Chapter One

Sam brushed his hair from his eyes and sat down against a rock formation, squinting against the afternoon sun. He'd been walking for miles, and had yet to find a taker for his outstretched thumb, and the rest of him. He took a swig out of his water bottle and latched it to his backpack again, settling himself under the shade of a scrubby bush. Highway 70 stretched on from beyond Utah all the way to Pennsylvania, but he was only taking it as far as St. Louis, or maybe Kansas City, depending on which way seemed more promising. He had to get to Chicago, and had basically no means to do so.

Sam was a drifter, and had been since he was seventeen and ran away. His father wouldn't have no nancy boy claiming anything about visions, or ghosts, or Tarot cards, and was a little too flamboyant, a little too strange for his own good. He had refused to go to church, despite his Protestant upbringing, ever since the unpleasantness between him and a youth minister when he was ten. He was so often wracked with mind jarring visions that he was virtually disabled. They said it was a seizure disorder, or that he was a paranoid schizophrenic, or possessed, or just malingering, depending on who you asked. Sam didn't think he was any of those things, but what proof did he have? The visions knocked him flat on his back, sometimes, because of their intensity. He would wake up muttering and mumbling about the end of the world, of destruction, magical warriors, and desperately shake until he could write it all down.

He wasn't crazy. He knew he wasn't crazy. And he knew that if he got to Chicago, there would be somebody there who would understand him. He didn't know her name, or what she looked like, and had no idea how he would find her, but he had to get there. He had been sidetracked for almost a year, by strange visions that led him to solve murders or save old ladies from burning buildings all across Colorado and half of Kansas, but now he was determined. Sam examined his raggedy clothes, and shook the change in his pockets. All he'd won or earned since leaving Silverhorn was spent on food and a few necessities like a toothbrush, and some Axe. For some reason, people were hesitant to pick up a stinking bum from the side of the road. Go figure.

Sam pushed himself up. It was late June, and Kansas was a frying pan. He had to get inside, or in a nice car before he passed out from heat stroke. He stumbled toward the road, sliding down the rocky embankment, silently cursing the fool who had ever assured him that Kansas was a nice, flat place. That man had clearly never actually BEEN to Kansas. He'd thought he would be done with hills after the Rockies, but the Flint Hills, while smaller, were much less shaded. He came to the edge of the freeway, and stuck out his thumb, trying to look Not Scary, and definitely Not Stinky. A big, black SUV flew past him, so close he could feel the heat of the car on his face. He stepped back, and then jumped back as another car came careening into the shoulder. He could see the frightened driver noticing him, veering back into traffic, then slowly making her way into the shoulder again. He tightened his grip on his bag and slowly approached the car.

It was a woman, and the car was very nice. It was a new Volkswagen sedan, with a soft tan leather interior, and a pleasant dark blue exterior. He tapped gently on the window, bending down. The woman jumped, and looked at him with dread, horror, and pretty much every emotion of apprehension Sam had ever seen. He tried to smile pleasantly and hoped it didn't look deranged. He cursed himself for not stopping at a Good Will store sooner to replace his ripped up, stained dockers, and the green army-style jacket he draped over his shoulders. His no-name tennis shoes were nothing but a sole with laces by now. At least he'd thought to get a haircut. His sandy blonde hair was a little longer than was respectable, but he liked to think it was dapper rather than 'rebel without a cause' style. He could see his face, which was clean but brown as the dead grass from the sun.

He glanced down and noticed that she had an extremely flat tire, and the girl was frantically shaking her cell phone and turning very pale. Sam tapped the glass again.

"I'm not a rapist or a serial killer," he said in the friendliest tone he could muster, which was, admittedly, pretty damn friendly. "You have a flat. Is your cell dead?"

She looked at him reluctantly, as if willing herself to stop ignoring him for the first time. Her teeth were clenched, but she rolled down the window a half an inch. "I don't have any bars. Do you, um . . . can I see . . . an ID or something?"

Startled, he reached for his pocket, then hesitated. "Why?"

"In case you, you know, try something, I'll know your name."

"But what if I just killed you? I assure you, my ID doesn't say if I'm a crazy murderer one way or the other."

"I've never done this before!" she looked agitated, and he tried to calm her by taking a step back from the door.

"Do you want me to change the tire? Do you have a spare?"

"I don't know, I mean . . . stupid cell phone!"

