She looked up at me, her half-moon glasses hovering near the tip of her nose. The cowboy hat she normally wore hung off a wrought-iron coatrack I'd made her as one of my first projects. She ran her hand through her burgundy hair, pushing it off her forehead. Her complexion was ruddy from working over the fire for all these years. But she had an incredible body for someone in her forties. I hoped I looked as good when I was her age. As it was, being twenty-six was no great shakes. My arms were great, but I felt a little dumpy.

"Make sure the tools are put away, and keep track of the propane."

"I thought I might use the Centaur forge tonight." I think I was bouncing at that moment, but I wouldn't admit it.

"The propane would be cheaper," she said, shaking her head. "But I know how you are. Just keep track of how much coal you use. We're running low."

"You got it, boss."

I returned to sweeping down the shop. I loved starting a new project.

And, I'd be seeing Katie. There may have been a part of me that wanted to show off for my girlfriend. Is that so wrong?

So what if I changed into a sleeveless T-shirt-it was hot. Besides, it was nice to have her watch me-see the hunger in her eyes, know that she wants me. And hang my father. He wouldn't understand no matter what. Lust was a sin. Hell, with him everything was sin.

I stopped and closed my eyes. This was not his space. He held no power here. After three long, cleansing breaths I began arranging the forge, straightening tools, making things nice. Working with fire took order, control. Katie saw passion as the opposite-wild and abandoned. I needed to work on separating the two in my mind. Fire . . . passion . . . each burned, each consumed.

Julie smiled at me as she left the shop. "Be careful," was all she said as she walked out.

By the time I heard the crunch of Katie's tires on the gravel drive, I had already carried buckets of coal from the dwindling supply out back into the building and started the Centaur forge. I needed a good thirty minutes or more to get the coals heating evenly.

Katie respected places of power. She entered the shop quietly, head bowed, so as not to disturb the fey she was sure were always present at a working forge.

She was dressed in a brown and gold peasant skirt with tiny bells sewn all around the hem. That's what she'd worn the first time we'd met and it was what I slid off of her the first time we'd made love. God, that was almost a year ago.

My heart was pounding in my chest. I watched her place her guitar and cooler against the wall by one of the cleared worktables, thinking back to the first time I'd watched her.

Six.

WE WERE BOTH AT A RENAISSANCE FAIRE OVER ON THE CAScade Peninsula. I had just finished farrier school and was doing double duty. I hadn't started with Julie yet, even.

The ren faire gig had me spending the majority of my time manning a rough smithy, putting on a show for the paying guests. On top of that, I was temping with an equestrian group, keeping their horses in shape for the five three-day weekends in a row.

I was checking out a statuesque black Friesian named Pericles, owned by a strapping young knight in the group. He went by Sir Wenceslas, if you can believe it. He had a penchant for strutting around in a sleeveless cuirass so he could show off his bulging biceps.

I was pretty sure I could take him.

Despite a poor education in the classics and history in general, he had no problem attracting oodles of women.

Most women, and here's the crux of the tale.

I was busy, making sure a rock hadn't bruised yon knight's ride, when he muttered, "Holy mother, look at her."

This lovely young woman walked by in a plain white cotton top, and a brown and gold peasant skirt. The bells on the hem jangled when she walked, drawing attention to her strut.

I lowered the Friesian's leg and stepped to the fence, leaning beside him, catching a very nice view of her walking away. It wasn't hard to admire her contours.

"Callipygian," I said.

Sir Wencesloser looked over at me with a very puzzled look.

"Greek for nice ass," I said, punching him in the arm and turning back to the horse.

"Greek, huh?" he asked, leaning way over the fence to continue watching her. "They had a thing for asses."

"Present company excluded, I'm sure," I muttered.

I ignored the wolf whistle our young mister ripped out of the smithy and finished with Pericles, who proved to be a kind and patient animal. I suspected he had to be in order to put up with Lover Boy.

When I was done, I grabbed an apple from my kit, pulled out my pocket knife, and fed several slices to my patient. "You are amazing," I said, rubbing his nose.

"Thanks," Wenceslas muttered, watching the crowd. "I think I may have found a young maiden to rescue."

I walked over, looking for his obvious target, when the gorgeous girl walked by again.

"This is her fourth time walking past," he said, turning to the side and flexing his biceps at the world. "She has a thing for me."

She passed us, her walk just as enticing as last time, but she did not look our way.

He seemed to deflate a bit, lowering his arms. "She's playing coy."

"Yeah. That's it," I said, patting him on his shoulder. "Maybe you should take Pericles here back to camp and get him some water."

He glanced back at me, calculating. "Isn't that what you're getting paid for?"

See. Now he'd pissed in my Wheaties. Of course, I liked this gig. Paid really well. But there was a line he was approaching quickly.

"Sure thing," I said, unwinding Pericles' lead from the fence. "I'll be back in a few minutes. Think you can watch my gear?"

He was too good for the hirelings, I guess. He waved a hand at me, not even bothering to turn around. "Yeah, okay."

Pericles followed me without as much as a snort. Smart fella. We cut across the market square, between the funnel cake stand and the roasted cashews. I loved the way he walked, the clip-clop of his hooves as we crossed the footbridge near the spot where the pickle man kept his barrels cooling in the stream.

Up the hill a ways was the encampment of the knight's group. ORDER OF THE LEAF read the sign over their main tent. Marijuana leaf was my bet. Several young men lounged about, polishing armor and drinking large cans of overly caffeinated beverages. It was early, around two in the afternoon, and I knew they had shows at six and seven. They'd hit the hard stuff after that.

"You guys seen Sir Wenceslas's squire around?" I asked.

One of the guys belched and the other three laughed.

