They dust covered beige Volvo station wagon coasted slowly to the edge of the road with steam rising from the front of the hood. When it came to a stop, Sharona Fleming turned off the ignition, clutched the keys in her hand and slammed her fists against the steering wheel.

"Is there a problem?" her male companion asked rather flatly.

Sharona dropped her head, then slowly turned her head to to glower at the man sitting in the passenger seat. "We are four miles outside of Green River. It is ninety-two degrees outside. This car likely has a cracked radiator. We haven't seen another car in forty miles. There is no phone service. I am wearing cowboy boots...And you want to know if there's a problem?

Monk's shoulders gave a nervous twitch. "Maybe not," he replied.

Steaming herself now, Sharona popped the hood, then opened the door and climbed out of the Jeep, slamming the door behind her, and causing Monk to startle and jump. She marched to the front of the car and raised the hood, stepping back quickly to avoid being burned from the steam.

Cautiously, Mr. Monk opened the passenger door and stepped outside, the heat immediately assaulting him. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the travel pack of wet wipes and used one to wipe his forehead before joining his assistant to watch the geyser erupting from the radiator.

"I have a half a bottle of Sierra Springs left, if that would help," he offered.

Sharona folded her arms across her chest. "You hold on to that, Adrian. You'll likely need it during our hike."

"Hike?"

"How else do you expect to get to Green River?"

"But, this is Wyoming, Sharona. There are... Indians and...rattlesnakes, and..."

"And maybe a cowboy with a Ram Truck who will drive by and pick up a couple of hitchhikers," she said and walked back to the car cab to retrieve her purse.

"Hitchhikers," Monk mumbled.

Sharona opened the rear hatch and sat down on the edge of the cargo section to rummage through her suitcase. Finding her name brand pink tennis shoes, Sharona pulled off her cowboy boot and slipped into the walking shoes. "Anything you need out of the car, Adrian?" she called to him.

"My suitcases would be nice."

"Do you plan on carrying them?"

"That's what I pay you for," he replied with as much courage as his OCD bravery would allow.

Sharona stood and slammed the hatch closed. "You pay me to be your assistant, not your gofer. Now it's going to take us at least two hours to walk to Green River, so we better get started."

They walked along the edge of the road in the ninety degree heat. Above them the blazing sun shown down amidst a cloudless sky. Feeling a sense of complete loss of control, Monk unbuttoned the top button of his shirt and slipped off his suit jacked and draped it over one arm. Half an hour later, Monk began to drag his feet and he slowly came to a stop.

"I can't go any further," he panted.

Sharona turned around and in a very pronounced fashion placed her hands on her hips. "We haven't even gone a mile yet, Adrian," she scolded.

"I know. This is torture," he replied.

"Well, I suppose you could wait right here...with the rattlesnakes and the Indians."

Monk stared at her as he contemplated this option. "You would do that? Just leave me here?"

"In a heartbeat," she replied.

Monk sighed, and they continued on their way.

The hot sun continued to bear down on them, creating hazy horizontal, wavy lines in the road ahead. But they continued onward in the sweltering heat.

"You know I could die out here from heatstroke," Monk called to Sharona, who was walking several paces ahead of him.

"No you can't," came the reply.

"Why not?"

"Because if you died from heatstroke out here, you would fall dead on the ground in all this dust. And I know you are not about to do that."

"I could become delusional," Monk countered and saw Sharona wave a scoffing hand in his direction.

"Delusional is your normal, Adrian. No one would notice any difference."

0-0-0-0-0-0

Reaching the edge of Green River late in the afternoon, Sharona stopped and gazed down the deserted, dusty, one street town. There were no cars, a couple of horses tied to a hitching post, no people milling about.

"This must be some sort of Old West tourist attraction," she said as Monk came to a stop beside her.

"Or a ghost town," he said nervously.

"There's horses on the street. There must be people inside the buildings. Maybe the real town is off a little ways. Come on, there's bound to be someone who can direct me to a mechanic or a towing service."

Walking down the center of the street, Sharona took an amused interest in the buildings they passed. All were wooden one or two story structures, some with false fronts making them appear taller than they really were. She saw a general store, a jail, a hotel, a livery and...

