There was a time when dawn on Brambles Orchard would have been a bustling, busy time of day. Now she was home again, Marin had automatically settled back into the habit of waking just before dawn as she had when she was a child, despite her broken nights. But it felt wrong ....it was too quiet. There were no sounds of bodies moving around the upper floor, no smells of cooking from the kitchen, no hooves stamping back and forth outside as the horses were warmed up for their working day. Just the silence of wind in the trees, the creak of the house itself, and the incessant twittering of the dawn chorus.

Through all this, she moved in lazy comfort, making her bed, checking on her injured guest where he slept, leaving his cleaned clothing for him at the end of his bed. She went to the stable to turn the horses out into the paddock, admiring the sleek lines of Evan's stallion as he bowed his nose to the sweet grass between the two heavy Shires that were the farm's working horses. Mucking out the stable was easily done - mindless work that filled her time as the darkness lightened and became morning sunlight to warm her face as she walked from the paddock to the house once again. In the sunlight, she could see the mark of the panicked hooves against the tender grass beneath the trees that Evan's horse had left, making a note to tuck the turf back smoothly again a little later in the day.

In the kitchen, she washed her hands and set about brewing fresh coffee, warming bread, and using up the last of her eggs and bacon to create a mixture she could turn into omelettes when Evan woke up. She would have to visit the city sooner than she had thought, but then, she hadn't expected to be cooking for two. As the whisk whirred through the mixture, she heard hooves outside, and boots cross her porch to knock on the door. Startled, but reassured by this show of manners, she left the kitchen to open the door, offering a warm, if wary, smile to the man who stood there.

"Hello, can I help you?"

"I think it's possible you can, Miss Richards," the man said in an urbane tone, smiling down at her with an odd gleam in his eyes. "Name's Rogier, I've been helping to support this orchard farm these past months or so."

"Oh, Mr Rogier, of course!" Marin's smile widened, and she stepped back, inviting him inside. "Please come in. My solicitor, Mr Hayes, told me about how you've helped keep the farm intact. I'm so grateful that you were prepared to help my mother, I'm sure it must have been a great relief to her."

Sid Rogier was a tall man - not so tall as Evan was, or her brother had been, but definitely tall enough be imposing - dressed in a crisp suit of morning gray over a smart yellow shirt. He was in his mid-forties, Marin would have guessed, his hair graying, but definitely not anything but in full control of his wits. He stepped into her house with a confident stride, looking her up and down appreciatively. For a moment, she wished she'd worn something a little less form-fitting, but there was no use now - her jeans and sweetly feminine top would just have to do.

"Aye, well, your mother and I had a good arrangement," Rogier told her in a warm voice. "I provided her with a loan of sorts to pay off her debts, I took it upon myself to pay off her creditors with the understanding that she would pay me back in cash or deeds when she could."

"Oh, and I will hold to that agreement," Marin hurried to assure him, wrapping her arms about herself as they spoke. "I will make sure you are repaid the money you have so generously provided, with interest. I just ....I'm going to need time. There's so much that needs to be done before Brambles will turn a profit at all."

"And this I understand," the rancher nodded, looking around the living room with eyes that noted the covered furniture, the layer of dust, how very unlived in the place was. "But you're a musician, so your Ma told me. You shouldn't have to worry yourself with making a farm turn a profit, not when you're so good at what you do."

"This is my family home, Mr Rogier," Marin chuckled lightly. "It means more than music to me."

"But wouldn't it be better for you to just go back to Earth where life's so much more simple?" he asked in a tone that was perhaps a little more pointed than it should have been. "To let me buy the deeds to this place and let it go' After all, you've lost so much to this farm ....first your father and brother in that tragic accident, and now your mother and your freedom ..."

Normally accustomed to waking before dawn, it was unusual for Evan to still be in bed, but a bullet wound was wont to do that to a man. Dehydration and fever didn't help matters any. He wasn't dying. Not by a long shot. He wasn't that lucky, but he definitely wasn't feeling at his finest. It wasn't the smell of coffee brewing or breakfast frying that woke him from his sleep. It was the sound of voices, two of them, one male, one female, muffled but distinct.

