She's like a rainbow coming,
Colors in the air
Oh, everywhere

SHE COMES IN COLORS

by NanM

They say it takes...
a minute to find a special person,
an hour to appreciate them,
a day to love them,
but then...
a lifetime to forget them.

Well, that's another fine mess you've gotten us into....

Feeling pain was a good thing. It meant he wasn't dead. Given that he was all alone, hearing Oliver Hardy's voice worried him a little, though. His head must have hit the window harder than he thought.

Rewarded with an eye-opening smack of reality when he tried to sit up straight, Johnny gingerly rested back against the seat. Maybe pain wasn't such a good thing after all. Pretty sure he hadn't lost consciousness, a subtle shift of squinted eyes to the small dashboard clock confirmed precious minutes of his life hadn't vanished into the vast realm of the unknown. The last few were just ever so slightly fuzzy.

Johnny knew he was going to have to get out of the car to see which was in worse shape -- him, the Rover, or the broad-chested buck. The "deer caught in the headlights" phrase had taken on all new meaning when he had come around the downhill curve in the narrow, twisting back road. Even at twenty-five miles an hour, with brakes hastily applied, the impact still had the effect of slamming headlong into a solid brick wall. Johnny wasn't so loopy that he didn't know how lucky he was the accident had happened shortly after the road had cut inland. A mile back, his subsequent spinout would have sent him sailing over the side of the mountain to meet his maker, instead of skidding into the graveled patch of rocks and trees where the Rover had finally come to a stop.

Aside from the fact the night was dark as the ace of spades, the wind howled like a banshee, and the rain rolled like thunder, it was cold as hell, too. Thinking maybe he was a bit loopier than he realized with all those clichés bouncing around his brain, Johnny zipped his jacket, slowly opened the door, and stumbled out into the unrelenting fury of Mother Nature run amok.

The high beams of the headlights barely cut through the cascading sheets of heavily falling rain. The deer was nowhere in sight, but Johnny was sure it hadn't been a hallucination. One look at the mashed grill and buckled hood of the vehicle confirmed it. The left front wheel was bent at an angle and the tire blown, thanks to a losing encounter with an unyielding boulder. The Rover wasn't in any better condition to be driven than he was to drive. The more he moved around, the more his immediate surroundings began to float across his field of vision in duplicate.

Being a smart man, trained to deal with all sorts of emergencies, Johnny knew the prudent thing to do was to get back in the Rover, out of the wind and rain and cold, and wait for a passing motorist to stop with an offer of assistance. Arguing with his own common sense that it could be daybreak before anyone else traveled the isolated route in the bad weather, he chose to disregard what his aching head told him, opting instead to go with his basic instincts to seek help.

Recalling that he had passed several mailboxes by the side of the road a short distance ago, Johnny pulled on his gloves, donned his favorite Dodger-blue baseball cap, grabbed a flashlight, and pocketed his keys. Mailboxes meant homes or cabins were nearby. Occupied or not, they meant safety. After locking the doors, he hiked up the road, not getting very far before having serious second thoughts about the wisdom of arguing with common sense. Though dressed for warmth, his heavy jacket and layers of clothing were no match for the driving rain. Soaked to the skin in a matter of minutes, he could almost feel his flesh turn blue as the icy Northern wind ripped through him like a Midwest tornado through a trailer park.

Walking uphill against the force of the gale in the thinner air of the mountain altitude quickly took its toll on his lungs. Struggling for oxygen, his heart beat faster, and his head pounded harder. The delayed mental and physical stress of the accident chose that moment to catch up with him. Lethargy plagued his thought processes while trying to decide if he should go on, or return to the Rover.

Moments after coming to the conclusion his ill-conceived trek was fraught with problems, Johnny noticed a faint light flickering in the darkness. He staggered in its direction on leaden legs, numbed by the biting cold. The outline of a cabin soon came into view. The lights were out, but a golden glow of firelight danced across curtained windows, assuring him he had found shelter from the increasing intensity of the winter storm.

All he had to do was make it fifteen more yards.

Easier said than done.

* * * * * * * *

Larissa Baldwin wearily wrestled with her emotions as she had every day for the past six months. Spending one final weekend in the mountain cabin was supposed to have brought some sense of peace from the relentless storm that raged within, but like the one outside, it grew more turbulent with each passing hour.

Rather than softly calling, whispering from the past, her memories of happier times spent here shrieked instead, like ghostly apparitions searching for a final resting place. Not that she could have, but it was too late to leave. There was no phone to call anyone. Larissa laughed bitterly at the thought. Having taken great pains to drive away those few who hadn't turned their backs and walked away on their own, there was no one left to talk to anyway. She had made her bed, and it was hers to lie in alone.

Expertly uncorking the Burgundy, she was tempted to take the bottle, sans the glass, and down the heady wine as quickly as possible while sitting on the couch in front of the fireplace. It was a simple matter of convenience. One glassful always made her sleepy -- the whole thing, and she'd blissfully pass out on the sofa for the remainder of the night. Drinking straight from the bottle was such an unladylike thing to do, and once upon a time, so drastically out of character, that Larissa determined it was just the ticket to help drown out her nefarious demons. She would escape into that black hole of oblivion one last time, before making her final decision in the cold light of a new day.

Without warning, thunder cracked through the air like a whip, shaking walls and rattling windows, jarring her from her pity-party plans. Followed by a searing flash of lightning, its echo rolled and rumbled across the mountains and finally faded in the distance, leaving only a dark, empty void in its wake. Stripped of her fragile bravado, and suddenly feeling very alone, Larissa wrapped her fingers tightly around the neck of the bottle and turned to leave the kitchen.

Her heart froze in mid-beat. A loud crash outside stole her breath. Fear sharp as needles pricked at the nape of her neck. The shock of hearing glass shatter almost sent her into a panic, before realizing it wasn't a window breaking. The bottle of wine had slipped from her grasp and lay in pieces at her feet. Only the onset of anger at the idea of someone intruding on her private weekend exile made her lungs function again.

Clamping a hand over her mouth to muffle the exaggerated sound of her breathing, as much to stifle the scream lodged in her throat, Larissa listened intently for movement, but heard none. Except for the wind and the rain, quiet had eerily returned as instantly as it had disappeared.

An animal. It must have been an animal knocking over a metal trashcan. Along with the nervous shaking of her hands and the racing restart of her heart, came relief mingled with self-mocking embarrassment. She had been ready to grab a carving knife to defend herself against what -- a poor, scared raccoon, hunting for respite from the elements? Feeling incredibly foolish, Larissa reached for a towel to wipe up the broken glass and spilled wine before it stained the wooden flooring.

Softly humming a little tune to help calm the jitters, she focused her attention on carefully cleaning up the mess around her feet.

It was just my imagination, runnin' away with me...

Her head snapped up.

That was no four-legged creature out there.

A heavy footstep on the porch, followed by a soft thump against the front door, jump-started both her fear and her fury. This time, Larissa did reach for the knife, gripping it tightly in trembling hands. If a stranger dared break in, she'd be ready for a fight. The decision to live or die was hers, and after all these months of sparring with the cruel injustice of her illness, no one was going to take that away from her.

Minutes crept by without another sound. Frustrated, and now profoundly curious, Larissa stealthily tiptoed across the living room, weapon in hand. Gathering courage, she pressed her ear to the hardwood door and listened again. It may have been the wind that howled, but the moan that pierced the night in a plea for help was definitely human.

Despite the bells and whistles clanging in her head, it occurred to her that the person outside the door wasn't necessarily the bogeyman of childhood nightmares, but someone who might be badly hurt. Having lived in the mountains off and on all her life, she was well aware how slick and treacherous the roads could be on a night like this.

Hesitant at first, unsure if throwing caution to the wind was a wise course of action, Larissa made up her mind to be brave -- and for once in her life -- to take a chance.

At this point, there was truly little to lose.

She turned the lock, and opened the door.

* * * * * * * *

"What the..."

Startled awake when a warm hand brushed across his forehead, Johnny's initial reaction paled by comparison when the form of a woman, standing over him with the glinting eight-inch blade of a carving knife poised to strike, came into focus. Clueless why death was imminent, his instinct for self-preservation kicked in miles ahead of the fear factor. He rolled off the couch, only to unceremoniously plunk face-first on the floor, tangled in a twisted heap of thick, woolen blankets.

The painful jolt to his headache made him briefly forget the danger he was in. His groan was answered by a hoarsely whispered warning, "Don't move."

Confusion was quickly matched by his rising irritation at being horizontally trapped by the blankets tightly wound around his body. An acrid, overpowering odor of wine mixed with his headache, turning his stomach upside down. He needed air.

Cautiously raising his head, Johnny opened his eyes and came nose-to-nose with a once-white pair of cross-eyed, crooked-eared, burgundy-soaked bunny slippers. With the mental image of his untimely demise at the hand of Lizzy Borden wiped from the slate, he couldn't do anything but laugh in relief.

"Wh-what's so funny?" her shaky voice demanded.

"Well, nothin'. It's just... it's just the last time I was attacked by a girl wearing bunny slippers, it happened to be my partner's six-year old daughter on Christmas morning. Only hers were pink. And... and sober."

Johnny struggled to free his arms. Finally working the blankets loose, he discovered, much to his chagrin, that he was completely naked. Pulling a cover around his shoulders again, he sat up, and rested his back against the couch, waiting for the room to stop circling his head.

"I-I told you not... not to move," Larissa repeated, faltering this time, feeling chagrined, too, for overreacting.

"I know. But, I figure if you had wanted me dead, you would've just left me on the porch to freeze. Um... ma'am... Can I... uh... can I ask what you did with my clothes?" Though the room was warm, his body ached from the chill in his bones and the soreness in his muscles. Johnny sneezed hard, keeping his eyes closed until the little extrication tool inside his head quit chipping away at his skull.

"Bless you." The spontaneous response eased the tension between them.

"Thanks." Johnny waited a second, but she seemed to have forgotten the question. "Um... my clothes?"

"Oh," she said, allowing her guard to slip a notch, "it was easier to move you without your clothes on. They were so wet, it felt like they added fifty pounds." Feeling less threatened, Larissa slowly sank into the overstuffed armchair behind her, lowering the knife, but not putting it aside, not quite ready to trust him. "Besides, you were shivering so badly, I was afraid you'd catch pneumonia if you didn't warm up."

"Yeah, well, you weren't wrong about that, but... I mean...."