He smiled at her. She was looking less terrified and more flustered now, which was good. He really wasn't a threat. He certainly wasn't crazy. Maybe he wasn't entirely usual, but he wasn't dangerous, that much he knew.

She looked at her useless cell phone for another moment, and then put her hands on the steering wheel as if she were planning to drive off. He raised his hand to protest, but she slumped, unbuckled her seat belt, and reached for the door handle. Slowly, she pulled the latch, and the door popped open. He stepped back to give her space, and she scrambled nervously out of the car, fists clenched, body pressed up against the door panel.

"I'll look," he said, nodding toward the trunk. His voice felt gravelly in his mouth, though it was usually a fairly pleasant tenor. Must be all the Kansas pollen.

"What?!" she almost shrieked.

"If you pop the trunk, I'll look for a spare," he clarified, making a quelling motion. He understood being wary of a strange man by the side of the road, but was he really that scary looking? He glanced again at his worn clothes. He looked battered, tired, probably, and too thin for comfort, but he wasn't missing teeth or glancing around with wild eyes. At least, Sam didn't think he was.

She reached inside, reluctantly turning her back on him, and pushed the trunk release. He walked around her, trying not to loom too much over her small frame. He hadn't allowed himself to really look her up and down, lest his innocent appraisal be mistaken for lust. What he had glimpsed was quite short, a little rotund, and altogether very pleasant. Her long brown hair was tied in a sensible knot at the back of her head, and her jeans and knit top fit her form nicely.

"Never had a flat before?" he asked thoughtfully, pulling her suitcases out of the trunk, and an odd assortment of lamps and other college looking goodies. He pulled up the soft lining of the trunk, revealing a donut, a tire jack, and a little tool kit. He pulled out the donut and the jack to start, and went to the offending tire, which was on the rear of the driver's side.

"No. This is, um, my first car," she flushed. "I've never driven this far before, by myself."

"Coming home from college for the summer?"

"How did you know?" she asked suspiciously.

"It might be all of the assorted common dorm room items, like the bedding and the desk lamp. Also could be the Colorado Christian College sticker on your bumper," he flashed her a grin.

"Oh. Yeah. I'm, uh, a sophomore. Or I guess I'm a junior now, technically. I just got my license last summer, and my parents drove out with me."

"From Ohio?" he questioned.

To her credit, she didn't ask how he knew, this time. The Ohio license plate was a dead giveaway. "It's a long drive."

"No kidding. Kansas is a big state. I know," he muttered. He would know. He'd walked about half of it! More than half, actually, judging by their location, which was about twenty miles outside of Topeka. "You won't be able to get far with this, especially at highway speeds."

Her face seemed to melt into dismay, and he felt bad for her. She looked young. She'd said she was a junior in college, so he guessed she was twenty, twenty-one, but maybe younger. He busied himself jacking the car up, but couldn't get the hub caps loosened. "Come here," he motioned for her to step closer. "I need your help."

"With what?" she dodged as his hand moved dangerously close to her arm.

"I'm not going to hurt you," he said quietly.

She looked down briefly. "Sorry," she mumbled, with no explanation. "What do you need?"

"Stand on this," he pointed to the wrench.

"Stand on it?"

"Put your foot here," he pointed to it, "and put all your weight on it."

"Why don't you?" she asked nervously. Her denim clad leg was beside his face. He sized her up. She was pleasantly round. He had always had an appreciation for women with curves. She would probably be about the right weight.

"I'm too heavy. If I step on it, I'll break it, and somebody needs to steady the wrench," he pointed out. Reluctantly, she placed her foot where he indicated, and then began to push. She was clearly not putting her weight into it. "You have to put your weight on it."

"I don't want to break it," she flushed, seemingly embarrassed.

"You won't break it," he touched her leg lightly, and she almost stepped back, but refrained. "I promise."

She looked skeptically at him, but put one foot on it and pushed, and then at his behest, the other. She hopped up and down on the thing, and the nut slid to the left, loosening. They repeated this until all the nuts were loose, and she stepped back and watched as he pulled off the flat tire and replaced it with the donut. He lowered the jack, put the old tire in the slot where the donut had been, replaced her things, and closed the trunk.

"Thank you," she said softly. "I don't really have any cash, so I can't pay you."

"I didn't do it for money," he shrugged. "I wouldn't mind a ride, though."

"A ride?" she stiffened.

"To Topeka, or Kansas City," he lifted his eyebrows.

"O-oh, right. All right. Will we make it that far?"

