Journeyverse, Washington Years Texas

by deb

Cait brings Michael home to meet the family. Story 1.2 in the series.

"Journeyverse, Washington Years - Texas" (story 1.2)

This is the second of a planned series of pieces set in the "Journey into Darkness/Ghosts" universe, written to fill in the seven years gap between those two stories. Since these stories span seven years, each will be numbered in order, and given an approximate date.

As always, I do not own Airwolf – I'm only borrowing the characters for awhile.

-*-

"Texas"

April/May 87

Caitlin paced the room, portable phone pinched between ear and shoulder. Pausing at the window, she looked out at the passing traffic, not really seeing it. Her sister's voice came through the phone. "Caity, it's their fortieth anniversary. Everyone's going to be here, even Uncle Joe and Aunt Edna are flying in. Surely you can make it down, at least for the weekend?"

She heard a sound behind her and turned to see Michael coming in the door. She acknowledged him with a look and turned her attention back to the phone. "I don't know, Marie. I just started this job, I don't know if I can get away. I'm not..." Caitlin let out a sigh. "Let me see what I can do. I'll call you back later this week, okay?"

"Anne is really going all out on this, Caity. You owe her one. She's expecting you to make it. We all are."

Caitlin stifled a groan. "It's not exactly my fault I missed her wedding. The plane was hijacked!" She felt Michael come up behind her, the coarse hair of his mustache tickling the back of her neck as he leaned over her to plant a kiss there. She swatted absently at him. "Stop that!"

"Stop what?" Marie's voice came over the phone.

"What? Oh, not you." She turned enough to mock-glare at Michael, who was still trying to distract her. Grinning, he surrendered and backed away, going to set his briefcase in the living room. "Never mind. Anyhow, I'll call you later this week, Marie. I promise."

Somehow, Caitlin managed to get her sister off the phone. Hanging up the connection, she took the handset into the living room to return it to its cradle. Michael had stripped off his jacket and loosened his tie, and was pouring himself a drink. "Give me that." Caitlin reached out to take the glass from him.

Raising an eyebrow, he passed it to her. "I didn't think you drank brandy?"

She took a deep swallow, then passed the drink back to him, wrinkling her nose in disgust. "Yecch. I don't. And I just remembered why."

He nodded toward the phone. "That bad?"

"My sisters are planning a party for my parent's anniversary. They want me to fly down." Michael seated himself on the white leather couch, and she joined him, leaning into him as he wrapped his arm around her.

"I'm sure Ernie will give you the time off."

Caitlin sighed. "I know. I just used work as an excuse. I'm not sure I want to go."

"You don't want to visit your family?" She was certain that he didn't mean it to sound like an accusation, but to her ears, it did.

"It's not that. Not precisely." She had never told Michael much about her life before she had left Texas. She was sure he knew the basics, that at the very least he had run a background check on her when she first appeared at Santini Air. A background check, though, wouldn't reveal the relationship she had with her mother, and how the older woman kept harping that Cait needed to settle down. That was something she wasn't quite prepared to tell Michael. "My mother can be a bit... overbearing," Cait said instead. "She wants to run my life."

He shifted on the couch, turning towards her to compensate for the lack of peripheral vision on his left side. "She loves you."

Caitlin nodded. "That doesn't make her any easier to deal with."

His fingers stroked the back of her neck, an oddly soothing touch. "You need to go."

"I know," she admitted reluctantly. She really didn't want to deal with her mother alone. "Come with me." As the words left her lips, she questioned their wisdom. Was that really such a good idea?

Michael hesitated. "Are you sure?"

Was she? Before the move, Caitlin had called her mother and told her of String and Dom's deaths. She had said that she was taking a job in Washington, but had been scarce with the details. She hadn't mentioned Michael, uncertain how her mother would react and knowing that if their relationship progressed, she would have plenty of time to bring her family around. Now, she found she was more certain of their future with each passing day. Her life was with Michael. The time had come. "I'm sure."

-*-

After two months of the cold, damp weather that passed for spring in the nation's capitol, the Texas sun felt absolutely decadent. Its heat helped to burn away the stiffness that had settled into his knee. First class or not, commercial aviation was too cramped to be truly comfortable.

The rental car that waited was a shiny red Corvette. Regrettably, it was an automatic; the agency didn't offer standards. Michael wedged their bags into what passed for the trunk. The car was far from practical, but after fighting Washington traffic he couldn't resist the allure of a high powered sports car on the open highway.

They headed north out of DFW, the Vette chewing through the miles. Reaching across the console, he took Caitlin's hand in his own. She had been unusually quiet on the flight, and now as they neared their destination, tension radiated off of her in waves. He flicked a quick glance in her direction and saw her chewing her lip. "You okay?" he asked, giving her hand a reassuring squeeze.

"Yeah, fine." The tightness in her voice said otherwise.

He could make an educated guess as to what was making her so nervous. "So, what did you tell them about me?"

Her hesitation was just long enough to tell Michael he'd guessed correctly. "Not a lot. When I called Marie and warned her I was bringing someone down with me, I told her that you work for the government, that you were recently transfered to DC – and that you were the reason that I moved."

Michael fought back a chuckle. "I take it you forgot to mention that I'm closer to your parents age than to yours?"

"You're not!" she protested.

The answer had come too quickly. She had already done the math. As had he. "Barely."

Another glance revealed the heat flushing her cheeks. "Michael, I don't care--"

"I know," he cut her off. "It doesn't matter to either of us, but your parents..." That was a different matter entirely. He wasn't a fool, nor was he completely blind. He knew what sort of first impression he would make on the O'Shannessy clan.

Caitlin interrupted his thoughts. "I told my sister that I was bringing home the love of my life. If the family doesn't accept that, well, it's just too bad."

Michael knew that she meant it, but he knew, too, that her family was important to her. He didn't want to see her pushed into a situation where she had to decide between him and them, because he knew how much it would hurt her. "It'll be okay, Cait," he promised, hoping he was right. Michael forced a levity that he didn't actually feel. "I'll be my usual charming self."

That pulled the hoped-for laugh from her. "Don't be too charming. I'd hate to have to beat my sisters off of you with a stick."

"You're sure I shouldn't wear a suit?" he teased. At Caitlin's insistence, he had abandoned his usual wardrobe for the trip, instead wearing denims and a chambray shirt.

She was still laughing. "Please, no! I'll be damned if I want to have to explain to my mother why I'm living with the Good Humor man."

"Oh, don't you start," he complained with a grin, hoping to keep her mood intact.

Caitlin leaned across to give him a quick peck on the cheek. "Hey, the suit is sexy. But I do like to see you in something else every now and then." She turned her attention back to the road stretching before them and sighed. "Next exit, then turn west." He could hear the change in her voice.

Michael followed her directions. On both sides of the road, fenced pastures stretched as far as the eye could see. Scattered oases of trees surrounded barns and farmhouses, some aging, some no more than a few years old. It wasn't quite the environment he had pictured Caitlin coming from. He cocked an eyebrow. "Farm girl, you said? Why was I picturing a few tomato plants and a cow?"

