A/N: I wanted to write another Christmas fic, and this little AU world I created called me back. I never thought I'd write a sequel to "She Wore a Red Ribbon," but here it is. Those of you new to my fics should definitely read that story first. It is extreme AU, set in the old west, but I think the response to that fic shows that the original readers found it easy enough to take, so if you like my work, and would like to read this new story, it is imperative you read "She Wore a Red Ribbon" before continuing.

Now then, if you have already read the first story, you should know that this sequel begins nine months after "Red Ribbon" left off. There is quite a bit of exposition (unfortunately?) but I felt it necessary to catch you up on what's been going on with our beloved characters. Please bear with me, and I promise the dialogue and action will steadily increase. Thanks for giving this continuation a go.

Red and Green

California: December, 1870

The most difficult part of travelling by public train was keeping his hands off his wife, Patrick Jane concluded, after perhaps the tenth time Teresa had swatted his wandering hands away.

"Mr. Jane," she whispered in her teacherly voice, which he secretly found infinitely enticing, "it is highly improper to display one's affections, even toward one's wife, in a public location." She glanced nervously to the older couple sitting across the aisle, who occasionally regarded her and her husband with equal parts knowing amusement and disapproval.

He leaned closer to her—in complete defiance of her edict—and whispered in her ear. She shivered at the sensuality of his tone, at the suggestive nature of his words.

"I don't recall you complaining about my improper affections yesterday morning, when you were riding me like a-"

"Jane!" she gasped, then clamped her hand over her mouth when their neighbors rewarded her outburst with a sharp look.

Her face flushed scarlet at both his words and the memory, and she sat up straighter, adjusting her hat self-consciously, purposefully looking out the window as if suddenly fascinated by the golden landscape of the California hills.

Jane chuckled softly next to her, but obediently kept his hands to himself, keeping them occupied by picking up his novel, Mr. Jules Vern's Around the Moon, from his lap. He felt better now that she was perhaps sharing his pain and suffering.

For the past nine months they had been travelling all over California, Oregon, and Nevada on the Ruskin Family Circus train, where they'd had their own private car. He was used to making love to her to the gentle swaying of a train, so it was hardly his fault that trains now made him a little…randy.

"It's so nice that Grace and Wayne have invited us home for Christmas," Teresa said a few minutes later, having quickly forgiven him his indiscretions. His eyes still on his book, he absently turned the page.

"It's still your house, sweetheart," he reminded her.

Teresa was letting the newlyweds stay in her family home while she and Jane traveled with his first wife's family circus. Since the circus train was heading south to winter near Rancho Malibu, this was the perfect time for them to see her family and friends back in Sacramento. The train had let them off in San Francisco on its way, so Jane and Teresa had taken a public train from there for the ride to Teresa's hometown. Jane himself had made friends there with Wayne, Grace, and Kimball, and while he was looking forward to seeing them, he also remembered his last visit with some trepidation.

He'd killed Red John, but word had come via a letter from Grace that Grace's butler, Stiles, had been implicated in the death of the last of Red John's gang, Jared Renfrew. The missing gold bars from the gang's foiled bank heist had never been found. Even though he had plenty of pleasant memories of Sacramento, (namely that he'd met his new wife there) he had a feeling of deep dread at the prospect of returning. The fact that Bret Stiles could still be out there, a missing member of Red John's gang, perhaps bent on vengeance of his own, troubled Jane to say the least.

"I know it's my house," Teresa was saying, "but to have company might be very trying on Grace. She's eight months along, you know," she finished in a discreet whisper.

"Yeah, good old Rigsby didn't waste much time, did he?" Jane grinned wickedly.

It took all of Teresa's self-control not to drop her hand to her stomach. She was perhaps three months pregnant herself, and it was terribly difficult to keep secrets from Patrick Jane. But this would be her Christmas gift to him, so she only had to school her telltale actions for three more days. And to be perfectly honest with herself, she was a little nervous about how he was going to take the news. His first child had been murdered, so she could understand how her husband might have a heap of mixed emotions where a new baby was concerned. But whatever his reaction, Teresa's happiness was bountiful enough for the both of them.

She settled now for elbowing him meaningfully in the side. "Behave," she hissed.

Jane read another page or two, then dog-eared a corner and leaned back against his seat, pushing his gray hat low over his eyes in an attempt to grab a catnap. Teresa fished out her embroidery from the small bag at her feet, and tried to focus on finishing the holly embellished towel she was making for Grace. But her attention strayed unerringly to the tiny life within her, and she glanced at her napping husband before smiling secretly to herself.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxx

Jane vaguely felt the train slow, then halt at one of the many train stations along the way, and he no longer paid attention to the brief commotion caused by departing and boarding passengers. He'd barely registered his wife moving past him, murmuring something about stretching her legs a moment, which in prim ladyspeak meant she needed to find the nearest water closet.

