I know this is a day late, hopefully it is not a dollar short! Many thanks to dreamsofhim for the emergency beta. Many apologies to Cybrokat for being impatient and not getting this to her earlier. Much love to all my readers!

This is a long chapter. Over 5000 words. All mistakes are mine. I do hope y'all like this one.

The surface of the bar is etched with a lifetime of use. Single pockmaks dance around knife gouges and semi-obscene words carved into the heavily oiled wood.

I'm studying this and the long, high mirror behind Warrick as he makes me a drink.

"Don't let it get to you, Miss Sara," he says as he puts the small glass before me. "Everyone makes mistakes."

"True, but not everyone shares their mistakes with the entire town." I lift the glass to my lips, pausing as a strange odor reaches me. "What is this?"

Warrick smiles. "Nothing harsh, I can assure you. You aren't a drinker, Miss Sara. That there is sarsaparilla, and I'm pretty sure you like it."

I take a sip. It's sweeter than I thought it would be. I don't remember having anything like this before. "I've had this before?"

"Yes'm." He turns and I'm reminded of what he said when I first met him. I look around the Silver Pole, noticing that a few card games have started up at the tables. I'm not alone at the bar either; a tattered miner is sitting at the far end in the shadows, nursing a similar glass filled with a light brown liquid.

I decide now is as good a time as any to solve the minor mystery of the black bartender with the sexy green eyes. "Warrick," I ask, "were we friends?"

He starts and his eyes widen for a second before a sly grin breaks out on his face. "You always were one for being direct, Miss Sara."

"Well, were we?"

He puts down the white bar towel and pulls up his stool to sit near me. "We got along all right. That is, until you got stubborn and fool-hardy and went down to the mines." He looks away, but not before I catch the flicker of hurt. There is definitely more to this story.

"We fought," I say. "The day I was hurt."

"We did."

Something registers, a click in my mind that fills in another piece of the jumbled puzzle of my memory. "I came to you about information on El Vaquero, didn't I?"

He blinks, but doesn't deny it. With a shrug he says, "Lots of folks come in here, get a drink, talk about their troubles with one another or to themselves. Most don't notice the black man behind the counter. Most don't think he can talk a'tall."

Prejudice. I hadn't seen it but it would make sense that it was there. The war was over, but the mindset of society was slow to change. Blacks were slaves and nothing more. I reached my hand across the bar and place it atop his. "Not everyone thinks that way."

His hand covers mine and pats it gently. "I know. That's why I'm so sorry for what I said that day. Ma'am, I never would wish ill on you, I swear."

"What did you say?"

He looks down, shame clear on his face. "I shouldn't have said anything to you that day, Miss Sara. I shouldn't have told you that he was there, and I shouldn't have said what I did when you left."

I don't remember any of it, but he certainly does. I squeeze his hand gently. "Look, it doesn't matter. I'm still here and I'll be okay."

His voice is thick with guilt. "But ma'am, you isn't… I mean, you aren't okay. You lost your memories."

"It wasn't your fault, Warrick."

He won't look at me.

"Warrick, it was not your fault!"

With a sigh, he says, "There were some people in here that morning. People who heard me yellin' at you to stay away from the pass into the south side of the canyon."

I lower my voice to a whisper. "Was one of those people Mr. Ecklie?"

He whispers back, "Yes'm. He left shortly after you did." Then he groans softly, "I steered him straight to ya."

I sit back for a moment to digest this. He's right - he didn't mean for me to get hurt but in all likelihood, his outburst spurred Ecklie into action. Taking what I learned earlier into consideration, this means that Ecklie and his goons are hiding something along that pass. I'm lucky that El Vaquero was there. Otherwise, I'd probably be dead.

I don't want Warrick to carry this guilt. He didn't know that Ecklie's made himself some secret hideaway down in that pass. All he knew was that El Vaquero was going to be there. How he knew this, and how I knew that he knew, is all still a mystery. But I'm not ready to pry open that can of worms just yet.

"Well, look. Try to think of it this way," I say. "If I hadn't gone down there in the first place, I wouldn't have gotten hurt." I almost choke on my next words. "At least El Vaquero was there to help me."

Warrick's eyes brighten a little. "What's done is done," I tell him. "Eventually I'll be just like new."

He nods. "I suppose you're right, Miss Sara."

"I'm not angry with you, Warrick." I pat the hand I was holding gently. "I'm not."