It brought back her smile. "I thought you knew. You must have run a background check when I showed up at Santini Air?"

He shrugged. "I had Marella do it. She assured me you were clean. I never looked any further." As he remembered, Caitlin had appeared not long after the program Moffet had left buried in Airwolf's computer had taken over the aircraft. At the time he had been too busy dealing with the fallout to spend much time worrying about Santini's new pilot.

"The family raises cattle." Caitlin confirmed what he had surmised from the landscape.

Michael was rather grateful to learn that the O'Shannessys raised beef instead of crops. Ranching was something that he had at least a passing familiarity with. His grandfather had bred horses, as had his father, although there was little that Michael wanted to remember of his father or his ranching operation.

"How much can I tell them about you?"

Her words pulled him from his thoughts. "What do you mean?"

"As I said, I told Marie that you worked for the government. I wasn't sure how much detail..."

He shook his head slightly. "Airwolf's a secret, my job isn't."

She turned to stare at him with a certain degree of disbelief. "You really mean that? I'm allowed to tell them that you're a spy?"

Michael chuckled. "Cait, the entire Soviet Bloc and most of the rest of the world knows what I do. There's no reason to keep it from your folks, unless you want to. You know I can't talk about specific missions or projects, but the job in general..." He shrugged. "One thing, though. I 'd rather you used the term intelligence agent, rather than spy. The spy label always makes me feel like I should be drinking a martini. Shaken, not stirred."

She laughed outright at that. "Not that you couldn't play the part. Briggs. Michael Coldsmith Briggs, the Third." Caitlin shook her head. "I don't know. That's way too long. It doesn't have quite the same ring."

"How much further is the house?" he asked, hoping to distract her before she carried the analogy further. 007, licensed to kill. That was just a little too close to a reality that Caitlin still wasn't comfortable with, and he had no intention of reminding her of it.

She looked out the window, taking in her surroundings. "It's about three or four miles. We're getting close."

"It will be fine." He took her hand again, stroking her knuckles with his thumb. Abruptly, he realized what was missing; the ring that she'd worn religiously since they had first left for Cambodia.

"It's on a chain around my neck." Caitlin answered his unasked question. "I didn't want to try to explain what it meant to my mother, at least not until she's gotten to know you." She pointed to a cluster of trees ahead on the left. "That's it."

As they approached, the grouping of trees revealed a barn, several outbuildings, and a large yellow farmhouse. A wide porch wrapped around the two-story structure, the style of the house revealing its age, despite fresh paint and immaculate upkeep. Michael eased the Corvette down the gravel driveway, pulling to a stop in front of the porch, parking beside a black Volvo station wagon. "Marie's." Cait gestured towards the car as she got out of the Vette. "She must be here already."

"She's the one who's expecting?" Michael asked, joining Caitlin at the trunk and opening it. He hid the wince as he lifted out Caitlin's suitcase. He still wasn't supposed to be lifting anything heavy with his right arm, but he continually pushed that as far as he could, working to rebuild his strength.

"I'll take that." Caitlin scowled at him, reaching for the bag. "And yes, Marie..."

Whatever she had been about to say was cut off by an excited call from the porch. "Caity!"

The girl coming toward them was very obviously pregnant, probably at least seven months if Michael was any judge. The hair was considerably darker. but there was a strong family resemblance. As Michael retrieved his own suitcase and closed the trunk, Caitlin set her bag down to wrap her sister in a hug. "Marie, it's so good to see you!"

The two finally separated, and Marie pulled back, eying Michael with obvious curiosity as he joined them. "So, are you going to introduce me?"

"This," Caitlin reached out to pull him closer, "Is Michael Coldsmith Briggs. And this is my sister Marie North."

Marie stuck her hand out, shaking his. "Good to meet you." She smiled warmly. "You come highly recommended."

"As do you," Michael agreed. From what Caitlin had told him of her family, he expected Marie to be the easiest to win over.

"Where's Ma?" Caitlin asked, as they all started toward the house.

"Cooking, where else? She had something on the stove she didn't want to leave."

They followed Marie in the front door. "Where should we put these?" Caitlin indicated the bags that she and Michael carried.

"You can take our old room, and Michael... um... are you two...?" Marie blushed, the pink of her cheeks readily apparent against her pale skin.

"He's bunking with me," Caitlin confirmed, rescuing her sister. She tugged Michael toward the stairs. "We'll be right back."

He followed her to the second story and down the hallway to the room. It was, he suspected, much as it had been when the girls had lived at the house. Depositing his bag next to Caitlin's, he raised an eyebrow. "So, which one of you did the decorating?"

She laughed. "Do you really need to ask? Can you picture me painting a room this shade of pink?"

"I guess little sis didn't get much input, huh?"

"Oh, I did," Caitlin answered, looking around with what might have been nostalgia. "But I packed away most of my stuff when I left for college." She shook herself. "We'd better go back down before my mother finishes her cooking and comes looking for us."

He stopped her. "Cait, us sharing a room. Is that going to be a problem for her?"

She shrugged. "Oh, I'm sure she'd rather that we didn't, but she let my sisters get away with it, so..." Cait smiled. "At least we've got one in your corner."

"Oh?"

"Marie. I think she's quite taken by you."

"How can you tell?"

"The way she acted when she sent us up here. She gets embarrassed easily with guys that she likes. Damned if I know how she ever managed to get married, much less pregnant."

Caitlin led him back downstairs and into the kitchen. The aromas of cinnamon and vanilla hung heavy in the air, competing with the coffee that was percolating on the back of the stove. "Something smells delicious," Michael observed, inhaling appreciatively.

"I just finished making rice pudding for tonight's dinner." The older woman turned to greet him, wiping her hand on her apron and then extending it. "You must be Michael." Her gaze turned accusingly toward her youngest daughter. "I'd like to say that we've heard so much about you, but I'm afraid Caitlin's been keeping you something of a secret."

Michael laughed, taking the offered hand. "And you must be Mrs. O'Shannessy. It's good to meet you."

"Please, it's Katherine. Mrs. O'Shannessy was my mother-in-law." Despite her denial, Michael could see that she'd been surprised and pleased by the honorific.

"Katherine, then," he agreed.

The elder O'Shannessy moved to pull her daughter to her. "Caity, it's been too long. You need to visit more often."

"I know, Ma. I've just been busy."

Releasing Caitlin, Katherine waved them toward the kitchen table. "Sit, both of you. Coffee is just about ready. We'll catch up."

Ignoring her mother's request, Cait went to the cupboard and started retrieving cups while Michael slid into a seat. "Would you prefer something stronger? Or something cold?" Katherine asked, looking in his direction.

"Coffee is fine, thank you," he assured her.

"How do you take it?"

"Just cream." As the older woman poured, Michael took the opportunity to study her. She was taller than he had expected, slightly more so than her daughter and not much heavier. Dark blond hair just starting to show gray curled at the nape of her neck. He would have guessed her to be at least five years younger than the sixty four he knew her to be.

