Ok this one is a little short, and from an entirely different POV, but I'll have another long chapter up soon. Oh, and of course, I don't own anything. Big thanks to all of my reviewers.

There was a strange man standing on the sidewalk, in front of Jones' house. Blake eyed him suspiciously as they drove up, 1999 Dodge Caravan, white, humiliating parked behind the black Corvette.

A hell of a car, he ogled it enviously with his son, while the man dressed in black, Johnny Cash, continued to obliviously twiddle his thumbs.

"Hey mister, is this your car?"

His son's voice was very macho; Blake was infinitely proud of the fourteen year old.

The man turned around slowly; a mask sat sternly on half of his face. Jones' mystery man.

She'd called him at four o'clock that morning; Blake had never heard her sound so flustered, usually she was cool about everything, but not that day. It wasn't the fact that she'd just shot a dying man out of a tree that got her so flabbergasted, no, that wasn't something she'd freak out about. She woke him up at four to ask if it was "kosher" for her to visit this guy in the hospital.

"Oui, er…yes."

Phil nodded and grinned. "It's awesome."

The unmasked side of the man's face lightened. "Apparently it could be better; I've recently been informed it has the wrong transmission."

Amy stepped around the driver's side of their van with Allie on her hip. Blake looked at them fondly, ignoring the conversation taking place between his son and Johnny Cash.

He would never cease to be amazed by his wife's fiery red hair and cool green eyes, traits she'd obviously passed down to their son. But Allie, she was a spitting image of her father. Dirty blonde hair, long legs, and light brown eyes, his little girl was going to be a real heart breaker some day.

"I can't drive yet. I don't even have my permit."

The man chuckled. "That never stopped me, but I suppose things are different here."

Blake decided it was time to introduce himself; he stepped toward the man and extended a hand. "Blake Anderson."

"Erik." Erik's handshake was firm but not intimidating.

"BS told me about you." Actually, they'd called him immediately after meeting the man, and left out the mask part. Not that it bothered him; he just thought Jones had met someone not suicidal. "This is my son Philip, my wife Amy, and daughter Allie; I take it you've never been to a party at Lee's?"

"No, and I was wandering, why are we here so early?"

"Eleven is when they bring out the early bird specials, Bloody Marys. Jones is a practiced drunk, but watch out, she can get…rowdy. If she starts to sing cover your ears immediately and do something drastic to get her to stop. Supposedly she's keeping this one family oriented. I think her cousins are going to be here."

"I didn't think they got along too well."

"They don't; the best strategy is to ignore the whole lot of them."

"OUTLANDER!!" Phil yelled suddenly.

"Malachai! Out of the corn fields tonight? Don't slaughter my friends." Jones approached quickly and gave Phil a rough pat on the back.

Blake watched his son blush and his smile go wide with pride. He had a terrible crush on the woman; Blake often teased her about it, but she was a good sport, and didn't humor Phil too much.

He turned his gaze toward Jones and caught her staring at Erik. He'd never seen her look at anyone like that.