A glass of orange juice was on the white rattan nightstand beside the double bed when she came into the bedroom after her shower thirty minutes later. The glass was exactly one quarter full.

Gideon was lounging in the cane-backed chair by the window, one leg over the arm, a booted foot swinging lazily. "Hi, you look better in that shirt than I do. It kinda reminds me of those ads on TV where they have all those luscious ladies wearing their men's dress shirts."

"Does it? I've never seen them. They didn't have a television set at the convent." She touched the soft blue cotton of the shirt that came almost to her knees. "Thank you for lending it to me. It's very comfortable."

"We aim to please." He swung his foot to the floor and stood up. He exuded so much power and vitality that Serena suddenly felt very small and helpless.

"I'm glad you didn't wash your hair. It must take a long time to diy and I was worried you'd go to bed with it wet." He crossed the room and drew back the top sheet. "In you go. I'll tuck you in and turn out the light."

She found herself obediently sliding into bed. He drew the sheet up around her shoulders and sat down beside her. "I've left the windows open. The screens will keep out the critters and it will be cooler for you. If it starts to rain, you'd better get up and close it." His gaze was gravely holding her own while his hand stroked the hair back from her temple. "You've done just fine so far, but I thought I'd better warn you that sometimes it comes back to you right before you go to sleep. It sort of waits like a bushwhacker until all your defenses are down and then it ambushes you." He smiled. "You just fool it and start thinking of something else. Frank or Ross or me… anything. Okay?"

"Okay," she whispered.

"And, if you get scared or want company, I'm just across the hall. I'll leave my door open to hear if you call out."