. He returned the grin and waved at her.

"Alrighty then, 40 cents it is, young man, come on…."

"50." There was a bit of a gasp, as a different, deeper voice suddenly appeared. Sam immediately recognized the deep tone as Jake's voice.

Ryan frowned. "60."

"80."

"A dollar." The bidding was coming hard and fast now.

"Dollar fifty." Jake spoke harshly, with an air of finality. Sam wondered what his limit was and why he was wasting money on her. He never bid on these lunches. He couldn't have known it was hers or he never would have bid on it.

"Two dollars." Ryan's smirk had returned.

"Three." A gasp went through the crowd, but Jake stood confident, one hand holding his belt loop, his posture relaxed.

Sam wondered if both of them had gone crazy and felt slightly nervous. It almost looked like they wanted to fight each other, but why?

"Four." Ryan spoke through gritted teeth.

"Five." Jake countered, narrowing his eyes at the British boy.

"Uh..uh..five? Gentlemen…I think that's good. Five it is." Abe must have noticed the tension and quickly seized an opportunity to stop what was going obviously result in an all-out brawl. Ryan scowled as Jake swept up onto the stage and grabbed the basket. Stunned, Sam climbed up onto the stage and noticed Jake was not at all surprised that it was her lunch. He led her down off the stage and away from the crowd.

"Why did you do that?" Sam asked, feeling slightly angry and confused at his actions.

"Do what?" Jake was nonchalant.

"You know what! Waste money buying my lunch! It's not worth five dollars! And you and I are almost always together anyways! What's wrong with you?"

"What's wrong with me?" Jake countered, setting her down on a patch of grass far away from the stage; far away from Ryan. "What's wrong with you? How did Ryan know which basket was yours?"

"How did you?" She shot back.

"Well, it was kinda obvious the way you and Slocum kept giving each other love-sick glances!"

"What? We were not giving each other love-sick glances! And why would you care anyways?" They were yelling at each by this point.

"I care because I…." Jake stopped suddenly and swallowed as if he'd almost said something he was afraid of saying.

"What? Did Dad ask you to protect me?" She gasped. "That's it, isn't it? Dad told you not to let him buy my lunch." She sat down, astounded that they would do this to her.

Jake's silence was affirmation enough. She ate in silent anger and avoided his gaze. How could he do this?

"Sam…I…"

"Don't." Her voice was quiet with deadly fury. "Just don't."

"That's not…"

"Not what? Not what he told you to do? You know…I've never had anyone interested in me. Not ever! And the first time I do, you throw it back in my face and ruin it for me! He'll never want to see me again after that!"

"Do you love him?" His voice was surprisingly quiet. Guilt?

"Of course not," Sam rolled her eyes, "but I like him and maybe one day, yes, I could love him. I'd like to at least have the chance!"

There was quiet silence in which Sam couldn't bring herself to meet Jake's eyes.

"Fine." It was said with such finality, such loss, that Sam felt startled. She glanced up and saw Jake was pulling himself to his feet. "You want Slocum? Go ahead. Go."

Sam knew her mouth had fallen wide open, but Jake just turned around and headed down towards the edge of town where La Charla marked the boundary of Darton. The area was covered in brush and several trees grew down there. He was almost to the tree line when Sam flew to her feet and ran after him. What was his problem?

He had come to a small alcove that blocked their view of the picnic and stage when Sam finally caught up with him. She grabbed his arm and tried to ignore the way he tensed when she touched him.

"What? You can't just…"

"Can't what?" He interrupted, spinning around and grabbing her by her upper arms. He pushed her against a tree trunk and glared down at her, his beautiful, brown, "mustang eyes" flashing. "Can't tell you to go see your beau? Isn't that what you wanted? What are you still doing here?"

She glared back, noticing that despite his angry tone, despite his awesome strength, his grip on her was nothing short of gentle. She felt confused…this didn't make any sense.

"I don't know what I want, ok?" She tried to keep her voice calm, gentle, but tears were threatening to surface. Jake was her oldest and best friend. Why was he suddenly acting so weird? She had always been able to depend on him; talk to him about her problems. Now he was the problem and it was so important that she find out why and get things back to the way they were. "I don't know…"

His hands were pouring heat into her arms; a heat that coursed through her entire body; his normally gentle eyes were alive and passionate, filled with an emotion she could not identify.

His eyes hypnotized her and for a split second she felt the most extreme joy run through her at the proximity, at his attention at the mere thought that he might possibly feel something for her. That perhaps he was acting so oddly because he was….

"…jealous?" She hadn't meant to say it out loud, but it spilled through her lips before she could cut it off.

He backed away as if she had burned him: still staring at her, but the expression on his face had changed from anger and passion to something deeper; something akin to a deep loss.