These are magic words as Warrick seems to collapse on himself in relief. I repeat them and his eyes are bright with emotion.

He coughs lightly and rises from his stool, making his way over to the liquor shelves. "Sometimes our past haunts us, Miss Sara. I had a friend such as yourself, back when I was much younger, and I let her down. I made a mistake and she got in trouble because of it. She never forgave me." He turns and faces me. "I wouldn't want that to happen again."

"It hasn't," I say. "I forgive you. We all make mistakes, right?"

oooooooooooooooo

I spend the rest of the afternoon keeping Warrick company as he tends to the increasing number of patrons at his bar. Most are miners, dust-covered and rather foul-smelling. All ask for whiskey. The quiet from earlier has left the saloon; there are now many card games being played in earnest. Yet another contest, I assume.

When Warrick has a spare moment, we talk of simple things. It helps to take his mind off of what happened to me, and it helps me to forget about the bake-off and Mr. Ecklie. He speaks of Catherine often and I get a hint that there is more between him and her than just an employer/employee relationship.

I'm daydreaming and watching the shadows lengthen outside the front window when there is a hard tap on my shoulder.

"Sara! So this is where you've been! Everyone's been looking for you." It's Greg, covered in dust with a small twig sticking out from behind his shirt collar.

"Greg, what the heck have you been doing? Wrestling with a tree?"

"Tumbleweed races," he says proudly. "I came in second!"

I laugh, I can't help myself. "Good for you!"

"I heard about the pie thing. Sorry about that. I overheard Judy - she was so pleased she won; she came all the way out to the field to tell Nick. I think she's sweet on him, but I'm not sure he realizes it. I mean, she isn't bad and all, but she's not my type, you know? Maybe they'll dance together tonight. Which brings up another thing: are you going to dance with me tonight or what?"

Judy won? I had come inside after all the laughing started. No need to stick around and add on to my humiliation, right? My cheeks burn at the memory, but what is more interesting is that Annie did not win. This means Catherine didn't win either. I chuckle at that but I suspect Annie is rather disappointed. Actually, she's probably pissed as all hell. Judy was the brown-haired mouse-like lady who was helping to serve the pies. Her pie must have been one of the last judged.

Greg is standing there waiting and I realize he wants me to answer something. Oh, that's right, he asked me to dance with him tonight.

Uh oh. Greg just asked me to dance with him tonight! I hadn't considered this. Dancing is a romantic thing, right? Men ask women to dance and they hold hands and… holy crap. What do I say? I can't say no. That would be rude.

"Sure, Greg," I say with a cheeriness I don't feel. "I'll dance with you."

He beams and I'm in a boatload of trouble. David warned me about this but it didn't really register until now. "They've come a'callin' for you…" he had said. How many men in this town are going to ask me to dance tonight? I hope it isn't a lot. I'm not up for this kind of thing at all. I don't even know if I can dance.

The walls of the saloon are starting to feel small. I need air.

I rise from my stool. "Warrick, I'll see you later tonight, okay?"

He nods as he's pouring yet another shot of Jim Bean into a glass. I walk past Greg and head towards the back door. "Let's go find Annie and get a seat for dinner before they're all taken."

As I step into the late afternoon sun, I'm so astounded by the mass of people congregated out back that I stop dead in my tracks. It seems everyone has come out of the woodwork for dinner. There don't seem to be any seats beneath the tents and people are setting up blankets around the dance floor, the stage and along the brush sweeping into the desert. There are more people than I've ever seen.

Some of them look … dirty and I realize it isn't dirt; it's just that their clothing is old and threadbare. I see the dark, haunted look of the women and the steely eyes of the men and realize that these people are miners and their families. It makes sense. Miners don't have the time to take a day off to frolic in the sun and play games like the townsfolk and their families. They're just struggling to put food on the table and keep from getting killed in the mine. The miners live in small shacks along the trails to Techatticup. I haven't seen them, but Greg told me about them. He said it was like a stick-figure mock up of a town. It never occurred to me that those men were married, but I had seen women such as these come into the clinic. I just never put the two together.

A small little girl sitting on a faded red and white checkered cloth catches my eye just then. Her blonde hair is straggly and there is a smudge across her right cheek. But her blue eyes are bright as she glares at me in defiance. "Don't you dare look at me like that," her eyes say. "I don't want your pity."

I smile softly at her and then look away. She's wrong, because it isn't pity I feel for her and those like her. It's something else.