It was her turn to laugh. Something about the way he talked -- unaffected and bordering on shy -- erased the last of her apprehension. "Don't worry. I didn't look--" She could almost picture his face flush in the dead silence that followed. "--and, if I had, believe me, it's nothing I haven't seen before."

"Oh, uh...." Not sure if she had just offended his manhood, clearing his scratchy throat helped overcome the awkward moment. "Then I don't suppose you'd... consider letting me put them back on, would you?"

"You can't."

"I can't..."

"That came out wrong." Larissa quickly pictured him thinking he had wandered into the lair of a sadistic witch who saved his life just to torture him, and just as quickly tried to reassure him nothing could be further from the truth. "It's not that I won't let you, but they're still wet. I might have something you could wear, though. There's a box of clothes on the shelf in the closet that belonged to...," Larissa wavered for a second, "...that belonged to someone else. I can get it for you. You're welcome to see if you can find anything that will fit, till yours are dry."

"I can get it," he answered, more emphatically than he meant. Attempting to preserve what remained of his male dignity, Johnny securely clutched the blanket around his waist and stood up, only to lean heavily against the couch. A sudden rush of vertigo almost made the room go black.

"Are you all right?" Larissa leaned forward anxiously, but made no move to get up from the chair to help him. An inner voice urged caution, though she was inclined to ignore it.

Johnny swallowed, taking a slow breath before answering. "Yeah. I... I just stood up too fast. Got kinda lightheaded there for a second. I'm okay now. I.... The... uh... the closet in the...?"

"The second bedroom down the hallway." Larissa relaxed and smiled to herself, surmising he felt the need for privacy. "If you're sure you're all right.... There's a light switch on the wall by the door. It's the only box on the shelf."

Not terribly enthused about wearing someone else's clothes, Johnny was far less enthused about sitting around stark naked under a bunch of sweet-smelling blankets in front of a woman he didn't know. He tripped on the blanket once or twice in the hallway, but easily found the bedroom. Fighting wooziness and a throbbing headache, he pulled the box down and set it on the bed. A long sleeved T-shirt and a softly worn pair of faded sweat pants fit just fine. At the bottom of the box were some thick socks that greatly appealed to his cold feet. He pulled two pair on before returning to the living room.

"Did you find what you needed?" she asked politely.

Thinking the answer was obvious, her question puzzled him. "Yeah, I did. Thanks."

In the light cast by the logs blazing in the massive stone fireplace, Johnny could see her clearly. A closely cropped hairstyle framed a pretty face with dark eyes that, even in the soft glow of firelight, sadly conveyed an age well beyond her obvious youth.

Briefly considering returning the scary-looking knife that now lay on the small end table to the kitchen, he decided it might only frighten her if he picked it up. With knees growing wobbly again, Johnny lowered himself onto the couch with a muted groan. The short trip to and from the bedroom had sapped what little strength he had. Shivering, he turned his palms toward the fire to warm up again.

To her ears, he sounded winded, like he was trying to catch his breath. "Are you sure you're all right?"

"I'm doin' okay. You... you sound like Roy, my partner at work. I'm all right. Still a little stiff from the cold, is all. My head sorta hurts, too. I must have hit it harder than I realized." Johnny lightly ran his fingertips over the tender bump above his left eyebrow. "How long was I out?"

"About fifteen minutes... I guess I really don't know for sure. You were half-conscious when I opened the door, but you passed out as soon as you got inside. You just kind of slid down the wall. What were you doing out there, anyway?"

"I was on my way down the mountain. Ran into a deer in the road. Came around a curve too fast and there wasn't time to stop." Remembering the sickening thud on impact only added to the growing queasiness in his stomach. "My car spun and blew a tire when it bounced off some rocks. I think my head hit the side window once or twice. Speaking of that, I don't suppose you'd have some aspirin, would you?"

"Feel free to take your pick from Larissa Baldwin's traveling pharmaceutical lab," she offered with a heavy sigh. "I have everything you could ever want for a headache in my portable medicine chest, from Tylenol to Demerol."

Familiar with the powerful prescription drug, Johnny's curiosity was piqued. Trying not to come across overly personal, though, he only commented on her name. "Larissa, huh? That's nice."

Having indulged lately in honing recently adopted rudeness skills, she had forgotten to introduce herself, completely overlooking her once-impeccable manners. Her mother, God rest her sweet Southern soul, would have been mortified by her only child's lack of social etiquette. Larissa felt her cheeks grow warm in embarrassment, which only embarrassed her further. It had been eons since anyone had her blushing like a virgin. It made her pause, and wonder why she was so readily letting her defenses down around a total stranger who had come knocking on her door on a dark and stormy night.

"I'm sorry," she apologized for her omission, "I haven't properly introduced myself. I'm Larissa Baldwin. This is my family's cabin... mine now. I guess I was too busy waving that knife at you to think about being a gracious hostess."

"Well, I can't blame you for not taking any chances." Johnny grimaced at the thought she might have used it on him. "You could have called the sheriff's. I should probably do that now anyway. Maybe they can call a tow truck and take me back up the hill to Arrowhead or into Crestline so I can find a motel room. Mind if I use your phone?"

"I'm afraid it's not working," Larissa said regretfully, "after this weekend, I'll be going away for a while, so I've already had it disconnected. I don't have a car either, so unless you want to go out there again, you're stuck here for the night. You're welcome to sleep on the couch. If you feel up to it in the morning, you can walk over to the neighbor's to use their phone. I'm sure they wouldn't mind."

Johnny readily accepted her offer of hospitality. Just talking was wearing him out. "I don't want to inconvenience you, but it doesn't sound like I have a choice. Not that it.... I mean... I... I appreciate it." Far from feeling up to par, he didn't think he could handle moving around much, or brave the cold again so soon. "By the way, I haven't introduced myself either. I'm John Gage. Some of my friends call me Johnny."

"Johnny," she repeated softly, "I like that. Everyone used to call me Lacey when I was little. I've always preferred it, but no one has called me that in a long time. They said it wasn't professional enough. Larissa sounds so... so formal, don't you think?"

Johnny took a few seconds to answer, thinking it unusual that Larissa didn't flinch when a log in the fireplace popped and sizzled, sending a tiny shower of sparks over the screen into her lap.

"No. No, I think both names are kinda nice, but I'll call you Lacey if you want me to."

"I'd like that." She loved how he said her name so gently, the way her father used to. "So, tell me, Johnny. Do you live around here? What kind of work do you do?" Larissa surprised herself -- asking him to call her by a cherished childhood nickname, chatting away like he was a long-lost friend, instead of a man who had scared the living daylights out of her less than an hour ago.

Johnny shook off another chill that rattled his headache again. "I'm a firefighter... a paramedic with LA County. I had a few days off, and drove up to spend time with some friends in Blue Jay. Wouldn't you know, their baby decided to come two weeks early. It all happened so fast. Pretty little thing... even if she was all wrinkled." A smile touched his lips at the memory of having the privilege to deliver little Melanie Jane Stewart into the world. "There's somethin' about holding a newborn that's kinda magical. Makes you feel sort of..., I don't know. Peaceful and humble, you know?"

Though her heart ached for the child she would never hold in her arms, Larissa was drawn to his tender admission. "Do you like babies?"

"Sure. Babies are great. They're cute. Real cute. That is, as long as they belong to someone else. I didn't wanna hang around the hospital, so I decided to head home. I... I guess I... should have waited." No longer able to fight exhaustion, Johnny slumped against the back of the couch, his words trailing off. "I didn't think the... storm would be so... bad."

Wrapped up in the conversation, Larissa didn't pick up on the hitch in his voice. "The weather report on the radio said it might drop below freezing tonight. It's a good thing there's plenty of firewood and lots of blankets. I only have--" Her ordinarily fine-tuned radar finally sensed something was wrong. She remembered he had asked for an aspirin. "Johnny, are you all right? Do you need something for your headache?"

Johnny had laid his head back, not trusting himself to move or speak until the dizziness and nausea passed. It didn't feel like that was going to happen anytime soon. His head swam. The only thing he could hear was a buzzing in his ears.

Alarmed by his stillness, Larissa sat forward in the chair. "Johnny?" The sound of ragged breathing reached her ears. Moving to sit beside him on the sofa, she touched her fingers to his face.

His hand groped for hers, squeezing hard as he broke into a cold sweat, struggling to stay conscious. Holding on to her was the only thing that kept him from passing out again.

No stranger to the symptoms of violent headaches herself, Larissa continued to sit quietly, until the worst was over. Johnny finally began to relax, slowly loosening his vice-grip on her hand. Feeling him shiver hard, she picked a blanket up off the floor, and tucked it around him, never leaving his side. It wasn't long before his head dropped against her shoulder. The soft, deep rhythm of his breathing told her sleep had claimed him for the night.

Tentatively stroking Johnny's hair with her fingertips, Larissa felt oddly protective of him. She had saved his life, and it somehow connected her to him in a way she couldn't begin to understand. It had been a long time since she had felt connected to anyone.

After months of isolation from the warmth of physical contact, Larissa's determination to hide within her protective shell began to unravel. Touching him was a catharsis, freeing her battered emotions from the fortress surrounding her heart. Desperately lonely, she put her arms around him, holding tightly, while anger and grief and pain silently poured from the depths of her soul.

Lacey's tears fell as steadily as the rain outside, while Johnny slept peacefully in her arms.

* * * * * * * *

He loved the smell of coffee in the morning. Aroused from a deeply satisfying slumber by the rich aroma, Johnny rolled over in bed, hugging the cushy feather pillow under his head. He would rather have awakened with his arms around a woman, but, he reasoned, when all else failed, coffee was always worth getting up for.

His stomach rumbled as other savory smells floated his way. Johnny knew without a doubt he wasn't home in his own bed. Women who spent the night at his place weren't usually there to demonstrate their culinary talents.

Knowing where he wasn't didn't help him remember where he was. His eyes blinked open and slowly searched the unfamiliar room, lingering on several striking watercolor paintings hanging on the walls. Johnny rolled onto his back again, trying to recall how he had ended up in a large four-post bed in a room that obviously belonged to a female. That wasn't the kind of thing he usually forgot.

Propping himself up on his elbows, he looked through the open doorway into a more familiar-looking living room. It all came back. Everything from the moment he had seen the deer until he had drifted off to sleep on the couch. How he got into the bedroom remained a mystery. He had the distinct feeling he hadn't spent the night alone.