Evan winced a little, favoring his wounded side, as he climbed out of bed, still wearing the same outfit he'd had on the night before, too exhausted to change. He knew he must look a sight, well overdue for a bath and a trim, but all in good time. First things first.

Drawn by the sound of the voices, he shuffled toward the door, turning the knob and pulling it open with a small creak, craning his ears to hear what was being said and whether he had reason for concern.

Thankfully, the shock of hearing her injured stranger declaring himself to be married to her had been quickly hidden, and as soon as she was free, she slipped against Evan's side, surreptitiously supporting his weight with an arm wrapped about his back. "Mr Rogier was just leaving, Evan," she said uncertainly, glancing between the two men in tense concern. "Weren't you?"

Rogier stepped back with another snort of laughter. "For now, yes," he nodded, moving toward the door. "But don't think this is over, Mrs ....what?s the name now?" Marin glanced up at Evan - he hadn't told her his surname.

The muscles in Evan's jaw twitched as he tensed, the gun held steadily in his hand, unflinching, even as his legs felt as unsteady as limp strands of spaghetti. He wrapped his free arm around Marin's waist, protectively and possessively, though she didn't really belong to him, and leaned just slightly against her to hold himself steady. A feverish heat radiated off him, not enough to keep him in bed, but enough to make him look more fierce than he felt.

"Lassiter," he informed the man of his last name, gambling on the chance that neither of them had ever heard of him. "You'd do well to remember it."

"Lassiter." Rogier nodded, stepping out through the door. "Oh, I'll remember it, alright. Good day, Mrs Lassiter. Be seeing you."

As his footsteps receded over the porch followed by the sound of his horse cantering back down the overgrown path, Marin let out a shaking sigh of relief, the tremble of her body very evident against Evan's. "Oh, thank god," she breathed, lifting her eyes to Evan's face. "I'm so sorry, but ....thank you. I really don't know what I could have done to make him stop by myself."

"He'll be back," Evan informed her, knowing only too well how men like Rogier operated. He felt her trembling against him and he uncocked the hammer of his revolver, reaching around to his back to shove it into the hem of his pants. "You alright?" he asked, brushing a curling red lock away from her face and looking down into her eyes, blue as sapphires and sparkling as brightly.

"Yes," she nodded hurriedly, not wanting to worry him any further than he already seemed to be. Feeling his fingers against her face, her gaze lifted to meet his, suddenly fascinated by the dusky green of his eyes on her own. "Yes, I'm fine," she repeated in a wondering voice, swallowing before adding in a slightly more normal tone of teasing, "So ....we're married, are we?"

He frowned down at her, feeling suddenly uncomfortable with the way she was looking at him, or him at her. "It'll keep him away for a little while. Reckon it was a stupid thing to do. He'll figure it out sooner or later, and then he'll be back." Unless they got married for real, but the thought of that was ridiculous. They hardly knew each other. "Sorry," he said, an almost shameful look on his face. "Said the first thing that popped into my head."

"Oh, no, don't be sorry," she hurried to reassure him, her free hand pressing to his chest without thinking. Despite the heat that rose between them - only part of it radiated by his fever - she was more concerned that he not feel any guilt for rescuing her. "He wouldn't have stopped for anything else, I don't think. I'm the one who should apologise, you shouldn't have had to get involved in all this." She swallowed, realising suddenly how very close she was, and moved to snatch back from him. "Uh ....I'm about to make breakfast, are you hungry?"

He met her gaze when she turned to him, reaching for the hand she had pressed against his chest for the second time since they'd met. It was true that they hardly knew each other, and yet, it seemed that something, some quirk of magic or fate, had brought him here for some reason, and at the moment, the only reason he could think of was her. "What's he want, Marin" Your land" Your money' You?"

All of the above seemed most likely, but he wanted to hear it from her lips, refusing to allow her to make light of this and change the subject so easily to that of breakfast when he'd just rescued her from a close call with almost certain disaster.

Forestalled from escaping into something ordinary and everyday, Marin bit her lip, her expression almost guilty as she looked up at him, captured against his side until he chose to release her. "I think he wants the land," she said regretfully. "He took over my mother's debts with an agreement that she would pay him back within two years or hand him the deeds to the Brambles. It's all legal and above board. He just seems to think that he can just walk in here and take the deeds, now she's ....Now he's dealing with me."