"Where's Dad?" Caitlin asked, bringing her cup and Michael's to the table and settling beside him.

"Meeting in Oklahoma City. Jake's with him. They'll be back tomorrow." Katherine brought a plate of cookies to the table with her. "Not too many of these," she cautioned. "There'll be steak for dinner."

Marie came into the kitchen, pouring herself a glass of lemonade from the refrigerator. She joined them at the table, snatching a cookie as she sat down. "Jimmy's asleep. Finally."

Caitlin caught Michael's questioning look. "Anne's boy," she explained.

"I'm sitting until Anne gets off work," Marie added. She looked towards her mother, frowning. "I didn't get the chance to tell Caity. Anne was there when I was on the phone, and I didn't want to say anything."

"Tell me what?"

It was the elder O'Shannessy that answered. "Anne's staying here for awhile. She caught her husband with his secretary."

"Oh no!" Scowling, Caitlin sipped her coffee. "You know, I never did like like him. At least I don't feel so bad now about missing the wedding. So how is she doing?"

"About as well as can be expected. She's pretty upset." Katherine turned toward Michael. "I'm sorry for all this. We've barely met, we shouldn't be dragging you into the family drama."

He shook off her apology. "Just as well that I know. I'd hate to have asked her about her husband and come off looking like an insensitive cad." Michael reached for another of the tart lemon cookies. "These are excellent, by the way."

"Thank you," she smiled. "Just remember not to spoil your dinner. The steaks are our own beef, and they're better than anything you can buy in the market, if I do say so myself."

Caitlin nodded. "She's not kidding. These steaks are the equivalent of String's trout, the freshest--" She broke off abruptly. Cait looked away, closing her eyes, but not before he saw the emotion in them.

Quietly, Michael reached out and covered her hand with his, wishing there was more that he could do. At the time she had learned of the helicopter explosion, Caitlin had been so busy caring for him, she had had little time to grieve the death of their friends.

Katherine's gaze met his over the top of her daughter's head. "Is she okay?" she silently mouthed the words to him.

He nodded a reply, inching himself closer to Cailin. "Cait?" he asked, quietly.

She raised her head, wiping her eyes on the back of her hand, and accepted the napkin Marie passed her. "Thank you. I... I'm sorry. It just hits me sometimes. It happened so fast, so unexpectedly, it's like it wasn't even real."

"I only met them the once, when I was came out to visit you, but they seemed like good men. Stringfellow Hawke and Dominic Santini, if I remember correctly?" Katherine asked.

"Yeah," Caitlin answered, using the napkin to finish drying her eyes.

"Were they your friends, too?" Her mother asked Michael.

Michael considered that, and admitted something that he might not have, when they were alive. "Hawke was a friend. Dom and I? We grated on each other, but underneath that, yeah, I guess you'd say we were friends."

Further reminisces were interrupted by the bang of the front door being slammed, followed by the rap of approaching boots on the hardwood floor of the living room. The young man who joined them might have stepped straight out of a Hollywood western. From the sweat stained Stetson atop his head to the pointed toes of his boots, he evoked the image of the American cowboy, right down to the holster hanging on his hip. "God damn bull got loose again," he complained to no one in particular, as he pulled open the refrigerator and took out a bottle of beer.

"Tommy, watch the language," Katherine admonished. "We have company."

Tommy turned from the counter where he was opening the beer. "Hey Sis, long time no see." He tipped the bottle toward her in greeting before taking a long swallow.

"Michael, let me introduce my youngest, Tommy. Tommy, this is Caitlin's friend Michael." Katherine said, the hesitation before the word "friend" so slight that he almost missed it.

"Hi." The younger man followed the direction of Michael's gaze to his revolver. He shrugged. "Snakes. I got surprised by a rattler a couple years ago. It happens again, it's going to be the rattler getting the surprise." He took another swallow from the bottle, leaning back against the counter. "Damn bull was half way to Pete's place. He managed to snap the fence again." A quick glance toward the clock. "Too late to start today, but first thing tomorrow morning I'm going to ride out and check every inch of those wires. This is happening too damn often."

"Tommy, the language," his mother reminded.

"Aw, Ma!" Tommy protested.

Michael felt a certain amount of sympathy for the young man. Tommy had quite obviously had a long day, and Michael doubted that Katherine would be protesting her son's vocabulary if he wasn't there. "You still use horses?" he asked, hoping to dispel Tommy's ire before he further annoyed his mother.

"Yeah. Beats finding out you've got a dead battery on your ATV at the far end of the property." Judging from the way Tommy said it, he was speaking from experience. Crossing to the table, he pulled out a chair between his mother and Marie, spun it around, and dropped into it.

"We'll go riding one day before we head back to DC," Caitlin offered, reading Michael's mind. "I'll show you the farm."

"You ride?" Tommy asked, eyebrow twitching upwards with the question.

"Not nearly as much as I'd like. Unfortunately Washington isn't really an equestrian town."

"So what do you do, anyhow? Didn't Marie say that you work for the government?" He looked to his sister for confirmation.

"That's what Caity told me," Marie agreed, her own curiosity apparent.

Michael hesitated, uncertain whether Caitlin actually intended to tell them the truth. Apparently she did, because she spoke before he could decide what to say. "Michael's an intelligence agent."

"Oh? So what does an intelligence agent do?" Tommy asked, not satisfied by the answer.

"I'm a spy." Michael fought down the laugh that threatened to erupt at Caitlin's strangled groan.

Tommy looked at him with what could only be termed new-found appreciation. "For our side? No shit. Cool!"

Michael was more interested in gauging Katherine's reaction. While she was apparently surprised enough that she forgot to berate her son for his language, she didn't seem totally shocked.

"So you do all that cloak and dagger stuff?" Tommy sat up, eager to hear more.

This time, Michael did chuckle. "I used to. Now, I attend meetings and push a pencil. The 'benefits' of being promoted. Trust me, even in the field, it's not nearly as exciting as it is in the movies."

Katherine finally found her voice. "Tommy, you've grilled our guest enough for one afternoon. Go get yourself cleaned up for dinner."

He gave her an "Aw, Ma" look, but excused himself and did as she had asked. Katherine's eyes followed him as he left, before returning to Michael. "You know you've opened up a can of worms with that one, don't you? He's going to drive you crazy with questions."

"I don't mind," Michael answered honestly. The attention was, in some respects, rather flattering. "I can't say too much about most of it, but there are a few stories I can tell him."

Marie left them to check on Jimmy. "You two might want to unpack while I finish getting dinner ready," Katherine suggested.

"Is there anything we can help you with?" Michael asked.

She laughed. "I learned long ago not to let Caitlin near any food that we're actually intending to eat."

"Ma!" Cait protested, looking as if she'd like to throttle her mother.

Rising, Michael grinned. "You might want to give her another chance. She's been learning to cook. She's getting to be quite good at it."

That did gain Katherine's attention. "Oh? Now that's a surprise. So did you send her to cooking school before or after the food poisoning?" she asked, her voice light and teasing.