"Argh!"

Sharona stopped and spun around to see what was causing Monk such distress. She saw him hopping on one foot, his finger making jabbing motions in the air in the direction of his raised foot.

"What is it, Adrian?" she asked frantically.

"Wipe! Wipe! Wipe."

Sharona reached into her purse as Monk hopped his way to the boardwalk and sat down, the raised foot now extended out in front of him. Pulling a wipe from the packet she rushed over to her boss. "What?" she shouted.

"Shoe! Shoe! Shoe!"

Sharona bent down to examine the shoe and saw the splotch of horse dung on the sole. She sighed heavily, exasperated by his over reaction. "Scrape your shoe on the edge of the boardwalk," she told him.

"What? That's disgusting. People walk on the boardwalk."

"Then take off your shoe."

"Are you crazy? I'm not touching that...that...contaminated thing!"

Sharona sneered at him, but pulled the shoe free of his foot. She plopped herself down next to him on the boardwalk and wiped the shoe clean while Monk scooted further and further away from her.

"Honestly Adrian," she said and offered the shoe back to him.

Adrian inched even further away from her. Shaking her head in disgust, Sharona got up and slipped the shoe back on Adrian's foot. "You're going to have to tie it yourself."

"I can't"

Sharona started to protest, then stopped and a devious smile spread across her face as she folded her arms and looked at him. "Then I guess you'll have to walk around with it...untied. And that means your shoes won't match."

"You wouldn't leave me like this?" Monk said, feeling fully aghast.

"Watch me," she replied and turned and walked slowly down the boardwalk.

"Sharona... Sharona," Monk whined.

Sharona pinched her lips, turned abruptly, marched back to Monk, and tied his shoe. "Now let's go!"

Hearing piano music, Sharona walked down the street to determine the source, and came to a stop outside the saloon. She waited patiently for Monk to catch up.

"A saloon?" he asked with great trepidation.

"What's wrong with a saloon?" Sharona asked.

"Cigars and spittoons and dirty clothes and the smell of cattle and... saloon girls."

Sharona smiled. "I didn't know you liked westerns, Adrian."

"I don't," he said emphatically. "For those very reasons."

"Well someone in here is bound to know where I can get the car repaired," she said, bravely swinging open the bat wing doors and walking inside with Mr. Monk trailing closely behind.

Inside the sparsely populated saloon, all heads turned to gawk at the woman in the thigh high denim skirt and spaghetti string pink top that did little to contain two voluptuous breasts. Several whistles erupted and Sharona turned, initially with the intention of offering a teasing smile. But when she got a look at the aged men staring back at her, she took a tough, streetwise stance. "In your dreams," she said and turned her back to the tables.

"I'm sorry, Miss, but only working girls are allowed in the saloon, unless of course you've come to apply for one of them jobs," he said with a grin.

"I'm looking for a mechanic. Do you know of a good one?" Sharona asked.

"A what?' the bartender replied.

"My Cherokee broke down about four miles out of town."

"Excuse me, Miss," said a tall, blond cowboy standing near the far end of the bar. "Did you say you have a Cherokee four miles out of town?"

"Who are you?" Sharona asked, perhaps a little too defensively

The cowboy smiled and tipped his hat. "Thaddeus Jones, Ma'am. Now about that Cherokee. I think you got everybody a little confused because we don't see too many Cherokee in these parts."

"No mechanics or Jeep dealers around then?"

"Jeep dealers?" Kid asked.

"For a radiator repair," Sharona replied, growing more and more impatient.

"Perhaps we'd better sit down and you can start from the beginnin," Kid suggested. "What would the two of you like to drink?"

"A cold beer," Sharona replied.

"And you?" Kid asked Monk.

"Sierra Springs?"

"Sierra Springs is about a day and a half ride from here," the bartender piped up.

"No," Sharona laughed. "My friend here is talking about the bottled water."

"Bottled water?" Kid asked.

"There's a well at the edge of town, another one next to the hotel, and a horse trough just outside. Them's the only water sources in town," the bartender replied.