"Did he kill her?" He asked her point-blankly, not knowing the circumstances surrounding her mother's death, but needing to know what he was up against. Now that he'd thrown down the gauntlet, he would have no choice but to see this through to its eventual conclusion. He pressed her hand against his chest, an arm wrapped around her waist to hold her close, aiming to keep her there until she answered his questions and he understood the situation in full.

"I don't know!" She drew in a shaking breath, suppressing the urge to cry as he forced her to face the horrific thoughts and uncertainties she had been trying to ignore. "Mr Hayes said she'd been hearing people on the property at night when she was here alone, that she thought there had been people in the house with her. She was found in the kitchen, not a mark on her, holding that shotgun. I don't know how she died, no one seems to know."

"Why do you seem to think that would disturb me?" she asked curiously, turning to bring him a cup of the coffee. "What makes a man wanted in what I assume to be your time period on your planet isn't necessarily something that would be considered against the law here. And I was born here. I only lived on Earth for eight years."

She came to a halt less than a foot from him, lifting her head to meet his eyes with a clear gaze through the tumble of those escaping curls. "And you can't be all that godsforsaken. You were here when I needed you ....I think that's a pretty good sign that you're the one from heaven, not me." Shame you weren't allowed to kiss angels, really.

"My time period?" There was that echo again, born of confusion. "The hell does that mean?" It was the first time he'd raised his voice since his arrival and even so, he didn't sound angry so much as perplexed, his face flushing only partly with fever. He snorted. "I ain't no angel. Far from it." Had she known his whole story, she might still disagree with him, but he wasn't so sure. He'd tried to live his life by a certain set of self-created ethics and morals, always trying to take the high road, rather than the low one, but where he came from, it was easier said than done.

She leaned back a little way, easily intimidated by a louder voice even if he wasn't angry with her. "What year is it for you?" she asked him carefully. "Because here and now, it's 2012, and when I left Earth a week ago, it was 1998." She frowned, finally realising that the flush on his face was not entirely to do with his emotional state. "Evan ..."

Setting the coffee cup down, she lifted her hand, laying her palm gently against his forehead. "Evan, you're burning up. Why didn't you say you weren't feeling well, for goodness' sake?" She took hold of his arms, trying to guide him to at least sit down, if he would let her. He was, after all, bigger and stronger than she was; without his co-operation, she was just going to end up pressed closer to him than either of them should be entirely comfortable with.

"Told you I was trouble, didn't I?" he asked, his voice quieting to a more normal tone, at least for him, soft-spoken as he was. Her hand felt cool and soothing against his hot face, and he suddenly realized he was shaking. 2012" That made no damned sense. That was more than one hundred years in his future. All of a sudden, he wasn't sure his legs were going to hold him upright much longer, his face turning a sickly shade of pale.

He let her steer him toward a chair, brooking no argument. He knew he needed to sit down before he fell down. The revolver at his back poked at him uncomfortably, and he reached around to pull it loose and set it on the table, looking up at her, with eyes too bright. "You should stay away from me, Miss Marin. I'll only bring you trouble."

"Don't talk such rot," she told him firmly, pressing the coffee cup into his hand. "For one thing, you just got rid of trouble that I couldn't handle on my own, and for another thing, I really don't care." She straightened, turning to pour him a glass of cool water, pulling a box of Tylenol from a cupboard. Popping two tablets out, she returned to him, sitting close. "Take these, they'll help bring your temperature down."

"What're those?" he asked, looking at the tablets she held in her hand. Tylenol was as unfamiliar to him as such modern inventions as aspirin and electricity, things that had become common place after his time. He assumed it must be medicine of some sort, but it wasn't like any medicine he'd ever seen. "Don't you have lawmen in the future?" he asked, sounding more sarcastic than he intended to, reaching for the pills, trusting her implicitly.

"In theory, we do," Marin shrugged. "They don't have the funding or the man power to be any use, though." She laid the two tablets into his palm, sliding the water glass closer to him. "And those are medication. Two of those every four hours should help you cool down and get a grip on this fever of yours." Some imp of mischief made her wait until he had taken the pills before adding, "Or I could just kiss you and shock your system into health with the horror of it."