"Actually," Caitlin answered, intercepting the question, "He's been teaching me."

"So you cook, Michael?" Katherine started clearing the table.

"I dabble."

"Any specialties?" she asked.

"Not really. I do make a mean Chicken Kiev." Michael took his empty cup to the sink.

"Interesting. I might have to let you in my kitchen. But not tonight, tonight you're a guest. Go on up and get yourselves unpacked, both of you." As they started to go, she called them back. "Michael, how do you like your steak?"

"Rare would be wonderful."

Katherine nodded her approval. "Good enough. Two rare steaks it is."

-*-

Michael followed Caitlin back into the room they were sharing, collapsing onto the nearest of the twin beds with a sigh, "I am stuffed."

Caitlin laughed, sitting down beside him. "I warned you about my mother."

"You told me she was a good cook. You didn't say that she considers an entire prime rib to be a single serving!"

"Don't exaggerate. That ribeye wasn't more than two inches thick."

"Wasn't just the steak. It was the fresh rolls, mashed potato, mushrooms, onions and the squash. You think she'll hold it against me that I didn't have room for desert?" he asked, groaning as he leaned back so he could loosen his belt.

"You can get away with it once, but I think she said that she was making pie tomorrow," Caitlin teased.

Discomfort somewhat relieved, he sat back up. "Well, I guess you won't be complaining about the white suits any more."

"And why is that?"

"After a week of your mother's cooking, they won't fit. Of course, neither will anything else I own."

Caitlin's eyes danced with amusement. "Oh! Are you telling me that you'll be running around naked? I could get used to that." Her fingers traced his jaw, turning him towards her as she leaned in for a kiss.

Her lips tasted faintly of the rice pudding he had regretfully been forced to refuse. He chuckled as they finally broke for air. "Somehow, I'm not so sure the Firm would agree."

"Spoilsports."

"Not to mention, I think DC still a little too chilly for that." Reaching out, he interlaced his fingers with hers. "So, I take it we're staying?"

Caitlin licked her lips. "I don't know. I guess so, if you're okay with it."

Before agreeing to the Texas visit, they had decided that if either of them was uncomfortable, they would remain just long enough to attend the party and then make their excuses and head back to Washington. "I think things are going alright, don't you?"

"Yeah," she agreed. "Anne was pretty quiet, but I guess that's to be expected. I think you just about scared Tommy to death, though."

Michael laughed. Caitlin's brother had peppered him with questions, finally asking Michael if he knew any secrets about the Kennedy assassination. "I could tell you, but then I'd have to kill you," he repeated.

"And the best part was how you managed to say it with an absolutely straight face. Even Anne broke up."

"Poor kid, I shouldn't pick on him. In his shoes, I'd be curious, too," Michael admitted, yawning.

"Tired?"

"Yeah. I guess I am. I was just finally getting adjusted to Eastern time and now we've gained a couple hours again. That added to your mother's cooking..." He fought back another yawn, remembering why he didn't make a habit of overeating.

"So, which bed do you want?" Caitlin asked.

Michael surveyed the two twin beds. "Whichever one you're in."

"Afraid not." She stood, pulling away as he reached for her. "As much as I love sleeping with you, you've spoiled me with that king sized bed. There's no way I'm sharing a twin with you."

"We could push them together."

"Yeah, and everyone in the house would hear us moving furniture. I thought you were trying to stay in my mother's good graces?"

"You're no fun," he complained drowsily, laying back across the bed.

"You are tired." She extended her hand to pull him up. "Come on, let's get ready for bed."

Sleepy, but not quite to the extent that he was pretending to be, he grinned. "Can I at least watch you get undressed?"

-*-

Caitlin woke to sun streaming through the windows. Still groggy, it took a moment for the color of the walls to register, and remind her where she was. She sat up, rubbing sleep from her eyes, unsurprised to see that the other bed was empty and already made.

Michael's sleeping habits had improved considerably in the months they had been together; he no longer left the television on all night, and was usually content with nothing more than a small light in the hallway outside the bedroom. That said, those habits were still far from normal. Often she would wake in the wee hours to find him gone, ensconced in the den with a novel or files he had brought home from work .

She rose and retrieved her robe from the closet, shrugging it on and tying the belt securely around her. Sliding her feet into slippers, she padded downstairs to find him.

Katherine was alone in the kitchen, putting away the last few dishes from the dishwasher. "About time you got up," she chided her daughter. "How about something to eat? You missed breakfast, but there are plenty of leftovers I can warm up."

Still full from the prior night's meal, Caitlin poured herself a cup of coffee. "No, this is fine. Where is everyone?"

"Anne had to go into work for a couple hours this morning. She left Jimmy off at Marie's." Katherine poured her own coffee and joined her daughter.

"So where's Michael?" She had expected to find him being cross examined by her mother.

The older woman frowned. "He said he told you. He went out to ride the fences with your brother."

"He didn't..." Caitlin thought back. She had been more than half asleep, and thought the barely remembered conversation had been a dream. "No, actually, he did say something. I wasn't quite awake." She sipped her coffee cautiously. Her mother tended to make it stronger than she preferred, and it took time to get used to the taste. "Any idea when they'll be back?"

"Probably not till mid-afternoon at the earliest. I packed them both lunches."

Caitlin grimaced, as much from her realization of why Michael hadn't woken her as from the strength of the coffee. Had she been fully awake, she would have talked him out of going with Tommy. Whether he wanted to admit it or not, Michael still hadn't fully recovered from the injuries he had received in Cambodia. Going riding was one thing, spending the day out in the hot Texas sun, working through heavy underbrush patching broken barbed wire was quite another.

"Caity?" Her mother must have read the look on her face.

She shook her head, unwilling to share her concerns. "It's nothing. Just thinking about the heat. Michael's not used to it. I hope they remembered to take plenty of water."

"They did. I made sure of it." Katherine stirred sugar into her cup. "Caity, what Michael said last night about the Kennedy assassination..."

Caitlin laughed. "Don't worry, he was just rattling Tommy's cage."

"I thought so, I just wanted to be sure." The older woman paused, turning serious. "How long have you known him?"

Caitlin's mind slipped back to that night over Germany. To how terrified she'd been flying into the middle of a firefight behind a barely mobile Dominic, in a machine who's controls she was just beginning to learn. To the exhausted, distraught man she'd helped pull into the seat beside her. None of which she could tell her mother. "I met Michael shortly after I moved to California."

"I was wondering. You didn't mention him when we visited last year." In the insidious way her mother was so very good at, it was phrased as a statement, but had the ring of a question.

Thanks, Michael. You run off and leave me here to face the Spanish Inquisition. "We weren't involved then. He was just a friend of String's that I barely knew."

"So how long have you been together?"

That was a question with a hundred different answers. How did one define together? The night they got on the plane for Cambodia? The first time they slept together? The moment she admitted she loved him? "Since the holidays." It was as accurate an answer as any.

Katherine continued to fidget with the spoon, hands restless, and Caitlin knew she was working her way into the hard questions, the ones Caitlin didn't really want to have to answer. The questions she wasn't sure that she even wanted to think about. With what appeared to be a conscious effort, the older woman set the spoon on the saucer and pulled her hands away. "Is it serious?"

