Thank you so much to everyone who reviewed my first GWTW story! Because of your encouragement I've done this... It's not perfect but I like it just the same. Tell me what you think:)

When there was a war on, Scarlett noticed, people tended to forget things. They forgot what coffee tasted like, or how easy it had once been to button up a dress that was made with proper buttons. They forgot how it wasn't suitable for their dresses to show the frilly bottoms of their pantalets, but the lack of fabric in the Confederacy had forced the lengths of dresses up, along with the prices, so people took what they could get. Left and right, people forgot their manners as they pushed and prodded to be first in line when the next shipment of blockade goods arrived at the general store. And most of all, throughout the south, but especially in Atlanta, people forgot themselves. They spent longer hours in the saloons and bars, hanging around to find out the latest news from the north, or to forget the latest news from the north, if it told of defeat. They stayed out late, paraded the streets with women of questionable reputation grinning stupidly at their shoulders and came home at the most indecent hours of the night.

But, as with most things, Scarlett didn't mind too much if there was some benefit in it for herself. And this blight of forgetfulness that seemed to have struck the south was currently coming in quite handy for her. She could forget to take her wrapper and parasol out with her wherever she went; she could laugh loudly in the presence of handsome young men and people wouldn't talk as much as they used to; and, most importantly, she could go on long buggy rides with Rhett Butler. With their sons dead or dying or missing in action, the gossipy women of Atlanta had better things to think about than the excessive number of times that Rhett Butler called on the house of Mrs. Pittypat Hamilton, and the less-than-decent amount of times that Scarlett O'Hara Hamilton--and barely two years in mourning!--climbed into the buggy beside him, face aglow.

Seated beside Rhett with her head on his shoulder as they jostled down a less-traveled road near the outskirts of Atlanta, Scarlett gave a sniff. "Who cares what they think?" she thought indignantly. "I like getting out of the house and being able to feel young again, being able to act young again. And besides, Rhett always brings me such nice things that it would seem rude not to accept his invitation for a short ride!"

It was true, just last month he'd brought her a new muffler made from real mink fur all the way from Paris! And today he presented her with a beautiful pair of shoes, red and high-heeled, the height of fashion everywhere, she'd been told. And so far he hadn't said anything too horrible that she couldn't stand, so she'd accepted his invitation and pooh-poohed Aunt Pitty's pleadings to stay at home.

"Quite a risk you took there, Mrs. Hamilton," Rhett said to her as the buggy went over a bump in the road.

"I do wish you wouldn't call me that," Scarlett implored. "It makes me feel old."

"It was a big risk to come out on yet another ride with me, Scarlett," Rhett amended.

"No bigger a risk than any other time I've come out with you," Scarlett countered testily. She didn't know what he was getting at.

"People will talk."

"Oh, who cares if they talk? I don't care what anyone thinks about me!"

"You would care what they thought if they were to find out about, oh, I don't know… say, your everlasting affection for Ashley Wilkes."

Scarlett's head flew from Rhett's shoulder and her eyes were wide with fury. "Oh, you wouldn't dare! I know you wouldn't! You haven't got the--"

"Calm down, my dear," Rhett soothed with a chuckle. "I have no intention of telling anyone, as well you know."

"Well how am I supposed to know when you go on saying things like that?" Scarlett snapped, her face contorted with rage. Oh, she hated that he had this advantage over her, this awful leverage. She hated owing anybody anything, and the idea that the person she despised the most knew her darkest secret… It was one of the many things she had put on her list of things to think about tomorrow.

"I was merely bringing it up to see if the dear Major still holds your heart--and apparently he does." Rhett's statement held a hint of resentment that was not lost on Scarlett.

"Well of course he does," she said irritably. "And he always will, so don't you keep waiting around for the day I'll rush into your arms, because it'll never come!"

He chortled quietly. "You'll come around my dear, you'll come around…"

She huffed in annoyance. "Talk about something else."

Rhett knew he would have to change the subject to get back in her good books, so he asked, "How's Melanie? She should be expecting to have that baby soon, shouldn't she?"

Not only was it inappropriate for men to talk so openly about other women's babies, but Scarlett didn't want to hear anything about Melanie's baby from anyone. The baby was just one more reminder that she didn't have Ashley all to herself. There was a physical ache in her bosom every time she was forced to think about it. "Great balls of fire, if there's one person I don't want to talk about, it's Melly!"

