Lonely Is The Man...
By Jon Wolff <jon.wollf@juno.com>
Rated: PG-13
Submitted: November 2001


DEDICATION:  This story is dedicated to S.A., who was a 
special friend, just when I needed one, and who taught me 
that it's possible to open your heart once again.

Thanks go to Sherry, who did a lot of the edits.




Lonely is the man, who walks alone
And lonely is the man, who has no home
And lonely, lonely, lonely am I
I am so lonely, wish I could die
I asked the Lord up above
What is this thing, mortals call love
And why can't I have one of my own
I am so lonely, so all alone

LONELY by Sharon Sheeley,
Recorded 1958 by Eddie Cochran


=================

August 2193
Somewhere in the Montana wilderness.

Liz cursed the rain and the wind for the thousandth time 
that evening.  Visibility was now almost non-existent, with 
the hard rain swallowing the light from the headlights 
inches from her ground vehicle.  Even at the slow speed she 
was driving, she was fighting hard against the buffering 
wind to keep the vehicle steady on the road.  Having been 
raised exclusively on hover vehicles, she was having great 
difficulty controlling the ancient wheeled vehicle.

She could have waited.  She could have had a little 
patience and waited out the storm. Waited for Monday when a 
hover vehicle would have been ready.  But no, she had to go 
now.  In what had to be the worst  rain in Montana since 
heaven's knows when, in a vehicle that her grandfather 
would have considered ancient.

"Why?" she asked herself out loud, as if voicing the 
question would spark a response from the Cosmos.  Of 
course, she already knew the answer.  She was obsessed.  
Her family was right, she had finally gone over the edge.  
She would just have to admit to herself that this time she 
had gone too far and needed to stop her insane behavior.  
Besides what if he was real?  What would she do if she 
found him ... confront him?  If he was real, why would he 
even want to talk to her?

Now that she had come to her senses, she checked the charge 
meter on the dashboard.  Hmm...  two hours of charge left.  
'Let me see, it took me about 100 minutes to get here, so I 
could go another 10 minutes and just make it back..  That's 
it, ten more minutes.'  Her thinking process came to a 
screeching halt as she digested her reasoning.  'No no no 
no , I'm doing it again.  I am *not* going any further.  I 
am turning around right now and heading back.  I will wait 
until Monday and get a proper vehicle with plenty of 
supplies... if I do this at all.  I'm not even sure why I'm 
so obsessed with this... with him.  He's probably just some 
invention of my overactive imagination, just like my mom 
said.  I just got too involved in the research for my book.  
That's it.  Too involved.  Just like I did with those poor 
children in Peru.  Speaking of which, I should check in on 
them when I get a chance.  I did promise Lisa an American 
doll next time I was down there.  Of course I think I 
promised toys to about 30 kids.  Boy, my accountant is 
going to hate me next month....'

She stopped her thoughts just long enough to wonder how she 
ended up thinking of her accountant.  'I'm really losing it 
now.  Definitely time to turn around.'

Liz slowed the vehicle and brought it to a stop.  
Carefully, she started negotiating a 3 point turn on the 
muddy country road.  Just as she stopped pulling backwards, 
she felt a tremor shake the vehicle.

"What the ...," but she never got to finish her comment.  
The vehicle slid backwards as the shoulder of the road, 
weakened by the rain, collapsed under the vehicle's weight.  
Liz hung onto the steering wheel desperately, praying for 
the vehicle to stop its descent.  As quickly as it started, 
the vehicle's slide halted, apparently reaching the bottom 
of the embankment.  Liz slowly exhaled the breath she 
didn't even realize she was holding.

"That was fun," she said, still breathing hard.  She closed 
her eyes and purposely willed herself to calm down.  After 
a minute she was able to open her eyes again.  Reaching 
over to the gear shift on the steering wheel column, she 
shifted into the lowest possible gear.  She depressed the 
accelerator only to be rewarded by the sound of spinning 
wheels.  Liz briefly entertained the notion of using a 
rocking motion to get the vehicle moving again, but quickly 
dispensed with the idea for fear of sliding even further 
backwards.

"Think, think, think."  Realizing how she sounded to 
herself, she thought, 'Oh no, now I sound like Pooh bear.'  
She flipped on the cabin light so she could get a better 
look inside.  Liz saw that her vehicle had come to a stop 
at an upward incline.  Still thinking about what she should 
do, a sound invaded her consciousness.  A sound like 
something leaking from behind her.  She turned around in 
her seat to see water filling the back of the vehicle and 
rapidly making its way forward.

'OK, now it's time to officially panic.'  She grabbed her 
fanny pack, attached it to herself, and then retrieved her 
flashlight that was laying on the floor.  She tried pushing 
open her door but found it blocked by mud as the vehicle 
was slowly being sucked down into the rain soaked ground.  
Thinking quickly, she rolled down the window and climbed 
out.  With the rain assaulting her as she pulled herself 
onto the roof, she realized that the rate of her sinking 
was beginning to accelerate, and she knew she had to act 
quickly.  Turning on her flashlight, she picked the best 
direction to leap to safety and get away from the doomed 
vehicle.  Stowing the flashlight in her belt, she paused 
for a moment to gather her strength and leapt from the roof 
of the car, hoping to clear the mud trap that nature had 
set for her.

Unfortunately for her, no human would have been able to 
clear the mud pit in which she now found herself.  After 
landing in the watery mud, she tried swimming to move back 
toward the road, but the mud was too heavy to effectively 
swim through.  She cried out in frustration, knowing now 
that her obsession had probably gotten her killed.  
Strangely, she thought that at least dead, she would not 
have to listen to her mother tell her 'I told you so' for 
the next decade.  Not one to give up, Liz continued to 
struggle, trying to claw her way to safety.  Suddenly she 
realized that mud was entering her mouth and that she was 
sinking below the surface.  The hopelessness of her 
situation caused her to mentally slump.  As she started to 
lose consciousness, she felt like she was floating.  Funny, 
she read somewhere that drowning victims started to feel 
euphoric at the end.  Must be the lack of oxygen.  'I 
should research that someday.  Yeah.... that's what I'll 
do.  Right after my nap.  Wish I had my Pooh bear...'


===========

The first things Liz noticed were swirling colors and some 
kind of smell.  The colors she didn't like, but the smell -
- no, the smells -- they were good.  Yes, very good.  'This 
is not bad. I thought dying would be worse.  I guess heaven 
smells good.  Funny, heaven smells like breakfast.  Hmmm.  
Wait, why is it that I'm in heaven and it feels like 
someone is doing a Flamenco dance on my head?  I need to 
ask God about that.'

'Well to open my eyes or not open my eyes?  On one hand, 
opening my eyes might make my head feel worse.  On the 
other hand, there are all these colors, truthfully tacky 
colors, with my eyes closed.  So opening my eyes can't be 
any worse.'

Slowly, Liz opened one eye and immediately a moan issued 
from her lips.  "Oh lord, my head hurts."  Coming to a 
semblance of consciousness, Liz took stock of her 
surroundings.  She was lying in a cozy looking bed with a 
quilt covering her body.  The quilt looked very old and 
worn to a most comfortable level.  The room she was in 
seemed to be a small bedroom in a dwelling done in the 
style of an old country farmhouse.  Wood furnishings were 
everywhere and the walls were done in some kind of natural 
wood tone.  'Strange waiting room for heaven,' she thought.  
She tried sitting up a little, which elicited another moan 
from her.  It was then that she discovered that underneath 
the quilt, she was dressed only in her undergarments.  The 
same ones she was wearing when she "died".  They were dry, 
but stained with what appeared to be the remnants of dried 
mud.  The realization came to her that she was, in fact, 
still alive and currently in the bedroom of a strange 
house.  She didn't know whether to be relieved or worried 
at this point.

The door of  her bedroom started to open.  A tentative 
voice on the other side of the door inquired, "Miss 
Ellington?" 

"Yes," her voice came out in a rasp, barely a whisper.

"I'm coming in with something for you to drink and eat," 
said the voice as the door opened all the way.  In the dim 
light she could see a man carrying a tray of food.  A 
sweatshirt was draped over one of his arms.  He set the 
tray down on the desk next to the bed and turned to face 
her.  "Since you still seem a little weak, I'm going to put 
this sweatshirt over your head and see if you can finish 
pulling it down.  I'll hold the quilt up so you're covered 
while you are pulling the shirt down the rest of the way."

"Sure," she said weakly.  He bent over to place the shirt 
on her head.  Then he grabbed the top edge of the quilt and 
held it up so that his view of her was obscured.  Slowly 
she pulled the shirt down the rest of the way.  It was big 
enough that it would reach down to the middle of her thigh.  
"Done," she announced.

Letting the quilt down, he walked over to the window and 
cracked open the blinds a little to allow the daylight to 
spill into the room.  With the room now brighter, she could 
take in the stranger who had entered the room.  He was a 
little on the tall side, but not too tall.  A beard adorned 
his face, its black color peppered with a few white hairs.  
The hair on his head matched his beard, and was long enough 
to be drawn into a ponytail that reached his shoulder 
blades.  Even through the casual, loose fitting clothes he 
wore, she could tell that he was in good shape.  Of course 
if he lived out here, he was probably used to physical 
labor.  She couldn't quite discern his age.  He was looking 
at her with a look of concern and something else she 
couldn't quite place.  She followed him with her eyes as he 
went to the closet to retrieve some extra pillows.  As he 
approached her, she started to study his face.  There was 
something about him.  His eyes.  They seemed to hold a 
mixture of things: concern, kindness, wisdom, and .... 
weariness.  For some reason, this man was weary, like 
someone on a long journey who doesn't see the end of the 
road.

As he reached her, he held up the pillows and said, "I'm 
going to help you sit up and put these behind you so you 
can eat and drink something.  You need to get your strength 
back.  You don't have any injuries and nothing is broken.  
I just think you wore yourself out trying to get out of 
that mud pit."

He placed his hand on her back and assisted her to an 
upright position and placed the pillows between her back 
and the headboard.  Retrieving the tray, he placed it in 
front of her to reveal what was obviously the source of the 
smells she'd detected before.  An omelet of some kind was 
on the plate along with some buttered toast and a cup of 
what had to be tea, with containers of sugar and milk on 
one side of the tea.  A glass of orange juice was set on 
the other side of the tea.

Finally her mind had awakened enough to form some 
intelligent conversation.  "So am I to assume that you were 
the one who rescued me ?  You know, at first I thought it 
strange that the gates of heaven took the form of a 
farmhouse.  Then I started to worry if that thing that 
mothers keep telling you about having clean underwear in 
case you're in an accident was true." As she stared at her 
host with a slightly blank expression she thought, 'O.K., 
so maybe "intelligent" conversation was stretching it a 
bit.'

"Hmm, maybe you did hit your head last night," he muttered 
with a slight twinkle in his eyes.  Tearing his eyes away 
from hers he looked down at the tray.  "Sorry.  Why don't 
you try the tea first, it might clear your head a little?"

She gave him a slightly bemused look and picked up the tea 
with a trembling hand.  Just as she thought she might drop 
the cup, a large warm hand encased hers.  "Let me help 
you,... if you don't mind?" he said.  Liz shook her head 
and let him help her get a sip of the tea.  It was very 
good and warmed her on the way down.  Soon he was helping 
her get bigger and bigger sips of tea.  He was right; her 
head did start to clear a little more.  His hand felt 
strange on hers.  Not bad strange, not weird, but 
different.  She couldn't quite categorize it.  But whatever 
it was, it wasn't bad.  Soon the tea was finished and he 
took the cup from her, replacing it on the tray.

"That was wonderful tea," Liz stated.  "Thank you."

"Anytime," he said as he smiled a bit more.

'He should do that more,' she thought as she looked at his 
smile. After a couple of seconds she shook herself mentally 
and looked down at the food on her plate.  Liz picked up 
her fork, now feeling strong enough to try her omelet.  
'This is fantastic,' she thought as she took her first 
bite.  'He rescues me and can cook.  It'd be a shame if he 
was a serial killer or something like that.'  Before she 
knew it, the omelet, toast, and juice were gone.  She 
looked up to see a slightly amused looked on the face of 
her host.  She was still struck by how hard it was to 
discern his age.

"I have to guess that you either liked the food or you 
haven't eaten in so long that it didn't matter."

"Both I guess," Liz answered shyly.  Then suddenly 
remembering her situation Liz asked, "I suppose it would be 
too much to hope that there was a female visiting this 
household  who was responsible for getting me into this bed 
with nothing on but my undergarments?"

Her host looked slightly embarrassed as he answered.  "No, 
sorry.  But I had to get you out of your wet clothes.  I 
was able to dry your, umm... under things without removing 
them by using a hair dryer.  But when you get a chance, you 
might want me to wash what you have on to get the rest of 
the mud off."  After thinking for a moment he looked at her 
and asked "Why did you assume that there were no females in 
this household?"

Reflecting for a moment, Liz answered, "I don't know.  It 
just seemed like you are alone out here."

A slightly sad expression crossed his face for a moment.  
"Well you're right, I do live here alone.  That is if you 
don't count my horses and chickens."  A small smile came 
back slowly to his face.  "So what's a city slicker from 
Los Angeles doing on a deserted dirt road in the middle of 
Montana, during the worst rainstorm in 10 years?  There 
certainly weren't any campgrounds where you were heading."

"Exactly how do you know where I'm from, or for that matter 
my name?" she asked suspiciously.  The comfortable feeling 
she had a moment ago was dissipating and a little fear 
started to develop.  She started evaluating her escape 
options as he moved back to the desk in the room.  Picking 
up something from the desk, he started to read: "Elizabeth 
Ellington, 3492 West 32nd Street, Los Angeles, California.  
Drivers license number W0497836.  I found this is your 
fanny pack.  Thought I could at least find out your name -- 
it's better than saying 'Hey, you'. "

"I see," she replied slowly, her eyes still narrowed 
slightly in suspicion. 