Her timing was less than perfect, and he nearly choked on the water he'd taken to wash the pills down at her suggestion, teasing or otherwise. He coughed a few times to clear his throat before looking at her with a look of shock or surprise on his face. "Is that some kinda cure for fevers in your time?" The question was dripping with sarcasm.

She couldn't help the rather sweet smile that curved her lips in response to his sarcasm. "I don't know," she replied, just as sarcastically. "Perhaps it requires some research to find out whether or not it would actually work." She giggled softly, brushing the backs of her knuckles against his cheek as she abandoned her tease. "You'll feel better once you've had a good heat soak in a bath and rested up."

He narrowed his eyes at her, even as she touched him, finding that simple touch of her both soothing and troubling all at the same time. Nevertheless, he made no attempt to stop her from touching him. In fact, he didn't even flinch. He only sat there, watching her carefully, as if trying to determine whether she was only teasing him or if there was something deeper going on in that pretty little redhaired head of hers. "Research takes time, I reckon," he countered. "How long you think it would take?"

He arched a brow at her, wondering what she meant by that and how long all of this had been going on. Maybe he had been brought here for a reason and not just at random, after all. He frowned a little, knowing his being there probably hadn't helped matters any. It had made more work for her, that much was certain. She was cooking for two, she'd done his laundry, stitched him up. No matter what she said to the contrary, he owed his life to her.

He narrowed his eyes, scrutinizing her, noticing for the first time the obvious signs of exhaustion, but that didn't explain why she wasn't sleeping. "Sorry," he muttered, picking up a fork to dig into the egg mixture, thinking he was only making her life harder. "I ain't been much help."

"You've been more help than you could possibly imagine," she said softly, but did not elaborate further. Obviously he had no memory of the way she had so selfishly cuddled up to him in the middle of the night, and she found herself torn at this knowledge. She was grateful, of course, that he hadn't been woken up by the noise from downstairs; and a little disappointed that her scantily-clad snuggling had made so little impression, even while he was unconscious. "Besides, you've agreed to stay. No matter how little help you think you have been or will be, just being here will be more than enough."

He frowned at her in disagreement. "No, I ain't. I'm a burden, but I'll make it up to you. I promise." He paused a moment, not a man of many words, but when he had something to say, he said it. "If it weren't for you..." He trailed off, leaving the obvious unsaid. "I reckon you saved my life, and I owe you for that." He nervously shifted his gaze to his plate. "'Sides, I lost someone once before, and I don't aim for it to happen again."

"Evan ..." Leaving her fork on her plate, Marin reached across the table without thinking, wrapping her fingers over his wrist. Her eyes were steady on his, warm and deeply sincere as she spoke. "Please believe me. I feel safe, now that you're here. You would have survived your injuries, I feel certain of that." She paused, squeezing her fingers about his wrist once more before beginning her retreat. "And I am very sorry for your loss."

He picked his head up at the feel of her fingers against his wrist, brows rising questioningly, his facial expression saying far more than words, her touch stirring something inside him, something he hadn't felt in a very long time. He wasn't quite sure what it was, but it made him feel both nervous and hopeful at the same time. "I'm sorry about your family." His mouth twitched, as he watched her pull away, his stomach suddenly tied in knots, for some reason. "We'll figure out what happened to your ma. I promise."

"Thank you." The phrase was barely audible, but they didn't seem to matter, not when her eyes were screaming the sentiment behind it with such warmth. He wasn't the only one feeling stirrings, struggling a little with what might even be guilt for feeling such a way about a person he barely knew. Marin blushed lightly, her ivory skin touched with that delicate shade of pink once more as she lowered her eyes to her plate, resuming her meal in quiet embarrassment for her boldness.

"You asked why I'm not married," she said, to fill the silence rather than dwell on those feelings. "The easy answer is that I've never been asked, but the truth is ....I've never met anyone I could consider spending the rest of my life with." Until now, was the unspoken addendum, left unsaid purely because it was far too soon to even contemplate such a thing.