Caitlin answered her mother's question with one of her own. "Would I have brought him here if it wasn't?"

"I like him," Katherine said, surprising her daughter. "He's intelligent, supportive, he has a sense of humor... If I'm any judge, he seems to truly care about you." She hesitated. "I must admit, he's a handsome man."

"But?" Caitlin knew there was a but. She could hear it in her mother's voice.

"Have you thought this through?"

"Thought what through?" The younger woman knew exactly what her mother meant, but she wasn't about to make it that easy for her mother. If Katherine wanted those answers, she would have to ask the questions that she was trying so hard to tiptoe around.

Katherine sighed. "How old is he, Caity? Forty-five? Fifty?"

"Forty-seven."

"And you're thirty-one. You know what that means."

Caitlin had been prepared to snap back an angry retort, but there was sympathy in her mother's voice, and she couldn't bring herself to do it. Her mother wasn't being intentionally difficult, only pointing out one of those uncomfortable truths Caitlin didn't like to consider. She wanted to insist that it didn't matter, that accidents or illness could happen at any age, but she knew how those sixteen years skewed the odds. Her own voice dropped. "I know what it means, Ma. It means that in all likelihood, we won't have nearly enough time together."

"Are you willing to live with that, Caity? How will you feel fifteen or twenty years from now if you're sitting at his bedside watching him slip away?"

Caitlin rose slowly and went to the stove. She refilled her cup from the percolator, more to give herself time than from the desire for more coffee. There were things she couldn't tell her mother, other things she simply didn't want her to know. Somewhere between them was the story her mother needed to hear. "Ma," she turned back towards the table, hearing her own voice cracking. "I've already been there."

To her credit, Katherine said nothing, sitting patiently and waiting until Caitlin was ready to continue. "During the Vietnam War," she began, finally, "String's brother St. John was declared missing in action. String refused to stop looking for him. He did everything he could to find his brother. Everyone assumed St. John was dead, everyone except String, that is."

Katherine shook her head in confusion. "What does that have to do with --?"

Caitlin cut her off more sharply than she intended. "Just wait, I'll get there. I need to explain from the beginning." She knew she had to pick her way carefully through the details. The story had to make sense without mentioning Airwolf, or her own presence in Cambodia. She took a deep breath. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to snap. Anyhow... String... String worked for Michael sometimes. They had a deal. Michael promised he would use his sources to try to find St. John, or at least locate his remains."

Too emotional to sit, Caitlin set her cup on the counter and paced the kitchen. "Last December, Michael got word from one of his contacts regarding a group of Americans being held in southeast Asia. St. John was one of them."

Her mother's gasp was audible. "You mean he was still alive? After all those years?"

"Yeah. Alive, and abandoned by the the US government, who insisted that we had recovered all of our POWs." Caitlin wandered the kitchen restlessly. "The information Michael received, though, was out of date. There was no way of knowing if the men were still there. String had been disappointed so many times. I think one more time would have killed him." She let out a short, humorless laugh. Not that it mattered in the end. She closed her eyes, futilely trying to block out the visions her words recalled. "Michael didn't tell String. He went after the men himself. As it turned out, St. John was gone, he'd been moved. But the others were still there. Michael rescued more than half a dozen POWs. In the process, he was shot twice. He nearly died."

"Dear God," Katherine murmured. Eyes still closed, Caitlin felt her mother's arms surround her, and relaxed into the maternal embrace. "I wondered what had happened to him."

For a moment, Caitlin didn't understand her mother's words. She opened her eyes, pulling back, trying to see Michael as her mother did. It took her a moment to realize. "Oh, you mean the glasses?" She had grown so accustomed to them, she seldom took conscious notice.

The older woman gave her a quizzical look. "Those, that limp that he nearly manages to hide. I just assumed...?"

Caitlin shook her head. "No. All that was before I met him. He was in a building that was bombed." It was close enough to the truth. "Michael was shot in the shoulder. He nearly bled to death, then his doctors couldn't get the infection under control. I sat with him in the ICU for over a week. They weren't sure he was going to live."

Katherine reached out to her daughter, absently stroking her hair. "I'm so sorry, Caity."

She shrugged. "It's okay. He's okay. That's all that matters."

"No, it's not. I underestimated you."

Unsure how to answer that, Caitlin simply nodded. "You want to know the ironic part?"

"What's that?" her mother asked.

"At almost the same time Michael was getting shot, someone else rescued St. John. He made it back to the states in time to see String before he died."

-*-

Katherine was putting the casserole in the oven as she heard the front door open. "...best quarterback in the league." Her youngest's voice echoed through the house.

"Elway? Forget it. Granted, Elway can throw a football, but with a little support from the coaching staff Montana would have him for lunch."

She closed the oven door as the two came into the kitchen. She felt herself smile at the friendly bickering. "What is it with you men and football? Isn't this the off-season?""

Tommy shrugged. "Caity hasn't gotten Mike into NASCAR yet."

"Not that she hasn't tried," Michael chuckled. Katherine had caught the almost imperceptible flinch as her son called him "Mike", and resolved to speak to Tommy about it later.

"Beer?" Tommy called over his shoulder, peering into the refrigerator.

"Sure. I think we both deserve one." Michael took the offered bottle and followed Tommy to the kitchen table, dropping into a seat.

"How'd you two make out?"

"Found out where they've been getting out. Fence up in the northeast corner was all rusted to hel... to heck." Her son corrected himself before she could scold him. "I think we got it fixed."

Katherine eyed the two men, amused and pleased by their camaraderie. Michael was just as sweaty and dirty as her son, and if his expression was any indication, he had throughly enjoyed himself. "Is Cait around?" he asked, taking a swallow of the beer.

"You just missed her. She went into town with Anne to get the cake for tomorrow. They should be back in an hour or so."

Michael nodded, finishing the bottle. "Just as well. That will give me a chance to go shower and change before she gets back." He stood and took the empty to the sink, opening the cupboard beneath to toss it into the recycling bin. As he did, she noticed the dried blood that smeared the length of his forearm.

"What did you do to your arm?"

"Hmm?" He looked down at his right arm. "Oh, it's nothing. Just got caught up on some wire."

"I told you to watch yourself on that stuff, Mike. Hell, I've wrecked more jeans climbing over fences..." Tommy complained.

She shot her son a dirty look before returning her attention to Michael's injury. "Let me see." She caught his dubious expression. "Did Caitlin tell you that I used to be a nurse?"

The raised eyebrow said that she hadn't, even before he confirmed it. "No, not that I remember."

Michael's shirt sleeve was already partly rolled up, and Katherine pushed it higher to get a look at the wound. On closer inspection, it was more of a deep scrape than an actual cut. The scrape itself wasn't enough to worry her, but that he got it from rusty barbed wire was a concern. "I'm going to assume you're up to date on tetanus?"

"I've had every inoculation in the book." He shook his head. "It's fine. I'll clean it up."