"Listen, I am not an axe murderer, a rapist, or an escaped 
mental patient.  I'm just a plain 'ole rancher who happened 
upon you when looking for a stray horse.  So why don't you 
rest some more and when you have the energy, get out of 
bed.  There is a selection of my smallest sweat clothes in 
the drawer over there if you want to change out of your ... 
under things.  I already washed the clothes you were 
wearing and they're hanging in the closet.  If you need 
anything, just holler.  If I don't answer, I might be 
outside doing chores."

Liz relaxed again.  "Sorry, just my automatic defense 
system going up again.  Thank you for everything.  I think 
a little sleep is just what I need right now."  After 
thinking a moment she asked, "Oh by the way, how long was I 
out?  Wasn't it hard to get me out of the mud?  The vehicle 
is completely gone isn't it? ... Oh, and did you find my 
phone?"

"Let me see, I found you about 8:30 last night and it's 
about 11:00 a.m. now,  so about 14 hours.  And -- a little, 
yes, and yes but its not working."

"Oh O.K.," she replied not realizing the rapid fire rate of 
her questions, or the ease with which her host was able to 
keep up with her.  "Then I need to use your phone later so 
I can call my um,... hmmm.  I guess no one knows I'm out 
here anyway.  Except for the rental place.  I guess I 
better let them know that their vehicle decided to take a 
mud bath."

"Just sleep.  I'll take care of it.  There's only one 
person within 500 miles who would still have a vehicle like 
that to rent to anyone.  Of course, I think I'll have to 
yell at Jeb a little bit for renting his SUV to someone 
like you."

"What to you mean someone like me?" she asked indignantly.  
"Don't think I can handle a, what do you call it, 'SUV'?  I 
happen to have handled many... things like that, plenty of 
times."

"I'm sure you have, I didn't mean to offend your sense of 
capability.  I only meant that your license didn't have a 
"wheeled vehicle" code on it.  It's rare to find someone 
who has practice operating a vehicle that actually touches 
the ground." 

"Oh."

"Now why don't you get some rest and then you can tell me 
what you were doing out here.  That is, if you want to talk 
about it."  He then helped her lay back down, removing the 
extra pillows from behind her.

She did feel tired and a little more sleep would be 
wonderful right now.  As she started to close her eyes, she 
thought that the least she could do was to answer his 
question.  "Actually there are a lot of reasons I'm out 
here.  But the main reason is I'm trying to find someone.  
If I can find this person, it would help solve a number a 
things."  Her voice was becoming softer as the quilt's 
magic was slowly lulling her into sleep.  "If I can find 
him, I could finish my book.  It would also prove to a 
number of people that I am not crazy.  And he could help 
me,... well actually the world.  I've recently uncovered 
evidence that an ancient evil is reasserting itself in the 
world and I need him to help me.  He would have the ability 
to verify my evidence.  He would know if I'm right or just 
being misled."  It was getting harder and harder to talk 
but she couldn't stop now.  It seemed strange that she was 
telling him all this after knowing him for only 30 minutes, 
but somehow it felt natural.  'Funny,' she thought, 'he 
didn't even tell me his name.'

"Who are you looking for," Liz heard.  Her eyes were 
already closed.

Sleepily she continued, "Someone who may not exist.  But if 
I am right, he may be my only hope of exposing these 
people."  She paused again. "Sometimes I think that he's 
just a dream.  Sometimes, I just don't know..."

"Who?"

"The last descendant of Clark Kent.  I'm looking for the 
last Superman." With that Liz drifted off into sleep.

=========

Slowly, Liz began to wake up again.  For the second time 
that day she had to reorient herself to her surroundings.  
Memories and images were coming back to her and began to 
jumble around in her head: mud, quilts, eggs, and a bearded 
man.  As she became completely awake she remembered where 
she was and how she had gotten there.

Clothes, she needed her clothes.  Liz tried to decide if 
she had the energy to get out of her bed.  She could swear 
that the quilt covering her body was somehow draining away 
all of her motivation through some magical power.  'Alright 
now, I can do this.'  Carefully, she attempted to sit up in 
her bed.   The weakness she had experienced the previous 
time she awoke had lessened considerably, and she was able 
to get herself into a sitting position.  'Well another 
astounding accomplishment for Dr. Elizabeth Ellington.'  
Her eyes opened fully now, she again examined her room.  
'Not bad for the middle of nowhere.'  That thought made her 
wonder exactly where she was.  She knew that the area she 
was driving in had no towns or communities within a couple 
hundred miles.  Her rancher must have been searching for 
that horse pretty far off the beaten track.  She made a 
mental note to thank that horse personally and to buy it a 
bunch of carrots, or a pound of sugar cubes, or whatever 
was an acceptable equine thank you gift these days.

'Time now for the real challenge -- swinging my feet onto 
the floor.'  Liz mentally did a mock countdown.  When she 
hit zero, she noticed that her feet were still under the 
quilt.  'I knew it.  It's really a magic quilt and it's 
going to hold me captive until its bearded master commands 
it to release me.'

Questioning once again whether or not any shred of sanity 
remained within her, Liz grabbed a handful of quilt and 
threw it off her body.  "Ha, take that!"

'Hmmm... Good thing my host isn't here to watch this or 
he'd probably be calling the paddy wagon to come and get 
me,' she mused.  Deciding she had enough energy to stand 
now, she swung her feet over the edge of the bed and placed 
them on the floor.  Stretching out her hand to the desk by 
her bed, she was able to pull herself to an erect, albeit 
wobbly, position.

She then remembered the state of the clothes she was 
wearing... well what she was left wearing of her clothes.   
She recalled the rancher's offer of sweat clothes in the 
dresser.  Making her way there she opened the top draw to 
find a couple of pairs of sweatpants and sweatshirts.  She 
chose a set and changed into them after removing her 
underwear.  Chuckling to herself, she recalled how 
embarrassed the rancher had looked when he told her that he 
had removed her clothes.  It seemed quaint somehow.  People 
rarely made such a big deal about their state of dress or 
undress these days.  Especially when it was clearly 
necessary.  Well she knew that  'country folks' tended to 
be a little more traditional still in some aspects of life.  
She thought of the amount of clothing she was expected to 
wear when she lived with the Peruvian natives.  Still, he 
didn't strike her as a .... What was that old term ?  Oh 
yes, redneck.  She wondered about that strange 
colloquialism, which she knew to be more than a couple of  
hundred years old.  Her fields of anthropology and 
archeology had allowed her to accumulate an odd collection 
of facts over  the years.  'Hmmm.... Maybe the people in 
the country areas back then didn't believe in sunbathing 
with their shirts off.  Something to look into later, along 
with that oxygen depravation thing.'

'Oxygen depravation?  Where the heck did that come from?'

She then noticed her reflection in the mirror above the 
dresser.  'Yikes, good thing my prom date isn't picking me 
up today.'  She had really never paid much attention to her 
looks before.  She realized that by normal standards, some 
would consider her nice looking.  People often commented on 
her green eyes when they first met her.   She often 
wondered why she was the only one in her family with green 
eyes.

All of her makeup was gone of course, but then again, she 
was never one for wearing a lot of makeup.  'I must look 
like hell to my host right now.  Wouldn't mind a little 
makeup to cover those bags under my eyes.'

Looking closer, she realized that her face had been cleaned 
up.  Mr. Rancher must have done that before putting her to 
bed.  Thinking back to how he had helped her with the tea 
earlier, she thought that it might have been nice to feel 
his gentle hands cleaning her face.  'Too bad I can't 
remember that,' she reflected.  The thought surprised her.  
'I really must be wiped out from last night.'  She backed 
up to take in more of herself in the mirror.

Being an active person, she had kept herself in pretty good 
shape.  She had to be in shape to go to the places she 
been, and do the things she had done for the past seven 
years.  Her dark hair was fashioned in a way which also 
bespoke of her active lifestyle.  The short cut which 
framed her face required little in the way of maintenance, 
and did not get in the way when performing strenuous 
activity.  Of course, her fellow academics at the 
university scoffed at her 'strenuous activities', often 
comparing her, in sarcastic tones, to some old movie 
character from the twentieth century.  'Who was that again? 
Something Smith or Jones' -- she couldn't remember.  But 
damn it, she didn't care what they said.  Her methods were 
the only way she knew how to get the real information she 
needed to write her books.  Well they could scoff all they 
want, but she was the one, at the "mere" age of 30, who had 
the most published work in her field.  So to heck with them 
all.

She suddenly wondered how looking at her reflection had led 
her to damning her colleagues at the University. 'Why was I 
thinking about how I look?  Or for that matter wondering 
about how Mr. Rancher sees me?'  Granted, she had not had 
what was considered an active social life since she .... 
since she .... well she had never had a very active social 
life.  It's not as if she had never been approached by 
members of the opposite sex before.  She had even taken a 
few men up on their offers to wine and dine her.  But she 
never found anyone who was worth more than a passing 
interest.  'You'd think in this "enlightened" age there 
would be more interesting men to have a relationship with.'  
Truthfully, most men she had dated had been more than a 
little intimated by her after a date or two.

"I am not too intense, I just really care about what I do!" 
she suddenly voiced, --  defending herself to some past men 
she had dated.  Realizing that she just said the last 
thought out loud, she covered her mouth with her hand.  Her 
eyes moved back to the reflection of herself in the mirror.  
'So why am I even thinking about all of this now?'  She 
then examined the sweats she had put on.  Even though she 
was slightly taller than average for a woman, the rancher's 
"smallest" sweats seem to engulf her.  'Ah yes, very chic', 
she thought to herself. A grumbling noise from her stomach 
interrupted her scrutiny and informed her that food was 
again required.

She grabbed her dirty clothes and made her way out of the 
room.  Looking both ways up and down the hallway, she chose 
the path which offered the most light.  After a few steps 
the hallway opened up to a large sunken living room.  Like 
the bedroom she had just left, this room had a homey, 
country feel about it. Two sides of the room had no walls 
except at one corner.  There, a free standing brick wall, 
about four feet wide, reached from the ceiling to the 
floor.  At the bottom of the wall was a small brick 
platform which housed a free standing metal fireplace.  A 
small wood fire was burning, warming the entire room.  She 
could see that behind the free standing wall the hallway 
lead to the entrance of a large kitchen.

On the other side of the living room was a formal dining 
room.  Actually, more like casual dining room she observed.  
The table and the chairs were all made of natural wood, 
rare these days.  They looked well used, but it was obvious 
that they had received a fresh sanding and varnishing 
recently.  Multiple small nicks and cuts were carefully 
sanded smooth and filled in with varnish.  The third side 
of the living room was all glass, with a set of sliding 
doors to allow exit and entry into the house.  Sunlight 
streamed in through the glass wall making the house seem 
very bright and cheery.  Now that she thought about it, the 
whole house, even the hallway, seemed bathed in sunlight.  
Looking up, she observed that multiple skylights were built 
into the ceiling, allowing the sunlight to illuminate the 
entire house.

Making her way to the kitchen entrance, she found that the 
kitchen was separated from the rest of the house by a 
saloon style swinging door.  On the door she found a note 
addressed to her:

~~~~~

Dear Miss Ellington,
     Since you made it this far, I assume you now have 
enough energy to move about on your own.  If you wish to 
take a bath or shower, just go to the bathroom, which is 
directly across the hall from your room.  I placed fresh 
towels, soap, and a new toothbrush in there for you.  Feel 
free to use anything you need.  If you go into the kitchen 
you will find a laundry room, where you can wash the rest 
of your clothes while you are bathing.  If you want, go to 
the back patio door and shout "Hello" so I know that you're 
awake.  I'll come in and start to fix supper for us. (Don't 
worry, voices really carry out here.  You're the only other 
human for 200 miles, so I'll know that it's you.)  

     If you need an immediate snack, feel free to raid my 
fridge in the kitchen.  The bread box is on the counter by 
the sink.

~~~~~

'Well for a serial killer he certainly is very polite and 
considerate.  O.K., so he's not a serial killer, I'll give 
him that.'  She then scowled slightly in thought.  'No 
signature.  I guess I still have to refer to him as Mr. 
Rancher for now.  And what the hell is a "fridge" and why 
would I want to raid it?'  

Shrugging her shoulders, she grabbed the note and pushed 
her way through the doors.  True to the message in the 
note, she noticed a small laundry room to the right of the 
kitchen entrance.  Entering the laundry room, she loaded 
her underwear, and the sweatshirt she had slept in, into 
the wash/dry unit.  It was a fairly standard, if somewhat 
dated, sonic unit so she had no trouble setting the 
controls to clean and dry her clothes.  Reentering the 
kitchen, she was keen on discovering exactly what a 
"fridge" was.

Looking around the kitchen, she spied a large box with a 
lower and an upper door.  The upper door was significantly 
smaller than the lower door and the box emitted a low-level 
hum.  Moving to the box, she grabbed the lower door handle 
and gently pulled it open.  Inside the box was a variety of 
foods and drink in containers, and the entire interior of 
the box was cooled to a very low temperature. 

Her eyes widened as she suddenly realized what this was.  
"I don't believe it.  A real refrigerator." She stared at 
it for a moment, and several mental clicks later said, 
"Fridge, duh.  Some archeologist I am."  

She never really had seen one like this before, except in 
pictures.  Refrigeration was so inefficient since the 
invention of the food stasis unit 70 years ago.  No one, 
not even in the poorest parts of the world, bothered using 
the refrigeration process anymore.  It used 4 times the 
power and was only effective over short periods of time.  
She examined the refrigerator more closely.  As old as it 
should be, it looked very well cared for, no more than 5 to 
6 years old at the most.  Strange.  Very strange.

Another rumble from her stomach reminded her that 
sustenance was more important at the moment than the 
contemplation of antiquated technology.  Grabbing what look 
like a package of cold cut style ham and the bottle of 
mustard, she made her way to the bread box.  Opening the 
bread box, she found some dark colored bread.  She brought 
it close to her nose and inhaled.  It smelled wonderful.  
She was sure that it was homemade.  Grabbing a couple of 
slices of the bread, she made herself a sandwich.  After 
replacing the mustard and remaining ham in the "fridge" 
(the word was starting the grow on her) she leaned against 
the counter.  Staring off into infinity, she slowly ate her 
sandwich.