"How about a beer?" Kid suggested.

Monk looked to Sharona who urged him to accept.

"Thank you," Monk replied, knowing he would not touch the brew.

Kid, Sharona, and Monk sat down at a table and Kid couldn't help notice how fidgety the man was as he meticulously straightened the cuffs of his shirt and buttoned to top button of his shirt.

"Now, you say you had some trouble a few miles out of town?" Kid asked, forcing his eyes away from the nervous man and giving his attention to Sharona.

"Yes, my car broke down and..."

"Your car?" Kid asked. "Begging your pardon Ma'am but, what exactly is that?"

"A car?" Sharona asked with astonishment and Kid nodded. "A car is..." Sharona suddenly stopped, realizing something was not quite right. "Are you a real cowboy? I mean a real cowboy?" she asked.

Kid smiled. "Well, I guess you could say that, although my partner and me try to avoid that kind of work as much as possible."

"What... What year is this?" Sharona asked.

"1886."

"1886?" Sharona asked.

"Yes, Ma'am."

Sharona's mouth dropped and she slowly turned to look at Monk. "Adrian, you're the detective. What's going on?"

"Detective?" Kid asked nervously."Like with Bannerman or Pinkerton?"

Monk chuckled. "No. I was with the San Francisco Police Department."

"Was with em?" Kid asked.

Monk nodded. "I'm on what you would call a medical leave, and from what I am hearing and seeing right now, it may be well deserved."

"Tell me, what year do you think it is?" Kid asked hesitantly.

"Well, we're...we're," Monk stammered.

"We're sort of ahead of our time," Sharona said, as though that was a perfectly suitable explanation.

Kid grinned. "I kinda figured that by the clothes you're wearing," he said looking at Monk. "You look a bit sissified in that fancy suit you're wearing, but coming from San Francisco, well that explains at lot. But..." Kid stopped, not know just how to approach the brash and very scantily dressed Sharona.

"Well?" she asked.

"Well, if you're planning to be seen around town, Ma'am, you're gonna hafta...cover up some."

"Cover up! In this heat?"

"Sharona, I think Mister...?

"Jones, Thaddeus Jones," Kid reminded him.

"I think Mr. Jones knows what he's talking about. In 1886, you could be arrested for indecent exposure."

Sharona gasped and looked around the room where every aged eye was still ogling her. She quickly lifted her purse to her chest to conceal any visible cleavage. "Adrian, why didn't you tell me?" she snarled.

"Sam," Kid called to the bartender. "You got a blanket or a raincoat we could borrow?"

"Got a rain duster in the back," Sam replied and headed. to the storage area of the saloon.

"My partner is still over at the hotel. I can take you over there to our room and then Mr. Monk and I can go buy you what you'll need."

Monk's eyes grew wide. "You want me to buy...women's garments?"

"Just a plain skirt and a blouse, maybe a bonnet," Kid explained.

"No one is covering this hair up in a bonnet," Sharona said emphatically.

"Well, I'm assuming you wanna go see what can be done with that disabled Cherokee you was talking about. If you go out like you're dressed now, you're friend is right. The Sheriff will lock you up."

Sharona snorted, but didn't argue with slipping into the rain duster when Sam brought it to the table. Once it was on and buttoned up to her neck, she turned to the old men who had been staring at her lustfully. "The peep show's over," she told them.

"Let's head over to the hotel now and start getting things sorted away," Kid suggested.

0-0-0-0-0-0

"Joshua, open the door. It's me," Kid called after knocking on room 208 several times with no response.

"It's open," Heyes called as he, still dressed in his long johns and Henley, was in the middle of shaving and did not want to be disrupted by answering the door.

Kid opened the door and walked inside, quickly followed by Mr. Monk and Sharona.. Through the mirror, Heyes saw the short, blond woman dressed in the over sized duster and he dropped the razor in the bowl of water and quickly reached for a blanket to cover himself.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't know Kid would be bringing guests," Heyes said, wrapping the blanket around his lower half and securing the end at the waist, then reaching for a hand towel to wipe the shaving cream from his face.. "Kid, what are you doing?"