Except for Simon and Garfunkel harmonizing on Sound of Silence from the stereo in the other room, it seemed exceptionally quiet. He idly wondered if he would ever figure out how silence could have a sound. It had never made sense to him.

At the foot of the bed, his jeans, shirt and pullover sweater were neatly folded in a pile. He suspected his socks and underwear were tucked discretely in between there somewhere. Two large bath towels were draped over the footboard. The idea of a hot shower and his own clothes proved irresistible, so he tossed back the covers and slid out of bed. Not much of the headache remained. A quick glance in the dresser mirror revealed a fairly large bruise on his forehead, not to mention something more pronounced than a five o'clock shadow adorning his face.

Johnny almost tripped over his shoes on his way out the door. Even they were dry. His hostess was proving to be very thoughtful -- either that, or she was giving him a not-so-subtle hint he could stand to freshen up a bit.

A brand new tooth brush, a razor and a can of shaving cream awaited him on his arrival in the bathroom. Things left behind by the owner of the clothes in the box, he assumed. Questions that were none of his business were pushed aside. His thoughts drifted as lazily as the steam that rose from the shower while he shaved. Vague memories of her gentle touch, the subtle scent of her perfume, and the warmth of her body as he laid in her arms, stirred his emotions. Lacey had weaved her way into his dreams during the night, and he found it impossible to stop thinking about her.

Thirty minutes later, fully dressed and feeling almost back-to-normal, Johnny sauntered into the kitchen. Drawn by the aroma of food and freshly brewed coffee, and a strong desire to get to know the woman who had saved his life, he was disappointed to discover Lacey wasn't there. Torn between helping himself to one of the cinnamon rolls that looked like they were fresh out of the oven, and looking for her, he decided there was nothing stopping him from doing both.

Johnny wasn't prepared for the sudden change in temperature when he opened the door. It was so cold, it felt like walking into vacuum that sucked the air from his lungs. The storm had passed, leaving a mantle of pure-white snow that covered the ground and frosted the branches of the tall pine trees surrounding the cabin. The opaque morning air was thick and damp with a crystalline fog that obscured the nearby mountain tops from view.

There wasn't a sound. It seemed as though time and living things alike had stopped in awe, taking care not disturb the serenity of the idyllic winter scene. In that moment, it dawned on Johnny with great clarity how silence could speak louder than words.

Against the neutral backdrop, Lacey was hard to miss. Bundled in a bright purple parka, she stood with her arms at her side, gazing up intently at the trees in front of her. It struck him she was taking a mental photograph, imprinting the image somewhere in her mind, as he might with his camera on film. Forgetting how cold it was, Johnny watched from the small deck for a while, mystified by the effect she had on him. While it rarely took more than a pretty face to turn his head, he had to admit there hadn't been many women who had managed to get under his skin as quickly as she had.

When she finally turned around and headed back to the cabin, Lacey didn't seem to notice him standing there. Caught off-guard by the depth of his attraction to a virtual stranger, Johnny went back inside, and helped himself to a cup of hot coffee while waiting for her to come in.

As she climbed the stairs, Lacey's mind raced with conflicting thoughts, hoping Johnny would be awake, yet afraid to face him, for fear she would give herself away. When his dreams had turned restless and troublesome in the small hours of the morning, he had reached for her in his sleep, as though seeking shelter in her arms from another kind of storm. Lacey had lain awake, holding Johnny close, long after he had calmed, wanting to know him, aching to make love to him, all the while hating herself for feeling the way he made her feel. Feelings only got in the way of the decision she had to make.

She had slipped out of bed before dawn without waking him, resolving to restore the emotional distance he had so easily bridged. Two hours later, it was proving a far more formidable task than she had counted on.

Lacey reminded herself that Johnny would be leaving after breakfast. There was no point fantasizing what it would be like to be with him in bed, to feel his hands on her bare skin, his lips on hers, to feel him inside her, hard and hot and so alive. It wasn't going to happen. She couldn't, wouldn't let it happen. Taking a deep breath, Lacey pasted on a smile and went in.

His first glimpse of her face in daylight almost made Johnny laugh the same way her besotted bunny slippers had. Flakes of snow rested atop her dark brown hair; a nose bright red as Rudolph the Reindeer's, with cheeks to match, stood out on a pale, delicate-featured face like a neon sign. It was Lacey's tears that stopped him, though she quickly wiped them away, claiming the sting of the frosty air had made them water. It was a legitimate explanation, but something told him it wasn't quite the whole truth.

Knowing the look of concern on his face all too well, Lacey steered the conversation away from the inevitable questions by asking one of her own. "Are you feeling better?"

Practiced in the art himself, Johnny recognized a diversion tactic when he saw it, and let it go. "Yeah. A lot better. Still a little sore, but a good night's sleep helped. I... I hope I wasn't too much trouble." He put his cup down on the counter, his mood turning serious. "I'm sorry I scared you. I want to... to thank you. You saved my life."

Trying not to be too obvious while she hung up her coat, Lacey studied his clean-shaven face, taken with the dark, virile good looks that complemented the rest of the attractive package. "I didn't do that much, and you weren't any trouble. Storms don't usually bother me, but to be honest, I was happy to have some company last night."

"You did plenty by just opening the door and taking me in. I kinda doubt I was much company." Johnny gave her a quizzical look. "I don't remember too much, like how I... uh... ended up in your bed."

Lacey was tempted to giggle at the delicacy of his question. "Well, I'm not surprised. I didn't think you'd get the rest you needed on the couch, so I woke you up and talked you into sleeping in the bed. You were pretty groggy and argued for a minute, but you managed to get there with a little help from me. And, don't worry," she assured him, "you were a perfect gentleman." A little too perfect.

Johnny had a hard time reading that last expression on her face before she turned away. The feeling that he had missed something last night returned. He wasn't sure if he had misread the look in her eyes just now, which gave the impression something deeply personal had transpired between them. Much to his dismay, he couldn't remember what it was.

"Johnny?" Lacey broke into his wandering thoughts. "Are you all right?"

"Oh. Yeah, I'm okay." Johnny had been concentrating so hard, he hadn't realized he'd been rubbing the sore spot on his forehead. "Sorry. Guess I'm still a little out of it."

"Maybe some food will help. Are you hungry?"

"Now that you mention it, I'm starved." Johnny brightened considerably as he pushed away from the counter. "Something smells great. What is it?"

Lacey grabbed two hot pads off the stove and opened the oven door. "It's my mother's Louisiana version of quiche lorraine. She loved to watch Julia Child's The French Chef on television, but was always adding something or other to the recipes to make them her own. I haven't fixed it in a long time. I think it turned out okay. I hope you like it."

"Quiche, huh?" Johnny stood behind her, leaning over her shoulder to get a better view. "Sounds kinda... uh...."

She lightly jabbed an elbow into his stomach. "I know what you're thinking. Just because it's French, doesn't mean it's sissy food. It was my dad's favorite breakfast, and he was a highly decorated Navy combat pilot."

"Oh, yeah? Well, if it tastes half as good as it smells, I guess I can handle it." Smiling, he backed away to give her some room. "Can I help with anything?"

Here was a man who not only looked great, and smelled great, but one who didn't mind helping in the kitchen. Lacey wondered where he had been all her life, but just as quickly reminded herself it didn't matter any more. She glanced over her shoulder in the direction of a cabinet across the room. "If you want, you can get some plates out of the cupboard."

"Which--"

"--Ow!" she cried. Tears filled her eyes as she jerked her hand away from the oven.

Johnny was instantly at her side. "What happened?"

"The hot pad slipped. I burned my finger." Lacey bit her lower lip as the rest of the pain message flooded her brain.

Holding her elbow, Johnny led her to the sink and turned on the faucet. "Put your hand under there and let the water run for a while. Then we'll take a look and see how bad it is."

As the cold water began to numb the pain, Lacey felt childish for crying over something so insignificant in the scheme of things. She turned the water off, ready to forget it, but Johnny gently clutched her wrist and carefully examined her finger.

She tried unsuccessfully to tug her hand from his grasp. "Really, it's okay. It's nothing."

"It's not nothing," he corrected, "but it doesn't look too serious. You might get a little blister, but I think you're gonna live." Not knowing what he said wrong, Johnny was puzzled by the new tears pooling in her eyes. "Lacey, I'm sorry...."

"... Johnny, no. It's not your fault. I'm just a... a little emotional this morning. I have a lot on my mind. Nothing is going quite like I thought it would this weekend." Lacey dropped her chin, afraid he might see how her tightly controlled emotions had become utterly unglued around him. Part of her wanted to run. Part of her wanted him to touch her again. Trying to recapture her composure was impossible. He was standing so close, she was sure she could hear the beat of his heart, and feel the heat from his body warm her face. When the back of his hand gently brushed her cheek and his thumb lightly traced the outline of her mouth, she couldn't resist laying her open hand on his chest before slowly lifting her eyes to meet his.

Johnny hoped that was an invitation to kiss her, because he couldn't resist doing it. Lacey's lips parted to meet his, and her hand slid behind his neck. He caressed the silky skin of her throat with his fingertips, and slowly explored her soft-as-velvet mouth with his tongue.

Not restrained by any means, it wasn't one of those impassioned "let's get naked" kind of kisses either -- just sweet, unhurried, and immensely enjoyable, lasting far longer than either one had thought it would. It might have lasted even longer and led to something more, if not for the lousy timing of the oven buzzer.

Rudely returned to the real world, Lacey reluctantly drew away with a sad smile. "Saved by the bell..." she murmured.

Covering his own disappointment, Johnny jokingly agreed. "That's the trouble with being a firefighter. Bells and buzzers are always interrupting my life at the worst possible moment. Can't seem to get away from them."

Her dormant hormones come-to-life begged for more. At the same time, Lacey's conscience sprang into action, warning against leading him down a dead end road. For a change, she wasn't thinking of herself, but of Johnny now. For his sake, she would put an end to this before anything began.

The body language, facial expressions, and tone of voice needed to pull that off were virtually second nature these days. "Maybe we should eat now," she suggested curtly. "I'm sure you're anxious to get things taken care of so you can go home." Stiffening her shoulders, banging cupboard doors, setting her lips in a tight line, and refusing to make eye contact added the finishing touches to her grand performance.

Crestfallen, Johnny assumed the kiss hadn't been as well-received as he had imagined. He was shaken by the icy implication in her voice that he had overstepped his bounds, and overstayed his welcome. Mumbling an apology that he wasn't hungry after all, and that he would be out of her way after using the neighbor's phone, Johnny left the kitchen and headed for the front door.