Something else was nagging at the back of her mind about 
the house.  Nothing sinister, just something missing -- or 
maybe out of place (other than a "fridge").  She walked out 
of the kitchen and reentered the living room.  She examined 
the room to see if she could find what was bothering her.  
It looked normal enough, if a little quaint (there was that 
word again).  She scrunched her face in concentration and 
tried to see what was so different about this house.

'Let me see.  He has a couch, a couple of chairs, a real 
fireplace (unusual but not odd), and light switches.  Hmmm.  
Light switches.'  Suddenly a large click resounded in her 
brain.  'Light switches.  That's all that's here.  No other 
technology.  No automated lighting systems.  No video 
screens.  No music systems.  No computer terminal.  I don't 
even see a telephone anywhere.  I'm amazed he has electric 
lights.'  Many of the minor conveniences that she took for 
granted in the modern American home were nonexistent in 
this house.  Verrrry strange.  Maybe he was a member of one 
of those back-to-nature groups that swears off technology.  
But no, he didn't seem to give up all conveniences, he just 
didn't have what was considered basic modern technology.  
And the house didn't speak of someone who was poor either.  
Her natural curiosity and research instincts were now in 
full gear.  She needed to find out everything about him.

"You know, you're getting crumbs on my floor."

"Yeow," she yelled as she jumped, what she thought to be, 
nearly ten feet in the air.  With her heart pounding in her 
chest, she turned to face the voice that had nearly killed 
her.  "What are you trying to do, kill me with a heart 
attack?  Damnation, where did you come from?"

Smirking slightly he replied, "I think I actually live 
here, if you remember.  I was just coming in to check on 
you."  Then after a pause he said, "I see you found my 
note."

"Oh well ... yes I did.  I, um, I'm sorry about the crumbs.  
I'll just go and ...."  She waved her free hand vaguely in 
the direction of the kitchen.

He shook his head.  "That's alright, I was just kidding.  
You can finish your sandwich on the couch if you want, it's 
probably  more comfortable than the kitchen table."

Uncertain what course of action to take, she simply stared 
at him.  When he walked in on her like that, she felt like 
she had been caught red-handed contemplating the 
investigation of his life.  Which would be silly, of 
course, since he couldn't read thoughts.  At least she 
hoped not.  So, while deciding what to do next, her body 
continued to perform the last active command that had been 
issued from her brain: 'Stare at him.'

After a few seconds, she heard him say, "Is there something 
wrong?  Are you O.K.?"

Snapped out of her reverie, she shook her head.  "No!  I 
mean yes, I'm fine.  I was just surprised by you, that's 
all.  I didn't hear you come in.  So sure, if you don't 
mind, I'll just sit on couch and finish this."  She 
emphasized the phrase "finish this" by waving the sandwich 
back and forth in front of her (which had the unfortunate 
effect of launching several small crumbs of bread and ham 
in random directions).  She then moved to the couch and 
plopped herself down, and took a large bite of her 
sandwich.  Chewing it perhaps a little bit faster than 
normal, she continued to look at her host with a wide eyed 
expression.

Her host opened his mouth, about to say something.  Then he 
closed it with a slightly confused look on his face.  
Recovering he said, "Then I guess I'll go outside and 
finish my chores," as he vaguely pointed toward the outside 
of the house.  "It's 3 o'clock now, how about supper at 5?"

Getting a nod of affirmation from her, he continued.  
"Well, that should give you enough time to shower if you 
want.  There's plenty of hot water.  I know when I'm sore 
and tired, a nice hot shower always makes me feel better."

He walked across the living room and exited through the 
sliding glass doors.  Left to herself, her brain started to 
process her latest encounter with her host.  Her mind had 
stored the images of him from when she had been staring.  
She closed her eyes and studied the images.  He would be, 
what most people would consider, handsome.  His expression 
was often somber, but for short moments it would light up, 
bespeaking of an inbred joy in living.  But from what she 
could tell, something had taken that joy away.  She 
suddenly felt the need to help him get some of it back.  
'Must be my maternal instincts kicking in,' she thought.

'My brain is starting to hurt from all this thinking.  That 
shower is just what the doctor ordered.'  Opening her eyes, 
she was surprised to learn that her sandwich was gone.

She made her way to the bathroom and found all of the 
supplies promised in the note.  The shower unit was 
elegant, with brass fittings and old style handles.  
Looking for a minute, she couldn't find any of the digital 
controls or even an "on/off" switch.  'Oh my,' she thought, 
'he actually said hot water, not sonic shower.'  Usually, 
showers with water were something left to vacations or 
trips to the spa.  But this appeared to be his only shower 
unit.  If it weren't for the sonic clothes washer in the 
laundry room, she would start to suspect that she had 
fallen into a time warp.  Speaking of which....  A quick 
trip to the laundry room allowed her to retrieve her now 
clean underwear.  She then went to the bedroom to collect 
her pants, shirt and shoes.  Armed with her clothes, she 
went back to the bathroom for her shower.  The temperature 
controls were easy enough to figure out and soon, soothing 
hot water was flowing around her body.

He was right, the hot water caressing her body was 
tremendously therapeutic.  It almost felt sinful.  After 
making sure that all the previous night's experience was 
washed from her body, she reluctantly shut down the shower 
and dried herself off. 'This, I could get used to.'  She 
knew that most people in society didn't have the time for 
such "frivolous" things as water showers.  But she also 
knew that a sonic shower would never be as satisfying ever 
again.  Another experience for which to thank Mr. Rancher 
(and of course that horse too).  Now fully clothed and 
refreshed, she felt ready to tackle the world once again.

Looking outside, she could see the beautiful, partly cloudy 
sky.  It was in sharp contrast to the monsoon-like weather 
from the night before.  'I think a walk outside would be a 
perfect way to clear my head right now.  Besides it'll give 
me a chance to get a good look at this place.'  Knowing 
that it might be a little chilly, she grabbed the 
sweatshirt she had slept in and made her way to the glass 
doors.  Stepping outside, she scanned the Rancher's domain.

She realized that the house itself, while not small, wasn't 
very large.  The outside of the house matched the interior, 
with natural woods finishing the walls instead of the usual 
synthetic painted material used in typical homes.  She was 
currently standing on a wooden deck, with a couple of steps 
off to the left leading to the rest of the property.  She 
noticed that there was no pavement on the property, nor was 
there a garage for housing ground vehicles.  About 100 feet 
north of the house was a large stable.

'Probably keeps his vehicles in there with the horses,' she 
thought sarcastically.  Exploring the property, a sound 
invaded her thoughts.  A semi-regular "thunk" sound drifted 
from behind the stable.  Curiosity refused to let her  
remain where she was standing, and she walked toward the 
stable, in the direction of the sound.  On the way there, 
she tried to guess at the cause of the sound.  'Let me see.  
Someone's digging for gold in a secret mine behind the 
stable.  No that wouldn't be right, so far from the 
mountains.  Hmmm,...the horses are learning to tap dance.  
No, the sound is too slow.  I know!  He's beating that poor 
quilt for letting me get out of bed before he wanted.  Then 
again he doesn't seem like the type to beat poor, 
defenseless quilts.'

She giggled a little at the silly line of reasoning her 
mind had taken.  Her mother was always complaining about 
her strange sense of humor.  Passing the open door of the 
stables, she noticed that there were neither horses nor 
vehicles inside.

Rounding the corner, she saw what was really causing the 
sound.  Her host, his back to her, was standing in front of 
a large chopping block.  On his left side was a large pile 
of logs.  Smaller logs could be seen on either side of the 
chopping block.  His right hand held a large double bladed 
axe.  With a graceful motion, he grabbed a log from the 
pile with his left hand and placed it upright on the 
chopping block.  Without interrupting his motion, he swung 
the axe in a circular arc toward the log.  His left hand 
joined his right on the axe in mid swing in time for him to 
bring the axe down on the log with both hands.  The axe 
neatly cleaved the log in two, each half falling onto the 
sides of chopping block.  With little pause, he reset his 
position and repeated the procedure.  To Liz, it was like 
watching a ballet.  After she witnessed the third log being 
split, he stopped.  Swinging the axe up on his right 
shoulder, he turned around to face her and said, "Dr. 
Ellington, I presume?"

Before she could respond, he snickered a little and said, 
"You know, I always wanted to say something like that."

She gave him one of her 'I'm on to you' glares and 
answered, "Yes, well once again you seem to know something 
else about me without me telling you.  Now I know that my 
driver's license doesn't say I'm 'Dr.' anybody.  So just 
how did you know..."

"How did I know," he interrupted, "that you're Dr. 
Elizabeth Joy Ellington?  Ph.D. in both anthropology and 
archeology and a professor at UCLA.  Discoverer and world 
renowned expert of lost and forgotten cultures.   How did I 
know that?"

Now taken completely off guard, she came back with the 
pithy response of, "Yea, ...that."

While he was talking, he had made his way toward her until 
he was now only 3 or 4 feet from her.  His slightly impish 
expression changed back into his normal somber look.  
"Sorry, I didn't mean to catch you off guard.  Actually, 
I've read a few of your books so I recognized your name.  
Of course your last book has probably made you kind of 
famous.  It was a real coup for you to get the last 
interview with Matthew Kent before he died.  And to top it 
off, to get permission to write the 'official' history of 
Superman and his descendants."

"Oh, right.  I guess I'm not used to the notoriety yet.  
Sorry.  I've been a little overly paranoid lately.  Must be 
the stress of the job."  She hoped that he would accept 
that explanation at face value.

"Must be that," he replied.  "Of course investigating the 
resurgence of an 'ancient evil' sometimes takes toll on a 
person."  He said the last part humorlessly, almost with a 
knowing expression on his face.

"Oh lord, I did really tell you that, didn't I?" she asked 
with a slight grimace on her face.

"Uh huh."

"Maybe I was exaggerating just a little."

"You don't seem the kind to exaggerate something like 
that," he said.  "In fact, considering the style of your 
books, hearing something like that from you almost makes me 
worry a little."

Yet another strange comment from him.  He really was a 
walking paradox.  He went from looking like a mischievous 
boy making that 'I presume' comment, to the next moment 
looking like the somber contemplative man who was taking 
her fears seriously.  She once again took in his presence 
as he stood in front of her, now in the light of day.  His 
clothes were in terrible repair with several small holes in 
his jeans and the open flannel shirt he was wearing.  The 
black tee shirt he wore underneath didn't look in any 
better condition.  His beard had a slightly scruffy look to 
it, being in bad need of a proper trimming.  His hair also 
probably hadn't had a decent trim in ages.  With his face 
smudged with grim, and the axe held loosely over his 
shoulder, he stood there looking .... 'magnificent.'

'Where the hell did that come from?'  She had better shift 
gears here. 

"That was some trick with the logs there.  Where did you 
learn that from Mr. , um , ... what did you say your name 
was?"

"I didn't," he replied.  "Actually the log splitting is 
something I ...."

"Wait just a minute buddy!  I know you've been real nice to 
me and all.  Not counting, of course, the near coronary you 
gave me an hour ago.  But I'm starting to suspect the worst 
here.  I had just recently discounted the serial killer 
theory after reading your note.  But you seem to know a lot 
about me and I don't even know your name.  Plus the fact 
I'm God knows where, with apparently no other human beings 
for 200 miles.  Not that being in the middle of nowhere has 
ever really bothered me before, but at least the natives in 
the middle of that nowhere would share little bits of 
information with me.  Like their names.  And why aren't 
there any horses in your stable?"  She stood there with her 
fists on her hips waiting for a decent answer from him.

Seemingly unfazed but her diatribe he replied, "I said I 
didn't, not that I wouldn't."

"What?"

"I mean I just remembered that I hadn't mentioned my name 
to you yet," he said.  "That doesn't mean I wasn't ever 
going to tell you."

"Well?" she inquired with raised eyebrows.

"Caleb."

"Would that be Mr. Caleb or just Caleb?"

"Actually it's Caleb Smith.  Oh, by the way they're in the 
back pasture, getting their dinner and a little exercise."

"And they would be...?"

"The horses.  You asked where they were."

She didn't know what to think now.  "You really are a 
strange one, Mr. Smith."

"So I've been told.  However, that comment does sound a 
little odd coming from a woman who was out in the middle of 
a near monsoon, looking for a nonexistent person."
 
She sighed and said, "It's actually a long story."

"That's O.K., we've got all night.  The only way out of 
here is by horseback, which is 4 days' ride.  Luckily, the 
day after tomorrow Jeb will be coming by to deliver my 
weekly supplies and mail.  You can hitch a ride with him 
then.  We can also let him know about the demise of his 
beloved SUV.  Geez, he must have been really taken in by 
those green eyes of yours to rent out his baby."  At that 
comment, she could feel her heart flutter slightly.  Not 
noticing he continued, "So how about we go inside?  I'll 
clean up and start dinner.  Then you can tell me you're 
long story over coffee."

"Actually, that sounds great," she replied.  "So what about 
the logs?"

"They don't eat dinner," he deadpanned.

"Ha, Ha." A large smile appeared on her face.  "You know 
what I mean.  You were going to tell me about your log 
trick."

"Oh that.  No trick.  Actually it's a form of meditation I 
picked up from a .... um, book I read.  You're the 
anthropologist, you tell me where it's from."

Her face took on a look of concentration as she searched 
her brain.  After a few moments she snapped her fingers and 
said "Shoalin hatchet exercises!"  Funny how she felt like 
she had become the pupil, and he the teacher.

"Right.  I found it fascinating that such a physical 
activity could put you in a relaxed and reflective state.  
Actually, the key is to use just enough force to split the 
wood and no more.  If I do it right, the axe should never 
bite into the chopping block.  Control is very important.  
More important than the strength."  As he finished his last 
sentence his face grew very wistful.  He then looked her 
directly in the eyes and said, "Time to go inside."

Without waiting for a response, he started back toward the 
house.  Passing an open bin he flicked the axe over his 
shoulder, causing it to land inside the bin.  Realizing 
that she hadn't moved yet, she started jogging to catch up 
with him.  He entered the house through the glass doors and 
made his way down the hallway.  "I won't be long.  Think 
about what you would like to eat."  He then disappeared 
through one of the bedroom doors.