"You want me to go with you," he asked sleepily, moving his legs aside.

His overprotective nature both amused her and tugged at her heart.

"I'll be fine, Mr. Jane. Go back to sleep."

Then he sighed softly and closed his eyes again.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Bret Stiles had been watching the striking couple since they'd boarded the train right after him in San Francisco. His heart clenched in icy rage when he recalled how the peddler had ruined in a few minutes what had taken Stiles years to establish, how he'd killed his best lieutenant, the one responsible for filling his coffers for the past three years. Patrick Jane was not going to get away with it.

He'd followed the pair on their honeymoon trip to San Francisco. Followed them around the city as they went sight-seeing, then surprised him by falling in with circus folk and leaving with them on their train. He'd let them go, for the moment, but Stiles had friends all over the state, and he'd sent messages to them to let him know when the Ruskin Family Circus was in their area. In this way, he'd been able to monitor their moves until there came the perfect time to exact his revenge.

He'd laid low in San Francisco the past several months, growing a white beard that exactly matched the hair on his head in order to hide his new identity. He'd used that time and his ill-gotten gains to recruit and mesmerize more followers, this time not some rag-tag group of common thieves. No, his new gang would be much more subtle, infinitely more controllable. He'd established a new religion based on ancient cults, drawn in sad but wealthy widows and disillusioned businessmen to contribute to his mystical pursuit of spreading spiritual enlightenment. With his flowing white beard and long linen robes, he'd appeared to them as a modern day Moses. But before his real work could begin, Stiles had an old score to settle, a loose end that he must tie up before he could truly move on.

When he'd gotten word that the circus was in town again, he'd realized Patrick Jane's time had come at last.

xxxxxxxxxxxxx

It was an unfortunate by-product of being with child that a lady must use the privvy much more often. It was especially awkward on a public train, and Teresa just knew Jane would become suspicious of her frequent visits and figure out her secret. She didn't like walking through the moving train cars to find the WC, for in her current state it riled up her stomach, so she was grateful there were so many stops on the way to Sacramento. She went into the small enclosure one car behind their own, quickly doing her business since most station stops took only ten to fifteen minutes.

When she came out of the small enclosure, it was to suddenly feel cold metal pressed into her side, a strong, warm hand gripping her arm almost painfully.

"Not a word or a sound, Mrs. Jane," came the soft, foreign voice in her ear, accompanied by the tickle of a beard against the back of her bare neck. "Act completely naturally and you won't be hurt."

The tall man pushed on the gun to guide her in the opposite direction of the car where her husband slept, and her heart began to pound erratically in shock and fear. She moved as he directed, and when she saw they were approaching the train car exit, she stiffened and contemplated screaming.

"Don't even consider it, my dear. I have other men training their weapons on Mr. Jane as we speak, and they are only awaiting my signal to blow his bloody head off. Understand?"

She nodded jerkily and allowed him to practically push her down the steps onto the train station platform. She took a deep breath, trying to restore her frazzled senses, and a feeling of calm at once settled over her. She spoke to her captor now as if he were one of her recalcitrant students.

"What do you want from me?" she demanded, her voice quiet yet commanding.

He only chuckled at her spirit. "For balance to be restored to the universe, of course," he replied silkily.

"Who are you?" she tried again.

"All will be revealed in time," came his maddeningly cryptic reply.

They were moving now through the crowded station, his strong hold on her remaining steady as he walked closely behind her. She had yet to see his face, but his properly accented voice told her he was England born, and she rifled through her memories to recall any Englishmen she had met who also had a beard. Her mind drew a blank. Whoever he was, she wished with all her heart that she had brought her reticule with her, for it contained her trusty Derringer.

But most of all, Teresa wished she'd tamped down her independent streak for once and asked her husband to accompany her to the water closet.

Xxxxxxxxxxxx

When the train started again with a jolt, Jane instantly shot an arm out to the side to protect Teresa from falling forward, but he was surprised to find he was only holding back the air. He tipped back his hat and looked to his left, but the seat beside him was empty. He felt an unaccountable jolt of fear, but stifled it quickly, realizing she must still be in the lavatory. He remembered that when his first wife had been expecting, the water closet had been her frequent companion.

Of course he had figured out Teresa was expecting, perhaps before even she herself. In the few months they'd been together, he'd come to know her body as well as his own. He'd detected the subtle change in the size of her breasts, how they seemed fuller, even more sensitive than usual. She was so tiny through the waist that any additional pouching in her stomach was immediately noticeable, at least to him. But the biggest clue had been how there had been no respite in their lovemaking, no painfully long week in the last three months where he must restrain himself from touching her intimately.

