Prologue May 1, 1997 The helicopter blades sliced through the heavy gray sky in hypnotic rhythm. Will Cranston leaned out of the open window and felt the blast of cold air tear at his face, hair, and jacket. He aimed his camera at the sight below. His stomach knotted tighter with each snap of the lens shutter. The Red River, no longer within its banks at forty kilometers wide, having wreaked havoc in North Dakota, now covered most of south central Manitoba. The town of Saint Agathe, and other smaller hamlets, had lost the fight with what was now being termed The Red Sea. Their earth and sandbag dikes had been unable to withstand the pressure. The white wooden spires of their churches were now forlorn and forsaken. Will shivered and pulled back into the helicopter. "You got enough pictures?” asked Mike, the pilot. "Because we need to be heading to base. Winds are picking up. Likely going to get more rain.” “And you’ve got to keep an eye on the fuel," added Richard. Will nodded at his friend. It had been Richard who’d got him the chance to up here in the first place. Will longed to close his eyes, but he wanted to see everything. A quick rest might mean missing the photo opportunity of a stranded kitten on a hay bale, or a herd of terrified cattle perched on a tiny knoll. "Here comes the city." Mike indicated the looming skyscrapers on the grey horizon. Winnipeg appeared unreal as it rose from the prairie and into the mists of drizzle clouds. Threatened by The Red Sea and protected by the floodway system, it was more like some ancient kingdom. The city seemed to be waiting and watching, vigilant, with mounting apprehension, while the citizens labored night and day building sandbag walls. The helicopter flew over the near empty satellite communities ringed by mud dike. Those that were still holding. The Canadian Army had been called in a few days earlier and now soldiers scurried along the insides of these dikes with sandbags. Backhoes worked furiously with loads of dirt to add height and security. The highway was completely swamped. A couple of motor boats sliced through the whitecaps beyond, taking supplies to remote and stubborn farmers who’d stayed to protect what they could for as long as they could. The signs of frantic activity became more evident the closer the helicopter got to the city. Here, at the southern end, many people had built large beautiful homes. Now their properties stood alone, up to their living room windows in floodwaters. Will stared at the scene below. Her house was down there somewhere in the suburbs. Sunshine had been very vague about where she lived and he’d never been allowed to visit or phone. Did she have a mansion or a small bungalow? Did she live on a hill or in a valley? It made a big difference. He hoped she was alright. A misshapen square of land in the middle of the grey water caught at Will’s right eye. Away from what would have been the main roads, it looked terribly vulnerable. He tugged at Mike’s sleeve. "Over there." Mike steered the helicopter in the direction of Will’s pointing finger, and in a few minutes, they were hovering over a run-down, one and a half storey house. Two people perched on the roof of a partly submerged house. One frantically waving his arms. The other lay curled in a ball near the chimney. At the sound of the helicopter, the stranded people looked up. Will’s heart lurched painfully at the grimy but familiar faces. "Let me down," he yelled. "What? No way." "You’re Search and Rescue. You’ve gotta put me down," Will argued, undoing his seat belt and pulling his camera off over his head. "I can’t," shouted Mike. "It’s too windy. Too dangerous. The blades will whip up more waves. Might swamp them." "It’s Sunshine! I’ve gotta help her!" "You can’t go down there." Mike held hard to the stick. "Looks like more than a normal evacuation. I’d say we’ve got a medical emergency down there and you’re just a kid." "I’m not a kid. I’m nineteen." Mike wasn’t convinced. "We can radio for help." "Radio for help anyway. After I’m down." Richard leaned forward. "I can help wind the winch. And be a spotter." Mike caved. "Okay. One try. Only one. I’m likely gonna get in big trouble even for that." Mike held the helicopter as steady as possible while Will flung the cable and basket out. It swung and wriggled like a worm on the end of a fishing pole. Will stared at the tiny sunken island of building and mud. He knew that he couldn’t leave her at the mercy of the Red River turned Red Sea. As the helicopter was positioned closer, he saw a furry, cream-colored dog stick its head out of Sunshine’s red jacket. Will strapped himself into the basket. His fingers shook so badly he needed help from Richard. "You gonna be okay?" asked Richard. "I can go if you want." Will shook his head. This was no time for cowardice. He fought back his panic and nodded for Richard to lower the cable. The wind tore at his jacket and tried to rip him from the basket as it swung back and forth over the house, and over the floodwater. Will squeezed his eyes closed against the rescue basket’s spinning and swinging over the rushing water. He wondered for a brief and terrible moment if he really wanted to save the man. He shoved that thought far into the dark recesses of his mind and concentrated his energy on helping Sunshine. She needed help and had for a long time. She’d pushed him away time and time again, stating that her problems were none of his business. But this was an extraordinary and life-threatening situation. He wouldn’t let her go through it without him. With the helicopter hovering above, he felt his feet touch the roof and a hand grab tightly to his arm. "Thank God," cried Ty. "Something’s wrong with her. We’ve got to get her out of here." Will threw Ty Blanchard a scathing glance. He’d hoped never to see or hear from that jerk again. Will loosened his straps and crawled along the crown of the roof until he reached her. All his fear for his own safety was completely wiped out by the deathly pallor of her face as she tried to smile. A dark patch was spreading over the inner thighs of her blue jeans. When he touched his fingers to the stain, they came back red. Blood!   