'So what am I going to tell him?' she thought.  'It's not 
like he'd be able to help a lot.  Then again it'll be safe 
to talk to him about it.  It's been so hard not being able 
to share this with anyone.  Most people think I'm crazy, 
and the ones who don't are probably out to kill me.'  She 
looked again around the room for clues to her host's 
personality.  There were no family pictures to be found on 
the bookshelves or the wall.  'Maybe his family is all 
gone.  That's why he lives out here alone.  I wonder if 
he'd open up to me.'  She heard running water and surmised 
that her host was in the shower.  'I guess I can refer to 
him by name now.'  She began to speculate what 
circumstances led Caleb Smith to this reclusive life.  She 
imagined a tragic romance, probably rejected by the love of 
his life, that had caused him to give up on people.  She 
found herself being angry with some imaginary woman.  'How 
could she do that to him?'

'Wow, I have been working too hard.  I just yelled at a 
nonexistent woman.  I guess that matches the nonexistent 
man I'm looking for.'  She then heard footsteps approaching 
and turned to see him entering the living room.

"Well, decided on what kind of food you wanted?  I can cook 
about any style you can think of."

'Now he cleans up real nice,' she thought.  The scruffy man 
who had entered the house 15 minutes ago had transformed 
into the man who stood before her now.  In the short time 
he was gone, he had trimmed his beard and hair.  He was 
wearing a pair of casual dress slacks with a pull over polo 
shirt.  The shower had left him clean and fresh looking.  
The transformation, in such a short time, was amazing.  If 
she didn't know that he was the only human for 200 miles, 
she wouldn't have immediately recognized him.

"I'm sure anything you do, um ... cook would be great.  
Surprise me."

"O.K. I'll surprise you.  That cabinet over there holds a 
bunch of book chips and a reader if you want to do 
something while you're waiting.  Unless you want to come 
into the kitchen and look over my shoulder while I cook."

"If you don't mind," she said, "I think I'll look over your 
shoulder.  Maybe you can tell me a little about yourself."

"What if there's nothing to tell?" he replied as he made 
his way to the kitchen.

"Somehow I doubt that.  You know, just from what I observed 
in the last couple of hours about how you live, I could 
write at least three papers.  You've practically developed 
your own culture."

Pausing from taking food out of the refrigerator he said, 
"I don't think I would like that very much."

"I didn't say I would, just that I could.  But I'd still 
like to get to know a little about you."

"And what would you do with this knowledge?" he asked.

"I just like to know, that's all.  I'm curious about my 
rescuer."  She wasn't above a little flirting to get what 
she wanted, so she gave him her best "doe-eyed" look she 
could muster.  She remembered one man commenting that her 
eyes could be registered as deadly weapons.

He sighed.  Looking at her, he said, "I see.  So let me 
guess.  It kills you when you can't know everything.  And 
if you don't know it, then you do everything possible to 
get the information, even if it means stepping on land 
mines along the way."

"Have you talked to my mother?" she asked.

"No, just a lucky guess."

"So do you always guess at things this well?  Wait, forget 
it. I withdraw the question.  So what's for dinner?"

"Cuban.  Specifically 'Arroz con Pollo'."  He had already 
started cooking a large pot of rice and was now chopping 
some vegetables.  "You know, you should really be careful.  
You're going to give someone whiplash someday as fast as 
you change subjects in a single conversation."  He took out 
a package of what look like chopped up chicken and dumped 
it into a frying pan.  He then put the vegetables into the 
pan and poured some sauce from a bottle onto the mixture.

Not to be outdone, she fired back, "Not to worry, I'm 
insured."  She actually got him to chuckle at that.  
Deciding that it was warm enough for her, Liz slipped off 
her sweatshirt and draped it over the back of one of the 
kitchen chairs.   She then jumped onto the far end of the 
counter and continued to observe him cook.  She again noted 
that the stove actually used flames to produce heat, 
instead of directed microwaves pulses.  'Time to kick off 
the investigation,' she thought.  Giving him a casual, but 
sultry smile she asked,  "So how long have you been out 
here?"

"Long enough," he replied simply, without looking up from 
his cooking.

"I was kind of looking for something a little more 
informative.  Maybe even employing units of time in your 
answer.  I would be satisfied with something rounded to the 
nearest year, for simplicity's sake."  Since subtlety and 
flirting wasn't working, she'd see how sarcasm would go 
over.

"11 years, 2 months, 1 week, 4 days.  That is, if you count 
from the time I first slept here in a tent.  Less, if you 
count when I moved into this house.  Now your turn.  Why do 
you think there's another descendant of Clark Kent to be 
found?  I thought Matthew Kent was the last descendent to 
carry the Kent name.  After he passed away last year, there 
isn't anybody left who bears the name Kent.  At least 
that's what your book says."

She hesitated before answering him.  'Should I share this 
with him?  He'll probably laugh when I tell him.'

"You know, I won't laugh if you tell me," he said as he 
continued to prepare the meal.

'Spooky.  How did he do that?'  "O.K.  Just as long as you 
promise not to laugh, snicker, or call me crazy.  For the 
last year, I've been gathering data that suggests there is 
a super powered being operating in the U.S. for quite some 
time.  I've been plotting the occurrences of miraculous 
rescues of people over the last 10 years.  Like trapped 
people who suddenly find themselves outside a burning 
building, and they don't know how they got there.  Sinking 
ships being guided mysteriously to shallow waters.  Space 
Station Armstrong recovering spontaneously from a thruster 
failure just before it would have entered the atmosphere.  
It's fantastic.  And no one seems to question it.  
Amazingly, in all that time, I was able to find only one 
photo of a "miracle rescue".  It's not great, but it does 
show the outline of what is definitely a man holding up a 
microwave tower.  He was covered in all black, even a black 
hood.  I'm convinced that this is one of the earlier 
descendants of Clark, who still has some of the Kryptonian 
super abilities.  He would have to be no more than fourth 
generation since he was observed flying.   Of course that 
would make him between 110 and 130 years old.  That would 
be entirely possible of course since Kyle Kent, the last 
official Superman, passed away at a 143."

"And here's the best part.  By plotting response times to 
various emergencies which had help from this man, I was 
able to deduce that he is based somewhere in Montana.  I 
narrowed it down to about a 10,000 square mile area.  So 
what do you think?"  Her eyes were practically glowing with 
excitement.

Finally, with a pause in her explanation long enough for 
him to respond he said, "I think that's ... amazing.  
Astounding really.  I didn't even consider that 
possibility."

"I know what you mean.  The possibility that a Superman 
might still exist.  I have so many questions for him.  And 
so much to tell him.  I really need to find him."

As Caleb mixed the contents of the frying pan into the rice 
he softly spoke, "It doesn't sound like he wants to be 
found.  Maybe he has reasons for staying hidden."

"Perhaps, but I need him.  I mean the world needs him.  
Something very evil is reappearing, and I need to tell 
him... no, warn him about it.   Plus, of course, I would 
love to talk to one of Clark's family who might have 
actually known him, even if it was for only a short while.  
I always felt that Matthew somewhat idealized his 
remembrance of the family legends."

"Still, it seems that he may just want to be left alone."

"If he does, then I'll just let him know what's going on 
and then I'll leave.  I'll bet you though, I can make him 
open up to me.  I just know I can."  The intensity radiated 
from her body.

"You know, you're really going to have to work on that 
"lack of confidence" thing," he muttered sarcastically.

Turning off the burners on the stove he announced, 
"Supper's done, time to eat."  He extended his hand to 
assist her down.  As she placed her hand in his, she got 
that same feeling as before.  It made her want to keep 
holding on, but at the same time it bothered her.  With his 
assistance, she jumped down and went to sit down at the 
small breakfast nook.  A minute later he placed a steaming 
plate of his creation in front of her.  The smell was out 
of this world.  He then placed a glass of water down for 
her, and then sat down himself.

"Dig in," he said. Her first bite transported her taste 
buds to heaven.  He was really spoiling her.  It might be a 
tough decision to actually leave when Jeb showed up in a 
couple of days.

"So now it's your turn again," she said. "Why do you live 
here alone?" she asked bluntly.

He lowered his eyes and appeared to be in deep 
concentration.  Finally looking like he had formulated his 
answer, but not looking up he said, "Because I have no one 
to share it with."

"Never married?  No kids?  Wife left you?"  The last 
question she said carefully, almost afraid to hear the 
answer.

"My wife past away over 12 years ago.  I have no children."

"Oh, I'm so sorry Caleb."  Her heart tightened a little as 
she could hear the pain in his voice.

"It's alright, it was a long time ago.  And the time we 
were together was wonderful.  Not perfect of course, but 
wonderful never-the-less."

She carefully phrased her next question.  "Haven't you met 
anyone else in all this time?  I mean it seems like, well, 
a long time ago."

She could see the sadness in his eyes as he responded, "You 
know, every time I considered seeing someone else, it 
always seemed like I was...., well, I was cheating on her 
somehow.  Like maybe she was waiting for me somewhere.  I 
guess also, I never really believed that I could find 
someone else who would complete me like she did."

Liz's eyes started to water a little.  She reached out and 
touched the top of his hand.  Up until this moment, she 
couldn't believe that a man could love as deeply as this 
man had loved his wife.  She knew then that if she could 
find anyone who would love her even half as much, she could 
be truly happy.  "Caleb, I don't know what your wife was 
like.  But if she loved you as much as you loved her, I 
don't believe that she would have wanted you to spend the 
rest of your life alone.  I think that you have a lot to 
give, and it would be a shame to keep yourself isolated 
from the rest of the world.  Listen, I've only known you 
for a few hours, but you feel like a friend to me already.  
Just think what kind of relationship you could have with 
someone you get to know on a long term basis.  Like maybe a 
whole day."  She grinned a little at her attempt to lighten 
his mood.

Almost too softly for her to hear he said, "She would be so 
angry with me if she saw me now.  But I don't know if I 
have the heart to go through it again -- to love someone 
and lose them."

"There are no guarantees in life, you should know that.  If 
you're afraid of the pain, you'll never take the chance on 
happiness.  You've created a prison for yourself here.  
There's no one you can touch, and no one can reach out to 
you.  You're not really living anymore.  You're just 
existing."  At this point she wasn't sure if she was trying 
to convince him or herself.  Looking at Caleb's life had 
somehow reminded her how isolated she sometimes felt.

Slowly his hand turned so it clasped hers.  He squeezed her 
hand gently as he stared at her fingers.  He looked like he 
was struggling deep within himself.  "Elizabeth, thank you 
for considering me a friend.  It's been a long time since 
someone has called me that.  You're right, maybe too long."

Usually she only liked to be called Liz.  Her full name 
always reminded her of being scolded by her mother.  But 
coming from him, her name sounded beautiful.  Continuing 
her attempt to brighten his mood she said, "Well it's the 
least I could do for someone who risks his life to pull me 
from the jaws of death," she said with a wide grin on her 
face.

"Anytime," he said, with a slight chuckle in his voice.  He 
released her hand and pointed in her general direction.  "I 
guess it's your turn now.  What is this 'ancient evil' 
threatening the world?"  His tone had a slightly amused 
tone to it.

Giving him a minor, but non-deadly, glare she said, "Well 
maybe ancient was an extreme term.  But their ideas of 
hatred are ancient."

Shaking his head he said, "I thought the world had gotten 
past the petty hatreds that almost destroyed us."

"I was a little surprised myself.  The half of the world's 
population that survived the Third World War pretty much 
decided to abandon the stuff that brought us to the point 
of Armageddon. Actually we were very lucky, considering 
that we wouldn't have survived at all if not for the 
efforts of Joel Kent and Martha Olsen.  Not to mention what 
their grandfather did before he died.  It was amazing 
really.  I wish I could have met him.  There is so I much I 
would ask him."  Liz started to get a far away look in her 
eye.

"Yeah, well everyone would have liked to have met 
Superman," noted Caleb, with a slight bit a sarcasm in his 
voice.

"No," replied Liz, "I meant I would have lots of questions 
for Clark Kent.  The way he lived his life.  The sacrifices 
he made to help, and the struggles he had in order to have 
some measure of a normal life, apart from being the "hero" 
all the time.  I mean this man could have had anything he 
wanted, but all he did was help people and fight crime.  
And the only compensation he got was a pat on the back and 
an occasional megalomaniac trying to kill him."

Caleb's expression became inquisitive and he looked 
directly into Liz's eyes.  "Really?  I didn't get that tone 
from your book.  Your portrayal of Clark Kent in the book 
seemed.... I don't know, a little idealized maybe?  I kind 
of wondered if he was real or not."

"Unfortunately the accounts in my book were given to me by 
Matthew, who was the head of the Superman foundation at the 
time.  After I wrote it, I realized just how "idealized" 
his recollections were of his ancestors.  That's another 
reason I need to find Superm..., I mean this mystery man.  
If what I think is true, then he must have known Clark, 
even it is was only for a little while.  I'm writing a 
follow up to the original book.  Sort of a man-behind-the-
hero story.  I'm especially interested in his dependence on 
Lois Lane."

"Dependence ?  You think that Superman needed Lois Lane in 
some way to function?"

"Well I was talking about Clark's dependence on Lois.  Can 
you imagine shouldering the responsibility of being 
Superman, and trying to balance it with the normal life of 
a human?  From other pieces of information I've been able 
to gather, plus reading practically everything Clark and 
Lois wrote during their life, I get the impression that he 
needed Lois's support to help him cope with the stress of 
being a superhero.  When I read Clark's work, I sensed that 
he felt deeply for those who were in need or hurting in 
some way.  I can't even imagine how it would be for a 
person like that to witness the tragedies that Superman 
dealt with on a day-to-day basis.  I truly believe that 
having the support of someone like Lois was as essential to 
him as the super powers themselves." 

Caleb looked slightly stunned.  "That's an astounding 
insight on so little evidence."

"I started to get the idea after reading Clark Kent's first 
article for the Daily Planet.  It's in the Smithsonian now 
you know.  It was really beautiful.  I could feel 
Beatrice's sadness at the closure of that part of her life.  
Clark must have been a very empathetic person.  I can only 
imagine how it must have been for someone like that when he 
couldn't save someone.   Don't you think it would have been 
tough on him?'