"Sure, if we drive slowly. Put on your flashers, and drive in the right lane. We're not far from Topeka."

The girl nodded, and motioned for him to get in. He did so without compunction, and she climbed into the driver's seat and leaned forward over the steering wheel nervously, putting the car in drive and pulling onto the road. She hit the emergency flasher button and pulled to the right, driving about ten miles per hour.

"I think you can probably take it up to thirty-five or forty safely," he pointed out. She glanced at him as if she'd forgotten he was there, and sped up slightly. He sat back and looked out the window. The car was cooling off nicely. Sam glanced at her face, then took a longer look. She was a very pretty girl. She had a round face, with pale blue eyes and a dainty little nose. Her lips were like two soft rose petals, and her chin had a tiny dimple in it. He guessed she was probably about five foot two, judging by how close the seat was to the steering wheel. It didn't look terribly comfortable, actually. Her shapely thighs were a little too close to the steering wheel, though she could easily reach the pedals.

"I take it you don't know a lot about cars?" he asked casually.

She jumped again, then sighed, and shook her head. "No, my dad never taught me anything about cars. I just learned how to drive a year ago, so it's all pretty new."

"Why's that?"

"No reason," she said softly. "So, um, who are you?"

"I'm Sam. Do you want to see my ID?" he joked.

"That's okay," she frowned at him, and he raised his brows expectantly, but she didn't reveal her name. He somehow didn't think she'd take kindly to him rooting through her glove box.

"And you are?"

"Oh! Rowan," she said softly. "I know it's a stupid name."

"It's a beautiful name," he was honestly shocked to hear this self-deprecating comment. He had never met another, but he liked the name immediately.

"My real name is Yancy," he admitted. "But everybody calls me Sam. My middle name's Samuel."

"After the priest of Israel?"

"After my uncle Sam," he quirked a grin. "Who was probably named after the biblical character, come to think of it. Or maybe he had an uncle Sam, too."

"Oh, you have family," she looked surprised.

"Yes, most people do. I don't know any pod people, personally."

She wilted at this, and he lowered his brows in confusion. "Sorry," she apologized. "It was a stupid question."

"Maybe a little unsubtle, but a legitimate question. I think the question you're really looking for is: 'Why are you hitch hiking like a crazy person?' Am I right?"

She flushed, but nodded, and he sat back, looking out the window again. "I have to get to Chicago."

"Is there, a, a job there, or something?"

"A job? How apt. Yes, something like that. Something I have to do. I wish I knew what," he said more to himself, and it was her turn to glance at him. His eye caught the little cross dangling dangerously close to her full breasts, and he averted his gaze from it. He hoped she wouldn't try to save him. "I just have to get there soon."

"I'm going to Akron," she admitted. "I can probably take you, um . . . never mind. Let's figure it out when we get to Topeka."

He nodded and stretched his legs slightly. Most sedans were cramped for his six-foot-two frame, but this car was surprisingly roomy. The passenger seat was pushed back all the way. He wondered if she had a tall boyfriend. She was an odd little mouse, but he liked her. He let the thump-thump of the donut on the road and the angry horns lull him, and slipped into a light doze, and dreamed.

...

Kaena frowned at her reflection. It was wrong. There was just something wrong about it. The dress was beautiful, and hugged her curves in all the right ways, and it was lacy and soft like a cloud around her, but it wasn't right.

"I'm never going to find my dress, and time is running out," she dropped the gown from her figure and turned to Kajri and Kaberi. Luke and Vinny were outside the dressing room, providing male feedback. They liked all the ones that revealed too much cleavage or clung like a second skin to her body. Taka already knew what she looked like naked, and her wedding guests did not need to know that!

"I still like that red dress," Kaberi eyed the deep red gown with gold embellishments that she'd run across in the store room, following the poor, harassed consultant from rack to rack.

"I liked the red one, too, but Americans wear white dresses," she pointed out.

"Neither of you are American."

"All our friends are. Well, mostly. Okay, some. I don't want to walk down the aisle to titters. Besides, Japanese brides wear white dresses if they have a Christian wedding, which is what this is, technically."

"Why did you decide against a Shinto wedding?"

She shrugged her slim shoulders, and sat down on the pedestal behind her. There wasn't any real reason, but she liked the style of American weddings, and didn't really want to have to worry about all the traditions of a Japanese style wedding. "We wanted to get married in Millennium Park, and a Japanese wedding would draw even more attention there than an American style wedding. I don't want strangers popping out of bushes to take pictures of my wedding."