Greg's voice breaks me out of my trance. "We're already all set with a table," he says, pointing over to the right. "See? We're over there with the sheriff and Nick." Sure enough, there are two empty chairs for me and Greg at this huge table. Annie, Al and David are there. Al is at the head of the table with Annie and David flanking him on either side. Next to Annie is one empty chair, then Catherine, who's sipping at a drink that looks suspiciously like the whiskey Warrick's been serving all afternoon. An elderly couple I don't recognize is sitting next to David. Mr. Grissom is right next to them. Brass is next to Catherine and Nick is next to Mr. Grissom's empty chair, across from Brass. The seat next to Catherine is clearly meant for me, but Greg intervenes as he trots around the table and plops himself down next to her. What does he think he's doing? Catherine doesn't look very pleased with this arrangement either, and with yet another flicker of insight, I realize he's trying to annoy her on purpose.

His words clinch the deal. "Miss Catherine," he purrs, "why yes, I'd be delighted to sit next to you this evening. It isn't often that I get to be the escort of the belle of the ball, so to speak."

Catherine is eyeing daggers at him. "Mr. Sanders, I'm sure it won't happen again!"

Greg feigns hurt and directs a bawdy wink in my direction. "Why Cath, should I be offended? C'mon now, you know I'm the best catch in town." He nudges her with his elbow, jostling her drink. "When are you going to settle down and marry me?"

Brass and Nick are chuckling quietly while the elderly couple is looking at Greg in a state of shock. Annie, Al and David are all pretending to be very interested in anything but this conversation, and Mr. Grissom is … well, I'm not sure what he's doing. I'm doing my best to ignore him while I stand and watch this whole charade.

"You may be sittin' next t' the belle of the ball," Nick says with a flourish as he stands up dramatically, "but Mr. Grissom and I would be honored to sup' next to the lovely Miss Sara." Nick swoops off his hat and executes an overly flamboyant bow right in front of me. "Please, milady, will you join us for dinner?" He gently takes my chair and makes a big show of pulling it away and gesturing for me to sit. His voice is very formal, a mock of the elite. I can't help it but smile as I say, "Yes, Mr. Stokes, I'd be delighted."

Mr. Grissom rises awkwardly as well, not as an attempt to join in the game, but more of a show of manners. "Yes, please sit," he murmurs lowly, almost shy.

I can't quite look at him so I just sit my butt down and pretend not to notice as Nick pushes me tight up against the table. I scoot it back a few inches and look down at my empty plate. Did David and Greg have the forethought to think ahead about my dinner as well as my lunch? Apparently not. Nick and Mr. Grissom sit down and there's a weird moment of silence as no one seems to know what to say.

It passes when Greg leans way in front of Catherine and asks Brass, "So Sheriff, anything exciting happen while I was taking second place in the tumbleweed races?" Catherine looks like she wants to stab him in the back of his neck with her fork. He still hasn't removed the twig that is sticking out from his collar and it is inches from Catherine's nose.

Annie strikes up a conversation with the elderly lady, who I'm now assuming is Greg's aunt. Al and David listen in and Mr. Grissom is just sitting next to me, breathing. I wonder if he's as uncomfortable with this as I am.

I fidget with my silverware and start to worry. I hope they'll have something for me to eat; I'm starving. Right then a big burly man who is more than a little intimidating pops out from behind a wagon I didn't notice before and rings a very large metal triangle.

"Chow time! Come 'n get it!"

The whole crowd cheers, including most everyone at my table, which startles the hell out of me. Everyone picks up their plates, so I do likewise. We march past the other people and head towards the wagon. We aren't the first ones in line. The mayor, Sam Braun, and an entourage of very important-looking people including Mr. Ecklie, are all ahead of us. Beyond them and the wagon is a whole new set of tables, each covered with food. I almost squeal with delight as I notice my potatoes, along with carrots and celery and other things that I can eat.

There's more than a fair share of meat there as well, and I can see what looks like half a cow still roasting on a spit beyond the wagon. Beyond that is the remains of all the baked goods from the bake-off. I can't tell if my pie is there or not, but for the sake of these nice people, I hope someone had the decency to throw the thing away.

