Tess had her suitcases neatly loaded. She closed the big one, making one last sweep around the bedroom that had been hers for the past few weeks. It was a wrench to leave, but she couldn't handle scenes like that. She'd settle for harder work in more peaceful surroundings. At least, Brett wouldn't be around to make her life hell.

She picked up her father's wristwatch and smoothed her fingers over it. She took it everywhere with her, like a lucky talisman to ward off evil. It hadn't worked today, but it usually did. She gently put it into the small suitcase and carefully closed the lid, snapping the latches shut.

A sound behind her caught her attention and she turned around, going white in the face when she saw who had opened the door. She moved around the bed and behind the wing chair that stood near the window, her eyes wide and unblinking.

He was bareheaded. He didn't speak. His black eyes slid over her pale features and he took a long, deep breath.

"You don't have anywhere to go," he began.

It wasn't the best of opening gambits. Her chin went up. "I'll sleep at a Salvation Army shelter," she said coldly. "Dad and i spent a lot of nights there when we were on the road. Will you let one of the hands drive me to town? I can catch a bus up to Victoria."

He shoved his hands into the pockets of his close-fitting jeans,straining the fabric against his powerful thighs. He stared at her broodingly.

"Never mind," she said heavily. "I'll walk or hitch a ride."

She picked up her old coat, the threadbare tweed one she'd had for years, and slipped it on.

"Where's your new coat?" he asked shortly.

"In the hall closet. Don't worry, I'm not taking anything that doesn't belong to me."

She said it so matter-of-factly that he was wounded right through. "We gave it to you." he said.

Her eyes met his squarely. "I don't want it, or a job, or anything you gave me out of pity."

He was shocked. He'd never realized she thought of it like that. "You needed a job and we needed a cook," he said flatly. "It wasn't pity."

She shrugged and seemed to slouch. "Alright, have it any way you like. It doesn't matter."

She slipped her shoulder bag over her arm and picked up her worn suitcases, one big one and an overnight bag.

But when she reached the door, Brett didn't move out of the way. She couldn't get around him, either. She stopped an arm's length away and stared at him.

He was trying to think of a way to keep her without sacrificing his pride. Ray was right; she was just a kid and he'd been unreasonable. He shocked himself lately. He was a sucker for helpless things, for little things, but he'd been brutal to this child and he didn't know why.

"Can I get by, please?" she asked through stiff lips.

He scowled. A muscle jumped beside his mouth. He moved closer, smiling coldly with self-contempt when she backed up. He pushed the door shut.

"When I was six," he said with cold black eyes, "I wanted a birthday cake like the other kids had. A cake and a party. Simon had gone to town with Dad and Corrigan. It was before Ray was born. Leo was asleep and my mother and I were in the kitchen alone. She made some pert remark about spoiled brats thinking they deserved treats when they were nothing but nuisances. She had a cake on the counter, one that a neighbor had sent home with Dad. She smashed the cake into my face," he recalled, his eyes darker than ever, "and started hitting me. I don't think she would have stopped, except that Leo woke up and started squalling. She sent me to my room and locked me in. I don't know what she told my father, but I got a hell of a spanking from him." He searched her shocked eyes. "I never asked for another cake."

She put the suitcases down slowly and shocked him by walking right up to him and touching him lightly on the chest with a shy, nervous little hand. It didn't occur to him that he'd never confessed that particular incident to anyone, not even his brothers. She seemed to know it, just the same.

"My father couldn't cook. He opened cans," she said quietly. "I learned to cook when I was eleven, in self-defense. My mother wouldn't have baked me a cake, either, even if she'd stayed with us. She didn't want me, but dad did, and he put her into a position where she had to marry him. She never forgave either of us for it. She left before I started school."

"Where is she now?"

She didn't meet his eyes. "I don't know. I don't care."

His chest rose and fell roughly. She made him uncomfortable. He moved back, so that her disturbing hand fell away from his chest.

She didn't question why he didn't like her to touch him. It had been an impulse and now she knew not to do it again. She lifted her face and searched his dark eyes. "I know you don't like me," she said. "It's better if I get a job somewhere else. I'm almost twenty-two. I can take care of myself."

His eyes averted to the window. "Wait until spring," he said stiffly. "You'll have an easier time finding work then."

She hesitated. She didn't really want to go, but she couldn't stay here with such unbridled resentment as he felt for her.

He glanced down at her with something odd glittering in his black eyes. "My brothers will drown me if I let you walk out that door," he said curtly. "Neither of them is speaking to to me."

They both knew he didn't care in the least what his brothers thought of him. It was a peace initiative.

She moved restlessly. "Dorie's had the baby. She can make biscuits again."

"She won't," he said curtly. "She's too busy worshipping the baby."

Her gaze dropped to the floor. "It's a sweet baby."

A wave of heat ran through his body. He turned and started back toward the door. "Do what you please," he said.

She still hesitated.

He opened the door and turned before he went through it, looking dark as thunder and almost as intimidating.

"Too afraid of me to stay?" he drawled, hitting her right in her pride with deadly accuracy.

She drew herself up with smoldering fury. "I am not afraid of you!"

His eyebrows arched. "Sure you are. That's why you're running away like a scared kid."

"I wasn't running! I'm not a scared kid, either!"

That was more like it. He could manage if she fought back. He couldn't live with the image of her white and shaking and backing away from him. It had hurt like the very devil.

He pulled his Stetson low over his eyes. "Suit yourself. But if you stay, you'd damned sure better not lose the apple butter again," he said with biting sarcasm.

"Next time, you'll get it right between the eyes," she muttered to herself.

"I heard that."

She glared at him. "And if you ever, ever, throw another cake at me...!"

"I didn't throw it at you," he said pointedly. "I threw it at the wall."

He stomped off down the hall muttering, with the faint, musical jingle of spurs following him.

Tess stood unsteadily by the bed for several seconds before she snapped out of her trance and put her suitcases back on the bed to unpack them.

******************
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-Sarina