Peter Belden was awake. He flipped over to his other side, hoping that a new position would ease him into dreamland. Instead, it only triggered additional areas of his brain to keep restful slumber from overtaking him.

He was worried about the bank. Sleepyside Savings and Loan was a small, local bank in a world of multinational corporations. They were conservative where they had to be and generous where they should be. Several of the larger banks in the area were sniffing around, just aching to take over the successful little business.

It would destroy everything about the bank that made it different. The personal service, the neighborliness, the ability to make decisions that were not quite toeing a corporate company line. Peter didn't want to have to report to some faceless, supposed financial wizard on Wall Street or London.

Then there was Helen. His beautiful, talented, creative Helen. She had always been a stay-at-home mom. Four children demanded a lot of attention, especially when one of them had a propensity for getting herself in danger. The kids were getting older now, and Peter wondered if Helen regretted leaving college when she became pregnant with Brian. Her artwork could have… no, should be gracing the mansions of a fabulously wealthy art connoisseur.

Instead, it was hanging in the three-hundred-year-old house they called home, and he wondered if any of the children ever gave it a second look. If they ever realized how talented their mother was, how delightful and curious, how just perfectly perfect she was in every way. It wouldn't be long until their chicks left the nest, and then what? Would Helen finally turn to him and let me know she was off on an adventure to Paris? The Louvre, an artists' colony, the romance, and allure. Maybe she didn't need a stuffy old banker following her dazzling light.

Peter slid out of bed and shoved his feet in his slippers. Maybe a walk around the orchard would help clear his much-too-active mind. He slipped out of his bedroom, saying a little prayer that he didn't wake his wife.

As soon as the door snicked shut, Helen Belden opened her bright blue eyes. Peter's at it again. That restless mind. I just wish he wasn't such a worrywart. Helen went to the window and switched back the curtain. Yes, he was going to amble in the orchard, something he did when he needed to quell the avalanche of overthinking.

She climbed back into bed and yawned. I wonder if he thinks he's fooling me, or that I don't hear him. We need to have a talk.

Tomorrow.

Peter felt at peace in the orchard his family planted when they first built the farm. The full moon was bright, and he sauntered over to one of the benches that were scattered about. Helen's idea, and what a grand one. People were always in awe of the grandeur of the Manor House's extensive grounds, but Crabapple Farm had a nice chunk of land, too. The family never had to sell up any of their land; the whole farm nestled on about five acres in the hollow.

Peter plopped on a bench, leaned back and stared at the moon, almost wishing Helen was there to enjoy its beauty. Then again, a moonlit night in the orchard led to their unexpected gift of one Robert Belden. Bobby, now eleven years old and a pre-teen. How on earth did that happen?

Bobby was no longer a spoiled brat; he pitched in with chores, not uncomplaining, but he did his assigned jobs. Peter worried about him and his future. On one hand, he and Helen seemed to spend endless days following him around to baseball games and wrestling tournaments. He was the most gifted athlete of all their sons.

On the other, the boy was a computer genius. It made for a strange, almost schizophrenic split in the kid's life, and sometimes Peter thought Bobby was being pushed too hard by different factions. Peter decided to have a talk with Bobby's coaches and teachers. Whatever his son decided, Peter was there to support him to the fullest. Besides, who said a person had to decide anything at age eleven?

His thoughts went one-hundred-eighty degrees to his oldest son, Brian. The child who most resembled him, with his dark hair and brown eyes. Peter worried about him, too. He'd always been the responsible one, the stalwart son and older brother, the protector. Did the boy ever have any fun? He hoped Brian was having some fun at Johns Hopkins University, maybe dating.

However, as soon as that thought popped up, he dismissed it. Brian was enamored of the girl next door, who just happened to be an heiress. Beautiful, kind and as sweet as her nickname, Honey. It had been that way since they met, five years ago. His son was driven to make a success of himself, to go to medical school and graduate first in the class. Not just for his own satisfaction and to maintain his full scholarship, but for her, too. Peter had no doubt his son would end up marrying the girl next door. None at all.