I turn around and see that the rest of the people have formed a line behind us. It looks like an unspoken ranking of the elite to the poor. The status assignment bothers me. I try not to think about it and scan the crowd looking for Ecklie's goons instead. If I had to choose, I'd say the handsome darker-skinned man with the hooded eyes was the Vartann character and the younger, lighter-haired man behind him was Peddigrew. That man was avidly engaged in a conversation with a flighty-looking redhead, although the conversation seemed strictly one-sided. The redhead is doing all the talking and Peddigrew is intently studying the ruffles on her very-tight bodice.

If this guy thought I'd be interested in him, well… he's clearly out of his mind.

I heap scoops of food onto my plate and leave the dessert table for later. We all head back to our table, the people in line eyeing us with envy. The sun is starting to set and the sky takes on an amber hue. The temperature has dropped as well, leaving behind an air of quiet contentment as people finally settle in to enjoy their dinner.

The conversation grows muted as the sunlight wanes. People return for seconds and dessert, and it seems there is more than enough food for everyone. Faces are smiling, bellies are full. For the first time since we left the house this morning, I'm finally beginning to enjoy myself. If it wasn't for Mr. Grissom sitting beside me, patiently cutting up his steak into precise equal-sized pieces before eating them, I'd be doing just fine.

Warrick finally makes an appearance from inside and eats dinner with us. I notice the glances between him and Catherine, but it seems propriety is going to win out this evening. It wouldn't be right for a white woman to dance with her black bartender. I scowl at the thought and Brass notices.

"Everything all right, Miss Sara?"

"Oh yes, I'm fine Sheriff. I was just thinking."

As the evening wears on and the stars start to light up in the sky, I'm still thinking about Ecklie and his gold, Warrick and Catherine, and the little girl with the smudge on her cheek and fire in her eyes.

oooooooooooooooo

It's dark when the music starts up. The crowd from dinner has diminished; most families have taken their children home and tucked them into their beds. The red and white checkered cloth is gone from its place near the musician's stage, taking the blue-eyed little girl with it. There's no reason for dance and celebration for that family.

However, there seems to be lots of reasons at my table. Warrick brought along a bottle of wine as well as a decanter of whiskey, and the majority of my table is now pleasantly sloshed.

Greg's aunt and uncle say their good-byes once the music picks up in earnest. Mr. Grissom offers to escort them home, and Brass and Nick decide they need to do some patrolling to make sure everyone is safe as they make their way through the streets. David dismisses himself and disappears; I'm not sure where he's headed to.

But Greg is still around and he finally convinces Catherine to join him in a square dance, a sure sign of how much liquor she's consumed today. She takes his hand with a loopy smile as he leads her onto the floor. Warrick scowls and heads inside, most likely to return to tending his bar. I know how he feels; a part of me doesn't like Greg dancing with Catherine either. Still, I take advantage of the opportunity and go sit next to Annie.

"How are you doing?" I ask.

"I'm all right," she says, patting Al's outstretched hand. I've noticed all through dinner that the two have been rather sentimental with one another. "It was disappointing to lose today, but I did come in second."

I lower my voice. "Which means you again beat out Miss Catherine."

Annie chuckles. "Yes, you're right dear. Yes I did." She then changes the subject. "So, are you going to dance with anyone tonight?"

I smirk at her. "Still trying to play matchmaker?"

"Someone has to."

"Greg asked me earlier if I was going to dance with him," I say simply.

"And you said…?"

"I said yes."

"Hmmph."

"I don't exactly see a line forming for my hand, Annie."

"Oh?" she says, and sure enough, here comes Nick, looking very eager.

"Oh shit," I mumble.

"What's that dear?" Annie says loudly. "Did you say something?"

I shoot her a death glare and then look up at the bright, smiling face of Deputy Stokes.

He removes his hat with another sweeping motion and bows dramatically before me. "My lady, would you do me the honor of joining me in the next dance?"

Panic seizes me. I don't know how to square dance! Do I?

"Uh… "

"Don't worry," Nick says, grabbing my hand and pulling me to my feet. "It's easy. I'll show you how."

I glance back at Annie, who gives me a cute little finger-wave good-bye. Thanks, Annie.

Before I know it we're out on the dance floor and the band is preparing for a new song. Couples form, each facing one another. Nick smiles at me and grabs my hand, holding it high up in the air. He grabs my other hand with his other hand, placing mine on his shoulder and his on the small of my back, a little too close to my ass for comfort.

"Yer cute when yer nervous, Miss Sara. Just relax and let me lead. It'll be fun."