Lacey dropped into a chair at the table, ruefully congratulating herself that she hadn't lost her knack for driving people away. Her head told her it was the right thing to do. Her heart told her letting him go was a big mistake. She had made so many.

She called to him, "Johnny, wait...," but it was too late.

The door had already closed.

* * * * * * * *

Waiting for Johnny to come back for his things, she snuggled comfortably in the corner of the couch. Lacey pulled the blanket around her neck, and stared at the flames darting between the logs in the fireplace. The tip of her tongue slowly traveled her lips, savoring the sweet-as-honey kiss that still lingered. No matter how hard she tried to convince herself she had done the right thing, she knew hurting him had been the wrong way to do it.

He knocked and waited for her to answer before coming in. Watching him shake the snow from his cap, she smiled when Johnny ran his hand through his dark, wavy hair. It didn't make much difference. It went every which way anyway. He seemed preoccupied when he walked over to warm his hands by the fire. Lacey pulled her feet up so he could sit on the couch, but Johnny ignored the gesture and continued to stand. Knowing she deserved the cold shoulder, Lacey tried to sound unfazed.

"Is something wrong?"

"Well, yes and no." Johnny started then stopped, frowning in frustration. "The tow truck should be here in about a half hour to take my car to a repair shop in Crestline. Trouble is, the man who runs the garage said it'll take four or five days to get the parts to fix it. There's no rental cars either."

There was a twinge of hope he'd have to stay. "How are you going to get home?"

"I... I don't know. I called my friend, Roy. He said he'd be glad to come pick me up, but he can't till Monday morning. I tried a couple other friends. No one was home."

"When do you have to be back at work?" Lacey asked.

"Not till Tuesday," he answered dispiritedly. "I figured I would ride in with the tow truck driver and stay in a motel until Monday, but there's nothing available. Seems weekend skiers have all the rooms in the area booked. I'm not sure what I'm gonna do. Maybe I'll go back to your neighbor's and try calling someone else."

She knew without a doubt she didn't want him to leave, no matter what her head told her. Perhaps it was selfish, but for the first time, Lacey understood how scared she was spend the next two days alone, and how much she wanted to share this time with him. All thoughts of whether to have the operation that could save her life, yet take away her reason for living, could wait.

"Johnny," she said quietly, "you can stay here. I'm not leaving until Monday morning myself."

Confused by another change of heart, Johnny didn't know what to think of her invitation at this point, but decided it would be better for both of them if he left. "I appreciate that. But, you said you had a lot on your mind, and the weekend wasn't going as planned. I don't want to disrupt your plans any more than I already have."

Lacey's hopes were crushed when he turned his back and crouched down to put another log on the fire. He sounded upset, and had every right. She got off the couch and knelt on the floor beside him, resting her hand on his knee. "Johnny, please? look at me."

He stared at the fire for a minute, while all the logical reasons for leaving did a quick replay through his mind. Try as he might, there was no denying the simple fact he wanted to stay. The tension slipped from his shoulders, and he turned his head to look at her.

She couldn't think of a better place to get lost than in those brown eyes of his. "I... I've had a lot on my mind for months now, and a few more days won't make a difference. I'm sorry for the way I acted this morning. I had my reasons, but I was wrong. I didn't mean to make you think I didn't want you to kiss me, or that I didn't enjoy it. I wanted it more than you'll ever know. I... I want you to stay. Please."

Johnny turned back to the fire, taking his time arranging the logs while he silently thought it over. It might have been easier to say no if he had been able to forget how special the kiss had been, and if her hand wasn't nervously rubbing his leg right now, unconsciously inching up his thigh.

Glancing sideways to look at her, he saw the same profound sadness in her eyes that he had seen last night. "Are you sure? I... I don't want to put you to any more trouble."

Lacey's smile could have lit a darkened room at midnight. "You haven't been any trouble. I'd love it if you stayed." When he still looked hesitant, she added demurely, "I'll let you sleep on the couch, if that makes you more comfortable."

Whether her suggestion made him feel better or not he wasn't sure, but her delivery of the line made him smile, too. "All right. You talked me into it." He stood up and put another log on the fire before picking up his cap. "Your neighbor said I could use his phone again if I needed to. I'll go call Roy with directions, then get my stuff out of the car, and come back after the tow truck leaves."

For the first time in a long time, she felt a sense of peace. Lacey let Johnny help her up, and walked him to the door, catching his arm before he opened it. "I'm glad you changed your mind."

"Me too." Johnny noticed dark shadows under her eyes that hadn't been there earlier. "Are you feelin' all right?"

She brushed away his concern with a half-truth. "I have a little headache, and I'm kind of tired. I didn't get much sleep last night. It's nothing to worry about."

"You're sure?"

"Positive. I was thinking of taking a short nap. Could you let yourself in when you come back? I'm afraid there isn't much to do, but there are a few books somewhere around here, if you're interested. If you get hungry, you're welcome to help yourself to whatever you can find."

"I can take care of myself. I have a book to read. I'll just camp out in front of the fireplace. Sleep as long as you want." Johnny felt guilty that he had probably been the cause of her lack of rest last night. "I'll make dinner to tonight earn my keep," he offered.

Lacey let go of his arm, hoping he didn't notice her hands were shaking. "Maybe we can go for a walk down by the lake before it gets dark, if it's not snowing too hard. There's a pretty spot not far from here I'd like to show you."

It wasn't just her looks that captivated him. He was attracted by something more... something hard to define. Lacey seemed both fragile and strong, and possessed an inner beauty and elegance that even the aura of sadness and vulnerability that surrounded her couldn't mask. Falling hard and fast, Johnny was almost overcome by the temptation to take her in his arms and kiss her again. Instead, he refrained from acting on impulse, and went out the door before he got himself in real trouble.

Filled with indecision for weeks, Lacey made up her mind about one thing. She was going to get some rest now, because there was no way on God's green earth that man was sleeping on the couch this weekend. No matter how bleak her future... she wasn't dead yet.

* * * * * * * *

Johnny felt self-conscious about looking through the medicine cabinet in the bathroom, but after his busy morning, and several hours of reading, his headache had returned with a vengeance. Lacey was still sleeping soundly, and he hadn't wanted to disturb her. She hadn't been joking about the choices. There was practically every pain reliever known to man, and a few more known only to the world of medicine, in there.

He downed several tablets, then took a close look in the mirror at his bruises. He had a slight shiner that made him look like he had tried to go a round before getting his bell rung. The bump over his eyebrow was gone, but the black and blue area covering half his forehead was still tender to the touch. At least he was better off than the deer he hit. While waiting for the tow truck, he had gone to look for it. The buck had made it into a grove of trees before collapsing. Hoping it hadn't suffered long, Johnny once again thanked his own lucky stars. He had come close to succumbing to the same fate, only to be saved by a woman he couldn't get off his mind.

Restless and hungry, he headed for the kitchen to find something to eat. After rummaging through the refrigerator, and deciding cold quiche wasn't very appealing, Johnny looked for a cupboard or pantry where he could find a loaf of bread to make a sandwich. It was then that he noticed another door for the first time. Curiosity got the better of him. Since it wasn't locked, he decided to see what was on the other side.

The room was chilly and dark. Johnny couldn't find a light switch, so he opened one of the drapes. The view looking east over the lake was spectacular. He imagined watching the sun reflect off the water as it rose over the mountains in the morning would be a sight to remember. He found the switch, and turned on the light. The room appeared to have been an oversized outdoor deck at one time, now completely enclosed, with the entire east wall a series of large picture windows. Though it looked like it hadn't been used in a while, it was obviously an artist's studio. Johnny squatted down and began flipping through the unframed paintings that rested one against the other in rows leaning against the wall.

They were -- in a word -- beautiful.

There was something unique about them he couldn't quite put his finger on. Every one was a watercolor, muted and vivid at the same time. His photographer's eye told him that the person who had painted them was not only a talented artist, but one with an extraordinary gift for seeing and capturing nature in ways a camera lens never could. Each painting was a personal interpretation that gave a life of its own to the scenery it recreated. He didn't need to look at the signature in the corner to know Lacey was the artist.

Johnny paused for a moment when he came to one in particular, pulling it out to get a better look. He gently ran his fingers over the image. The pastel Hawaiian dawn was exactly as he remembered it, yet on canvas, it was more exceptional than the real thing.

Awash in a sea of pleasant memories, Johnny jumped a little when Lacey's voice, sharp and accusing, pulled him back to the present.

"What are you doing?!" She stood in the doorway, visibly trembling with anger. "You had no right to come in here."

Without letting go of the painting, Johnny stood up, and calmly looked at her. "Lacey," he said softly, "these are incredible." He admired the one he held again. "I've been there. Haleakala at sunrise. I took a lot of pictures that morning, but none of them are like this. This is amazing. >i>You're amazing."

"Maybe I was once," she said in a voice filled with bitter emotion. "Not anymore. I hate those paintings. Come out of there. Now," she commanded.

He carefully put the picture down, genuinely confused. "I don't understand." Johnny sat on the edge of the stool beside an easel and folded his arms, waiting for an explanation.

"No one understands." Drawn into the studio in spite of herself, Lacey's eyes wandered from painting to painting, each bringing back a reminder of people and places she would never see again. Sadness seeped through her veins, melting the anger. Fresh teardrops clung like morning dew to her eyelashes, but she fought to control her emotions. "These paintings... they remind me of everything I've lost. They're a part of my life that's gone forever. I can't look at them anymore."

"Hard to imagine," he ventured quietly. "Something that beautiful... What about the ones in the bedroom?"

It took a while to work through the heartache before she could answer. "I painted them as a gift for my mom and dad's anniversary last year. They were killed in a plane crash before they ever saw them, and I... I... couldn't....."

She didn't want to cry in front of him, but Lacey couldn't hide her grief any more than she could put away those paintings. She cried for her parents, and she cried for herself, wanting to feel her father's strong arms around her, wanting to hear her mother's gentle voice, telling her everything would be all right.

Johnny came to her, and held her tightly, saying nothing. When her tears were finally spent, he apologized, taking the blame for upsetting her. "I shouldn't have come in here. I'm sorry."

"I know you are," she whispered, still not in control of her voice. The sound of his heartbeat was soothing, and Lacey relaxed, feeling safe and protected in his embrace. "I miss them so much."