He scooped up a bit of the egg mixture onto his fork and guided it to his mouth, turning back to her as she spoke, noticing the faint blush in her cheeks, trying to keep his eyes from wandering lower than her neck. He found it hard to believe that someone as beautiful as her had never been proposed to. She must have been courted at some point, but never married. His own life story was very different, and he wondered if he should share it, but it didn't seem to matter. He wasn't married anymore, and he had never met anyone who could take his wife's place, until now, maybe. He couldn't deny she was beautiful, but it wasn't just that. Still, he'd only bring her trouble. She deserved better. "You'll meet someone someday," he reassured her quietly, looking back at his omelette.

The clothes she wore no doubt contributed to his struggle to keep his eyes on her face. While she was used to the cling of denim on her legs and the snug fit of a top that certainly displayed her figure to good effect, he was used to a more modest method of dress from the women he had known. To be frank, Marin was surprised she hadn't been denounced as a scarlet woman. His quiet assurance made her look up again, her gaze a little too soft, a little too intimate, for mere acquaintances.

"I know I will," she said, and the tense was wrong. Even she knew she should have said, 'I already have'. "I need to go into the city in the next couple of days," she told him, laying her cutlery on her empty plate to return to sipping her coffee. "You'd be very welcome to come with me, if you would like. I'd rather not leave any of the horses unattended, though."

He made quick work of his breakfast, famished and still feeling weak and weary. Gray-green eyes met hers, trying to determine what it was that he saw in her gaze that seemeda little more than merely friendly. His lips parted slightly as he debated a reply. Did she want him to go with her or stay back and watch the horses" He couldn't be in both places at one time. "You want me to watch the horses?" he guessed, uncertainly.

"No, I ..." She shook her head again, laughing a little at her inability to express what should be a simple concept clearly. "I meant to say, you would have to ride beside the cart, or tether your horse behind it. That's if you want to come, of course. I'm not saying you should, but ....Well, I, I'd enjoy the company."

"Oh." There was that frown again, this time at his own inability to understand what it was she'd been trying to ask him, or his own stupidity. Though he could read and write, he was not formally educated and often thought himself simple, though he was smarter than he gave himself credit for. He didn't take long considering her request. She was safer with him than without him, and he didn't want anything to happen to her while he wasn't around. "I 'spect I'll go along then. See this big city of yours."

Which war" Was there more than one" He flinched just a little at the sting of the alcohol, quickly recovering. It was nothing compared to the pain of being shot. "War between the states," he explained. "It was....it was a long time ago." He furrowed his brows, having a hard time comprehending the fact that he had somehow traveled over one hundred years into the future. "What's it like" 2012?"

"Sterile," she sighed softly. "Everyone's life revolves around technology and processed food and money. I hate money, but you can't do anything without it. I missed Rhy'Din like crazy when I was on Earth - at least here there's a huge mix of times and peoples and ways of life. There are the technological people, who usually come from the future, living right alongside the people who live a simpler life, like the one you're most comfortable with."

Setting the filthy wipe down, she laid her palms on his thighs, tilting her head back to meet his gaze. And just as she had been last night, she was arrested in motion by the piercing beauty of his sad eyes, staring up at him with parted lips, fascinated and drawn to this blunt, softly-spoken gunslinger who seemed to need her almost as much as she needed him.

For him, it had only been a few years since the war. Memories of it still haunted him, though he never talked about it. There wasn't much point in talking about it. Talking about it wouldn't change anything. He listened quietly as she explained, feeling a stab of pain in his chest at the realization that they came from two entirely different worlds. He met her gaze and held it, inexplicably drawn to her and suddenly needing to ask a question. "Which are you most comfortable with?" he asked her quietly, a hand finding hers for some odd reason, his fingers brushing against hers for a moment.

It was a long moment before she answered, her gaze tender on his, reluctant to break the comfort of the stillness between them with her own voice. "Your world," she heard herself whisper softly. "Definitely your world." Quite without knowing how, she found herself closer, close enough to feel his breath on her face as her gaze slowly turned to focus upon his lips. Not even the most naive of men could have missed that sign for what it was.

Despite being a gunman and a simple farmhand, he was a gentleman, born and bred in a different time and place and preferring simpler ways. Even so, he couldn't miss the signals she was sending him, nor could he deny the attraction he felt for her and the sense she might be feeling the same way. Suddenly, his fingers were no longer touching hers, but moving to touch her face, surprisingly gentle for one of such a rough breed.