"Jake…I…" She didn't know what she was going to say, but she had to say it now. She had to erase that look of pain from his face. Something in her heart told her it was there because of her…

"Don't." He said, his tone never wavering. "You don't have to…." He grit his teeth. "I don't want pity."

"Pity?" Astonishment filled her. "Pity for what?" She moved towards him again, but stopped when he drew back.

"Pity for wanting something I can't have."

Sam felt a jolt of shock. "What? What can't you have?" She whispered, half-afraid, half-hoping she knew the answer.

"You."

Sam drew a shaky breath and brushed her hand against her cheek, noticing that somewhere along the line she had started to cry. Tears had fallen down her face without her even noticing. How had she never known? How had she not seen this?

"I didn't know." She murmured.

"I know you didn't. I didn't want you to. I thought…"

"You thought what? That I shouldn't be privilege to this kind of information? Do you even know what you've done? What we could've…what might…" She stopped unable to continue with the 'what-ifs.' She took a breath. "I loved you."

His head jerked up to stare at her in shock. His eyes begged her to continue.

"I had loved you since we were kids. I always thought that one day, maybe, you would love me too. That you would propose to me, that we would grow old together! I loved you!" She shouted at him, pointing her finger accusingly into his chest. Silent sobs made her shoulders shake slightly. Her voice quieted again and her hand dropped to her side. "But you never did. And you called me 'Brat,' and you treated me like a child. And then Ryan came along and he made me feel wanted. He made me feel loved; like a woman. I gave up, Jake." Tears coursed down her cheeks now. Jake's expression was torn and he was gritting his teeth together so tightly she could almost hear them grinding. "I gave up that you would ever love me, that you would ever see me as anything other than a child."

"Sam, I…" His hands reached for her, but she brushed them away, anger once again filling her soul.

"No! No, it's too late! I can't love you anymore. I can't! I'm tired of waiting, Jacob! I'm tired of it. I just want to be loved….?"

"By Ryan?" He asked softly.

"No! I mean yes…I don't know! I just want…I just want…" She looked around her wildly…what did she want? What had she been wanting since she was 13 years old? What was the desire of her heart? She stopped as it came to her in a sudden moment of clarity. "I want…you." She couldn't look at him. She felt miserable. The truth of her love had come flooding out and she couldn't stop it, not like she had always been able to do. His quiet rejection had always been so much easier than what she thought was a forthcoming louder rejection.

But he caught her chin in one hand and lifted her stormy blue eyes to meet his beautiful brown ones. The look took her breathe away and Sam had to stop breathing; her heart was beating double time.

"Samantha Ann Forster, I love you. I always have and I always will." And with that, he leaned down and touched his lips to hers, gently at first and then suddenly with a passion that she had never felt before. She wound her arms around his neck, clutching at the fabric of his shirt as one of his arms held her waist tightly to him and the other hand clutched the back of her head, running through her hair.

They only parted when air became a necessity. Sam couldn't hold the smile from her face, she felt like her heart was the size of Texas belt buckle and that she was floating on air. Nothing in the world could top this moment, right here, right now. And then suddenly Jake had disentangled himself from her arms, grabbing both of her hands in his larger ones and was bending down to one knee. Sam couldn't breathe, she couldn't even think.

"Sam, I know we've never courted and I promise that the time will come for that, but I don't think I can be away from you any longer…I love you with all my heart and I just want you in my life. Please, Sam…Brat," Sam laughed through her tears, the terrible nickname suddenly becoming a most wonderful love name, "please, will you be by my side for the rest of this lifetime and all of the next? Will you be my wife?"

Sam couldn't answer so she simply knelt down in front of him, threw her arms around his neck and kissed him as passionately as she could. Her answer was as clear as day. Slowly and still locked at the lips, they rose to a standing position. They parted and Jake leaned his forehead against hers. He pulled the piece of rawhide from his hair and ripped off a small section. He took Sam's left hand and gently tied the leather around her ring finger.

"Until I can get a ring, I hope that this…" He didn't even get a chance to finish his sentence as Sam's lips came crashing back down onto his. He held her tightly and they lost themselves in each other.

They never noticed a figure standing slightly behind one of the trees. Ryan Slocum watched with anger and hatred burning in his coffee brown eyes. He clenched his fists and turned around slowly, turning his back to the lovers and began to stalk off towards the town. His mind and heart whirled in anger and he felt the unfamiliar feeling of tears coursing down his cheeks.

He turned away and never looked back once.

"Grampa Ryan?" Sara's small hand touched her grandfather's rough, calloused one. He startled back into reality. "Grampa, what happened then?"

Ryan Slocum, aged, bitter and decrepit looked at his two grandchildren, grandchildren to a woman he had never loved and sighed.

"And they all lived happily…ever…after…"