A/N: This is a relatively short chapter; technically it belongs with the previous one but that would have made it entirely too long. Just moving the plot along in this part. Nothing very exciting... sorry about that! I promise better chapters are in the future.

When I return home - or should I say, when I'm escorted by Greg to my home after removing most of the grime from my fingernails in Catherine's own ornate bathroom, using her most-certainly prized fancy soaps - I make my way to the kitchen. Sure enough, Annie is there, slicing green and red apples and humming quietly to herself.

"Hello," I say hesitantly.

"Hello Sara." She doesn't look up from her task, the knife hammering against the wooden cutting board with a 'thunk' each time she slices.

"I met Catherine today."

"What did you think?" Her tone is neutral, unbiased. Annie is never unbiased.

"Most likely the same thing you do, that she's a flamboyant bitch."

Annie puts down her knife. "You know I don't like you using that foul language in my presence." She turns towards me. "But in the case, I think it is appropriate."

Her smile has returned and I walk towards her. "I'm sorry about last night," I say.

"I'm sorry I tried to force you to speak with him. I just thought…"

"I know. That if I didn't remember… I might see him the way you do."

She sighs, deflating her usually bubbly demeanor. "He's a good man, Sara. I wish you felt that way."

"Well I don't, but let's not dwell on it, hmm? I have better news for you. I watched Catherine as she made her pies today."

Annie's eyes take on a hungry glint. "You did?"

"Yes. I did."

"And?"

"They're apple, they smelled delicious, but I want you to kick her ass tomorrow at the bake-off. Can you do that?"

"Actually, if you would like to help me, we can enter the pies in our names and we'll both kick her trampy ass."

I smile and pick up the wooden bowl. "Where do I start?"

Annie and I bake like fiends long into the night. She shows me how to make the crust, keeping the lard lumpy and not mixing it all the way in like Catherine did.
"Makes it flake," she says.

By the time we finish, it's well after dark and Annie and I are on good terms. She's at least twenty years older than me, but it's like she's become a friend. It's her idea to go bathe out by the creek.

"No one will be there," she whispers to me, not wanting to wake Al or David up. "You should see yourself. Do you want to look like a mess for the Festival tomorrow?"

"What about you? You look like you were rolled in flour and then dipped in cinnamon. It's amazing that Al doesn't think you're dessert."

"Well dearie," she drawls at me slyly, "sometimes he does."

"Annie! Christ! Too much information."

She whallops me on my ass with her wooden spoon, apple bits still stuck to it. "Don't you dare take the Lord's name in vain, missy!"

I blink at the apple stuck to my dress and we both start giggling. "We're over-tired," I say. "We're getting giddy."

"All the more reason to freshen up in the creek. Go find yourself a robe and let's go!" She disappears from the kitchen, heading towards her bedroom.

I sigh and go to mine. I do need a bath; I'm just not keen about sharing it with a sixty-something woman in the middle of the night.

I shouldn't have worried, Annie takes me to one secluded area and hands me a bar of soap wrapped in paper. "So you can be your best for tomorrow." I can tell it's fancier than Catherine's rose-shaped ornate ones; this is most likely a very expensive little bar of soap.

"Annie…"

"Nope. No worries. I have one too." She waves it at me with a smile. "Tomorrow only happens once a year, you know! You clean up and use that comb I gave you to work out your hair. I'll be up over there by the big oak. Holler if you need anything."

I watch her disappear into the night. I unwrap the soap and inhale its light scent. I don't know what it is, but it's lightly feminine without being overly perfume-y. It's perfect.

I do a quick look-around before hanging my robe, my towel and my gun on a low tree branch. The water is cool when I enter, but not overly cold. I spend a good fifteen minutes soaping my hair and combing it out. Bubbles trail off my body and head downstream towards Annie. I can hear her humming to herself, a faint melody on the night air. I laugh and continue my bath.

I'm almost through and coming up from dunking my head when I hear the faint snap of a twig on the ground. Startled, I freeze and scan the banks. On the opposite side, I see the faint movement of something and I call out to Annie.

A man clad only in a loincloth rises from behind the low-lying shrubs and scampers off into the woods. I scream and bolt from the water. I'm wrapped in my towel, holding my gun and shivering when Annie breaks through the darkness.

"What is it?"

"There… was a man over there," I say, pointing with the gun's barrel. "It was an Indian! He was spying on us!"

Annie laughs. "Well, maybe not on me." She looks at me, still drenched and feeling like a drowned rat. "I'm sure he got an eyeful though!"

"Annie!" I yelp, horrified.

"He's probably a teenager, just getting his jollies. He's far from home, but hey – stranger things have happened. I'll let Sheriff Brass know about it tomorrow, okay? Now put that away."

I nod and do as she says, still feeling rather disturbed and violated.

"No harm done." She winks bawdily at me. "You probably gave him quite the show."

"Annie! Aren't you the one that's always on my ass about being 'proper' and 'ladylike'?" I put on my robe and wrap the towel around my still-soaked hair. She gathers her things and we start on our way back home. The night is still as crystal clear as before, the moon almost full in the sky.

"Well sure," she finally responds, "but that's because you need to find yourself a nice man and settle down." Her voice lowers. "I just want what's best for you, dear."

"Being married is what's best for me?"

"You bet." Her voice is full of authority. "You need the right man to tame your sassy behind. You're just like your Pista – full of wildfire."

The thought of Pista and how El Vaquero had calmed her quickly comes to mind. Then the realization that Annie planned that encounter comes to mind as well.

"Oh no," I say, not angry but not quite pleased either. "You can't possibly think him… you couldn't. Tell me you didn't play matchmaker last night!"

She doesn't respond to that. Instead she plays philosopher and says, "I see your accident as a gift from God. Your mind is clear, perhaps for the first time since you've come here."

We're back at the house before she speaks again. "You need a man who will be your equal, not one you can lead around like a puppy." She means Greg.

"He's very fond of me," I say quietly as she opens the back door.

"Yes, but are you fond of him? Does he make your heart pound and your knees weak and your head spin?"

There are two men that make my head spin, and I'm not about to tell her who one is. The other definitely flares off something within me, but seems to change his demeanor like a chameleon.

Still, she's not wrong. Thoughts of Greg do not turn my legs into jelly. I twist the conversation towards her. "What about you? Does Al make your blood pound and your legs tremble?"

She's standing at her bedroom door, the soft sounds of snoring coming from behind it. I give her a 'you've-gotta-be-kidding' look as she reaches for the doorknob.

"Honey," she says, "in his younger days, my man could light my fires quicker than Dante's Inferno. In fact, he still does. Why, the things he does with his tongue…"

Holy crap! I turn and sprint towards the stairs and rush towards my bedroom. I've heard enough. Annie's quiet laughter echoes throughout the sleeping house until I hear her close her door.

I lay in bed, trying to picture Annie and Al as a younger couple. My mind blanks and I shake the thoughts from my mind. It's just too damn scary for me to even comprehend.

Right before I drift off, I realize I learned something useful today. Mr. Grissom's first name is Gil.