But still, it was a difficult and long course of study Brian chose. Or maybe, Peter mused, it chose him. In any event, I need to watch him for signs of burnout. Oh, Brian. You always were the healer.

Peter flexed his ankles as his thoughts turned to Mart. Blonde-haired and blue-eyed, just like Helen. For years, his next-eldest son wanted to go into agriculture. However, Mart's love of words – and wasn't that a pisser when all Mart wanted to do was speak in multi-syllabic, obfuscating sentences – made him chose journalism and creative writing as his major.

Mart, much to his surprise, was accepted at the University of Iowa, the top college in the country for aspiring authors. While he didn't get a full scholarship as Brian did, there was enough of a cushion so that it didn't impact too much on the family finances.

Peter worried about Mart being all the way in Iowa. Granted, Peter's brother Andrew was out there, but Andy was always flitting here and there for his various businesses. Mart could be gullible at times, and he could be convinced to perform acts not in his best interest.

Peter hoped that Mart thought about the consequences of his actions. He almost lost Diana Lynch by making her feel stupid by his need to outshine everyone with his vocabulary. The prettiest girl in Sleepyside… well, Peter had some reservations about that, but there was no doubt that Diana was beautiful and in love with Mart. They complemented each other; both creative in their own right – he with words, she with her artistic flair.

Still, she was going to attend Pratt Institute in New York City and room with Honey this fall. She wasn't there to curb Mart's leap-before-you-look tendencies. It was funny how everyone thought of Trixie that way.

Ah, Trixie. Peter's only daughter. Seriously, he hit it big in the kid sweepstakes for the most part. When Trixie was born, they expected another boy. A daughter! He looked into those huge blue eyes when she was placed in his arms after the doctor had cleaned her up. Bluer even than Helen's or Mart's eyes, and fringed with long lashes. Trixie blinked at him and smiled. Oh, he knew that people said it wasn't really a smile; babies had to learn that. But he knew the truth.

She smiled at him, and he tumbled straight into the most profound love.

Yes, he loved the boys, all of them, but there was something special about a daughter. He loved the thought of his little Princess dressed in those frilly little girl dresses running up to him, demanding Daddy pick her up.

Uh, no.

Instead, he got a tomboy who cringed at all the ruffles and lace. A girl who could swing a bat, pitch a ball and climb trees with the best of them. A girl who decided that catching criminals when she was barely in her teens was her sort of fun.

Peter glanced at his feet and back up into the night sky. Trixie. His brilliant, restless, energetic daughter. She put herself in danger on a regular basis, thrived on it. Oh, Brian and Mart may have been stars academically, especially Brian. But Trixie? She outshone them all when it came to intuitive leaps, imagination, and deduction. Why, the last years in high school proved that. She told him she treated schoolwork like a mystery, and getting it right meant catching the bad guy.

She caused him the most worry. Not just because of her propensity to dispatch hardened criminals to jail (seriously, how many fathers could say their daughters had to take off school to go testify in the trial of international jewel thieves, counterfeiters, arms dealers, and kidnappers?).

Yes, many said Diana was the prettiest girl in town, but Peter thought not. Trixie had the look of Helen, and Helen was one of the most beautiful women Peter ever saw. His Trixie might look as if a stiff wind would blow her over, but underneath that delicate exterior beat the heart of a warrior.

And he knew, knew right from the start when she was barely thirteen and started talking about the most wonderful boy in the world, that he would lose her to… to that red-headed lothario up on the hill. A big sigh gusted out as Peter shifted on the bench. Yeah, Jim Frayne was decent and all that; he was wealthy, but Peter knew the boy lusted after his daughter.

In an honorable way, of course.

Peter thought back to a few days before Trixie's eighteenth birthday. It was a Saturday, and he and Helen were having a cup of coffee and reading The Sun when there was a knock at the back door. It was Jim, and he appeared awfully nervous.