"Yes," Caleb said slowly, "it must have been very hard for 
him".

"No kidding.  So while everyone is busy idolizing what 
Superman represents, I'm going to get the, what was term, 
... the ... um dig on the real story behind Clark and 
Lois."

"Scoop."

"What?" she asked.

"I believe the term you were looking for was 'scoop',"  he 
replied.

"Yeah, that.  Anyway, I need to get the real story.  I 
think when I finally write it, the core of the story will 
be the love story between Clark and Lois.  How together 
they created and sustained the myth of the superhero with 
their great love for each other."  She said the last 
sentence very wistfully while staring directly into Caleb's 
eyes.  Suddenly she blinked and added, "And of course warn 
him."

Caleb was torn out of the trance that Elizabeth had lulled 
him into.  "Warn him?" he asked.

"Well they, sort of, know now that he might exist," she 
said sheepishly.  "And it might be, kind of, because of 
me."

"And they would be....?"

"They call themselves 'Nazis'."

"I see.  Well I am very familiar with the goals and methods 
of that group of people.  I would have thought the ideals 
of the group died out a long time ago.  And they would be 
looking for Superman because...?"

"They know about the globe," she grimaced.

"The globe?  This gets worse, doesn't it?"

Still looking very guilty she continued, "Actually yes.  
You see I found a journal which had pictures of a small 
globe.  The globe was a representation of Krypton, at least 
on the surface.  The journal was written by a Lara Olsen, a 
granddaughter of Clark and Lois.  I discovered it in a 
vault in the old Star Labs building in Metropolis.  The 
globe was part of the ship which brought Clark here to 
Earth.  Besides being a map of Krypton, it was some kind of 
combination navigation unit and record keeper.  The journal 
tells how Clark didn't even know he was from Krypton until 
he found the globe when he was an adult.  The journal 
alluded to the ship being stolen by some lunatic and Clark 
not retrieving it until just after he starting working at 
the Daily Planet.  The globe is a sophisticated mechanism 
and computer device.  When Clark found it, the globe showed 
him a holographic message from his biological father.  
That's how Superman knew of his origins.  Before then he 
really didn't know."

"Now here's the bad part.  Lara was some kind of scientist, 
and she was allowed to study the globe for her grandfather.  
She found a way to harness the energies inside the globe, 
which are considerable, and use them for powering other 
devices.  She documented the process in her journal."

"And this is bad because..."

"The Nazis stole it."

"By it, I take it you mean the Journal," Caleb asked.

"Unfortunately.  You see, I believe now that the head of my 
department back at UCLA is a key figure in this Nazi 
organization."

"And you showed him the journal."

"Yes."

"Does it get any worse?"

"Apparently if the energies of the globe are harnessed in 
just the right, or should I say wrong way, they could be 
used to create a weapon of mass destruction."

"Just what level of mass destruction are we talking about 
here? " Caleb asked.

"From what I read in the journal, one such weapon could 
wipe out the western half of the United States.  They could 
effectively hold the world hostage.  That's why I need to 
find this Superman.  The one problem with our 'gentler' 
society is that the law enforcement agencies have become a 
little complacent.  The Nazis are ruthless and don't 
hesitate to kill anyone who stands in their way.  They've 
begun to assert themselves and are committing strings of 
robberies to build up a financial base.  The local 
authorities are out of practice dealing with a group like 
this.  But a Superman would be able to handle them."  She 
lowered her eyes and said slowly, "Oh yes, just so you 
know, there is one last thing."

"I shudder to think."   At this point he looked almost 
numb.

"I also showed my department head all of my research on 
finding this Superman," she admitted reluctantly, looking 
at him through her eyelashes.  "If he is real, and if I am 
right about his location, then they're looking for him too.  
And they know where to look."

==========

She hadn't realized how much a burden it had been to keep 
this all to herself.  Something about Caleb made her want 
to trust him with it all.   And once she had started, she 
couldn't stop herself until she had shared everything with 
him.  She was now looking at him expectantly for some sign 
of support.  Maybe even, dared she hope, approval.

Caleb looked at her with a neutral, but thoughtful, 
expression.  "So, ...let me see if I can recap the 
situation."

"A. - You're searching for a super-powered descendant of 
Superman, but really don't know for sure if he exists."

"B. - If he does exist, he probably wants to stay hidden.  
Of course, if he is super-powered, then he can easily stay 
hidden."

"C. - A group of Nazis have a journal, that documents a way 
to use a Kryptonian artifact, which may or may not be in 
the possession of this 'Superman', to create a weapon of 
mass destruction."

"D. - These Nazis have your research regarding the location 
of this 'Superman', and may, in fact, be looking for him."

Caleb continued, "Now this part I'm a little fuzzy on.  
Even if they found him, and he, in fact, has this globe, 
how would they force him to hand it over?"

Liz had a painful look on her face as she answered,  "Oh 
yeah.  There is one other thing I forgot to tell you.  They 
somehow managed to steal a high-energy weapon from the 
government.  I think that it was an inside job.  While it 
may not be able to kill him, it reportedly has the power to 
incapacitate a super-powered Kryptonian for short periods 
of time."

Caleb nodded his head knowingly and said, "Of course.  
Actually, that part I should have guessed.  Is that all?"
 
"Yes, I think you've captured the essence of my current 
situation," Liz replied.

He appeared to be deciding something as he looked at her, 
which made Liz even more nervous.  Seemingly coming to some 
kind of decision, his face started to form a small smile.

"You realize, of course, that I'm going to have to help you 
now," he said.
 
Although it was, subconsciously, the response she had been 
hoping for, she wasn't going to let him just assume 
anything.  "So you think I need help?  Don't you think I'd 
be able to handle this on my own?"

"Have you found this 'Superman'?"

"Obviously not....Yet."

"Do you have any idea where to pick up your search from 
here?"

"Not really, now that you mention it."  She had the sense 
to look appropriately sheepish.

"Let me rephrase it then.  Would you allow me to assist you 
on your quest?  You would, in fact, be helping me with my 
own mental well-being.  I seem to have this nearly 
unhealthy need to help people in trouble... even if it 
requires me to step on land mines along the way." 

A grin began to spread across Liz's face.  'Well, since he 
put it that way...' she thought.  She knew it was crazy to 
get Caleb involved, but she now felt like she really needed 
him.  'I need him to help.  Yes, help me with my search.  
That's what I need him for,' she confirmed to herself.

"O.K., I guess a native Montana man is just what I need 
right now."  Then after a slight pause, she quickly added, 
"To help me find this guy, of course."

"Of course.  I think that the first order of business will 
be for you to meet Moonbeam tomorrow," stated Caleb matter-
of-factly.

"Moonbeam?"

"Moonbeam is one of my mares.  She is the companion to 
Midnight, my personal riding horse."  He paused a moment, 
and then with a wistful expression continued.   "It's 
funny, they're almost inseparable from one another.  After 
the first time Midnight fathered a colt with Moonbeam, they 
could never be paired with any other horse.  In the last 8 
years, the only children that Midnight and Moonbeam have 
produced have been with each other.  It's actually very 
unusual for horses to do that.  When I ride Midnight, 
Moonbeam often tags along carrying supplies for me."  Liz 
noted how he spoke about his horses more in human terms 
than with the usual equestrian expressions.

"And why am I meeting this horse?"

"Because tomorrow you are getting your first riding lesson.  
That is, assuming you don't know how to ride already."  
Caleb got up as he spoke, and started to clean up the 
dishes.

"And you assumed this because..." Liz asked, trying hard to 
look upset at him.

"Lack of open range at UCLA?" he replied from the sink.

Liz laughed despite herself.  "O.K., I'll give you that 
one.  But I thought Jeb is going to be by in a couple of 
days.  I didn't need to ride out of here on horseback."

"I was thinking that maybe we could start your search by 
horseback.  You know, to find your Superman."

Liz was genuinely surprised.  "You believe me?  Enough to 
help me?"

"You forgot my compulsion to help.  Besides, I trust your 
judgment.  You have to be good at what you do in order to 
have gained the respect that you have in your field."

"Thanks," Liz said.   "We might as well then ...."  Liz 
stopped for a second and exclaimed, "The bald man is flying 
in tonight!"

Without missing a beat Caleb shot back, "The fat lady sings 
at midnight?"

Giving him a slight smirk she said, "Sorry.  Sort of 
switched gears there, didn't I?"

"I'm starting to get used it.  I assume you're going 
explain that last comment."

"It's how I know about the Nazis."  Caleb raised an 
eyebrow, giving her an 'I assume this is relevant' look.  
"You see, after I presented my evidence to Dr. Risse, - 
that's my soon-to-be ex-department head, - I had gone back 
to my office."  With a sudden veering in her thought 
process, Liz exclaimed, "That rat.  He scoffed at my 
evidence.  Said it didn't prove anything!"

Getting back to her original point, she continued, "Anyway, 
I had forgotten to ask him permission to take a few days 
off to go look for Superman.  I couldn't raise him on the 
phone.  So I went back to his office."

"Now he's just Superman?" Caleb inquired.

"Oh well, it sounds kind of funny referring to him as 'the 
last Superman'."

"Go on," said Caleb as he sat back down across from Liz.

"When I got to Dr. Risse's office, I heard him talking to 
this other guy inside. They were discussing my evidence and 
making plans to take advantage of it.  My evidence!  I was 
about to storm in there and give them a piece of my mind, 
when I heard them talking about the journal.  That's when I 
learned about the plans to get the globe and create the 
weapon.  It was also how I found out that they were part of 
this Nazi group.  They ended their discussion with Dr. 
Risse's visitor talking about coming out here with a 
'squad', whatever that is, and looking for Superman and the 
globe."

Liz finally took a moment to catch a breath.  It struck her 
that this 'simple' Montana rancher seemed awfully calm 
listening to, what had to be, a very unusual story.  She 
then continued, "I heard him starting to leave, so I hid 
somewhere to get a look at him as he came out.  The thing I 
remember most was that he is completely bald.  When I got 
back to my apartment, I found it ransacked, and the journal 
missing."

"Do you think that these people have any idea that you are 
onto them?" asked Caleb.

"I don't think so.  Of course, I didn't make a secret of 
the fact that I was coming out here.  But I was going to do 
that whether or not I knew about them."

Caleb appeared to think about this a little while and then 
said, "O.K.  It seems that there's nothing more we can do 
tonight.  I vote that we relax and get some rest.  We'll 
get a fresh start in the morning." 

Getting up once again, he asked Liz, "Would you like some 
tea or coffee?"

"Tea would be great, if you've got something without 
caffeine."

"No problem," he said.  "Why don't you go relax on the 
couch and I'll bring us some tea out there.  If you have 
any trouble finding the couch, just follow the trail of 
bread crumbs."  He turned and started to fill a teapot with 
water.
 
Liz got up and walked up to her host, wearing a slightly 
menacing look.  "If I knew you were so fussy, I would have 
gotten on my hands and knees and retrieved all of those 
crumbs for you."

As he turned to face her, she once again saw the 
mischievous little boy grin she had seen briefly outside.  
This time though, it didn't quickly disappear as it had the 
first time.  'This is a part of the real Caleb that he's 
hiding away,' she thought.

Through his grin he said, "Well, I guess I can live with 
it.  Go on, I'll be right there."  As he turned back to 
attend to the kettle and find teacups, Liz felt a little 
something inside of her tugging at her heart.  That little 
grin was like a gift to her.  It was something that he had 
kept locked away, behind the sadness.  But at that moment, 
he had unwrapped it and presented it just for her to see.  
She felt privileged that he had chosen her for that special 
gift.

She turned and made her way to the living room.  As she sat 
down, she began to consider the complexity of the man in 
the kitchen.  No matter what he said, he was not just a 
'plain ole rancher.'  He was obviously a very intelligent 
man.  He seemed undeterred every time she 'brought to his 
attention' something she was upset with, like a man long 
practiced at dealing with confrontation.  Yet, he carried 
himself with an air of quiet sophistication.  In contrast, 
he chose to live a simple life, out here in the wilderness, 
with a minimum of modern conveniences.

Within his eyes shone a gentle wisdom that encouraged her 
to confide in him.  To trust him.  And for reasons she 
could not understand, he obviously had decided to trust 
her.  Another gift he had given her tonight.  She decided 
to make it her goal, even if her quest was a failure, to 
bring a little happiness back into his world.

Soft footsteps announced Caleb entering the living room.  
He was carrying a tray with tea and scones.  He set it down 
on the coffee table and sat next to her on the couch.  
"Here, this is my own special herb tea blend.  The scones 
are my mother's recipe." 
She picked up her cup and sipped the tea.  It was at a 
perfect temperature for drinking.  "This is delicious.  So 
what's inside your special blend?" she asked.

"Sorry, trade secret."

"You know, you shouldn't keep secrets from me," she 
replied.

"And why is that?"

"Because I'll just find them out on my own anyway.  So you 
might as well 'fess up now and save me the trouble of 
torturing it out of you later."

She could tell from Caleb's face that he was about to 
respond, but then suppressed whatever he was going to say 
and kept silent.  He quickly averted his eyes from hers and 
started to sip his tea.

"Well?" she asked with a mock seriousness in her voice.  
"The tea or the torture."  She knew that she was probably 
already torturing her poor rancher, but she couldn't help 
herself.   'Strange,' she thought, 'when did I start 
thinking of him as "my rancher"?'

His expression told her that she might have pushed the 
teasing a little too far.  "All right, I'll let you off the 
hook if these scones are really good," she said as she 
picked one up from the tray.  Before she bit into it, the 
image of crumbs invaded her mind, and she grabbed a napkin 
and held it under the scone.  Taking a bite, a near 
rapturous look formed on her face.  "This is heaven.  You 
know, I'm going to gain a lot of weight if I have to stay 
here for a few days."

Caleb's face looked like he was searching for the 
appropriate thing to say next.  He seemed to be at a loss 
for what to do or say next.  'Which of course was just the 
effect that I was going for,' Liz thought as she sipped her 
tea.