Johnny walked her to the window seat, making sure she was okay before he left the room. Back in a minute, he offered a box of Kleenex and another apology. Sitting beside her, he waited patiently while she went through at least a dozen tissues. Giving her some time and privacy, he looked out the window. A rabbit skittered through the snow and a pair of jays flitted from tree to tree.

Collecting herself, Lacey regretted her anger, knowing he hadn't meant any harm. "Johnny?"

"Yeah?" He turned his head, relieved to see a tiny smile on her lips.

"It's okay. Your coming in here. One of the things I was supposed to do this weekend was to sort these out and decide where they should go, but I couldn't bring myself to do it." Lacey got up and walked over to the painting Johnny had been looking at. Her fingers lovingly brushed across it. It had always been her favorite.

He watched her expression turn wistful as she drew her hand away from it. "You know, Lacey, I... I'm usually the talker in the bunch, but I can listen, too."

She nodded, and took a deep breath before saying anything, amazed again at how easily she opened up to him. "I lived on Maui for three years. I loved it there. I used to drive up the mountain in the dark and sleep in my car, waiting for the sun to come up. Sometimes I made some sketches, but mostly, I'd just get out and watch, and then come home and paint from memory. Standing on the edge of that crater made me feel like I was standing on top of the world, you know?"

"Yeah, I do. I sort of felt the same way when I was there."

"I used to believe there wasn't another spot on earth where I could be closer to God. I never thought there could be anything more inspiring than standing on a ten thousand foot-high mountain top, watching a new day begin."

"Looking at that picture, I'd probably say there isn't." Johnny stood up and joined her. "What about that one? It looks familiar, too." He gave it a closer look. "Kauai, right? Waimea Canyon?"

Moments of her life that she had purposely shut out came flooding back. "There's an overlook at the end of a trail where you can look down and see the water crashing against the rocks in a cove. The water is all different shades of blue, and as you look out on the horizon, the ocean sort of starts to blend in with the sky. The hills are green, and the rocks are layers of color on color. Once I was there all by myself, thinking that it was so perfect, nothing could possibly make it more beautiful, but I was going to try to do it on canvas. I was getting ready to leave, when something caught my eye. I stood there and watched a rainbow form from the water to the sky. I took it as a reminder that only God's hand can paint something that perfect. He was the amazing artist, not me."

Johnny intently studied the picture, then a few others, trying to figure out what made them so unusual. They were of all different scenes, but there was something....

"Do you see them?" she asked. "Not everyone can."

He looked at a half dozen more before finally catching on. Every painting had a watercolor rainbow somewhere in it. The colors were so subtly blended into another image, he could see how they could be missed if you weren't looking for them.

"I see them now." He pointed them out. "Here, and here."

Lacey was pleased he had found them on his own. "You know, Johnny, some people can't see them even when they're told where they are."

"That's incredible. How do you do that?"

Her face clouded over, somber as the sky outside the window. "I don't any more. I haven't painted anything in months. I'll never paint again."

"Why not?" Johnny was astonished to think anyone could walk away from that kind of talent.

Lacey went back to the window seat, and knelt on the cushion to gaze out the window, seeking the courage to tell him the truth. "I started drawing when I was old enough to hold a crayon in my hand. My folks gave me my first set of watercolors when I was two. You remember the kind in the little metal case? As I got older, people would say I had a God-given gift. My mom used to tell them it was more than that. She would say that God looked through my eyes to see the beauty He created, and it was His very own hand that held mine while I painted His beauty for others to see. It sounds kind of arrogant, but for most of my life, I believed that." She turned a sorrow-filled face to him. "Maybe it's that arrogance I'm paying for now."

Johnny sat down beside her. "What do you mean?" She sounded far more humble than arrogant to him.

"God has closed his eyes and let go of my hand, Johnny. He's taken everything away." She looked out the window again at the colorless sky. "Do you believe in God?"

This was not a subject he freely discussed, but she had asked so earnestly, that he had to say something. "I don't talk about it. It doesn't mean I don't, it.... it just means it's personal. What each of us believes shouldn't matter to anyone else."

"I understand. Maybe He let you down, too."

Johnny sighed. "I didn't say that."

Lacey turned around to sit down on the end of the seat and drew her knees up under her chin. "Johnny, have you ever thought about what it's like to die?"

That was a subject he could relate to, but he wanted to see where she was going with it before answering. "Why do you ask?"

"Because I'm going to."

Johnny shifted to look at her. "Well, we're all going to. Some day."

"Some of us sooner than others. I have a brain tumor." Lacey was surprised how matter-of-factly she was able to say it.

Johnny was speechless for a moment. Of course, that would explain the headaches and the meds. "Lacey, I... I don't know what to say."

"It's okay, Johnny. Most people don't. I've known for six months now."

"They can't do anything? They can't operate?"

"Yes, they can." She looked out the window again for a while. Silence weighed heavily in the air before she went on. "I have to decide if I want to let them."

"Well, they wouldn't operate if they didn't think there was a chance." Johnny wished he knew more about that type of surgery. "What are the odds?"

"The doctors say they can't know for sure until they get in there, but they believe they can successfully remove the tumor. They say the chances of my long-term survival are 70-30."

"And, if you don't have the surgery?"

She tried to put some dark humor in her voice. "Well, I wouldn't recommend placing a bet."

Johnny was trying to grasp what she wasn't saying. "Then, what's to decide?"

"There is a second set of odds. If I make it through the operation, it's about a hundred-to-one that I'll lose my sight. The tumor is already affecting my ability to see. Everything is turning gray. I can't always distinguish colors. It's worse at night. I can't see anything in the dark. It's almost like being blind already. I hate it."

Johnny frowned as understanding dawned. "Lacey, do you? are you saying you'd rather die than be blind?"

"If I had a dollar for every person who has asked me that question, I could feed all the hungry people the world," she said with more than a trace of rancor.

He couldn't believe what he was hearing. "How could you feel that way? I...I don't get it."

"Really? You said you're a firefighter. That's the kind of job you have to love what you do, isn't it? Do you love your job, Johnny?"

He didn't have to think twice about his answer. "Yeah, I do."

"And, what would you do if you got hurt someday... so bad, you couldn't do that job any more?"

"It's not that easy. I know there are more important things in life than putting out fires. I'd like to tell you that I'd find a way to... to get through it. I guess no one knows the answer to that question until the time comes."

"Well, my time has come," she pointed out. "They're expecting me to check into the hospital Monday night. But, Johnny, I was born to paint. It's all I've ever done, and it's all I've ever wanted to do. Without that, I have nothing. I am nothing."

"The way I see it, Lacey, a person is more than... than what he or she does. At least, I hope there's more to me than just being a firefighter. What I do isn't who I am."

"Well, then, you're lucky. Because I am an artist, and without my sight, I'm nobody." She was beginning to regret she had told him. She could hear it coming. He was going to lecture her just like everyone else, and she didn't want that from him. She didn't want his advice, or his pity. Lacey wanted Johnny to help her forget it all for a while... to help her remember what it felt like to laugh and to be happy.

Johnny could sense her determination not to listen to anything he had to say, but he thought she was being awfully naive about what death was like. He had been at the door a few times, and was grateful to still be in the land of the living. He looked at the paintings, and tried to put himself in her shoes, wondering what it would be like to have to make that choice. His close encounters with the grim reaper hadn't been foreseen. His fate hadn't been in his hands to control as hers was. There was a difference, and Johnny respected that.

Lacey was surprised by his silence. "This is where you're supposed to ask why I've waited so long. You're supposed to say I'm being stupid and tell me I should have the operation."

"I don't know, It's... it's kinda like believing in God. It's a personal decision. It's not for me to say what I think you should do. I just know what I would choose. My job is dangerous. I could walk into a burning building and not come out, but I don't think about it like that. We lose patients sometimes. They die in our arms and we feel bad, but there's nothin' we can do about it. It's out of our hands. I guess what I'm trying to say is there's a big difference between the prospect of death and actually dying."

She shook her head in disagreement. "It doesn't sound any different to me."

"I... I've been there. At the point where it could have gone either way. Everybody thinks if you're unconscious or in a coma, you don't know, but you do. It scared the shit out of me. Life is a gift. Dying is not a good alternative. Trust me on that."

"I am scared, Johnny," she admitted. "I'm scared to live and I'm scared to die. I'm scared because I don't know what to do. Every one thinks the answer is simple, but it's not. I need to paint. I can't do that if I can't see. I just.... I can't live in darkness."

They sat quietly for a long time until it occurred to Johnny that if he had just two days left to make a life-or-death decision, he wouldn't want to be sitting around talking about it. He'd want to get everything he could out of those forty-eight hours.

Lacey didn't know what to make of the smile on his face when he stood up. He took her by the hand, and dragged her off the window seat.

"You up to taking that walk down by the lake?"

She didn't think Johnny could ever know what he had just done for her. He was the only who seemed to understand she had a right to make her own choice, the only one who hadn't told her she was being stupid, and the only one who was going to help her forget it, if only for two days.

Lacey held him back. "Johnny, thank you. I don't know if I can ever repay you...."

"I think you're still one up on me. You saved my life, remember? I'm just takin' you for a walk." Stealing another glance at the artwork, he paused. "There is one thing you could do for me."

"Anything."

"Paint a picture with a rainbow for me before I leave."

"That's the one thing I can't do, Johnny. The rainbows are gone. The colors have disappeared. I can't see anything but gray skies."

He wasn't going to push her. "All right. I'm gonna get my coat and gloves. I'll meet you out front." Johnny started to leave, but stopped and turned around. "You know, Lacey, did you ever stop to think that... that maybe God didn't let go of your hand? Maybe you let go of his."

"There's a lot you don't know, or you wouldn't say that. It doesn't really matter any more," she said softly. "Either way, I'm on my own now."

Johnny studied his shoes for a minute, before looking at her again, trying not to stumble over his words. "You, uh... you don't have to be, you know. On your own, I mean."

"It's the way I want it, though," she said. "But...."

"Yeah?"

She wasn't sure if he was talking about God, or about himself. Lacey smiled to herself, wondering how someone as outgoing as he could seem so shy when it came to saying what he meant. "If I change my mind, I promise I'll find a way to let you know."

With a slight shrug of the shoulder and slow grin, Johnny left the room.

Whether she wanted to admit it or not, his comment had struck a chord. Lacey walked to the easel, and picked up a paint brush. If felt as much a natural part of her hand as her fingers. As she had so many times in the last six months, Lacey closed her eyes and tried to envision a lifetime without light, without sunrises... a lifetime without colors.