"Jealous, are you, Scarlett?"

"Well I wouldn't be if she weren't married to Ashley," Scarlett admitted bitterly. "Who'd want to be like her, so sweet and good all the time? Oh, when I think about it, it makes me sick."

When Rhett laughed this time it was a big, booming laugh that carried across the Atlanta horizon. "Selfish people like us will never understand selfless people like Melanie. But it doesn't mean I don't hold her in the highest respect."

"I don't want to understand or respect her! I'd strike her if I thought it would make me feel any better! I don't want anything to do with her. Why, the only reason I'm here in Atlanta with her is because of--" She stopped herself, took a breath, then started again. "Oh, stupid Melly, her and her silly sainthood. Never a bad word to say about anybody. Whenever I poke fun at someone she's always got to disagree with me and point out something good about them. She makes me feel like there are things I can't say in her presence because she's too delicate to hear them. And sometimes I have half a mind to think that she does it on purpose."

Rhett laughed softly, surprised at Scarlett's strong words. But Scarlett's cauldron of anger was just beginning to boil. She hated Melanie in a way that was absolutely impossible to describe succinctly. It wasn't pure, unadulterated, blood-boiling hatred that the hot-headed young gentlemen who went off to fight for the Cause felt for the Yankees. Nor was it the detestation she felt for gossips like India and Honey Wilkes, or Mrs. Merriwether, for Melanie had never spread malicious rumors about her, or anyone for that matter. No, Scarlett's hatred of Melanie was a carefully calculated cattiness that grew like weeds in the garden of her heart. Most of the time, the feeling was weak enough that she could stand to be around her sister-in-law, but sometimes the unfairness of it all became too much and Scarlett would fling herself down upon her bed and moan and moan, wondering why Melanie had to be so sweet and perfect all the time, and why Ashley had to belong to her. Melanie was so demure, respectful, quiet, level-headed--in a nutshell, everything that Scarlett was not. How could Ashley claim to love his silly little wife when he told Scarlett that he loved the very opposite qualities in herself? Oh, she could never understand it!

"Scarlett?" Rhett asked, drawing her out of her incubus.

Shifting her eyes left and right uncomfortably, Scarlett ordered again, "Talk about something else." When he offered no new material, she wracked her brains trying to think what she talked about with her other beaux. Yes, as much as she didn't want to admit it, Rhett was one of her beaux, and even if he was horrid, she should still treat him like the other gentlemen who couldn't help but be beguiled by her sweet affections and country girl charms. So what did she talk about with her other suitors? Well, herself, mostly, but she liked to avoid that topic whenever she was with Rhett--his favorite hobby, apart from boosting his own ego, was deflating hers. Well, if not her… what about him then? "What about you?" she asked aloud.

"What about me?"

"Tell me about yourself, silly!" she said, looking up at him with an innocent smile on her face. "Your family, what are they like?"

"I'd prefer that you lived with the rumors you've been told," Rhett said with a secretive smile. "I'm sure they're much more entertaining than the truth."

Scarlett scowled. "Well fine, have it your way."

Silly Rhett, she thought bitterly. He doesn't even want to tell me about his family! It was most ungentlemanly of him. Almost instantly, her thoughts flitted to her own family, back at Tara. Tara! The name itself was enough to make her heart ache with longing for a place that, for her, knew nothing but happiness. Tara was a safe haven, an island surrounded by a sea of war and hate and poverty. War, Scarlett was confident, would never change Tara, not a thousand wars could bring down its white walls and magnificent oak trees. Scarlett had to keep telling herself this, keep reassuring herself that it was true, because as long as Tara stood, so did Ellen. As long as there was a place for her mother to be safe, Ellen would be safe, Scarlett knew it. She wished with all her heart that she was with her mother now, even if it meant that she had to take care of Suellen and Carreen. She would do it gladly, if it meant seeing Ellen again. Tears nearly sprung to her eyes as she pictured her mother, so like Mother Mary…

She was so caught up in her emotions that she barely registered the fact that Rhett was speaking.

"You look like my mother," he said quietly.

Scarlett managed an "Um," as she tore herself from her thoughts of Ellen and Tara.

"I said you look like my mother," Rhett repeated.

"I don't see how that's a compliment, Captain Butler," she replied huffily.