"Oh, Joshua, this is Adrian Monk, a detective..."

"A detective? Heyes asked as he extended his hand to Monk while giving Kid a very confused look. "How do you do?"

Monk shook Heyes' hand, then held the hand, palm side up, out to Sharona who rummaged through her purse in search of a wet wipe. Heyes watched with a perplexed look on his face, but Sharona just shrugged as she handed to wet wipe to Monk.

"And this is Sharona, his secretary," Kid added.

"His personal assistant," Sharona corrected as she smiled and nodded a greeting to Heyes.

"They've got a disabled Cherokee a few miles outta town, but Sharona needs some decent clothes before she can go out," he told Heyes as though his words were making perfect sense.

"A disabled Cherokee?" Heyes asked.

"She can explain it to you while Mr. Monk and me go buy her some clothes."

"You mean, all you're wearing is that duster?" Heyes asked.

Sharona bristled. "That is not what he means. And don't you go getting any ideas, Mister," she said with a voice that told Heyes she was perfectly capable of causing him bodily harm.

"I wasn't implying anything, Miss," he replied, but could not hide the amused grin.

"Well, come on Mr. Monk, we're wasting time," Kid said and headed toward the door.

"Adrian, put these in your pocket," Sharona called to him and tossed him the packet of wet wipes.

0-0-0-0-0-0

A little bell above the door tinkled as Kid walked into the General Store with Monk following just a couple of paces behind him. Kid's eyes panned the room until he located two racks of women's clothing. "Come on," he told Monk and headed to the back of the store.

The women's section consisted of a rack of dresses and another rack of skirts and blouses. On the wall shelves were undergarments. Three styles of corsets were displayed on life size mannequins and, when Monk came upon these, he raised an open palm close to his eyes to block the view of such intimate female apparel.

"Would she rather have a dress or a skirt?" Kid asked.

"Uh-uh," Monk replied.

"Uh-uh what?" Kid asked.

"A dress or a skirt," Monk said, wanting to end his misery as quickly as possible.

"Well, I wouldn't call what she's wearing a dress, so I'm gonna go with a skirt,"

Kid did a quick rummage through the dozen skirts on the rack and pulled out a blue one and held it up. "How's this?"

"Fine."

"You ain't even looked at it," Kid complained.

"It doesn't matter. She won't like it anyway. Just grab something and let's go."

Kid smiled. He'd never met a woman yet that thought men had any good taste in clothing. He slung the skirt over his arm and sorted through the blouses. "How about this one?"

"Fine."

"Mister Monk, would you at least look at it?"

Monk's shoulders twitched, but he lowered his hand and shot a passing glance at the blouse. "Oh no, that will never do," he replied nervously.

"Why not?"

"It has thirteen buttons. It has to be an even number."

"Is that her requirement or yours?"

"An even number of buttons," Monk replied. "And what's the inspection number?"

"The what?"

Monk gathered all the courage he could muster and inched his way closer to Kid, careful to maintain an arm's length of personal space. He slowly raised his head and looked at the small row of blouses on the rack. When he was done visually examining the first blouse, he jerked his head and looked at Kid expectantly.

"What does that mean?" Kid asked, giving his head a jerk.

"It means I am ready to look at the next selection."

"You can't slide the hanger down the row?"

Monk looked at Kid with an expression of disbelief. "I can't touch those things."

"Why not?"

Monk's mouth dropped. "Germs."

Kid sighed and shook his head, but proceeded to sort though the blouses one by one.

"That one!" Monk exclaimed

"Why this one?"

"Exactly ten buttons and it's... purple."

"She likes purple, does she?"

"I have no idea, but purple has six letters and blue has four. That equals ten and that's matches the number of buttons on the blouse."

Kid's brow furled. "And that's supposed to make some sort of sense?"

"Sharona will understand," Monk replied.

Kid sighed. "Alright, come on. I'll go pay for these.

At the counter, Kid handed the items to the sales clerk and waited for her to ring up the total. While he waited, his eyes scanned the candy jars.

"You like peppermints, Mr. Monk?"

"I pretty much don't like anything," Monk replied.

