Shelter from the Storm Chapter 13

All standard disclaimers apply. This story is mine, as are the characters of Leyza Berard, Ray Garcia, Phillippe and Marie Vachon, Francine, Solange Laperrier and Jeremy Cole. Please do not borrow them without asking.

The Highlander concepts and the characters of Duncan MacLeod, Joe Dawson and May Ling Shen are not. They belong to Gregory Widen, Davis/Panzer, Rysher, Gaumont and probably a few others I've forgotten. I've dared to use them without permission, and hope they'll forgive the transgression, because this story is merely a labor of love. I'm not making a cent from it.


Leyza was never sure why, but Francine willingly accepted whatever she was given. She never asked for more, never seemed to expect more. And for that Leyza was extremely grateful.

Now that she was older - nearly the same age as Leyza had been since her first death - they had become close friends. They did all the things good friends did. Like the housemates they were, they went shopping together, then had lunch in a favorite bistro. They strolled through museums on rainy Sunday afternoons and passed handfuls of tissues while watching sad romantic films in darkened movie theaters, but today was the first time Francine had the opportunity to help Leyza prepare for a date. And she was taking to the task with great gusto.

"You can't wear yellow," she said crinkling her nose. "Your skin tones are all wrong for it."

"But I love this blouse," Leyza insisted, holding the gold silk blouse before her as she studied her reflection in the antique cheval mirror.

Francine rubbed her chin and scrunched up one side of her face as she concentrated. "That whole look is all wrong," she said waving her hand to indicate the soft black trousers Leyza wore - and the blouse she'd already rejected as unsuitable. "You look like you're going to a business meeting. You should wear a dress, something short and sexy."

She turned to dig through the mound of clothes they'd already piled on Leyza's ornate brass bed. "Like this," she said, holding up a short slip dress, made of a soft navy blue crepe printed with bright pink flowers.

Leyza laughed. "That's a summer dress - I'll freeze to death."

"No big deal for you," Francine teased. She let the dress sway from its hanger as she sashayed closer. "Besides, I'm sure Duncan wouldn't mind keeping you warm."

"Freezing is a very unpleasant way to die," Leyza said, as she snatched the dress from Francine. Despite her reservations, she held it in front of her to consider it. "And what Duncan wouldn't mind doing is none of your business."

"Did anyone ever tell you that you're no fun at all?" Francine asked with a wicked grin.

Leyza hung the dress on the post of the mirror, then let the pants drop to the floor. "Yes, you," she said, pulling the dress over her head, as she stepped out of the pants. "All the time."

She moved out of the way while Francine picked up the discarded pants, then she narrowed her eyes as she checked her reflection in the mirror. The navy blue had a green, rather than a purple cast so it accented the color of her eyes, and the printed fabric kept the dress casual rather than fancy.

Since Duncan hadn't mentioned where they were going to eat, and she had been too surprised by his invitation to ask, she needed to wear something that would work most anywhere. Unless he planned to take her to the local McDonald's - an event she consider quite unlikely - this dress would be appropriate.

Besides, the scoop neck that showed just a hint of cleavage was low enough to be intriguing, but high enough to avoid a blatant suggestion of sexuality.

"I hate you," Francine said, as she moved behind Leyza. "If I had great legs like you do, I'd never wear pants."

"You have great legs, dear," Leyza said with a smile. "And I have knobby knees. Maybe I shouldn't wear this dress."

"Your knees are fine," Francine insisted. "And if I was as tall as you maybe my legs would be as long as yours - then they would be great." She slipped her fingers into Leyza's braid, then began untangling the strands. "The dress looks fantastic, and so will you if you let me do your hair."

By the time Francine had finished, Leyza had to admit she was right. "Not bad," she said, checking her appearance one more time in the living room pier glass. "If you ever decide you're bored with anthropology, you can always do make overs."

"I'll keep that in mind," Francine said, laughing, then she handed Leyza a glass of sherry.

As she took the glass, Leyza glanced down at her hand and took note of the faint tremor. "I haven't done this dating thing in so long, the butterflies in my stomach are the size of condors."

Francine perched on the arm of the sofa and tipped her head. She wore a speculative expression. "Why haven't you?" she asked.

"Why haven't I what?" Leyza asked, stalling for time to consider the question.

"Gotten involved with more men," Francine answered. "In the 25 years I've known you, there have been ... what 3 maybe 4? And hardly any were what I would call serious relationships."

Leyza turned to check her appearance one more time as she thought about how few men had really interested her over the last century, and she realized that most of them lost out when compared to PJ Berard. All of them that is until she saw Duncan MacLeod standing on a Paris bridge in the middle of the night.

PJ, you've met your match, she thought, then lifted her glass in a toast to his memory. She wondered if he was watching her ... and if he approved. For some odd reason, she thought he just might. She turned to answer Francine's question, but the chime of the doorbell stopped her.

"I'll get it," Francine said, popping up from the sofa arm. "I want another look at this guy."

"No, I'll get it," Leyza said, laughing. "But you could get my coat."

Francine strode off muttering under her breath, while Leyza went to answer the door. It took a moment or two for her to realize that she had not felt the flutter of an Immortal presence, but that didn't matter because the man standing on her porch was quite obviously not Duncan MacLeod.