Yikes. The music starts and we're off skipping around the floor. It's very fast and rather dizzying. Nick is smiling and concentrating on keeping us away from the other couples. I see Greg still with Catherine, who looks a little worse for wear. The dance ends and everyone claps. I join in because I don't know what else to do.

A man in a huge white ten-gallon hat gets up and speaks to us. The next dance is a two-step, whatever that is. Now we all are to stand side-by-side with our partners; Mr. Ten-Gallon demonstrates with a pretty young lady half his age. He spins her around and I'm instinctively backing away from Nick, mumbling "no, no, no."

He grabs me firmly and pulls me back into place. "C'mon back here, Miss Sara. You ain't gettin' away from me that easily."

Maybe I underestimated him. He's got a glint in his eye that says I'm his dance partner for the remainder of the evening. He's lining me up when Greg toddles on over and taps Nick on his shoulder. Nick winces slightly and I can almost see the testosterone flare up between the two young men.

"May I cut in? I believe Miss Sara owes me a dance."

Nick scowls hard and says, "What happened to Miss Catherine, your 'belle of the ball'?"

Greg jerks his head towards the saloon. "She needed to freshen up. So," Greg says with a hint of a growl, "may I cut in?"

I can see a little vein pop along the side of Nick's neck. He's not happy, but he hands me over to Greg. Greg says a half-hearted, "Thank you" and smiles wide at me once he's pulled me flat up against his side. I notice he's taller than me and he's looking down on me with a huge grin on his face.

"This is much better now, don'tcha think?" Maybe for you, Greg.

Greg is drunk. I can tell this when the music starts and he promptly squishes my left toe. We skip around the dance floor and I keep looking at my feet, trying to keep my toes from becoming pancakes. Greg tries to spin me around but I fail miserably at the task. It's a miracle folks aren't laughing at us.

There is a God, because the music finally does stop. I make it a point to leave when Sheriff Brass approaches. "My turn," he says with a smile as he takes my hand.

The next dance is a western waltz, the beat slower and rather romantic. Brass gives me a smirk and says, "I'm a little old for you, but this'll keep the young bucks away for a while."

We start to dance and I let Brass lead. He is a much better dancer that both my previous partners combined. "You've done this before," I say coyly.

"I have," he says back. We are playing around and it is friendly between us. "You see, every fifth dance is a slow one. This allows the couples to get all cozy with one another and for the prospective single men to woo their chosen women. Since you seem to have a quite a following tonight, and it's still very early, I made a deal with Al to keep you safe for as long as I can."

"It's an unspoken rule that if one guy cuts in, the other has to let him, right?"

"Yes. This is a gentleman's game, but it is always the lady's choice. I'm sure your little suitors didn't tell you, but you can always refuse and return to your seat at any point in time. Most ladies feign weariness or claim they need to powder their nose."

"That's good to know."

"And feel free to slap any hand that goes roaming in an inappropriate direction."

At just that moment there is a sound of a slap and the redhead that Peddigrew was drooling over in the buffet line is stomping off the floor in a huff. Peddigrew is standing there looking stunned while the other dancers start to hiss.

Brass joins them while I watch Peddigrew leave the floor and disappear into the saloon. "Bad form," Brass grumbles. "He'll keep his hands to himself next time."

The music ends and Brass smiles at me. "Thank you," he says politely.

"Thank you," I say. "Won't you stay for the next dance?"

"Oh no, my old bones can't take that fast-paced stuff. But, I can escort you back to your seat if you like."

He winks and I hold out my arm. "Lead the way."

oooooooooooooooo

A pattern ensues as the night goes on. Either Greg or Nick will yank me from my seat two dances after the slow dance. Both seem to know I won't be able to handle square dancing. It seems to be a race between the two, whoever gets to me first gets the first dance and then the other gets to poke the first's shoulder and cut in for the second. I'm sure both will have lovely bruises tomorrow morning. Brass always cuts in for the third, but by the fourth time around with this routine I can see he is tiring.

"Jim," I say, now familiar with using his first name, "why don't we just take a break for this one."

"No, no, it's okay."

"It's late. I can get David to dance with me. It'll be okay. I trust him to keep his hands to himself. He's a good guy."

"He is, but he's just as smitten with you as the other two. He's too damn polite to get between them, and while you've been sitting, both Nick and Greg have been visiting with Warrick at the bar."

I see where he's going with this. "How about you just walk me home, then?"

