That's right folks: THE STORY CONTINUES!!  If you need a refresher, don't be afraid to go back and reread anything.  I hope you like that I decided to add-on.  If it's not a hit, then I won't worry about it.  Chapter Eleven had a good enough ending.

SET A FEW MONTHS AFTER CHAPTER ELEVEN ENDED

Chapter Twelve

War of the Hats

Part One

Sand kicked up licking her pants and cascading into her boots where it scorched her feet.  She grimaced slightly, her eyes flaring with annoyance.  Roxton scrutinized her every facial expression as he followed obediently at her side to their destination merely ten more yards away.  He couldn't help but cringe – yet find it amusing at the same time – when she nearly toppled over a rock and began cursing worse than a sailor.  Her bun had loosened and wisps off dark hair stuck to the sides of her face due to the humidity.

He peered into the glaring sun, shading his eyes with his hand to his forehead.  When he pulled it away, his palm and fingers were dripping with sweat.  He gave himself a mental kick for forgetting to grab their hats that were presumably tossed carelessly on the bed at home.  He had meant to pack them for the sake of not only keeping himself from being baked, but to protect himself from his wife's tempered personality.  Marguerite had a habit of getting cranky when forced to trek across the jungle – not that he blamed her in anyway.  And it was worse when she was without her hat.

Up ahead the clattering of tribal conversation swept over to them and Roxton could make out bits and pieces of what the council was discussing.  Words like "foreigners" and "trouble" were a consist wherever they went.

Marguerite leaned into his personal space so close he could feel her warm breath on his jugular vein, the blood thickening with the soft touch.  Her face was masked with her usual calm exterior, but being married to a person for a year gives you insight on the true emotions raging inside – she was pissed.  Her demanding voice wavered as she halted, turning her body slightly towards his.  "You forgot my hat on purpose."

"What," he exclaimed, knitting his eyebrows at her.  "Why the bloody hell would I do a thing like that?"  He was insulted over the accusation; baffled by it's origin.  "Besides, I don't have my hat either."

She scoffed, wrapping her arms tightly across her chest, challenging him.  "Because if you had brought your hat then you know you would've had to give it to me.  It would have been the gentlemanly and husbandly thing to do."

"Marguerite, I try to follow you – I really do.  But I'm at a loss every time."  He shushed her attempts at a rebuttal.  "Now let's get this over with.  I don't like hanging around these tribes anymore than they like us snooping around."

Marguerite growled, but managed to paint a pleasant smile on her face before entering the village.  They needed supplies after all.

Part Two

The sun was settling to bed by the time they finally arrived back at the tree house, Marguerite was still fuming about her absent hat.  She had concluded that Roxton left it behind because she had been complaining about going on their "short hike".  He denied it, rolling his eyes at her and telling her she was always looking for the negative – too suspicious for her own damn good.

This made her more aggravated.

"Well, John, someone has to play the sensible one.  You can't just go around trusting everybody you come in contact with."

"I'm not just anyone, Marguerite, I'm your bloody husband!"

"Oh, so that puts you above everyone else?"

"Well it should!  God, Marguerite, sometimes I swear you enjoy being difficult!  You get your thrills from it!  You know how twisted that is, Marguerite?"

She huffed then stalked away.

Part Three

After eating a hearty meal of raptor meat, fruit, and vegetables, Roxton was ready to cash in for the night.  He stumbled into their bedroom, kicking off his shoes.  On the bed, Marguerite lay curled up on her side, facing towards his side of the bed.  He knew she loved him, but sometimes he felt she was still pushing him away.

Sighing, he remembered he had to turn off the water hose: there was a leak again.  He grabbed his hat and slapped it on then yanked his boots back onto his feet.  He took three long strolls before halting.  He slowly reached up, placing his hand on the top of his hat…but only felt his hair.

Marguerite had cut off the top.

So you want to play that game, he seethed, refusing to take his hat off.  He wouldn't give her that satisfaction.

End Chapter Twelve

(These are comments to those who reviewed Chapter Eleven)

LoveMR: See, I took your advice.

TheChosenOne3: Well, I guess my heart was in it…for now…

A. Windsor: It was a great end, but I thought I would write a little more.

Enchanter: I hope this second edition keeps the hook in, too.

Fran Thurston: I really enjoyed your review.  I guess the beetle will always remain a mystery.  I'll let the readers decide how it got into his drink.

Wow: Here's more of it!  And, yeah, they're more favorites, too.  And thanks for the ratings!

Clux:  I tried to make it at least somewhat amusing.  All my other stories are kind of serious and dark.