Kid looked at him curiously but turned his attention back to the clerk. "Ten cents worth of peppermints too, please."

The clerk carefully wrapped the clothing in brown paper and used string to secure the wrapping. Then she picked up a very small paper bag and lifted the lid of the peppermint jar. She reached into the jar and grasped as many peppermints as her small hand would allow.

Monk's open hand shot to within an inch of his face as he staggered backward.

"What's the matter now?" Kid asked.

"Her hand! She's touching that candy!"

"Yeah?" Kid asked, stretching the word out slowly.

"People eat that candy!"

"Keep your voice down," Kid replied. "Ohh," he added when he realized the cause of Monk's anxiety. "You're thinking about them germs again, ain't you?"

"How can you not think about them?"

Kid smiled, deciding to have a bit of fun with this neurotic man. "Mr. Monk, ain't there germs in the ground?"

"There are germs everywhere. Nothing is safe."

"Don't you eat some of them foods that come out of the ground?"

"I have an autoclave," Monk replied.

"A what?"

"It sterilizes food. It sterilizes anything I put in it."

"What's sterilize mean?"

"It kills, literally and efficiently kills all the germs."

"Oh," Kid replied, suddenly feeling quite sorry for his companion. "That's kind of a sad way to live, Mr. Monk."

Monk sighed, knowing he had not actually lived a single day since Trudy died. He nodded and slowly raised his head to look at Kid.

"Four dollars and ten cents," the clerk said.

Kid reached into his pocked and paid the woman, then picked up the package and the bag of candy and headed for the door. Monk quickly followed.

0-0-0-0-0-0

Standing in the hallway outside the hotel room, they heard bouts of laughter coming from inside the room.

"Well, at least they're having a good time," Kid remarked.

Kid opened the door and stood back for Monk to go in first.

Sharona, having discarded the cumbersome duster, sat on the foot of the bed, her legs crossed, her arm resting on the foot board while Heyes, now fully dressed, was sitting in a chair putting on his boots.

"It's going to be dark soon," Kid said and handed the package to Sharona. "We'll hafta wait till morning to go look for your Indian."

Sharona nodded without protest. She had come to enjoy the company of the dark haired cowboy. But Monk was nearly in a state of shock.

"I can't stay here!" he exclaimed.

"Don't worry, we'll see if we can get you and Miss Fleming each a room," Heyes said, expecting this to calm the nervous little man.

"Sharona!" Monk protested.

"Calm down, Adrian," Sharona told him, then turned to Kid and Heyes to try to explain her boss' peculiar reaction. "It's not about staying here. It's about sleeping in a strange bed that's been slept in by other people."

"They change the sheets between occupants," Kid explained.

"Well, that's just it. The bed has been used before. The sheets have been used before. The pillows have been used before..."

"Ah, them germs again," Kid said knowingly. "Well, it could be worse, Mr. Monk. You could be sleeping on some straw in some barn with horses and cows in the stalls right beside you."

"Argh!" Monk gasped.

"Adrian, stop it! You're embarrassing me. It's alright. You can just stay awake till we get home."

"If we get home! We may be stuck here for the rest of our lives! I need Doctor Kroger, Sharona," Monk whined and wilted into a chair.

Sharona looked at Heyes and rolled her eyes. "He'll be fine," she explained. "Mr. Monk uses theatrics to help him through every crisis."

"I kinda figured that out already," Kid replied.

"Mr. Monk?" Heyes said. "Why don't we just forget about sleeping arrangements right now. Why don't you, and Thaddeus and I go downstairs to the lobby and give Sharona a chance to change her clothes. She can meet us downstairs and we can go get some supper."

Physically drained and mentally exhausted, Monk nodded his head and stood up from his chair. His entire body looked drooped and defeated, but he followed Heyes and Curry out of the room and down the stairs.

Ten minutes later Sharona descended the stairs, each step was slow and deliberate and she had a fierce scowl on her face. "Who picked these out?" she demanded, giving emphasis to each individual word.

"It was the only combination that provided exact symmetry," Monk explained.