If only she could know the answer to her question, whispered now in the gathering shadows of late afternoon... "God, are there rainbows in the darkness?"

* * * * * * * *

Johnny stood back and studied her handiwork from several angles. "I've never seen a snowman quite like that before," he finally ventured.

"Even snowmen get tired," she said resolutely, defending her creation. "They don't always have to be standing up, you know."

"Oh. Hadn't thought about it. I don't suppose they do. He looks a little lonely there, don't you think? Maybe you should give him a girlfriend. You know, a snow-woman to keep him warm tonight."

Lacey glanced at Johnny to see if that was innuendo, but he looked completely innocent of any such thoughts. "All right, I can do that for him. We wouldn't want him to catch pneumonia."

When she bent down to scoop the snow, something smacked into the back of her coat. She turned around, brushing the snow off her backside, ready to take up the challenge of a snowball fight. Another one hit her shoulder. Declaring all out war, she firmly packed the snow in her hand into a ball, while he backpedaled, trying to put some distance between them. She took aim and let it fly. It hit him on the forehead. Johnny dropped like a rock and landed on his back, and didn't move.

Lacey was horrified. She hurried over to him and fell to her hands and knees, leaning over him. Brushing the snow off his face, she almost panicked when he didn't respond.

She shook his shoulder. "Johnny, can you hear me?"

His eyes opened slowly, and she breathed in relief and sat back on her knees. "You scared me. I'm sorry. Are you all right?"

That slow grin worked its way across his face again. "I think this is where you're supposed to give me mouth-to-mouth rescuitation."

"You! You're faking!" She punched his shoulder. Hard. "That's not funny. If you'd really been hurt, I wouldn't know how."

Johnny grabbed her wrists and pulled her down across his chest. The humor was gone. "Let me show you." He rolled her onto her back and pressed his body close, taking her mouth with his in a hungry, steamy kiss, hot enough to melt the snow around them. This one was a "let's get naked" kiss, though stymied by the twenty-five degree temperature, bulky coats, and icy hands held prisoner inside cold, wet gloves.

All thoughts of the past and the future disappeared. There was only now. Lacey wanted him more than she had ever wanted anything or anyone, but not here, not this way. Gasping for air, she pushed him away.

Johnny was panting heavily, his breath creating huge clouds in the frosty air. He groaned painfully, and rolled over to lay face down in the snow, hoping it would have the same effect as the cold shower he was in need of. It did. He finally decided he'd better get up, before permanent impairment from frostbite set it.

She smiled coyly when he looked her way. "You still going to make dinner?"

"Yeah." He exhaled the word more than spoke it.

She leaned over again, explicitly telling him what she planned to serve later, then scrambled to her feet before he could grab her again. "No dessert before dinner, Johnny."

She didn't get very far before another snowball hit her squarely in the back.

* * * * * * * *

Lacey lingered in the doorway. Johnny was sitting with his legs stretched out on the window seat cushion, brow furrowed deep in concentration, unaware she was watching him. Outside the window, snow was falling softly in the fading light of dusk. She had insisted he let her do the dishes, to give her some time alone to think. Their frank discussion this afternoon had forced her to do a lot of soul-searching, though she had still come up empty in the answer department. Everything from the walk, to carving out the snowman, to the steamy kiss, had made her feel young and energetic, the opposite of how she had spent most of her time lately -- feeling old and useless.

She wondered if Johnny knew how seductive his smile was, how handsome he looked with his tousled hair, how manly he smelled, and how sexy he was just sitting there, being himself. She couldn't wait much longer to get him into bed.

When he held out his hand to her, she settled in his lap, leaning against him, tired, but happy. It seemed so natural when Johnny's strong arms circled her waist and pulled her closer, that she responded by snuggling deeper into the curve of his shoulder. And, when his breath warmed her neck, and his lips brushed her ear, and his tongue slowly slid down her jaw line, it felt so right, that Lacey turned her head and wholly offered herself to him. One hand caressed her shoulder, while the fingers of his other hand gently weaved their way through her hair. His kiss was so tender, his tongue so soft and fluid in her mouth, it almost made her weep when he finally pulled his lips away from hers.

Lacey closed her eyes and laid her head back against his chest, listening to the rapid beat of his heart, feeling the flame rise between them like an ember flashing to life. She wanted to turn to face him again, but his arms insistently held her where she was.

"Have you decided what you're going to do?" he asked quietly.

"Johnny, I don't want to talk about that right now," she insisted. "It's been a perfect afternoon. Let's not spoil it. I want tonight to be special. I want you to make love to me."

"Why?" he asked.

"Why?" She broke free from his embrace and sat up, reacting to the sudden mood change. "You're asking why? You're the one who started this. You're the one who kissed me in the kitchen. You kissed me out there in the snow. You kissed me just now, and that was a 'let's get to know each other better kiss' if there ever was one. Are we suddenly in an alternate universe? I thought it was the woman who needed a reason to have sex."

Johnny took her snide remark with a grain of salt. "I know why I kissed you. I want you to tell me why you want me to make love to you."

"All right. I want you to make me forget I'm sick. I want you to make me forget I have a decision to make. I want to remember what it's like not to think of what the future holds, and just live in the moment. Is that what you wanted to hear?" Instantly regretting her callous assault, she relented. An argument was not what she wanted, or needed. Lacey leaned over and kissed him, and kissed him harder when Johnny didn't resist.

She had never craved a man in this way before, becoming almost frantic in her lust for him. All afternoon, she had dreamed of a long night with him in her bed, but all she wanted to do now was strip his clothes off and do it right here.

Johnny, though his arousal was evident, pushed her away. "I can't do this."

She sat back in stunned exasperation. "What do you mean, you can't do this? Looks to me like you can."

He sat up, doing battle with his own raging hormones. "All right. I won't do this."

She stared in total disbelief. Maybe they were in an alternate universe. She tried to think rationally. After all, she was the female in the situation, and females always thought rationally when it came to sex. In this case, though, she didn't want to be rational. She wanted sex.

"All right, Johnny," she snapped. "Have it your way. I didn't think I was asking so much."

"Lacey, you... you're asking more of me than you know."

The solemn look on his face quashed her rising anger. "I'm sorry. I suppose I'm being selfish... but, I don't understand. I thought you wanted this, too. Help me out here. Explain."

This wasn't going to be easy, because he did want her. There was something more important at stake. "I... I need to know what you're going to do. It's just that... that in situations like this... sex is... sex isn't about just making love. It's an affirmation of life. I can't do this if... if that's not what it's about. I'm not going to go to bed with a woman who just wants to use me for a few hours before she makes a decision to die. I'm not going to let myself get involved someone who doesn't want to live past tomorrow."

Hurt by the rejection, her defenses went up. "I didn't ask you to get involved. I just asked you to make love to me," she said bitterly.

"Do you hear yourself?" he asked. "How do you separate making love from being involved?"

"People do it all the time," she retorted. "Trust me. I know."

"You're confusing having sex with making love. You asked me to make love to you. I would do that for the right reasons. You haven't given me one yet," he explained patiently.

"That's not fair, Johnny. You can't force me to make a decision like this just so we can have sex."

"I know," he said sadly. "I was wanting it to be more than that." Johnny stood up, bent over and brushed his lips across her forehead. "I'm gonna leave you alone for a while to think about the things you'd be giving up. There's a lot more to life than you think. You may never paint another picture, Lacey, but you'll still be able to feel what it's like to make love. That's gotta be more important. If it isn't, then there's nothing I can say to help to you decide."

He left the room, not needing to see the anguished tears in her eyes to know he had put them there. His was a betrayal of the worst kind. Johnny hoped if she gave herself a chance at life, she would come to understand and forgive him, because if she didn't, he didn't know if he would ever be able to forgive himself.

* * * * * * * *

He had lost track of time, sitting in the chair on the front porch, heedless of the frigid temperature. Johnny hadn't expected Lacey to come looking for him. On the contrary, he half-expected, actually even wished, to see his things flying out the door. Some display of anger on her part would have been comforting in a strange way. Anything would have been better than the silent treatment. A warm bed and dessert was certainly out of the question now. He was hoping at best for a night on the couch and a quick departure at first light. While he still couldn't understand her reasoning, Johnny knew he had had no business doing what he had done.

When he couldn't take the cold, or the silence, any longer, he opened the door with some trepidation. The house was quiet and the logs burned low in the fireplace. He didn't see her in the bedroom when he passed by the door. Lacey wasn't in the kitchen or the studio. Nervous now, Johnny went out the kitchen door and looked around. It was pitch dark in all directions. She had said she couldn't see at night. Surely, she wouldn't have gone out there.

Johnny stepped inside again, concern mounting at the possibilities. About to check the house again, he heard a loud crash, followed by another, and a stream of cursing coming from the other room. He found Lacey sitting on the bathroom floor, back against the shower stall, furiously grappling with a bottle of pills, trying to get the lid off. Her hands were trembling so badly, she couldn't do it. The mirror in the medicine cabinet had been broken, and other pill bottles lay scattered on the floor, along with everything else that had been sitting on the counter.

He knelt down, misjudging the speed with which her foot lashed out at him. It caught him on his left side, just below the ribcage, knocking him off balance.

"Stay away from me!" She was half screaming, half crying in pain and frustration and anger.

Ignoring the pain in his side and the fact he could barely catch his breath, Johnny got back on his knees, dodging the foot this time, and grabbed her wrists. She dropped the pill bottle and struggled against him, trying to beat her fists against his chest.

"Lacey, stop it!" Johnny's strained voice was loud, yet calm.

He was too strong for her, and the pain in her head too severe to fight for long. Lacey pulled her hands away when he let go, and picked up the bottle again, pulling at the lid. She roughly pushed his hands away when he reached for it.

Her eyes were filled with tears of defiance and resentment. "I hate you!" she shouted.

"You can hate me all you want," Johnny said firmly, "but you've got to let me help you. Give me the bottle."

She didn't hand it to him, but didn't protest when he took it from her. The label indicated it was Demerol in 100 mg tablets, to be taken at the onset of pain. Lacey had obviously waited well past the point of onset. Johnny filled a glass with water and helped her hold it steady while she chased down the pill. Her whole body shook in agony, but it didn't stop her from throwing the glass against the wall, sending shattered fragments everywhere. She curled up in a ball on the floor with her eyes closed and drew her arms over her head. Johnny knew the best thing he could do was to back away and let the medicine do its job. He got up to get a blanket and came back quickly, covering her carefully, then set about cleaning up the broken glass before sitting down to wait.