He finally got out, "Would you like to listen to some 
music?"

"You mean you actually have an audio system?  I mean, sure, 
that would be great.  What do you have to listen to?  
Anything mellow or semi-mellow will be fine with me.  Just 
none of that Neo-Techno stuff that's been popular with the 
under-20 crowd recently.  You know, I don't understand why 
every time they come out with a new variation of music, 
it's Neo-this, or Neo-that."  After a pause she continued, 
"Can you really call it music if you don't use real musical 
instruments?  I don't think so, but there must have been at 
least 12 of these Neo-fads in the last two years.  And it 
just sounds like slight variations of the same thing to me 
anyway.  So I don't think Neo fits very well, do you?  How 
about Mozart?"  She looked at Caleb inquisitively over the 
rim of her teacup.

He looked at her with a face of intense concentration, as 
if he was making an effort to follow her conversation.  "I 
think I have something that will satisfy you."  He walked 
over to the bookcase and opened the small cabinet door on 
the bottom.  Inside was a small audio system with a case of 
music cards.  He looked for a moment, then selected one of 
the cards and inserted it in the machine.  Strains of Glenn 
Miller's 'Moonlight Serenade' drifted into the room.

"That's beautiful Caleb.  What is it?"

"It's Glenn Miller.  Early twentieth century big band 
music.  You like it?"

"Yes, I do.  Why don't I hear music like this more often?"

"It's from a time that some people like to forget.  Most 
people consider everything from the twentieth and twenty-
first centuries as worthless, because of the parts that 
were horrible about that era.  Three world wars, organized 
crime, drugs, corrupt politicians.  They want to forget 
that time, embrace the present, and the gains that they 
believe society has made.  They forget the good things that 
were part of that time on this planet.  The passions that 
drove good people to do what was right, and to create what 
was beautiful.  In spite of the ugliness and evil that 
existed, good people still persevered and their efforts 
still shone through.  There were many brave and courageous 
people who helped create the world we have now.  But they 
are forgotten." 

Caleb was now staring at the reddening sky outside his 
window.  He continued, "Sometimes, I get worried about this 
'great society' we've created for ourselves.  Of course, I 
appreciate the improvements and the fact that there is much 
less hatred and greed.  But I'm afraid that society has put 
on blinders to the lessons of the past, and that George 
Santayana's warning might become true someday:  'Those who 
cannot remember the past are condemned to fulfill it'."

Liz looked at him quizzically and said, "That seems 
familiar somehow, but I can't quite place it."

"Well, that's what he actually said.  You've probably only 
heard the paraphrased version: 'Those who ignore history 
are doomed to repeat it.'  But the idea is the same.  What 
you told me about the authorities inability to handle these 
'Nazis' just confirms my fears."
 
"You're right, it may be time to find your Superman and 
convince him that it's time for him to join the world 
again."

Liz was almost speechless.  This was almost what she had 
been thinking when she had started her quest.  Tonight, 
Caleb had quickly become her friend.  But now he was 
becoming more.  She knew now that she had gained a partner 
in her quest.

Caleb turned and looked at her apologetically.  "I'm sorry.  
I didn't mean to get so melancholy on you."  He wore a 
small, sad smile as he spoke.

"That's alright Caleb.  I've been kind of thinking along 
the same lines for a while now.  I first got into 
archeology because I was always fascinated by the past.  It 
was my father's fault really."

"Was he an archeologist or a historian?" Caleb asked.

"No.  He was a civil engineer and architect.  But he 
specialized in rebuilding those areas that had never been 
revitalized since the war.  And he dragged my mom and me to 
every site he worked on.  He was really big on keeping the 
family together no matter what.  Mom was his partner.  He 
always said she was the creative one, and he was just a 
glorified mechanic.  Of course, I knew better.  They are a 
real team in everything.  I think I've subconsciously been 
waiting for someone to give me the same feeling my mom and 
dad have with each other."

Liz had gotten a slightly wistful expression in her eyes as 
she spoke about her parents.  Composing herself, she 
continued, "And they both have a passion for rebuilding.  
In fact, they're on a job right now, I think in Metropolis.  
Some place called Hobbs Bay."

She saw a strange expression cross Caleb's face, but she 
continued.  "Anyway, every site they took me to had the 
remains of the past left behind.  I would spend hours 
exploring the ruins, imagining what the stories were of the 
people who had lived there many years ago.  After a while, 
I didn't want to just imagine the stories, I wanted to 
discover the true stories.  So I found myself one day with 
Ph.D.'s in anthropology and archeology, running around the 
world looking for lost cultures."

"And writing a lot of award winning books," added Caleb.

"Oh, yeah.  Well, I never really paid much attention to 
awards.  I've never been very competitive.  So I never 
worried much about the awards I had won.  Guess it comes 
from being an only child.  No sibling rivalry to worry 
about.  Anyway, my main motivation was to learn the true 
stories of our past, so that I could share them with 
others."

Caleb was looking at her again with that introspective 
look.  It was, of course, driving her crazy that she didn't 
know what he was thinking.  So this time she tried the 
direct approach.  "So, Mr. Smith, care to share your 
thoughts?  Or are you going to hide behind a mysterious 
smile?.

"It depends.  Do you have a penny?" he asked.

"I'm afraid they don't use pennies anymore.  Why do I need 
a penny for you to share your thoughts with me?"

"It's an old expression.  'A penny for your thoughts.'  
Didn't learn that in archeology school?"

"No.  I was out washing my hair the day the class reviewed 
obscure expressions of the, I assume, twentieth century."

"Actually, I think it's older, but I'm not sure."

"I see," she replied.  "Well, in the absence of a penny, 
what would you take in fair trade for your thoughts?"

He rubbed his beard thoughtfully with his right hand and 
appeared to contemplate it deeply.  Underneath though, she 
could see the teasing twinkle in his eye.  After a moment 
he said, "Well, there is the matter of the crumbs in my 
living room.  I believe removal of the crumbs would be 
worth a penny."

"Let me take a wild leap of faith here and guess that you 
don't own a robovac."

"Correct."

"So I would be expected to perform this service for you by 
picking up each crumb one at a time?"

"Not quite," he replied.  "I do own a vacuum cleaner.  A 
little pushing and you would be done in no time."

"And does this service require immediate attention?" she 
asked with mock indignation.

"If you promise to get to it tomorrow, I'll take your word 
of honor as collateral."

"You're pretty trusting, Mr. Rancher.  Do you always trust 
people this easily?"  Her question had come out more 
serious than she intended.

His eyes became slightly more serious to match the tone of 
the question.  "Not anymore.  Only archeologists I like."

In the ensuing silence their eyes stayed locked to one 
another, neither one willing to break the contact.  
Remembering her original objective, Liz broke eye contact 
first and said, "Deal!"

"So spill it.  I want it all or no deal," she demanded.

Caleb shook his head slowly.  Then a laugh began to bubble 
up from him.  Soon the laughter grew until he was gasping 
for breath.  When he paused a second, and observed the 
annoyed look on her face, he erupted again in a full-blown 
belly laugh.  It began to infect Liz.  Soon she was 
laughing with him.  She was laughing so hard at one point, 
that tears came out of her eyes.  Almost falling over from 
the laughter, she extended her hand and placed it on 
Caleb's shoulder.  They sat there like that for several 
minutes, both trying to gain control of themselves. 

Finally when the laughter had subsided, she found herself 
looking into his eyes again, this time with her hand on his 
shoulder.  

"Elizabeth, thank you."

"For what? Almost killing you with laughter?"

"I haven't done anything like that in so long, I had 
forgotten what it meant to laugh."

"Nice to know I can be a source of amusement for you," she 
said sarcastically.  "Now you know you're not going to get 
out of this by distracting me with a little laugh.  So 
give."  Remembering that her hand was still on his 
shoulder, she quickly moved it back to her lap.

Still smiling he answered, "Fair enough."  He then paused a 
moment to gain his composure and very solemnly said, "I was 
thinking that it's about time I get out into the world 
again, and meeting you is probably just the thing I need 
right now."

Liz looked at him in surprise.  He was emerging from the 
shell he had formed around himself.  Not only that, but her 
presence had been the spark that had drawn him out.  She 
felt like she was a witness to something special.  For no 
reason she could make out, she now felt a little shy in 
front of him.  But to hear him say this to her made her 
feel good.  'Very good,' she thought to herself.

Not knowing her current thoughts, he continued talking.  
"Tomorrow you'll meet Moonbeam.  She's a beautiful horse.  
I'm sure you'll take a real shine to her."   He paused with 
a grin on his face.  She could almost hear the 'rim shot' 
in the background after his terrible joke.

Liz bowed her head and put a hand over her eyes.  "That was 
awful.  I can't believe you actually said that."

"I thought the rule was, the more terrible the pun, the 
funnier it is."

"You really need to get out more.  Fortunately for you, I 
came along.  So what's your great plan?"

"First, we need to get you comfortable with Moonbeam.  And 
then a couple of simple riding lessons.  That'll probably 
take most of tomorrow.  The next day we can go searching 
for Superman.  That is, if you decide to stay here, and not 
go back with Jeb in a couple of days."

"Are you offering me a place to stay?"

"Sure, but only if you feel comfortable with it."

"Sounds like a plan to me.  Of course I'll be comfortable 
here.  You've been nothing but a gentlemen since I've been 
here."  'Unfortunately.'  "So we should get to bed, ... our 
beds.  And get some sleep.  Yes, sleep.  I know that I'll 
probably need a lot of energy to do that 'bonding thing' 
with Moonbeam tomorrow.  By the way, I need the name of 
that horse you were looking for last night, and what his or 
her favorite gift is."

Caleb looked completely bewildered now. "O.K., you got me 
with that one.  Why do you want to buy a gift for the horse 
I was looking for last night?" 

"Well, obviously, to thank him or her.  If not for that 
horse, I wouldn't be here right now drinking tea with you."

"Oh, now I understand.  Him. Sinbad. Carrots."

"Good.  Hmmm... We need to get to the SUV tomorrow."  Caleb 
started to open his mouth, but she held up her hand to stop 
him.  "And before you ask, it's to retrieve my research 
which I left inside.  For some reason, I forgot to grab it 
on my way out of the vehicle.  Silly me."

Caleb gave a slight chuckle.  "And...."

"I know it doesn't look like it, but do you have any form 
of communications hidden in this place?  I would at least 
like to inform my parents that I'm still alive.  Although, 
they probably haven't noticed, since they usually don't 
contact me for a week at a time when they're on a job.  So 
I guess I can skip that phone call.  But I'd like to know 
anyway if you have a phone just in case.  You know with the 
bad guys chasing us and all."

"There's one in the cabinet, next to the audio set.  No 
video capability though.  Anything else before I tuck you 
in?"

Liz gave out a slow sigh.  "No, that's all I can think of 
right now."  She heard him mutter under his breath, 'That's 
amazing', but continued as if she didn't notice.  "So is 
that offer for tucking me in real?  And do I get a bedtime 
story?"  She gave him her most disgustingly sweet 'little 
girl' look, and batted her eyes at him a couple of times.

"Well, you have to change your clothes yourself, but I'll 
check in on you to make sure that you're comfortable.  And 
since it's late young lady, no story for you tonight."

Liz pouted a little and said in a Shirley Temple voice, "No 
fair!  I want a story."

 His face lost his teasing look as he said, "Tell you what.  
Maybe, if you're still hanging around with me in a couple 
of days, I will tell you a story."

Liz herself grew a little more serious.  "Promise?"  She 
knew that somehow she had encouraged him to open up to her.  
Again, she felt very special because she was the cause of 
his emergence from his shell, after so long in that sad 
place.

"Call me when you're ready.  I'm going to clean up the tea, 
and get ready myself for bed."  With that he picked up the 
tea tray and carried it into the kitchen.

Liz made her way the bathroom to wash up and brush her 
teeth.  After finishing, she went to her bedroom and 
changed into his sweatshirt top.  Since it reached almost 
to her knees, she decided to forgo the pants.  She then 
stuck her head out the door and yelled, "Ready!"  She then 
jumped into bed.  'Tucking in is tucking in,' she thought.  
'Let him put the quilt on me.'

A couple of minutes later Caleb walked in to her bedroom.  
He was wearing long black pajama pants and a black tank 
top.  'Oh my,' she exclaimed in her mind.  'Maybe asking 
him to do this wasn't such a good idea.'  She could feel 
her heart starting to beat a little faster, but she made an 
effort to remain outwardly calm.

He seemed very tentative as he approached her.  Nervous 
would be the word.  She could actually see him gulp as he 
asked, "Comfortable?"

"Well I do need my quilt on."

"Sure, I can do that."  He gingerly picked up the edge of 
the quilt and drew it slowly over her body.  To Liz, it 
felt like a gentle caress.

"Good night, Elizabeth.  Sweet dreams."

"Caleb wait."  Liz sat up quickly in the bed.  "Come here 
for a moment, near me."  He complied and knelt on one knee 
near her bed, so that their faces were at the same level.  
"Caleb, I had a very nice time tonight.  It was wonderful 
to have someone to share... to help me with this.  But in 
all of our talking, I didn't get to really express to you 
my thanks for what you did for me.  You saved my life, 
probably risking your own to do it.  I can never really 
repay you enough for that.   And to top it off, your trust 
in me, your offer to help, has meant so much to me.  I just 
wanted you to know...." With that, before she lost the 
nerve, she leaned over and kissed him softly on the cheek.

Caleb reached up and placed his fingers on the spot where 
her lips had touched him.  He didn't move or speak for 
several seconds.  When he did, his voice came out in a 
whisper.  "It was my pleasure, Elizabeth."  He stood up and 
walked toward the door.  Before he exited the room, he 
stopped and without turning around he said, "Sleep well."  
He then left the room, and she could hear him closing the 
door of his bedroom a few seconds later.

She lay back down in her bed.  As she tried to sleep, 
millions of thoughts ran though her head.  But foremost was 
what had just transpired here in her room.  With that 
simple act of placing the quilt on her, he had aroused more 
feelings in her than any other man ever had.  But she 
didn't want to get in over her head before she really got 
to know him better.  Something had happened between them 
tonight, even though he seemed to be resisting it.
But, he was still mostly a mystery to her.