"Nonsense. I want to get some antiseptic on that, just to be safe. You go take your shower and come back here and I'll take care of it." Given what Caitlin had told her of Michael's history, she wasn't about to take any chances.

He grinned. "You're not going to take 'no' for an answer, are you?"

She returned the smile. "Not a chance. Now git." Katherine shooed him.

"Yes ma'am," Michael finally agreed, heading for the stairs.

She watched him go, the limp she had mentioned to Caitlin perhaps more pronounced after the day spent in the saddle. As he stepped out of sight, she turned her attention back to her son, still sitting at the table. "Tommy?" Katherine asked, hoping he would take the hint.

"Yeah, Ma, I guess I need to get cleaned up, too," he admitted. "And don't set a place for me, I've got a date tonight." He rose from the table and left the bottle he'd been drinking from on the sink bench, wiping his hands on his already grubby denims. "I'm going to check that Pedro took care of the horses, then I'll shower."

-*-

Michael returned perhaps twenty minutes later, partially dressed and hair still damp. His shirt hung from his shoulders, and he held a towel to his forearm. "It started bleeding again," he said by way of explanation. "I'm sorry about your towel."

"Nonsense. It will wash." She waved him into a chair and took the cloth from him. He had done a good job cleaning the wound; it was oozing more than it was actually bleeding. Katherine opened the first aid kit and removed the bottle of antiseptic. "This is going to sting like the devil," she warned.

"It's fine. It doesn't hurt."

Katherine daubed the antiseptic on the wound, expecting him to jump as the gauze pad touched the raw skin. He didn't, and she looked up from what she was doing. "Tough guy, huh?' she teased.

Michael didn't answer immediately, his expression suggesting that he didn't understand her meaning. Abruptly, the corner of his mouth twitched in a half-smile. "No. Not so tough. I meant what I said; it doesn't hurt. Nerve damage," he explained. "I don't have any feeling in that part of my arm."

Embarrassed, she turned her attention back to disinfecting the scrape. "I'm sorry. I certainly do seem to have a bad case of foot-in-mouth disease today, don't I?"

He chuckled at that. "I've eaten a toe sandwich or two myself, on occasion." Michael indicated his arm with a lift of his chin. "Occupational hazard." He shrugged. "Given that I wasn't sure I'd use my arm again, I'm not going to complain."

Standing to retrieve more gauze and the tube of antibiotic ointment from the kit, she took a moment to study him. For the first time, she noticed the scaring that marred his shoulder, partially concealed by the shirt draped around him. He wasn't advertising the marks, but by the same token, he was making no serious effort to hide them. Katherine's mind darted back to the conversation she had had with her daughter that morning. Michael might not come out and say it, but she had no doubt that he knew just how lucky he was.

As she smeared ointment on the bandage, she remembered his reaction when she had spotted the blood on his arm. "You didn't realize that you'd hurt yourself, did you?"

"No," he admitted. "Not until you noticed it."

"You need to be careful. You could do serious damage without knowing it." Katherine secured the bandage with a wrapping of gauze, taping the end in place.

He grimaced. "Not the first time I've heard that lecture." Standing, he pulled the shirt from around his shoulders and shrugged it on. Michael buttoned the sleeve, hiding the bandage. He hesitated. "I'd appreciate it if you didn't mention this to Cait."

"I won't, if you let me change that tomorrow."

That brought a smile. "You drive a hard bargain."

He reached across to button his left sleeve, and she could see that he was fumbling with the fastener. It was more than just a lack of sensation. He didn't have full use of his arm. She started to reach out towards him. "Let me get that for you."

"No, thank you. I appreciate the offer, but I need the practice." As he answered, he succeeded in buttoning the button. "I can do it. Just takes me a little longer." He raised his wrist, showing off his success. "The first time I tried, it took me a good ten minutes. It gets progressively easier."

Katherine hesitated, uncertain how to say what she was thinking without sticking her foot into her mouth yet again. "Michael, I know you care about my daughter, and I'm sure you're trying to make a good impression..."

His smile was disarming. "Am I?"

"More than you know. But I don't want you to think that you have to go out mending fences with my son just to fit in with this family."

"It's nice to hear that I'm making a good impression, but that's not why I went with Tommy." He leaned against the counter, relaxed, his arms casually folded with no outward sign of the injury to his shoulder. If she hadn't known, she never would have suspected. "Katherine, I went because I enjoy riding, and I haven't had much opportunity lately. Believe it or not, barbed wire not withstanding, I had a good time today. This is probably the best day I've had since my 'promotion' to Washington."

The way that he said the word, she realized it had been anything but. "The promotion – because of your arm?"

"In a manner of speaking." He shrugged. "Company politics. They weren't particularly happy with me at the time, and it made a convenient excuse."

He had been punished rather than rewarded for recovering forgotten American POWs? More and more, Katherine began to understand what her daughter saw in this man. Michael had been willing to do the right thing, regardless of what it cost him. "Caity and her sister will be back soon," she said, as she closed the first aid kit and retrieved the towel. "I'll better stash these before she spots them."

-*-

"It's going to be quiet tonight. Just my parents and us. Tommy's got a date, and Anne is going to a friend's house."

"She's taking the baby?" Michael asked, watching Caitlin examine her reflection in the mirror as she brushed her hair.

"Yeah. Her friend is a single mom with a daughter about the same age. Anne called it a play date for the kids, but I think it's more of a bitch session for her and her friend." She tried again to get a reluctant curl to stay in place, poking at it with the brush and scowling when it refused to cooperate. "I swear I am ready to cut this rat's nest."

Michael rose from where he had been sitting on the edge of the bed and crossed the room to stand behind her chair. "Don't. Please." Caitlin had been letting it grow since they moved. He raked his fingers through the strands. "I love it long like this."

"Why do men always like long hair?" Caitlin closed her eyes, tipping her head back and sighing contentedly as he massaged her temples. "Keep that up, and maybe I won't."

"As much as I'd like to, it's time to head down to dinner." Reluctantly, he released her.

"Do I get a rain check?" she asked, as she finished smoothing her hair into place.

"Oh, I suppose that could be arranged," Michael agreed. "So, what sort of reception do you think I'll get from your father?"

"Honestly? No idea," Caitlin admitted, standing, apparently finally satisfied with her appearance. "When I saw him earlier, I didn't get much of a feel from him. Then again, we didn't really have a chance to talk." From what she had related earlier, her father had returned from his trip while Michael was out riding, and had stayed only briefly before heading back out to talk to a neighbor.

"As long as he wasn't carrying a rifle, I'll take that as a good sign," Michael quipped, taking the opportunity to lean in for a quick kiss.

"I've never seen my father with a weapon, I think you're safe." She took Michael's hand in hers. "Come on, let's go down. Dad may not be armed, but my mother might be if we hold up supper."

-*-

Caitlin led Michael downstairs and into the kitchen, where her father was already seated at the table. Patrick O'Shannessy rose as they entered, extending his hand to Michael. "So, you must be Caity's new beau. Michael, isn't it? I've been looking forward to meeting you."