"Fair enough. How's Taka holding up?"

"Nervous, excited, overworked. I put him in charge of all the catering and music choices, since I don't really care about that."

"Does he know your parents are paying for it?"

"Yes, though he's not happy about it. He thinks it's really awkward for mama to pay for him to get married considering . . . anyway, we compromised. They're paying for the reception, and we're paying for the venue, rings, dress, tuxedos, the cake, invites, that sort of thing."

"When are they getting in?" Kajri questioned, holding up a fluffy confection that was totally not her style at all. She shook her head mutely, and Kajri fell back, quelled and pouting.

"Tomorrow," Kaena replied, going to the selections that the consultant had left for her to try on. The poor woman had given up after Kajri and Kaberi had started picking things out and nixing the consultant's choices.

"We have to think through this dress thing logically," Kaberi said suddenly. "You're getting married in the park, right? Is it anywhere near the bean?"

"The bean?" she lifted an eyebrow.

"You know, the big metal bean-shaped sculpture. I think it's called Cloud Gate," Kajri clarified.

"Wrigley Square," Kaena said. "That's where the ceremony will be. Then we'll head over to the Rooftop Terrace for the reception."

"That's the place with the big Roman pillars," Kaberi said. "What about something Grecian?"

Kaena pursed her lips. That was not really her style either. Something between classic and modern, like the park, that's what she needed. The park was full of funky, weird structures, and classic gardens. She needed something that would look at home in either.

Kaberi got a look on her face that suggested she was about to be On A Mission, and she hopped to her feet and hurried back into the store room. The employees milling around didn't even say anything. She and Kajri stared at each other for a minute, and then simply waited for the woman to emerge. She appeared a few moments later with a dress that was in a cloth bag. "Try this one," she thrust the dress into Kaena's hands, and retreated from the changing room.

Curiously, Kaena unzipped the bag. The material felt like soft organza blended with silk. It was crinkly, which wasn't usually Kaena's preference, but the fabric felt so nice, and it was such a nice cream-gold color that she had to put it on. It slipped over her skin like water, and the consultant silently slipped inside to help her with the corset back. She ran her fingers over the fine crystal beading around the bust, and traced along the creped front, down to the little gathers in the full, A-line skirt. She pulled her hair up off her shoulders, and made a serious face, and felt like a bride. Her body tingled from head to toe. She quickly tied her hair up and out of the way.

"Is this the dress, honey?" the woman asked.

Unexpectedly, there were tears in her eyes.

"I think that's a yes. Go show your friends!"

Kaena walked like a zombie, stunned by how right it was, and stepped onto the pedestal in front of Luke, Vinny, Kajri, and Kaberi. The womens' faces lit with pleasure. The men dropped their jaws and said nothing. Totally flabbergasted, Vinny hopped up and hugged her, swinging her around. "You're beautiful, Kaena. Taka is a lucky bastard."

She smiled shyly, and glanced at Luke, who had composed himself rather quickly. He stepped over to her, took a lap around the pedestal, and came to rest in front of her. He took her hands, smiled, and nodded.

"Well done, sis," Kajri held up her hand.

Kaberi slapped her five and hopped up to fuss with the train and talk about the veil they would need, and the shoes, and the jewelry. Kaena let Vinny try to convince Kaberi of the necessity for flats, and stared at herself, stunned. This was really happening. She was going to be married. She was going to be like her parents, with a place they shared, really shared, and a life they could build together. Children, maybe, eventually? Who knew? So many possibilities had opened before her. She giggled a little hysterically.

"But she'll be taller than him," Vinny defended.

"So what? She is a tall, beautiful woman, and the day is about her. She should wear what makes her feel most comfortable!" Kaberi defended gallantly. Kaena didn't care. She wanted to get married today. Well, this weekend, after her parents arrived. But it would be two more long months before that could happen.

"We'll take it," she said at last.

"Don't you even want to know how much it is?" Vinny asked suddenly.

"We'll take it," she repeated. "If I have to dip into my savings, I don't care. I'll take it. For Taka to see me in this dress as he's walking down the aisle, I will pay anything."

Kajri and Kaberi sighed in apparent romantic overload, and Luke just smiled, trying to distract Vinny from his tirade about heels and wedding dresses, and how women just couldn't be reasonable all the time like men, could they? Kaena pointedly ignored this, and allowed her Indian knights to take over the feminist struggle for now. She was honestly too happy to care.