Chapter One 1995 Will propped himself up on one elbow and decided that if he died at that instant, he’d die happy, even if he was only seventeen years old. Life couldn’t possibly get better. He surveyed his surroundings. The grass on the small prairie hillock was tall and whispering in the summer afternoon breeze. The sky was a canvas of flax blue and cotton ball white. The occasional high-soaring lark was nothing more than a black musical note high above. The houses and buildings of the city were not so far away, separated from the hill by a single track of overgrown, unused railway. Although the scenery brought a multitude of colors to his artist’s mind, they dulled in comparison to the emotions inspired by the girl lying beside him. He shifted his position so he could stare down on her. She was almost asleep, made drowsy by the shimmering heat. Her shoulder length brown hair, streaked blonde from many hours in the sun, spread over the flattened grass. Long eyelashes fanned over healthy rosy cheeks. A smattering of freckles danced across a nose turning pink from lack of shade or protective lotion. He smiled, his chest bursting with love, as she rubbed the end of her nose and wiggled it like a rabbit might. He was tempted to break off a cattail and tickle her face but it would disturb her, and that was the very last thing he wanted do. He’d much rather just watch how the waving grass cast shadows of light and dark over her outstretched body. Her body, safely hidden beneath her blue T-shirt and shorts, entranced him with its curves and long, strong legs, and her ability to keep up with his athletic approach to life. At least Sunshine could almost keep up, only sinking to a cross-legged position after playing three long games of tennis on the local court. He won two, plus running fifteen laps together around the soccer field while he ran on for another five in the growing heat of late morning. She scowled every time he jogged by, openly annoyed at her own weakness. She did consider not being able to keep up a weakness. Try as she might, she could never run for as long as he could. He adored her for her determination. As he took a slow breath while he let his gaze travel from her bare feet to the push of her breasts against her T-shirt. He had to admit, again, he simply adored her. Period! "I want more," she said, her eyes still closed. He tried not to let his thoughts dwell on what she was asking for more kissing, more kissing on her mouth, her neck. More kissing everywhere. It had been just about more than he could stand first time around. He doubted if his control would last through a second round. He mumbled, "No, I don’t think that’s a good idea, Sunny." She sat up, her eyelids snapping open. As always, he was drawn into her eyes. They were like the sky, right down to the little lark spot on her right iris. She made a frustrated gesture with her lips. "Why not? Don’t you like doing, that?" "It’s not right," he said. "You don’t understand." "But do you like it?" "Yes, I like it." "So, let’s do it again!" She wrapped her arms around his neck and sent him one of her heart-melting smiles. "We’re not going all the way or anything. You like it. I like it. Doesn’t that make it right?" "I’m afraid." He removed himself from her arms. He could see she was ready to laugh. "Afraid? We’ve been going out for a few months now." He corrected her. "Three months, two weeks, and a day." Then she did laugh, throwing her head back. He loved watching her laugh. After a while, she stopped. "Okay, three months, two weeks and a day. Everything’s got to be precise with you, hasn’t it? When have I ever frightened you?" "All the time," he answered. She sobered instantly. "How?" "I don’t know how to explain myself. You might be disappointed." "Oh, Willy. I don’t get you sometimes." She grabbed a handful of grass and began wrapping it around her finger. The grass reminded him of himself, wrapped around her finger and loving it. How could he find the absolutely best words to tell her what she meant to him? How could he tell her in precisely the right way that he wanted everything to be perfect for her? Would she understand that being so mind-blowing, penis-busting intimate could lead to who knows what? He was constantly amazed by her seeming lack of concern and self-absorption. Didn’t she know she was beautiful and desirable, and that he lay awake at nights dreaming of only her? Didn’t she know she was worth so much more than clumsy groping and hot-faced petting? Her mind intrigued him. Her sense of humor held him captive. He wanted to behave like a gentleman, old-fashioned as it sounded, but her natural sex appeal made it difficult. He didn’t want to be just another boyfriend, the next in her line of emotional conquests. He wanted to be with her for life. It crossed his mind to propose to her. Get on one knee and blurt out the question. He knew he planned to ask her, one day when they were older and finished school. After they were married, he would do anything she wanted anywhere she wanted. As she flung the broken, twisted grass stems away, his nerve failed him. He knew she wouldn’t make light of his question. He also knew, deep in his gut, she would refuse him. Her ideals were based firmly on reality and she was far from ready for that kind of commitment. His stupidity at asking might even drive her from him. He would never risk that. He swallowed. "Let’s talk about something else." She threw herself onto her back and stared at the passing clouds. In seconds the slight frown on her face disappeared. "Have you ever lived in another time?" she asked, following him with her eyes, those mirrors of the sky, as he lay on his side, resting once more on his elbow. "Dunno," he answered with a shrug. "I haven’t