"It's good to meet you, sir," Michael answered. Following Patrick's lead, they joined Katherine at the table.

"Forget the 'sir', we don't stand on formality around here. It's Patrick." He paused to dish himself out some of the casserole Katherine had passed. "I hear that Tommy managed to put you to work already."

Michael chuckled. "It wasn't his idea. I offered my assistance."

"I hope he didn't pester you too badly?" Katherine asked, turning the statement into a question.

Buttering a roll, Michael shook his head. "No, Tommy's a good kid. Although I do admit I was rather surprised to find he was a fan of John Elway. I would have expected him to be a Dallas supporter."

Patrick snorted. "The girl he's seeing is from Colorado."

The two men continued talking sports, and Caitlin tuned them out, choosing instead to concentrate on savoring her mother's cooking. Although Caitlin was learning, when they didn't eat out, Michael still did much of their cooking. While he was an excellent cook, he usually prepared restaurant type dishes rather than home style meals. As such, her mother's casserole was a treat.

Hearing her name mentioned brought her attention back to the conversation the others were having. "I understand that you taught Caitlin to fly?" she heard Michael ask her father.

"I taught her fixed wing. The rotary stuff she went after on her own."

"And I still wish you'd never done it. I feel a lot better when I know my little girl's feet are safely on the ground."

"Ma!" Caitlin groaned, as much at being called her mother's "little girl" as at the woman's opposition to her chosen career.

"Well, I'm certainly glad you taught her. I only met Caitlin because she was flying for Santini Air, and I can't imagine my life without her." Michael smiled at her as he said it, reaching over to briefly take her hand. "So how did you get into flying?"

"World War II," her father answered, taking a second helping of the casserole. "So, my wife tells me you're an an intelligence agent? Or as Tommy put it, a spy?"

It was, Caitlin realized, a very deliberate and abrupt change of topic. His service in the war was something that her father didn't talk about. Unlike Dom and his continual stream of war stories, Patrick O'Shannessy seldom even acknowledged that he had been in the military. Growing up, seeing how Vietnam veterans were sometimes shunned, that had never stuck her as particularly odd. Now, she realized that was a different war. Most looked at WWII very differently than Vietnam, and she wondered about her father's reluctance to discuss it. She made a mental note to ask her mother about it.

Caitlin listened to Michael's explanation that his current duties were essentially limited to negotiating with vendors and begging appropriations from Washington politicians. "You know Senator Haskill?" Patrick asked.

"Hot Air Haskill? Unfortunately." Michael mustache twitched. "I hope he's not a friend?"

"Haskill a friend? That would be a cold day. I was hoping you might have some influence with him. He's trying to introduce a bill that will put half of the small ranchers in this state out of business."

"Afraid I can't help you there. The man won't even return my phone calls. I do have a few friends in the Senate, though. If Haskill's bill gets that far, I could make sure they take a look at it."

"Thanks. Hopefully it will never make it out of committee and it won't come to that."

-*-

Returned once again to the privacy of Caitlin's old room, Michael allowed himself a grimace as he stretched, trying to loosen muscles that had tightened while they talked after dinner.

"You over did it, didn't you?" Caitlin's tone was somewhere between sympathetic and "told you so".

"Probably," he admitted. Spending most of the day on horseback after having barely ridden at all for over five months might not have been a wise choice, even if he had enjoyed it. "But I'd do it again in a heartbeat."

"You're a glutton for punishment, you know that?"

Michael scowled at her. "I'm a little sore. It won't kill me."

Caitlin pulled her nightgown from a drawer. "I'm going to go in and shower." Warm lips curved into a smile. "You know, I wouldn't object to some company."

Normally, he would have joined her, letting the hot spray of water and her soft hands work the stiffness from him. If he did, though, she would see the bandage on his arm. Michael shook his head. "I showered when your brother and I came in, so I think I'll wait till morning."

Once she had left the room, he took the opportunity to change into pajamas, then turned off the light and removed his glasses. When Caitlin returned a short while later he was stretched out on the bed he'd claimed. "Still awake?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper, suggesting that she wasn't expecting a reply.

"Still awake," he confirmed, propping himself on his left elbow.

The night light cast just enough illumination that he could see her smile. She circled the room, and he felt her sit down on the edge of the bed behind him. "Scoot over," she said, giving him a gentle nudge.

Michael looked over his shoulder at her, hoping that it was too dark for her to see the smirk that twisted the corner of his mouth. "Thought you said the beds were too narrow for two?"

"It's a girl's prerogative to change her mind. Of course, if you'd rather I left..."

"Hell, no." He slid closer to the side of the bed, rolling on to his back and pulling her down to lay against him. "So why the change of heart?"

"I missed you," she answered.

"I missed you, too," Michael agreed. Through the silk of his pajamas, her fingertips traced the uneven line of his surgically repaired collarbone. The sensation was, oddly, more intense than if she'd touched bare skin. "God, Cait..." her name slipped from him, more groan than anything else.

Caitlin's hand stilled instantly, and she pulled away from him in the darkness. "I didn't mean to hurt you."

"You didn't," he assured her. For reasons his doctors couldn't explain, despite the problems with the nerves in his arm, his shoulder itself was highly sensitive. "But if you keep that up, we're going to find out what else we can do in a twin bed."

Chuckling quietly, she laid back down beside him. "As much as I'd like to pursue that line of research, we can't. Not here, under my parent's roof." Caitlin snuggled against his side, wrapping herself around him. She ran her hand lightly down his arm, and he felt her sudden hesitation. "What's this?" Her fingers had stopped on his forearm, and he knew she had found the bandage beneath the silk.

"Nothing," he assured her. "Just a scratch. Your mother took care of it for me."

She pulled up his sleeve and leaned across to examine his arm. "That's a lot of gauze for a scratch."

"Your mother got a little carried away," Michael said, hoping that would satisfy her.

Caitlin sighed, settling back against him. "Why don't I believe you?" Her voice dropped. "I worry about you."

He knew that she did. "You don't have to. You know what Marklin said. I'm fine." On his last visit, Michael's doctor had given him a clean bill of health. Somehow, his body had overcome the damage the infection had done to it.

"I know." Her voice cracked. "It just scares me. I don't want to lose you."

Michael knew instinctively that it was more than just the bandage on his arm that was bothering her. "The subject of my age came up today, didn't it?" he asked softly.

"In passing," she admitted.

Mindful of the narrow confines of the bed, he carefully snaked his arm around her, pulling her closer. "Have I told you that my great-grandfather lived to be a hundred and two? And that my grandfather was healthy as a horse when he died?"

"I remember you saying he was killed in a traffic accident?"

"His pickup was hit head-on by a semi." He could still see the mangled remains of the Chevy, and the blood-stained fabric of the driver's seat. With a sigh, he brought his mind back to the present. "I'm not planning to go anywhere, Cait. Not for a long time."

Caitlin nuzzled against his neck. "I told my mother what happened to you. That you were shot, trying to find St. John," she clarified. "I hope you don't mind."