Brass shakes his head. "No, I couldn't do that. It's still early. It's only nine o'clock."

The dance finishes and we both follow through with our thank-you's. Al is still sitting with Annie at our table, the couple holding hands. It hits me then that Al can't dance with Annie and the thought makes me so sad that tears spring to my eyes.

I blink them away and try to think of a way to help them. Married couples should dance together. I'm tired of all the wrong I've seen and heard today. I need to make this one thing right.

The square dance starts up and I watch as couples dance and spin and move from partner to partner. An idea hits me. When Greg comes for me, I shoo him away, telling him that my feet are sore. It takes a few times for him to get the hint, but he does and finds himself another set of toes to step on. I do the same for Nick and convince Annie she needs to check up on Catherine inside. When the two-step starts, I get up and sit next to Al. "You should ask your lady to dance," I say softly.

"I wish I could," he replies.

"No one says you have to dance out there," I tell him. "You can dance right here."

Al has the most quizzical look on his face and in a flash I can see what Annie sees in him. He's very subtle about it, but I'd bet he was quite the character in his day.

"Stand up."

He's still confused. "Stand up!"

Annie joins us when he finally stands. "Catherine's fine, I sent her to bed for the evening. What's going on?"

"You two need to dance together."

Sorrow paints her face. "Oh, sweetie, it's okay. We don't need to dance."

"Oh, yes you do. I've decided. If I've got to dance all night, you've got to dance at least once. Now come over here. Come stand next to your husband."

Annie does as I say. "Now Doc, you put your hand here, and Annie, you put your hand here…" I position them like I want, as a couple standing face-to-face with Al's hand on her shoulder and Annie's hand around his waist. His other hand is on one crutch, as is hers. They both look a little baffled when I take the other crutch away.

"It'll be in the way. Now, your hands are your pivot point. Annie, get closer to him. You're a couple, remember!" I wait for her to scoot towards Al and then I show them how they can dance.

"Just sway together, okay? No one says you have to move from where you are, but if you are up to it, just lean your weight on that and spin yourselves around. Now try it."

They looked stunned and there is more than a small hint of flush on Annie's cheeks. I think they're both adorable and I hug them tight. "Just try it, huh?"

The music for the waltz starts and there is a gentle tap on my shoulder. "Jim, you should sit this one out, okay? Besides, I've got to work on these two." He taps again and I turn… and it isn't the sheriff who's come for me.

"Would you like to dance?" Mr. Grissom says calmly. I just gape and he takes my hand and leads me to the dance floor. We're face to face and that fire is glowing in his eyes and my head in whirring like a top. The music starts and he leads me around the dance floor.

"That was a very nice thing you did for them," he murmurs softly. I look and there are Al and Annie, swaying slowly to the music, her head on his shoulder. They're in their own little world and their love for one another is so clear that it is almost blinding.

Tears are in my eyes when I reply, "They deserve to be happy."

"They're good people." There's a moment of silence before he says, "I'm sorry if you're disappointed."

"About what?"

"Dancing with me and not Jim."

"Oh, well… he's been keeping me safe. And I'm grateful for it. Greg and Nick have been pestering me all night." I notice Judy has finally gotten her dance with Nick and she looks delighted. Nick doesn't seem all that displeased either, but I'm not sure if it's genuine or due to the high volume of whiskey in his bloodstream.

"I noticed. I told him I would take over. A fight broke out over a poker game and he needed to attend to that."

"Oh." We dance some more, his touch light and gentle as he guides me through the steps. It feels like floating on a cloud. The music stops all to quickly, breaking the lovely moment between us.

"Thank you, Miss Sara," he says, just as Brass did. But then he does something unexpected. He takes my hand and raises it, placing a light kiss along the top. My insides do a little flip and my head gets all dizzy again.

"Uh, you're welcome. I mean… thank you."

He takes me back to my table, his hand resting gently along the small of my back. It's an innocent enough gesture, but it sends tingles straight up and down my spine.

He stops a good distance from the table. Annie and Al are still swaying together, both lost in their moment even though the music has stopped.

Mr. Grissom looks at me and I nod in silent agreement. He then coughs and I can see a slight flush to his cheeks in the dim light of the oil lamps around us. "It's a nice evening… the moon's out… it's still early… perhaps we could… goforawalkaroundtown?"

I cut him off before he can continue, wrapping my arm in his. "I'd love to," I say. "Let's go."