Johnny rested his back against the opposite wall to keep an eye on her, rubbing his side. He didn't think there was any major damage, just another colorful bruise to add to his weekend collection. He saw her stir and open her eyes, the pain apparently dulled somewhat by the narcotic.

"Hell of a way to live," she mumbled.

"Hell of a way to die, if you ask me."

"Nobody asked you." She closed her eyes again. "Will you help me to my bed now?"

Johnny moved next to her. "Put your arms around my neck, and I'll carry you in there." She was light as a feather, and laid her head drowsily on his shoulder when he lifted her in his arms.

"I hate you, Johnny," she whispered.

Johnny felt her head nestle against his neck. "I hate me, too," he said softly, but she was already asleep.

Knowing she would be in a drug-induced deep sleep for several hours, Johnny covered her with several blankets before leaving the bedroom. Certain the cause of her attack had been his foolhardy attempt to show Lacey what her priorities should be, he spent the next hour cleaning the ashes from the fireplace, mentally kicking himself in parts of his anatomy he couldn't physically manage to reach with his foot. That was firmly stuck in his mouth anyway.

He braved the cold again several times to restock the firewood from the pile he had tripped over just the night before. The snow had stopped, but there was no break in the clouds, no moon or stars to take away the dark of night. Johnny didn't plan to sleep, wanting to keep the fire burning and the cabin warm all night. Making an effort to read, he stared at the same page for forty-five minutes, then closed the cover and put the book down. He checked on Lacey. She hadn't moved, but her face was free of the telltale lines of violent pain and tremors caused by the tumor.

Drawn back to the studio, Johnny looked through the paintings again, imagining how he would handle a tragic accident or illness that would cut him off from everything he knew and everyone he loved. He privately hoped he would never have to cross that bridge. But, just as Lacey couldn't picture the reality of death, he couldn't picture the reality of choosing death over life, no matter the circumstances.

Johnny checked on her one more time at midnight before adding more logs to the fire and stretching out on the couch. He tried to fight sleep, but it came nonetheless. At first he thought he was dreaming that someone was calling his name, but as panic rose in the voice, he woke quickly, realizing it was Lacey. Wearing only socks on his feet, he literally slid across the polished wood flooring in his rush to get there.

He turned on the small bedside lamp. She was sitting up, hugging a pillow, breathing so fast he thought she was hyperventilating, a look of abject terror in her eyes. Not sure if she knew he was there, Johnny answered quietly, so not to startle her.

"Lacey, I'm right here. I'm going to sit down next to you, okay?"

She slumped against the headboard, fear still gripping her chest. "Johnny? I can't see you." Her hands reached for his, grasping tightly when he placed them in hers. Comforted by his presence, Lacey willed herself to breathe deep. A distantly dull headache still remained, but it was easily bearable.

Johnny started to take his hands away, but she held on tight. "I can't see in the dark. I thought you left. When I woke up and you weren't here, I was sure you were gone."

"I'm not going anywhere. I'll stay right here until you go to sleep again." Johnny pulled his hands free while she settled back down in the bed.

"Don't leave me," she pleaded softly.

"I'm not leaving. I'll be just outside the door on the couch. I'll leave the light on. If you need anything, just call."

"Johnny, stay with me. Hold me. I don't want to be alone right now. I'm scared." Lacey moved to the middle of the bed, and opened the covers. "Please."

He got into bed and gathered her in his arms, and pulled the blankets up again. Lacey buried her face against his neck and draped her arm over him, drowsy again, listening to him tell her how sorry he was for what he had done.

She put her fingers to his lips. "You're not the first, and you won't be the last person who thinks you know what's best for me. But, you are the only one who didn't leave, so I forgive you."

"I won't leave," he assured her.

"Good," she whispered as she drifted off, "but, Johnny... I still hate you."

"I know," he said, falling asleep with her nestled safely in his arms.

* * * * * * * *

It was noon when he opened his eyes and looked at his watch. Johnny couldn't believe he had slept that long. The sound of rain drummed on the roof and a chill filled the air. Lacey stirred and yawned sleepily, then snuggled up closer to him under the warm covers.

"How are you feelin'?" he asked quietly.

She laughed softly. "Isn't this where we started yesterday?"

"A little role reversal, but yeah. Are you okay?"

She pulled away and stretched her arms. "Awfully thirsty. Demerol will do that, though. One of the reasons I hate taking it. But, it does cure the headache. My vision is a little better, too."

He propped himself up on one elbow, wishing he could somehow rewind the last twenty-four hours and handle things differently. "Lacey, I-."

"-Johnny, I already said I forgive you. And, I don't hate you. Sometimes I hate myself and everything that's happening. I just take it out on whoever's handy. You were handy."

"Still...." he tried to apologize again.

"If you say you're sorry one more time, I'll have to kick you again. Speaking of that, did I hurt you?" She pulled the covers back and lifted his T-shirt to look, and gasped. "Oh. It's my turn. I'm so sorry."

Johnny looked for himself and palpated the area. It was badly bruised, but her foot had thankfully missed his ribs. "I've been kicked harder," he admitted, "although by a horse, not a woman."

She smiled a little, as she ran her fingers over it. "You should be glad I wasn't aiming somewhere else."

"I kinda thought you were and just missed," he teased back, relieved to see she was in high spirits.

Lacey slid her hand under his shirt. She loved the feel of his bare chest and muscled shoulders. She heard his breath catch in his throat, but he pulled her hand away and tugged his shirt down again.

"I don't want to do anything wrong again. Maybe we should think about this for a bit."

She sat up and raked her fingers through her mussed short hair. "You're probably right. I have to get up anyway. My mouth feels like cotton and I need to take a shower."

"You need any help?" he asked before realizing what that sounded like.

She leaned over and kissed him lightly before slipping out of bed. "I wouldn't want you to do anything wrong, Johnny," she said sweetly.

He waited until she left the room before he groaned again, and covered his head with the blankets, where the light scent of her perfume slowly drove him crazy. He got up and occupied himself by lighting the logs again, trying to ignore the fire building in his groin. He wasn't sure a cold shower or a rollover in the snow would do the trick if they kissed again.

They ate a very late breakfast of leftover quiche. It reminded her of a story about her mom and dad that made Johnny laugh. It was the first time she had been able to think about them without wanting to cry. It felt good to talk about her parents again, to remember them the way they were.... happy, always laughing, totally mismatched and madly in love with each other. It gave Lacey strength to go into the studio alone to sort through her paintings.

Johnny cleaned up the kitchen, then went in to see how she was doing. He sat on a stool in front of the easel and watched her write on a notepad. "What are you going to do with them?"

Lacey put the pen down for a minute and sighed deeply. "I'm donating them to the three hospitals where I've spent a lot of time these last six months. You could say I've been a difficult patient, and it's my way of making it up to the doctors and nurses and others who have tried so hard to be nice to me."

Johnny thought of a few walls at Rampart that could use them. "Seems like they belong in an art gallery, but I guess a hospital is as good a place as any."

She started writing again. "I was going to open my own gallery."

"Yeah, why didn't you?"

"It's kind of a long story."

"I got time." Johnny regretted saying that, knowing time was the one thing she didn't have.

Lacey shrugged it off and put the notepad down again. "I was getting sort of rich and famous in certain circles. About a year ago, my agent found someone who was going to put up the money to help me open a gallery in Lahaina. We were going to call it 'Hidden Rainbows.' After my parents died, I lost interest for a while, but my... my fiancé kept at me until I agreed to do it. It turned out to be good therapy for a while."

Johnny waited while she collected her thoughts, noticing the cool change in her tone at the mention of her fiancé. He wondered if that's whose clothes he had worn the other night.

"I was busy planning my wedding and the gallery opening, and moving in Hawaii's high society. Everyone wanted to be my friend, and life seemed really good. I thought the headaches and the blurred vision were just from the stress of doing too much. It wasn't until I passed out at the wedding rehearsal and went to the hospital that they discovered the tumor. That put a lot of plans on hold. Permanently."

"Where is your fiancé now?" Johnny figured if she brought up the subject, she wouldn't mind the question.

"Same place as a lot of my so-called friends. When some of them found out I wasn't going to be rich and famous after all, I lost my attraction. With others... it was like I had leprosy, or some disease they could catch just by being in the same room with me."

"You know, Lacey, I don't know those people, but I do know sometimes it's hard for others to be around someone who's sick. They don't know how to act or what to say. We see it happen all the time."

"But, Johnny. I'm still a person. I have a brain tumor, but I'm still me. I didn't change, at least not at first. Why couldn't people just treat me like they always did?"

"I don't know the answer to that. I'm not sayin' it's right, I just know it happens. What... what about your fiancé?" His persistence had nothing to do with male competitiveness. It was just a healthy curiosity.

"He made a great show of sticking by my side, but his true colors came shining through. I could tell he was looking for a way out. I didn't mean to, but I gave him the excuse he needed, and he took it and ran. Straight into the arms of my 'best friend'."

"Oh. I guess that must have been rough."

"It was. You could say I was blind and stupid before the tumor, too."

Johnny mentally added up how many blows she had been dealt. He saw again that part of her that had first drawn him to her. Even in her fragile state, Lacey was strong... he suspected stronger than even she realized.

"I don't think you're stupid," he said. "Not at all."

"But, you do think I'm...? Go ahead. You can tell me. I can take it."

Johnny wasn't quite sure what he thought. "I don't know what the word is. Innocent, maybe. Sheltered."

"I'm glad you didn't use the word 'naive', Johnny. I don't like that word. I hate to spoil the illusion, but I'm not innocent. I'm guilty of doing a terrible thing. Since I've told you this much, I'll tell you the rest, and you'll understand why God let go of my hand and took away the rainbows."

Her voice dropped low, but remained steady, resolute in accepting her punishment. He saw another part of her, a part she was surely overlooking. She had a gentle grace of spirit that equaled the bottomless depth of sorrow in her eyes.

"Just before I was supposed to start my first round of chemotherapy, I found out I was pregnant. I didn't have a lot of choices. They didn't think I'd live long enough without the chemo for the baby to survive, but it was so early in the pregnancy, it would have killed the fetus, so I chose to have an abortion. I killed my baby, just so I could have a chance to live, only to realize by doing that, I... I don't deserve to live."

Tears rolled down her cheeks faster than she could wipe them away. Johnny slid off the stool and pulled her up off the floor, and for the second time in this room, held her until her tears ran their course. He didn't think he could find any words that could take away that kind of guilt and grief.