Teresa was pregnant all right, and she knew it, but he could tell she was struggling with how she was going to break it to him. It touched him to think that she was worried that he wouldn't be happy, but he would let her find her own time to share the joyous news. In the meantime, it was becoming increasingly difficult not to shout his happiness to the world.

Five more minutes passed, and Jane rose to his feet, unable to quell his cautious nature. He walked casually down the aisles of the next two cars until he came to the WC, but he was startled to find it was unoccupied. Perhaps she had gone to a different car.

He turned to one of the passengers in a nearby seat, a young woman who was definitely not immune to his charming smile.

"Pardon me, Miss," he began, tipping his hat, "but did you happen to note a small brunette who recently visited the facilities? She hasn't returned to our car, and I admit to being mildly concerned. We're newly married, you see, and I can't bear to be away from her for long."

She returned his smile, her young, romantic heart impressed by the handsome man's obvious love for his wife.

"I'm afraid I just got on the train, sir. I've seen no one entering and exiting the, uh, room," she nodded toward the lavatory with a pretty blush.

"Thank you," he said, feeling his stomach drop a little. He looked around the car, and, propriety be damned, spoke to the passengers at large.

"Excuse me, but have any of you by chance seen my wife? She would have only just left this car, I imagine."

He brought out his pocket watch, opening it to show the tintype on the opposite side of the timepiece—a smiling Teresa on their wedding day. He knew he must sound desperate and more than a little pathetic, but he couldn't shake the feeling that something was most definitely wrong.

Everyone looked at him blankly; few would likely have noticed a diminutive lady entering the car at the same time others had been arriving and leaving at the stop. A few patrons shook their heads and politely apologized. Then, a small voice near the front of the car spoke out.

"She went with Santa Claus," said the little boy of about five years. Jane turned to the child, whose mother looked thoroughly embarrassed.

"Now, Timmy, what have I told you about telling stories?" The woman looked up at Jane apologetically. "I'm sorry, Mister; he has quite the imagination."

"That's quite all right ma'am. But maybe in this case, he did see something." He squatted down in front of the boy, smiling benignly. "What exactly did you see, Timmy?" he asked, hoping to sound friendly and nonthreatening, while at the same time, his pulse raced. Suddenly bashful, little Timmy turned his face into his mother's arm. Still not looking at Jane, the child reached behind his back and drew out a small, colorfully illustrated copy of A Visit from Saint Nicholas.

"She went with Santa Claus," Timmy reiterated, his voice muffled, but very insistent.

Jane held out his watch to the boy. "You saw this lady go with a man who looked like this?" he asked encouragingly, pointing to the jolly Christmas elf on the cover of the boy's book. "With a white beard?"

He peeped at the pictures, then nodded. "She smiled at me. She was pretty. Then Santa Claus came and they got down from the train."

Jane's eyes widened, his heart pounding. "They got off the train?" he asked tightly. "Are you absolutely sure?"

"Yes, sir," Timmy replied, emboldened now that he was being taken seriously. Jane looked deeply into the child's eyes, recognizing the truth there with dawning horror.

Jane stood, shock making his moves unnaturally slow. His worst nightmare had come true; someone had abducted Teresa, and as the train chugged along, it suddenly clicked in his mind that with every second, they were moving swiftly away from any hope of finding her.

"I've got to get off this train," he muttered, looking out the window as the scenery sped past at what seemed to Jane a blindingly fast rate. He felt suddenly like he might hyperventilate, so he tried to breathe deeply, in and out, while he rushed through car after car in search of the conductor, anyone who could stop this godforsaken train.

He couldn't lose them. Not Teresa. Not the unborn child he had already come to love. If it took his last breath, there was no way Patrick Jane would allow history to repeat itself.

A/N: Let me state for the record that this is NOT a baby fic. I will NEVER write a baby fic. You will NEVER have a story from me describing a baby being born, or the main characters interacting with children of their own. I don't know why, but I've never liked baby fics of any kind. Oh, I'm sure there are quality ones out there somewhere, but I won't be seeking them out, and I definitely won't be reading them. Don't get me wrong, I love children. I'm a teacher. I have a child of my own. Just call it a personal failing of mine. Anyway, the pregnancies of both Lisbon and Grace in this fic is a blatant plot device, so don't bother knitting any booties out there, okay?

That being said, do you like this so far? Lol. This will be a multichapter, but it will be rather short—no more than five chapters, I imagine.

P.S.: Do yourself a favor and read "Secret Drawer" by hardly loquacious. It is truly a thing of beauty…