Michael shook his head. "I don't." Given Katherine's reaction -- or more precisely, her near lack of one – when he had mentioned the nerve damage, he had surmised that Caitlin had told her at least some of it. "I'm going to guess that you neglected to mention that you were there with me?"

She snorted. "I'm trying to make you some brownie points, not get you killed."

"So, are you getting anywhere?"

"Ma tells me that she likes you. I think she has reservations, but it's a start."

"I like her," Michael replied, honestly. "Your family, they're good people." He tightened his arm around her, burying his face in her hair. "It's going to work out, Cait. I'm certain of it."

-*-

The house was full of people. Michael was introduced to some of those he hadn't already met: Marie's husband, Tommy's girlfriend, Caitlin's elder brother Jake and his wife and kids. There were cousins, aunts, uncles and other distant relations, some from out of town, and a fair number of neighbors. He watched from a quiet corner as Caitlin circulated, visiting with friends she hadn't seen since she'd followed Hawke to California.

He spent some time talking sports with Tommy, more discussing horses with a neighbor. The kitchen table was a smorgasbord of appetizers, and he picked at a plateful before slipping outside to the porch. There, he leaned on the railing, taking in the view of the grasslands that stretched away into the distance.

Michael heard the door open behind him, and turned, expecting to find that Caitlin had come looking for him. He found, instead, that it was her mother. "Katherine," he said in acknowledgment.

She circled to his right side where he could more easily see her – something few people thought to do -- and joined him at the railing. "Impressive, isn't it?" she asked, indicating the view.

"The terrain is nothing like California, or Washington, for that matter."

"How's your arm?"

He raised an eyebrow at that, before realizing she was talking about the scrape he'd received the previous day. "Fine. When I showered this morning, it was nicely scabbed over. I didn't see any reason to wrap it back up again."

"I'll trust you to keep an eye that it doesn't become swollen or inflamed." Katherine was silent for a long moment, then glanced back toward the house behind her. "Gets a little claustrophobic in there, doesn't it?"

"I just thought I'd get a bit of air."

She smiled at him. "You don't come from a large family, do you?"

Michael shook his head almost imperceptibly. "No. What family I had..." He didn't continue.

"There's no one?"

He scowled. "No one that I choose to be related to." He hoped that she would accept that answer. He had no desire to explain about his father.

It appeared that she did. Katherine laid her hand over his on the railing and gave his fingers a gentle squeeze before releasing them. "You have family now, Michael."

Her words took him by surprise. "Thank you," he said, moved but not certain how else to respond. He turned to look back at the house. "I shouldn't be keeping you from your party."

She shook her head. "Anne's party. Patrick and I only went along with it to give her something to do. Everyone is busy eating and socializing, they won't even notice we're missing."

Michael made a guess. "You don't come from a big family, either?"

Her smile returned. "When I was growing up, six of us at the dinner table would have been considered a large family gathering." She gestured towards the porch steps. "Would you care to join me for a walk?"

Nodding his assent, he followed Katherine down the stairs. Hands stuffed into the pockets of her jeans, she seemed to be studying the gravel that crunched under their feet as she walked up the driveway in the general direction of the barn. Abruptly, she looked up at him. "I assume you don't have children?"

"No," he answered, matching her meandering pace. "No children. Never married."

"Then you might not understand." Katherine sighed. Pulling her hands from her pockets, she folded her arms across her. "There are things you can't tell a child. Things that they're too young to comprehend. Things that you plan to explain when they're older. Then, the next thing you know, there's another child, and the explanations get put off. Soon, the oldest is away at college. Somehow, the years pass, but you never quite get around to having that talk."

He said nothing, waiting for her to continue. Whatever it was that she wanted to tell him, he knew she needed to find her own words.

"You asked Patrick where he learned to fly. He earned his wings in the final year of the war. His first mission was his last."

"I gathered that he didn't want to talk about his time in the service." Michael had assumed from that reluctance that Patrick's military career had not been particularly successful.

Katherine halted abruptly, and Michael had to take a half step back to rejoin her. "My husband was shot down over the Pacific. He was captured by the Japanese. It was only a matter of months before the war ended and the prisoners were released, but by that time he weighed a hundred and ten pounds and was nearly dead from malaria and dehydration. I was his nurse when they got him back to the states." She looked up, eyes shining from the tears beginning to form. "Caity told me what you did, the POWs you found. God, Michael, all those years? How could our government have abandoned those men?"

Political expediency. Unwilling to share that thought with Katherine, he simply shook his head. "I don't know."

She leaned against him, burying her emotions against his chest. He felt her shudder and held her, patting her gently on the back. Embarrassed, she pulled away. "I'm sorry, Michael."

"It's okay." He smiled at her. "Family goes both ways."

She returned the smile. "It does, doesn't it?" Katherine started walking again. "As I said, Caity told me what you did. Of course, she conveniently forgot to mention her own participation in the rescue."

Keeping his face carefully neutral, Michael raised an eyebrow. "Her participation?"

Katherine scowled. "Oh, please. My daughter thinks that she can pull the wool over my eyes and keep me in the dark. Don't you try it. Caity never mentioned anyone else going with you, and I know her well enough to be certain that she never would have allowed you to go alone."

Michael knew that there was no sense in denying it. "I'm sorry. It wasn't my intention to endanger your daughter."

She looked at him. "Michael, for years Caity's only goal was to fly for the Texas Highway Patrol. She got the job, and she loved it. Then one day, she suddenly announces she's moving to California. Tells me that she's got the chance to work for a place that does movie work. Wants to meet the stars, says she thinks she might be able to get a bit part or two herself." Katherine laughed, a short, flat sound. "I know Caity. She wouldn't cross the street to get Paul Newman's autograph. I knew all along that there was something more than just Hollywood connections in California. I think that her showing up here with a government intelligence agent who just happened to have been friends with her employers pretty much confirms that, don't you?"

He had to chuckle at that. "I suppose it does."

Katherine sobered. "I know you can't talk about it. One question. The 'accident' at Santini Air...?"

Michael understood what she was asking. "It was an accident. People that I trust implicitly checked to be sure of it. It was a bad part in the fuel system, defective castings that were recalled, just not quickly enough."

"She was with you when it happened, not at Santini Air?"

"Yeah." He didn't want to think about what could have been.

"In that case, I guess I really can't berate you for endangering her, can I?"

"I still wish I'd never dragged her into that mess. But, Cait saved my life. And somewhere along the way, we managed to fall in love with each other."

Katherine halted again, turning to look at him. "You truly do love her, don't you?"

"Beyond words. I never expected to care about anyone the way I do about Cait."

A smile curved Katherine's lips. "When are you planning to make an honest woman out of my daughter?"

Michael laughed. "The day she'll let me."

"I suppose I'll have to work on her, then." Her smile reaching her eyes, Katherine turned toward the house. "Come on, let's head back before they miss us."

Amused, he let her lead him in the direction of the house, her hand resting lightly on his elbow. "So Michael, you two will be coming down for Christmas...?"