It shed a whole new light on her indecision. Johnny buried his face her hair, muffling his words. "I don't know what to say."

"Don't say anything, Johnny. Just hold me."

She finally pulled away, waiting for him to say something anyway. She couldn't help her scathing reaction. She had lived through the scenario too many times. "What? No lectures, no advice, no pity? You're not going to tell me I did what I had to do? That God will forgive me? You're not going to tell me that if I have the operation, I can make up for what I did, and have more babies and live a normal life?"

Johnny shook his head. "I kinda figure you've heard it all."

"Yes, I have. Even from strangers who've known me for a twenty-four hours and think they know how to teach me a lesson, when I've already had lessons from the One who giveth and taketh away."

Johnny lowered his gaze to the floor for a minute, then looked at her again. "I deserved that."

Lacey sighed, and cupped her hand on his cheek. "I know. But, at least you're still here, even though I'm being rude to you right now for no reason? I've screamed at you, kicked you, and told you the terrible truth about myself. That you haven't left is more than I can say for most people who have known me a lot longer."

Johnny frowned in contemplation, and scratched his head. "Well, the way I see it -- without a car or a phone to call someone to come get me, there's really no where I can go."

Lacey's jaw dropped in surprise for a second before she almost doubled over with laughter, grateful for his comic relief in the midst of all the drama and angst.

She hugged him, whispering in his ear, "Where have you been all my life, Johnny Gage?"

* * * * * * * *

They passed the rest of the afternoon and early evening sorting and wrapping the paintings. Lacey explained that her agent had a key to the cabin, and would be there to supervise the shipment to the hospitals. She offered Haleakala at Sunrise to Johnny, but he refused, saying he had no place to hang such a large painting in his apartment. He asked her again to paint a small one just for him, but she likewise refused, saying the magic was gone, and he would only be disappointed.

During dinner, they found themselves struggling with awkward conversations. The clock was ticking, and they both knew it. They avoided talking about the only thing left to talk about. After washing the dishes and putting them away, Lacey told Johnny she wanted to spend a few minutes alone in her studio. She would join him in the living room when she had finished the last of her business there.

He re-lit the logs. By now, Johnny knew every nook and cranny of the fireplace. He looked around the room and wondered what she was going to do with the cabin if.... Even though he thought he understood her better, he still couldn't come to terms with the fact she thought her death would serve some sort of penitence for a decision almost anyone would have made in her place. Nor, could he come to terms with the idea that her life wasn't worth living without those rainbows she seemed to hold so dear.

"Johnny?"

He hadn't realized she was in the room. She was holding a bottle of wine, and two glasses. He smiled... she was wearing her bunny slippers. They were white again. She poured the wine, and they sat on the couch together, listening to the pop and crackle of the logs.

"Good wine," he offered.

"Very good."

"Nice fire, too."

"Very nice."

They both laughed at the same time and relaxed. It had only been forty-eight hours since he had first stumbled through her door, but to both of them, it felt like a lifetime ago. They had less than twelve hours left. Lacey set her glass on the table, and snuggled next to him. Johnny's arm went around her, and he kissed the top of her head. And so they sat for the next hour, just being together as time slipped away.

She finally sat up, ready to talk. "Tell me what you would do, Johnny."

"Lacey, I can't tell you what to do."

"I didn't ask you to tell me what to do. I asked what you would do. You must have thought about it."

"Well. Yes, I have. But, I still can't relate to what you're going through. I love my job, but it... it's not a part of me like your painting is a part of you. If something happened to me and I became a vegetable, then I wouldn't see the point of living. But, if I was hurt and had to give up an arm, or a leg? I just think there's more to me than that, and I could still do something that would give value to my being on earth."

"That makes perfect sense in my head, Johnny. But, it doesn't seem to help."

Johnny had thought about it a lot, and not just from his perspective. He had come up with a theory. "What do you see when you look at rainbows, Lacey?"

"Colors. Beauty. Nature."

He wondered if she really wasn't aware, or if she was missing the point. "Why do you hide them in your paintings? Why not just paint rainbows that everyone can see?"

She had no idea where his line of reasoning was leading, but she had a ready answer. "Because they're more special if you have to look for them. People don't usually take the time to appreciate what is right in front of them."

"I suppose that's true. Tell me something. Did you stop seeing rainbows, or did you stop painting them first?"

Lacey puzzled over the answer to that one. She still didn't understand what he was getting at. "I don't know. All I remember is they were always there, and then one day, they were gone."

"Did they go away, or did you give up looking for them?"

She faltered. It was the same question Johnny had asked yesterday. Had God let go of her hand, or had she let go of His?

Johnny pressed on. "You know, maybe they disappeared. I don't know. But, maybe that's because there's something else out there that's special, if you'd just look for it. You asked me what I'd do. I'd go looking, and I wouldn't stop until I found it."

"I'll think about what you said, Johnny. I promise. And, what I said about people not appreciating what's right in front of them? I'm guilty of that. You've been more honest with me than anyone else has been, and I haven't told you how much I appreciate that."

"I wish I could do more," he said quietly. "Wh-what are you going to do?"

"I still don't know, but I promise I'll decide before you leave in the morning. But, before then.... Johnny? can I ask something of you?"

She sounded so serious, so nervous. "What do you want, Lacey?"

"Would you sleep with me tonight? I... I don't mean I want to have sex. I just want...." She couldn't finish. She didn't want him to think she was pathetic.

Johnny pulled her close. "Tell me," he insisted.

Lacey gathered her courage to ask the impossible. "I don't want you to make love to me. I want you to... I want you to love me. All I've really needed all these months is to know someone loves me. I know that's asking a lot. We only met two days ago. "

He held her face in his hands, and kissed her gently. "Lacey, you just gave me the only reason I need to hear. Put your arms around my neck," he said, then lifted her off the couch and carried her to the bed.

They spent hours making love, talking, holding each other, and making love again. Finally satiated and exhausted, they lay close to each other in a tight embrace.

"Johnny," she whispered, "I don't know how to thank you for what you've done for me."

He hesitated a beat. "You don't have to thank someone for loving you."

"I never thought I would say this again to any one, but I love you, Johnny. I hope you remember that... no matter what."

"We'll talk in the morning, right?" he asked, but was fast asleep before she had a chance to answer.

Lacey kissed him and got out of bed without disturbing him. She watched him sleep for a long time, then pulled on her robe and headed for her studio. Perhaps there, in the darkness, she would find the answer she had been seeking.

* * * * * * * *

Somewhere in his dreams, he heard a motor running, a car door shut.... and then it was quiet again. Johnny awoke with a start. He knew he was alone. He didn't call her name. It was pointless to look for her. Lacey had left.

He wasn't surprised. He wasn't upset or hurt. Just numb. Johnny rubbed the sleep from his eyes and looked at his watch. It was eight o'clock. Roy would be there at nine to take him down the mountain, and tomorrow he would be back at work, and his life would go on. He didn't think he would ever be able to look at a painting again without thinking of Lacey.

Johnny spent a long time in the shower, then made some coffee and sat on the front porch to wait for Roy. A light rain was falling. It wasn't quite as cold as it had been. She hadn't left a note behind, but then he hadn't looked in the studio. He couldn't make himself go in there just yet.

Roy drove up a few minutes after nine. Jennifer bounced out of the car, and ran up the steps, full of excitement. "I didn't have to go to school today, Uncle Johnny. Daddy said if it's all right with you, we can go to Santa's Village before we go home. Is that all right with you? Please?"

Johnny tweaked her nose. "Yeah, it's all right with me, Jenny. Why don't you give me a few minutes, while I get my things, and lock up the house."

Roy looked at him with curiosity. "You here alone?"

"Yeah. I am now," he said. The numbness was wearing off. There was a note of despondency in his voice, which he knew didn't get past Roy. He waved him off, and good friend that he was, Roy just told him to take his time, and went to help Jennifer make a soggy snowman.

Johnny rinsed and dried his cup and put it in the cupboard. Lacey had said her agent would be taking care of the cabin after the paintings had been picked up. All he had to do was lock up and leave. Johnny knew he couldn't do that until he went into the studio. He wasn't sure why he was avoiding it. If she had left something for him, it would be in there.

There was a small canvas on the easel, and paints on the table. The canvas was blank. There was a note. He sat down before unfolding it, not sure he wanted to read it. But, he had to know.

Johnny, forgive me. I'm not good at good-byes.

You know what they say in Hawaii -- "No rain, no rainbows." I've seen more than my share of rain lately, but I haven't been able to find the rainbows. I know now what I found in their place was something very special. I found you.

You may not know it, but you have given me a gift. You've shown me colors I forgot existed -- the colors of love and courage and hope and beauty that lie within each of us. Colors that aren't seen with the eyes, but like faith, seen with the heart. When I looked at rainbows, I saw God. When I painted them, I was painting Him. I think that's what you were trying to tell me... I could find Him again, if I just looked with my heart.

I wish I had something to give you in return. I'm not sure I know how any more, but if I could, I would ask God to let me paint again -- one last rainbow with those colors -- just for you.

"Uncle Johnny?"

He tried hard to find a message in the rest of the letter, something that said what Lacey was going to do. Maybe it was hidden. If it was there, he couldn't see it. He would have to look harder. Johnny carefully refolded the paper and put it in his pocket, before turning around to see what Jennifer wanted.

"Daddy wants to know if you're ready to go."

At six, Jennifer was getting a little too big to carry around, but Johnny picked her up anyway. Her small arms automatically went around his neck, and she whispered "I love you" in his ear. She always seemed to know when he needed that most. He carried her out the door, closing it quietly behind him. Roy was waiting in the car.

The rain had stopped and the sun had parted the clouds, revealing a flawless sky so rich and blue, it could lift even the heaviest of hearts.

"Uncle Johnny. Look!"

Jennifer's tiny voice was filled with innocent wonder. His eyes followed the direction of her raised finger.

Stretching from the lake, over the snowcapped mountains, reaching for the heavens, was the most beautiful water-colored rainbow he had ever seen.

He had no doubt which artists' hands had painted it.

Just for him.

Just like the rainbow in the sky,
The dew upon the grass;
I see them and ask not why
They glimmer or they pass.

With folded arms I linger
Not to call them back;
'twere vain.
In this or in some other spot,
I know they'll shine again.

~ Landor~

Author's Notes:
Thanks, KC. This one's for you.

SHE COMES IN COLORS

by NanM

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FEED THE WRITER!

RETURN