He found himself mirroring her movement, leaning closer, eyes focusing on her lips, a small stab of guilt and a whispered apology to a wife who was no longer alive and to whom he was no longer promised. I'm sorry, Ellie. Mere inches separated them. It would be so easy to close the gap and taste her lips, as soft as rose petals. He hesitated for the length of a heartbeat and then he took a chance, pressing his lips against hers, softly, tentatively.

Who was Ellie" Even as Evan's lips touched hers, Marin felt guilt spike violently through her. What had she done" Had she somehow made him unfaithful, purely because she had made no effort to hide her attraction to him' Would this Ellie forgive him a kiss" Reluctantly, she laid her hand against his chest, gently breaking the kiss with a guilty grimace.

"We shouldn't," she murmured. "I'm so sorry, Evan." Bracing herself on his thighs, she pushed to her feet, turning away to pack up the medicine box. But she couldn't leave it like that. Without looking back at him, her shoulders slumped, her head lowering with a quiet sigh. "Who is Ellie?"

Was it the fever that had made him say it' He'd thought he'd only whispered that apology in his head, but she'd heard him, and there were bound to be questions. He frowned as she pulled away from him, guilt mingled with desire. That was what he was feeling, wasn't it' What made his stomach curl into knots when she got near him' Good Lord, he'd only just met her. What was wrong with him' And there it was. The big question, just as she turned away.

"Ellie was my wife," he replied quietly. Past-tense. "She died a few years ago." That was the simple explanation. He moved to his feet, no longer wanting to talk about it and feeling restless. "I need some air."

The spike of guilt warring with desire in Marin grew stronger as he answered her blunt, searching question. She couldn't think of any way to answer him, her expression crumpling into a pained grimace as she closed her eyes tightly, biting at her lips. It didn't take a genius to work out that Ellie was the person he had lost, the woman he had mentioned before. "I'm sorry," Marin whispered very quietly, uncertain if he heard her or not. "I shouldn't have asked."

He snatched her brother's shirt off the chair and pulled it over his shoulders, not bothering with the buttons that were too small for his fingers. "It ain't your fault. You didn't know." She'd lost people, too, even more recently than he had. "If you don't mind, I'm gonna check on my horse. He's probably wondering what happened to me by now."

If she'd had a little more courage, Marin would have turned back to him, coiled her arms about his neck, pressed her lips to his and refused to let go. But faced with the memory of a wife he seemed so deeply in love with still, she felt fear paralyse her in place, listening to him move about behind her. "He's in the paddock with the Shires," she forced herself to say, finally lifting the box to put it away.

He felt he should say something to alleviate the tension that seemed to have settled between them, but he wasn't sure what to say. He pulled the shirt around himself and started toward the door. Should he explain how she'd died" That she'd died because of him, because he couldn't save her? Should he tell her how he still felt guilty over it, though it was in the past and there was nothing that could be done to change it' Ellie was gone and she wasn't coming back.

He paused in the doorway, looking back at her a moment. "People die all the time, Miss Marin. Don't mean we oughta stop living." That said, he turned on a heel and stepped out onto the porch, pausing a moment to take a look at his surroundings and breathe in the fresh air.

She turned too late to meet his gaze, offered only the view of his back as he walked away from her. He was treated to the sound of her swearing inexpertly at her own lack of impulsiveness, the stamp of her bare foot against the wooden boards of the kitchen floor before she swept into the living room.

A moment later, a delicate little melody began to float on the breeze - Marin sat at the old upright piano, the only piece of furniture she had made any true effort to repair and maintain since arriving, slowly losing herself in the music she loved so well. Perhaps he would hear what she couldn't say, or perhaps not. No one had ever said making such a connection was easy.

The melodious sound of the piano drifted from the house to his ears and brought a small smile to his face. She hadn't lied when she'd said she was a musician, and a good one at that. The music sounded sweetly to his ears, melancholy and soothing at the same time. So, she'd wanted to kiss him. He suddenly found himself chuckling a little at that. Maybe his luck was finally turning. And with that thought in mind, he stepped off the porch and started toward the paddock to check on his horse.

((Huge thanks to Evan Lassiter for this scene!))