thought about it. But obviously you have." "Yes, well," she said lightly, "I’m pretty sure I’ve had a past life. At least one." "Really?" "You don’t believe me!" "Yes, oh yes," he stammered. "I believe you. Go on. Who were you? Someone glamorous, no doubt." She gave a derisive snort. "Hardly! More like some poor peasant or servant girl. All red-faced from the cold North Sea wind. And with chapped hands from doing laundry and dishes." He ran his index finger along the smooth knuckles of her hands as they rested on her stomach. "A good strong wench, yes." He grinned. "But you could never be a servant. At least not in your own mind." She eyed him suspiciously. "What does that mean?" "Your spirit would never let you stay a servant, Sunshine." She sighed. "Sunshine. Such a stupid name." He chuckled. "It’s not stupid. I think it’s kinda neat." She raised an eyebrow and sighed again, this time with more drama. "Meanwhile back to me, the poor starving servant wench of my past life. What hope have I got? I’ll be stuck scrubbing shirts my whole life. Probably on one of those wood and metal scrub boards my great-granny had." "Easy, girl. This is a past life we’re talking about," he reminded her. In his brain, the wheels had started to turn. There was no way she would spend her days scrubbing shirts if he had anything to do with it, regardless of which lifetime she was in. Not if he was around. "I’m sure some rich noble would be unable to resist you, even with your red hands and chapped cheeks. And I think you read too many historical romances." "Why not, Willy?" she said turning to face him, one of her fingers tracing the v-neck of his T-shirt. "Why wouldn’t he be able to resist me? I’m kinda plain and come from a family who has varicose veins and big hips when we get older. And that’s true, by the way. What would some rich noble want with me?" He caught her hand to stop the coursing sensations caused by her fingernail. "All you would have to do is smile. Your smile is like the sun. Probably the guy could use some warmth, what with all that sea wind and everything." Caught in her own daydreams, she skipped right over his compliment. "And he’s probably betrothed to marry another woman. She’ll be fantastically gorgeous and super rich, but a class one witch. Of course, it was all arranged by their parents and he doesn’t love her. He’s just doing his duty. But I see us, him and the peasant girl meeting. It’s at the town well where she’s getting water. It’s raining cats and dogs. Pelting down. Everything is grey and black and wet. Even him because his horse is steel grey and his riding clothes are black and he’s soaked to the skin." She paused, thinking. "And because the cobblestones are slippery, his mighty steed falls. The noble lord tumbles, hitting his head. I rush to help him, but he’s out cold. Somehow, probably because I’m a strong wench type, I get him slung over his horse’s back once the horse gets up. No damage done to the animal. I take him to the wee croft where I live with my horrible father. Naturally, I nurse the lord back to health. He falls in love with me but has to return to the witch. It’s his duty after all. And then ... well, that’s about it. I can’t see anything more. Not very exciting, is it? Back to the laundry tub for me. Not much of a character, am I?" He squeezed her hand. "I think the servant girl has lots of character. She’s kind and generous." "Oh, look," she cried, pointing to the sky. "A hawk. What bird would you be, Willy, if you could be a bird? I’d be a lark just like that one singing up there." "Then I’ll be an eagle," he said. "So I can fly as high as you." "An eagle?" She seemed concerned. "You’re not an eagle." Then she became contrite. "Sorry, Willy. You have the right to be anything you want. If you want to be an eagle, then you are an eagle. Are you a bald eagle?" She reached to pat his blonde hair. "Not yet," he replied, grinning. "But baldness runs in my family. And that’s the truth, by the way. My blonde good looks won’t last forever." And he winked to tell her he was teasing. She snuggled against him. He did not touch her. Instead, he held his breath, afraid that if he moved he’d lose his self-control and do something he’d regret. As it was, the smell of her hair threatened his resolve. And her smile, just like that of her servant girl, sent shafts of new warmth to his heart. She drew his face down until his mouth was mere inches from hers. "Kiss me before we go home, Willy," she said, her eyes pleading. How could he refuse? He obliged at first with soft, tender, innocent kisses. The memory of their earlier intimacy, of his hand cupped around her breast, the nipple hard beneath his fingertips, infused him with a powerful need. He rolled on top of her, his mouth pressing roughly against hers. How easy it would be to lose his virginity, while he took hers, here on this sun-drenched hill. How incredible. She clung to him, drawing his breath, his life, from his lungs as he fought to control himself. He had to stop. Immediately! He managed to tear himself from her arms and stand up. "We’d better go now." She hesitated for a moment before putting on her socks and running shoes. "I suppose you’re right. My mother is gonna have a fit. We’ve been gone quite a long time." "And," he said, "she’s going to wonder how you got your eyelids sunburned." Sunshine’s fingers flew to her face. "Ouch." He took her hand. "Come on. Let’s get you home. Get some lotion on you." She allowed him to pull her to her feet. "So, how about going to a movie tonight? There’s a film festival at the old downtown theater. My parents think I’d like seeing some of the big hits from when they were young. So, do you wanna go? I’ve got some babysitting money." "Sure," he replied. "But first," she said, "let’s make some brownies. Gotta have chocolate." "Yep," he echoed. "Gotta have chocolate." And they fell into step, matching each other’s pace as they jogged along the railway. **END EXCERPT**