"How dare you speak to one of my station," the belching knight said.

I could learn to hate these playacting clowns.

I bowed, bending one knee and dipping my head. "Pardon, good knight. I am on an errand for your brother, Sir Wenceslas. Might I inquire to the location of his good squire?"

One of them pointed past a row of sleeping tents to the lot where the horse trailers were parked. "He's in the back, you'll recognize the crest on the horse trailer." One of them winked, and another made some gesture I didn't catch. "Be sure and announce yourself."

I nodded and led Pericles away. Idiots.

Okay, eagle on a banner-that's Wenceslas's symbol. Hope these guys knew something about it.

I found the trailer, fourth from the end. They had a dozen horses and kept them in good shape, or I wouldn't have been here. They just partied too much to be jousting, in my humble opinion.

As I approached the trailer, I heard giggling and stopped. This I did not need.

I banged on the side of the trailer and a young woman in a barmaid's outfit scrambled out, tucking her rather large breasts back into her top. She winked at me as she went past. Ren faire folk are all in collusion, that's the general understanding.

A young man of about seventeen came out after her, buckling his pants-obviously frustrated by the interruption.

When he saw it was me, his look of embarrassment and shame switched to lurid bravado.

"Well, hello," he leered, leaning against the side of the trailer and letting his belt fall, untended.

He topped six feet, but was about as wide as a ruler. "Willowy" came to mind. "Your master bids you take possession of his steed."

Maybe he was nineteen, but he looked me up and down, pausing at my breasts and really not leaving that point.

"You are a comely lass. Perhaps you'd like to . . ." He wiggled his eyebrows at me. "Since you ran Gwendolyn off and all."

I couldn't help it. I burst out laughing. He was cute enough, but even if he was the wrong gender for me, he was too damn young.

"Yeah, great," he said, snatching the lead from my hand. "Tell my loser brother . . ."

I didn't listen, just turned and walked away. This gig was losing its luster.

By the time I got back, loser brother was gone, and so was my kit-two changes of clothes, my wallet, car keys, cell phone, plus the apples and a nice baguette.

Bastard.

I stormed around the enclosure for a moment, seeing if I'd moved it behind the wall, which I hadn't. Only so many places to stash a pack. The station had three wooden walls and a tarp for a roof.

I had a propane forge, a small anvil, and a handful of tools. Really all I did was heat metal and bang on it for the civilians. That and taking care of the horses on the side was paying my rent.

Now I was stuck out here with no food, no money, no car keys, and no cell. Damn it.

The woman selling weapons at the next booth over hadn't seen anything, but she spent most of her time trying to keep the kids from playing with the swords, and drunken idiots from trying to use her merchandise to start duels.

As I was on a corner, there was no one to my right, and behind me was the downward leg of the stream that kept the pickles cold.

I had my tools, that was something. The kit was a snatch and run. Probably kids. I walked out into the market, keeping one eye on my booth, while looking around for one of the large men with quarterstaffs who purportedly were constables.

Not available. Figured. I stormed back to my smithy and rammed around a bit, considering how I was going to get home, when the girl walked by again. Okay, this was a crossroads, but how many times would she just "walk by"? On top of this, hunka burnin' knight was missing.

This time she looked at me and smiled. That got my attention.

But man, I was pissed. Conflicting emotions are a bugger. I didn't smile back, didn't wave, just stood there, impotent and frustrated over my kit. But the universe looks out for those in need.

She didn't stop, but continued across the footbridge that spanned the creek just east of me. On the other side, in the open field between the market square and the jousting field, stood the huge beer garden.

Large numbers of civilians, actors, performers, SCAdians, and other assorted camp mongrels sat under tiny umbrellas or in the open sun, drinking large tankards of beer and carousing.

Most of them were cool, singing and capering about. Them I liked.

The predators, though. Them I did not like.

Our Sir Wenceslas stood just inside the garden watching the young woman walking his way. I was about to witness his infamous technique in action.

He said something and she walked by without as much as a look.

Several of the rowdies in the beer garden started laughing and giving him grief. Not cool.

They'd spent the hotter part of the day swilling down cheap beer and growing louder and louder. They were fairly buff, decked out in chain and large floppy hats. These were the guys who hit on the beer wenches and generally made asses out of themselves.

And now they'd seen the knight humiliated.

No one was coming around, so I stood in the lane and watched them. The knight grew heated and started swearing at the guys. This in turn set them off and they spilled out of the garden and fisticuffs ensued.

Testosterone is a poison. It takes perfectly nice guys and turns them into raving maniacs. Maybe the beer helped, but I didn't think they really needed it to get into a brawl.

Pretty boy knight stood his ground and knocked one of the disorderly men-at-arms to the ground. His buddies took exception and things looked to get out of hand when the young woman walked back, giving them a wide berth, cautiously avoiding the melee.

This is when things got out of control.

One guy lay sprawled on the ground, another screamed and spit at the knight. Wenceslas had a hand on his dagger, and was shoving a third guy back against the fence.

A wolf whistle from the guy on the ground brought all their attention to the skirt.

Beer, sun, rivalry, all of these things froze as she walked by. Then the boys, for that's what they'd become, scrambled over one another to begin following her.

They were just out of my hearing range, but one of them said something a little too crude, pushed it a little too far. She turned and watched them, coldly. They didn't notice the cudgel at her belt, but I did.

One guy got in her face and made a grab for her. The next thing he knew he was on the ground and she stood back in a defensive stance, cudgel in her fist.

I'm not sure any of them had even seen her hit him, much less draw.

I liked her more and more.

But, now they were angry at her. Four beefy men directed their attention at her, as the fifth rose, spitting blood.

They charged.

Knight boy tried to stop them, sort of.