"Trixie's not here, Jim. Did you forget? She, Honey and Diana went to Wet 'n Wild in White Plains with the rest of her graduating class," Helen smiled at the tall, handsome man.

"No, Mrs. Belden I didn't forget. I came to talk to you and Mr. Belden." Jim wiped his hands against his thighs. How could he forget, when his Shamus was going to be in some stupid indoor water park in a bathing suit, revealing all her fine curves to those wolves she went to school with. It was making him crazy.

Peter arched an eyebrow but invited Jim to sit. "Want a cup of coffee?"

"Uh, no thanks. Water would be fine." Geez, if he had a cup of coffee, he just might jump out of his skin. His heart was already beating at a lethal rate.

Peter remembered Helen's hand grasping his under the table. She knew what was coming. She had to.

"So, what did you want to talk about, Jim?" Her voice was gentle, helping to calm him, just a little.

"Trixie. I want to talk about Trixie. I'm in love with her. I love her," he repeated, just in case they hadn't heard. "I've loved her since just about forever."

Helen had Peter's hand in an iron grip. "We know that, Jim. She loves you, too."

"It's not puppy love. It's the kind of love my biological parents had for each other, that you have, that the Wheelers have." He took a deep breath. "I am going to ask Trixie to marry me once she turns eighteen. I already arranged for married housing at Columbia. If she says yes, I have all the wheels primed to set in motion to have her covered by my health insurance and to name her as the beneficiary of my trust fund. I do love her, so very much, and I want to spend the rest of our lives together. I'd like your blessing."

Peter wanted to say something, but Helen tightened her hold on his hand until it was numb. "There's no-one else we'd rather have for a son-in-law, Jim." Helen's eyes were bright with tears.

Jim finally felt as if he was able to breathe. "Thank you, thank you."

"You say you applied for married housing? Just when do you want to marry my daughter?" Peter got a word in edgewise. Thirty or forty years from now sounded good to him.

"I'd like to marry her the week after she graduates, but I need to talk to her about that. Definitely before we have to get to college."

"Where will you live before you get back to school?" Helen knew her daughter. The answer would be yes, yes, yes.

"I spoke to my dad about my plans. We can have one of the guest suites at Manor House unless Trix is comfortable moving into my bedr… my room." Best not to talk about beds with her dad glaring at him. It would be nice, however, to finally be able to openly sleep together instead of sneaking around.

Peter shifted on the bench as he remembered the inevitability of it all. Jim was good and honorable, and all those things he could have wished for Trixie. He gave his blessing, suffered a tight hug from Jim. True to his word, Jim asked Trixie to marry him the day of her eighteenth birthday.

Of course, his Princess said yes.

He'll keep her safe… well, as safe as possible. This is Trixie, after all.

Now Trixie was living up at Manor House until they went to school. For a man who worried about how he was going to get three kids through college that were close in age… he kinda lucked out.

He was getting tired, decided to amble back to his bed when he heard the distinct feminine giggle. A very familiar giggle.

Peter glanced towards the lovely sound. A couple outlined in the silvery moonlight. One tall man, his long arms around a petite woman. "James, you said you wanted to take a moonlight walk," Trixie's teasing voice floated towards Peter.

"A moonlight walk with a sexy blonde," came the answer in a familiar, deep voice. "In a magical orchard at a magical farm in a magical town. Love you, baby."

Peter turned his head from the touching scene of the two kissing. It was a magical orchard, wasn't it? He crept along the edges of the crabapple trees, careful not to disturb Trixie and Jim, a slight smile curving his mustachioed lips. At least Jim had good taste!

Peter made it back to his bedroom and slid into bed again, careful not to wake Helen. It was all for naught when her beloved voice broke the silence of the room.

"Did you find what you needed out in the orchard?" She giggled a little, reminding him of their daughter.

"I think so." He paused. "I found magic."

She leaned up on one elbow, bent over and brushed her lips against his cheek. "Oh, babe. You don't have to go on a midnight amble for that. There's magic riiiight here."

And do you know what? She was right.