She did believe that he had a good, kind heart.  One that 
had been broken long ago. So she had to be gentle with his 
feelings.  But she longed to know more about him.   She 
hoped that they could grow close enough so that he could 
tell her that 'bedtime story' someday.  She fell asleep, 
not knowing what she would do next about Mr. Caleb Smith.

=========

Liz couldn't breathe.  As she tried to take in air, muddy 
water filled her mouth.  She wanted to scream, but had no 
voice.  She couldn't move because the mud had encased her.  
Oh no, the ranch had all been a dream.  She had become 
euphoric from the lack of air, and was now trapped.  In her 
mind she cried out desperately,  "No.  No, please God help 
me.  Please.  I don't want to die here alone.  No.  
Noooooooooooo!"
 
"Elizabeth!  Listen to my voice Elizabeth.  Breathe!  
You're safe.  It's all right.  Come on honey, breathe.  
Don't do this to me."
 
The command to breathe invaded her consciousness.  Somehow, 
she knew that she could trust the voice.  She opened her 
mouth and felt cool air enter her lungs.  The mud was now 
gone.  Instead of the wetness, she could feel something 
warm wrapped around her.  The warmth shifted around her and 
she could feel herself being pulled into an embrace.  She 
was being slowly rocked, which was helping her to calm down 
and breathe more evenly.
 
The voice spoke again, "Can you hear me Elizabeth?  It was 
only a dream. You're safe in your bed."
 
The warmth became strong arms holding her, and a broad 
chest in which her head was buried.  Tentatively she asked, 
"Caleb?"
 
"Yes, it's me."
 
"Oh Caleb, it was terrible."  Her voice came out in sobs, 
as she started to cry into his chest.  "I couldn't breathe.  
I was trapped in the mud.  No one had come to save me."
 
"Shhhhh.  It's O.K., you're here safe with me now.  Nothing 
is going to happen to you."   He continued to rock her and 
murmur that she was safe and sound.  Eventually, her crying 
subsided and all that could be heard was a few sniffles.
 
"Oh Caleb, I'm so sorry.  I cried all over your shirt."  
She raised her hand, and touched the wet spot on his chest 
where her tears had fallen.
 
"I don't care if you blow your nose into my shirt, as long 
as you're all right.  You really scared me just now.  Your 
nightmare was so bad that you had stopped breathing."
 
"Looks like I owe you my life again, Mr. Smith," she 
whispered into his chest.
 
He chuckled softly.  "Luckily for you, I'm having a two-
for-one special on rescues this week."  His chin was 
resting on her head now and she could feel his smile 
against her hair as he spoke.  She appreciated his attempt 
to lighten her mood after that awful nightmare.

He released his embrace and moved his hands to her arms.  
Moving her away from him enough so he could look into her 
face, he asked,  "Better?"

"Yes, thank you,"  she said, looking shyly into her lap.

She then felt his fingers touch her chin and lift her eyes 
to meet his.  She could dimly make out his face in the 
moonlight filtering in through the window.  She felt as if 
his dark eyes could look straight into her soul.  "Are you 
sure you're all right?" he asked.

"Truthfully, I think I need you to continue that hug," she 
replied.  Without hesitation Caleb drew her back into his 
embrace.  Her hands were clutching one of his arms, and the 
side of her face rested against his chest.  She held on to 
him like he was her life preserver.  Her eyes were tightly 
shut as she sat there silently in his arms, drawing from 
his strength to dispel her fears.

She didn't know how long she sat there on her bed, 
surrounded by Caleb's strength and warmth.  It was a 
moment.  It was an eternity.  Finally, in a whisper she 
said, "Some world famous adventurer I am.  It's not like 
that's the first close call I've had.  I'm sorry I fell 
apart like that on you."

"Don't be silly.  That was a pretty harrowing experience.  
When you had your other 'close calls', I have to assume 
that you were able to work out for yourself how to get out 
of them."  Liz could hear a slight edge in his voice when 
he said 'close calls'.  He continued, "But this time, you 
had no way out for yourself.  From what you told me, at 
some point you had thought you died.  I think it all just 
caught up with you, that's all.  It's O.K., everyone gets 
scared now and again."

"Do you?" she asked.

"Of course I do.  In fact, I was terrified just a few 
minutes ago.  You just scared the heck out of me just now.  
I didn't know what to do; I thought I was going to lose 
you.  I wouldn't have been ..."  He then stopped what he 
was saying for a moment as if to compose himself.  "It 
would have been terrible to lose you before I really got to 
know you."  He sounded almost embarrassed to her as he 
spoke his last sentence.

"Think you want to try to lay down again?" he asked.

It was several seconds before she said, "Sure."

He carefully helped her lay back down, and then covered her 
with the quilt.  "If you need anything, I'm just down 
hall."

He was about to get up when Liz said, "Caleb, wait!  I, 
um,... I didn't, you know, want to ..."

"Be alone right now," he finished for her.

"Well, yeah," she confirmed.

"It's O.K., my little world famous adventurer.  I'll sit 
here until you fall asleep."

Suddenly feeling shy about asking him.  "Oh, I couldn't ask 
you to do that.  I was just being silly.  Go back to bed, 
I'll be fine," she told him in the best confident voice she 
could muster.

"It's all right.  It won't be any trouble at all.  I bet 
you'll fall asleep in just a few minutes.  It's been a long 
24 hours for you."  With that, he seated himself on the 
corner of the bed, and rested his back on the headboard.  
Leaning his head back, he closed his eyes as if to sleep.

"Caleb?"

"Yes Elizabeth," he replied, his eyes still closed.

"Are we friends now?" she asked him.

"Yes, I believe that we are."

"Then I want you to know something."

He opened his eyes and said, "Sure, what?"

"I just wanted you to know that you can talk to me about 
anything.  No matter how difficult it may be. I can be 
there for you, too.  I don't want you to think that you 
have to take the whole world on your shoulders,  now that 
you have a friend."  Her voice was becoming softer and 
softer as she began to slip into sleep once again.