Sharona's hand shot to the top of her blouse and she counted the number of buttons. "Ten. Ten also happens to be the number of letters in the color blue and the color purple combined?"

Monk shrugged sheepishly, then his shoulders twitched.

"We have a choice between the hotel dining room and the cafe," Heyes told them. "Hotel's a little fancier, and the cafe is more like home cooking."

"I won't be caught dead in a fancy place with these clothes. We're eating at the cafe," Sharona announced and marched out the door.

Heyes and Kid both looked at Monk who offered a defeated shrug.

"I thought you were her boss," Heyes said.

"That was the original plan. Sharona had other ideas."

0-0-0-0-0-0

"Adrian, why don't you have some coffee or tea? The water is boiled so there aren't any germs," Sharona told him. You can't go without drinking in this heat. Look what happened in Tijuana. We don't want to go through that again."

"Tea," Monk told the waitress.

"So four blue plate specials, three coffees, and one tea?" the waitress asked.

"That's right," Sharona replied.

"And you want everything on separate plates?" she asked sarcastically as she looked directly at Monk..

"Clean, separate plates," Monk replied.

Sharona sighed. "You'll have to excuse him, he's had a pretty rough day."

"And he ain't from around here," Kid piped up.

"No kidding," the waitress replied and headed toward the kitchen to place the orders.

The rest of the meal went fairly smoothly, that is until two rough cowboys walked in and, heading to an empty table, one of the men bumped Monk's chair with such force it moved the chair and the food on Monk's fork spilled to his lap.

"Sharona, wipe! Hurry!"

The stranger turned to see Monk flailing his arms in the air and Sharona digging frantically into her bag for a wipe. "I don't have any Adrian! I gave the last packet to you!"

"Argh!"

The stranger chucked and nudged his partner to see the show.

"Pocket! Pocket!" Monk shouted.

Heyes nervously studied all the other diners who were now staring at their table, while Sharona dug into Monk's coat pocket and found the wet wipes and quickly pulled one free and began cleaning the small spot of food.

The two cowboys continued to stand and watch, their laughter growing louder.

Getting the spot cleaned, Sharona sat back and sighed.

"I don't believe I heard an apology," Kid said, giving the two cowboys a cold but intense glare.

"I don't believe you're gonna. Ain't my fault the man's clumsy," the cowboy at fault replied.

"You nearly knocked the man over in his chair, and you spilled his food. Now either you apologize, or..."

"Or what? You want to take this outside, Mister?"

"No. I just want a simple apology from an obvious walk-off."

"Kid, don't," Heyes whispered.

"You're calling me a walk-off?" the man asked, obviously knowing the meaning of the word.

"I'm calling it like I see it."

"Then you do want to take it outside."

Monk leaned in as close to Heyes as his peculiar protocol would allow. "What does he mean by take it outside?"

"Shh," Heyes whispered. "Stay out of this and hopefully no one will get hurt."

"All I want is for you to offer this man an apology."

The cowboy glanced down at Monk who was trying hard to avoid attention. But the frequent twitching of the left side of Monk's face negated that possibility entirely.

"I'm calling you out," the cowboy replied.

Kid sighed heavily, looked at Heyes who shot him a very subtle shake of his head, then stood up from his chair. "If that's what it's gonna take," Kid said.

0-0-0-0-0-0

Outside, in the hot, dusty street, the two men stood twenty paces apart. The cowboy took a very pronounced stance with legs parallel to his shoulders, and his right hand hovering near his gun. Kid assumed a more casual stance with his arms folded across his chest.

"You gotta stop this! One of them is going to kill the other one," Sharona exclaimed to Heyes as she, Heyes, and Monk stood on the boardwalk watching the scene unfold.

"No. Everything will be fine," Heyes assured her. "That cowboy don't wear his gun tied down. He ain't experienced at this. Probably scared stiff right now."

"Is your friend aware of that?" Monk whispered.

"Oh yeah," Heyes replied. "Gotta be real quiet now."

The cowboy stared nervously at his confident opponent who's eyes were focused on the man's right hand. The instant the hand twitched, Kid drew and fired, sending the cowboy's holster skidding down the street behind him.