"Forgive me, my dear, perhaps I should have said that my mother looked like you when she was younger."

"And how was that?" Scarlett challenged.

"Beautiful," Rhett began, and she slapped his arm with a scowl, but he went on. "Beautiful, charming, resourceful, intelli--"

"Oh, stop it Rhett, someone can't look resourceful," Scarlett said, finally fed up with this nonsense. "I want to go back to Aunt Pitty's, take me there."

Rhett ignored her and kept talking. "Intelligent, clever… yes, my dear, my mother was quite a woman. She had long brown hair that I never saw her take down, and the greenest eyes I've ever seen."

At this, Scarlett paid attention. Everyone she'd met, even people who didn't like her, told her that she had the most beautiful green eyes in the entire world. She didn't like being shown up, least of all by Rhett's mother… supposedly. "I've always been told that I have the greenest eyes anyone's ever seen." She said it with an air of pride, triumph and defiance, daring him to prove her wrong.

Rhett chuckled. "I suppose it's a matter of perspective."

"Fiddle-dee-dee!" Scarlett exclaimed. "I am positive that I have the most beautiful eyes in all of Georgia! Why, all the south, even!"

"Are you sure about that?" Rhett challenged. Seeing her nod, he abruptly stopped the buggy and pulled her close, his strong hand gripping her waist, keeping her from wriggling free. Suddenly she was hot and cold all at once, and a hot blush swept across her face and neck. She didn't like it.

"What are you doing?" Scarlett cried miserably. "Get your hands off me, you lousy varmint!" She wasn't afraid that he would hurt her, she just didn't like her lack of control over the situation.

But Rhett didn't move. He stared, holding her close, his gaze never wandering from her eyes. She squirmed to get away but Rhett's grip held her fast. Scarlett stuck her chin out and met his dark eyes with her bright ones. And when she did, she was surprised at what she found there: his black eyes were swimming with confusion as he looked into her face. She watched as he drew his gaze over her proud forehead, down the side to her strong jaw, her pointed chin, up again over the curve of her high cheekbones, down the slope of her nose tilted up ever so slightly at the end and finally back to her eyes, those emeralds, those glowing gems cast in the alabaster sculpture of her face. For a very brief moment, Scarlett wondered what he tasted like, and how it would feel if he placed his firm hands on her-- God's nightgown! What was she thinking?

Scarlett struggled to find her voice, and when she finally did speak, she sounded hoarse and husky. "Can we… talk about something else?"

Rhett finally managed to tear his eyes away from her visage, and when he removed his hand from her waist, she felt significantly colder. His voice possessed the same quality hers had, packed into one word: "Yes."

Scarlett took pleasure in knowing that she had been right about her eyes all along, and yet there was something unpleasantly resigned about Rhett on the ride back to Aunt Pitty's. His stoicism unnerved her and she found herself wishing that he'd make one of his impertinent jokes just to break the tense silence.

What had he been doing back there, grabbing her like that and holding her close? Why, if it had been anyone but Rhett Butler she would have thought he was going to kiss her. But she dismissed the thought with an inward laugh. Fiddle-dee-dee, Rhett didn't love her! And if he did, he was a damned fool. He knew very well that she loved Ashley, that she would always love Ashley and only Ashley. Loving her would be a stupid mistake, and Scarlett knew that Rhett didn't make stupid mistakes.

But still… the way he'd taken hold of her, so authoritatively… the action had made an impact on her. As long as she lived, she knew she'd never forget the intense look in his eyes as he searched her face, searching for answers, searching for truths, searching for love-- Oh, but that was silly! Scarlett knew that Rhett wasn't stupid enough to think that she loved him. The Tarletons and the Calverts and the Fontaines, they were the ones she had wrapped around her finger, every one of them thinking she loved him and only him. No, Scarlett decided, Rhett didn't love her and he didn't think she loved him, either. If only she could explain the seeping heat she'd experienced when he'd held her waist… His warm fingers and strong hands made her mind think things she didn't want to think, her eyes see things she didn't want to see, her ears hear wanton moans in the hot Georgia night… No!

"Are you all right, Scarlett?" Rhett's voice pulled her back to her senses. They had arrived at Aunt Pitty's; dusk was falling. He was looking into her face with those probing eyes again, and Scarlett could muster nothing but a weak, "Goodbye, Rhett." She dashed into the house, not bothering to thank him for the ride.