She felt him place a hand on her shoulder as he said, 
"Thanks, I appreciate that."  She smiled inside herself as 
she could hear the sincerity in his voice.  She then 
surrendered herself to a peaceful sleep.  This time, it was 
not from the magic of the quilt, but from the refuge she'd 
found in this man.

~~~~~~~

A loud sound invaded Liz's sleep.  She bolted upright in 
the bed, startled to consciousness by the sound.  "What the 
....?"  The sound pierced the morning once again.  It 
sounded like a ... it was a rooster!  Liz looked at the 
clock on the desk and saw that it was 6:00 am.  Images of 
turning the rooster into 'Chicken Kiev' came to mind.

'I should have guessed, of course, that a Rooster would be 
waking me up,' she thought.  'An alarm clock would be way 
too normal.  Well, might as well get up since Caleb has 
probably already *done the chores* and *slopped the hogs*.   
I need caffeine.   I wonder if caffeine is too modern a 
convenience for Mr. Smith.'

As if on cue, a smell invaded her awareness.  The smell 
became stronger and she identified the rich aroma of 
brewing coffee.  Like a child following the Piped Piper, 
she got out of bed and followed the smell.  Entering the 
kitchen, she saw Caleb at the stove preparing breakfast.  
Sensing her entry, he turned to her and asked, "So how are 
you feeling this morning?  I presume that Chester woke you 
up."

Liz simply stated, "Coffee."  Actually it was more of a 
command than a statement.

Caleb turned and poured a mug for her.  "Cream, sugar, 
lemon, black... ?"

"Black, no use in diluting the caffeine," she answered.

She took the coffee from him and immediately began to sip 
it.  Surprisingly, it was at a perfect temperature for 
drinking.  After a few sips, she realized that she had come 
out here directly from her bed.  He, on the other hand, 
looked like he had been up for some time now.  He was 
dressed in what, she guessed, were his working clothes.  He 
had jeans on with a dark colored tee shirt.  Over the tee 
shirt he wore a flannel shirt which he had left unbuttoned.  
His sleeves were rolled up his forearms.  'Very strong 
looking forearms.'  And she was dressed in... an oversized 
sweatshirt.

"Oh lord, I must look terrible.  I just stumbled out here 
directly from bed when I smelled your coffee," she said to 
him apologetically.

With a very serious voice, he said, "Don't underestimate 
the appeal of a women wearing only a man's sweatshirt."  
Then turning to the stove, he said, "If you'll sit down, 
I'll have some pancakes ready in a minute."

Liz's breath caught in her throat for a moment.  'Did he 
really just flirt with me?' she asked herself.  'Naw, he 
was probably just trying to be polite, so I wouldn't feel 
bad coming out here like this.  Well, there are ways to 
find out.  Maybe if all goes well today, I can really test 
his resolve tonight,' she thought with an evil grin.

Composing herself, she walked to the table and answered, 
"Pancakes would be lovely."

True to his word, two minutes later, he presented to her a 
plate of pancakes and a bottle of syrup.  "These are 
homemade, aren't they?" she asked.

"Well I didn't grind the wheat myself, but yes, I basically 
made them from scratch.  Tell me what you think."

She took her first bite of the pancakes.  As expected, they 
were many times better than anything she had ever had in 
her life before.  By the time she had to leave him, she 
would never be able to eat an instant meal again.  With 
that thought, she felt a sadness creep up on her.  The 
thought of leaving him someday felt like she would be 
giving up something precious.  How could one man affect her 
in such a short time?  It was like magic.  In fact, this 
whole place was like a fairy tale.  And she was the 
princess sent to save the lonely knight. 'Well it is the 
22nd century.'

"You don't like them?" she heard.

She blinked at him, rejoining the real world.  Her thoughts 
had frozen her for a moment, the fork still hovering near 
her mouth.  "Yes, they're great.  Fantastic.  The best 
ever.  I'll never eat one out of a box again.  Did you say 
you actually ground the wheat to make these?  Does wheat 
grow in Montana?"   She was staring at him with a wide-eyed 
expression.

"Maybe next time you should take a little cream in that 
coffee and dilute the caffeine," he said, wearing his best 
mischievous grin.

A shy smile came to her.  "I think maybe you're right.  The 
pancakes are great, thanks."  She thought to herself, 'If 
feeding me pancakes has this effect on me, what effect will 
he have if he...  Forget it, I'm not even going to go there 
this early in the morning.'  Willing herself to eat, she 
dug into the pancakes with abandon.

Three pancakes and two cups of coffee (the second with 
cream) later, she declared herself full and ready to tackle 
any and all bad guys.

"Good," he said.  "I'm going to find the horses and get 
them ready.  You can take the time to freshen your clothes 
in the washer unit before we go out for the day. Hopefully, 
when we get back to the SUV, we'll be able to retrieve any 
luggage you had in there."

"Sounds good to me," she replied.  "You want me to clean 
the dishes?"

"No, I can get them.  You can start...."  Caleb stopped 
speaking for a moment and appeared to be thinking about 
something.  He blinked and said, "You know that would be 
great.  I'm going out now and find the horses.  Be right 
back."  With that, he left through the door in the kitchen.

'Well, nothing like a man who can make snap decisions,' she 
thought.  With an amused laugh, she started to wash ('hand 
wash,' she thought indignantly) the dishes and the frying 
pan.  With that done, she retrieved her clothes and popped 
them into the washer unit and set it for 'quick cycle'.  
After freshening herself up in the bathroom, she got her 
clothes out of the washer and got dressed.

Stepping out the kitchen door, she decided it was warm 
enough to forego the sweatshirt.  She then made her way to 
the stable to find Caleb.  Reaching the stable, she found 
two horses drinking together from a trough.  The bigger of 
the two was all black, without a hint of markings on his 
body.  The smaller one was tan, with a blondish mane.  Her 
legs had white markings near her hoofs.  "So, you guys must 
be Midnight and Moonbeam."  They both lifted their heads 
and looked at her, as if to answer her.

"Don't tell me you guys can actually understand me?  That 
would be too weird.  Not that the last couple of days 
haven't been a little strange.  So I guess that a couple of 
horses who can understand English would be par for the 
course."  The horses looked quizzically at her, with their 
heads tilted at an angle.  Then they looked at each other 
for a moment, giving each other the equine equivalent of a 
shrug, and went back to drinking.  Liz looked at the 
horses, with her arms crossed, shaking her head slightly.

She then felt something touch her at the edge of her 
consciousness.  A presence.  Something familiar.  The 
feeling grew stronger and stronger until, when she finally 
heard his voice behind her, she was not startled at all.  
"So I see you've met the kids," she heard him say.

"Yes," she replied.  "We were just talking."

"You too?" he asked.  "I thought it was just me.  I swear 
when I talk to them, they look like they listen and can 
understand me."

"Caleb, at this point I would be surprised if they didn't 
understand me."

Caleb looked at her with a puzzled look.  Liz, choosing to 
ignore his confusion, asked, "So, when do I start bonding 
with Miss Moonbeam?"

"Right now," he answered.  He called out the horses' names 
and made a clicking noise with his mouth, which caused both 
horses to move towards him.  As Midnight reached him, Caleb 
placed his hand on the side of Midnight's jaw and began to 
gently rub it.  Moonbeam came up to Caleb and tried to 
force his other hand onto her face.  After a moment, Caleb 
complied and was now petting both of the horses.  "Horses 
are very noble and empathic creatures.  They can sense your 
moods.  So if you're hesitant with them, they will be the 
same with you.  Don't be intimated by their size, just 
respect their power."
 
Caleb reached into his shirt pocket and removed three sugar 
cubes.  "Now, try to call Moonbeam to you.  Call out her 
name and make a soft clicking sound with your mouth.  Hold 
the sugar cubes in your open palm in front of you.  When 
she doesn't come right away, move slowly towards her, while 
holding out the sugar in front of you."

Liz called for Moonbeam and then did the best impression of 
the sound Caleb had made earlier.  She was concentrating 
totally on the horse, unsure of what to expect next.  
"Don't worry, " he said.  "It might take a while for her to 
start to trust you.  It usually takes a few days, but maybe 
she'll warm up to ...."  Caleb stopped speaking as Moonbeam 
looked right at Liz and slowly made her way over to her.  
Moonbeam then gently lower her mouth to Liz's open palm and 
ate all three sugar cubes.  Liz reached up her other hand 
and petted Moonbeam in the same manner as Caleb had done.  
Caleb finally managed to get out, " I'll be..."

Liz looked at Moonbeam like a little girl who had gotten 
the pony she had always asked for at Christmas.  She  felt 
Caleb moving next to her.  "That was truly remarkable.  I 
never seen Moonbeam warm up to somebody immediately like 
that before.  I got her from an owner who used to beat her, 
so she is naturally very wary of strangers.  She must think 
you are very special."

"And I like her already too.  She has good taste."  Liz's 
smile lit up the morning.  She had Caleb (and Moonbeam, of 
course) to thank for another wonderful experience.

Caleb laughed at her remark.  "Well it looks like the 
'bonding' portion of our lesson is done.  Next lesson is 
riding her without killing yourself.  We need to get to the 
stable so we can saddle the horses.  You might as well lead 
Moonbeam there."  With that, he placed his hand gently on 
Midnight's mane and started to lead him to the stable.  Liz 
copied his technique and followed Caleb with Moonbeam 
beside her.

Upon entering the stable, Caleb gave Midnight a pat on the 
neck, and went to a saddle that was sitting on a stand. 
Beside it, on a second stand, was a smaller version of the 
saddle.  He looked over his shoulder at Liz and said, "I'll 
tack up both horses today.  We'll leave teaching you that 
for another day."

"And what exactly is tacking?" Liz asked.  She was giving 
him the 'like I'm suppose to understand that' look.

Caleb smiled a little and said, "It's just tack up, not 
'tacking'.  Maybe I should have said saddle up.  Here, I'll 
show you.  Caleb first got the blanket, which was lying on 
top of the saddle, and threw it over Midnight's back.  He 
then put on and secured Midnight's bridle.   He moved back 
to the stand and grabbed the saddle.  He placed it on the 
blanket on Midnight's back and then spent the next few 
minutes securing various straps.  Midnight stood there 
patiently during the entire routine.  Caleb then repeated 
the procedure on Moonbeam with the smaller saddle.

"Ever been on a horse before, Dr. Ellington?" he asked.

"Do pony rides at Christmas time count?".

"I don't think so.  We better start with the basics.  When 
you mount Moonbeam, you want to make sure you're in a clear 
area so she doesn't try to move.  Horses are always very 
aware of their surroundings, and if they see something they 
don't like, they will try to move away from it.  Keep light 
control on her head by loosely holding the reins in your 
left hand.  Now some differ on this, but what I like to do 
is to grasp the saddle horn with my left hand, while 
keeping the reins in the same hand.  Make sure that there's 
plenty of slack.  Then place your left foot in the stirrup.  
Now you propel yourself up with your right leg and use your 
left leg to help raise yourself into the saddle.  Finish 
off by swinging your right leg over and sit down."  He 
demonstrated the whole process to her on Midnight.  His 
movement was graceful, with no wasted motion.  "I just 
reverse the motion to get down."  He got down from Midnight 
with the same easy motion.

Caleb walked over to her and asked, "Ready to try?"  He 
looked over at Moonbeam as said softly, "Be gentle with 
her, girl, it's her first time."

'O.K., no problem,' Liz thought.  'I can do this.  Besides 
she likes me.'  Liz's heartbeat started to speed up and her 
breathing became labored.  She tentatively took the reins 
in her hand.  Caleb touched her hand and adjusted them to 
the proper position for her.  She looked at him and gave 
him a shaky smile.  Taking a big breath, she placed her 
hand on the saddle horn and her left foot in the stirrup.  
She mentally counted to three and launched herself up onto 
the saddle.  She triumphantly felt her right leg swing over 
the saddle.  Triumph turned quickly to panic as she 
couldn't stop her momentum and fell off the opposite side.

Her downward plummet was halted as Caleb caught her in his 
arms.  He stood there for several seconds not moving, 
holding Liz.  He looked at her, seemingly to study her 
face.  Finally he managed to get out, "Thought I would, you 
know, um, spot you.  Some people have trouble with the 
timing the first time."

"I guess I should try again," she said to him, slightly out 
breath.

"Yes, of course," he replied as he set her down gently.  He 
brought her back to the left side of Moonbeam and began to 
explain to her the timing of getting into the saddle.  They 
spent the next 30 minutes getting Liz comfortable mounting 
and dismounting Moonbeam.  After she could successfully get 
on Moonbeam without help (and avoiding killing herself), 
she started her lessons on getting Moonbeam to actually 
move for her.

Caleb patiently spent the rest of the morning teaching Liz 
how to get Moonbeam into her basic gaits and how to give 
her commands with the reins.  He explained the difference 
among the 'walk', 'trot', 'canter', and 'gallop', 
demonstrating them on Midnight. During her lessons, Liz's 
attention would sometimes falter, as she thought about the 
feeling of being held by him.  The closeness of him seemed 
to touch something deep inside herself.  She wasn't blind.  
She could see that she was affecting him as well.  But he 
was trying to resist out of that sense of guilt he had 
spoken of.  She wasn't sure about his age, but even the 
high end of her 'guesstimate' range would put him in his 
early 50's.  Which would mean that his wife had died 
relatively young.  She could only imagine what it would be 
like to love someone so much and then lose them.  For the 
other half of you to be taken from you.  It was one of 
those experiences that one could never really understand 
without actually going through it.

There was one thing she was certain of though: his wife 
would not have wanted him to spend the rest of his life 
alone as he had chosen.  She had this image of his wife 
standing in heaven, with her arms crossed and tapping her 
foot impatiently on the ground.  She would be scolding him 
from her perch in the clouds for being so thick- headed and 
thinking that he could never find happiness again.  Liz 
found herself agreeing with the apparition that she had 
created.

Caleb and Liz continued the lessons all through the 
morning.  By lunch time, she could coax Moonbeam into a 
walk and a slow trot.  She was now able to get her to turn 
into the general direction that Liz wanted.  Liz often had 
the feeling that Moonbeam was being patient with her, and 
could almost sense the horse's amusement at her.  

After a tiring morning, Liz declared that she was ready for 
lunch.  They rode back to the house, where they dismounted 
their horses.  Caleb then showed Liz how to pull up the 
stirrups, so they wouldn't bother the horse when the rider 
was gone.

"I didn't think that riding would be so tiring," Liz said 
as she finished with her stirrups.  "I hope you've got 
something good for lunch.  I'm so hungry, I could eat a 
...".  Liz stopped herself by covering her mouth with her 
hand.  Without moving her head, she glanced over at 
Moonbeam, who was eyeing Liz with an eerily suspicious look 
in her eyes.  "...a lot of food right now," she finished.

Liz heard Caleb stifle a laugh.  He then climbed the stairs 
to go into house through the kitchen door.  "Hey, don't you 
have to tie them to a post or something?" she asked.

Without turning around, he replied, "Naw, they'll stick 
around here while we're inside.  Besides it'll give them a 
chance to go somewhere and talk in private if they want."  
With that, he walked inside the house.

Liz smiled to herself.  'That's nice of him,' she thought.  
She walked up the steps to the kitchen door.  Just as her 
hand touched the doorknob, she stopped and thought, 'Talk 
in private?'  She turned around to look at the horses.  
They had moved close to each other, and their noses were 
softly touching.  'He wasn't kidding,' she thought.  She 
quickly turned back around, feeling like she was intruding 
on a private conversation.  She entered the kitchen to see 
Caleb contemplating the contents of the 'fridge'.

Without looking up, he asked, "How about sandwiches?"

"Sure, that'll be great," she responded.  "Need any help?"

"No, I can get it.  Do you want something with meat, or 
something with vegetables?"

"Yes," she answered.

"O.K., I get it. Your hungry.  I'll have them ready in a 
jiff."

"You know, I work out pretty regularly," she stated as she 
sat slowly down at the table.  A small grunt escaped from 
her mouth.  "But I think, tomorrow I'm going to need a 
wheelchair to get around.  I didn't even know I had the 
some of the muscles I used this morning."

"A common complaint from first time riders.  Your body will 
adapt to the horse soon enough.  I have some ointment you 
can rub into your muscles tonight.  It'll keep you from 
being so sore in the morning."

Her evil side chose that moment to assert itself.  "Does 
that mean you won't give me my rub down yourself?"  After a 
few seconds of obvious contemplation, Caleb said, 
"Considering some of the places where you'll need the 
ointment, I'd probably get slapped if I tried to do it for 
you."

'Wanna bet?' Liz thought to herself.  Outwardly though, she 
merely chuckled at Caleb's comment.  She knew that inside 
this strong, gentle man, there were still broken pieces of 
a heart that needed to be mended.  She didn't need to push 
him right now.  She had dealt with many different cultures 
over the last seven years.  Seen many different ways to 
approach life.  But a common thing amongst people 
everywhere was that a pain like his was slow to heal.  
Especially for a person with a devoted, caring heart.  And 
she would kill herself first before she would cause this 
man anymore pain.  So, she promptly told her inner evil 
twin to behave herself for the rest of the day.

A few minutes later, Caleb presented her with a combination 
ham and veggie sandwich.  It was, of course, delicious.  
During the course of the lunch, they talked to each other 
about a variety of things which held their mutual interest.  
Liz was amazed by how much knowledge Caleb seemed to 
possess.  There was no subject that she brought up that 
Caleb couldn't speak to.  She was also flattered to find 
out that he had read not just some of her books, but all of 
them.  His worldly knowledge was at odds with the image of 
the isolated rancher she first had.  Caleb proved more and 
more the paradox to her.

They were deep in the middle of another 'discussion'.  
Caleb was disagreeing with her on a point, which, of 
course, meant, to her, that he was wrong.  "What I was 
saying..." Caleb continued with his point, " is that Kyle 
and Martha were instrumental in the peace accords of the 
time.  But if they weren't there, then someone, or some 
group, would have filled the void.  It didn't take Superman 
and Powergirl to negotiate a peace treaty, just decent 
caring people--of whom there were plenty a hundred years 
ago."

"Yes, but the inspiration they gave the world was a major 
catalyst, which sparked people to pursue the peace plan," 
she countered.  "Especially after they revealed their true 
identities to the world to prove that they were as much a 
part of this world as anyone."

"Still," he said, "I don't think that you need super powers 
to inspire people to do what is right."

She then smiled, and played her trump card.  "What about 
the sacrifice of Clark Kent?"

"I think people made too much of what he did," stated 
Caleb.

"Are you kidding?  First, he comes forward during the 
centennial celebration at EPRAD, and reveals that he is 
still alive.  Kyle Kent later said how much it embarrassed 
Clark to have people celebrate the hundredth anniversary of 
his first appearance as Superman.  And then he pleads the 
world for peace, both as Clark Kent and as Superman.  Many 
of the world leaders who were undecided at the time said 
that his speech convinced them to sign the treaty.  I saw 
the videos of his speech.  I watched him on the recording 
slowly ascend to the podium.  At 127 years old, age may 
have taken its toll on him, but he was still Superman.  He 
still couldn't stand by and not help."

She paused for a moment to take a breath and continued, 
"Then of course he discovered the anti-matter explosive.  
As old as he was, he still found the strength to pick up 
the bomb and fly it into space.  They say that the 
resulting explosion was brighter than the moon, despite the 
fact that he had flown it 40,000 miles away from the earth.  
Even a Superman couldn't survive that.  He saved the earth 
again, but this time at the cost of his life.  If he hadn't 
done it, the entire east coast of the United States would 
have been destroyed."

Caleb seemed to contemplate her argument for a moment.  
Staring into fields outside his windows, he softly said, 
"He just did what he had to do.  Anyone in his position 
would have done the same."

"I beg to differ!" she exclaimed. "Clark Kent was a great 
man and he saved millions of people that day.  More than 
that, he inspired people to become better human beings.  
The followers of Chang Lee Khan dethroned him after he 
admitted to planting the bomb.  They said they were 
inspired by the final noble words and deeds of the last son 
of Krypton."

He got up and walked to the window.  He placed his hand on 
the glass and continued to stare off into the distance.  
Still speaking softly, he said, " 'There are no great men.  
Only ordinary men who rise to extraordinary circumstances'.  
A U.S. general during World War II said that of the men 
who, day in and day out, were on the front lines defending 
us.  I believe that everyone, every good person, makes a 
difference in the world.  The people who get noticed are 
the ones who just happen to perform the spectacular stuff."

He quietly started to clean the dishes off the table.  Liz 
wasn't sure what to say next.  She was frustrated that he 
couldn't see her point, nor share her respect for Clark 
Kent.  But he spoke with such conviction, that she couldn't 
think of any rebuttal to his words.  Her curiosity was now 
in overdrive.  She yearned to know what experiences had 
brought him to this place in his life.  To feel as he did.

One thing was certain.  Whatever his motivation for his 
opinions on Superman, it was not from jealousy.  It was 
from something deeper.  Something that happened to him, 
either before or after his wife had died.  She wanted, no 
needed, to know what that was.  And she was willing to 
spend the rest of her life finding out.

============

Caleb had just finished the dishes and indicated that they 
should try riding the horses to where the SUV was stuck.  
He then looked out the window, appearing to concentrate on 
something outside.  "Elizabeth, why don't you go out and 
check the horses.  They're probably hanging out at the 
water trough.  I've got to use the, um...".  He made a 
vague gesture toward the hallway.

"Oh, sure," said Liz.  "Exactly what I am supposed to be 
looking for when I 'check' the horses?"

"Just, you know, make sure that they have enough water.  
I'll be right back."  With that, he took off through the 
kitchen door down the hallway.

"So, what I am supposed to do, ask them if they've had 
enough to drink?" she shouted after him.  'Must have a weak 
bladder,' she thought.  Shaking her head, she turned to go 
through the kitchen side door.  Outside she did, indeed, 
find the horses taking a drink from the trough in front of 
the stable.

"So, Moonbeam, ready for fun and adventure on the open 
range?"  Moonbeam ignored her and continued to drink.  "Not 
listening to me now, huh?  Just like kids,