"Now what was it you wanted to tell Mr. Monk?" Kid asked as he holstered his own gun.

"I want to apologize," the cowboy told Monk.

"An honest mistake," Monk assured him.

The cowboy looked at his friend. "Come on, there's other places to get a meal," he said and the two men headed down the street.

"Who's ready for pie?" Kid asked, heading back into the cafe.

0-0-0-0-0

"You're awfully quiet, Adrian," Sharona said when they were halfway through dessert.

Monk kept his head bent down but raised knowing eyes toward Heyes and Curry. Kid didn't notice, being intent on polishing off his second piece of pie. But Heyes did.

"Is something wrong, Mr. Monk?" Heyes asked.

"You both wear your guns tied down," Monk replied.

Heyes glanced quickly at his partner who held his fork halfway to his mouth.

"Yes, we do," Heyes replied with a smile. "It keeps the gun from slapping us in the leg when we ride."

"I assume you each have a carry permit?"

"A what?" Kid asked.

"Adrian, this is 1886," Sharona reminded him.

Monk crooked his neck nervously. "You both have criminal records."

"What?" Heyes asked.

"Shhh Adrian. Keep your voice down," Sharona cautioned him.

"I saw the way you scanned the room during that altercation. You didn't want to attract attention to yourselves. Maybe afraid you'd be recognized."

"Adrian, what are you talking about?" Sharona asked.

"I'm right, aren't I?... Outlaws, bandits, highway robbers."

"Adrian, stop it," Sharona ordered. "They were standing up for you!"

Heyes rested his elbows on the table as he leaned in toward Monk. "Let's just suppose you are right, Mr. Monk, which I'm not admitting that you are. Then what?"

"In 1886 they offered rewards for the capture and arrest of outlaws."

"Adrian, are you crazy?" Sharona asked. "You have to forgive him. It's the heat," Sharona explained apologetically.

"Again, hypothetically, supposing we are outlaws, you're not going to turn us in," Heyes said confidently.

"And why not?" Monk asked.

"If you was to turn us in, you'd haft to testify at our trials. That means you'd have to stay in the dirty, dusty old west of 1886."

Monk thought about this and knew Heyes was right. He sighed in defeat.

"Come on, let's go get the two of you a couple of hotel rooms," Kid said as he fished into his pocket for money to pay the bill. "We'll go see what we can do about that disabled Cherokee of yours in the morning."

0-0-0-0-0-0

"Adrian, Adrian, wake up!" Sharona said while giving a firm shake to Monk's shoulders. "How can you sleep in this heat?"

Monk opened sleepy eyes to find Sharona leaning inside the Jeep and just inches away from his face. Once awake, a shocked expression covered Monk's face.

"Where are your clothes?" he demanded.

Sharona pulled herself out of the Jeep and looked at Monk indignantly. "What are you talking about? I am dressed!" she said, making a sweeping gesture with her hands before she suddenly gasped. "Adrian! Shame on you! You're picturing me naked!"

"I am not, but you are hardly covered. Do you want the Sheriff to throw you in the slammer?"

"Adrian, what are you talking about?"

Realizing that Sharona honestly had no idea what he was talking about, he cautiously looked about and was shocked to find himself sitting in the passenger seat of Sharona's Jeep. Looking out the windshield, Monk saw his apartment building, the neighborhood drugstore across the street, the busy street on which they were parked, and the San Francisco Bay stretching out to the horizon.

"I must have been dreaming," he said quietly.

"I'll say. Who are Smith and Jones?"

"You got the car working?" he exclaimed, ignoring her question.

"What are you talking about? The car never stopped working."

"Did we go to Green River" Monk asked.

"Adrian, are you alright? We went to the Green Tree Mall to get you some new shirts. You fell asleep on the way home."

"Wow," Adrian sighed.

"Wow what?"

"I must have dreamed all that," he said, climbing out of the car and heading to the entrance of his apartment building. He stopped at the door and turned back toward Sharona who was juggling several packages. "Are you coming?"

"I'm coming Adrian. But when we get inside, I want you to tell me about that dream..."